Bark at the Moon @onyour-markos-blog - Tumblr Blog

xflorencekingsley:

“I know.” Was all Florence said at first. How couldn’t she? She could hear his heart just as clearly as he could feel the sense of dread. Even without that, she could see it in his hesitance, the slight downward grimace of his expression as he inhaled. Despite her previous intention to borrow Alex’s stillness and confidence, her serious expression softened into a gentle smile, endeared, as always, by Mark’s openness. She’d like to think it was what had drawn her to him in the first place, that very first day. Truthfully, she didn’t know what had made her speak to him in the moment. She had barely known his name, and could never have predicted that he would become so important. She only really knew that he was important now, important enough to suffer a few minor injuries over. She squeezed his hand carefully (using just a fraction of her strength, it was still a grip which would make even the most assertive politician grimace) to bolster his courage. “Trust me anyway.”

“I do,” he said simply, letting out a shaky breath. “Of course I do.” Slowly, Mark tightened his grip, but his eyes never left Florence’s. As his fingers tightened around hers, he watched, searching for any sign of discomfort. And then he smiled, because Florence had always been more than she appeared. She wasn’t fragile, she wasn’t some breakable human girl, and even if he did break some bone right now, she would heal. She’d lived through the plague and she would live through a broken finger.

She was right, of course, if he always feared his own strength, if he always feared hurting her, then he would inevitably do so. So he squeezed. He took a breath, focused on her eyes and his heartbeat, and squeezed. He tightened his grip far past what any normal person could withstand until he couldn’t tighten his grip anymore, and then he let go, ready to assess any damage he caused. “How bad is it?”

#florence #[i'll leave it up to you if he broke anything]

rizaxsarai:

She hadn’t expected anywhere to be open, though desperate for something fresh after a long night eating the hospital food and drinking copious amounts of coffee, she was detirmined to stay awake long enough to do so and to obtain said fresh food. She was already thinking about surprising Skylar with a cooked breakfast, and she knew her roommate would be awake soon which only caused her to speed up somewhat. However, her plan to rush was foiled when she snagged her foot against the shelving and began to trip, accidentally taking a rack of vegetables down in the process. “Fuck–” she hissed before she stopped and covered her hand with her mouth and looked around, stunned at her own language slip before she scrambled over the floor to collect the vegetables. “I’m so sorry, I was rushing and I–” she sighed, “I’ll gladly pay for all of this….” she finished, indicating to the spilt vegetables.

Mark rounded the corner of the aisle to find a woman on the ground frantically picking up some of the less-gross produce he hadn’t gotten around to sorting yet. He hadn’t realized he’s let out any noise, but his sigh must have been audible because she began to apologize.

“No it’s alright,” he said, stepping carefully over the vegetables. He offered the woman a hand to help her stand. “Technically, we aren’t even open right now, but if you can find something not too slimy, you can take it when you go. I won’t tell anyone,” he said conspiratorially. He’d have to throw all of this out anyhow, so he didn’t see the harm in giving some of it away.

#riza #[[do u wanna turn this into a horseman thread? we could do that]]

xflorencekingsley:

“I don’t know what that means,” she said distractedly, “I haven’t seen I Disney movie since my friend Elizabeth and I climbed out of her window and walked to the nearest town to see Lady and the Tramp.” In 1955, when the title was new. Two years before she met Alex. Her parents had locked her in her attic for an entire week after. She swept the memory aside with a brush of her fingers, curling her hair behind her ear. With his hand now in her possession, Florence turned his wrist until his fingers were stacked vertically, then slid her cool hand into his, intertwining them like she would if they had made a deal and were now going to shake on it. Satisfied with the weave of their fingers, she raised her chin with a somewhat haughty air, unshakably confident. She looked him straight in the eye, uncharacteristically forward.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you can.” She knew right away he would protest - after all, that was his whole hesitance. “If you’re always afraid that you’re going to hurt me, then it is inevitable that you will.” The cold lesson Alex had taught her that frightening first week. If you’re scared to hurt someone, Florence, you will. Know how strong you are. Control it. She was going to borrow Alex’s analytical voice for the moment, and she hoped he wouldn’t mind. “Fear is the opposite of control. Fear is when you let it control you. If you know what you can do, you know what not to do. So. Squeeze my hand as hard as you can.” There was risk. Florence knew it. She had broken Alex’s arm once, in an exercise not unlike this. She was only risking a few fingers, however, and knew enough about anatomy that it would probably be her pinky finger, maybe the knuckle. Either way, it would heal quick enough and simply be another point well made. There is always room for a little error.

He wanted to ask her more about her life before Braddock, but the distracted way she brushed off his comment kept Mark quiet, waiting to see what Florence had planned. He kept his silence while she manipulated his hand, just watching. Before his shift, his senses had been enhanced, but they were even more so now. Now, Mark could hear the rhythm of his heart pumping blood through his body, the pace even and calming. Now, he could hear- or rather, he couldn’t hear- the distinct lack of a heartbeat coming from Florence’s chest. He kept his silence and he listened to all the new sounds in the world around him that had only been background noises to him before. He kept his silence up until she told him to squeeze. He felt a sickening clench in his stomach, heard the sound of his heart rate as it picked up ever so slightly, opened his mouth to protest. He took a breath to let out a slightly panicked “I can’t do that” but was cut off before the first sound ever formed in his throat.

Florence knew, of course, what was giving him pause. She always seemed to know. Even before she knew his truth, she seemed to know when he felt off- when he was scared, when he was angry, when he was anxious. She knew, and that’s why he had always trusted her with his rawest emotions. He didn’t feel the need to hide them when she knew anyway.

“What you’re saying makes sense,” he began quietly, making no moves to tighten his grip, “but I’m still completely terrified.”

#florence #//this has been in my drafts for at least a month waiting on a reply ooops

Although the town was still locked down by the CDC, people had been getting better since the night the sky had opened up. With the disease somehow curing itself, people were getting braver. Life, it seemed, was determined to move on and that was how Mark found himself being called in for a shift at Spring Leaf Market. Technically, the store wasn’t open. He and a few coworkers were in the store cleaning and stocking the non-perishables they still had while throwing out old produce that hadn’t sold before the store had shut down weeks ago. His manager was hopeful that the town’s boarders would open up again soon and the store would be back in business in the coming weeks.

Mark had drawn the short straw and was tasked with throwing out the old, mushy vegetables. That also meant he was in charge of turning away anyone who wandered inside thinking the lights being on meant they were open for business since produce was located in the front of the store.

He had just opened up a new trash bag when he heard the bell over the door jingle. He turned to address the person, but didn’t see anyone. Strange. Maybe one of his coworkers had gone out? Shaking his head, he went back to tossing out what once was lettuce and was now a slimy, brown heap of grossness. And then came the crash. Mark sighed, placed the garbage bag down, and made his way toward the swearing that was definitely not one of his coworkers.

“Can I help you with something?” he said once he’d found the source of the noise.

#mtprospect:starter #//idk what this is but I miss mark

(Pick a character any character I just wanna seeeeeee)

I am literally doing all three.

Hache

The name of your muse in my phone:

Chow Mein Plug 🎨

A picture that my muse has of you in contacts:

The ringtone for your muse:

No Homo- The Lonely Island

My muse’s last text to your muse:

“In theory, how many pizzas do you think you could eat on your own after a shift?”

“Like a wolf shift, not a work shift.”

#headcanon #florence #abbie #hache #xflorencekingsley #answered

avadakdavrawrites-archived

iphone text meme ~

(Okay, listen, this character meme isn’t mine but I can’t find the original link of it, so I’m posting it here because I am Trash™. Full credits to the original poster!)

Send a character / ship name and I’ll give you:

The name of your muse in my phone

A picture that my muse has of you in contacts

The ringtone for your muse

My muse’s last text to your muse

#you can send to timmy also but I'm not gonna reblog it twice so i don't clog the dash #meme

xflorencekingsley:

Florence watched Mark shove the entirety of the cupcake in mouth with a mixture of amusement and disgust. She was sorely tempted to make a vacuum cleaner comment, but settled instead of a indisputeably sarcastic use of the word “Charming.” He said good. He looked okay, but hadn’t been acting so good. Then again, no one really seemed ‘good’ so she was prepared to accept it at face value and move on, smile in tact. She flapped the napkins she had brought along in his face. At the same time she told him “You have frosting on your chin” he elaborated. 'I had my first shift.’ “Oh.” Short. Suprised. Oddly affected. That certainly explained his caution. It went without saying she didn’t fully understand what it was to be were. In almost all ways, it was the opposite of being a vampire - an abundance of life as opposed to a stunning lack of it. So much life they were forced to split it between two forms, whereas she barely felt like half an individual a majority of the time. All the differences aside, however, there was one thing she did know: to be newly reformed. The redefinition of everything you knew. Suddenly all it takes to destroy everything is one small moment of forgetting. She straightened her shoulders.

“Give me your hand.” A seemingly nonsensical demand given with complete expectation of being followed. It would make sense in a moment she hoped.

Mark scrubbed at his chin in the short silence that followed Florence’s “oh” of surprise. Sure enough, he’d managed to drop frosting on his face. He debated between just licking it off of his fingers or actually using the napkin he’d taken from Florence, but he decided the moment was a bit too heavy for his usual teenage-boy antics.

He’d just finished cleaning his face and hand when Florence suddenly straightened her shoulders. It was such a simple gesture, but it was one that captured his attention, like so many other things about the strange girl he’d somehow fallen into friendship with. Simple, but elegantly demanding his attention all the same.

It was an odd request coming from Florence. Even now that she was used to his casual touching, Mark was more-often-than-not the one to reach out first. He trusted her, though, so he silently did as she asked. "Are we about to have a Disney moment?” he quipped once he’d slipped his hand into hers, not at all sure what to expect.

#florence

bold any which apply to your muse. italicize what they like.

fire. ice. water. air. claws. fangs. wings. gold. diamonds. grass. leaves. trees. roses. metal. iron. rust. rain. snow. lace. silk. cotton. sun. moon. stars. blood. dirt. mud. silver. steel. sugar. salt. lavender. glass. wood. paper. wool. fur. smoke. ash. ocean. bruise. scar. laceration. brand. burn. wind. spices. light. dark. paint. charcoal. wine. hard liquor. sweat. dust. bare feet. canine. feline. coffee. tea. books. scratches. petals. thorns. hay. glitter. heat. cold. steam. frost. candle. sword. dagger. arrow. hammer. shield. spikes. sand. rocks. roots. feathers. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. herbs. waves. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. clay. stone. brick. marble. fruit. meat. poison. medicine. snake. bird. clock. shell. leather. chain. ribbon. tie. hat. heart. spade. map. boot. love. loss. healer. killer. liar.

#Headcanon #//what's this? a bandwagon for me to jump onto?

xflorencekingsley:

She very nearly hadn’t remembered. The days had snuck passed her at an alarming rate since she had gotten sick, rolling past in a monotony of uncertainty and worry right into the new year. The new year which didn’t feel bright or renewed at all. Just the same. Uncertain. Just like how she felt, literally and figuratively. Uncertain. “Better,” she told him, letting the quiet laugh that his kiss to her cheek had stirred up carry into the assurance. It wasn’t entirely true nor technically false. She was feeling better, as compared to just a few weeks before. Conversely, she was still .. off seemed the best word. She had become so fragile in the last month, dare she think it, so human. Now it seemed as though she hadn’t wholly been restored. In a way, it was like being freshly turned all over again. She had strength enough to crush a person like paper, and yet felt she could be undone as easily as an improperly tied shoelace. To add to it, Mark’s hand-holding and hugs had been feather-light of late, and, despite Florence’s recently developed tendency to self-reflect, his skittishness hadn’t escaped her notice. She had admitted her fragility to herself, but wasn’t quite prepared to accept any continued acts of special treatment. She’d get better. If he had to worry, she’d rather it be about something worth worrying over. “I’m not made of glass you know.” She certainly sounded like her old self, impish attitude intact. “What about you? How are you doing today?”

Mark had somehow found himself constantly surrounded by girls who hated when he treated them gently. “I’m not made of glass, Mark.” “You won’t break me, Mark.” “I’m not a damsel in distress, Mark.” “I can and will kick your ass, Mark.” It was sort of funny to him that the truth of the extra care behind his actions was a fear of his own strength, not a fear of their fragility. He opened his mouth to tell Florence as much, but he was unsure of how to begin.

He made a big show of shoving the cake in his mouth whole to buy himself more time to think about his words.

“I’m... good,” he said when he’d finally swallowed down the sugary confection. “Kind of strange, I guess. I had my first shift.” Mark was still processing exactly what that first shift meant for him now: the nights he would lose to the wolf, the danger he would be to his family, the complete lack of control he would have. He was terrified of hurting Florence when she was only just getting better. He was terrified of losing her at his own hand when he had been so angry with Oliver so recently for his role in the loss of innocent life. How would he live with himself if he were to hurt- or worse, kill- someone he loved?

He busied himself with folding the wrapper of the cupcake into a triangle, letting Florence come to her own conclusions. Would she want to stay friends with him, now that he was truly a danger to her? Untriggered, he’d been about as dangerous to her as a human was and he would never purposefully harm her, but now? He could lose control so easily. He was afraid, not of her fragility, but of himself.

#florence

I've never said anything before because you were underage, but now that you're 18, I'd like to join in on the corruption of your innocence in the best way ;) XOXO your secret admirer

"Well, that is a thing that happened. Anyone up for pizza? I need an adult."

#//mark has no clue how to respond to this #secret admirer #Anonymous #answered

isidora-ramos:

Isidora’s head felt like it was about to explode. She could hear and smell and see everything. Every high pitch noise, every pungent smell, every sharp detail. Everything. Even the dark shadows that passed by the corner of her eyes. Ever since she woke up, she wasn’t the same. Either the sickness did something to her or dying and being resurrected did. Her head was scrambled. Her wolf powers were out of control again. It was like she was back to square one, unable to control her shifting and blacking out. Oliver was hardly around anymore. She only approached the Night Howlers once or twice within the last month. She couldn’t take it. She wanted to scream and cry and die all at the same time. She wanted this torture to end. Isidora put her hands to her head, covering her ears, and shutting her eyes tightly in an attempt to block out the world.

When someone tapped her on her shoulder, Isidora jumped and turned to see who it was. “What do you want?” she growled.

Mark had been pretty much avoiding Oliver since he’d triggered his first shift in the older wolf’s presence. The whole ordeal had been a lot to process,so Mark was avoiding all of the usual spots he expected Oliver to show up. The only downside was that it meant he was inadvertently avoiding a lot of the other Howlers as well. Because of this, he hadn’t been expecting to run into anyone he really knew today, but the dark-haired woman he saw before him was unmistakable in all of her impossibility.

He was still grappling with the fact that she had died and that Oliver had had some role in her death (and in her resurrection). He hadn’t worked up the courage to face her yet, in all honesty. What did you say to someone you had mourned? He wasn’t sure, but he did know one thing- ever since the light from the mountain had ripped open the sky, he’d felt off. Obviously, something had happened that night, something very strange. Even in the daylight, the world was somehow dimmed. Surely he wasn’t the only one seeing it?

He watched Isidora for a moment, deciding on talking to her and getting her advice on so many things he hadn’t been able to talk with Oliver about lately, or turning tail and running away like he’d never been here to see her at all. Coward. And then- she covered her ears, her body language turned inward, almost like she was in pain and, well... she was family, and Mark didn’t turn his back on his pack. He closed the distance between himself and the she-wolf before he had much time to over-think his decision and tapped on her shoulder. He was confused by her startled reaction, however. She should have sensed his approach?

“I- you. You looked like...” He fumbled for words as she snapped at him, the growl in her voice raising his internal hackles just the slightest bit. “You looked like you were in pain. I wanted to check on you,” he managed at last,eyes shining with guilt for avoiding her for so long.

#isidora #//pack mom <3 #I... how did this get so long?? sorry omg

hannahchronism

✏️️ bby boi Markos

the king of anxiety & Manbuns™

send me a ✏️️(+ a character if you have several) & I’ll doodle’em

#mark #//LOOK WHAT HANNAH(BAL) DID I AM STILL CRYING

xflorencekingsley:

|| @onyour-markos

“Happy Birthday!” Florence announced in a voice both soft and enthusiastic, presenting Mark with a somewhat tragic looking cupcake perched in the palms of her hands. The top had caved in slightly, and a single lit candle was sticking out of the top lopsidedly. She didn’t look much better herself. The sickness itself was gone, or at the very least fading, but the shadows around her eyes were deep, her cheeks lacked almost all color, and her golden eyes were dull and flat: in short, she was looking more dead than usual. Her smile, however, was as sweet as it had ever been, if a little subdued, and almost made up for it. “It’s pathetic, I know,” she confessed, “I missed the real day by at least a week and I ran out of flour halfway through, but I just figured, you know… you can’t have a birthday without something.” A little bit of kindness, if nothing else.

Mark stared at the sad cupcake cupped in his best friend’s hands, completely speechless with emotion. With all of the crazy happening in town, he hadn’t expected anyone to remember, and he hadn’t mentioned it. His parents had remembered, of course. There’d been a lot of hugging and apologies over things they had no control over, but other than that, he hadn’t expected anything.

The smile Florence was giving him now both broke his heart and mended it. He was aware of how close he had come to losing her- it was visible just how close she had been to actually dying- but here she was, thinking of something as trivial as his birthday. For a moment, he worried the swell of emotion in his chest might trigger another shift, which was probably ridiculous. Finally, he dragged his lips into a grin. “Thank you, it’s perfect,” he said before closing his eyes and blowing out the candle. Make a wish...

Gently, he took the cupcake from her and leaned over to place a loud, smacking kiss right on her cheek. Though it was silly, he hoped she knew that he was conveying genuine gratefulness in the gesture. “How are you feeling today?” he asked when he pulled away, removing the wrapper from the cupcake while taking in the dark circles around Florence’s unusually lackluster eyes.

#florence #//i need to redo my tags so I'm just gonna tag it with her name for now

olliejagermeister:

Any other time or place, there would’ve been a quip ready on Oliver’s lips about how he’s always doing something stupid, or how it would depend on Mark’s definition of stupid. But he couldn’t. Not this time. Not when it was becoming so painfully apparent how much of a toll it was taking on the younger man. Bowing his head slightly, Oliver leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“I did what I had to, Mark. For what… what I did, I had to make things right. I had to try. I owed her that much.” He answered. A weary sigh escaped him as he met Mark’s blazing gaze. After a beat, he added: “I would’ve done the same for any of you.” A low growl permeated the moment of quiet; for a second, Oliver thought it was Mark. A glance around the living room revealed it to be Oliver’s dog, Poe, growling at Mark. Strange. Oliver shushed the dog. “Not now, Poe. Go lie down.”

Mark had to swallow back his own snarl in Poe’s direction when the dog growled at him. He’d never had a reaction like that before. What was happening? He watched as Oliver shooed the dog before focusing back on their conversation.

“What you had to,” he trailed off and looked over his shoulder in the direction of what he knew was Izzy’s room. “And did it work? Whatever you did, is she...” he couldn’t even finish the question. Hope warred with rage as the pounding in his head increased. His eyes burned, not with tears but like they did when he had a fever. He ignored the pain, needing to know if Oliver was saying what he thought he was saying.

#oliver

olliejagermeister:

The venom in Mark’s words did not go unheard; it was the least Oliver deserved after…. well, everything ‘he’ did and everything else that happened. And after Mark had to be the one to figure it all out. Silently, he cursed Mal for pushing this off on Mark–and himself for not taking back the note after the unforeseen turn of events. Mal’s was a fury he could handle, one he had so many times in the past. But Mark was still so young, and probably the most innocent of the Howlers. He didn’t need any of this bullshit weighing down his shoulders. Nodding quietly, though, he acquiesced and stepped out of Mark’s way, allowing him into the apartment he’d come to know so well.

Oliver closed the door behind the other werewolf. His voice dropped, almost to a whisper, as he addressed his little brother again. God the kid looked like a spring wound so tight it was about to explode; with Izzy sleeping in the next room over, he really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “I, uh. Should’ve told Mal. There’s no need to check in anymore. I’ve got things covered over here…”

Mark looked slowly over the inside of the apartment like it was his first time ever stepping foot inside. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Everything felt so different now, he though, that things should look different too, but everything was just as he remembered it. He turned back to Oliver after his slow assessment of the room, his fists clenched by his sides. His nails bit into his palms as he tried to level his own voice out into something that wasn’t a scream or a howl. He’d never felt like this before, and he didn’t like it, especially not when it was aimed at the man who called him brother.

“Tell me you didn’t,” he paused, clenching his jaw tightly. Didn’t what, he wasn’t sure exactly, but there had to be a reason Oliver would ask anyone to look after Isidora. “Tell me you didn’t do something stupid,” he choked out finally. It almost sounded like a growl. His head was pounding with the effort it took not to yell.

#oliver #backdated #//or is his head pounding bc werewolf lol who know (me. I know)

olliejagermeister:

@onyour-markos

It had been days since Oliver made the deal with Mara, and the demon proved true to her word. Isidora was alive and well, though still a little groggy and coming back to herself after being… gone for so long. After reluctantly calling in a favor from the BL’s pack doctor, Camilla MacCready, she too gave Isidora a clean bill of health (and to Oliver, a very pointedly skeptical glare).

When he heard the sharp knock at the door, several scenarios played out at once: doc forgot something and came back for it, doc came back with her alpha to rain down… some kind of unnecessary hell, or the plague patrols finally arrived to make the rounds. He didn’t think he’d see Mark on the other side of the door… he didn’t think he’d see any of them again after–. Oliver undid the locks and yanked the door open.

“Hey bud,” He greeted a little too cheerfully. “What–what’re you doing here?”

Mark swore to himself as he knocked loudly on the door, a door he’d let himself into so many times before with the key Oliver had given him that knocking felt unnatural. It was like knocking to enter his own home, but this apartment wasn’t his and it was rude to enter someone’s home without warning when your intention was to be angry with them. And Mark was so angry. And, underneath all that anger, he was terrified.

The cheerful greeting he received did nothing to quell the heat he felt building inside. “Mal got your note and he called me,” he responded, unable to keep all of the bite out of his tone, despite his best efforts. He was still standing in the hallway, but he wasn’t sure this was a conversation to be had in the hallway. “Can I come in?”

#oliver #backdated #//one day we have to let these two be happy..... lol who am I kidding?

father-orion:

Orion smiled and held up a hand to tell the young man to pause his explaining. “There’s really no need to apologize, I’m not like those nuns from Sunday school who whack your knuckles with a ruler for not showing up to six-thirty Mass every morning.” He started walking towards this new person to greet him properly. “Each has their own unique relationship with the Lord, none closer or more special than another. If a friend you only see twice a year is late wishing you a happy birthday, you don’t get mad at them do you? Are they not still your friend?” Once he reached the back of the church, the priest extended a hand to shake. “I’m Father Orion. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to this house of God.”

Mark quieted as the priest held up his hand. There was something warm about this man, something welcoming that had been lacking the last time he had attended church. For some reason, he was reminded of the first time he'd ever seen his grandfather pray the rosary. He could still remember the peaceful feeling that had overcome him as he listened to the deep rumbling quality of his voice nearly singing the repetitive prayers. It was one of the first moments he felt truly at peace after his adoption.

Even without voicing his anxieties, the priest seemed able to read his mind. As the man voiced his exact situation, he found himself looking at the ground in shame, despite the words of forgiveness he was offered. He didn’t look back up until he placed his own hand into Orion’s, giving it a firm shake. “Thank you, Father,” he said. “I’m Mark.It’s been... a while since I was last here, and to be perfectly honest with you, I’m not sure why I came today.”

#c: orion #backdated #I'm so sorry this took so long

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