#because everyone looks so similar in such an artificial way... *shivers*

[theophagie-remade]

People with perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect body, perfect everything are so unattractive to me... Do they have anything actually going if the only thing that comes to mind to describe them is "well they're like a doll, I guess"

[clareguilty]

The Naked Thing

Hello! I was dying without air conditioning a few weeks ago and decided to make it Mando Smut Mandalorian/f!reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~2900

The Crest falls out of hyperspace too soon, and you go flying. Curling around Grogu in your arms, you twist in midair so that your back hits the console to avoid crushing him. A lever digs into your spine, and you curse loudly. That’s going to bruise. Oh well. What’s another?

“What the kriff, Mando?” you snarl. Grogu seems unbothered, blinking at you and probably learning way too many swear words for a child of his size.

Mando pulls himself off the control grid with a pained groan, helmet swiveling as he takes in the damage.

“The good news,” he begins after a moment, “is that we lost them.”

That is good news, you agree. You were lucky that the army of bounty hunters and ex-imps hadn’t kept track of you. If you had shaken them off your trail, then that would earn you a head start to a safer system.

“The bad news is that they shot out our hyperdrive.”

“Dank Farrik,” you curse again, then glance at Grogu. Maybe you should watch your mouth more?

“...And our temperature regulator and our heat shields.”

You decide that it is an appropriate time for as much foul language as you please.

“What does that mean?” you ask. You hadn’t grown up around ships -- spent the last dozen years on the same dead-end planet until Mando picked you up. The most you were good for was turning a knob or flipping a switch here and there. Usually you just kept an eye on Grogu while Mando did all the piloting and bounty hunting and whatnot.

“We’ll have to travel sublight, but we can’t land planet side because without the heat shields any atmosphere worth a damn would burn us up. Our only option is a New Republic Outpost. We’ll be able to land there, and we’ll be safe while they repair the Crest. I’ll chart us a course and let you know how long it should be.”

“You know,” you snap, “we wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t so scared of droids. If we had an astromech on board, then we could get the hyperdrive repaired without having to crawl our asses through deep space in the hopes that whoever picks us up doesn’t want us dead.”

Mando doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if your words meant anything at all to him because you can’t see shit behind his helmet. Huffing, you take Grogu down to the hold. Not long after, the engines fire up again.

It takes a few minutes to set in, but its quick enough to be noticeable. The ship is getting hotter. Like… unbearably warm.

You fill a canteen with water and make sure that you and Grogu are both hydrated. After a little bit of digging, you manage to find a portable air circulator. You and Grogu sit directly in front of the current, doing your best to keep cool.

Mando comes down after a little while, he cocks his helmet when he sees you.

“It’s hot,” you whine.

“The temperature regulator is shot too. We don’t have a way too cool the ship down or shield the heat of the engines.”

You sigh. “How long until we can get repairs?”

“34 hours. Will the kid be okay for that long?”

Grogu hasn’t outwardly complained about the heat, mostly just sitting in front of the circulator with his eyes closed and ears flapping, but you’ve been worried as well. “He’s kind of… amphibious,” you frown. “I’ll get him a basin of water to sit in and put him in the fresher with the circulator. That should keep him cooled off.”

Mando nods. “Thank you. Will you be okay?”

You shrug. There’s not much you can do. As long as you stay hydrated then you should be able to last 34 hours.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“For what?” All you’ve done is curse at him and berate him for not having an astromech droid.

“For looking out for him back there. You saved all of us with that droid popper. And the move with the cannon was impressive.”

You aren’t expecting genuine praise from Mando. It always felt as though you were dead weight to him. Through all the planets you’ve been on -- and been chased off of -- you’ve always felt useless.You can’t fly, you’re not the best shot, you can barely take care of his kid. It means a lot that he doesn’t actually hate you. 

“I’m starting to get the hang of this,” you grin. You had never considered yourself a hero or adventurer, but you had commandeered a cannon and shot down three imperial fighters.

“I’ll be up in the cockpit if you need anything. Just knock.” And he’s gone.

‘Knock’ means that Mando is probably going to take his helmet and armor off, which means you also get a few hours of total privacy. You set Grogu up in the fresher with a basin of water and the circulator -- though it pains you to give up the weak, artificial breeze.

It’s only gotten hotter, and your already filthy clothes are starting to became unbearable. You had gotten splashed with gore and grime and who knows what in your escape, and it wasn’t pairing well with the heat onboard.

Stripping out of your clothes, you sprawl naked on the metal floor. It’s dusty, but slightly cool, and you plaster as much of your skin to the durasteel as you can manage.

Time passes with you systematically rolling across the floor of the hold to try and keep from baking. It’s bearable only because you know there will be an end. As long as the ship keeps chugging along towards the space outpost, then you will be saved.

The hatch to the cockpit opens, and you leap to your feet. Mando clambers down, jumping when he sees you.

“You’re naked,” he raises his hands -- his bare hands -- and backs against the ladder.

“You’re naked.” you point.

“I have a helmet and pants on,” he says. But that’s all he has on. His chest and arms are bare, and it’s more skin than you’ve ever seen before on the man.

“I’ve never seen you out of your armor. That has got to be more scandalous than me being naked.”

You must have made a point, because Mando doesn’t respond. Instead, you both just kind of… stand there. You can’t tear your eyes away from his chest and from the angle his helmet is pointed it seems he’s having a similar issue.

“Did you, uh, need anything?” you finally manage to ask. Your mouth is dry, and you take another uncoordinated drink from the canteen, shivering as some of the water spills down your chest.

Mando coughs. “I just wanted to make sure the kid is okay.”

“Oh,” you turn to open the fresher door just a crack. You had checked on him just a few minutes ago, and he still seems fine. After a moment of pause, Mando comes up behind you and you can feel the heat of his skin against your back.

Grogu is asleep, curled up just in front of the circulator and the basin of water so that the cool air blows over him. The fresher is several degrees cooler than the rest of the ship, and while it feels amazing, you don’t want to let the heat in.

“I’m going to go back up now,” Mando says quickly, and then he’s gone through the hatch once again.

You resume your circuit of laying on the floor, but it feels like the ship is only getting hotter.

That’s when you take to banging on the hatch to the cockpit. “Mando, I’m going to kick your ass! You had better get us to that outpost or find a way too cool this ship down! I spent years on Tatooine, and this is the hottest I have ever been in my entire life!”

“I can cut the engines to stop generating any heat, but then we’ll just be coasting through empty space and we’ll never make it to the outpost.”

You huff. “At this point you should just freeze me in carbonite.”

Mando does not freeze you in carbonite, but you do eventually make it to the New Republic outpost. They give the three of you a small dorm and Mando arranges for the Razor Crest to be repaired. You don’t have any credits between you, so you wonder what he offers in exchange.

You toss your gear into the room and head out to get food for everyone. You always enjoy being in New Republic space. No one is out to murder you or imprison you. The officers are usually nicer. Everyone likes the Skywalkers.

A friendly droid loads you up with several plates of food, and you stop to check out the holonet broadcasts on your way back. Things in this corner of the galaxy are a little hectic -- something you just witnessed firsthand -- but its less gloomy than it used to be.

Mando is sitting on the lower bunk when you get back. He’s back in his full armor, but you can read his posture pretty well. Grogu is playing in the corner, levitating some rocks you had found for him a few planets back. You set the tray down, fully intending to take your portion and eat out in the hall or in one of the communal sitting rooms. Before you can even turn away, Mando has already grabbed a plate of food and tugged his helmet off.

“WOAH,” you raise your hands in front of your face, ducking your head before you can see too much. Curly hair. Tan skin. Moustache. If there is one thing you’ve learned, it’s that Mando doesn’t let anyone see him without his helmet. It’s a cultural thing, and you respect that. “What is with you being naked today?”

Your eyes are open, but very pointedly looking at a wall nowhere near him. He shifts for a moment, and you wait for some kind of explanation.

“Look,” he finally begins, “we’ve been through a lot together at this point. I’ve traveled with you longer than anyone since I was a foundling with the watch. You’ve saved my life as well as Grogu’s many times, and we just survived one hell of a fight. Not to mention, I saw, um, all of you today. I figure it’s only fair.”

You’re touched. It’s an honor that Mando trusts you enough to remove his helmet. For as long as you have been travelling together, you’ve assumed that you care for him far more than he cares for you. “You don’t have to,” you say. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I trust you,” he repeats.

You turn to face him. His eyes are so soft. Tired and kind and the warmest brown. He stares at you, taking you in for the first time with his own eyes and not the visor in his helmet. It’s unreasonably intimate considering he was staring at you naked with the helmet on just 16 hours before.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of cute?” you laugh and look away, smoothing your hands over your pants. There’s food in front of you, and you use that as a welcome distraction.

“I’ve never trusted anyone enough before now to see me.”

How can he just say things like that? You try to drown the rapid beating of your heart behind some kind of bitter vegetable.

Mando begins to eat as well, slowly and unsurely. He picks at a few different dishes before finally speaking again. “You’ve, uh- I mean… you’re beautiful as well.”

You laugh loudly at that. It’s so shy. This man had seen you overheated and completely naked lying on the floor of his ship. You roll your eyes and shoot him a wink. “Something you like in particular?”

Mando chokes, coughing for a minute before chugging down half a glass of green jelly juice. He finally regains his composure, but his voice is rough when he speaks again. “I’d say the best view was from behind.”

It’s the last thing you expect from him. He’s so shy and reserved and has always backed down from your defensive teasing. It’s a moment before you can pull yourself together. Still, you aren’t sure what to say. Instead, you cram some shredded raw crustacean in your mouth and hope you aren’t too flushed.

Mando offers to take the trays back. The dorm bathroom has a shower with running water and you intend to take full advantage. Grogu rolls a rock at your feet as you head into the bathroom, and you lightly kick it back to him. “Are you tired of putting up with us yet? You’ve been a baby longer than I’ve been alive. I bet we seem like idiots to you.”

Grogu, predictably, says nothing. He makes a raspberry noise with his lips and plops down into a sit.

The shower is one of the greatest gifts you’ve ever enjoyed in life. Hot water, high pressure, steam and soap. You take your time washing up and letting the jets work out all of the kinks in your muscles.

When you slide the stall door aside, Mando is standing at the sink. Helmetless. Shirtless.

He jumps slightly, staring at the floor as you step out of the shower. 

“We have got to stop doing this naked thing,” you say. It doesn’t actually bother you. You like that Mando trusts you, and you’ve never been shy about being naked around others, but he’s too attractive and it drives you nuts.

“I rather enjoy it,” he manages to pull his gaze from the floor to shoot you a wink. Your pulse speeds up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mando,” you step forward. You’re still steaming from the shower and dripping wet. He’s never been this cheeky before, and you kind of enjoy it.

His gaze darkens, eyebrows rasing. He reaches out to grab your waist, pulling you in and pinning you against the sink. You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours, leaning back as he crowds you against the basin.

“Grogu is napping,” he whispers.

“I think the shower will fit both of us,” you breathe.

He’s already working at the buckle of his pants, toeing out of his boots. You drag him back into the shower with you. The jets hit his back, and he melts a little. You wrap your hand around his cock, and he looks like he may collapse. His eyes flutter shut, one of his hands slamming against the wall by your head.

You lean in to brush your lips over his skin as you stroke his cock. You’d never even seen this man’s face before today, and now you’re kissing your way over his jaw and down his neck. His other hand grabs your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling you closer so your hips brush his.

Your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, and he shudders. It happens so fast, you didn’t know he had spun you around until your cheek is against the shower wall. His hands are glue to your hips, digging into your ass and pulling you to him so he can grind his cock against your slick skin.

“Please,” you whine. You haven’t had sex with anyone since you began travelling with Mando, and opportunities to get yourself off come few and far between with three of you on the Crest. You’re desperately horny, and you’ve wanted to fuck this man since you found him in that godforsaken desert.

He lines himself up and drives his hips forward, sinking into you with one solid thrust. You bite your forearm to muffle your moans, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch.

“You good?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. 

“Move,” you say, demanding but desperate.

It takes a moment to find leverage in the tiny -- smaller than you first assumed -- shower stall, but Mando begins to fuck you at a steady pace. You reach down to rub your clit, clenching around him. You’re going to finish quicker than you’re used to -- probably because you’ve been turned on since you saw Mando shirtless on the crest.

From the way Mando’s hips twitch and his rhythm falters, you guess that he’s close to coming as well.

His hands are everywhere. Your hips, your ass, trailing over your stomach and and reaching up to squeeze your breasts. His fingers brush your throat and you nearly come from the touch alone. He feels the way you tighten around his cock and places a hand on your neck, squeezing your jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

You come so hard your knees give out and your vision goes white. Mando keeps you from collapsing in a bruised heap on the shower floor by simply continuing to fuck you until he comes as well.

It’s not a lot of space, so you’re slumped together under the spray of the water. You manage to wipe yourself clean in a few swipes and stagger back out so Mando can actually wash up. He’s much quicker than you were, and he’s out of the shower by the time you’ve finished rubbing scented moisturizer over your skin. The New Republic sure knew how to treat their guests.

“I think we should definitely keep doing the naked thing,” he grins.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 109

Happy Spooptober, everyone!

I’ve been planning since about February to do another camping trip this month, for the season.  I was super fortunately back in May to have some stories left over to share, that I didn’t have the opportunity for last time.  So thanks go to @catolicabuena for your submission, and to @dierotenixe for the PERFECT character to add to this chapter.

As always, thanks go to @zazen-rabbit, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog for being the beta readers and cheering section I need every day, no matter what.

As a reward for the clear, focused argument Charly gave in favor of Shalt-kri’i/Ekomari hostilities being over cultural misunderstandings earned her a reward of her choice.  I don’t know what Arthur expected, but part of me expected her to ask him something like throwing the class a party, showing up to teach class in sparkly footie-pajamas.  Her response, instead, left me convinced there was a conspiracy between her, Conor, and other mysterious parties to keep track of the Terran holidays.

“It’s almost Halloween,” she immediately pointed out. 

How? How did she say that so certainly? I wasn’t even sure it was Friday.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Today’s Tuesday - “ See!? “Which means Halloween is just under two weeks away? I think?”

“Your guess is probably better than mine,” I admitted. “Between the extra long days, artificial light, and consistent temperatures, I have no idea anymore.”

“She’s spot on,” Tyche confirmed, without even looking up.  We were sitting in my living room, digging into ice cream while all the guys were at work.

“How - “ I sputtered. “How are y’all keeping track of this?”

Tyche rolled her eyes, while Charly snagged my wrist and shook it. When my datapad popped up, she gave me the deadest stare I had ever seen on her face. “There is a calendar on this thing. You do know that, right?”

My face and neck burned so hot, I was surprised my hair didn’t catch on fire. “I keep it on the daily view, so I can see all my appointments.”

“Which is why she has me and Alistair,” my sister pointed out lazily before scooping up another spoonful of dessert. “By the way, this pumpkin ice cream is pretty good.”

I nodded, having had a scoop earlier.  We had been trying every flavor we could think of.  

True to form, Charly’s was a screaming purple that honestly scared me, sprinkled with gummy bears and some kind of acid-green syrup. Every time she leaned my direction, I couldn’t repress the flinch. “Pumpkin is a good point. We should go camping again, and carve pumpkins.”

I could almost feel my ears pick up. “You mean like jack-o-lanterns?”

“Duhhhhh,” she scooped up a large enough bite to convince me it probably wasn’t toxic. “I know we can’t have open flames in the lab, but we can still put emitters in them.”

“Where are we even going to get pumpkins in time?” Neither woman would look at me. “What did y’all do?”  I sighed.

“We did nothing,” Tyche insisted, chin jutting out stubbornly. “Now Sam….”

An audible smack sounded when I dropped my forehead to my palm. “How big?”

Charly gave me the widest puppy-dog eyes she could. “How big are what?”

“The pumpkins…”

“Pretty big,” Tyche smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen even you carve any this big, honestly.”

I wasn’t a professional carver by any means, or even competitive, but I had done some pretty big ones in the past, so I was a little excited to see these.

 A couple nights later, sure enough, several of us were carrying our camping gear to the now-less-eerie clearing where our previous camping trip had taken place.  Even though Sam had decided not to join us, we were greeted by the sight of six enormous pumpkins around the edges of the space.  In awe, I approached one and ran my hand over it - I actually had to lift my hand, seeing as the thing came nearly up to my hips. “How long has he been growing these?” I asked.

“Just over three months?” Conor huffed, setting down our gear. “The things love our best guess of Von’s environment, turns out.”

“No shit,” I whispered before clearing my throat. “I don’t think we have large enough containers for the guts and everything in these.”  The deal with camping in the Lab was that we had to take out everything brought in with or for us.  While Grey agreed to allow the jack-o-lanterns to decorate the area for the next two weeks - ostensibly as a study of decomposition - if we couldn’t remove the waste from the pumpkins, we couldn’t carve them.

Something that felt like plastic beaned me in the face. While I rubbed my face, I glanced down at my feet where whatever-it-was fell. 

Maverick started apologizing before I could figure out what I was looking at. “Oh god, Sophia, I’m sorry! I meant to toss that on top of the pumpkin!”

With a joking scowl, I glanced at the vegetable between us. “How bad does your aim have to be to miss that thing?”

“Are you okay?”

“Only if you tell me what just hit me in the forehead?”  I tried leaning over to pick them up again, but Conor beat me to it.

“They’re composting bags,” Maverick admitted. “I brought them just in case. They were the only thing large enough and portable enough to at least get in here.”

“It looks like a roll of garbage bags,” Simon pointed out skeptically, poking the roll of pseudo-plastic Conor was holding.

Conor smiled and shrugged. “Pretty similar.”

Soon, we were spreading out and setting up our gear in  a familiar pattern. Just as the last bit of gear was stuffed into the tents or spread on the ground, Antoine’s head snapped up and over his shoulder. “Does anyone else hear that?”

Silence fell as we strained our ears to listen.  The others started looking around, searching for something, before I was able to actually catch what they were hearing.  Finally, I was able to hear what sounded like music, but it was in a minor key that sent shivers up my spine.  It was another minute or so before I could make out words drifting through the trees. 

“ -  a year, and then

A few weeks, doubled, and tripled again,

A fire was struck by a warrior’s band

Meant for food, warmth, and a place to stand”

“What the - “ Tyche started wandering toward the music, clearly expecting us to follow. “It’s beautiful, but so sad.”

Reluctantly, I followed, reminding myself that this was a lab, that the faerie ring we were standing in was manufactured as a prank.

 “Yet one bough too many was placed inside

The flames roared to life as they screamed and cried

Tore down the trees as the warriors fled

And only ceased by the river’s bed

 The warriors slain, charred skulls and bone

Have remained in the forest for years, alone

Yet a magic imbued in their ashen remains

That entered a child who hid in great pain”

 I glanced over my shoulder, and saw about half our group behind me, including - “Arthur, why do you have your sword?”

“Because it’s steel,” he shrugged, like that actually answered my question. “Which means it has iron in it, and we’re in space, so any fucked up space-fae might not know the difference.”

 “In order to warn those who may stay

In the trees embrace, and walk away

The girl reads the thoughts of those who stand

On the ashes of noses, bowels, and hands

 She sends them away with a haunted scream

That tears into souls with a power unseen

No one has entered who has not fled

Only to drown in the river’s bed”

 Because that line was reassuring as I realized we were getting toward the artificial lake. Totally want to hear about drowning in a river bed, on a Halloween camping trip, sang by a creepy voice I didn’t recognize.  A voice that we were steadily getting closer to, no less.

 “For what place is safer from fire and flame

Than the rushing of water, a power untamed

The danger evaded, the human is saved

As their lungs are filled with a liquid depraved

 To step foot in the forest is to invite death

For though the child has drawn their last breath…”

 Tyche came to a sudden stop, both hands abruptly on her hips.  She glanced back at me, one eyebrow arched, and twitched her head toward the lake.  The voice was incredibly close to us at this point, so I peeked past her as carefully as I could.

Even in the low light of the BioLab during simulated-night, I saw a bright gleam of silver trailing through the water, interrupted only by a thick, red-gold cable draped halfway down.

“Their soul remains as though chained to the ground,” Nixe smiled with her eyes as she wound the song to a close. “And they’ll tear you apart until you are drowned.”

“Very funny,” Tyche half-scolded. “You did that on purpose.”

A lazy flick of her tail accompanied a cool glance over the surface of the water. “Perhaps,” she replied calmly. “And perhaps not. I often swim at night. And I like to sing, it’s in my nature.”

“But a song about ghosts, and vengeance, and drowning?”

“I’m a siren, Administrator Reid.” A bright flash of teeth that my brain told me were sharper than I knew they were. “All of my songs are about love, and revenge, and how else do sirens take revenge?” Another lazy splash. “I can’t exactly burn people at a pyre.”

“I loved it!” Charly spoke up from behind me. “We’re camping for Halloween, so it was perfect!” I had to admit, at least to myself, that she had a point.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one. From over my shoulder, I heard Arthur murmur “Siren or not, you’re insane.” A brief pause. “But I love the spooky music…”

I couldn’t be certain that she heard the comment, but Nixe’s eyes suddenly snapped over my shoulder to the side where it sounded like Arthur was standing. “Iron has no effect on me, Educator,” she stated firmly, flicking her tail to make a point. “But I mean none of you any harm, so please put the blade away. One near-death experience is plenty, thank you.”

A metallic rasp told me Arthur had acquiesced. “Apologies, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Were it anyone else, you still wouldn’t need that sword.” She tilted her head. “I would be there first.”

“Okay!” I interrupted, trying to break the tension. “Nixe, we’re camping and carving pumpkins.  Did you want to join us?”

Another smile, this one less terrifying. “I appreciate the invitation, but I have plans tonight.  I do apologize for interrupting your evening.”

“We were just surprised,” Charly explained. “But it was beautiful and perfect and thank you!”

With a nod, Nixe turned her body toward the artificial lake. “I am glad the song was appreciated.  Good night.”

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[danddymaro]

A Dance Just For Two | PT.2

Previous : Just You

Word count : 2761

Pt. 2: Marshmallows

It was late by the time they had arrived home, actually a smidge past midnight.

So, of course, neither of the two would have expected to run into anyone. 

As far as (f/n) was aware of, Natasha was away on assignment.

 It was one she didn’t bother to disclose too much information on, which wasn't too much out of the ordinary because Nat never really revealed too much about where she was going, or what she’d do when she left.

It was always confidential, and everyone knew to not ask.

The redhead had left two days prior on a starless night, dressed in her form-fitting black uniform, leaving with nothing more than what was on her. 

And though she was strict about what she’d reveal about her missions, she did, however, offer a small smile, along with her goodbye as she usually did.

Clint Barton had long left, announcing his retirement with a tired and half-hearted smile following up the battle in Sokovia. Prioritizing his family was beyond anything else, and seeing the growing team, he decided it was a good moment to part ways.

And hell, (f/n) couldn't blame him, because if she had a family herself, she’d pick them over everything else in the world.

Bruce Banner was still MIA, his whereabouts being a mystery to everyone, and worry ensued for him.

He was a kind man with a heavy curse, one he had no control of, and the (h/c) haired young woman could only hope he found his way back soon, returning back home safe and sound. But for the moment, it seemed that he didn’t want to be found and it was clear as day.

It was also plainly obvious that his departure had its effect on a certain member, 

‘That’s probably why she keeps herself so busy now...’ (f/n) thought to herself with a touch of sadness.

Thor had also decided to part ways, his face filled with conflict as he bid his farewell, seeming to have too much on his mind to express.

Up to date, he hadn’t sent word back, and she wished there was a way to reach him, just to know if he was alright out there. (f/n) couldn’t even begin to imagine what things lay beyond the earth, what other threats the thunder god took care of alone. 

She could only hope that whatever dangers he encountered, they were no match for his might.

Wanda Maximoff had become an official member of the Avengers not long after the battle in Sokovia.

She grieved over the loss of her only kin, her hands empty as she realized she had nothing more left because everything she cared for had been there at her side until his final breath, bloodied on the battlefield.

However, Clint Barton assured her she had a place, that she could pull through because her young life was filled with promise. 

Every day since then, the young woman worked tirelessly to gain more control of her strange powers, learning ways to expand the manipulation of them she had access to.

Vision, who had also become a member after the events aided her, the two becoming a close pair soon after, an obvious attachment grown between them during the duration of time.

They went together like youth and inexperience, and in a sense, they represented the two sides perfectly.

The artificial being, though not requiring rest, would often partake in the falls of slumber, most often times around 10, finding it to be a reasonable hour, whereas Wanda was a toss between ten or three, with no real indicator to which she would lean to.

Either way, she stayed in her quarters, unbothered by the world outside.

Tony, of course, was someone else who stayed up late quite often, stuck in his laboratory doing things (f/n) would never come to understand because to put it plainly, she wasn't a whiz kid like he was. He stayed locked in the wide space, a dark roast of hot beverage chugged down excessively with frequency.

Heck, the man lived on coffee.

But she knew well enough it wasn't just the drink that had him up, it was much more that would haunt him, leaving him restless at night.

What was much more to leave him awake: Pepper’s absence.

What solace he’d find at her side at night went missing as she left.

“ A small business trip,” she said, to which everyone believed.

But then she didn’t return to the home, nor was she frequently shown at Stark's side like before.

She was still active as CEO of his company, something he’d never take from her, because all in all, she earned it. She was his successor despite any strain in their relationship, and (f/n) found it fitting.

(f/n) was close to Tony Stark, having grown a mutual fondness at first that grew into genuine feelings of love. And while she was certain they could speak about anything, Tony was someone that didn’t like bothering people with his own problems too.

Similar to her, he felt like a burden while opening his heart.

‘It would be nice if we could all just let go,’ She mused, ‘Let go of all the feelings that anchor us.’ She added, knowing that all of them had something that weighed them down.

Side glancing at the blonde beside her, (f/n) smiled softly, ‘ Would I be happier if I let you go?’ She wondered.

‘Or can I actually find a way to reach you, reaching happiness that way?’

The gentle warmth of the spacious room then spread all around her, smoothing her like a fluffy blanket, bringing her instant comfort, to the point of making a small moan of delight leave her to show her contentment.

Needless to say, it felt good to be home, and when she said that there was no place like home, she truly meant it. 

There truly was absolutely no place like the Avengers facility, and she would go so far as to admit that it was far better than the tower they had previously gathered within.

‘It’s perfect,’ she thought gleefully as a sweet, creamy scent wafted towards her, tickling her nose and making her mouth moist with desire for the teasing, traveling aroma, even if she wasn't quite sure what it was.

She couldn't pinpoint it, but it was somewhere there on the tip of her tongue, moreover, it made her feel giddy for some reason. 

And hidden in the background, being outshined by the visiting smell was a smokey wild cherry that was more recognizable and well known throughout the place.

The crisp “snip-snap” cracking sounds of the blazing fire in the room caught her attention, causing her to pull up a soft smile at the view, knowing that the lovely display was out again, spreading out warmth as well as the sweet, welcoming scent of Cherrywood.

‘Tony really outdoes himself.’ she thought to herself, gazing at the flames with fascination, watching the Amber-colored heat dance in mellow movements.

Though Stark might find improvement in the place, always running through the rest of the crew with new ideas, she thought the building in its entirety was just fine, perfect even.

She wasn't sure about everyone else, but that’s how she felt at least.

She felt that nothing needed to change as It felt like a true home, packed with people she loved.

Isn’t that what made home, well, home?

Love..?

As she swam in that thought, one particular man set himself off from the rest, just as he always did. 

Her (e/c) colored eyes peeked over to the said man to find him engrossed within the sight of the soothing fire, caught in thought, just as she had been a moment ago.

With sincere admittance, she'd have given anything to know what he was thinking, and what was much more, know if there was a part of his pondering that was about her.

The smile gracing his face as he watched the flames dance made her feel warm fuzz all over as she continued to observe him, the slightly dimmed lighting doing nothing but accenting the lovely edges of his features.

As if he wasn’t astonishingly handsome already.

“ looks real doesn’t it?” she commented, her voice sweet-sounding and soft as she airily spoke, making him turn his attention to her, snapping out of his light daze with her simple question.

 “I was just thinking that.” he said shaking his head. “ looks like someone lit a fire behind a glass window. And then the smell... it’s hard to believe it’s not real,” he added. “ Technology has gotten pretty crazy, I would have never imagined sitting down and warming up next to an imitation fireplace this realistic.” He admitted.

“I mean, yeah we had these, but not as convincing,” he explained.

“It's scary isn't it old man...” she said wiggling her fingers in front of him. “Technology is so scary,” she said adding tremor to her voice, continuing to giggle with glee as he stared at her flatly.

Raising an eyebrow at her with a teasing smirk growing, he waited for her to calm down more before speaking,

“ Oh...aren't you the one paranoid about that little movie?” he asked her, “ what was it...” he muttered to himself, humming, his right hand taking a light hold of his chin. “ Ah, Wall-e right? Robots are gonna take over the world and control it, right?” he asked her and she stopped laughing, piping down.

“ That was a kid's movie and you were paranoid about something like that, ” he said poking her cheek. “ So, I guess, technology is scary, ohhhh…” he said mimicking her earlier actions, taunting her with the same childish actions as she stared at him with a halfhearted glare.

“That wasn’t exactly it,” she told him.

Sure that little film gave her anxiety, but not for that very reason, 

“ Besides, if we're talking about that... I wasn't so far off…” she grumbled, referring to the incident with the ‘peacekeeper’ Ultron.

The entire ordeal had been a complete nightmare for her.

While, of course, Large, menacing, reptilian-like aliens would be something to fear, nothing really took the top off as much as psycho killer robots, but that was just her opinion.

She began to nibble on her left thumb’s nail as she recalled the event, all with a cold shiver.

“- Quit sucking your thumb,” Steve chided, chuckling as she instantly brought the entire hand down, her hand fisted to her side as she glared at him. 

“I wasn’t sucking on it!” she said with a short hiss as an exaggeration to the ‘s’ sound.

Ready to challenge her, Steve opened his mouth to speak, stopped by another masculine voice, 

“ Well, well, well, having fun alone you two?” Bucky said teasingly, finally catching the other two’s attention.

“Don't you two know how late it is?” he chided tisking, adding on a small chuckle.

His attention was trained over the counter as his back faced both (f/n) and Steve, not letting them see his true, troubled face.

“-Jealous?” Steve said raising a brow, quirking up a partial smile, mindlessly teasing his friend.

“Maybe…” Bucky huffed, “ I wasn't invited out after all.” Bucky replied bitterly.

“You know, my two friends decided to hang out without me.” he sighed, “ How could I not be?”

“ We were just out for a stroll,” (f/n) said rolling her eyes, “You're such a drama queen,” she added playfully.

In response, he hummed and turned around with two mugs of a hot beverage, pursing his lips as he looked off to the side, “I always have a comeback at hand,” he warned her, “ But being the grown-up here, I’ll keep them to myself,” he said while walking towards the two.

He then handed each of them their own cups, going back to retrieve his own.

Curious, she gazed down to see her kitty mug filled with hot cocoa, brimmed with small marshmallows.

With eagerness, she smelled the sweet aroma up close,

“ Oh, Hot cocoa ! “ she chirped joyously, giving the man a closed eye smile, absolutely joy-filled.

‘That’s what that smell was,’ She mused, 'It was right there,' She added, having been bothered by the fact that she couldn't name it off the bat, and by then feeling silly for not recognizing it.

Bucky’s smile broadened as he nodded while seeing her obvious excitement,

 “Yeah, I thought you guys would want some,” he told them. “ It's starting to get real chilly out there.” He pouted, not liking the cold.

He wasn't really a fan.

“Ohh, you even put the tiny marshmallows on it, “(f/n) muttered, “Whoa, A whole bunch of them,” she added with a grin, all while looking within the cup.

“Just how you like it, I remembered,” Bucky replied, watching her face bloom with happiness.

“Love you Buck, You’re the best,” she said looking up towards him in gratitude before she started to blow on her drink.

“ I only got two,” Steve said staring down at his hot chocolate, plainly glaring at it with a disappointed pout, because he couldn't help but feel robbed.

“There wasn't much to work with,” Bucky said shrugging, the words accompanied by a nervous laugh.

 “That’s all we had, I swear,” He added.

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve argued back flatly, “After you practically chucked the entire bag into (f/n)’s cup, you didn't have any left, right?” Steve replied with accusation.

(f/n)’s face heated up, taking a look at both cups with embarrassment.

“ I'm sorry Steve !” she said immediately. “ We can switch if you want,” she said frantically,

“Or I can just-”

Both men stared at her with amusement, Bucky being the first to laugh, shaking his head as he spoke,

“That’s cute,” he muttered.

“ Its alright doll, no need,” Steve said shaking his head. “I'm just teasing!” he exclaimed, calming her down. “Seriously,” he added.

 “ I wouldn't get so worked up over some marshmallows,” he assured her.

“And Besides, I know Bucky here made that especially for you,” he said smiling knowingly with a grin, denying taking any contents from the cup in her hands as he lifted up his free hand in a stopping motion.

“He likes to play favorites between the two of us. I’ve gotten used to it anyway,” he added.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” (f/n) said sheepishly, not believing him.

“No, I do,” Barnes said with certainty, his upfront admittance making her keep her eyes down to her drink,

��Oh Bucky,’ She thought with a smile, shaking her head at his response, not sure if he meant it, or said it just to be a tease.

After taking a sip, she looked back towards Bucky, her eyes full of gratitude and amusement,

“At least you made some for yourself, “ she said with relief to which he shook his head,

“Nah,” he replied, making her stop drinking.

“ You didn’t make some for yourself?" She asked him, and shaking his head again, he answered her, “Nah, but it's fine.” He said with a dismissive wave.

“But wait what’s that in your hand,” she asked, pointing her finger towards his cup.

“Water,” he replied, “ I only realized afterward that I only made enough for two, but again, it’s fine,” He assured her, putting it down on the closest surface to him.

“Oh Bucky,” she said sighing, walking closer to him and leaving Steve's side altogether.

She took one of his hands, the warm flesh one, raising it up to touch the steamy mug in her hand. She pressed it there beneath hers as she gave him a small smile. “ Here, “ she told him, her hold loosening to let him take hold of the drink.

“But It’s for you,” he reminded her, being quick to return it, doing the same as she had by holding her hand to the mug,

“Really,” he said sweetly, begging her with his eyes.

" Half and half ?" She suggested, not willing to let it go.

"That's the closest I'm getting to winning, huh?" He asked her with defeat, and nodding (f/n) agreed, "Pretty much," she said, having gone unbeaten up to date, getting the last say.

'Only because it's you.

Only because you're so sweet.

Only because I love you so damn much,' The dark-haired man thought with a soft smile.

Bucky caved, the three people enjoying the warm drink as they talked, letting the night take its course.

Next : Little Smooch

[felixnation]

THE TOP 10 WORST KPOP SONGS OF 2020

(WARNING: I DON’T LIKE THESE SONGS AND WILL BE MEAN AT THEM. I DO NOT HAVE ANY PERSONAL BEEF WITH ANY OF THESE GROUPS OR ARTISTS SO DON’T COME FOR ME IF YOUR FAVE MADE A STINKER TRACK THIS YEAR.)

Ah, 2020. The year where disco came back, the 80s came back, and everyone was titling their songs after nonsense words. It was a good year for k-pop overall, with a lot of new trends entering the game towards the end of summer. However, there were some real clunkers that refused to get out of my head this quarantine and pissed me off to varying degrees each time I heard them. This list is an attempt to chronicle all of those.

So without further ado, let’s get this shit done.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

NCT 127 - PUNCH This isn't actually a bad song, hence it only making it to the honorable mentions section. In fact, I think this could've easily made the best list had it not been for one thing, and that's the presence of NCT 127, namely their rap line. The instrumental on this thing is absolutely killer and one of the best productions to come out of SM in a long time. The entire thing is bizarrely structured and incredibly gutsy, and therefore I think it's a travesty that an instrumental this incredible was drowned in ASMR-esque whispers and EYYYY WE BALLINs. There are a few salvageable sections, namely the first post-chorus, and we see glimmers of NCT 127's true potential, should they choose to explore this sound further.

CIGNATURE - NUN NU NAN NA Similar to Punch, I admire the production choices here - there are a few sections that blast you with 100gecs-esque womps, and that's always something I enjoy. The vast majority of the song rarely dips below decent territory, but since the entire thing hinges on the titular hook, it ends up falling apart right when it needs to bring the hype the most. I mean, building a hook around those notes was...an interesting choice, I guess. It reminds me a lot of fromis_9's FUN!, which also constructed the entire song around a terrible set of notes. Listen to them yell that hook at you and tell me it doesn't sound off. Most frustrating song of 2020.

ONG SEONG WU - GRAVITY Have you ever heard a drop this weak? I sure haven't. I hate the way he says DIVING INTO YOUR LOVE, the over-enunciation kills me and there's one syllable too many. Also, thanks Ong Seong Wu for giving CRAVITY the promo they deserve.

BTS - FLY TO MY ROOM I can't relax while listening to this, the beat is so sparse and has this nauseous sway to it that really makes me feel like I'm reliving these past 9 months of quarantine all over again. And just like quarantine, it really feels like this goddamn thing never ends. That final set of choruses is really a chore to get through, and I'm not the only one who thinks so - shout out to Taehyung for serving taste and I'm sorry Jimin convinced you to sing out of your natural range yet again.

TREASURE - MMM Ew.

I*ZONE - FIESTA It's a pretty standard girl group song up until that chorus hits and oh my god, who on earth produced this? Are they actively trying to trigger my psychosis? There are so many sounds happening that it feels like three or four demo tracks laid on top of each other, it makes me confused even trying to figure out what's going on here. And that post-chorus drop is horrendous, it's like the instrumental is literally screaming into my ear STREAM BLOOM*IZ!!! STREAM BLOOM*IZ YOU DUMB CUCK!!! YOU LOVE IT!!!

NOW FOR THE REAL LIST.

#10: TAEYEON - HAPPY

I do not like this. Taeyeon has one of the most powerful voices in the industry and instead of putting it to good use, she decided to put out the musical equivalent of eating a stick of butter. Bland, horrible texture, seems to go on forever and ever, you know you shouldn't be consuming it and you don't know why you're doing this to yourself, etc.

The MV contributed to my dislike, with Taeyeon whitewashed all the way into uncanny valley as she lounges around her beautiful apartment. Well of course you'd be happy if you lived in a place like that, I know I would. The sad thing is that there's some really nice vocal work here and there, but for the majority of the song, Taeyeon decides to serenade us in the most nasal tone that she can muster. I know she can sing better than this, and I'm disappointed in her for creating this and unleashing it on the world.

#9: WEKI MEKI - OOPSY

Whereas Picky Picky was annoying in the best way possible, Oopsy is annoying in the worst way possible. The instrumental legitimately sounds cheap, the drums sound so tinny and artificial that it's hard on the ears. Not to mention the hook, wherein the girls force their voices as high as they can go as they proclaim OOPSY! 

I'm a huge fan of cute concepts, but when it comes to putting out a high-energy sugary track like this, you're walking a fine line between adorable and irritating. Weki Meki didn't even try to walk the line, they just dove headfirst into irritating territory without a care in the world. It literally feels like the audio equivalent of having to hold a whiny toddler and then it pisses itself and the mom is just cooing about how her little darling made an oopsy.

#8: VICTON - MAYDAY

It feels like for most of the year, the vast majority of boy groups were stuck in a rut, knee-deep in sludgy EDM and leather harnesses. You know the songs I'm talking about, and I could've put any one of them here, but I chose this one purely because that chorus makes me feel like I have a concussion. I don't like this song nor the trend it's representative of - I spent most of quarantine having the same dark BG concepts thrown at me over and over and I'm glad things are starting to take a bit of a turn.

The bridge on this is actually pretty great, and the guys in VICTON do know how to sing, as can be seen in the final post-chorus. But man, there's just nothing fresh being brought to the table here, just the same stale trends in their worst form yet. The hook is so slow and drowsy, the same few notes just repeated over and over. I have not seen the MV because I feel like I can picture it well enough in my head just by listening. Are there harnesses? Don't forget those, boys.

#7: MCND - SPRING

Only Pentagon are allowed to do these concepts.

#6: HYO, LOOPY, SOYEON - DESSERT

This is genuinely unlistenable as soon as the drop hits, with a vocal stitching job that might be a horn synth, I'm not sure. That's how annoying it is. The producer is clearly incompetent and the performers are oozing with personality, though not the pleasant sort. The hook is  bratty and the raps here are beyond generic. After the halfway point, there are a couple interesting sounds thrown into the mix, but it's not enough to save things.   

Soyeon in particular sounds awful here, with her iconic nasally tone morphing into something genuinely irritating and borderline spiteful. Age up the toddler from the Oopsy comparison to around 7 or 8 and that's basically what you've got here. All I can hope is that this song is not influential in any way, shape or form, because I just had a vision of Blackpink imitating this production style and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

#5: SECRET NUMBER - WHO DIS?

I'm not sure how many Secret Number fans are out there, but I'm about to make all of em real mad at me right about now. However, it must be said.

This is basically Your Turn by Kaachi again.

I don't think I need to explain that hot take, just listen to the song. It's surprisingly amateurish, to the point where I feel like the vocals aren't in sync and they just used the first take they got from each girl. The raps in particular are awful, and I swear they even sound like they go off-key a couple of times. How this blew up in any aspect is bizarre to me. Anyways, stream Photo Magic and stan Kaachi.

#4: BAEKHYUN - CANDY

Did you want a k-pop version of Yummy by Justin Bieber? No? Well, Baekhyun decided to make it anyways! At least Yummy was sort of funny in how bad it is, this is just...a somber affair. Inexplicably, he manages to oversing the final third of the song, which I don't get the point of, but okay. Lazy, underproduced and overproduced at the same time, bland, boring, annoying...

Wait, did he just say...

Okay, I changed my mind, this is hysterical. Like Pop rocks, strawberry, bubble gum...

#3: (G)-IDLE - DUMDI DUMDI

I'm so sick of this group's 'ethnic' schtick, it's like they never learn. They just don't give a fuck - after a string of genuinely great tracks like Hann, Lion, and Oh My God, they just decide to put out this shit and expect me to listen to it? They're a group with a lot of potential, with some brilliant vocalists and the talent that is Soyeon (who really loves being on this list, apparently) but if they continue down the path of using different cultures as concepts I can't support them any further.

The song itself has salvageable parts, a recurring theme on this list, but the over-the-top tribal influences are so obvious and tropey that even listening to it feels gross. (G)-Idle have more creative control than most groups, and the fact that they're capable of creating works of art like Lion is what makes me harsh on them. Instead of moving forward, they continue to regress into their comfort zone of cultural appropriation.

#2 YOOA - BON VOYAGE

Speaking of cultural appropriation...are we gonna address this? Nah? Okay.

Oh My Girl, YooA's parent group, has a history of blatant cultural appropriation (and arguably some legit racist moments depending on how you look at it) and they seem like they're not changing anytime soon. That's why this particular song stings even more than it probably should. If you thought Dumdi Dumdi's tribal influences were a little too on the nose, take a listen to this chorus.

YooA has a bad voice, is wearing tribal face paint, and is running around the wilderness whitewashed into oblivion while a choir of nameless voices chant vaguely tribal things behind her. Even in an industry like k-pop, this sticks out as something in bafflingly poor taste, and I can't see how she got away with this in 2020.

#1 BLACKPINK & SELENA GOMEZ - ICE CREAM

Well, this is a predictable pick. 

I don't know why or how Blackpink thought they could get away with drip-feeding blinks content for 4 goddamn years in the lead-up to their first album, only to drop this big fat clunker on them. I honestly felt insulted by the song, from its cheap, tinny production to the god-awful lyrics. I don't know how anyone could find any value in a piece of music this soulless and hollow.

Lisa's raps are by far the worst part of it, with FIRE BARS such as "you're the one been chosen, play the part like moses" and "mona lisa kinda lisa". Unfortunately, these raps take up a good portion of the song, and there's nothing going on in the instrumental to distract you from them, save for that little ice cream truck jingle. (or at least I think that's what the producer was going for)

Selena is a non-presence and essentially blends in with the girls, who WAIL that awful hook like their lives depend on it. Also, there's some really cheesy innuendos here that're sung with all the sex appeal of the actual ice cream truck driver from literally your neighborhood. 

I loathe what this song represents - the only good thing about it is that the girls look stunning in the MV. And that's exactly the thing - this song represents the exact moment in time wherein Blackpink admitted to their audience that music is no longer their main focus. This is the peak of their influencer-ization, and only time will tell if they'll redeem themselves. (Spoiler: They sort of did, goddammit.)

[ashenburst]

Far Goes The Farrago, Chapter 1 - A Sound Little Betrayal

First chapter of my WIP because I have nothing else to post. *auctioneer voice* AND HERE WE HAVE A STEAMING HOT STORY ABOUT DEMONS, MURDER, EXISTENTIALISM AND FRIENDSHIP, COMING FROM A SEASONED FANFICTION WRITER! 

Consider this a psychological Fantasy, eh? The blurb should be:

It is a tale of the unknown hero or the greatest villain: he who has forgiven the devil. But long before seeing his epilogue come true, Ulrich started off as an entirely different person: a fake hero, some unfulfilled hope, tightly promised failure. His inner demons were yet to be brutalized by the outer ones. Briefly put, this is a story set in a foreign world, delving deep into supernatural activities, all of which are slowly dying and being prohibited by humans. Ulrich is an arbiter, one of those who are trained to bring out that prohibition. As many good men, he is distraught by unjust fate. To battle it and prove his good, he must resort to nefarious ways and gather a wicked company to his aid. No training could've possibly prepared him for the inhumane adventure that awaits, orchestrated by none other than the Devil himself.

Very excited to offer this chapter to you :3 more is published on Wattpad, and the best version + some additional content is on my Patreon!

We always seek greatness in others, never in ourselves. A fact so true and firm, known to Ulrich, and yet, he fled from himself.

Where to? It didn’t really matter. The goal was reverse – not to run to, but to run away.

Heaviest sentiments sought a compensation. If the mind were so busy processing them, then surely, other stimuli needed to be deafened. It was the subconscious who stilled Ulrich so; he’d been pacing, insolently small and scared in the vast crowd, and in some vacant moment of clarity, he found it, his very own hyperfixation. A critter perched on top of a stool, quaint and big. How come he hadn’t noticed it? Was it because it looked like décor – or was it because of his own disregard for… everything? He should’ve laughed.

Nevertheless, he neared. It didn’t move much, just a stare here and there, swing of the head from one side to the other. Nobody else but Ulrich seemed to pay it any attention, which provided him with some privacy, or even better, intimacy. The best kind of it at that: the one where the other party wasn’t even existent.

When meeting a future acquaintance, Ulrich knew how to behave. Do the dreaded handshake, and fortify it with a sure stare in the eye. He had no trouble doing those, despite his somewhat reserved nature. Strangely, the problem was still in him, or on him, to be exact.

Years ago, he had read, then distinctly remembered, some author’s words, lamenting about fair eyes of “unruly ice, turquoise waters hungering and withering in the cold” – and upon the reminder of his own sharp gaze, never fair, forever protruding, every reflection would be scowled at; for in there, grew a pair of icicles jabbing at the souls of the seen. He wished for a softer look, overflowing with docile colors, but alas, he could not break the ice. Perhaps others would imagine what hid beneath, as they were, easily, far less tender than Ulrich in their living.

But here? This was a perplexing community. Ignorant and invasive all the same. The overlapping presences were enough of a distress on their own.

On the other hand, the bird… the parrot? It lacked reason, therefore, of course it wouldn’t be affected. It wasn’t affected by almost anything at all, since, well, despite the commotion, it barely moved.

He stepped closer, and it didn’t react. He took yet another step, and it barely moved in its humble residence. Just a tiny, tiny, parrot step. It was nothing compared to Ulrich’s – and it placed him so near the parrot that he might as well be intruding its simplistic home.

Out of all the places on this bird to aim his interest at, he picked an unconventional one to be shot. Ulrich had the opportunity to indulge in its eyes, without noticing his own. Inside awaited a wondrous resort, ripe for his imagination to sow, his scythe that of ardent focus.

The salon and its decadence were flooded with black. Saturated crowds drowned in mute darkness. Dry luxury too suddenly dipped into those murky ponds, pleasantly distant – finally modest. With Ulrich’s anxiety at its staggering peak, the predicament was clear. It was high time the world sank.

It was a damp place, inert and peaceful. Just like all that was good, the universe could never sustain it.

In an instant, death. Ponds fluttered, wise eyes turned primitive, and Ulrich was woken up from the stare, by a stare. Beady eyes mirrored it all, for Ulrich to see: a harmless shadow of reality, where nothing could impact, nothing mattered. He was yearning to slip inside, stay inside, cocooned in reflections. It was much easier than confronting the world – and equally as impossible.

It should’ve been simple. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he’d escape. Black would overwhelm, and in it, he would find everything and anything. It was both the martyr and the cornerstone of consciousness! The provenance of dreams, the dear night’s shroud! And, and in Ulrich’s exceptional case, it was a savior, just a day old. It was black who gave him life!

Yet, this black… it was different. It noticed, it moved, but, but it stared and shivered, and – enlarged. Feathers puffed, head bobbed. Ulrich’s fascination then renamed itself: unease.

The grandiose parrot was no longer as restful. As it shook its great head, feathers in a scarce crest swayed like artificial rods, limp and long, quite – unnatural.

To make it even more terrifying, it was of morphology immense, dark like drowse, cheeks skinned red. There was a budding tongue in that twisted beak, pointed exactly at him as it opened the mouth wide –

Then screeched with a ripping pitch and opened its massive, unexpectedly massive wings.

It startled him. His heart got chased into his throat. He screeched back, and fell back, landing on something rather soft and still. As someone who had horrid experience with bumping into people, Ulrich immediately recognized his fault. He hopped away to face the victim of his fall.

And the victim, well… despite his face being largely covered with a beard, his sentiments were clear. Dour in both bearing and expression, the man had been preparing for a relentless lecture. Ulrich was in the midst of mental preparations too, ready to apologize in a plethora of sorries, but… by the looks of it, he didn’t have to. Although he barely looked at this mountain of a man, he saw, clearly, a drastic shift in expression, from utmost gloom to total glee.

And this person, this once outraged fellow, now hollered at Ulrich as if he were dearest family,

“The heart of the celebration himself! The savior of the Hartschnapps! Ernst Sondermann!”

Ulrich’s fake name resonated throughout the crowd, spoken with such vigor, such elation, it might as well come off as laughter to some faraway folk. Wonderful, how everyone took it for granted – a mere name, more of a nickname.

And it was the right one! It was not false, it was fake – and the very black that saved Ulrich also scarred his cursed pseudonym, rendered it a seething wound, something his frail soul could barely tolerate.

Now he was reminded of his misplaced fame and glory, the precursor of this entire gathering, the consequence of black. Despite the man’s happiness in tone, Ulrich perceived it as the worst scolding, and felt accordingly.

But he couldn’t show it to anyone, ruin this entire ordeal by heroically abandoning his heroism. He had to play along, and his act was poorly executed. In contrast, his shrill laugh could easily pass as a pitched sob.

What did not help was the fact he was stared at by manifold.

He said his sorry, blurted out some diminutions, and continued down the trail, somewhere off – and he knew, he delved deep into words of nonsense, and at some point, he halted, finally meeting the heavy gaze of the man. He was waiting, so, in other words, Ulrich…

Ulrich was not interrupted. He was waited for, and he was esteemed. Something otherwise appreciated, and on this instance, incredibly awkward.

“Lastly, I believe we can infer that this was a poorly woven accident,” he tried to conclude, clasping his hands together. A blink at them, then a blink back at the man – he was too uncomfortable to keep the polite stare one would expect in a conversation.

And what he got was another speech of joy and honor.

“Poorly woven yet perfect for the occasion!” This man tapped forcefully with his engraved cane, emphasizing his oncoming words. “I wouldn’t have dared to approach you by myself, mister Sondermann! Never! But fate has brought us together, and I am honored to be bestowed even with the opportunity to meet you. Indeed.”

He finished with a brisk nod and some twitch in his beard. It must’ve been a smirk, short-lived one. Ulrich had stacked some fancy words for a similar response, but was now, surprisingly, overwhelmed. The man insisted on approaching him, taking over the conversation.

All Ulrich got was a handshake and many, many words of assurance, none of them important. Some long name, he heard – why did the people of Aurun assign such dreadfully complex names? Even if Ulrich managed to remember those (a feat of its own), greater length meant more room for mistakes.

This man, he said he was… Titus Augustine Donao? Ulrich just smiled to it. It was revolting, the amount of times confusion was the cause of his smile. That was all he could do, for mister Donao took over. Suddenly, the world revolved around him, his pleasure and his reputation and his lovely newspapers. Ulrich could barely keep track of it, especially with the constant smacking of the cane against the floor, but he somehow survived. Shaking, perhaps, but he made it.

As soon as he realized the chatter was reaching its end, he felt his mood lighten, and as soon as its end came, he dashed away from the stressors, the damned rich folk, and their blatant hapless extravagance.

Looking for a proper place to hide, Ulrich retreated himself away from the lower section of the hall, almost running up the few stairs, down the pristine marble floor, to reach the bar – the spot where he would not only sit to rest, but also be left alone. No parrots to scare him, no people to condemn him with their praise.

The salon was enormous, fitting for the occasion. It took him a dangerous lot of footsteps to reach his goal. Ulrich already met the major and similarly influential people in this huge complex – he had expected them to show up. What he did not expect was a celebration of this scale, solely in his honor. There was a grand hall, in whose corner he found the parrot, and away from it, there was a bar and a secluded dining area, where, as he spotted, some fine gentlemen played cards in peace. He had no intention of joining them.

But the bar, the bar was lovely. Dim lights provided a seclusion of sorts, and as far as the line of the bar stretched, almost none sat there. Ulrich occupied the most distant stool, ordered tea. Peppermint, of course, he told the barista.

He was unnaturally overjoyed by the fact that he was alone. Nobody wanted to bother a poor duckling like him, despite being in his uniform – it couldn’t compare to the excess in aesthetic every single person showed. He didn’t stand out, and although he was embarrassed of it at first, it proved to be his salvation. He blended in with his inferiority.

He wasn’t even sure how much he wanted to be noticed by them. The wild crowd, everyone pretending to be his friend for a minute, then storming off elsewhere for a similar verbal parade. They were all the same. fake, just like him with his fame and merit.

Ulrich dropped onto the bar’s smooth, cold, so pleasantly cold surface. Brown marble. Could’ve been polished wood, but in Aurun’s fashion, it had to be marble. Cold, hard and soulless. Perfect footing for his heavy soul.

That… that mister, the last one he had met, Titus Donao, who he had fallen on… he was the last drop in Ulrich’s sullen ocean. A shameless narcissist, just like the rest of them, startling him in a startle, and then… simply, fulfilling the duty of being good.

Ulrich did not blame him. He did not blame the parrot, or anyone else. He blamed himself for allowing the fanfare to flare this long. It would be perfect, if he could just… extinguish it in peace. Make everyone forget and go home.

He could’ve done it, but he didn’t, cowardly. And he believed he deserved some escapisms, then? Despite him hiding the great truth? He deserved to dream of a better self?

No, not in the least. But that would happen! Inevitably, his career would advance, due to his “success”. He was becoming famous. He had no idea what it brought to his life, and knew it took away one thing: peace.

His tea arrived and he sipped on it. Such a lullaby for the senses.

Sadly, they picked on something… revolting. An odd gent sat by his side. Ulrich wouldn’t like to call it pessimism, but he knew this man would talk to him. Thus, he peeked, more of a precaution than curiosity, and noticed, firstly, a long face, acute and sleek in every manner. Then the clothing, plenty of browns complimenting each other to form a rather tame suit.

What attracted Ulrich’s attention the most was elsewhere. A silly hat of brown leather was slouched on this person’s head, and as if stuffed with fresh wheat, many pale strands escaped it, all unkempt, wild and independent. Even his ear was hidden underneath that mess.

Then came the side peer of yellow, a glisten like few Ulrich had encountered in his brief life. It was entrancing, but it could not last, simply because: two peers met. The discussion had to be struck.

It wasn’t something one would expect – a riveting conversation all at once, skipping the formalities and small talk, and resorting to something bigger, truthfully engaging. Somehow, fates clashed, and what Ulrich got was exactly the unexpected.

Spoken by the stranger was a mystery anyone would long for. An oddity, some romantic subtext in poetry, where the meaning had to be dug out and felt by each heart. Not in many instances in life could the heart be brought to such use, but this… this one, it necessitated wonder.

All strangers had one talent in common, that being: bizarreness. Not one person would be more qualified for a miracle than a stranger. The tool of this one was a gentle voice, and it inquired,

“It’s nice, isn’t it, this place? Doesn’t feel real.”

Neither did his statement. Ulrich took the liberty to stare. He knew he mustered one of those sorrowful faces, but he did not, by all means, feel sad – he was simply invested. Although few in number, they were the heaviest words to land on his eardrums.

“Much like a dream,” he replied with a slow nod.

A small curve appeared on the stranger’s lips – amusement, and in the very next moment a bow of the head to hide it. “If this is your dream, then your nightmares must be competing with Hell,” was how he estimated Ulrich, and he was right.

Ulrich’s brows went upwards. He was shocked, pleasantly, to find out someone could relate – not only relate, but… approach him in such a peculiar manner. Now abysmally curious, he asked, just to get him to talk, “And you would know?”

The blond did not answer for a bit. “Nobody would.” How distasteful, coming from such a captivating apparition. Ulrich was not disappointed. This event alone was, he knew, insignificant, and yet, something his memory would cradle for years.

He decided a smooth way out, a compromise, “To each his own Hell, then.” Ulrich lifted his glass both as reconciliation and a late greeting.

This man had no glass to greet back, but he managed. He acted as if he had one of air, greeted back with it and, how generously, showed a semblance of a smile. Ulrich let out the most honest laugh this eve had heard.

The stranger offered him a hand, and he accepted, albeit hesitantly. After performing the handshake above his drink, Ulrich had introduced himself – a stupid custom, as the stranger pointed out afterwards.

“Everyone knows you.” He retracted his hand from Ulrich’s formally gloved one. “But you won’t know anyone. You’ll forget us all, all of our jolly faces and names. But that’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Ulrich couldn’t disagree, but the vanity, the wisdom, the straightforward mannerism of this man! It rendered him speechless, but he knew, he wanted to talk, he needed to say something so more could be told, but…

He was left without a clue. Previous agitation did not help in the least, so, not knowing what else to do, he resorted to honesty.

“You are terribly correct, sir. I am both glad and ashamed the truth resonates within you too.”

“It resonates within everyone! But they ignore it, it’s too much for their crammed hearts,” he replied with newfound vigor. He then turned on his stool, arm spread towards the people and their vain heads, to reintroduce Ulrich to the setting.

“And it’s their souls you want to protect?”

It was no disapproval. Ulrich was surprised to find pity on his pallid face.

“It’s an arbiter’s duty,” he mumbled, “and my humble wish.” Taking a sip from his tea, he listened to the blond’s retaliation.

“So, you love them? The people?”

Ulrich set the cup down. “I don’t have to love them. I just believe that… every man deserves good –”

But he was immediately cut off with, “Don’t you hear the venom in that hall? Is that where you wanted to pour your heart out? Who you wanted to shiver with and be loved by?”

What could Ulrich say? “So long good is not betrayed, I will stand by it, and I will offer it to all. It can’t do any harm.” He looked away. “And I won’t suffer either. I understand the bad sides of man. I stray from them, should they prove… dangerous. And those people, who you claim to be… venomous?” Then he too pointed at the crowd. “Perhaps all they need is an antidote.”

The blond had a shift in expression, from aggressive focus to blandness. “Then you’re better than I thought. A shame.”

He tapped his own hat and left Ulrich. No goodbye, no wave, no glance, no nothing. The stranger remained that: a stranger. Ulrich was left with a somewhat bitter tinge on his tongue.

The person left to the area where cards were played; so be it. Ulrich looked down to his tea. The aroma tempted him to calmness.

He rubbed his hands. The tea, the slight tiredness, they all seemed like a proper invite to sleep. He certainly felt so, but on the other hand… his thoughts couldn’t settle. This interaction in particular stunned him, and with every gentle sip, he would realize that, indeed, it stunned him, yet he couldn’t make out much of it.

Mere minutes passed, and an alarming scream shook his frame. Shouts of confusion followed, stomps of footsteps and chairs scraping, and forcefully, Ulrich had his attention averted towards the ruckus

He caught glimpse of cards flying around, people gathering. In the midst of it all, a man writhing on the floor. Shadowed was his spotlight by the concerned crowd, and he stole the show with an act so blatantly desperate: shrieks and tosses and turns, as if it were a matter of life or death.

The thick fence of people allowed Ulrich not to thoroughly examine the star. It was only after the imbalance that the cause of it all was revealed. The people supported him, as he slowly rose, only to reveal –

The blond stranger, his face disfigured in pain, certainly a sight unpleasant. Huffs and violent hacks fell all around him, while his curled-up form barely held its ground. His hands, he was clutching his own hands, holding them on his chest – but why? What had happened?

Pulled by natural magnetism, Ulrich abandoned his seat, hesitant to delve into this trouble… and yet, firmly affirmed that he couldn’t leave it at that. It was too strange, too unsettling, even for his senses – let alone his mind. The stranger hadn’t yet betrayed his good will, after all.

Before he managed to, however, a demand struck him in his tracks.

“A word, if you’re available, sir.”

Ulrich whipped his head around to be met with a tall woman. Hers was a magnificent mane of hair, curly and potent, much like a dark halo. It framed a stern brown face, unforgiving and cold in her grey eyes.

He had to stop and stare. Just a moment, and he got back to his senses. There was a more severe situation going on.

“This man, have you seen –”

She spoke, her voice that of trained authority, “I have. There’s nothing you can do, unless you possess supernatural means to aid.”

Ulrich was a little startled. This lady, firm in her composure and speech, she wasn’t… quite the sort he was used to. She didn’t act around and sweeten her words – no, they remained monotone and overbearing. Swallowing, he tried to shoo his heart away from his throat.

“Then… absolutely,” Ulrich murmured and offered his hand once he had his posture straightened. She squeezed it straight away, and – what the hell?! Her grip was too firm and short-lasting, and way too painful for Ulrich’s liking. He could feel his bones rub against each other!

He stared down to his hand, taken aback by pulsating pain that remained. But the woman didn’t seem to notice.

“My name is Maria Merkator,” she introduced herself, “I am Aurun’s Minister of Police Affairs. It is an honor to meet you.”

His heart leaped. He hid the borderline injured hand behind his back, folding his both hands there. After a cough, he formed the proper voice to answer. “The honor is mine,” he replied mechanically, “I suppose I needn’t introduce myself.”

“Indeed. Your actions are an introduction of their own. It is exactly because of them that I am here. If you would allow me?”

What actions? Did she know?

“Go ahead,” he whispered through his tight throat.

She gave him a curt nod. Her face remained devoid of any emotion. “I am in desperate need of men like you. Men who can deal with demons.”

The truth was avoided! Relief washed over him, but it was not absolute. Troubles were ongoing. So, demons, and him to battle them? The worst idea ever to befall the Minister, surely! He simply wasn’t fit. He would die if he were ever to even see one.

He laughed his stress out, then coughed to buy some time. In the edge of his vision, the Minister’s blank expression was seen, and on it, lips pressed in a strict line.

And after all, out of all the talented and notable arbiters in this world, why would… why would she pick –

Exactly. He garnered some much-needed poise. “I thought arbiters come to aid when summoned? I’m certain you can acquire even better people than me.” Then he peeked back at the Minister, saw her eyes tarnished and mute. To play it off coolly, he sipped his tea a little.

“They do, but largely defective. I won’t inquire why or how, but the fact stands, and our experience here confirms it,” he heard her speak.

As if Ulrich was supposed to justify them! Nevertheless, he assumed the answers. It wasn’t a matter of humbleness, more… his own lack of talent, for he knew he was one of the defective bunch, and the rest of them, they were the same, and probably even worse.

But he faked his surprise. “Defective in what sense?”

“Unqualified. Incapable of matching a street ruffian. You, on the other hand, slayed a demon.”

A violent tinge in his heart.

“It was luck,” he blurted out, dodging the lie.

“Pardon?”

He looked once at her, and saw her brow raised upwards, so cruelly. “I had more luck than brains,” he attempted.

“Don’t give your merit to fate and its pseudonyms. It was you who did it,” she disapproved.

“Not me, no.”

“Then who?”

Ulrich clenched his jaw. He was digging his way to the grave possibility; would he want to bury himself like that? He hid his mouth behind the cup of tea, as if, hesitating to drink.

“All those who had taught me?” His inner doubt made his outer statement come through as more of a question.

“You’re too humble,” she sneered.

He clenched his jaw once again, teeth scraping against each other so hard, he forced himself a cringe. Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, “I strive to be.”

“And you’re too mild-hearted for someone who has slayed a demon, mister Sondermann. It’s so nonsensical, one might say, even poetic.”

He shivered, grossly accused. The ending, the false name, it struck him as an even worse allegation! And it was the worst allegation, for it was true!

Ulrich stared at her. Indeed, she was correct. It was poetic, an egregious exaggeration, much like plenty of modern poems. And if, if the rest of the world was drowning in hyperboles, then… maybe, just maybe –

“But that’s how things are, ma’am. I apologize if this is not the man you want to see defend your city.”

He should become part of it, and vanish, a humble word among the ludicrous metaphors. Perfect destiny for him, for he failed to adapt. He had to accept; it was just.

“Maybe it is.” She paused. “Rest assured, if you have no other business, you are invited to stay and battle Aurun’s blasphemies. You’ll have your accommodation and support of the police, should the need arise.”

“I… of course, I accept.” And he smiled with all honesty.

“Excellent. Tomorrow after lunch, come to the main police station. Another capable arbiter shall be waiting for you.”

Another one?! Perfect to contrast his idiocy! To witness his foolishness! That was exactly what he deserved! He was horribly elated!

“I am looking forward to our cooperation,” he told and stretched his smile. It hurt so much.

Did she know, could she even assume what harrowed the abysses of his vibrating chest? Sprouting from inner oblivion, came a bitter thought, correspondingly as dark: he was willing to play the role of a hero, just so these people could have one. How utterly ridiculous.

She nodded, as if to confirm his sufferings. “As am I. Farewell, and good health.”

“Likewise –”

But she did not wait. She too, just like every single person in this colossal mishap, did not care. It made him desperate. The justice of the city, too, lacked a heart, it seemed. She did not understand her wallops, she did not know, just like anyone else, how much it devastated Ulrich. Except now, for the first time, he had grown awfully anxious. His heartbeat, a race.

Sadly, the tea, it couldn’t help. What was left of it, he downed quickly – at least, as fast as its heat allowed him.

He asked the barista if there was a balcony of sorts. There was one, and it was located left from the bar, down the hallway. He knew his next goal.

Tethers bound him to the chair, weight unknown and unpleasant. He struggled to rise back to his glass feet, but rushed, hurried vastly to eliminate his presence! Only one person was enough to bring him to the brink of dread, let alone the whole crowd.

He moved, at last. Hallways were narrow. Walls, spiraled all around him, threatening to collapse. It was, perhaps, between them, that he realized something was wrong with his head, that vertigo was settling in. Must’ve been the stress; he’d always been the sensitive soul, to a fault.

He took hold of his head, holding it for a few moments, as if to clasp his consciousness. Squinting his eyes, he wondered – just how far could he make it in this state? Would fate present him with another way out?

Gazing down the hallway, he wondered, if perhaps, his future was just as linear and suffocating.

Before he could continue, then, all of a sudden, a creak. He turned around to see if he was caught red-handed in his cowardice. Yet, no one was seen. His mind truly was a mess, he concluded with a huff.

More steps onwards, and he reached the semi-glass door to the balcony. Tugging it open, he was greeted by moist air and secluded darkness.

He dashed to nature’s heavenly pianissimo, away from the salon and its counterfeit music. He had been running all evening, escaping, hiding, reversely dynamic. Finally, he was awarded for his efforts, for outside, nobody awaited. Wet patterns on the marble floor informed him before stepping that the skies had been weeping thoroughly. Still were, in fact. His nostrils, no, his entire being was refreshed by their sorrow. It was so much lighter than his own.

He trod forward, accepting the breezes with arms spread wide, and attempted to reach the edge of the rain. The downpour carried solace unto him, and he yearned for more, came closer for more. Even when the raindrops landed on him, when the pitter-patter tapped gently against his uniform, he did not stop.

It had to be a physical boundary which would stop him. Clutching, clawing at the fence, he found nothing else but the cold. It gnawed back, left him numb. How sad, that the lonely numbness gave him more life than the entirety of celebration.

Before him expanded a city, and measured in avarice – it was vast. Measured in neglect, it extended even further. He could not make out its horizons; the rain and his tired eyes ensured so.

At the sight, he was reminded of the extremes it nurtured. Buildings, renovated and over a century neglected, stood hand-in-hand, comrades despite the extremes. In poverty and fertility, they did not share. Their habitants weren’t any different. Contrasts so large, Ulrich’s perception was daunted. His idea of the city – long ruined. This evening, it served as yet another absurd plague, another mystery for his incapable attention.

He remembered incisions on the walls. Cracks in his mind slid further. The poor condition invited crevices, ill thoughts, ill recaps, to destroy what was left of the mistreated construct. He needed introspection.

Closing his eyes, he could finally tend to his mind. What he found out? He was so confused. At least that was certain of one thing, and one thing only.

It was the entanglement in his own thoughts, like the endless worms that structured his brain. The start was incomprehensible, the finish fictional, and everything between those two points, only curves and turns and whirls and twirls. A patternless weaving, akin to raw wool.

Where had his mind gone to? Why was it so detached, even from his body…?

He barely felt. Humid winds nestled in his uniform. Cold torrents escaped his fingers. He cradled the air like an old friend, who knew him better than he did, because, after all –

Ulrich did not know himself.

It was a makeshift hug, desperate consolation by the fact that there is some absolute in the universe, some truth, that the fates were definite and their Strings stretched infinitely. That, perhaps, Ulrich was a part of it for a reason, that there was a reason for this torment. That his soon to be sacrifice would matter, not because he wanted to matter – because he wanted to matter to others.

There was no one else to confirm that, to confirm anything. It was almost impossible to believe alone, and he tried, he tried so hard, but it was too difficult. And so, in his loneliness, he realized he’d been hugging himself.

His senses landed in some state of anxious languor. He had never felt anything quite like it before. It was much like a dreamscape, presented through hazy ramblings of a dying mind. Through them, a stimulus was registered, so rough, so haphazardly unpleasant.

He was not alone. Someone was intruding his breakdown. A shadow at the door.

He dropped a weightless callout. “You…”

“Me?” It was familiar. Ulrich narrowed his eyes.

“Who?”

That person, standing at the entrance of the balcony, spread their arms in a surrendering manner, it appeared. “You don’t know me.”

Ulrich tilted his head a little, acknowledgment for the sake of it. He dropped the hug – he was no longer lonely. The stranger himself had arrived.

Although his talks were interesting to listen to, Ulrich hesitated to… accept him. He was interrupted in the worst moment, the height of his vulnerability, something he just could not show. That alone caused him discomfort.

He cleared his throat, raising his voice to outpower the rain. “Yeah… listen, I am in an awful mood, and unless you have something important to say, please, please try to leave me.”

But his demand did the exact opposite. The stranger neared, and Ulrich was watching every single step of his.

“What happens to be bothering you?”

What? Did he actively seek to… care? Why was he still nearing him, would he…?

“I don’t think you’d understand even if I were to explain, so…”

He would. He actually crossed the line between the dry and the rain, only to get near Ulrich, and ask, “Are you sure?”

Ulrich’s eyes widened. “Why do you care?”

“Why, isn’t that what humans do?” His expression darkened, twitching every now and then as raindrops fell onto it. “Or at least, should do. It just happens to be rare nowadays.”

True to that statement, the world revolved, and Ulrich had found only one genuine person in the entire ordeal. The only one who wouldn’t betray his good.

“Then, how are you? I’ve seen you… fall? Something happened for sure,” he cared back.

The stranger chuckled – it was a distinct sound, more of a titter. “Just a little accident, worry not. A condition, it’s hereditary.”

Falling and screaming in agony was hereditary…? Ulrich blinked in confusion, then repeated after the stranger.

The blond confirmed with a nod, then stepped closer to Ulrich, only a meter or so away. The meaning of his expression could not be discerned, not with the rain there to disfigure it.

“But you’re the heart of this party, it would be a shame to leave you unattended. Especially since you look so malapropos. Don’t worry about me,” he convinced, almost forcefully, attempting to forge eye contact with Ulrich who shied away from it. Baffled and tired beyond measure, Ulrich finally inquired,

“What do you want?”

Victory steadied his voice. “To tell you a story. Stories holler lessons, breathe lives, heal as much as they scar. I do think one would relieve you.” There was such gentleness to his words, and yet, Ulrich was unfaltering. His smudged line of thought continued the sentence with sarcasm, as always, spontaneous: nothing would relieve him except for sheer oblivion.

He remained silent, narrow-eyed and narrow-minded. The quiet was perceived as a mute yes.

“Not too long ago, an incident has occurred in Aurun. A public figure of solid reputation is involved. Maybe you’ve heard of it…?”

Ulrich waved his head no – wrong move, for it caused him dizziness. He frowned.

“A reformative essayist, your typical educated man with a… mildly, yes, troubled mind.” A nod from the speaker to confirm the speaker’s thought. “Also an owner of an esteemed bookshop. He was the cause of the scandal, the scandal being, hiding horrendous smuggled goods in his shop. Only after the entire folly did his antics surface and make sense.”

“What kind…?”

“Loud and bold and flamboyant, quite the two-faced snake, but very active in terms of society and aiding it. In private, he was… stingy, even, and oftentimes shooed people away from him, whilst keeping problematic folk around. He had some fame, here, not much,”

The stranger showed his hand, then clenched it. “Only a handful, if we were to measure it in our imagination. But he abused all of it. Influenced so many.” He looked back to Ulrich, expectant.

“So, he was just like everyone else,” Ulrich guessed.

The blond smiled widely, the first time he revealed such a smile, so radiant and loose.

“Indeed! Indeed,” he repeated in delight. “But, my point would be this. Men like him, loud and extreme about their innovations… they’re the ones who push and tug the world. But I believe it’s you, the so-called normal folk, who keep the world on its feet.”

Now, despite his lovely conclusion, it didn’t make any sense. Did Ulrich hear that well?

“Pardon, you said, normal, me?” He blinked, as if that would clear his thoughts.

“Yes. I’m sure you’re normal.” He nodded to himself. “That you are so much less than what this party has made of you.”

Ulrich had no idea what this meant. What this story was about, and why he was supposed to be… normal? Why would he even assume that? How did it even… help? Each and every line of his mental narration was interrupted by aches and blanks. “Sir, I pray that you’ll come to understand that… I’m exhausted, and I cannot begin to understand you,” he excused himself, then leaned against the fence – almost slipping and falling, almost. Another miniature heart attack to strain his assaulted nerves.

He quickly got an apology, multiple of them, actually.

“No, no, it’s fine. If anything, I enjoyed the conversation…” He was unsure of his own statement. “I haven’t quite caught your name, mister…?”

“Elior Truco.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, mister Truco.”

Reaching out to shake Elior’s hand, Ulrich expected a crushing grip, just like the one he had fallen victim to some time ago. Surprisingly, however, Elior’s hand was barely felt in his, and Ulrich was relieved to avoid yet another unpleasantry. He let out a sigh, even offered a smile. It was returned. The time had come for them to part ways on decent terms – or so he hoped.

All of a sudden, thunder roared. Ulrich twitched, almost squealed, for his heart jumped violently, and continued throbbing against his ribcage. Wouldn’t that mark a dramatic farewell?

Hands slipping from each other, a distinct tinge slithered across Ulrich’s palm, at first merely a disarray of his perception, then actual, burning pain, digging underneath his skin.

Inevitably, he stared down to his hand, and saw unfamiliar darkness on it, darker than his glove. A pool expanding and overflowing from the edges of his palm. He stared, paralyzed due to disbelief, taking in the pulsations of… of that, there, when Elior finally spoke up,

“Is that blood?”

It was only then that the realization settled and fear rose.

Ulrich looked back to Elior, immediately pleading him to dignify him with some, if any sort of clarification, all while meekly holding his bloodied, aching hand.

And he didn’t know. He looked at his own gloved hands, frantically flipping them over, running his fingers over them. His lackluster reaction only shoved more anxiety unto Ulrich, who stared at the oozing darkness, abandoning his being and pounding his senses.

Only seconds into the buffoonery, Ulrich couldn’t handle it anymore.

He yelled, asking Elior what he had done. The storm agreed, shattering the skies with lighting and its thunderous anger.

More excuses, more blabbering. Elior offered to help, murmuring, laughing oddly, uncomfortably, looking at any place other than Ulrich. He was shaking so much, Ulrich, he had no idea what to do, what was happening to him, to Elior –

“Elior!”

At long last, the blond looked up, “So, it’s a deal?”

And finally, Ulrich screamed a croaked “yes”.

And the deal would be completed. Elior took Ulrich’s hand and raised it up, high, for the raindrops to pierce it. Ulrich’s gash was subject to the brutal drumming of the storm. His eyes screwed shut, he silently endured the first wave of pain, and then, quickly, once the reality dawned upon him, he wheezed,

“What the hell are you doing?!”

The blond wasn’t fazed. He didn’t react at all. Panic began to overwhelm, begging his body to move, to seek refuge, but despite the urgency…

He couldn’t battle against it. He tried, he strained his arm, his muscles, but… they were all powerless. They didn’t listen, they couldn’t. He was estranged in his own body, caged in palpitations of pain. And panic was all over, tormenting him for reasons unknown, escapes none.

Gathering a cold glare, he pointed all of his frustrations at Elior, and then – then all of it diluted. Elior’s golden eyes shone, hawkish, with Ulrich as his sure prey. And they too, widened, glowing harshly in the evening’s gloom, melting the eternal ice of Ulrich’s spheres.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? To ache for once? To suffer?” His was a voice tenacious and righteous, assaulting Ulrich’s ears. “To finally add some trouble to your merit! Add weight to your title! You’ve always wanted this!”

But… but Ulrich just asked for help, for… for anyone to come by, to… just be good to him… it’s what he deserved? Or he wanted?

Strength was fading. But he would, with the last of his senses, offer at least one last revolt, the final kick before succumbing. “Let me go,” he begged, afraid of himself – the kick was but a worthless twitch. How come? How come he failed?

Yet another surprise. “As you wish.” Elior complied with a smile.

He swung Ulrich’s hand with much force, and carried by the inertia, Ulrich staggered and – fell, sprawling himself across the wet marble, squeaking his way through.

Another round of pain, another distant sensation, reaching him in weak waves. He closed his eyes, once again, clenching his jaw to overcome it all. Confusion, confusion was all over, blinding his logic and tearing him apart.

He barely managed to curl up. He barely… barely found some strength to even move. Where did this weakness come from? His intuition did not wage, but rescued with the irrational, and he stared at the one possible culprit with tired, so terrifyingly tired eyes.

No longer was that man a stranger. He was an enemy, and he, Elior was heard somewhere, misplaced words falling around with the rain. Only one statement was discerned.

The offering to one final dream. “You are needed, Ulrich.”

Black saved him. The veil of oncoming darkness was imperfect. In the lulling fade of his consciousness, there was but a single lesion: the most devious smile Ulrich had ever seen.

[sweetbyte]

Title: Magical Mistletoe Woes  | (Apart of Lessons in Magic series) 

Rating: T 

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki | Momo Yaoyorozu

Summary: The thing about magical mistletoe was that it was conniving. It was a pesky plant and if not careful enough, one would find themselves trapped into forced intimacy at the mercy of said plant, with a perfect stranger even, until this plant was satisfied. What a wicked and perverse weed. 

The thing about magical mistletoe was that it was conniving. It was a pesky plant and if not careful enough, one would find themselves trapped into forced intimacy at the mercy of said plant, with a perfect stranger even, until this plant was satisfied. What a wicked and perverse weed.

Yes, mistletoe was a staple for the holiday festivities, but it was simply inappropriate given the nature of the plant. Muggles had a similar tradition, but theirs was innocent. Just a peck would do, and if truly bothered, one could leave without repercussions. Simple, sweet and classy. Theirs wasn’t…magical, in the literal sense of course.

In hindsight, maybe she should have paid more attention to the planning of the Christmas party. As Head Girl, she should have inspected all of the minor details that went into it. But she hadn’t. She had much on her plate at the time, still does, and she was happy to let the Prefects take charge of the whole ordeal. She should have known better given the fact that the Gryffindor Prefects were just extremely too giddy to be given the honor. So giddy that even Head Boy Bakugou had commented on her decision being a mistake. She had waved it off then, touched by the energy, eagerness and initiative they were showing. Plus, Bakugou was always belittling the courageous house.  

At the first sight of the mistletoe, Yaoyorozu immediately set to work in taking them down -replacing them with transfigured artificial mistletoe- after having a word with Prefect Mina, who pouted, not at all perturbed by the fact that she had just seen a fourth year being dragged by the ankle back to a petrified fifth year, bound by the mistletoe.

Midway through her hunt, she recruited Bakugou to assist her who looked positively overjoyed at the chance to blast something, which she reminded him he absolutely could not do. She also requested assistance from her Ravenclaw prefects, Iida and Jirou, as she knew they were reliable and competent to get the task done with minor explanation. Call it bias, but they were efficient.

They tackled the great hall being used first, as that’s where the majority of the students were. It was completed in a decent amount of time, and Momo thanked her two prefects and wished them to enjoy the rest of the party, which seemed to be turning out to be a success, mistletoe fiasco aside.

Instead of joining the party, she set off into the corridors to make sure they were clear from the treacherous mistletoe as well. They were not. She had run into 3 sprigs and by the fourth one, she was starting to run out of patience. Or maybe it was seeing Mineta camping underneath trying to lure in a victim before she sent him off with a warning.

She was aware she was missing most of the party, but she also had no interest in attending. Her heart wasn’t in it and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin the festivities for others.

As she stalked the rest of the corridors and checked the alcoves, she was beginning to feel triumphant in her quest. Content and convinced that she had cleared all of the offending vines, she started to make her way back to the great hall.

She sighed half-heartily, thinking about how she was near the end of her time at Hogwarts. It felt bittersweet to reminisce on all the events and changes that had taken control of her life in only the last year. Mainly, the person who had changed everything. If she focused on him, maybe she could ignore the chaos around her. Completely mental and inaccurate, seeing as he was ironically the center of her chaos.

Nearing another alcove, she paused when she heard murmurs and frowned. She wasn’t particularly fond of eavesdropping but if it was the start of explicitly inappropriate conduct, she would have no choice but to intervene.  

She didn’t make out much other than an apology in a low timbre. It was the same timbre that had been making her knees weak all year and she held her breath.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.” A female voiced rushed out and Momo heard the clicks of heels on the floor nearing her direction. She knew she should have made to move, but she found she was rooted on the spot, wide-eyed, as a girl she recognized as a Hufflepuff ran past her, close to tears. It was obvious, what the conversation she heard was about, and she felt a mix of guilt and relief engulf her.

By the time Todoroki came into her sights, she decidedly chose to bite the inside of her cheek, a horrid habit she had developed this year, and refused to look at him, even when he stopped in front of her.

“Yaoyorozu.” The way he said her name made her flinch. It was void of anything that would betray his feelings, his mask was set into place.

It was interesting really, how different each of their masks worked. Katsuki hid behind wrath, Midoriya behind hope, Shouto behind indifference, and she, well she was still figuring it out.

“Todoroki.” She managed to murmur; the name almost foreign on her tongue after months of not using it. He’d been Shouto to her, until he couldn’t be anymore.

“You shouldn’t be out here, alone.”

She bit her cheek one final time before finally looking up at him. He indeed sounded emotionless, but his eyes said otherwise. She wished she hadn’t looked.

“As Head Girl, there is no one more qualified to be in these corridors, alone.” She begins haughtily, as she practiced. “Not that I have to explain my actions, much less to someone beneath me.” Her words are accusing, biting and offensive and his eyes finally narrowed at her. She feels sick the moment they leave her, but it has to be done. Constant vigilance.

“Very well.” He bites, and she expects him to move, she wants nothing but to run away herself, but she can’t.

Her eyes widen in horror, when she looks up and sees the despicable mistletoe disgustingly hidden in a nook overhead.

“Fuck.” She hears Shouto mutters and it’s ridiculous how it she still can’t control the shivers. He’s not one to use such profanities. She watches him send hexes, intricate ones, but the plant remains intact.

“Once a pair is locked, its binds them until it is satisfied, no curse will work.” She supplies, sounding more bitter than ever at being caught by the blasted mistletoe what starts to entangle around them.

“I know.” He snaps a little too harshly causing her to look down in shame.

Her eyes sweep around the corridor and when she’s content that absolutely no one is in sight, she mutters a small apology only to be shocked to hear him apologize at the same time.

“This is harder than I thought it would be.” She confesses quietly, only wanting her words to reach him.  

Shouto sighs tiredly and the mask falls, leaving an exhausted broken boy in front of her. “This is how it has to be.” For now lingers between them like the damned mistletoe.

“Get on with it, then.” Momo demands softly and she catches his smirk before his lips finally brush against hers. Its soft and tender at first, and she wants to sob at the innocence of it. It’s been too long. It turns needy, and she’s fine with that, for she truly is needy for him.  She wills her hands to stay by her side, but the will is broken once she feels his hands cradle her face and she ends up clutching any part of him she can reach.

It’s torture when they part to confirm the plant had subsided because as much as disdain the forsaken mistletoe had brought her, it also gave her this moment with him again.

“Not that I’m complaining, but perhaps this was too much.” She manages to whisper and Shouto only shakes his head while bringing her into his arms. She misses him. She misses him so much, but what they are doing in dangerous. “Shouto we can’t-“

“I’ve already cast a disillusionment and silencing charm.” Her mutters into the crook of her neck causing her to sigh and bring her hands to rub circles along his back. Of course, he’s always been steps ahead of her. They stay like that for a moment making the most of it before they pull away.

“You really shouldn’t be out alone, where is Bakugou?” He asks tersely causing her to roll her eyes.

“I’ll be fine, it’s you who should really be careful. Don’t be reckless.” She chides gently. “Besides, it’s only until the end of the year.”

“You would think he’d keep a better eye on you.” He complains causing her to tut in response. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not the one who needs to be watched.” She rebukes pointedly while banishing the mistletoe above them with her wand. He's quick to drop one last lingering kiss on her lips before he swishes his and she knows the charms giving them privacy are gone with the return of his cold mask.

“I recommend you watch your back Todoroki, wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you in these lonely halls, now would we?” She taunts before she brushes past him. ‘Be careful’ She stresses.

She waits until she’s in the comfort of her quarters to touch her lips, reliving the touches and kiss they had managed to share, if only for a moment underneath the blasted mistletoe.

But that was the thing about magical mistletoe, wasn’t it?

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! As you can see, I’m still in such a HP mood. 

[soundofseventeen]

Kissing in Cars (Wen Junhui)

Happy New Year my loves! I’m kicking off the year with this Jun thing bc he hasn’t let me work on anything else besides this. This is one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands. Enjoy! (I don’t own the gifs!) -Bee

The warm sunlight peeking through the curtains made Junhui hide under the blankets, making him afraid to open his eyes. He could feel the dip on the other side of the bed, and if he stretched his arm, he knew he’d someone on the other side. Common sense told him he knew who it was, but the folly part made him fearful. If he kept his eyes shut, then maybe he could pretend just a little bit longer. It soon became too much for him, the warmth of the blanket suffocating him so he found himself on his side, sleepily admiring the very person in a peaceful slumber. He knew that since the first time he saw you, he’d seen love and the last he’d ever need. Tentatively, he reached over to brush the hair from your face, almost certain if he were to touch you, you’d disappear. He retracted his hand at the last moment, not trusting the feeling of being too good to be true.

The familiarity of your room comforted him though. He liked that despite the fact so much had changed in so little time, that this little space stayed exactly the same. He used to tease you often about you being a person of habit but in this moment, he could understand your point of view. He zeroed in on the wooden picture frame on his side, smiling at the photo it held. You weren’t even dating him at the time, but Mingyu swore up and down, you’d fallen in love that day, what with the way he had captured the candid moment of predebut Junhui tickling your nose a leaf still attached to a twig and you pulling your head as far from him as he could. He lightly traced the Jun loves his angel before he set it gently back in place. A similar picture of you touching his heart with his hand over yours on that same day stayed in his wallet over the years.

He sighed quietly, eyes closing involuntarily as he rolled back on his back, his mind swirling between his fuckups and good times with you. Despite only knowing you since his days as a trainee, there was a lifetime of secrets you shared during that time, from the most humdrum of them like who ate the last slice of pizza to the most intense like running into a human only to have them disappear before an apology could be made, there could’ve been a novel and sequel (trilogy, maybe a series?) He thought back to the early days when he was too tired to even hold his head up and you were there to make sure he was okay. (“Why do you always call me angel?”

“Because not only do you take care of me, I can’t remember the last time the world looked so bright.”

“Stop being so cheesy.”

He grinned. “Then stop responding to angel.”

It never happened; you responded to that nickname like as if he’d call you babe.)

The nights he stayed at Pledis, his dark thoughts plaguing his mind of not living up to the standards of a kpop group and failing before he could even begin, you were there to comfort not only him but everyone, assuring them that the word could use a group like them. He created his favorite running joke to date with you by taking your hand and gently placing it on his heart explaining, “You keep my heart warm...angel,” followed by a wink and a slight shiver to prove his point.

Even upon debuting and exceeding expectations, his heart would pound nervously at hearing a rumor that’d threaten to leave a dark mark on the Seventeen label. He learned shortly after One Fine Day: 13 Castaway Boys that maybe he’d like to test the waters with you, but he was impressed with the fact that you beat him to the confession and thus the beautiful relationship to date officially commenced...well, it did once he managed to convince 12 other boys to each buy you a bouquet of flowers and had you pick out the artificial rose and gave you the oh so cheesy, “I’ll love you until the last flower dies,” line.

(“They’re a little young though, aren’t they, Hyung?” While Minghao meant that rhetorically, he couldn’t help but scoff at that. He was happy for them, but he was skeptical about the ordeal and if they could even survive it.

“Hence young love,” Soonyoung had sighed at the sight of you trying not to cry from his friend’s gesture. It didn’t keep him from dabbing his own eyes with the sleeve of his flannel. “Everyone deserves to experience it. It’s a beautiful thing.”

And with his idea of throwing the remnants of the floral designs around them came a mild case of sinusitis and multiple trips to the supermarket for over the counter medication for that.)

The early months of your (public) relationship contained a lot of dates to bakeries in an attempt to find the perfect cake pop to go with the perfect iced coffee he swore he found on Main Street and pouting when you’d tell him the combination wasn’t it and days at the studio where he flat out refused to hang up on you even though you were both busy. (He protested that he liked hearing you talk even if it wasn’t directly at him.) He met your friends almost right away and he was nothing if he wasn’t a little smug that they were tongue-tied at the sight of him even as time wore on. (“I’m confident in how I look. It’s not my fault if they find me attractive and I can’t do anything about it. I guess my angel has competition.” A shrug.) He fueled your love of plushies with buying more of them and respectively naming them after the boys and other kpop artists that had a similar personality. His favorite pastime became driving in the rain with the windows partially open and the heater off so you could watch the way the temperature dropped inside and see your breath. (“It’s proof that I know this is all real and not a dream. I...know that what I do is a dream too, but this…this is a different kind of dream. You are my angel.”)

Though the honeymoon stage never wore off completely, once you could wrap your head around the fact that Wen Junhui was your boyfriend and not just a friend, the relationship took a more comfortable and understanding approach. Because he was an idol, you learned really quickly that he couldn’t be there 24/7, especially when he was in a different country and sometimes separated from everyone except Minghao to cover some formalities with their homeland, so you got through those times with texts and pictures to fill each other in on. You surprised him many a time when he came back from Seoul, not at the airport but with milestones you accomplished while he was gone (a new job, a promotion at it, buying the apartment you currently lived in), and all he did was take you in his arms and smile because he was always so proud of you. Always his biggest supporter, you preordered anything you could and much to his dismay, hung up the album posters where it best suited them like one covering the door in your room. (“Hey angel?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that Joshua hyung on the back door?”

“Yeah! This era looks really good on everyone and I have no complaints about Teen, Age Joshua being the first thing I see.”

The two things that came out of this was that Junhui broke into your house and decorated your walls with posters of him from each era and photo shoots and the other that he became a human cocoon and did not let you go near the boys for three days, but remained skeptical of Joshua. “For the last time, he isn’t my bias.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me?”

“Not likely.”

“What if I die and the only way to save me is by telling me your bias?”

You pretended to think about it. “Then you die.”)

Junhui loved traveling the world because he loved bringing you things back from his trips whether it be a seashell or a postcard or even some knock off Finding Nemo stuffed fish he won at a carnival somewhere in Texas the first time he visited the United States. During a planned trip with your friends to New York, he dropped a not so subtle cover on YouTube that left you both embarrassed and touched and an impish smile from him when you Skyped him that night. He never forgot an anniversary, birthday or inconsequential event, (thanks to him not only putting it in his calendar but also taking the liberty of doing it to yours and everyone in Seventeen. Seungcheol scolded him about it once. You, on the other hand, were lucky to remember the days of the week. He poked fun at you, but he knew your mind was messy, complete with open, unused tabs and once cracked a joke he could hear the elevator music coming from inside), so while he couldn’t be there to celebrate, he reminded you that his future would be nothing without you. He loved you and adored your friends and he knew you were the one. (“There’s no future without you Angel.”)

Good times came to an end as the demand of Seventeen’s success rose and soon, there was hardly time for a date or even an outing with everyone. More comebacks were arranged as soon as they came back, worldwide recognition put them under scrutiny and there left no room to breathe. He remembered how he called you from Pledis that he arrived to work one morning and by the afternoon on that same day, he was in Pledis’s headquarters in Japan. That same year he found himself all over Asia and even back in the United States for a second KCon appearance and all he could do was hope you weren’t asleep when he called you. The fights and arguments were few and far between and while he was grateful for that, he was frustrated too. (“You said you were okay with this! You knew what you were getting into! As much as I want to, I can’t control my work Y/N!”)

You had unfortunately entered the part of the relationship where if the sasaengs or jealous fans didn’t tear you apart, then the distance, time zones, and hectic schedules would. Junhui started realizing this early on. He’d seen what dating in the industry could do and he wasn’t about to experience that firsthand. So he did the hardest thing he could ever do. A few days after he had gotten home, he surprised you by telling you to get ready and bring a plush with you and he took you out for dinner, where it felt like old times again. He took you home after that, trying to prolong the inevitable. He braced himself for the conversation ahead, making sure you had your plush out and stuttered the words out once he was in the parking lot. He choked a lot, the air thinning around him. He loved you more than words could say, but he didn’t want your relationship to end up becoming a chore and breaking up and hating each other. He watched you squeeze the plush a few times, and when he gently touched your hands, you bolted from the car, and he watched you run to your door, not caring it was raining or that you had forgotten your sweater with him. He waited until you were inside so he could call your friends. (“Guys, I just did the hardest thing in my life. I’m sorry. Can you come to Y/N’s place? She’ll explain it but I’m sorry. I had to do this. Make sure she’s okay. Check under the pantry in the for a box. It has the Trolls movie, a bag of hi-chews and her favorite plush and a few other things. I’m sorry. Tell her that.”)

The aftermath of that resulted in overworking and straining himself to block out the heartbreak, which left him near dehydration a lot of the time. He didn’t talk about it, but word of mouth from your friends and his condition left the other members to draw the conclusion on their own. Knowing his Carats were observant, he worked day and night on a song he couldn’t believe he was able to create from thin air and released it, (and poor timing at that, since they were working on “Getting Closer” at the same time), guiltily deceiving them that everything was alright between you and him. His punishment? An acute case of laryngitis that required bed rest and Seungcheol (along with the help of Jeonghan and Joshua) during that time fought for some time off not only for him, but for the entire group so while everyone vacationed somewhere in Japan, he was bedridden in Seoul for a week and even then, wasn’t allowed to go join them until he was right in his head. (“We need you to be okay Junnie. You won’t talk to us about it and I think you wanna figure this out by yourself since you won’t let us in,” Hansol had told him when Jun had asked for details.)

He didn’t know how much time had passed by or when this “vacation” would end. He spent day in and day out, wandering the ghost towns of Seoul in hopes of finding something to heal him. It seemed the universe had something in mind since it’s how he found you.

It was a rainy evening and you were shielding your groceries and he stopped in front of you. You had freaked out and dropped everything and he would have laughed if you didn’t look like you were about to cry and you were about to turn away, but Junhui wasn’t about to let that happen. He couldn’t convince you to get in the car with him, so he walked with you on foot, and after aimless direction and mostly one-sided conversation, he managed to get you back in the car, sopping wet nonetheless, and offered to take you out to dinner, which you refused. Not taking no for an answer, he stopped by a drive-thru, ordered some burgers and drove until he stopped at a park. He offered you a burger again, and you accepted it. It was quiet, with nothing but his playlist filling the tense atmosphere. He remembered you rolling the window down, letting the mist fall and eventually, it was cold enough to see your breath. He called your name softly, and when he saw you, cold lips met and the warmth he’d been missing flooded his body. The question for a second chance was hot on his tongue when a rap on the foggy window chased it away.

Local law enforcement wanting to know what they were doing out at this time and left you with a warning, the flashing lights disappearing behind them. (“Enough with the games Jun. Just take me home.”) He felt that the future was a few heartbeats away from disaster.

“It can’t work out,” you told him a few minutes after getting home. You were both in front of his car, not seeming to care that you could get sick from the rain pelting you. “You told me so.I know you and the look on your face.” You were grateful for the droplets falling from your face could be mistaken for the rain.

“I know and I’m sorry. But I didn’t wanna lose you. I still don’t.” And then he was momentarily angry. “If you didn’t wanna finish it either, you could’ve told me and we could’ve worked something out!”

“No, you left and told my friends to look after me!”

“What more could I do?! I wasn’t about to let you be by yourself and try to figure it out!” Like he did. “Listen I know everyone said we fell in love too young. I don’t think we did. I still don’t. If you don’t think so either...tell me now. Tell me we can work through this.” He saw the last few rays of the day turn into night, and he held his breath, waiting for an answer he might not get. The rain didn’t cease as he stepped closer to you, his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N?” No answer. “Y/N, look at me.”

“...Yeah?” You couldn’t look at him. Any will power you were holding would’ve dissipated.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I should’ve considered your feelings too.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I sent your friends when you probably wanted to be alone.”

“They don’t even hate you for anything. Do you know fucked up this makes everything?”

“I-“

“You hurt me; you hurt yourself, and you told them where to find the bad day box and leave. I know we didn’t have the easiest relationship but how’d you make it seem like it was? How did you manage to convince them of that?”

“You were my favorite. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for you. I made sure they knew that. They didn’t talk to me for a few weeks, but I couldn’t blame them. I hurt the love of their lives and mine.” He smiled sadly. “And we were friends before all of this. I know it’s easy to forget that.”

“You couldn’t have come to me?”

“I couldn’t. You would’ve left me outside the whole night.”

You laughed, preferring to not incriminate yourself. “How exactly would you know how I feel?”

“Right now, you’re not sure if you want me to leave.”

“No.”

“I know if I walk away right now, we’re both uncertain if this is the last time we’ll see each other.”

“Stop it.”

“If you kiss me goodnight, I’ll know that everything is alright between us. We don’t have to get back together or anything...I just need to know that you’ll be okay.” That was it. The ultimatum that had you fearing for the future. You didn’t move from your spot and Junhui sighed. He let go of you, ready to head back to his car. Before he could step further away from you, your hand curled around his arm and you kissed him.

“Can you spend the night? I don’t wanna be alone.”

When he opened his eyes again, he found the bed empty, signaling that you had already woken up. In the blink of an eye and a muffled thump later, you appeared in front of him, smiling like you finally meant it.

He leaned forward, finally cupping your face in his hands, sighing contentedly when you didn’t disappear. He thought of something good to say, but it had all been done more than once. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

You thought about it, though there wasn’t much to think about. “Second chances won’t leave us alone, will they?” You brushed the front of his hair to the side, revealing his twinkling eyes. “I don’t think we were too young either,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Were we too young?”

“No.”

“Again.”

“NO.”

“Were we too young when we fell in love?”

“NO!” You both screamed at the top of your lungs, until you collapsed on top of him in a fit of giggles.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Angel.”

[starkcontrasts]

Or basically a quickwrite i did in response to that scene in AoU after they’ve just been attacked and they find out Ultron destroyed JARVIS

Includes: Tony-whump and reader insert(but not in the romantic sense) bc I’m a mess and this shiz was unplanned and is somehow an even bigger mess than the actual author

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

You can see the pieces falling into place. Only, they’re falling all wrong. This wasn’t how any of it was supposed to happen.

Before you can react- before you can even think- Thor’s striding forward, one hand around Tony’s neck. You push off the table in response, opening your mouth to tell everyone to calm down. Steve talks over you but Tony’s feet are on the ground now and the air comes into your lungs a little easier. It had felt like you were being choked alongside him.

The conversation continues around you but you make your way towards Tony and Bruce. You hesitate to touch him because something’s definitely up and suddenly Helen’s asking questions at the worst possible time and there’s Tony’s “why can’t you people understand” laughter. Internally, you ask every higher being in creation where it all went wrong.

“We weren’t anywhere near close to a successful interface.” Tony says and you corroborate this when Bruce refuses to.

You don’t restrain the urge to throw him a glare. Intelligent as he is, he couldn’t recognize the signs of his supposed best friend falling apart in front of him.

“Oh, what so now you fall belly up.” Tony calls out.

Bruce retorts something about murder bots and it physically hurts you because the three of you know that’s never what Ultron was. What he was never supposed to be. Whatever he is now, that doesn’t change the fact that his original purpose had less to do with harming the Earth and more to do with protecting it. Tony explains as much and the derision in Steve’s voice is enough to make you scoff.

The good captain gives you what is meant to be a withering look. It’s a look of clear disapproval, rife with glaring notions of moral superiority and you squint your eyes at him. There’s a divine shiver of pleasure at the slight flinch you draw from him but mostly he keeps on talking and this time you don’t hesitate to place a gentle hand on Tony’s forearm. Brown eyes, clearly distressed to someone who knows how to look, turn to you and there’s a distinct sensation of your stomach hitting your toes. God, Tony. He looked wrecked.

Your face crumples watching him, and the hand that was on his arm rises to rest on his cheeks instead. The room doesn’t notice the two of you and the feeling is mutual. Tony looks like all he wants to do is crawl into a ball. He’s so tired of trying to explain to people who won’t listen, why a system of instantaneous planet-wide protection is more reliable than a group of seven people. Still is reliable.

“Breathe, Tony, I need you to breathe.”

You can feel the moment Bruce’s attention suddenly flicks over to you but you can care less.

Tony’s breathing isn’t any better than before. In fact, it’s practically inaudible, meaning it’s essentially not there and you resist the urge to throttle every single person in this room.

“Antonio, listen to me. Breathe.”

It takes a while but a glowing chest begins to rise and fall in normal intervals and you smile weakly in an attempt to steady the both of you, mentally and emotionally.

“You’re doing wonderfully. Keep going for me, okay?” Tony nods imperceptibly and you glance over at the now silent room.

Steel settles itself into your gaze and cold eyes focus on the God of Thunder first.

“Try something like that again, Thor, and you’ll find not even Heimdall will be able to get you out of here fast enough.”

The crimson-clad blonde furrows his eyebrows at you, as if confused as to how he had garnered your wrath.

“You don’t wrap your super-powered hands around the neck of someone suffering from anxiety and PTSD, you insensitive asshat.”

“Langu-”

Your head comes flying to face Steve.

“Tell me to watch my language, Steven. I fucking dare you.”

“Okay, why don’t we all just take a chill pill, Y/N.” Clint interjects from near your left.

“Barton so help me…”

“Alright then, never mind.”

The archer lowers his hands in surrender and you turn to Bruce, embittered.

“Science bros stick together, numbnuts. Don’t you dare think you can throw Tony to the wind like that ever again because trust me, I’ll make any wreckage the Big Guy’s done so far, look like a kid throwing a tantrum.”

Bruce flinches hard and you nearly sneer in satisfaction before turning back towards Steve and taking a deep breath.

“Since no one is willing to fucking listen to Tony, I’ll do the explaining instead and we’ll just see what happens if someone tries to cut me off with weakass statements like ‘together’.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply but you cut him off.

“That was not permission to speak, soldier.”

He swiftly closes his mouth.

“I’m going to try talking to all of you like you’re adults but if you don’t start using your heads like the mature, capable-of-thinking-for-themselves human beings that you are, then I will make it so your physical state matches your childlike temperaments.”

It’s very clearly a threat and you can see each Avenger(sans Tony) openly bristle and twitch to grab their weapons. Bruce wrings his hands together. The witch glares at you and you smile at her, all teeth and mock-sweetness.

“My abilities are stronger than yours, so I wouldn’t even try, Miss Maximoff.”

Pietro, beautifully complex Pietro, shoves a hand in front of his sister to keep her from surging forwards, all the while fixing you with an indecipherable look. From the beginning, as much as everyone seemed to focus on Wanda, you could tell there was more to the older Maximoff twin that meets the eye. You were glad to be right.

You take another deep breath.

“The Avengers aren’t infallible, don’t even pretend like that isn’t the case. What Tony- and Bruce included because he was very much included- what they were trying to do was create an artificial intelligence much like JARVIS that could fulfill JARVIS’s primary directive taken to a global scale.”

Confused looks all around. Tony shivers behind you and you grasp his hand, holding tightly to try and keep him grounded.

“For those of you who don’t know, J’s primary directive was to protect Tony. Ultron’s primary directive was intended to be the protection of planet Earth from outside forces seeking to enter our atmosphere and wreak havoc below. He was the brainchild of our science geniuses here, in an attempt to prevent anything similar to the fight with the Chitauri from happening ever again.”

You lick your lips, swallow down your earlier anger, and continue.

“Thor said it himself when Loki first arrived. SHIELD’s experiments with the Tesseract showed to the rest of the Universe, specifically to other, advanced races, that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war. Sooner or later, the rest of the Universe is going to come knocking and believe you me, not very many of them will be here to ask for a cup of sugar.”

“The Avengers can handle whatever comes at us. Advanced alien race or otherwise.” Natasha drawls from beside Clint.

The amount of conceit in her tone is almost laughable considering how much training had been invested to make sure she was above displaying her innermost thoughts so easily. In front of friend or foe, she was always to appear unbothered. Mayhaps, if Barnes had been trusted to teach her that aspect rather than just combat skills, the Widow would have been better at it.

“Come now, Natalia, I thought you were cleverer than that. Have you grown so lax in your training so as to believe you cannot be stopped?”

The statement gets a rise out of more than just her, and you can feel the anger in Bruce’s gaze at your neck. Clint and Steve narrow their eyes at you but otherwise don’t respond. The Widow tries her damndest not to throw a knife at your throat and its times like these that you miss Winter’s ability to disassociate. The Captain was going to be in for such a surprise when next he met Barnes. His best friend was less Bucky and more something in between Hydra’s Fist and the exemplary soldier, less the charming man from Brooklyn and more the damaged transitional phase.

Even then, he was still far better at feigning indifference than the redhead in front of you.

“I don’t care how super-powered some of you are, you’re still so very human. With a single thought from my head, I could disseminate your insides throughout the stars. I’ve trained with mutants and titans alike, and they’re nowhere close to how terrifying the races out there are. If I could kill you in a second, what makes you think Earth could survive more than a meager few moments against the might of the worst the Universe has to offer?”

Steve turns towards Thor, uncertain and hoping he can corroborate or contest your claim. The demi-god furrows his eyebrows, his grip on Mjolnir shifting.

“Y/N does not lie. Even I have yet to experience a vast number of the Universe’s most feared warriors. My Father has kept the nine realms, most of all your Midgard, sheltered from the rest of the starways for centuries.”

Tony breathes out shakily from behind you and you tighten your grip on his hand. Thor nods at you to continue and you stare at Steve right in his shadowed blue eyes.

“What Ultron was meant to be versus what he ultimately became was the result of ignorance on all our parts, least of all Tony’s. Firstly, you were all ignorant for believing yourselves unstoppable, and secondly, you were ignorant for believing Wanda Maximoff to be less spiteful than she is.”

“Now hold on, I think, at the very least, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the Witch and I think she’s pretty spiteful.” Clint interjected.

Both Maximoff siblings bristle from the edge of the group and you don’t miss the glint of red filtering into Wanda’s eyes.

“You so much as attempt to fiddle with any of the minds in or out of this room and I’ll turn you into a pile of red leather.” You state matter-of-factly, in her direction.

Wanda narrows her eyes and hisses while Pietro stiffens, legs vibrating with the desire to not be here. You can’t blame him, you don’t want to be here either. But someone has to say this shit and goodness knows, no one was going to listen to Tony if he did it instead.

“As I was saying, Miss Maximoff over here had a bigger part to play in Ultron’s genesis than you all previously believed.”

You state right into her hateful, hopelessly child-like, eyes.

“Wanda put the idea into Tony’s head that the faster Ultron came to be, the better.”

“And what does that mean?” Steve bit out.

You feel physically ill thinking back on it and it takes a great deal of effort not to will Wanda into non-existence.

“Miss Maximoff worked her third-rate sorcery on Tony’s head during the fight at the factory. She played alphabet soup with his head and showed him a vision of the world ending, everyone dying at his feet. And Tony? Tony felt what Tony always feels.”

“Vindication?” The Widow mocks.

You look at her blankly.

“You mistake him for you, Natalia.”

That shuts her up quickly.

“No,” Tony’s hand was clammy in yours. “He felt guilty.”

Several sets of eyes widen.

“He felt guilt and so much regret, I picked up on it even though I was here at the Tower.”

“Why would you feel guilty, Tony?” Maria questioned, tone delicate where no one else’s had been.

You turn back to see Tony visibly shaking, one arm wrapped around his trembling frame.

“Because I wasn’t dead. I had to watch as I was the only one left.”

And hell if that doesn’t do some serious damage to the sizeable egos in the room.

But that still wasn’t the whole story, so you finish where Tony couldn’t.

“And you, Steve, you asked him why he didn’t do more.”

The super-soldier practically deflates before your very eyes, lean frame going slack where he stands.

“Jesus, Tony.”

[esandcasg]

Chapter One - A Solitude Broken

The sound of a motorbike engine starting up outside the hut startled me. I had been dozing, half-asleep, listening to the wind and the sound of the cedallas, the loud insects that populated the jungle nearby. It had been a still night when I finally went to sleep, but the sound of the wind had woken me. It was such a rarity in this still, calm place, that I lay silently, listening to it rustle across the roof of the hut, taken in by the novelty of it.

I looked across at the watch next to my bed. It was close to three in the morning. I pushed the sheet off my bed and sat for a moment at the edge of the mattress. The mosquito net draped down across me, and I stared without focus at the mesh in front of my eyes.

The sound of the motorbike receded into the night. I edged out from underneath the net, my eyes adjusting to the dark. Four short steps took me to the door of my home; I swung it open and looked outside.

A cloudy sky hung over the village. The wind gusted a little, making me shiver. I reached back inside and grabbed a pullover which I’d left on a chair. Putting it on, I stepped outside into the night. Ahead of me, the jungle spread out across the horizon, a solitary road cutting through it, the only artery feeding the village, with its cluster of wooden huts. Each hut was pretty basic; two rooms, a bedroom and a bathroom, with a small veranda outside. The walls were wood poles tied together with banana leaves; the roof poles overlaid with leaves. They were simple yet sufficient; sturdy enough to withstand tropical storms; cool enough to provide refuge from the heat and humidity. My own hut, which stood a little away from the six others in the village, had been my home for the last three years.

I walked slowly out onto the decking which formed the veranda, where I’d placed a small wooden rocking chair which I’d built two years previously. I sat there now, thinking. There was a tranquillity to life here in the village, but I knew it was an artificial one. Somewhere, not all that far away, was the world I’d left; a world I was afraid I would have to re-enter at some point.

As there was only one way in or out of the village, the motorbike must have belonged to one of the villagers. That in itself wasn’t strange, motorbikes were pretty much the only way in or out, unless you fancied a spine-breaking cycle ride along the pockmarked track, or a three hour walk. Heading out at three in the morning was a bit odd, however.

I was awake enough to know that I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now, so I headed back inside and loaded up my coffee machine; watching the locally roasted beans grinding down softly, listening to the soft gurgle of water filtering through the grounds, wincing at the loudness of the steam punching through the milk, smiling involuntarily at the splash of the pumpkin spice syrup. After sprinkling on some cinnamon power, I reached for the TV remote, put on CNN and stepped back outside with my latte.

Despite the wind, the tranquillity of the village life was undeniable. I had never known simplicity like it, even in my mountaineering days, camped high on some peak with just the gear in my tent and a snow melter, the only person on a remote mountain in the middle of the Terra Del Firma. Even then I had all my gear; down suit, goggles, ice axes, willow wands, double boots (plastic outer, foam-lined inner) that insulated me both physically and mentally against the environment. I was not living some mountain life, I was transient, passing through. Although I always found a piece of mind on the high slopes and ice fields, I knew that I was not staying, that this was not and never could be my home.

I had tried to make a life in the mountains.

The long trek back to Lhasa ten years ago, walking along the Godwin-Antwi glacier, through the Vale of Caldor and the Pass of Caradhras, had given me time to think. Time to process all that had happened on Kangleong, but also to consider what my life would be. Something had changed in me during that time on the mountain. Beforehand I had been an ambitious, free-spirited rock and ice climber, used to dicey pitches on exposed granite, not afraid of leads up to 5.16B; happy to front point up a frozen waterfall like Bridaveil or Victoria Falls. I had next to no experience on high peaks, and little experience climbing at altitude. I certainly had never spent any length of time on a mountain in one go; I enjoyed fast and light ascents of rock walls such as the Eiger Nordwand and the North Face of Berghaus.

Kangleong had been my first real expedition; my first time in the death zone. My first prolonged period at altitude, suffering the debilitating effects of oxygen deprivation. The first real time where things had gone wrong.

And things had gone wrong. Badly wrong.

Truth be told, I’d barely made it off the mountain alive. An ankle badly broken, storms which battered the slopes, avalanches, serac falls. Not to mention the deaths of the entire Korean team, as well as several climbers we knew. All in all, sixty-eight people had gone to climb Kangleong and not returned home, their names punched into metal plates which now hung from the Art Gilkey memorial, a stone cairn near base camp.

Two names on the memorial I had punched in myself: Adam Ewart and Ifan Thorne. Their names hung there still. For a while I thought they had died, until I discovered the truth; that they were not the people I thought they were, that they had hidden their real purpose on Kangleong, and that I was now bound to their deception whether I liked it or not.

I had plenty of time to think on the way home; on the trek, on the flight to Islamabad, on the last leg of them all, the flight to London. To consider the story that I would tell and what sort of life I wanted to live next.

It turned out I would have little choice in that matter.

Kangleong may have been a remote peak in the Karakoram, far from the glamour of Everest, K2 or Cirith Gorgor, but the disaster on the mountain had made the news across the world. To have been, in essence, the sole western survivor brought incredible scrutiny on me. Endless questions as to what happened; meetings in the Korean embassy; press stalking me at home; the pressure was unbearable. I tried to retreat to the thing I knew best: climbing.

Unfortunately I had reckoned without the reaction of the climbing community, colleagues I had known and respected for years, who had accompanied me on numerous climbs.

It started with an innocuous column in Outside magazine, authored by Joe Simpson, who claimed that my account of what had happened bore remarkable similarity to Touching the Void, No Way Down, Dark Summit and Into Thin Air. Furthermore, he asserted that I should have done more to rescue Adam and Ifan, rather than going on about my broken foot, an injury he described as ‘commonplace in the mountains’. Whilst a single article might have been easy to dismiss, a groundswell of opinion was forming which disputed that we’d even summited Kangleong at all. Although we’d all taken pictures, I hadn’t realised that my Instagram page had been suspended in the days prior, and as a result the photos did not upload. I therefore had little to show for the months I spent on the mountain, and all the deaths I had witnessed.

The interest in me grew; the clients I’d booked on my first expedition under the banner of my new company, Mountain Stupidity (admittedly poorly named), dropped out, one by one. At the same time, high-profile climbers were lining up to criticise me. Adrian Ballinger, Simone Moro, Lewis Hamilton, Carla Perez, they had all been asked to give their views and each condemned me. Although I tried to ignore their comments, it had begun to take a toll on me mentally and physically. However, it was a subsequent interview that struck the final, conclusive hammer blow.

“I don’t like sitting in judgement of other mountaineers. Everyone has their own margin of safety, their own level of acceptable risk. Throughout my career I’ve refrained from commenting on others’ decisions. Just because I might not do the same thing, doesn’t mean that they’re wrong. Veikka and I turned back from a slope I considered too avalanche-prone on Annapurna in 2002. JC Lafaille climbed through the slope and made the summit. Different climbers make different decisions. However, in the case of the so-called ‘disaster’ on Kangleong, it’s pretty clear to me that rudimentary mistakes were made. Why were they so reliant on fixed ropes? Why didn’t they place enough willow wands? And it comes down squarely on Casey’s shoulders. You have a responsibility to yourself and to your climbing companions. After all, getting to the top is optional; getting down…”

I had stopped reading there. Ed Viesturs’ damning judgement fell over me like a thundercloud. I knew then that I could no longer expect to make a career from climbing. My sponsors Mountain Equipment, La Sportiva and Active Recovery no longer were interested in continuing our relationship. I packed up my things, sold my house and left the country I had called home and the life that was all I knew.

I travelled for three years; picking up odd jobs here and there, trying to find a purpose for myself. Nothing seemed to stick. Washed up and despairing, I found myself back in the Pink Flamingo in Kathmandu.

Nothing had changed since I’d been there five years previously. Aimless and without ideas, I found a secluded corner, ordered a bottle of Harbour Reef and sat down. The bar was pretty empty; the only patrons a few hard-core climbers from Eastern Europe, trying winter ascents of Himalayan peaks. I heard one of them mention Death Mountain, not too far from Goron City. This was one of the peaks Adam had climbed early on in his career. I wondered now whether that was true, or part of his deception.

For hours I drank slowly and in solitude. I felt I had reached the end of the road. Maybe I could pick up some work here; maybe I could just find a quiet corner of the city and live out my days here. I sank further into the beer. The bar began to blur. I remember someone trying to help me stand up, staggering forward, and then darkness.

I woke to the sound of a fan spinning above me. My head felt like it had been split open. I struggled to focus on anything in the room I was lying in; I was on a mattress on a concrete floor; apart from this and the fan there was nothing else in the room.

I didn’t know how long I’d been lying there for. Moving was agony. I tried to sit up but couldn’t make even that small effort. Defeated, I sank back down into the mattress and stared at the fan, its rotations syncing with the thumping in my head.

Some time later I heard the door open. I felt, rather than saw, people come in. One of them placed a jug of something and a mug on the floor next to me, then left the room. The other just stood in a corner.

“It’s tea,” the person said, in a voice I recognised. “Drink. It will help.”

With what seemed like a gargantuan effort, I rolled to one side and managed to drink from the mug. Warm liquid flushed through my body. I placed the mug back down and lay breathless on my side.

“Just relax for a moment,” the person said. “You’re free of the alcohol”.

I touched my face with my hand and moaned.

“Shhh,” said the person. “You have hibernation sickness. Or a hangover.”

“I can’t see”, I said.

“Your eyesight will return in time.”

“Where I am?”

“My house.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone who loves you.”

“Pasang?” I said, incredulously.

There was a soft laugh as the person stepped forward and crouched down next to the mattress. His face came into focus.

“Pasang!”

Pasang Sherpa. The lead climbing Sherpa from our expedition to Kathmandu. I don’t know how many times I had spoken his name in the telling of the story on the mountain. His dramatic individual rescues of Adam, Ifan and myself were legendary. The fact that he’d set my broken ankle with rudimentary surgery involving willow wands and three pitons defied belief. But he was the reason I could walk. Pasang had organised all our logistics, accompanied us throughout the entire trip, and stayed with me whilst the avalanche took – or so I thought – Adam and Ifan off the slopes. I couldn’t have imagined the whole thing without him.

He’d left me at Base Camp, dealing with the rest of the four hundred Sherpa that had supported our climb; I’d assumed I wouldn’t see him again. But here he was.

For the next two years I stayed at Pasang’s house whilst he nursed me back to health. After fourteen Iboga treatments and several colonics I felt fit and ready to live my life. It was Pasang who made me believe in myself again; made me realise that there was still a place for me in the world.

I started climbing again; Pasang’s extensive network of Sherpa guaranteed that I would have a partner on the slopes. I deliberately sought out remote peaks where I would be sure we would have the mountain to ourselves. First I climbed the Diamir Face of Ouanoukrim with Lobsang Sherpa, a feat we managed in a single thirteen hour push. Sadly on the descent, Lobsang was hit by rockfall. I lowered his body into a crevasse.

Then I moved across to Mount Toubkal, a little known peak in the Andes, with Little Tenzing Sherpa. Although we made it to 34000 ft, we were caught in a storm for fifteen days and were forced to retreat, but not before Little Tenzing succumbed to HAPE. I lowered his body into a crevasse.

I pioneered the first ascent of Greenland’s highest peak, Crib Goch, moving fast and light up the heavily corniced ridge with Nirmal Sherpa. It was on the ridge, coming back down, that Nirmal fell 15000ft down a knife-edge slope. Although I managed to halt his slide with the rope that held us together, Nirmal bruised his spine. I lowered his body into a crevasse.

After these expeditions, Pasang informed me that three houses in a remote village had become available; the village was home to a community of climbing Sherpa. Although I had been happy living at Pasang’s house, in truth things had become frayed between us, due in part to my insistence of pointing out abandoned railway lines. The timing therefore was opportune. It was time for me to commit to my new life, living amongst the only people who had truly ever accepted me for who I was.

I chose one of the vacant huts and moved my meagre possessions in. It would be a simple existence; no electricity, no running water. I would be completely cut off from the modern world but I believed that was what I needed. And for the next three years I lived in happy, tranquil solitude, far from the trappings of modern life.

And now I sat on my veranda, drinking the last of my pumpkin spice latte, unaware that my peaceful life would be shattered in a way that I would never had imagined.

I put my mug down and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the village. Then something else caught my attention. A snippet of a phrase coming from the TV. Slowly, I eased myself back off the chair and wandered back into my hut, where CNN was showing on the TV.

“We’re getting reports of a large earthquake in the Karakoram region of the Himalaya, a region containing some of the world’s highest mountains, such as K2, Broad Peak and Kangleong. At present it is unclear what destruction, if any, the earthquake has caused.”

An earthquake, in the Karakoram?

It didn’t make sense. Of all the regions in the world, the Karakoram mountains were the last place I expected an earthquake. The unique geology of that region, with large, pyramid-like peaks anchored deep into the earth, made it famously stable and secure. In all of recorded history there had been no record of any earthquake there. It was unheard of.

I stared blankly at the screen, unable to process the news. The story might have seemed innocuous to most of CNN’s viewers but it had left me dumbfounded. My close ties to the Karakoram made it so. What could have happened there?

Shaking, I moved back to the coffee machine. As the beans were grinding I poured myself a glass of water from the mixer tap I’d recently had installed and downed it, followed by another. It was as if my past were returning to haunt me. I placed my mug down on the table and it fell to the floor, shattering like glass. I swore, crouching down with the dustpan and brush to sweep it all up. As I did, I stopped. I was aware of something different about the room, something foreign in there. I placed down the dustpan and brush, slowly stood and turned round.

Standing at the doorway to my hut was Adam.

“Hello mate,” he said.

[fictionalarsonist]

got7_mark | Convergence: The Imitation of Life

Requested by anon

pairing: mark ⨯ reader (gender neutral) genre: angst, fluff, gang!au (subtly), foster child!reader rating: PG-13 (smoking, cursing, implied violence, blood) type: drabble word count: 3.5K

… As it has been said in a song _Drabble Series 19. “I don’t want to go back to a time when you weren’t there. Me without you is insignificant” - 사랑해주세요 (Love Me, Please) by Gummy

a/n: sorry this took too long, i had to trim the story over and over again. thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy the story! +++ this is still not properly proof-read, so there might be mistakes.

「 MASTERLIST | REQUEST 」

Convergence [in biology]_the process whereby organisms not closely related independently evolve similar traits as a result of having to adapt to similar environments or ecological niches.

“This time will be different”, you told yourself with confidence as you stepped out of the cheaply bought, old and overly-used Ford, that was all you could afford with the money you managed to gather with so much hard-work over the years as a foster child, jumping from different houses, different families - if you could ever call them such thing.

Once you’re out of the car, backpack hanging loose on your left shoulder, you glance at the uninspiring building in front of you proudly, the dubious neighborhood looks even more threatening under the irregular shadows cast by the dusk, it’s almost hard to believe that you’re finally out of the system now, on your own.

“No one can take from me what I going to build by myself”, you try to sound more self-assured than you actually feel.

For the first time, you wouldn’t be carrying your things in a garbage bag and you wouldn’t be meeting some random people that wouldn’t really be anything to you. Ignoring the lurking thoughts you pull open the door to the back seat with force because it’s broken and take two boxes out of the car, you have to force the door closed.

“Need some help over there?”, you turn around and glare at the man, disgusted by the ugly smirk playing on his lips.

“Fuck off”, you snapped when he tried to step closer and the next thing you know the man has a firm grip on your arm.

Kicking the boxes out of his way, he doesn’t care about the sounds of your things tumbling, getting tossed and disarranged inside the boxes as he shoves you against the side of your car.

“Think you something, you fucking whore”, he spit the words on your face, “imma gonna put you on your fucking place, you fucking bitch--”imma gonna put you on your fucking place, you fucking bitch--”

Using the sudden peak of adrenaline, you push him away, trying to get away from him when he stumbles back, but before you know it you’re back against the car. Biting on the inside of your cheek to avoid wincing from the pain that strikes your back, you fight off his hands trying to get another firm grip on you.

It’s so sudden you don’t see it a single move, but the next thing you know, that man’s yanked away from you and thrown on the dirty sidewalk, stunned and confused you can only stare at his helpless figure, slowly turning to look at this boy using denim ragged pants in front of you, face hidden under the shadow of his cap. The man curses under his breath and when he looks up you can see the blood streaming down his chin, staining the sidewalk, from his earned broken lips, he looks more threatening than before as he pushes himself up again.

More words fused with poison are lashed out from the man’s lips along with the blood he spit out in your direction, but his impotent figure halts as soon as he catches a glimpse of the boy standing there patiently, staring at him from under his cap, your eyes flutter from one to another, mouth slightly agape, just waiting for an opening to leave, the man on the floor seems as eager to escape as you.

“Ma--Mark-- ?!”, his eyes wide open and a stupid expression plastered on his face as he stares at the other, obviously much younger than him, “wa--what’s wro--wrong man~?”, you tell how daring it is for him to attempt a broken half-smile and an almost unnoticeable mechanic-like shrug that suppose to be casual.

Despite the hectic state the man is, this Mark guy seem relaxed, not really putting up a real threat, standing there pacifically - if you could say such a thing -, but the moment you feel his eyes more than you see them under the shadow of his cap you understand why the other’s so guarded, the shiver that scratches down your spine is no joke, you feel relieved when Mark looks away and there’s not a glimpse of sympathy within you as you watch Mark taking a calculated step closer to the other, instead you use this small gap to sprint into the building.

The elevator’s doors barely opens and you can already hear the hideous fight that sounds more like a household war bounces on the walls towards you and maybe that’s wrong but you’re glad that, for once, you’re not in the middle of it, carrying the boxes and your backpack, now hanging uncomfortably on your wrist, you step in the narrow corridor that has only two flickering artificial yellow neon lights, something you have to put up with even though you hate it.

The cramped apartment is far worst than you remember, you must have been in a daze from the newly discovered freedom to picture something a little cleaner than this or maybe you just decided to fool yourself, either way, this is your home now. There’s this broken mirror in the small, and disgustingly stinky, bathroom where you see the bruise left on your back and that explains the nauseating pain that holds you back from following your plan of cleaning the apartment and settling yourself nicely that same night, instead you open the boxes and picks up one of those old books you stole from some public library, you’re glad it’s not ruined and you let yourself drown in its pages, trying to pull yourself away from the rotten apartment and the pain that makes you feel lightheaded.

Easily enough, it works, soon you’re surrounded by the world you’ve read about many, many times, the characters and their antics, not by reality, your pain doesn’t bother you that much anymore, it’s your anesthesia from reality, it has always been. You didn’t think you’d need it just yet.

“New beginnings are never easy”, you try telling yourself when you’re laid on your arranged bed later that night, the book laying on top of your backpack on the floor beside a flashlight, you are in the engulfing darkness that came with the night, the street lights and the cars passing outside are the only sources of light in the apartment.

It’s not comfortable, the whole apartment has a rancid smell, you try your best not to think about it, the bed squeaks when you try to shift into a better position, but your back hurts, leaving you stuck in an awkward position that doesn’t hurt your back, but it’s even more uncomfortable for the rest of your body. There’s a turmoil that never seems to cease inside you, a mix of everything you went through and kept bottled inside for so many years, never daring to let it all when you felt exposed under someone else’s roof, about everything ahead of you because you know it won’t get much easier for someone who feels as if is just starting life, all that is both, good and bad, just everything and nothing at the same time.

You don’t know why everything is creeping up on you, but without realizing your vision becomes blurry and you press your hands on your face, shutting tightly your eyes to not cry, the problem is those stubborn tears that slip through any gap they find. 

The next morning looks promising with its clean blue sky, bright yellow sun shining above, perfect weather, not much cold nor hot, not humid, just perfect, oddly perfect you’d say, the sound of sirens is soothing in the distance and you’re not surprised to hear the same loud voices from the day before so early in the morning, your back still hurts a lot, but you can’t just sit around and do nothing, in order to live this life of yours you need to get a job, get some money.

Stepping out of your apartment, that you realize the idea of keeping a distance from Mark would be a little more difficult than you thought when you see his undeniable figure walking down the corridor towards you, the yellow neon lights cast somber shadows around him and just like the day before, Mark has his face hidden by the shadow of his cap and because of that you can’t really see, but you certainly feel that when he tilts his head, just slightly, he’s looking at you.

The small plastic bag sways as he walks silent steps towards you and you grow anxious, accidentally breathing out a sigh of relief when he walks past you. Daring to glance over your shoulder you see him stop by the door a few steps further across from yours, Marks breathes out a long, emotionless sigh before twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open, every move of his is a calm and calculated.

The loud voices that were echoing around you a moment earlier stop even before the door closed behind him, the silence that comes after is almost deafening. It takes you a moment or two to realize you’re still standing in the hallway and the realization makes you go on your way.

What happened the day before was in everyone’s mouth this morning and it didn’t take long for you to feel the aftermath of it, somehow you’re known as “Mark’s protege” and saying that you’re pissed you off was an understatement seeing how people have this romanticized tunnel vision of things, something you never really got into your life.

Even when you’re far enough from the neighborhood those rumors seem to tag along, the cautions and hesitantly nervous rejections from people gets you more and more frustrated, it was obviously nothing against you, you’re nothing to them, it’s all about that Mark guy, that for whatever reason showed up and went against that man, whatever people were picturing it was far from the truth and you, yourself, doubt he did that for you.

You’re very much used to side-glances, to be the alien, to be talked about and pushed aside, be rejected, all of that is fine, but this? It’s a reckless impulse, driven by your frustration that tosses whatever rational and self-protective thought away when you see Mark walking out of a backdoor, into a dirty alley, the heavy black door’s rusty hinges squeak while closing behind him and even louder when it's pushed open again, three men come out, two of them, taller and much more built than the one ghostly walking between them almost being carelessly dragged by them.

In your lack of awareness you don’t notice the man’s clothes kneaded and torn, hanging loosely on his body and you’re still too far to hear what they say to him, you don’t see Mark nodding, waving his hand dismissively at them, you only see the men walking away towards the other end of the alley as you stroll your way in and a little voice in back of your head tried to tell you how much of a bad idea this is when you notice very much clearly the way Mark tilts his head up to look at you for a short moment before focusing on digging his hand into his pocket, knuckles tainted with fresh blood, and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, your frustration speaks louder and soon your reasonable thoughts are strangled shut.

It’s not intentional the way you stomp your foot when you stop before him, seeing him tuck the pack back in his pocket after having the cigar lighten between his thumb and index finger, that stupid, stupid cap of his doesn’t let you see his face clearly even if the sun is at its peak, in all honesty, you didn’t think you’d come this far, you don’t have anything to say and you know he’s not looking at you, his head hung low as he takes a lungful of the smoke and, as you noticed before, his movements are always calm and calculated.

Mark doesn’t fully raise his head to look at you, stepping back to exhale the smoke and lowering the hand holding the cigarette so the smoke won’t bother you, he waits patiently for you to say something. Of course, he knows about the rumors going around, you seem pissed off so he can only assume you’re not happy about it, he never expected you to. Mark doesn’t like pulling his cap off, but the way you seem to be looking for his eyes makes him pull the cap higher for you to see his face, he’s not sure what in you draws him to do such a thing, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable for him, for once.

Your now dry lips part, but not a word comes out, you expected that the words would miraculously possess your lips making you say the right thing, but looking at him now, you can’t. It was like expecting a miracle to drop on your head, except that you don’t believe in miracles.

“You’re not here to thank me”, the cold statement is followed by another drag from his cigar.

“No”, you hate how your voice waivers and your lips quiver while you look in his eyes.

Generally, Mark doesn’t like looking into people’s eyes, but yours are different and he takes a step closer, you are too dumbstruck in something akin to cautiousness but borderlines fear, that you can’t move back as you wanted too. You can’t tell what but there’s this thing that surrounds him, all of him, emanating danger through every pore, it makes you want to run away, fast, you can’t control the way your body leans back, your heart pounds, hammering uncontrollably against your ribcage, the way your eyes grows two sizes when he steps close, too close you’d say.

His dark orbs hovering yours, digging for something that makes your throat constrict painfully, feels like being at the end of your lifeline and you don’t care how dramatic that sounds in your head. Holding in a breath you just wait, for-- well, something?! Something to say or-- you’re not sure yourself.

Shifting the weight on his feet, Mark lets a frown surface to his expression, the cigar burning away thoughtlessly between his fingers, the faint smell of nicotine and mint mixing with the wind and what everything’s gone, except for him, Mark’s still there hovering over you, but his eyes soften, somehow the darkness bathing them soothe somewhere hidden behind the almond colored irises, you wonder how can someone those eyes, they’re so different from before, like someone else’s. Your instinct of running fades away and saying that Mark’s intrigued is an understatement.

Instead of running you stay, instead of avoiding, you look in his eyes, so instead of bringing you in and try getting your life in his hands, Mark falls in love with you and that’s the only way he can label what he feels for you even though he never saw, apart from those movies he dislikes, nor felt it before, he doesn’t really understand how it supposed to work.

“Does it bother you?”, Mark never learn how to be subjective and you learned that about him very quickly.

You shrug, feeling his eyes on you but it’s different from those two times when you met him, he never looked at you that way again.

“Not really”, you sigh, dropping your shoulders, “people talk however they feel like it”, licking his lips Mark looks ahead and nods, he still hides his face under his cap, but being this close to him all you have to do is look up at him, “does it bother you?”

“Not at all”, a distant small smile plays on his lips and you smile to yourself, a secret, small smile when you look up and see it, you miss the way he looks at you when you look away.

His steps are always silent, but he’s more casual than calculating with you, more easy-going as if the world is his permanent 9-5 office job where he has to keep this tough front all the time and then there’s you, you’re not sure if you’re a vacation or a weekend, either way, it’s good to see him like this.

Mark was never one to think if something was a good or bad idea when wasn’t related to his job, but he tried doing that when it came to you, letting you in or not, his impulse spoke louder and the way your voice called his name the first time was a good reward, then you kept calling him ‘Mark’ and when you called him, you never sounded like you were calling the trouble maker, psycho kid, the scary boss, none of that, none of the other things, just Mark and he gladly got accustomed to that.

The sky is painted a beautiful watercolor of yellow, orange, red and fainting blue and white, the lights along the street become brighter gradually, the cars passing by becoming more frequent and he walks quietly by his side, it's something so mundane that weirdly enough put his heart at ease. When you stop, looking at a grocery store, he stops by your side, looking at it before seeing you turn to look at him and scratching your head, tilting your head a little, he doesn’t like when you look away from him.

“I have to buy some things--”, you trail off and he smiles at how cute you look just this way.

His smile surprises you when you look at him and see him nodding assertively at you.

“No problem”, his hand’s soft and warm when he holds yours and walk you inside the store and you hate the fact that you’re blushing, you know he’s looking, you always know when he’s looking.

These romantic cliches aren’t your thing, not Mark’s but the both of you see yourselves caught in it numerous times, to the point where you don’t mind anymore.

You don’t mind him helping you to get a job at this coffee shop slash bookshop you found fascinating but got disappointed when you’re turned down for having an “unclear background” for being a foster child, at least that’s how they put at first before apologizing for their mistake and taking you in, you don’t mind him taking you to the local clinic he claims the services are free of charge because he’s friends with the owner just so you could treat your back that worsens with time, you don’t mind when he knocks on your door during a random Friday and start fixing your car - and to your surprise he’s really good at it.

There’s this weekend where Mark helps you redecorate the apartment and by the end, it looks like something you always stared in a magazine or someone else’s computer, and you accept the gifts he gives you and even knowing he’s reluctant you buy him things when you can and he takes it gladly.

Mark finds out that there’s nothing better than being with you, doing whatever you want to, talking about whatever you want to, just... being with you. He also loves your smile and the way you open up to him, when you listen t him, listen to his story willingly with genuine attention.

Feels as if the world is renewed right before his eyes, more than anything, he trusts you and he definitely loves you, he’s sure now, he loves you. He loves every single thing about you. The way you can talk for ages about those old books you stole, the way you smile when you tell something about them, how your cheeks tint a beautiful color of red when you laugh and the different smiles you have, every single one of them, every joke you say he laughs at because is funny the way you tell them even if he never liked jokes that much before, he does now.

There are things he doesn’t like as well, such as the way you’re close in yourself when you see him working and he knows it’s ugly and he hates when you tell him why he hates it, hates even more that he can’t change your past, he hates that he can’t erase bad memories nor stop nightmares, so he wraps you in his arms and lets you cry as much as you want, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, finding his voice to sing you a lullaby, some stupid old song you end up claiming as your lullaby after some time and he sings whenever you want him to.

But, the more Mark loves when you tell him about your dreams, the more he hates how they become veiled and distant when he see that spark of hope fading because reality’s not easy and whenever there’s a thing he can change, he does, so he’s decided to create a new reality for you. Mark never knew anyone who provokes this side of him, it’s the first time he’s decided to pursue a future beyond the cramped apartment and a predictable future.

[spacedadcomeback]

I Hate Your Mullet

Lance grumbled as he walked down the hall, tired from his “light” training session with the team. He heard quick footsteps up behind him before he was assaulted by the castles residential gremling clinging to the back of his neck like a cape choking him out as he was forced to support her. “Hi, Loser!” she yelled as she wrestled to climb higher on Lance like he was a tree gripping onto his jacket heaving up as Lance tried to shake her. When he finally got her off he could swear his skin was blue from how tight Pidge gripped him.

“What do you want?” Lance huffed, frustrated and just wants to head to the dining room for dinner already. A not-so-sneaky smirk appeared on her face as she circled Lance like a shark as they started their journey to the others waiting for them. She hummed in thought as she crossed her arms behind her back facing forward, “I don’t know, maybe explain why you were giving Keith googly eyes in training today?” A new emotion graced her face and it was a cocky kind of confidence and a knowing smile only grew as she gained a skip in her short steps. The blue paladin sputtered nonsense denying that he would “look at such an ugly mullet head” as his face grew a dark crimson.

Pidge laughed at the reaction she got, enjoying every second of it. Moving again so she faced Lance, “what? Claiming something didn’t happened doesn’t mean it didn’t, just how you claim ‘Keith never cradled me in his arms’” she cackled as she did air quotes, ‘that evil witch’ Lance thought turning to face the ground in an attempt to hide his blush.

They finally made it to everyone else, glad that Hunk was the chef today and not Coran, both of them sharing the same thought and shivered. They sat down in their respective seats, Lance next to Keith (he claims it’s too keep an eye on his “rival”), and Pidge right across from them next to Hunk with Shiro on the other side. Allura at the end of the table, Coran next to her whispering to each other (‘probably about how amazing he is’ Lance preen himself).

Allura stood up when everyone was almost done with their meals looking on the table demanding attention. “Paladins, Coran and I have decided to force an exercise to help further your bonds as paladins. Keith, you are paired with Lance for Obvious reasons,” she scolded, sweeping her gaze to the rest of the paladins softening her eyes “Hunk, you are with Shiro. You two need to start to form a bond, which is absent due to your lack of interaction.” Coran just as she finished talking snuck up behind Lance and Keith snapping cuffs on them knowing they would never agree to the exercise. They yelped in surprise looking at the short chain of the cuffs (similar to the ones Nyma used on Lance but blue instead of yellow, he noted).

Coran smiled at Shiro and Hunk holding out the cuffs ignoring the commotion behind him letting Shiro and Hunk skeptically snapped the cuffs on. Pidge hesitated to ask, “what about me?” that earned her a pat on the head from Coran. “No need to worry number five! You are the only paladin who didn’t need this exercise! You bonded with all the paladins very well!” Coran beamed as Pidge gave the others a shit eating grin and mouthed ‘suck it’ to Lance and Keith, earning glares from them.

Allura coughed catching everyone’s attention, “Coran and I have these,” she held up a remote with two buttons, “which will turn off your hand cuffs so you can change in privacy along with your other private needs, and if we get attacked me and Coran can just turn them off in an instant.”

///

When everyone dispersed Pidge stuck too Hunk and Shiro, smirk full of mirth as she followed them, “Wanna make a bet?” That got Hunk to stop making Shiro be yanked back from the unexpected stop. Hunk turned around, “what kind of bet?” Pidge got closer catching Shiro’s attention now, “thirty gac into the pot each, the winner takes all,” Hunk sighed, “what kind of bet?” he repeated. Pidge spread her arms roping both Paladins down to her level and whispered “I bet that Lance and Keith being handcuffed will make Lance confess first for his ‘oh so love’ of Keiths ‘ugly’ Mullet.” Hunk laughed and grinned, “I bet Lance and Keith will chicken out and won’t confess,” Shiro decided to butt in a smirk on his face, “I bet Keith will be the one to confess first.”

With that they decided to stalk the blue and red paladin to see who pays up first. Basically this was the most boring thing they could do, because it seemed like Hunk was gonna win at this rate considering all they’ve done so far is argue with each other.

Keith tries to tug Lance to the training room while Lance retaliates wanting to go to the observation deck. They tug and fight, “we can’t even train! We’re chained together!” a big yank towards Lance.  “No! We can still train! If anything this is a good opportunity to practice if this ever happens!” a yank towards Keith. “When would this ever happen!” his voice softens, “let’s just relax. I don’t want to fight with you right now. Can we just go to the observation deck,” he begged, “please.”

Keith reluctantly agreed crossing his arms but it looked funny because of Lance’s limp arm across his chest tugging towards their destination. Lances had long strides but Keith had a fast pace, so they kept up about the same speed. Unknown to them the group following them down in silence.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Pidge, “why don’t I hack the cameras? Less work then following them and risk getting caught.” They all agreed and hurriedly rushed back to Pidges “lions den” (Hanger) where her lab is. Pidge hacked in and it concerned Shiro and Hunk how fast she did it, like she's done it before. Something to talk about another time they thought.

They got in just in time too see both Lance and Keith walk into the deck.

///

Keith sighed as he glanced over to Lance who looked like a kid in a candy store gazing at the stars and his face soften at the look of wonder. He’s never seen Lance look like that before and if he were honest with himself (which he’s not) it was rather endearing to see. The bright blue looked like a crystal lake reflecting the stars in the night sky, ‘breathtaking,’ Keith thought, ‘what, NO! Keith snap out of it. You don’t even want to be here, remember. But Lance looks so cute. OH MY! Keith, snap out of it!’

Lance smiled not knowing Keith’s crisis he’s having at the moment, too absorbed in the space in front of him. His breath is taken away, he’s never seen so many stars at once, not even through their journey through space. ‘Must of hit the jackpot,’ Lance smiled only making Keith worse. Lance only glaced at Keith when he felt a tug at his hand seeing Keith cover his red face glancing away not noticing his gaze making Lance’s face turn red, ‘why is Keith blushing, oh no. He looks so cute flustered. Damit Lance, hold yourself together.’

Breaking the silence Lance opened his mouth, “why don’t we sit down?” Keith nodded saving himself the embarrassment of his voice cracking and betraying him. They sit down on the steps gazing into the beautifully terrifying swirls of red and blue stars and golden dust mixing between them with green swirls small but prominent with very little black space not covered by the universe they are supposed to save and protect. It really brings back perspective on how small they are, but yet so important for some reason they couldn’t really name. Yes. they pilot magic flying rainbow lions but really, they’re replaceable. Someone out there has to be able to do that too, so they just have to try their best and hope they’re good enough for the universe to not replace them.

Lance got out of his head space which he doesn’t remember how long he’s been in it, maybe an hour perhaps two, but his focus now is on the soft breathing boy next to him. Lance’s first instinct, being the good uncle he is, is to give Keith his jacket so he doesn’t get cold. It all happens so fast he only stopped himself when he realizes the cuffs are in the way, ‘darn,’ so he slides it back on. But Keith never looked so soft before, the light of the stars reflecting on his pale skin since they didn’t bother turning on the artificial light as they entered the deck.

Only then did Lance realized, he was alone in the room with Keith, no one would see them (if only Lance knew), no one comes down here. He leans close and plays with his hair just a little then that leads to him petting and brushing the dark hair with his hands. “I really do hate your mullet. I swear I do. But, how do you pull of the 80’s so well in this day and age? Really?” Lance tisked out loud not concerned of being heard.

Too bad he wasn’t worrying about waking Keith up with all the movement he was conducting with his hair. Lance froze when Keith stirred, too scared to pull his hand away even though he knows he should. Keith eyes flutter open locking with a stunned Lance. “What are you doing?” The red paladin croaked.

Lance decided he only had three options in that moment lie, tell a half truth, or just give up hiding and put all his cards on the table. “I hate your mullet,” Lance doesn’t waste a second as Keith looks offended and pulls away from Lance’s loose grip on his hair, “I hate that you look so good with such an ugly ass mullet,” Lance’s Cheeks flush as he admitted the truth, earning Keith’s turning redder shade than his jacket. “What?”

“Keith,” Lance says surprisingly soft deciding to just spill the beans, “I like you a lot and I know you probably don’t feel the same way but it’s been killing me not to tell you.” In the distance you can hear a resounding “whoop” from Pidge then a “time to pay up, suckers” followed by some soft groans causing it to ruin their moment as they glance back to the door. They both look back at each other, the soft light of the stars making the other look more beautiful as half their face is dusted with light bringing the blush out in their cheeks.

Surprising Lance, Keith grabs his hand and smiles, “surprisingly I like your annoying voice,” he smirks at how offended Lance gets as he gasps and brings a hand to his mouth in an over dramatic way. Keith continues, “also surprisingly I like who the voice is attached to.” They waste no time crashing together in a moment of tensions their lips meet and their hands hold grasping what they can, as they hear a whistle in the distance and choosing to ignore it.

As soon as they broke apart they stared at each other, Keith spoke first this time, awkward, “are we you know, umm…” he continues the sentence through unreadable hand movements dragging Lance’s limp hand around like a toy. Lance laughs even more awkward, “well, if you wanna be, umm...” he darts his eyes anywhere but Keith. Keith laughs not helping this unbearably uncomfortable tension, “okay, as long as I’m the boyfriend,” Keith surprisingly is the one to attempt to lighten the mood.

Lance squeaks and stutters flushing brighter, “NO!” he waves his finger in Keith’s face, “if anything I’m the boyfriend!” Lance pouts. The alarms go off forcing them out of their moment as red flashes and they glance at their intertwined hands as the chain disappears and the cuffs falling off with a clank. Keith is the first to stand up, “we can talk about this later right now we have work to do,” making eye contact with Lance he says, “last one there IS the girlfriend though!” and he bolts. Quickly followed by Lance as he calls, “unfair!” chasing after the red paladin to see who can change and make it to the control room first.

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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2.1

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4.1

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4.2

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5.1

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5.2

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6.1

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6.2

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7.1

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7.2

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8.1

apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

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