#and then forgot to get it at the store three times even though I thrice texted a reminder when they were mid-shop

[domini-porter]

I'm making hard-set fudge so I can grate it to use for stracciatella in ice cream and also to have Something To Do because my brain is VERY into grumbling at the moment but I'd forgotten it takes SIX HOURS to make hard-set fudge (30 mins constant stirring to a boil, 3 minutes of letting the cocoa slurry freely boil to a particular temp, removing it from heat and letting it sit for 45-60 minutes until it cools to a particular temp before mixing in butter, 4-5 hours to set at room temp) and since the first 2ish hours require a hard alternation between constant vigilance and waiting around my mood has NOT improved (the fudge itself is going p good so far, even though posting about it pre-butter integration, when there's still the possibility of the base splitting, is kind of like spitting in the face of the gods, but maybe the gods deserve it sometimes)

[sly-merlin]

a little longer | k.dy

Genre :  fluff, doyoung being sappy

@parkjmini requested: sunflower + doyoung ( i can't believe i saved the request for two months 🤍)

Sunflower : longevity, lasting happiness

words : 1k

Summary : after several failed tries of finding a perfect birthday gift for you, doyoung decides to pour his feelings into the paper, sealing his love in a not so conventional way.

a/n : happy birthday my Joyce. I love you so much!❤️you are so sweet and precious🥺i got late due to sudden commitments! but you love me soooo(~￣³￣)~excuse this time.

I apologise to those who are seeing this post for nth time. Tumblr deleted it thrice!

Dear y/n,

Do you remember our first meeting? Hmm you might not. It wasn’t, after all, very pleasant. I was sitting or rather hiding in a secluded corner of the cafe where I couldn't be seen but I knew I was not that well hidden the moment you had found and approached me. Well not me but your coffee cup and sandwich. Your glare had shook me to the core and I must say you had overreacted. Who creates an eye-contact riot at something trivial like an order of coffee? Certainly no one that I knew did! Who knew people were so over-protective over their drinks! After your fuming form had retreated leaving me baffled at your reaction and I had shifted my focus back to the book in hand. I couldn't have wasted the few hours I had to myself on something so insignificant. Only if i knew!

That night, my dreams were painted with the colour of your eyes. Quite amusingly, the sleep that i loved so much had been filled with all the other possible scenarios that could have unfolded, only if my face was naked. Were you a fan? Did you recognise me? Truth be told, I had forgotten your face the next minute you had left the door but why were your eyes so captivating that it urged me to search for you. Of course with the compensatory purpose because initially, it was me who had picked up the wrong order or maybe, I just wanted to see those eyes again.

I went back, again and again for about 2 weeks, at same time, hoping I'd see you there, hoping I'd catch your name being called. Several y/n's had ordered coffee for those two weeks but none was you and then suddenly after those long weeks, right when i was busy drowning my latte with sugar, the bells had chimed and you had entered.

That day, I had tried to register your face in my muddled mind.

That night, I had slept forcing myself to dream of those eyes again. The regret of failing to talk to you had settled down somewhere in the back of my mind and your smile had replaced the jitters of nervousness.

Though three years have passed but the extra receipt of your dear order, stored in the second drawer, never fails to throw me back to the time when the mere thought of your existence was enough to put me to sleep. I hope, if you remember, you also cherish those times just the way I do.

Do you remember the first time we talked? You ought to! That was the most valiant doyoung anybody could have ever witnessed! Good luck had rained upon me that day for I had caught you alone in the same corner of the cafe. You had politely accepted my silent request to keep my presence unknown and that day, I had mutely entered your life. I might be your fan but you aren't more important than my sandwich! The humour haha!

One unexpected meeting had morphed into a spiral of multiple. That one accidental exchange of sugar sweet drink had led to fortuitous trade of contacts and became the highlight of my plain life.  

6 september. Do you remember this date? Maybe you do. That day, for the first time, i had poured all of my unexpressed feelings into three overrated words- i love you. Those words were in no way meaningless for me but I still had failed to recognise the reason for your  overwhelming state and the never ending tears. Until I had heard them from you. It felt odd. Certainly different from how taeyong or others say it. Why did those feel so strange and surprisingly intimate but I was happy, over the moon if you could say!

That day, I had slept peacefully, without a care in the world for mine was already secured in my arms.

You must be wondering why am i repeating everything again like i don't expect you to remember anything at all. For me, those several firsts, those new beginnings were the reason we have travelled so far. And as the clock ticks, my inner voice gets louder with several questions clogging my head and not all of them have responses to ease my worries.

Have I been taking you for granted? I would never dare to answer that by myself.  My job and time had never been kind to us and i can't say if this would ever come to an end but do know that i appreciate you in my life. You are always there at the end of the day and I always find you sitting right where I left. But time scares me y/n. What if one day you pack your frustrations in a suitcase full of your belongings and leave me alone with nothing but memories.

I always have so much to say but I never utter anything. I fear that the range of my voice would end up disrespecting your love for me. The way you express, I could never. Even when I try the hardest, it always falls short of something that I'm not aware of.

I can never love you the way you do and I'm afraid my love would end up being passed as mere infatuation if ever compared to yours.

I know I'm already getting far more than what I deserve and shouldn't be asking for anything but I'll allow myself to be greedy for once. Promise me that you'd never give up on me. Promise me that you'd always be there for me because I can't explain how much I love coming back to you. Let my pace always match yours so I would be able to slip my hand through yours, just the way you love and in return, I promise to make your stay in my life a bit easier.

I love you. Thank you for always staying at the other end of the door. I promise you won’t have to wait too long for me. Thank you for accepting my odd and silent way of loving you.

Thank you for being you. Let me just love you for a little longer.

Today, you are getting a year older. For me, you’d always remain the same y/n i met three years ago. I hope your perception of me won’t change anytime soon.

I’ll be adding this letter in the list of our firsts! I was being lazy so i forgot to buy you a gift this time(or maybe i needed an excuse to write my first love letter). By the time you read this, it’d be afternoon already. I’d be home by 8.

Always loving you.

Your bunny,

doyoung

(p.s do me a favour and please don’t embarrass me by mentioning this letter in the evening)

did i say love you? i love you!

*****************

should i write a reply from y/n?

[elisaphoenix13]

Against All Odds (Ch.1)

Back and forth. Back and forth. Golden-hazel eyes watched boredly as the pencil rolled across his desk and likely annoying the rest of the class. The room was quiet, with only the sound of pencils scribbling on paper, the periodic sound of someone tapping into a calculator, and even a couple of frustrated sighs. Scott finished the test ten minutes ago as math was one of his stronger subjects, but that meant he had to sit and wait for class to be over. The upside to having to wait for another ten minutes for the bell to ring was that lunch was right after and it was taco day.

His only saving grace for the extremely slow morning he had. Plus, he was starving.

The last ten minutes felt like they stretched over an hour, but when the bell finally rang, he and every other student threw their things into their backpacks and rushed for the door of the classroom. Except there must have been a god of misery looking down on him and laughing because the teacher called him back, and Scott sighed heavily. While everyone was going to clean out the lunch stock, he had to have the same conversation that he had with a lot of his teachers.

Was the class not challenging enough? Did he want to transfer to the more advanced classes? What was he doing outside of schoolwork? Did he have any friends to spend his time with?

Scott would only assure his teachers that he just studied hard and that yes he had friends. He only had one, but he didn't tell them that. One friend was all he needed anyway. It helped him stay invisible and he liked being invisible. There was less attention and less bullies, and he definitely already had one of those...and he was a Grade A creep. The more invisible he made himself, the less the creep bothered him.

Finally, his teacher let him go after Scott made it glaringly obvious that he wanted to leave by constantly looking toward the door, but when he made it to the cafeteria, it was obvious that he missed out on the tacos. With a quiet groan, Scott sat in the far corner of the room and started to pull out his books to work on some homework, and then stopped when a tray is dropped on the table in front of him. He stared at the food in surprise when he found the tacos he was so desperately looking forward to, and looked over when someone sat next to him with their own tray. Stephen.

"I saw that your teacher kept you behind when I passed by your class so I took the liberty to get both of our lunches. I know how much you like tacos." Stephen said as he took out a book to read while he ate.

"Thank you." Scott almost moaned when he bit into his first taco and knew Stephen was rolling his eyes without having to look. "Are you sure you're not single?"

"Very sure. Besides, I wouldn't want to take away from your daily drool--see? You're doing it now." The junior huffed from beside Scott as he stared across the cafeteria. "You're not even listening are you?"

No. No he was not. Part of the football team had come into the cafeteria and Scott indulged in his daily gawk at the captain of said team. Peter Quill. A very attractive senior and star quarterback. Most jocks were more brawn than brain, but while Quill definitely fit the bill for strong, he was pretty smart too. Not a straight A student, but he could tell you what two plus two was, and the bigger plus? He was actually a really nice guy. Not that Scott has ever personally interacted with him, but he'd seen Quill interact with other students. Even the less popular ones.

Scott was a little too invisible for Quill to notice him but it wouldn't matter. The football playing senior was way out of the league of an invisible, nerdy sophomore. It was a miracle that he managed to make a friend out of Stephen. Their friendship was already an accident. Scott happened to be in the library studying and all other tables were taken, so Stephen asked if he could sit with Scott since he was the only one at his table. Stephen would always leave quietly after about an hour without saying a word to Scott, and the same thing happened about three more times until the junior finally asked him what his name was.

Scott didn't answer him for a solid minute because he was surprised someone was actually talking to him. To this day, he was still pretty sure that Stephen took him under his wing if only for the fact the Scott probably looked lonely. After getting to know Stephen, the older boy didn't seem the type, so it always left Scott a little confused whenever he took the time to think about it. Scott did muster the courage to ask Stephen if he felt sorry for him and he got an instant denial. He had no reason not to believe him.

"One of these days he's going to notice you staring at him." Stephen says from behind his book after taking a bite of his apple.

Scott tears his gaze away from Quill and looks down with a blush. "I doubt it. I'm just one of the background people in his world. I'm not like you or him where I can just walk down the street and have someone throw themselves at me."

Stephen side eyes him. "What?"

"You're both really hot and I'm not much to look at. You even talking to me is--OW!" Scott rubs the back of his head where Stephen had not so gently smacked him with his paperback novel. "What was that for?!"

"Whenever you word vomit, you never fail to criticize yourself. I don't think I've ever heard you say a single good thing about yourself."

"What's there to say?"

Stephen sighs. "Scott, you're far from unattractive. You're only invisible because you make yourself that way."

"I like being invisible. Things are easier that way." Scott mumbles.

"It keeps you from making friends."

"You still saw me."

Stephen stares at him with an unreadable expression, and just when Scott was sure he was going to continue to argue with him, Stephen instead reopened his book and went back to reading. Scott figured that anybody worth befriending would see past his walls of defense, and in a way he had been right. Granted, the first year and a half of high school was friendless, but Stephen finally came around and managed to get past his walls. He accepted Scott for who he was, but he very bluntly told the sophomore that he was timid. Skittish, even.

Scott already knew that. He didn't like violence or confrontation after all.

"Why do you hide yourself when you so obviously want to be seen?" Stephen asks softly after a few quiet minutes between them.

"I'm less likely to get hurt I guess." Scott shrugs as he finishes his lunch.

"Loneliness hurts too. It's hurting you and you don't even realize it."

"It hurts less."

Lunched passed quietly after that. Stephen read his book while Scott glanced across the room at Quill once...twice...thrice...twenty times? He lost count. This probably made him creepy. He should stop, but it was really his only chance to see Quill. They didn't have any classes together and as badly as he was crushing on the football player, Scott didn't go to any of the games. They were too noisy and there were way too many people for his liking. He liked watching football, but preferred to watch it in the comfort of his home. On TV. Stephen didn't really understand the appeal.

The rest of the day went by much faster than his morning did as the remaining classes didn't have tests or throw pop quizzes at him, and at the end of the day he found himself at his locker and switching out books he would and wouldn't need for homework. He would be visiting his locker a second time after his and Stephen's usual study hour in the school library, and that would be to put away the textbooks he managed to finish any homework with. The less he had to take home, the better.

It was also nice having a friend a year ahead and better at a subject than he was. Scott was a good student, but there were times he had trouble with a particular subject (biology, ugh), and Stephen took the time to explain it to him better than his teacher could. Their study hour is when he got his weaker subjects done, and then he worked on everything else until their hour was up.

"Why don't we do something different today?" Stephen asks as Scott sits across from him at their usual table in the library.

"What do you mean?"

"After our study session we usually go home. It's Friday, so why don't we...hang out?"

Scott refrained himself from laughing at the face Stephen made at his own offer, but he could appreciate what the older boy was trying to do. It did sound kind of fun but he wasn't sure what Stephen meant by hanging out.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Rent a couple of movies, spend the weekend doing whatever...like normal friends." Stephen shrugs and Scott stares at him.

"You mean at my house?"

"As long as it's okay with your parents. I'd offer my place but I have a younger brother and sister. You're an only child right?"

"Umm yeah. My parents won't care. They're out of town anyway." Scott tells him. "Should we bother staying here?"

"There are a few books here that I don't have and I would rather not take them with us."

"Okay. The more homework I do here, the less I have to take home anyway."

Stephen nods and they keep to their usual hourly study session, and Scott manages to even finish all of his homework. With no tests coming up anytime soon, he didn't need to take anything home and he could focus on actually trying to have a good time with his friend. Scott gathers his things when Stephen stands up, and asks the older teen to wait for him out front while he puts his books in his locker, and then hurries out of the library. It was just going to take a couple of minutes. He would put his books in his locker and then meet Stephen outside where they would then make their way to a nearby video store before they went to his house.

He forgot about the jocks though, or more specifically, the football team. They must have cut their practice short today, because Scott was in the middle of sticking his books in his locker when he was suddenly run into from the side by one of the players who was rushing around the corner of the hall. Scott was small, so being bumped into by a football player may as well have been a tackle. Scott was knocked to the ground with no effort and it caused him to drop the remaining books in his hands.

"Holy shit! I'm sorry!" Scott freezes at the familiar voice and he slowly looks up to find Peter Quill crouched in front of him and picking up Scott's books. "I wasn't paying attention. My bad."

Quill looks at him and Scott was convinced his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

His eyes are green.

Wait. He was still talking to Scott. He probably looked like a complete dumbass because Scott knew for a fact that he was staring like one. He barely registered that the taller (and bigger; he was way bigger up close like this) teen helped him to his feet until he was staring at a broad chest. Quill hands him his books and Scott mentally berates himself for continuing to stare like a moron and blushes when the senior carefully brushes his shoulders off.

"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I?" Quill asks him as Scott fumbles to put his books away and then close his locker.

Say something you idiot!

Scott turns and opens his mouth but the words die on his tongue when Quill's eyes widen.

"Damn. You have some really pretty eyes for a guy."

That was it. That was the finishing blow to Scott's attempt to try and hold a conversation because holy crap he said my eyes are pretty whatdoIdo?! Scott couldn't even manage to say thank you. He just stood there, dumbstruck, and with his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Since he couldn't seem to contribute to their one sided conversation, Scott did the next best thing. He shut his mouth, squeaked out in embarrassment, and fled. He didn't stop when Quill called out for him, he just kept on going to where he was supposed to meet Stephen with his heart hammering away in his throat.

He really was pathetic. He finally had a chance to talk to his crush and all he managed was a quiet noise before hauling ass? Maybe he really was too deep in his world of invisibility. After that scene, there was no way Quill would remember him. He might scratch his head for a few seconds, shrug it off, and then forget all about the encounter.

So then why did that hurt so much?

[chocolatemillkk]

Thrice (JS)

The First Time

Friday nights were the absolute worst night to be out in London because the clubs were so packed you barely had space to breathe. But I hadn't stepped out of my flat all week due to a foot injury and I was finally feeling well enough to leave. My heels were left at home, but I was here in cute sandals hoping nobody would step on my feet.

"Do you want another drink?" My flatmate and best friend, Lana, asks me.

"I'm alright," I say. I wasn't allowed alcohol for another day because of the pain medications so I sipped lamely on a Coke. Tonight was meant to uplift my spirits but the lack of spirits just made me want to go back home and curl up in bed.

That regret is doubled after Lana leaves for the bar and I try to follow. The path in front of me looked clear but I guess someone else had the same idea because I crash directly into a stranger's chest.

My drink splashes into my sandals and the stranger's drink drips all over my dress.

"Fucking unbelievable!" I shout. I look up to the idiot who crashed into me but my breath catches. He was drop dead gorgeous: ocean eyes, silky brown hair, and an expression that looked as terrified as he possibly could...and should.

"I am soo sorry," he slurs. Of course he was drunk.

"I-this-you," I stutter. I want to shout at him but I'm still taken aback by his good looks. "What the fuck!" Is what I settle for.

"I can buy you a new drink," he rushes. "Or another-"

"I'm soaked in alcohol from your bloody drink!" I shout. "Another drink isn't going to solve that! God this night just gets worse!"

Tears prick my eyes and I shove past the boy who's still trying to make it better. I catch Lana's white-blonde head and stomp towards it, ignoring the dirty looks I was getting.

"I need to go home," I tell her.

"Already?" She asks, slowly turning to me. When she spots my dress and the tears in my eyes she raises an eyebrow. "Crashed into somebody?"

I begin to recount what just happened but the boy from earlier finds me. He has a wad of napkins in his hand which he thrusts at me. "This was all I could find."

I stare at the napkins in my hand, white-hot rage blinding me.

"Stop trying to fix it!" I throw them back into his chest. "I'm wearing your drink and walking in mine! You can't fix it, alright? Jeez."

A small voice in my head was telling me to cool it but I had enough of the night. After the outburst, Lana grabs my hand, thanks the stranger and leads me out.

The Second Time: Joe's POV

I hadn't been in school for years now but Mondays were somehow, inherently the worst days of the week. I had work to catch up on and the weekly shop to do because my fridge was looking very empty.

"I'll be back soon, just stopping by Tesco," I tell my roomate. I wait for my Uber and type out what I need on my phone.

The shop is deserted, most people were probably in their office jobs around now. The last thing on my list are eggs but a woman stands in front of the shelf, on her phone.

"Excuse me," I mumble.

She moves aside. "I got the bleach but I remembered we're out of eggs."

Her conversation piques my curiosity so I glance up and nearly smash the eggs I held. It was the poor girl from the club Friday.

I already had a few drinks that night and when I saw her walking towards me, I froze. She was gorgeous in a subtle way; she carried herself like her beauty was secondary to her-she knew it but didn't care for it. She looked like the kind of girl I would want to bring home-for good.

So I miscalculated and stepped forward to introduce myself just as she stepped closer and any chance of hitting her up crashed and burned with the misstep.

But apparently not because here she was.

I must've been staring because she gets off the phone and looks up at me. Her face morphs into a scowl.

"Hi," I press my lips into a smile. "I think we've-"

"Met? We definitely have." She rolls her eyes and leans forward to get her eggs. She smelled like roses. "You ruined my evening and my dress which-if I may add-was very new and very pricey."

I try not to stutter out my apology but I didn't want to screw this up too. "I'm sorry again-it was an honest mistake."

"It's alright," she says even though she sounds upset. She begins to move away and I panic.

"Is that what the bleach is for?" I ask.

"Excuse me?" She turns back around.

"For the dress..." I think my joke was going to fall flat as her eyes narrow but there's a hint of a smile on her face.

"The bleach," she laughs. "My friend decided to dye her hair orange and spilled the very bright dye all over the floor of the bathroom. So this is to clean it up."

"Orange?" I ask.

"That's what I said," she shrugs. She eyes my groceries and turns slightly away. She was going.

"I've got a friend born with orange hair, I didn't think people did that on purpose."

This earns a laugh and I feel more in my element already.

"I'll let my friend know you said that. Since she knows you from the club as well," this time she speaks with less anger. It's more light-hearted, like the incident has become an inside jokes between us. "This is twice we've bumped into each other now so I guess I'll see you around?"

She was leaving already. But asking for her number didn't feel right. "Maybe if we see each other a third time we can grab some drinks?"

"Only if you don't plan on spilling yours," she smiles again and there's a twinkle in her eye. She was teasing.

"I only do that to strangers," I say.

"So we're not strangers?" She asks, surprised.

"Not if we meet thrice," I laugh.

"I don't think I've heard anybody say thrice before," she begins walking backwards. "So I look forward to that third encounter just so I can say it."

"Deal," I can't stop grinning at her. She returns one last smile before turning away with her bleach and eggs.

Third Encounter: Y/N's POV

I thought about him all week, the cute stranger I forgot to get the name of. Lana teased me about him nonstop and got all our friends on board with it. But all week I looked out for him and no such luck. We just didn't run into one another. After another week, I stopped. Maybe those two times were just freak accidents. The cheeky boy would live on in my fantasies though.

"I can't pick you up," Lana says through the phone that day. I was finished an interview for a job and Lana had said she could drive me home after.

"Lana you promised!" I pout. "How else will I get home? I don't have my Oyster and there's no way I'm paying for a taxi."

"Uber?" She suggests. "Listen babe my mum called last minute I'm heading there for the long weekend."

"It's only Thursday," I say lamely.

"If I leave now I can skip rush hour though," she explains. "Just get an Uber."

"Fine," I say even though I didn't want to. I had been looking for a job for months now and my bank was running low. Uber was a luxury I couldn't afford when I was this far from our flat.

"You can share an Uber," Lana reminds me. I had stressed about my financials enough to her that she knew what I was thinking.

"Maybe I will," I say. Even though the idea of it was always odd to me, I would have to. I say goodbye and go about doing just that. Ten minutes later, my ride shows it's here.

I greet the driver and we pull out. Apparently I was the first passenger and the other was on the way. That was fine by me.

When the driver pulls up to another building, I'm too busy on my phone to realise we had stopped until the door opens. I watch a pair of long legs clad in black skinny jeans step into the car and the head ducks to get in.

This was so not happening.

"You're kidding me!" The other passenger says. It was him! It was the stranger who spilled a drink on me and said thrice!

"I'm....at a loss for words." I stare at him. Seeing him again in real life again was like HD compared to the pathetic version of him my mind had tried to hold onto. Two weeks of not seeing him had faded his looks in my mind save for his intense eyes which shone with amusment.

"I realise we never got each other's names," he says. He must have thought about that too.

"I realised that too," I laugh. "So I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," he nods. "I'm Joe, or Joseph. But no one calls me that. So just Joe."

He was nervous, it made me feel slightly less so.

"So we've met thrice," I grin.

"Thrice," he laughs. "So I have the honour to do this?"

He unlocks his phone and writes my name into the contact. He hands it over and I point out the misspelling.

"I'm doing a bad job at not being strangers," he says.

"You're alright. Not everyone's name is as easy as Joe. Or Joseph. But just Joe." I tease.

He blushes and grabs the phone once I hand it back. I put in his information as he searches for something and points the screen to me once he's done.

"The peach next to your name is for how cheeky you are," he shows me.

I let out a burst of laughter as I show him my own phone where I've done the same thing for him. This sets him off and I sense the driver eyeing us through the rearview.

"I don't think bumping into you three times was a coincidence," he says once we've wiped our tears away.

"Me neither," I feel warm at the thought. That somehow, whoever was pulling the strings, tangled ours together.

"So did you just finish up work?" Joe points to my outfit.

I correct him, telling him about my never-ending job search and we continue the conversation until we reach my flat.

"We can continue this conversation upstairs?" I offer as he steps out to let me out. He looks up at the building and rubs his neck, gazing back at me. I can see how he weighs the outcome quickly before giving me an answer.

"Alright," he says. While he lets the driver know, I walk ahead to unlock the front, excited for what would be in store for Joe and me.

[vallkyr]

Stay with us Chapter 1 - Our enemy's foe is our friend

Minho looked straight ahead with a stark expression as he walked down the trail. His wrists were aching from the handcuffs, his throat was dry and his feet hurt but all of that wouldn’t matter any more when they reached their destination. Considering how long they’ve already marched they couldn’t be far from border. As soon as they were in Auralia he wouldn’t be safe anymore. Minho took a look at the six guards forming a circle around him while they walked in silence.

Who of them is going to kill me? How are they going to do it? Will it end quickly or will it take longer? Will it be painful? What will they do to my body once I’m dead? What does it even matter?

He looked at the soldiers again, this time concentrating on their weapons. Mostly ordinary swords. Except for the one sword the guard in the front right corner was carrying, it looked different, more shiny and with a delicate carving at the handle.

Special sword. Definitely a special sword. Guess right-front-corner guy is the one in command, huh? JYP wouldn’t leave that sword to just anyone if it’s really what I think it is. Well of course it is. Even if I’m wearing this stupid collar they’ll still need a demon sword if they’re supposed to kill me.

“Boss, Boss can we take a break?”

“No, we’re almost there.” “But I’m feeling sick, Boss!” The soldier whined again, making right-front-corner guy sigh in annoyance.

“Get your act together.”

“I’m feeling sick too!” “Me too! My vision is all blurry” Suddenly all the soldiers started complaining and whining around like little kids.

“Stop this nonsense! You can’t be that exhausted just from walking in the sun for a while!”

This isn’t the sun. If it was because of the sun, I would feel it, too. It has to be something else.

Suddenly lights started flashing all around them, making even right-front-corner guy stop in his tracks. It was like thousands of mirrors were around them, reflecting the sun light over and over again. Minho tried his best to see through the brightness but it soon proofed impossible and made his head ache. He crouched down on the floor and quickly covered his eyes with his eyes. All the noise and chaos around him didn’t exactly help the pain either but he tried to concentrate nonetheless.

Screaming. The guards are screaming. It almost sounds like… like someone’s attacking them?

Carefully opening his eyes, Minho peaked through his fingers. The flashing lights were still there, though not as intense as before. When putting all his concentration into scanning the area he realized that there was in fact another person there. Minho couldn’t see much of him but he was obviously attacking the guards around him. But why?

There was some more screaming before the flashing ended completely. Taking a look around, Minho found all the guards knocked out on the floor. The only one still standing was the attacker, a guy probably around Minho’s height, though definitely with a more stable, broad-shouldered built. His hair was silvery and kind of curly. Strangely enough, he wore a Korenan military jacket over rather simple looking clothes.

“How are you doing? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” The guy said while putting his broad sword back into the huge scabbard attached to his belt before crouching down next to Minho.

“Only my head hurts a little.”

“That’s normal, don’t worry we’ll take care of it but first we need to get away from here. Can you walk?” Minho nodded. Silver-locks helped him up to his feet, the quickly pulled him along into the forest.

They ran for quite a while until they reached a little clearing where two guys were sitting next to a extincting camp fire. Both of them seemed a little younger than silver-locks and wore Korenan military uniforms.

“Finally!” One of them exclaimed while hopping to his feet and running towards them. “Are you two okay?”

“Yeah, but his head hurts a little.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I overdo it?” The boy asked with big doe eyes directed at Minho. He had a rather youthful face with round cheeks and the most innocent an honest-looking eyes Minho had ever seen.

“No, your illusions were just fine, but he most likely isn’t used to them.”

At that the other guy got up and held a little bottle filled with a faint red liquid up to Minho. “Drink this, it will make you feel better.” Minho hesitantly took the bottle and opened it, though it was a little difficult with the handcuffs still on.

Should I really trust these people? I just met them… But then again, they saved me from being executed.

He took a look at the silver-haired next to him who just nodded in agreement. With one last critical look at the vial he downed its content and handed it over to the boy again. He stored it in the large shoulder bag next to the camp fire, picked up the back, put the carrying strap over his head and adjusted it over his chest.

“We should get going before those guards wake up.”

“Wait!” Doe-eyes said, holding the other by his shoulder before turning to silver-locks. “Shouldn’t we at least introduce ourselves first?”

“Right, I almost forgot.” Silver-locks turned towards Minho with a gentle smile on is face. “Sorry about that, my name is Chan.”

“I’m Jisung!” The cute doe-eyed one said, grinning brightly.

“My name is Changbin.” The last one introduced himself, offering a little smile as well.

“I’m Prince Minho of Korena, but I assume you already know that.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Jisung said, suddenly seeming rather timid and stiff, as though he only now remembered who he was talking to.

“Please just call me Minho. There is no need to be this formal.” All three of them nodded, already turning to leave. “Wait, could you… Is it possible for you to take these off?” Minho asked, holding up his chained wrists. Jisung and Changbin immediately looked over at Chan.

“I can’t do it. With my sword I’ll just end up breaking his wrists.”

“Didn’t any of you steal the keys?” Changbin asked with an incredulous look on his face.

“I didn’t see any keys!” Jisung immediately defended himself.

“None of the guards had keys. I checked everyone at least thrice during the journey but it seems the only key stayed in Selou with JYP.”

“I could try to shoot at the chain? Maybe it will break?”

“Or maybe you’ll miss and shoot Minho-shi.”

“Changbin! I won’t miss!”

“To be honest, I’d still feel safer if you didn’t direct a gun at me.” Minho admitted. For a moment Jisung pouted before his face lit up and a smile took over. He drew one if his guns and stepped behind Minho, wrapped his arms around Minho, holding the gun firmly in both hands while positioning the muzzle against the chain between the handcuffs. Warmth spread through Minho’s cheeks when Jisung laid his chin down on Minho’s shoulder

“Ready?” Both Chan and Changbin stepped aside. Minho nodded. He closed his eyes. Jisung pulled the trigger. For a split second a strange noise filled the air, unlike all the guns Minho had heard before, which admittedly weren’t that many. “It worked!” Minho opened his eyes, blinking while he eyed the remains of the chain dangling from the manacles around his wrists. The edges looked strange, melted? “I knew it was a good idea to steal plasma guns.”

Chuckling quietly, Minho untangled from Jisung.  He turned around to smile at him. “Thank you.”

Jisung’s cheeks took over a light shade of pink but he smiled nonetheless. “You’re welcome!”

“Now shall we get going? The guards will probably come around soon.” Everyone nodded in agreement. Jisung and Chan picked up their remaining belongings and they all set off, following behind Chan.

[desdemona-wren]

V.A.A{p}

1. What color is your character’s hair?

Naturally black, currently in the story line I believe it is Magenta or Amaranth. May also be a bright icy blue. She changes it rather often. 

2. What color are your character’s eyes?

Gray, but they can’t seem to make up their mind as to whether they want to look greenish or blueish. As is the case with light eyed people. 

3. What color is your character’s skin?

She’s part Thai and part Greek (and all American) so she’s fairly tan. 

4. What special aesthetic characteristics does your character have?

She’s got cool hair. 

5. Does your character have any piercings? Tattoos?

Septum. Ears pierced thrice on each side (standart lobe, double upper lobe). Daith piercing in left ear (with cute crescent moon shaped earring). industrial piercing in right ear (may or may not be an arrow. long live the goddess artemis u fools). You could TECHNICALLY call the buying/selling runes embedded in her wrists piercings since they’re permanent runes. She also has a navel piercing because how could she not? And a smiley piercing. Maybe even a few “down under”. Not that you could prove it. 

Forgot this also asked about tattoos. She doesn’t have anything too visible. She has the phases of the moon across her back (right shoulder to left shoulder) in an eerie metallic gold that’s 1 part magic, 2 parts irradiated fuckery. And one on her arm somewhere. Don’t know what its of. Her favorite animal probably. 

6. What’s the sexiest physical characteristic of your character?

Definitely her giant nose. 

7. What’s the ugliest physical characteristic of your character?

Uh. She has really bad breath in the morning. 

( I'M HER MOTHER. 

SHE'S PERFECT IN MY EYES.

EVEN IF HER BOOBS ARE LOPSIDED AND SHE HAS WEIRD QUESTIONABLE SCARS AND SHE HAS A HUGE NOSE

I LOVE HER THE WAY SHE IS)

BONUS: What element of their appearance is your character most insecure about?

Violet is really insecure about her height. She thinks she’s too short. 

8. What does your character wear?

She’s a goth so. Bright colors and idk rainbows. That’s what goths wear, right?

9. When your character smiles, what does their smile look like?

Probably a little terrifying. Or awkward. She’s not much of a smiler. 

10. What does your character’s laugh sound like?

Harsh and deep but feminine. Or when she’s nicer and isn’t being a bitch her laughter is kind of melodic and contagious. 

BONUS: What sort of things would make your character laugh?

Generally being mean to Jasmine or pulling a really good prank. Though she also laughs a lot when flirting. 

11. What is your character’s normal style of speech?

Her voice is slightly raspy, but light. Most of the time she sounds annoyed.

BONUS: What are some memorable things your character has said that showcase their unique voice?

“Female orgasm enhancement?” She asked, tapping her long black fingernail against the front of the bottle. She moved her gaze from the potion in her hand to take in the two officers before her.

“Your,” she cleared her throat, quirking an eyebrow at the male officer, “partner not pulling his weight?”

12. How does your character express/handle anger?

By blowing shit up and losing control. Or also being a petty bitch. There is no in-between. 

13. Does your character cry?

Everybody cries.

BONUS: What sorts of things would make them cry?

Idk man. Maybe breaking a nail or ripping her brand new tights or getting kidnapped and tortured for three years only to find out everything she’s ever known is a lie and her entire life is in shambles. 

14. How easy is it for other people to read your character’s emotions?

I mean. By nature her entire species has difficulty expressing and reading emotions so. I mean, I don’t think people can really read each other that well. 

15. Is your character religious?

She’s basically obsessed with sun gods and moon goddesses. Casters don’t have to be religious, but some of those who use witchcraft or “the old ways” find it comforting to believe in something. Violet is one of those people. 

16. How does your character view those of other faiths?

She doesn’t care about them. It doesn’t directly affect her, after all. 

17. What are your character’s core values?

I mean. First do no harm? She was training to be a medical caster so she wants to help people. She has a lot of good ideas on how to fix things in magical society, but she’s lost her way a little bit. 

18. How willing is your character to fight for those values?

She’s done a lot of things. Even sort of pimping herself out to better science.

19. What is your character’s favorite food?

She’s real into fruit. And maybe also too much into khao neow sang kaya. 

20. What is your character’s favorite color?

Gold.

21. What are your character’s sleeping preferences?

When she was in the medical corps she pushed herself until she passed out somewhere weird. Now that she works in a store she gets between 6 to 8 hours a night. Sometimes more. She’s a lot more well rested than she used to be. 

Habit wise she generally sleeps in her bed, hair up, shorts and a tanktop and completely diagonal across the whole thing. In med corps she was lucky if she found a nice hard floor to pass out on. 

BONUS: What position does your character typically sleep in?

Diagonally across her bed on her stomach or right side. 

22. What is your character’s sexual identity?

Cis female? If that’s what you’re asking. Fuck it I’m combining 22 and 23. Violet is canonically cis female and bisexual. 

23. What are your character’s sexual preferences?

BONUS: What sexual experiences or choices does your character feel especially good or bad about?

Violet hasn’t done a lot of the sex. She hasn’t had time with her medical career. They start training really young and everyone is really serious about it. So she doesn’t have much to feel good or bad about. She’s largely neutral to the whole thing. Dancing naked in the moonlight covered in blood and surrounded by a dozen of your peers before ominously chanting some weird song prior to a three day orgy is normal every day wixen shit, after all. 

24. What type of music does your character like?

Violet likes 80′s female power ballads and music without lyrics that she can work to. Movie scores are generally a favorite since most of those are instrumental. 

BONUS: Does your character have a song that is “their song”?

Uh. Fite me.

25. What is your character’s birthday?

She’s a Sagittarius. December 2nd. 

BONUS: Does their astrological sign seem to fit them?

Violet is a Sagittarius and she does have a thirst for knowledge and an impressive intellect. She’s curious and quick-witted and extroverted. So I’d say it fits her well, but that’s why I chose the sign for her in the first place. 

26. What family structure did your character have growing up?

She doesn’t remember much about her parents, they died in a fire when she was young. She grew up with her older sister in a boarding school. They were rather staunch and strict, but she had a cool lady named Hecate around to help her realize her true potential. 

27. How well did your character get along with their family?

Violet and her older sister, Persephone get along famously. Plus her mother figure, Hecate is constantly around being her best self. She has a pretty great family dynamic. 

28. What is the worst thing your character has ever done?

Probably left that sticky note for Jasmine. 

29. What is the best thing your character has ever done?

That remains to be seen. 

30. What is the most significant romantic encounter of your character’s past?

Uh. She stabbed Jasmine in the hand once. 

31. Has your character ever been in love?

Not that she knows of. So far. In this time line. 

32. Has your character ever been in lust?

Uhhh. Sure. All those orgies. 

33. What is your character’s level of sexual experience?

Pretty lacking. She’s only been to a few blood/moon orgies. 

34. What is your character’s most embarrassing moment?

Lol generally existing. But no really, probably accidentally stabbing a cop in the hand. 

35. What is your character’s biggest goal in life?

to SUCCEED AT THE THING SHE WANT TO SUCCEED AT CAUSE IT IS A THING TO DO AT ALL THE COSTS.

Also to change the cost of casting. She wants to erase the emotional disconnect it causes in wixen and magical beings of all types. It’s sort of a huge problem. Though for a long time she goes about that the wrong way. 

36. What does your character believe is their greatest virtue?

Probably being a healer.

37. What does your character believe is their greatest vice?

Probably not knowing when to stop a bad or toxic behavior due to being casted out. Overcasting is a huge bad habit she’s picked up recently. She’s never been able to cast recreationally before leaving the medical corps to help her sister with their new potions shop. So she’s gone overboard lately and it’s been sort of ruining her life. 

38. What motivates your character most?

A strong desire to find an easy way out of her past mistakes and hopefully make things better for future generations. 

39. Is your character objective-oriented?

I mean, probably? We’ve already discussed her interest in goals? I don’t understand why this question is even here.

40. Would your character rather be a great person or a good person?

Violet is offended by this question. It’s a fucking weird stupid ass question. 

41. Would your character rather be hated for being who they are or loved for pretending to be someone else?

Violet doesn’t give a fuck. If you don’t like her, that’s your problem, fam. 

42. Is your character an introvert, extrovert, or ambivert?

Extroverted. 

43. Is your character creatively expressive?

I mean. Sure, if you consider potion making an surgery and art. I suppose. I mean, she makes potion making look fucking cool. 

44. What’s your character’s disorder?

Violet is a giant fucking nerd.

Who is cursed with a flair for the dramatic along with the crippling depression, lack of empathy or any sort of emotional understanding, and general shitty person disorder that comes along with magic and its use in modern society. Wixen are very off-putting to say the least. 

45. What is your character’s standard emotional state?

Stressed. Probably angry. Maybe a little confused. At least at first, until she goes through a brief apathetic phase. Then basically constant earth shattering rage. 

46. Is your character materialistic?

Sure. Violet likes pretty things. What 19 year old isn’t a little materialistic. 

BONUS: What are some of your character’s prized possessions?

Man her weird spiral rainbow wand that she doesn’t use because wands have been obsolete for centuries. But the ~~~aesthetic~~~ tho. 

47. What is your character’s major learning style?

Practical application. Putting herself in a situation or a simulation that would require her to use the knowledge she’s been provided with and has studied several times. She learns both by reading and by doing. 

48. What question isn’t on this questionnaire that your character is just burning to answer?

She likes girls more than dudes even though she’s bi. She also wants to have a pet red panda because they’re cute. Her favorite animal is probably a bear. Idk. 

49. I am a _________. How would your character complete that sentence?

“I am a medical professional and this is jackass.”

50. Life is an act of _________ing. What verb would your character use to complete that sentence?

Dude probably “fucking” what kind of a dumb ass sentence is this. Violet is fucking perturbed. 

[vankoya]

The Silence Amidst the Fray.

✗ Part of the Across the Multiverse series!

Genre | Howl’s Moving Castle AU.

Pairing | Min Yoongi / Feminine Reader.

Words | 1,529 words.

Conspectus | The war has come, and neither the wizard, nor the human can stop it. All they can do is count the days, and wait.

The castle has not moved in weeks, and the thought of it eats at your heart like the demon’s flames consume his own.

“We must go,” you say to the flickering orange and red, staring off into nonexistent space as though perhaps a door to another, safer world may magically appear out of thin air. “We must move farther away.”

“Yoongi wishes to stay, my dear girl,” the flames respond. The crackling voice is strained, exhausted. Your chest yearns so sorrowfully at the sound, the weakness of the fire meaning weakness of the wizard. “He knows what’s best. You’re the forefront of his thoughts, and he only wishes to protect you.”

Out there, somewhere, the faux protector is dying. Yoongi is letting his humanity become consumed by a self you have only seen thrice; meddling with old, bad magic as a being of wings and feather. To protect you, the fire that holds his heart insists. But Yoongi, of everything in this world, knows you would rather die together than alone. Than you with every single memory you both shared, and he, incapable of even remembering the feel of your name on his lips.

The old magic takes and takes, with little but war to give back.

Your eyes, at long last, refocus, and you notice that you have been staring at the unmoving front door the entire time. Reluctance weighs heavy on your shoulders when you drag your sight towards the fire before you, like the lock may suddenly become eternally latched shut if you dare not watch it for too long. 

“Do you know why he wishes to stay?”

“He’s tired of running from the truth. For you, he no longer desires to be a coward.” The fire’s voice is gentle, its flames warm. Though no comfort can seem to settle within your rigid bones; cannot melt them into soft butter anymore. “It’s all for you, my dear girl. He’s doing it all for you.”

Anger bubbles within you, a boiling pot threatening to spill over. You bite the inside of your cheek until it bleeds to drown the scream that nearly claws itself from your tongue. Because Min Yoongi, that selfish bastard of a wizard, does not deserve to enact such confident performances of bravery. 

Most especially if it means saving you.

The placid lake shimmers underneath golden radiance, yet you do not feel protected like you used to. The war is here, nobody, nor no place, is safe.

He made this meadow; blossomed the flora, created the endorheic basin. All for you. Everything, for you. But he cannot grant the sole wish that you desire. The easiest one of all.

It is a beautiful day. The meadow flowers sway in the gentle breeze—a kaleidoscope ocean of green, white and pink. Puffs of pearl glide through the seamless, pale blue sky. Behind you, the fire sits quietly in the castle that no longer moves, licking at a lover’s heart. Endlessly bored, but you understand.

The both of you are becoming restless. The wait is like an itch that never leaves. Scraping your nails over it only causes such minuscule, temporary relief before it flares back up again, riper than ever.

Months have passed. The war still rages on, evident by the fact that the doorway portals are being erased one by one. Kingsbury and Porthaven can no longer be visited, bombed, most likely, in the crusade between the humans and the wizards. With every loss, you sob at the lake’s feet, begging to its crystalline surface that it bring a ceasefire to this affray. You strip down to your bare skin and bones and wade out to its cold, aching centre and wonder if it is worth holding yourself under. Never to resurface.

Never to know whether the wizard made it.

And that, right there, is the thought that makes you glide back to the shore, tug on your undergarments, your dress, and pretend that you never once entered the body of water in the first place.

“Someone is coming.”

The fire startles you with those three words. Hot tea spills into the saucer rather than the cup, scalding your fingertips with a hiss from your lips.

The last time it said that was two weeks ago when a stray battleship had flown over the meadow, striking fear and concern within your chest. Yet the heart-eating fire had blended the unmoving castle into the grass as though it were one with the dancing field. Slowly, ever so slowly, the ship had passed through the murky sky with its bombs clutched to its belly, waiting to be released, to claim more souls than heaven can handle all at once.

This time, it is different. The fire demon had said “something” on that sickening day, and you swear that it just muttered–

“Someone?” You watch the flame with wide eyes, liquid burning your shaking fingertips. Tea drips onto the floorboards from between your knuckles, though you hardly notice over the way your heart lodges in your throat. “Did you just say–”

“Yes, my dear girl!” The fire sounds hopeful, so awfully hopeful. Its voice rises with a victorious crackle that shakes the walls of the drab castle and booms through your body. “It’s him! Alive! It’s Yoongi!”

The porcelain shatters, and you are running, bursting through the front door and tumbling into the midday light of the bright meadow like a bird taking flight from a tree. Wildly, you turn this way and that, eyes peeled to the sky, and you see him. You see him! There, coming down from the pale blue like a falling star, pitch black feathers peeling from his body and fluttering in a contrail behind him as his figure descends towards the lake’s surface.

No thought to remove your clothes is ever considered. Your calves burn as you sprint towards the edge of the water, boots and all coming with you. You have barely waded past your hips when Yoongi impacts with the glittering face, mere metres in front of you. Immediately, without sparing a moment to breathe, you dive down.

When you reach his body, laying in the shallows, it is the warmest thing you have known in months.

As you pull him from the lake’s arms and onto the grass, he is weightless. Even his saturated, simple clothes of a white blouse and black pants are light as air, like he is not even real. Lingering magic; becoming heavier with every last feather that is plucked from his arms by the water. The wings are gone by the time you fall to your knees beside him, choked sobs heaving from your lungs, and he is Yoongi. Min Yoongi. Your darling wizard Yoongi who only messes with old magic that turns him inhuman for the sake of protecting you.

“Yoongi,” you cry, palms cradling his warm face, staring into his calm expression, waiting for his closed eyes to flutter. So, so tired of waiting, and yet here you still remain. For him, always. “Please. Please, wake up.”

With one fell swoop, you lean down and press your mouth to his own, kissing the shimmering lake from his lips, drinking him in, indulging on the heat that he stores. The tears come harder when the rosy flesh parts underneath your delicate pressure, inviting you closer, awakening with a curl of his long, bony fingers around your wrist. With your eyes open, you notice the pinch of his black brows, the twitch of his eyelashes before they snap wide apart, brilliant irises staring up at you.

A sound comes from his chest that feels like relief, desire, home.

The hand releases from your wrist. His arms curl tightly around your waist, and Yoongi is suddenly looming over you, grinning like the end of the world was never about to occur.

“My love,” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse, but it is him. His lips fall upon your cheeks, your nose, your mouth; finding the under of your jaw, the column of your throat. You laugh and cry in his iron embrace. “My gorgeous love. I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.”

Then, the tears pour from his eyes with the weight of wars, of the dead, of the old magic that he knew for too long. The both of you, soaking wet, cry in the meadow that remains motionless, mouths finding any expanse of flesh available to help him rediscover the love that he nearly forgot.

The sun is perched upon the horizon by the time Yoongi gets to his knees, clothes now dry, and links his fingers with your own to bring you up with him. And it is there that you realise he was not the only one who almost forgot. For you could never precisely remember the feeling of Yoongi’s knuckles fitted perfectly between your own; the warmth that caresses your skin as you admire the home that the two of you built together; his lips touching to your temple before you both walk towards the front door.

For the first time in years, with the end of another war, the castle does as it is supposed to do.

It moves.

Prompt | Kiss: My character kisses yours, or vise versa.

Series | Across The Multiverse is a collection of drabbles based around the prompts from this list, each taking place in a different universe. The updates will occur whenever I am inspired by a prompt to write a small piece, most generally done as a warm-up.

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

[ecrivainescence]

@constant-gesticulation​ hi cat! i’m your backup gifter for @voltron-ss​. merry belated christmas/new year and stuff. you have been super patient. you rock. i hope you enjoy.

title: maurice

word count: 4668

summary: honestly, this is the silliest thing i have ever written, and it is one long exercise in suspension of disbelief. it contains mothman, dated cultural references, and a random shot of seriousness that did not make itself apparent until about midnight. also bonding, and poison ivy. and red bull. and shiro is allergic to everything.

The campfire stories were Allura’s idea. 

“On Altea,” she said, “we told stories of creatures that wandered the night in the waving reed forests. They left wooden stick figures hanging from the waving reeds. They left rock cairns. And if you disturbed one of them you were damned. My father warned me away from them time and time again.” Her face was illuminated by the dim glow of the fire, and her hair was witchy-silver. Her voice took on the quality of an ancient story-keeper.

“But there were three young explorers who did not heed the warnings not to speak of the one that lived in the forest outside our city. She was said to be a malevolent old witch who never showed herself to the people, but who had a long bloody history. Her modus operandi was taking two victims at a time: one to kill first, and one to stand in the corner listening to the screams of the first, awaiting their own death.

“The three explorers were never again seen after the first day they entered the forest, but a year later we found their footage. One of them had accidentally disturbed one of the cairns, and after that things started to unravel. They wandered around in circles for days, lost in the forest, finding wooden stick figures hung from the trees, and being pursued by a being that cast rocks at their tent in the night. Eventually one of them disappeared, and the other two found nothing but a bit of hair and a couple of teeth and a piece of his tongue.”

“Hold on just a hot minute,” said Hunk, artfully constructing a double-decker s’more. “You’re just recycling the plot of The Blair Witch Project.”

“So what if I am?” sniffed Allura. “It was a good movie.” 

“No movie retellings,” said Hunk. “It’s the Campfire Story Honor Code.”

Allura stuck out her tongue at him.

 “I’ve got one,” piped Keith from his position on a stump across the fire. “It’s a good one.” 

“Here we go,” muttered Lance. Shiro shushed him. Pidge leaned in.

Ignoring him, Keith proceeded. “Point Pleasant, West Virginia. 1966. The Scarberrys swore the thing they saw was not a man, nor a bird, although it bore some resemblance to both --”

“It’s Mothman again,” said Lance.

“Got a problem?”

“Oh, I have many problems,” said Lance, “and among them are Mothman, Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and anything you found on Creepypasta.” 

“Well,” said Keith. “You asked for stories. All my stories are about the dark underbelly of the American wilderness.”

“We’re twenty minutes from a Chick-Fil-A,” griped Lance. “That’s your wilderness.” 

Hunk sighed. They’d been like this for days – tense, edgy, at each other’s throats. They weren’t always quite so flammable, but something about the close proximity of RV travel made them a powder keg: You spilled coffee on my notebook. You used my toothbrush. What do you mean you ate the last slice of beef jerky.

He expected Shiro to chime in a peacemaker, but then he remembered Shiro was already asleep in his bunk inside the camper due to being extremely fucking tired of everything. Not only was he in charge of driving, but the strange shift of their return to Earth had revealed a lot of unexpected things. Like that Shiro was allergic as hell to everything. Mangoes. Tree nuts. Certain types of sunscreen. Allura’s shampoo. In fact, they carried an Epi-Pen or six with them at all times and tacked a list of his allergies on the tiny refrigerator, ready in the case that he broke out in hives, as he’d already done thrice.

So yeah. Shiro was tired. 

Keith and Lance had somehow gotten back to bickering.

“Lance left our food out for bears!”

“Keith almost abducted somebody else’s dog!”

“You helped!”

“At least I wasn’t the one who forgot to tell Shiro about the peanut oil in the chocolate chip cookies and nearly constricted his airway and then bludgeoned him in the head with a golf club!

“That was an accident, for starters,” said Lance, “and at least I didn’t knock down the world’s largest rubber band ball!” 

“You can’t knock it down! It’s a ball! It rolls!” 

“It rolled right over an eighty-year-old man.”

“No, actually it rolled over his wife.” Pidge was fiddling with her ham radio setup, which she operated illegally on the go. No one knew what she was doing with all those wavy sound lines and static-y sounds emerging from her headphones. It was just what Pidge did. 

“That’s hardly better,” said Lance. “You may be the resident ace pilot, but at least I’m second best at threatening the lives of the elderly.”

“Yeah?” asked Keith. “You’re awfully good at being second best.”

Hunk snapped to attention. The glint departed Lance’s eyes in an instant. “Well,” he said bitterly. “I can’t argue with you there.” He shrugged and turned, walking off into the darkness.

“Oh dear,” said Allura. “I’d better look after him if he’s going to walk off alone in the dark.” She hurried off.

 “Not cool, man,” Hunk said into the awkward silence surrounding the campfire.

“I wasn’t thinking,” said Keith. “I just…fuck.”

“You really hurt his feelings with that one,” Pidge said quietly, her headphones in her hands, spitting static.

“I know,” said Keith. “Shit.” He put his head into his hands.

//

There was something about being on Earth that dragged Lance back into who he used to be. The inferior. The lost. The mildly spiteful. He’d almost fooled himself into believing that he was over it – that he was finally comfortable in his own skin, that he didn’t have to be the best as long as he was his best. But it wasn’t even the damage to his self esteem that really did it – it was that Keith had said it specifically to hurt. And out of nowhere. In the middle of a petty argument. That hurt more than anything.

He could hear Allura crunching leaves behind him, even though she tried to be quiet. Always looking after him. Always assuming he’d get himself into some sort of trouble. And what made him so bitter about it was the knowledge that, so often, he would.

“I’m calling it a night,” he said, changing course and heading for the camper. “You don’t have to babysit me, Allura.” He trudged back toward his cot and his thin blanket and his midseason finale of The Walking Dead. Allura touched his shoulder lightly as he passed by. He shrugged her off.

// 

The next day, Shiro grabbed a six-pack (his secret stash), a fishing pole, and a tiny child’s beach chair decorated with clownfish, and made for the lake a half a mile away.

“You know I care about all of you,” he said, “but I’m going to go fishing. I’m going to sit in this chair, and I’ll happily skin the person who makes me move. So do what you want, but be prepared for the consequences.” He nodded resolutely and made his exit, Allura chasing after him to remind him to wear his hypoallergenic sunscreen. 

Pidge turned to Lance. “I need a ride to the nearest store to get some radio stuff.”

“Okay,” he said, making for Shiro’s dad’s old pickup truck that pulled the camper. 

“I need to come too,” said Keith, with heavy bags under his eyes. “I need some stuff.”

 //

The nearest store was a WalMart twenty minutes away.

The first thing Pidge noticed was that it was nearly totally empty. There was but one cashier, and she was wall-eyed. The automatic doors creaked. The inside of the store played elevator music. “Meet back here in fifteen,” said Lance, and they wandered off in their respective directions.

Pidge wandered about the aisles looking for her extra wires and the little pencils she liked and the best instant coffee for all-nighters. Keith and Lance avoided speaking to each other except when absolutely necessary, picking out toilet paper and Cheez-Its and several pool noodles. Wrapped up in their own heads, they paid for their things and left the store, and only after the silent ride home did they notice anything was missing. 

Pidge wandered out into the parking lot after finding them nowhere in the store, and swore loudly. The truck was gone. 

“Hey!” called the wall-eyed cashier. “You gotta pay for that stuff!”

“Well, fuck,” Pidge said to herself.

// 

It was in the personal care aisle that she saw him. She had downed a couple of Red Bulls at that point (okay, maybe four). So yeah, the world was starting to blur. And the aisles were starting to seem more and more like a mystical labyrinth, a trap for the weak-willed, a purgatory where one might wander for all eternity and never see the sun. Or, for that matter, a sales associate. But she swore he was real; he was not of this world, but he was real. 

He seemed to distort the air around him, like he possessed a certain gravity. His eyes were in fact as bulbous and red as legend told, but he seemed to taste the air, too, with these gently waving antennae on his face. He was coated in downy gray fur. His wings were dark, iridescent, sharp like the edges of knives. 

“I knew you would come,” he said to Pidge, not looking. His voice was like rocks falling off the side of a mountain. 

“How’d you figure that?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and trying to remember if this had ever happened on Red Bull before.

“You signaled me,” he said. “Did you not?” 

“I don’t know, maybe.” Shouldn’t have played around with amateur radio frequencies. “But is that why you’re in WalMart? Really?”

“No,” he said in his rockslide voice. “I ran out of Kraft macaroni and baby wipes.” 

“Mothman eats Kraft macaroni?”

“Please,” he said. “Call me Maurice.” 

“Hmm,” Pidge said. “Nice to meet you, Maurice. You’re as intimidating as they said you’d be. I’m Pidge Gunderson.” 

“I am pleased to make the acquaintance of yours as well, Pigeon Dungerson,” he said.

“Well, we’ll work on that later, I guess,” she muttered. “Say, Maurice. How’d you like to help me with something?”

// 

There were several reasons this was a good idea.

1.     Revenge. She’d only been buying deodorant and stuff, for fuck’s sake. She hadn’t just wandered off for two hours. She was sick and tired of getting left places – WalMart. Diners. Gas stations.

2.     Keith and Lance were at each other’s throats more than was necessary, and it was screwing with Pidge’s flow. They always worked better together in times of trouble. Perhaps it was time to shake things up.

3.     It was going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

“Okay,” she said to Maurice, who was munching happily on a Pop Tart. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to stick close. I’ll lure them off by themselves, and then you can do your weird stun-tongue thing and drag them around a little bit. Let them freak out. Let ‘em scream a little bit. And then when they get their shit together and figure out a plan to get out of the situation, I want you to let them get away. Let them think they’ve done it themselves. And I’ll pay you in all the Pop Tarts you want.”

“We do not have Pop Tarts in my realm,” said Maurice, the air shimmering around him.

“I know, Maurice,” said Pidge. “I know.”

//

Keith apologized profusely when he arrived twenty minutes later to retrieve Pidge, but strangely enough she didn’t have anything to say about being stranded at WalMart. Keith put it down to one of her weird caffeine-drunk spells, given the aroma of Red Bull on her breath. He shrugged it off.

 He was lacing up his boots and packing his field notes when he noticed Lance standing by awkwardly. “What are you about to do?” he asked.

 “I’m gonna look around,” Keith said, trying to offer a little goodwill. “You can come if you want.”

 Pidge, behind a nearby tree (and sporting some fabulous aviators) whispered into a walkie talkie: “Your move, Maurice.”

 //

 Around one in the afternoon, Shiro was working on his sweet Chaco tan when he remembered he’d forgotten his pool noodle. He tromped right back to the camper. Allura was just out of bed, wearing a t-shirt over her swimsuit and sipping a cup of the acidic black coffee that spewed out of the ancient coffeemaker.

 “What’s that on your legs?” She asked.

 “What’s what?”

 “That,” she said, gesturing toward a strange yellow-pink rash that Shiro had not previously noticed.

 “I guess that’s…oh. Oh no.”

 “What?”

 “Poison ivy.”

 “Isn’t that supposed to be rather mildly irritating?”

 “Not to me,” Shiro said. “Guess what else I’m allergic to?”

 “Poison ivy,” Allura said, turning slightly green. “Oh. Oh shit.”

 “It makes me swell up like a balloon,” he said.

 “I’ll get the keys,” Allura sighed. He was already looking a bit puffy.

//

 In retrospect, Lance would wonder if it was really all that surprising that as soon as they’d wandered far enough from the campsite that no one could hear them scream, there had suddenly been an insect man tall enough to sling one of them over each shoulder and haul them back to his weird lair thing. It was, like, the only thing that hadn’t happened yet in his short life.

 The cave was not littered with the bones of small animals, as he would have expected, but instead strange paraphernalia of ages past. Hawaiian shirts. A gumball machine. A broken television set. Books and books and books. Star Wars miniatures. A typewriter.

 It really wasn’t a cave at all. More of a large person-sized dirt burrow, or an adobe hallway.

 “This is my collection,” said the strange red-eyed moth creature. “Please making yourself comfortable.” He paused for a moment, as if contemplating. “If you can.” For Keith and Lance were bound up together, back to back, in some sort of strange tense plastic-like material. Slightly slimy. Ominous.

 “Listen,” said Lance. “If you’ll just untie these rope thingies, we can all sit down and have a chat, okay? A dinner party. A forum, if you will.”

 “I cannot do that,” said the creature. “Do you like music?”

 “What?”

 “Music.”

 “I mean…yeah. I guess.”

 “Oh, good,” said Mothman. He walked his funny childlike shuffling walk over to a cobwebbed corner, and fiddled with something glinting in the low light. A moment later, scratchy music began to play. Upon further inspection, the object barely visible in the dimness seemed to be a phonograph. “It is the theme from an Earth show called, ‘I Am Dreaming of Jeannie,’” he said. “I have also the songs of Billie Holliday, and Milli Vanilli, and Back of Nickel.”

 “You’ve been collecting Earth music, haven’t you?” said Keith.

 “They sell Nickelback on vinyl?” asked Lance.

 “I have been a collector of Earth things for many years,” said the creature. “Next I will show you my collection of glass jars. Perhaps my marbles, if you are careful. Or my many plastic shopping bags. And my most favorite thing,” he said. “Would you like to see my most favorite thing?”

 “I suppose,” said Lance.

 “Look.” He trotted out of a corner with a dusty cardboard box that, upon further inspection, contained dusty video cassette tapes. “It is my box set of all of the seasons of the Earth show ‘Friends.’”

“Very, um, nice,” said Keith.

 “We were ON A BREAK,” said Mothman. He made a noise that sounded somewhere between a cough and an avalanche. “Ha! Ha! Have I done the Earth humor correctly? I have not had much time to practice on real people.”

 “You know what, buddy?” said Lance. “Yeah. You did it right. Congratulations. You’re pretty great at Earth-speak.”

 “Oh,” said the Mothman, clapping his hand-things. “I am glad.”

 “If you would just…y’know…untie us, that’d be great.”

“You will be going nowhere,” the creature said in his strange gravelly voice. “For I will not permit it. You are to be my dinner. Yummy yummy. Human flesh.” The moth-creature-alien-thing waved his hands about his head in a manner that resembled jazz hands. “Was I convincingly scary?”

“I’m not ready to leave anyway,” said Keith. “I want to interview him.”

Lance raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Of course,” he muttered. “Of course you do. Of course you want to interview the flesh-devouring man-moth who has us trapped prone in his cave in the Virginia wilderness.”

“I’m just saying!” said Keith. “We are never going to get this chance again! We can get documentation! Nobody has ever had proof this definitive of the existence of Mothman. We can ask him about the Silver Bridge thing –”

“That was not my doing,” said the Mothman.

 “You know what I’m talking about?” asked Keith. “You know about the Silver Bridge?”

“I am Maurice,” said the Mothman. “Please refer to me by my Earth name.”

 “Okay, um…Maurice, then,” said Keith. “So what really happened that day?”

 “I do not know,” he said. “It was a most unfortunate accident. I was at home all day. The one they spotted was not me.”

 “Who was it, then?”

 “My brother Jimmy. He was visiting from our realm.”

 “Your realm?”

“My home. It is in another galaxy.”

 “Well, what’s it like? What are your people like?”

 “They are mostly what you humans would call ‘average Joes,’” said Maurice. “They are workers. They pay taxes. I am here to work on my thesis. I have taken a bit longer than the average of forty years to complete it.”

 “Your…thesis?”

 “Yes,” he said. “It is on the behavior of the bald Earthlings and their strange culture. I have learned of one ritual in particular that captures my imagination. You put our your right arm, and then your left, and then you turn your hands over, and then grasping your elbows…”

 “You’re speaking of the Macarena,” said Keith.

 “We could demonstrate it for you if you’d untie us.”

 “Oh,” he said. “I will. Eventually. But for now the little one said –” He clapped his hands over his mouth.

 “What little one?” asked Keith. “Are you working for somebody?”

 “I have said too much,” said Maurice. “You will have to ask her. For now I will take my leave. I have to be gathering the flowers.” He waddled out of the cave at what was top speed, compared to his usual gait. “Do not be trying to be escaping,” he called backwards over his wing.

 Lance and Keith summoned grimaces and raised their hands as far as they could to wave, considering they were tied up. They didn’t stop smiling at the creature’s back until he was well out of sight.

 “Okay,” said Lance when it was clear they were alone. “We’re going to have to work together to get out of this.”

 //

 “I haven’t seen Lance and Keith for a while,” said Hunk, surrounded by a stack of novels, knee-deep in one that had to be at least 500 pages. “You wouldn’t, um, happen to know anything about that, would you?”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Pidge. “Nothing. None. Zip.”

 “You were awfully intent on paying them back,” Hunk said, “and now, funnily enough, they’re gone.”

 “I think I should reapply my sunscreen.”

 “Pidge. Come on. Where are they?”

 She sighed. “It’s kind of hard to explain. But they’re safe!” she added hastily, when Hunk turned slightly green. “Relatively, anyway.”

 “Explain now,” he said, putting his chin in his hands.

 “Okay,” she said, and began her sordid tale.

 When she reached the end, Hunk put his face in his hands. “I cannot believe,” he said, “that you invited Mothman to kidnap your teammates.”

 “Maurice,” corrected Pidge.

 “Maurice may be responsible for many deaths, my friend. The Silver Bridge! Car accidents! Oh, god, they’re probably already dead! I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Lance’s mom –”

 “The collapse of the Silver Bridge was caused by a faulty eyebar and you fucking know it,” said Pidge. “Maurice is a nice guy. All he wants is Pop Tarts, I promise. And he’s probably an extremely valuable contact for Voltron, and an opportunity for insight into parts of the universe yet uncharted –”

 “Take me to them,” said Hunk. “Now.”

 “Ugh. Fine.”

 //

 Usually, Allura loved riding her high-tech portable deployable solar-powered motorcycle, courtesy of Coran – the wind in her hair, the sun on her face. The sweet taste of fresh rural Earth air. But right now, her hair was whipping Shiro in the face as he rode behind her, arms locked around her waist.

 He was still pretty swollen and itchy, but at least he now had a prescription for some medication that was supposed to help. And at least nobody had said much about the Galra arm.

 And at least, said that small, wicked part of her mind, he would still need someone to rub calamine lotion between his shoulder blades.

 As a pick-me up, she’d bought him a huge tin of fudge from a roadside stand that also sold beaded bracelets, snow globes with Mickey Mouse in them (probably stolen), and little figures of tiny naked fairy babies with flower crowns and chubby cheeks.

 It was this fudge tin that was digging lines into her back as she pulled up to the camp site. She parked, stood and stretched her back good and long, and then looked up as Shiro shuffled up next to her.

 “Wait a minute,” she said. “Where in quiznak is everybody?”

 //

 Keith and Lance managed to accomplish approximately nothing.

 Lance was proposing a strategic top-speed ground roll all the way back to the camp site when Keith, who was the one facing the mouth of the weird dirt burrow, began screaming. “Hunk! Pidge! Run while you still can! Before Mothman devours your flesh!”

 “Excuse me,” said Mothman, appearing suddenly out of nowhere with a crack, antennae quivering. “But I have told you that is not my name.”

 “Nice work, Maurice,” said Pidge, entering the mouth of the burrow slightly sweaty and out of breath. “It’s not your fault they were too stupid to figure out a way out.”

 “Wait,” said Lance. “Hold on just a hot fuckin’ minute. You know him?”

 “Yeah,” said Pidge. “You make all kinds of friends when you get stranded in WalMart.”

 “You set him on us,” said Keith.

 “I did you a favor,” she said, “and you would be wise to remember it the next time we stop at a QuikTrip. Before you, you know, forget me.”

 “I mean,” said Hunk. “She kind of has a point.”

 “The idea,” Pidge said, “was that you were supposed to figure out a way out together and realize that you’re a great team and you need to support each other.”

 “So you organized this as a lesson in teamwork? You let us be kidnapped by a giant insect-man in the Virginia wilderness so we could learn?”

 “No,” she said, looking at the pile of bubble-wrapped teenage boy on the ground. “That was just a bonus. This is also revenge for the five different times you’ve left me at…let’s see. Waffle House, a gas station, another gas station, that one weird fruit stand, and WalMart. But you weren’t supposed to get hurt or anything. You were supposed to figure out a way to get out. Together. Since you’ve been making our lives miserable with your fighting.”

 “Well, we didn’t.”

 “I am sorry I have bound you too tightly,” said Maurice. “I forgot that humans do not possess fine razor sharp hairs on their hands capable of cutting through my biological web goo.”

 “Whatever you do,” said Lance, closing his eyes as if in pain. “Do not ever mention biological web goo again. And do not tell me what part of you it comes from.”

 “Oh, just my nose.”

 “I guess it could be worse,” said Keith.

 “So you’re basically tied up in alien moth snot,” said Hunk.

 “Maurice,” said Pidge. “How do you feel about Spaghetti-Os cooked over a campfire?”

 “I would most enjoy it!”

 “You did some nice work today, bud. I have seventeen boxes of Pop Tarts with your name on them.”

 Pidge held out a fist for him to bump, but he met it with a high five. “Okay,” she said. “I guess we’ll have to work on that.”

//

When they got back to the camp site, Shiro was lying under a blanket inside the camper, watching Gilmore Girls season two, and Allura was already pacing with her hands on her hips, ready to scold. “Where in quiznak have you been?” she demanded in her best Mom Voice.

“Off making friends with the local cryptids,” said Pidge. “Meet my friend Maurice.”

“I am so fortunate to be included in the bald Earthling ritual burning of the marshmallows,” said Maurice.

 Allura was taken aback. “Um,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve met anyone of your species before. But I suppose it’s nice to meet you. And you,” she said to Pidge, “will explain later.”

 “Oh, that is alright,” said Maurice. “I am sure we will be able to do the bonding over bald Earthling pop culture. I am rather partial to Bruno Mars myself.”

 //

 Pidge and Maurice sat around the campfire long after everyone else had retreated to the relative civilization of the RV. They toasted Pop Tarts, downed yet more Red Bull, and traded stories about their respective worlds, current events, and pop music.

 “Well,” said Allura warmly, observing from afar. “I think everything’s finally all worked out. We’re bonding, we’re learning about each other, we’re exploring the great American wilds, we found Mothman…”

 “Oh fuck,” said Shiro. “I think this fudge has nuts in it.”

 “Oh no,” said Allura. “Oh, no. Oh no no no. How allergic did you say you were to nuts?”

 “Severely,” said Shiro.

 “NURSE HUNK! EPI-PEN! NOW!”

 As Hunk thundered around the camp looking for the first aid kit, and Pidge continued teaching Maurice bawdy British rugby songs, and as Allura issued commands while Shiro panicked (“My face is swelling! I can’t feel my face!”), Lance turned to Keith. “So,” he said. “Is Mothman everything you hoped he would be?”

 “I mean,” said Keith, shrugging. “He’s a little anticlimactic. I don’t know how I’m supposed to work this into a book about the dark underbelly of Mother Nature. And besides, I didn’t find him. Pidge did.”

 “Pidge always figures everything out first,” huffed Lance. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother comparing myself to you when she smokes us both.”

 Keith hung his head. “I’m sorry I said that stuff before, about you being second best,” he said. “I don’t really think that. I was just being an ass.”

 “Oh, it’s alright,” said Lance. “I’m used to you being an ass.”

 “Yeah, well, I’m not trying to be,” he replied. “I just am that way. Even when I’m thinking totally chill, benign thoughts, I somehow manage to bitch people out. I don’t really like that about myself. Actually,” he said, “sometimes I’m not sure I like myself much at all.”

 “Yeah, well, then we make a great team,” said Lance.

 “We do, though,” said Keith.

 “Would you like yourself more if you managed to solve Bigfoot first? I know Mothman’s out of the game, but other mysteries remain. I’ll come with you, of course.”

 “Well, duh. I’ll need witnesses and a cameraman and stuff.”

 “I still can’t feel my face!” Shiro yelled in the distance.

 “No, no,” said Pidge to Maurice. “You’re talking about rugby league. It’s different from rugby union.”

 “This fudge really is exceptional, though,” said Allura.

 “Pound it,” said Lance, offering a fist. Keith met it with a high five.

 “Okay,” said Lance. “We can work on that.”