#regrettably my barriers and walls are back up. so i just kind of am not saying shit ever and barely interacting or showing emotion

[staryarn]

Sleepy berry time

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/8/22

this week on This Old House

listening dangerous heart, by night club. another kind of goofy little song with a hook that’s thoroughly stuck in my head, that little bloopy bit that sounds like you’re booking it down a rainy highway in a eighties cybernoir. i would have been Very Into this song in high school, but it’s got a real 2016-2018 flavor of...songs that a movie about a female assassin would feature in the climax, where she’s stalking inside a secured facility soaked in rain and neon to kill her mentor/replacement father figure. this sort of driving but understated club music simply did not exist when i graduated high school in 2013

reading fallow week

watching everyone will be delighted to know i am finally watching deep space nine, one of the uncountable star trek tv runs. im about halfway through s1 and im very much “wow cool space station!” and enjoy the little morality puzzle it throws at me and then immediately bulldozes over. who all here has good meta or background reading. apparently there’s a podcast some of the cast did breaking down each episode and i do want to listen to that but maybe not right now.

i love aggravated hands on hips dad sisko. no one will be surprised to know i adore major kira. awful terrible woman, great deal of fun to watch.

playing parking jam 3D, a free mobile game by popcore. unfortunately i did pay to remove ads on this one but i think it has paid for itself by helping me fall asleep several nights in a row. sometimes i check out an app if it’s been in the top 20 for several months of logging shit for work in a row. just to see what’s up. i like simple slidy puzzles. soothing for the brain

the dev, popcore, is a berlin-based company with 100+ employees which is on the larger side for a studio that hasn’t been snapped up yet but they’re making a fucking killing bc their ad placement and frequency is incredibly fucking annoying and this half-paying-attention feedback loop makes it real easy to do uhhhhh several thousand levels while waiting for other things to happen. hypercasual games! easy to pick up with no language barrier where a level can be played in under thirty seconds! that’s how they getcha! i know how it works and i work here and it still got me!

making all right here we go lotta shit happened this weekend bc i attempted to work out some rage in a healthier way mostly by making my kitchen nicer. i’m still catatonically angry but my kitchen does look way nicer.

but first two additions to the bay window room (in my head i call it the office bc that’s mostly what i do in there but it feels very proprietary. other people live here also):

this tiny hardwood/brass table cleaned up very nicely, i regrettably did not take before pics and the craigslist posting has been sensibly taken down. brassoed the living hell out of it, then murphy’s wood soap, 3 layers of tea stain on scratches that didn’t do much of anything, tightened the joints, “solved” a stripped screw problem with a generous dollop of wood glue, and put my little felt furniture pads i love so much on the feeties. there are zero ninety degree angles in this house and none of the floors are level either but it’s at an acceptable level of wobble. i keep forgetting to acquire a rubber mallet to gently persuade the little brass tray to go back in its little cutout but it’s usable. the goal is to make a nice little reading nook in the entryway/other living room bc we simply don’t really use that room very much and it’s weird.

this three and a half foot tall lamp also cleaned up real nice: (vacuumed the shade, glued an alarming amount of the trim and edging back down with my good friend liquid stitch, cleaned the glass and cord, dusted off the metal part, pried open the bottom and removed the broken nightlight bulb)

kitchen: put up art (vaguely anti-war and anti-military-in-space themed, i cannot think of a more western massachusetts thing than decorating my sundrenched prewar kitchen with a gallery wall of activist posters mostly purchased in one fell swoop the last time i got a bonus, i have become that which i hate but it does look fucking sick imo) patched nail holes from failed attempts at gallery wall, caulked a bunch of shit while i was up there, patched some other nail holes from other shit.

after/before, posters from left to right: fuck your space tourism, protect mauna kea, bofa het (my sister got this at some local print on demand shop but here’s an etsy listing), daddy what did you do in the climate war?, a gift from the people of the united states of america, we checked no heaven for bootlickers, octavia butler

acquired pompom trim. acquired more fabric to make curtains for the hall window. washed the new fabric and the curtains i had already made and managed to bleach them evenly, a thing i did not manage the last time i washed them. put the pompom trim on the sink window curtains, managed to complete one set of cafe curtains but i do not have it in me tonight to do the other set so that’ll have to be next week’s making or something. also put up plants on plant hooks from the ceiling (found out my ceiling is inch and a quarter thick plaster and lath) but am also not satisfied with how they are hanging. much to tweak.

there are a couple more things i want to do in the kitchen (magnetic knife strip, contact paper for our weird backsplash, figure out wtf is up with our water filter, finish the wretched hive of scum and villainy cross stitch + frame + hang that up so it covers a weird hole left by a light fixture over our back entryway, a better solution for mops and brooms and shit, caulk some more shit and replace the weatherstripping on the back door) but other than that i am mostly satisfied with that room. i have plates and glasses and cutlery i like and a kitchen table and chairs that could survive a direct hit from a tank. spent a truly ridiculous amount of time and money getting this kitchen, the room i spend the least time in, Just So bc i had such a clear vision in my brain of what i wanted and we are Almost There.

also deep cleaned the kitchen and discovered a slow leak bc that’s just how it goes. conveniently, the shower handle fell the fuck off last night and the bathroom sink stopper has not worked since we moved in (we have been propping it open with a dull paring knife for eight months) so hopefully whoever our landlord sends to fix this will make our house much more functional. even if he refuses to pay for the moth treatment, plumbing shit is a thing that is very clearly his responsibility in our lease. bastard.

[dise7se]

you can’t make a mistake (on these kind of ice skates)

by spideysforce

It begins like this: MJ and Ned show up to his and May’s apartment first thing in the morning, their incessant knocking on the front door with ushered whispers, “Peter!” followed by even more knocking. HIs heart is beating fast and he gets out of bed, whispering-shouting back at his friends to not wake Aunt May up.

Regrettably, they do wake Aunt May up at 7AM on her Saturday morning off after working 9 shifts in a row at the hospital. May still pulls Ned and MJ into the apartment, telling them she missed them, hugging them good morning and giving Peter the glare for not opening the door sooner. She may be allowing the squad to venture off on their own the winter break of their senior year, but she lays down the ground rules for their trip to the mountains outside of the city, streaked with frozen lakes they’ll venture out to skate in; She expects no blood, no blunt traumas, death, or ice all over the floor of the car. 

He felt like a little kid ten years ago, a couple of years living with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. He had recently become accustomed to living with them, they began their own traditions. After celebrating Hanukkah and when Peter got out of school for the new year, they would drive out to the mountains to sit in scenic view parking lots, an early morning radio playing exclusive MET players in winter leagues content from their practices. May would set up the trunk, and they’d all squeeze in with the door propped open, huddling close and watching the trees sway. It was breathtaking; Ben usually stood too close to rocky cliffs to capture the perfect photo, propping him up on his shoulders to get the higher angle he couldn’t score himself. The same excited feeling from the night before, the excitement and him not being able to sleep, his stomach does leaps while he watches his friends tow their bags in. It was a meteorshower visible in the night sky, digging his fingers into fresh dirt in the spring, the first snowfall of the season.

    “May, are you sure you can’t come with?” Peter asks once more, slouching and pouting his lips. He needs to raise the dramatics, she’s the best ice skater he knows. 

“Sorry, baby. It’s my day off, and you three deserve your own fun little trip.” She fastens his puffy jacket on, zipping it up to the top, yet never snagging his chin. He groans once he catches MJ hiding a laugh behind her hand. 

“You two are next,” May smiles in a knowing way, “don’t you think I’m going to let my kids go outside in the freezing cold with their jackets unzipped.”

“Of course, Aunt May,” Ned replies with his manners by the Leeds family never failing, standing happily besides Peter and chewing on his morning bagel. MJ sips on her coffee, grabbing Peter’s blue and white snowflake-knitted hat with a pom pom on the top. 

“Please, no, MJ,” Peter complains, shaking his head to dodge the hat in her hand, May turning her gaze to Ned and huffing about kids, when Ned shrugs in agreement. “Seriously, you’re messing up my hair that I work so hard to naturally stay this luscious and wavy.”

“You know who you sound like?” 

May turns to Peter to give him a very pointed look with a raised eyebrow, and he knows exactly where this is going. “Just like Tony. Always worrying about the hair, the sunglasses, how muscular you look in the Spidey suit.”

“May,” Peter shrieks, his face turning scarlet red while the room erupts into laughter from his friends who are totally betraying him right now. “That was one time in front of the mirror! Don’t get me wrong, I am very muscular in the suit, but you can’t just--”

“Can you just finish putting your hat on and get out of here already, go take your film photos for your photography project,” May presses a kiss to his forehead, gasping and taking a step once she realizes she needs to stay on the tip of her toes to reach him. 

“Yes, May,” he says mildly, “ice skating, photos, and back home. No shenanigans.”

With that, she ushers the three of them to the door, reminding them no web fluid experiments in the middle of the woods, skating where they aren’t allowed, or no fighting unsolicited sea monsters, or any monsters at all  like last summer. She exhales, her shoulders slumping and she’s giving him the same look that Happy and Tony give him before their spontaneous lectures, notorious anecdotes included. She says more ‘love you’s, sending them on their way.

---

MJ, Peter, and Ned drive May’s 1989 Revolvo outside of the city, taking the open highway to the mountains about an hour out. Peter took the driver’s seat, Ned in the front, and MJ opting to sit in the back with all their skating equipment. The car is full of laughter, music, and chattering in their ears on the drive to the lake, in true Peter Parker ADHD style, MJ and Ned Facetiming Flash and Betty, asking them to meet them on their hike.

The first thing he notices that gives him butterflies is MJ rolling the window down the second they reach the George Washington bridge, letting her curly hair- that usually smells like coconut oil and shea butter- sweep through the wind. His stomach flutters, watching her through the rearview mirror with a wide grin splat across his face, a laughter probably bubbling in her chest like his and Ned’s are full of. 

As if his big, doey heart eyes aren’t big enough, he finds Uncle Ben’s old film camera he gifted to Peter secure around her neck, snapping photos across the moving bridge. Of the sky, of him, of Ned, the car besides them on the right that honks angrily at them. He hastily laughs, asking her to get back inside the car before her face freezes.

Why is his heart beating so fast? Why is he beaming so hard at his best friend beside him, pretending to reprimand his best friend in the back of the car?

Once they’re outside of the city, Ned passes a stick of gum to each of them the moment their ears pop from the change in pressure. They argued the entire way about their school advisors, not really knowing what to do next on their way to college. They all remind him of himself in their own way, and he’s starting to miss them already. MJ wants to study law and criminology, with a forensic biology minor. After Ned graduates he wants to study computer engineering, and Peter wishes he was so sure of himself like they were.

He doesn’t offer much.

It’s fine, because his friends have been helping him figure it out, hence them pushing him to apply to this photography scholarship and contest. Every time he dares to bring up a double major in STEM and photography, his advisors laugh in his face and shut him down. They make it nearly impossible to talk, but his friends are there for him and remind him he can go at his own pace, reminding him he has his alter-ego to worry about.

Peter pulls the car off into a dirt road, surprised he even knows how to drive as a Queens dweller. They follow a path, Ned gripping onto his door handle. “Oh, G-d, Peter. Be careful! Look, there’s a squirrel!”

“Ned,” he gulps, Michelle smirking at their cowardice from the backseat of the car.

“Come on, it’s just dirt,” she suggests, and quirks her brow from an idea. Once the car is silent besides the lowered music, she jumps out and yells in Ned’s ear to watch out.

He jumps, yelling, “that isn’t cool!” and throws something back at her while Peter finds a spot on the side of the mountain. He slams on the brakes to shut them up, their petulant arguing coming to an end once they see the scenic rest stop.

As promised, his friends let him push them around and guide them like cattle to get the perfect shots. He crouches across the parking lot away from them, hearing their hushed whispers and laughters about how ridiculous he looks. “It’s for the aesthetic, okay!”

He opts for the colored film, replacing the entire roll of 50 they used just on the drive here. He shuts the back of the film camera, reeling the film roll until it catches, and finds the perfect shot of his friends whispering and slowly becomes entranced by the actual scenic view. He captures the sky from a new perspective, blocking out all of his surroundings.

He shows his friends the sky, he shows them the car headlights shining on their hearts, and the sun shining on their faces. He captures the muddled sunshine through Michelle’s curls, a blush forming on her face from the camera being too close along with Peter holding it.

His heart skips a beat every time he photographs Michelle, finding a new beautiful thing about her to be lovestruck over.

He takes portraits of the both of his best friends, planning on printing all of these photos 100 times to hang them in his room, to give to them, and to place all over the photography critique and display wall. He sat on the cold gravel road and his friends had to dust him off. His photos look how he feels swinging off of buildings at night, finding one billboard sign, like outside of Matt’s apartment that illuminates the entire block in oversaturated neons. There weren’t iron bars and concrete filling the frame like his photos from the city, it was green trees with branches draping above them, brushing across their faces, a palette of turquoise, grays, and greens.

Peter brought color into the achromatic, washed out world.

There was a photograph he knew he was going to print to become poster-sized, the subject blown up huge because he wanted to reach out into the photo itself, not yet developed. He imagines his hands in the chemical infested waters, bleach and fixer pouring down his hands. 

Ned and MJ both hang their abdomens off of the large metal railing, rockfall barriers they wrap around, the mountains blurred horizontally in the back. MJ’s hair carefully drapes over the edge of the railing, blowing in the wind. Ned stares past him, suspended in air right behind Michelle. The bars are set impossibly straight, but MJ and Ned’s body destroy the thirds in a beautiful, alluring way. Their arms dared to swing over the edge of the mountainside, throwing them into the flesh if the barred metal wasn’t holding them. Too close to the edge, too close to the sky.

“I got it,” he pants, unbelievably bashed at the one click of the shutter. The focal point is always set to 50mm and an aperture of 1.8. 

It was like chemistry, physics, it was Murphy’s Law; Whatever can happen in his film roll, will happen. 

He lowers the camera down from his face, MJ and Ned already out of there poses, he finds them smiling at him.

---

As promised in an unsaid way, MJ, Ned, and Peter cling onto each other to get the hang of skating. They each hurt themselves at least once quickly leaning over to lace their own skates leaning out of the car, parking nearby the lake and hiking across the icy-snow to get to the icy lake. The area is empty, and the mountains hover above them through the trees, sending a chill their way.

Not before long after testing the ice themselves and deeming it safe by the signs, they’re gliding along the icy lake and pulling each other down in each desperate tug to stay upright.

Ned points out, “I thought you were good at ice-skating! You’re Spider-Man!”

“Exactly!” he shrieks back, his left leg gliding in front of him causing him to flail his arms to find balance. “I web-swing! I don’t ice skate for a reason.”

Peter clears his throat, gliding over to MJ who watches Ned with a relaxed smile while he skates around the perimeter. Out of the three of them, he picks skating up the quickest, naturally fleeting over the ice with precision. “It’s not nice to hover, you know.”

He whips his head to the side to look at her, his ADHD brain reminding him it’s a joke and she’s messing with him before he falls into his own spiral of self-doubt. He smiles at her, her beige puffy coat covering her chin and she smiles into the enclosed space, looking up at him. Her hands are in her pocket, and he reaches playfully to warm his own hands up in the jacket.

“Uh, so--” he clears his throat, “it’s so cold out, right? I mean, the temperature is around freezing and we spent an hour in the mountains--”

“Yep, cold.”

“I had a lot of fun, like, I know we’re best friends and all and I’d do anything for you guys, but what you both did-- I got the perfect shot. I really did it,” he talks lamely, wondering how he still stumbles over his words around his crush he kissed in Europe. “You know, I’m probably just.. I think I’ll go take more pictures? I’ve never felt so alive and nostalgic taking pictures, and like Uncle Ben used to tell me-- Okay, I can’t take you looking at me like this.”

Amused, MJ smiles with his face too close to hers while they share body heat, hitching her shoulders. “You know I can hear your inner monologue, right?”

“It’s just-- you know, we’re hanging out. It’s not totally lame with me ruining it, we can forget this happened..”

She leans forward, leaning her forehead to his. “Do we have a reason not to?”

Right, yeah. They can do this, he thinks.

The feelings between them are confusing, and even though they’ve kissed, that was probably just a spur-of-the-moment thing, right? He did save her life and their friends, they were scared. And holding hands? That’s what all friends do-- 

His brain almost can’t process this all at once, and he thinks his cheeks can’t redden even more despite the cold and he’s sure she can see the tip of his ears burning pink-- 

He scrambles, nearly reeling back in the ice when she plants a kiss on his cheek. Her grin is huge, and she gently takes his hands out of her pockets and skates away, his heart rate struggles and he thinks this is how he’ll faint. From tachycardia. 

Ned’s voice fills overhead, and he grabs his camera from the side of the frozen lake to join them again. Persistent chills run down his spine, the misty freeze coming from the ground. They let Peter stand in the middle, lacing their hands together to skate in a chain, disastrously. It was at this moment the teenagers truly regretted not taking skating in Central Park seriously until last year, their skills unabashedly catastrophic, giving it up after they realized they can celebrate winter break inside, baking for everyone in the apartment building. 

The three of them realized Peter has his web-shooters equipped to their wrists when Ned clung onto him, nearly slipping and he tugged him up, and in their laughter released a web that shot into the snow across the lake. They stoof, starstruck, and could anyone blame them and their impulsivity? And so, what had started as simple skating to shoot film, documenting their lives beyond a surface-level way.

Ned retreats back to the sidelines, sitting a few feet away in the car on the side after skating for nearly an hour. The three of them pant in exhaustion, massaging their own limbs and stretching. Michelle attempted a jump on the ice while he went to go check on Ned, screeching and landing in an almost-split. 

He decided to keep quiet about the slight buzz that begins forming at the back of his head, crediting it to nearly slipping every five seconds on the ice. 

“Come take a break with me, I’m about to eat one of our many junk-food snacks until we can get lunch,” Ned offers after, he thinks he noticed the concern on his face from the haywire senses and doesn’t want to alert Michelle. He must suspect the way he starts shivering, too, so he sits in the passenger seat that faces the lake, besides Ned.

Ned looks at Peter, and he simply smiles back because he doesn’t want to worry his best friend. He chucks off his gloves, cleaning the camera from where it sat in ice and says he’ll be right back to take pictures in the smaller icy lake away from them.

He drags himself along the snow, taking big steps to account for the heavy skates on his feet towards the tiny icy lake besides them. He sees Ned and MJ gesture to each other, Michelle nodding her head towards him in concern, who makes eye contact with him and crosses her arms and makes a shivering motion in question. He shakes his head, sending a thumbs-up that he’s okay.

He’s reached the other side of the lake, taking pictures of Michelle skating from another angle in a snow covered patch. He shivers, the incessant cold gripping him. He feels it - a hitch, but it isn’t a shiver from the cold. He’s immediately retreating back when he hears a crunch, a kr, gripping his camera a bit tighter before throwing it to the side and he turns frantically, trying to locate the alert from his legs--

Closing his eyes, he listens to the noise of small ice particles separating, deciding where the safest spot to jump to is, letting his sense direct him somewhere else. He knew he was away from the mini lake, the frozen pond for this reason. It’s technically off the lake, but there must be a small terrain of water and he stumbles around the ice.

His skates are heavy on his aching feet, the snow seeping in from the sides that’s a few inches high, his heart racing in pure adrenaline. “MJ. Get off the ice now. Get off.”

“Peter, what--”

The glaze, icy surfaces are cracking beneath him, atoms shaking. His senses won’t stop screaming at him frantically, not guiding him except for up, and it might be too late to send his web-shooters above him, the shooters in the car with his gloves. He doesn’t have enough time to warn them to grab his web shooters for him before he’s crashing into the ground, through ice and water.

He suspends in the water, the cold engulfing his entire body, it’s unlike any cold he’s felt before, even after being trapped in snow after a fight with Mysterio. It’s unthinkable, striking his entire body. He blindly panics, pitch black in his vision and his throat burns raw as he screams. 

Get up, get up, get up-- swim, swim-- 

His body is being carved out by millions of pinpricks, the cold seeping into his body and chilling his bones and the shock gouges his brain. The skates cause him to be less buoyant, his heavy legs scraping ice and getting stuck with each desperate kick and flutter to get to the surface.

He watches the bubbles rise up in the water from his mouth, screaming he can’t hear himself underwater. He didn’t have the chance to suck in a breath, his exhalation running out and twisting and tearing at his lungs. Each cell screams breathe--

He can’t hear anymore. 

Loud ringing replaces his senses, he reaches blindly upwards and his heart rattles in his chest. The freezing temperature below the ice seizes his body. He jackknifes upwards, realizing his movement is clumsy and unreflexive.

His left skate becomes stuck in a chunk of ice, and he’s back in Europe for a moment. Heat blindly covers his face, the sensation all lost. Behind his closed eyes, a hot summer heat casts over him, but he’s being burned from Mysterio sending fire his way. He’s on Titan again, cells ripping to shreds again.

He lets himself succumb to the drowsiness, reaching up once last time to feel around as the opening of the ice flees. Even if he did make it out, his lungs feel too full in his chest, he’d need to get rid of all the liquid from his lungs fast, hoping he doesn’t asphyxiate.

He thinks he sees shadows dancing above him in the water, he’s hopeful his friends would dare reach inside for him, but it wouldn’t be fair for him. He’s drifting, he slowly diminishes away and he’s so far away from them, a dizzying sunlight blinding him and allowing him to close his eyes once more. His brain shuts off, and his senses stop screaming and allow him to let go - the panic leaves him.

He thinks he’s dreaming when he feels a hand in his, another grabbing his wrist. This can’t be right, he’s about to fall asleep into the world of unconsciousness. He’s too weak to fight the tug upwards, seeing stars all in front of him. A black canvas streaked with colors, twinkling in the night sky. He thinks he hits the air again, but he can’t take a breath in so it must not be real. He feels his body being tossed down onto the ground like a ragdoll, dragging through the snow that feels hot, lava on his skin. Is he eulogizing himself, a cynical last vision that he truly did live?

His vision comes back, he thinks, unable to cough and his legs feel ready to burst inside his body. He’s turned to his side, snowflakes falling from the sky. He thinks he can see very single snowflake in front of him, dancing for him, he thinks behind the ringing he can hear shouting, wake up! 

He wants to listen to each voice, millions of seconds passing between each frantic shout. He.. he must be allowed to close his eyes.. He wants to be taken back to the lake after succumbing to rest. He falls, stars accompanying him.

---

MJ’s boots begin to slip on the edge of the ice, bits of icicles falling into the water where Peter thrashes. “Shit, shit, shit,” she cries out, perching herself safely to grab onto his hand in the water with Ned searching frantically for his web-shooters and anything else they can use to pull Peter out of the water with.

After a minute, she’s dragging him out of the water with newfound strength, watching his blue body retreat from the water and she screams out, sobbing now. She won’t give up. She won’t give up on him, Aunt May, or on them.

“Hang off, babe, I’ve got you,” she says, looking down at him as he desperately tries to gasp for air. She begins chest compressions, unable to think. She never thought she’d be fast on the spot for an emergency, but she thinks she screams at Ned to call 911, forgetting he’s still on the line with them.

Once she gets a pulse, she and Ned carry Peter to the car. They frantically cover his body in every coat and blanket they find, thanking G-d May has spares in the trunk in case of an emergency. She shrugs her coat off, leaving her sweater on. She springs herself into the backseat, Ned doing the same in the front with the heat already blasting. She’s frantically explaining to whoever is on the other end of the phone, voice breaking as she begs for help. “He’s- he’s breathing on his own now, but he’s blinking at us. What do I do--”

A few minutes pass, she’s not sure how she hasn’t passed out yet. May’s murmuring in her ear through the phone, that Tony is talking to Ned while he drives and that he’s going to talk to her next. She’s pretty sure she agrees, but she’s curled up around Peter, his body on her lap. She gives him warmth, listening to Tony spew medical terminology at her and how to treat hypothermia. 

“You’re gonna be okay. I promise. You can’t die on us,” she whispers into the air, the car engine roaring.

--

Once Peter returns, he wonders if he’s dead when he’s conscious again. His brain registers warmth and lumps beneath him. He blearily opens his eyes, the action too much, his head is in someone’s lap. They run their hands gently through his cold hair. He feels hands around his socked-feet, and he furrows his brows in confusion. He begins to shift a little, feeling a gentle pressure on his arm and leg. There’s warmth all around his body, which is heavy but safe, it's as safe as May’s arms, Ben’s arms during a thunderstorm that shook the building, Tony’s arms after Titan. He closes his eyes, moaning and he’s ready to drift--

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” May sighs above him.

His first thought is to gasp for air, coughing and feeling his lungs clattering in his chest, his sternum erupting in pain. It feels like a hacksaw to his sternum when he breathes. 

He whimpers quietly, hearing soft shushing above him. It’s a different sound from the constant headache of the ringing, but he hears the familiar whirr of the refrigerator and picks up four familiar heartbeats. His heart feels surmounted by grief, over the sea, left far away.

He blinks his eyes open past tears, recognizing the bookcase in front of him in the living room of the apartment, with a warm body at his feet on the couch. He’s in May’s lap, “Peter, hey,” May says softly, grounding him by placing a hand on his back. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

She places her chin to his hair, sighing, and he sags into her arms. He thinks his feet are in Tony’s lap, his foot catching his side.

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony soothes, squeezing his foot gently. 

“MJ? Ned?” He rasps out, no voice there and he turns frantically.

“Don’t worry, baby,” May says softly, he almost didn’t catch it. “MJ’s asleep in the chair besides Tony, Ned’s asleep in the other. We’re all crashing from adrenaline.

His head pounds at his movements, his arms feel sluggish, but he pushes himself off of May to find his friends, safe. “Oh-- fuck. Thank, G-d.”

“Language,” May admonishes kindly, settling him further into the couch comfortably by shifting pillows. “How are you feeling?”

Noticing hers and Tony’s eyes on him, searching, both their phones to the side of them and the window allowing pink and purple streaks inside, painting the furniture and the gold illustrating each facial feature of theirs. His friends sleep in the shadows, covered in soft blankets.He switches gazes between them. Tony moves him gently, wrapping his blankets tightly around him.

He’s guessing May removed some of his soaking clothes, exchanging his clothes and he notices the fresh white cotton t-shirt on his body, smelling of fresh fabric softener. 

“Kid, you’re going to give me an aneurysm one of these days. Or, better yet, you’re going to burst my arteries yourself.” He fixed Peter with a pointed look, sighing. “I mean, you’re almost in college. I shouldn’t still be doing this.”

Everything he says comes off lightheartedly, but every word is laced with concern. He desperately wants to get argue back, but he knows today is his fault. He ignored his senses, and he doesn’t have a good enough excuse. Would he have been able to save his friends if it happened to them?

Like Tony can sense exactly what he’s thinking, he continues to assure him. “You’re hypothermic. You were blue, Pete, but your dislocated knee mixed in isn’t the worst you’ve done..”

He sighs, looking away from Tony and opting to listen to the kettle in the kitchen, May shifting his head off of her lap and into the couch cushion to it off and stares at Tony’s phone on the table.

“It was stupid, I know. I’m so sorry, everyone,” he finally says, none of the words being announced like he wants, his throat tender and unhealed, lifting his head off the pillow and moans in pain. He’s able to sit up, leaning heavily against a pillow with his elbow propping him up. He ignores the piercing pain in his ribs. ”I checked the water. I-- I wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

Tony sounded as frantic as he did back when he first yelled at him after the nearly-disastrous ferry incident. “That’s part of the problem. You are thinking, kid. You’d never do this willfully. You always jump the gun, which is something also great about you.. It can also be a great flaw.”

“Did they get hurt?” he whispers, turning back to the two teens on the smaller one-person couches.

“Nobody except for you, kiddo,” May reassures him, walking back in with a steaming mug in her hands. He takes this moment to redirect his gaze to his arm when he grabs it, his stiff elbow poked with a needle. “IV, baby. Needed to warm you up with warm saline.”

She sighs, sitting on the glass coffee table in front of him and not bothering to move the newspaper. “We’re worried, Peter. I can’t protect you like I need to, want to.” 

He collapses back down into the pillow, oblivious to May and Tony’s secret communication with each other. May, nodding for Tony to sit beside her and in front of Peter. It probably isn’t comfortable for him, but he looks over to May for answers. She furrows her brows, her mouth set in a line.

He almost smiles, seeing the two of them in front of him again when he’s not dying. The relief quickly turns to worry when he remembers what happened, guilt refusing to subside. He’s huddled in the couch, like a cold, rejected dog, signs of frostbite all over him. It’s his own fault - he didn’t listen to his sense. The dark, insidious fear of death looms over his head once more, he really scared his friends today. And himself.

Murphy’s Law comes back to his head, an anxiety swirling in his stomach. It’s an ugly, black hurricane feeling, especially seeing the dejection and defeat written on both their faces. 

“I--” he can’t manage, but the two of them see hesitation flicker across his face, voice too quiet and broken. “I’m just- I messed up. T’ny ta-taught me so much, I didn’t listen--” he cuts himself off, his voice unrecognizable, eyes widening in surprise, a realization.

“It was all my f’ult. I sc’red them, badly.” Pressing himself deeper into the corner of the pillow, tears overflow his eyes, hot streaks across his face he doesn’t expect. A shiver racks through him, not from the cold.

Tony leans over closer to him, his breath warm even through the blankets and on his exposed arm, his own hand hovering above him in hesitation, the inhibition set across his face. His mentor takes a deep breath in, gently grabbing the back of the couch and placing a kiss to the top of his head. He must’ve really fucked up today, he thinks.

He watches the fear streak across Tony’s eyes, too familiar to Titan. Peter feels deeply rooted in the couch, frozen solid from his core. He doesn’t know what the end of the story is, fear ebbing away, and he really looks at Peter face on. “I’m sorry.”

Peter feels frustrated again, just like the morning when half the world that died was brought back, feeling alone. 

He lets his tears take over him, letting May hold him on the couch, feeling too weak to do anything else. She ends up pulling Peter into her lap again, rubbing circles on her shoulder and letting her own tears escape from her eyes, some falling onto his white t-shirt. He trembles under her, Tony reaching over to squeeze his hand, the arm with an IV. He soothes small circles with his thumb, drawing patterns on his skin and turns to May with owlishly wide eyes.

“It’s alright, kiddo,” Tony whispers. “We’ve got you. May’s got you. Your friends are right here. You’re right here.”

It takes some time, but eventually Peter falls asleep like that, May and Tony’s vice-like grip never once loosening on him.

[stardust-and-blades]

Winter Kiss

Yoooo klance drabble I finished on my insta :3 

Summary: Lance, a fire fey, sneaks into winter fey territory out of curiosity to see if the gruesome legends are true. Little does he know he will meet a beautiful boy with a sharp tongue and a warm heart.

Pairings: Keith/Lance Fandom: Voltron

He was starlight against the fog of evening.

Lance is not one to venture beyond the summer court territories, one to bathe in the sun’s rays than to slip through the icy terrain separating warmth and cold.

They were at war. Fire fey had a sunset sea glass towering over the border between territory, a blistering beacon of defiance against their foes. A fragile looking wall containing the strength of the Gods, awaiting the other half to challenge it. To break it. To unleash a different form of war.

Little did the fire fey know was their very own approaching the wall, using their craft to exit as much as he can enter. Winter may not be able to approach, but summer can manipulate as they please.

As he crawled through the opening, as the heat pouring from his skin filled into a lukewarm feeling, he carefully settled his foot on snow. He nearly jumped ten feet in the air with how cold it was. What little winter they had (which was not much) was never this intense. Lance has not even felt snow before, which was one of the few reasons he crossed the barrier.

Allura used to tell him horror stories of the winter fey. Of their conquests and deceit. Their eerie gaze that can freeze you in place. The fangs protruding from their lips, ice daggers waiting to sink into the only warmth they desired: blood.

But there was one story that really stood out to Lance. One she did not speak often. But after a trial of a prisoner taking place years back when she was entering her late teens, her black and white tales molted into grey. She spoke of secret marriages. Of children born of winter and summer. Of a resistance group looking to join the territories rather than destroy one another. And while she had to shush herself upon sensing more than the ears she intended to whisper to, she made sure Lance listened carefully. Openly. To not be like the others.

Hence him passing the wall.

And maybe because he saw someone peering in from the outside, the only sign if it being fey was the dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes passing through the bushes.

Lance was going to find out who the fey was.

Maybe see if the tales about them are true.

Or if allura was right in the winter fey not being complete monsters.

So he set off. He followed tracks in the snow, the glistening white trees diamonds in the sun.

As he made his way to a clearing, he noted how the soft crunch of his shoes turned to shattered glass. Lance looked down to see the change, and noticed how he had set foot on a frozen lake.

And on top of the lake was a dancing boy.

The same boy with the dark hair, who hadn’t noticed Lance before Lance took another step on the fragile water.

He was beautiful. He glided on the surface with such ease, Lance questioned if he was a water nymph. His ears were long and pointed, decorated in fine crystals the shape of tears. He had stripped away his coat, the fur thrown to the side in order for him to freely skate with his black pants and white shirt. His skates, sharp as the newly forged blades by the fire blacksmiths. Except when they strike they did not exhume ash, but rather puffs of frost.

Summer and winter.

Fire and ice.

Ash and frost.

Hot and cold.

They were the opposites of the same coin. Destined to hate each other, proclaimed to be forever enemies.

If that was the case, then why did Lance feel no animosity? Why did he want to take a chance and introduce himself?

Why did he want to be dancing next to his sworn enemy?

Maybe it was because he was vulnerable in such state, completely unaware of Lance’s presence. Maybe it was because of Allura’s intriguing stories, sparking curiosity rather than resentment.

Maybe it was because he wanted to be part of the tale that defied all odds. Believed in peace rather than conflict.

But he is 100% sure it wasn’t because of the knife rapidly flying towards his head.

Lance screamed and ducked, the knife imbedding itself in tree bark.

He whirled around to the winter male. He stopped his dancing, his feet in a stance prepped for battle. He had two daggers in his palms, no doubt he held more somewhere on his body for easy access.

He narrowed his violet eyes, an arm arching back to chuck a dagger when Lance placed his hands in the air.

“WOAH WOAH WOAH, I’m not here to fight!”

“You have five seconds to explain why you were watching me before this knife meets its mark.” The boy said, ice gathering at the tips of the blade, elongating it’s already sinister edge.

“Um...”

“Five, four—“

“Hey give me a moment to gather my senses—“

“Three, two—“

“I was distracted by how pretty you were dancing oKAY?” Lance screamed.

The boy stopped counting.

“What?”

Lance threw his hands up. “I was curious. I crossed the barrier to check out this winter wonderland to see if it really was the scary, cold dungeon my side makes it out to be. I was thinking ‘hey lets take a look and maybe there are some softies or some cute animals’, not get a KNIFE to my HEAD”

He blinked, slowly lowering his arms. “You...wanted to see animals.”

“That’s what you took away from the response?”

He paused, looking over Lance. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

Lance sighed and lowered his arms halfway, his sun-kissed jacket flapped partially open as he kept his stance unguarded.

“You can search me. I have no weapons.”

“If I approach you so candidly you could stab me when I least expect it.”

“WOW, paranoid much?”

“I’m cautious.”

Lance snorted, his fear over the winter fey withering away. “Okay, Mr. paranoia. How should I prove myself to you?”

The boy pursed his lips, eyes traveling from the top of his head, down the front of his bright clothing, and back up again. Violets met azure, and if not for his keen hearing, Lance would have drowned from the beauty of the orbs that rivaled the dusk.

“Strip.”

Lance’s mind came to a screeching halt.

“What?”

The boy waved his blade towards him, nonchalant. “Take off the layers. It’s the only way I can be sure you don’t have an alternative motive.”

“I am NOT getting naked for you.”

He cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m not saying to get naked.”

“You just told me to strip.”

“Yes, but—“ he stopped, tossing what he said in his head until it dawned on him. Blush creeped on his pale cheeks.

“O-oh. I-I meant your top layers. Your jacket and anything that would hide what is apparent.”

“So not fully naked.”

The blush increased. “No.”

A cocky grin made it to Lance’s face. “You know if you want to see me in all my sunny glory you could just—“

The boy threw a warning knife, grazing Lance’s ear. Lance instantly shut up, having a deep feeling if he kept talking at least one of his arms would be pinned to the tree.

He unfurled his vest and coat. They were like lava against the white snow, bleeding to touch and burn everything in its wake. Crisp leaves amidst autumn; the blessing of the sun as it dips into the ether at the end of the day.

The clothes may be off, but Lance radiated the same essence the clothing did, his skin glistening despite the cold. If the boy was effected, he didn’t show it. He walked up to Lance cautiously, padding what’s left of his outfit (pants and a thin tunic). He made sure to avoid Lance’s gaze, poking and prodding but did not have an ounce of harshness in his touch. He was almost...gentle. As if Lance were a deer he was going to scare away if he wasn’t careful.

When he was deemed in the clear, the boy took a couple of steps back to allow Lance to put on his clothes.

“So since I did a strip tense,” lance joked. “I think you owe me your name in return.”

He hesitated, but after checking Lance, he doubted he could do any real harm besides embarrassing him.

“My name is Keith.”

“Wait,” Lance said, going still. “Keith. As in, the same Keith who is the knight of the winter palace?”

The legendary knight. The same one who had taken down dozens upon dozens of Lance’s kind, as well as his own when faced with betrayal. Rumors scoured the lands of Keith being so good at his job, the  victim’s bodies couldn’t be found.

And yet here was Lance, literally looking him dead in the eye and somehow still breathing.

Lance expected him to do a 180 and kill him then and there, forever silencing the fire fey that managed to sneak across the barrier and find the knight of nightmares. He imagined a blade making a home in his vitals, his blood drenching the canvas beneath him in crimson rivers.

But rather than turn Lance into a decoration in the forest, Keith shuddered and inched away, as if Lance were the dangerous one.

“I...am Keith here. Just Keith. Nothing more.” He said, his voice a hush in the chill of the air. “Nothing less.”

“Just...keith.”

“Yes.”

“Then...you’re not going to gut me and dispose of me in one of these deep lakes.” Lance joked, trying to ease the tension. To slow his heartbeat into a natural hum, rather than the adrenaline spiking through his veins.

Regrettable choice of words. Keith cringed, indigo irises becoming shattered glass as he took in the meaning. Without speaking, he gathered his jacket and cloak and began to retreat. Lance’s heart withered. He didn’t know Keith well, but there was something about him shutting down from the mention of his misdeeds that tugged at Lance’s heartstrings.

That made him reach out, his fingers stretched to capture his shoulder. To cross the frozen lake, its glistening blanket cracking under his weight.

His foot went through the surface, cold nipping at his limbs as he plunged into the water.

All he could recall was his mouth and nose being flooded and his body tensing up from the sheer amount of cold.

The next moment, he saw a flash of light and a large, blurred figure grabbing him by the scruff of his collar.

He was yanked up, lovely oxygen making its way to his lungs and biting wind chomped on the apples of his cheeks to replace the slew of water. He was used to the sea of summer, not this bone chilled one leaving his lips blue and chapped.

“Are you alright?” Keith asked. He was knelt in front of Lance, a hand to his back and Lance coughed out the remainder of the lake.

“Yikes that’s cold,” lance commented. “My hair and wings are going to freeze over.”

His wings weren’t visible yet, but he could feel the ache settling on his back. If they were, they would most likely be turned to fragile crystals.

“Here, use this.” Keith said. He reached beside him and pulled out a white cloak, the fur lined the hood and the edges. It was plain, but in the light it shone with a thousand gems. Keith shook it out and wrapped it around Lance’s shoulders, the snow on it melting away as it touched his skin.

“Winter court clothes are imbued with their own magic to keep the wearers warm.” He tied the hood over lance, weaving a neat bow. When he looked at Lance again, their faces a mere few inches away from another, pink dusted his face. Even Keith seemed to have the same reaction, his hands stilling and his eyes unable to look away.

That was, until something wet licked his cheek.

“Kosmo!” Keith admonished. Lance turned to see a wolf beside him, twin melted coppers staring at the fire faery with his tongue lolled out. He was twice Lance’s size, yet posed no threat based on his white tail wagging.

“Sorry, he gets excited about newcomers.” Keith said, rubbing one of Kosmo’s ears. “He’s the one who pulled you out of the lake.”

Lance smiled, scratching Kosmo’s other ear. He leaned his head towards him, enjoying the attention. He licked Lance again, the boy laughing from the irony of an intimidating wolf being nothing but a pup.

“Too bad for you,” Lance joked. “I expected a knight in shining armor to save me, but looks like an adorable wolf beat you to it.”

“I can easily have him eat you.”

“Nah, he likes me more than you.”

“I’m his owner.”

“And I am the handsome stranger who is giving him belly scratches.” Lance stated, Kosmo officially on his back as Lance scratched his stomach. “I win.”

Keith shook his head, his lips quirked in amusement. “Whatever you say, Phoenix boy. I thought you could swim like all the others by the ocean.”

Lance puffed up his cheeks. “I CAN swim, thank you.”

“Not based on earlier.”

“Oh?” Lance raised an eyebrow, an idea popping in his head. “Is that a challenge I smell?”

Keith chuckled. “I don’t—“

He stopped, his ears twitching. Lance wondered what made him go quiet. He opened his mouth, but keith raised a hand, silencing him and put a finger to his lips. Kosmo stopped relaxing, the wolf rolling onto his paws and hunched over, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Keith kept his tone to a whisper. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave. Now.”

Lance frowned. “Why?”

“Because when you crossed the barrier you let out a silent alarm.”

Lance squawked. “And you didn’t bother to tell me until NOW? I could be dead in five minutes!”

“Not if we teleport.” Keith said, grabbing Kosmo by his scruff and hopping on top of the wolf. It didn’t bother him, and he went so far as to bend down to Lance’s level for him to join Keith.

Lance hesitated. He doesn’t know this keith well. He may be nice, but for all he knew he could be setting up a facade and internally planned to transport them to the palace. To execute him right there for trespassing, sticking his head on a pike to ward off any future fire fey from crossing the barrier.

But as Keith held a hand to him, as Kosmo nudged his hip for him to follow suit, and as those violets penetrated his wards, he succumbed to the winter faery’s song.

When he took Keith’s hand, he could not help but noticed the warmth he held in those palms. He assumed they would be unbreakable ice. But really they matched the inner workings of the cloak draped over his shoulders.

There was a flash of light, and the next moment they were in front of the pane of sunset, Lance’s home beaconing for him to return. To strip away the cloak and dive into the beach waters filled with seashells that challenged the stars in beauty. To the motherly ocean, where it can caress you in times of crisis or unleash its wrath to drown its victims for the harming of its children.

Lance’s questions were answered. It’s time for him to go home.

Lance jumped off of Kosmo and was about to cross to his territory when a thought hit him.

He turned back to Keith, the boy scanning the area for prying eyes.

Lance wasn’t able to talk to him much. Wasn’t able to truly get to know him. To find out why Keith acted off when Lance mentioned his knight status.

But they weren’t exactly close to know each other’s secrets. So he came up with an excuse.

“Um, I’m still dripping from my plunge earlier,” lance started. “Would you mind if I borrowed your cloak for a little longer?”

“Huh? Oh, no you can keep it.”

“But it’s yours.”

“And you’re shivering like a leaf. Keep it, I have others.” He shrugged.

Lance groaned. “I can’t keep this, the court may think I stole it from you. If I’m anything, a thief isn’t one of them.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s not stealing if I give it to you.”

“It is in my eyes. Besides, you owe me for almost stabbing me. So all I ask is you meet up with me tomorrow so I can return it.” A knowing grin split his mouth. “Unless you’re scared of the big bad summer territory.”

Keith’s eye twitched. He bored his gaze into Lance, Lance feeling the hole going through his skull with how intense he was. If he ended up as a frozen statue, he couldn’t say he didn’t expect it.

But instead Keith sighed, heaved himself off Kosmo, and stood in front of Lance.

Sure enough, the cloak was the only thing preventing him from shivering up a storm and getting sick. His hair was sticking up with ice, his clothes damp, and his arms hugging himself. Yes they weren’t far off from Lance’s home, but the thought of just taking the material and flinging him back into the wild left Keith unsettled.

“Fine, but there is only one safe way for you to re-enter without setting off the alarm.”

Lance cocked his head. “What is it?”

“This.”

Keith stepped closer to Lance, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him down. His hands moved from his shoulders to the sides of Lance’s head, kissing him atop the brow between his bewildered eyes. A cool sensation coursed through his crown, a frosted star embezzle right where the kiss was before it thawed away.

“A kiss from the winter court is an invitation for you to enter the grounds. Think of me as you pass through, and I will be here.”

“Um...I—what just...what—“ Lance’s face burned, and he knew it wasn’t because of the cloak.

Keith smirked and with one last wave of his hand, he disappeared with Kosmo.

When Lance got home, he screamed in a pillow.

[mirroredtranslations]

Tsubasa Sleeping - Chapter 6

Wazamonogatari – Nisioisin p. 227-233

[Previous Chapter]

In fact, I made quite a big gamble on the amount of information I could obtain from Dramaturgie-san about Oshino-san, and on how reliable that information was in the first place—but now that I think about it, Dramaturgie-san may have made a similar gamble on me.

I might be a young traveler, but even though I was perfect to be used as bait—not false bait, actual bait—if there were any other options, I'm sure a professional specialist like him wouldn't want an amateur girl he'd just met participating in his work.

It wasn't a question of ethics or morals, but an excess of uncertain elements; unlikely as it might be, he couldn't even be assured I wasn't on the vampire twins', High-Waist and Low-Rise's side myself.

Whether or not I could be trusted, whether or not I could be relied upon.

It was more dubious than a ghost story.

But he must have accepted my request to collaborate and the transaction I proposed because he didn't see another way forward.

Using me to locate their hideout and settle the case before more damage is done—to borrow his words, “for the twins' sake”—may not have been the optimal plan, but it certainly wasn't a bad one; I had some oddity-related acumen, after all.

Ougi-chan might look at our intentions and appraise us both as fools, with that thin smile, that dark smile of hers—

(—looking back now, regrettably, we'd probably deserve it. Both me and Dramaturgie-san ended up imprisoned in that old castle.)

(Setting aside how that happened, weren't High-Waist and Low-Rise under constant surveillance? Yet you couldn't locate their hideout without using a decoy operation? Kinda idiotic, isn't it?)

(I also doubted that point a bit; but when I actually got kidnapped, I understood. It's because the hideout itself was an oddity of some kind. That is, the old castle that was High-Waist and Low-Rise's hideout... it was what they call a citadel, but in a town that didn't exist.)

(A town that didn't exist... the scope of this story's gotten bigger. I see, I see. That's why they couldn't find the missing tourists no matter where they looked.)

(And why they couldn't find the hideout. The style is different, but was it what you call a “barrier”?)

(If they controlled an entire citadel, then they must've been pretty important vampires. They're bound by silly names like 'High-Waist' and 'Low-Rise', but I certainly understand why dealing with them was delayed—it was really for the sake of conservation.)

(Like how they wanted to conserve Shinobu-chan?)

(Hah hah. Shinobu-chan in her prime could've controlled an entire country, not just a city. So, the vampire twins' hideout would only materialize when they brought kidnapped humans inside? Understood. That'd stymie a specialist like Dramaturgie. Unless he used a decoy or bait, that is.)

(Would you use a different method, Oshino-san?)

(I'm fundamentally a negotiator, so my job would be to go between Dramaturgie and the vampire twins—my job would be to butt in. I'd be in the same position as you, Miss Class Rep. Although, I'm not so heroic as to volunteer myself as a decoy.)

(...I'm heroic?)

(Anyone can see that. But compared to spring break, you're still somewhat self-sacrificial, but not so single-mindedly devoted. You make a good impression. You just have an ulterior motive to obtain something you earnestly desire.)

Quite right.

Even if it were a big gamble, I'd embarked upon it precisely because I detected a chance of success—it certainly wasn't a barbarous act done in ignorance of cost-effectiveness.

Thinking of the dangerous situation Araragi-kun was currently in, what I was doing was completely within the bounds of safety.

(I don't think that's at all the case... But, we all place weight on things differently.)

(Indeed. Dramaturgie-san as well, I'm sure.)

However, I can't report that Dramaturgie-san and I won that gamble—we both wound up in a dungeon, what more can I say.

Can't say anything but 'I told you so'.

This is why gambling destroys your life.

It might not have been wise to make poor calculations and act according to probability—I can't say entirely for certain, but if we were gambling, it may have been easier to achieve victory with a desperate suicide attack like Araragi-kun might do.

Though, of course, this was a decoy operation planned strategically by Dramaturgie-san, who was not a professional gambler.

For the sake of his honor as a specialist, let me just say that it didn't go entirely wrong—until halfway, the plan was being carried out perfectly.

(Until halfway, huh. Wouldn't that mean, in other words, that it was half-baked?)

(That's harsh, Oshino-san...)

But there's an element of truth in that.

If the plan had failed completely, at least Dramaturgie-san and I wouldn't have been confined to a dungeon with no hope of escape—oddly enough, if it were the case that our strategy completely failed, we would likely have had an easier time reorganizing ourselves afterward.

It's like how they say a home partially destroyed by fire is nastier than one completely destroyed by fire—well, that theory does have a certain persuasiveness for someone whose house once burned down like me.

To explain from the beginning, the part of the plan in which I played a decoy went splendidly—a happy result, to use an odd expression(1). As a young traveler and a Japanese tourist, I successfully got kidnapped.

As I was walking carelessly down a remote road in the pitch black night, I encountered them—High-Waist and Low-Rise.

The two vampires.

I encountered the vampire twins.

(Hah hah. Araragi-kun would've said “walking carelessly and carefree,” wouldn't he?)(2)

(I was not walking carefree. I was quite nervous—skipping along would be out of the question. I was practically walking on tiptoe.)

And I surely am not Araragi-kun.

I didn't technically “encounter” them—I was caught in a pincer attack from the front and back.

I suddenly felt a presence behind me, and turning around, I found a golden-haired girl clothed in a dress so pitch black it dissolved into the night.

That golden hair immediately reminded me of Shinobu-chan, but I might not have needed to see her golden hair to tell she was an extraordinary presence.

The color of her eyes was red.

I suppose I could compare them to being bloodshot.

(Araragi-kun would've said “like Chiba prefecture,” don't you think?)(3)

(Even Araragi-kun wouldn't say that. Chiba doesn't have a “red” image, does it?)

(But that's because he'd call it the Bousou Peninsula, right?)(4)

(If you're going to keep making fun, I'll stop talking. This is a serious scene.)

Returning to the story.

Reflexively, I took evasive action.

Gazed at by those red eyes and utterly quavering in fear at the faint smile on her face, I instinctively prepared to run away—I nearly abandoned my role of getting kidnapped by the vampires.

I'm a complete amateur.

All I'd accumulated was information, and I wasn't suited for praxis at all—Ougi-chan would scoff at me.

I certainly won't say I got lucky, but as soon as I turned around instinctively to start running, my feet suddenly stopped.

It was a pincer attack.

In front of me, where a short while ago there had definitely been nobody there, a blonde, red-eyed non-existence had come into being—standing in my way.

Like a wall.

Blocking my way.

In counterpoint to the vampire in the pitch-black dress behind me, the vampire in front of me was wearing a pure white tuxedo.

With a smart bow tie.

Smiling thinly, gazing at me with eyes that really did look bloodshot.

A smile thin as a knife.

(I see. The twins were a man and a woman? All the more unusual.)

(Well, thinking about it now, I honestly can't assert whether they were men or women... I'll call them “she” and “he” for convenience, but I couldn't really judge their sexes. They were both so very beautiful—as if they'd transcended sex itself.)

(Hmph. That's not all that unusual for oddities. All you need to do is observe their division of roles.)

(Division of roles?)

(Assigning themselves to be male or female... Even in a community of two, you can see there's a certain social sense about it. Very interesting.)

(Social sense... Perhaps. If so, it's a completely different mode of being from Shinobu-chan.)

They looked like teenage girls and boys not so different from me in age, but a vampire's appearance holds little meaning.

The important part is how they are on the inside.

The difficulty lies in how they are on the inside.

Even if they're not five hundred or six hundred years old like Shinobu-chan, I'm sure they've lived much longer than their looks would lead you to imagine.

Afterward, I truly realized that.

Following what Dramaturgie-san told me, the girl in the dissolving dress was High-Waist, and the boy in the bright white tuxedo was Low-Rise; but that distinction didn't seem to be very consequential.

They had successfully taken positions point-reflected from each other with me as the center—I could only see the two of them as forming a single body.

Surrounded by four red eyes.

Trapped by four red eyes.

Caught in the glare of twin vampires from the front and behind.

As if I was rooted to the spot, I couldn't move an inch—I couldn't even tremble in fear.

Although, I'm uncertain exactly how accurate it is to describe the twins as staring or glaring at me.

It seemed like their gaze was actually passing right through me, and they could only see each other.

Only Low-Rise for High-Waist.

Only High-Waist for Low-Rise.

I don't think they could see me—despite being in their line of sight, it felt like I was being completely ignored.

Well, you might say being ignored in that situation would be the best I could hope for, but of course, it didn't last—after that, I got carried off.

All according to plan.(5)

But that's as far as it went according to plan.

[Next Chapter]

Footnotes: (1) The expression used for “happy result” here is 上首尾 (joushubi), which literally means something like “upper, between neck and tail”. (2) Careless (lit. un-vigilant) (無警戒) is pronounced mukeikai, and carefree (lit. jaunty/casual) (軽快) is pronounced keikai. (3) Referring to Chiba prefecture in Kanto. “Bloodshot” is 血走っている, pronounced chibashitteiru. (4) A peninsula that makes up much of Chiba. (5) “Plan” means 計画 (keikaku).

[fateother]

#03: Poison Heart Part 3

Jenna Kendall, a Master at the age of 18. From a lineage of magi, she entered the Rosebridge Holy Grail War for her family. This particular night, she was watching her Servant fight from a safe spot in the forest. It had started not that many minutes before. Jenna was out walking the night streets of Rosebridge, looking for traces of magic – in hopes of finding an enemy Master or traces of a Servant summoning. She was, after all, participating in a war. With her, although not in physical form, but hidden in spirit, was the Servant she had summoned; Caster. As she walked the empty streets, her invisible Servant spoke with the voice of a middle-aged man. ”Master, I must ask yet again – is this wise? Of course, I have asked this already, however-” ”Then you know my answer, Caster.” ”Yes, of course. However, I could send familiars to do the job. And frankly, so could you, Master.” ”I want to do this myself.” Caster didn't answer, and Jenna saw that as a win. She couldn't feel any traces of magic, and honestly, she wasn't surprised. Any Master of caliber wouldn't be so stupid as to- A blinding light flashed for half a second above Jenna. ”H-huh?” Jenna quickly recognized the source of the light as a magic barrier meant to deflect physical damage. Landing on the ground in front of her was a man wearing an old suit of armor. He looked to be nearing his fifties, and held a lance in his hands. So that's what it was – an enemy Servant had attacked, and Caster had deflected the attack, protecting his Master. ”Caster.” ”Indeed.” Caster materialized between the enemy Servant and his Master. He wore white robes, and a golden wreath on his head. The middle-aged Servant had a gentle look on his face, yet stern. For some reason, Jenna recalled hearing how in life, he was always cheerful and displayed great self-control. ”User of lance – you are Lancer, correct?” Caster said slowly, and less a question and more of a confirmation. The enemy Servant raised his arms into the air. ”Regrettable!” he exclaimed. ”Regrettable? I take it you would rather have been summoned as another class, then.” ”Indeed! For why am I not a Rider? Or even Saber? And my Master even had the stomach to suggest that a knight – no, kinght-errant - like me would be fitting as a Berserker! The thought!” ”What a loud, noisy Servant...” Jenna mumbled. ”Just kill him, Caster.” ”Very well.” Caster raised his right hand, and fired a blast of magic energy at Lancer. The latter, however, jumped out of the way. ”A-ha! A malicious wizard, just as I thought! Have at thee!” Lancer backflipped a few times onto the lawn of a nearby villa, and then stopped, looking at Caster expectingly. Caster looked back at Jenna, expressionless. ”...does he... want you to play along...?” ”The man is delusional. Almost as if a low level of Mad Enhancement had been placed on him.” ”I am not delusional!” Lancer shouted angrily. ”I shall slay you, evil wizard!” ”Woah, Caster, I think he's chosen you as his nemesis.” ”Regretfully.” ”Just kill him.” ”Agreed.” Caster started floating in the air, about ten meters above ground. Meanwhile, Jenna took cover behind some bushes in the forest on the other side of the road. Two magic circles appeared in the air above Caster. ”It is too bad I lived near the end of the Age of Gods, for else my magecraft would have been so much greater in power now that I have been summoned to act as Caster. I suppose such things cannot be helped.” ”Wile, evil wizard! There is no escape from a true knight-errant!” ”I aim not to escape.” Bolts of blinding light shot out from the circles, one from each. They struck the ground as Lancer did another ridiculous backflip to safety. Caster descended to one side of the large smouldering hole left in the lawn by his attack, and Lancer was positioned on the opposite end. ”Aha! And thus I have most swiftly and gracefully avoided death once more!” Jenna wanted all enemy servants defeated, of course, but she found herself really, really, wanting Lancer to perish, effective immediately. Suddenly, Lancer and Caster both quickly turned their heads towards the villa. They jumped back as two arrows shot from the direction of the house, one each landing where the two Servants had just been standing. ”Another Servant?!?” Jenna let out quietly. She held her breath, and it seemed the Servants did the same. After what felt like minutes (but probably was closer to a few seconds), Lancer raised his voice. ”Who dares interrupt a knight's duel?!? A friend of the wicked wizard?!?” Caster, on the other hand, had begun studying the arrow at his feet. Not touching it, of course – who knew what kind of curse or poison it could have been coated with. Silence. Then Lancer's loud voice again. ”I said, who dares-” he went quiet before his face twisted in dissapointment. ”If my master so says, then I shall obey. However!” He pointed at Caster. ”I shall slay you one day, evil wizard! I swear it, on my name as a gentleman!” With that, Lancer did another backflip, and faded away into spirit form. - - - - - - - The next morning, the basement in the Kendall house. Jenna, Caster, and Jennas older sister Helenah were sitting around a wooden table. The walls were covered with shelves containing bottles and potions of all kinds, and it was the room where Jenna had summoned Caster. Jenna always thought Helenah would be the one to participate in the war, but for some reason, the Grail had chosen Jenna. Helenah didn't seem to hold it against her, though – no, she seemed almost worried, but made no attempt to stop her younger sister. She had always been like that. ”I see. So after that, you escaped,” Helenah concluded. ”Or rather, made a tactical escape.” ”We didn't know our enemy. Most likely an Archer, I thought retreating and regrouping for gathering information would be best,” Jenna countered. Caster interjected. ”I have found something of interest.” ”Oh?” ”Two arrows were shot at the same time. One at me, and one at Lancer.” ”Yes. Firing two arrows at once is impressive, but since the enemy was most likely an Archer, well... not too surprising.” Caster shook his head slowly. ”No, that is not what I said.” ”Huh?” ”I took a look at the arrows shot at me and Lancer. They were different. By that I mean – they looked completely different, in shape, size, and craft.” ”So...” ”Could it have been two different bowmen?!?” It was Helenah who spoke up. Jenna gasped. ”What? But... well, that is a possibility, I guess... two bowmen Servants in the villa. Maybe two Masters joined forces already?” Helenah was deep in thought. ”No.” Caster interjected again. ”There were at least not two bowmen in that villa. No, the arrow shot at Lancer came from elsewhere.” Jenna looked at her Servant. ”But from where? It looked like they were both shot from the direction of the villa. Unless...” she blinked. ”From the roof?” ”Perhaps. No, most likely from further away. I believe the arrow shot at Lancer was shot over the villa, from a location in town. At least not from the immediate vicinity of the building.” ”A shot of that caliber most likely came from Archer... so whoever shot the arrow from the villa was either not an Archer-class Servant, or a really skilled, well, archer.” ”Master, what do you want to do about this?” Jenna thought for a moment, before looking at her sister. ”I... think I have an idea, if Helenah would agree to it.” ”Oh?” ”We're going to make contact with whoever is in the villa.” ”And if they refuse to talk to us?” Jenna stat quiet for a few seconds before answering. ”Then we kill them.”