#would protect at all costs; in a war where everyone is so terribly alone and terrified it's not impossible to find consolation in someone -

[cicero-the-assassin]

@twistedhxart @ayakoito

Continued from here.

They had just arrived at the part of the forest where they were going to set up their first night's camp when Conláed heard the words at his side. Leading his horse by the reins beside him, he raised his gaze, where he looked directly into the eyes of the vampire who accompanied him.

A few hours ago they had set out, leaving behind them vast fields of the kingdom, at their side an advisor and several soldiers to protect them. To protect him. The king had been attacked by a disease that would tie him to his bed. Exactly at the time when important talks were to be held in the war against Vertrock. But who could and should represent him better than his own eldest son and heir to the throne?

Conláed had been aware from the beginning that he would not go alone, but he had not seen coming that he even put Lucio at his side, who for some time had become something like a business partner of his father. Then again, a vampire, one of the most powerful creatures in these lands, was just the thing to keep him from being attacked and hurt, or even worse.

"It's your job." It sounded colder than he had meant to express. But in the end, it was just a job. His father had certainly promised him plenty of gold for protecting his son. Or something else he coveted.

"But…" He averted his eyes, stopped, and looked to where the soldiers were setting down the cart with their belongings and beginning to set up some tents for the night that was coming. "I appreciate it."

Lucio was scanning. His eyes had been focused on everything else except the other man at his side. In fact, this was probably the first time he had spoken up at all. Truthfully, he was merely watching for threats, changes in the environment.

Apparently he was charged with the task of caring for the heir, which had come as a shock to him. Considering not too terribly long ago, Lucio almost murdered him and devoured his corpse. Perhaps that's exactly why. Or perhaps the King merely wished to show his neighbors his new 'business partner' or rather 'pet' was likely the correct word. People, entire regions were afraid of him. Perhaps it might be good for his image to let people see he could be reasonable. Even if it did come at the cost of some of his terror.

Lucio, in this instance, amongst the rest of their company, was the last defense. Should everyone else fall, he was to keep the heir safe. At the cost of his head if he didn't. So, he trudged alongside the Prince, silent in his watch. But it was getting dark and it would be time to make camp soon.

At the, what he perceived to be a 'jab', Lucio sneers, adjusting the wide brimmed hat atop his head. Soon, he would have no need for it. Though he did not burn, it seemed the sunlight somewhat irritated him.

"Sure you do. I was adamant that the company you keep would be enough to keep the danger at bay. But your father was very insistent. I'm of the personal opinion that he believes that if he gives me leave to return home that I will not return. Perhaps he's smarter than he looks."

Insults to the King were possibly illegal, but Lucio spoke softly, and would dare anyone to try arresting him. This time he was prepared, he could slaughter them all. He was well fed. But, they were apparently settling for the night. The entire company started setting up the Prince's tent and then their own. Lucio, however, didn't seem to be up to the task. Opting to find a tree trunk and having a seat. Taking off his hat and fiddling with the embroidery upon it's base. "You'd do well to rest yourself. There's still a long way to go," He mentions idly.

#twistedhxart #Vampire Cicero #Lucio #IC #No need to match me #I just ramble sometimes

[sternvonafrika]

now I'm intrigued ....... Who /are/ Hartmann and Mertens?

ehy anon!

first of all, let's make the most important thing clear: although their pic was put under that textpost (mostly because those photos seemed to be the exact representation of what op was talking about) they were not in a relationship.

erich hartmann, also known as "bubi" ("the kid" in german) or "the black devil" was a german fighter pilot and the most successful fighter ace in the history of aerial warfare with his 1404 missions and his 352 victories against allied planes.

heinz mertens was his faithful mechanic, unfortunately i do not have a lot of pieces of information about him, but there's a very telling anecdote about the kind of friendship they shared:

"Realising that capture was unavoidable, he [Hartmann] faked internal injuries. Hartmann's acting so convinced the Soviets that they put him on a stretcher and placed him on a truck. When Hartmann's Crew Chief, Heinz 'Bimmel' Mertens, heard what had happened, he took a rifle and went to search for Hartmann."

they were known as "bubi & bimmel" and there are a lot of pics of them together in the airfield. honestly? if you like to watch pictures of two soldiers like that you could often envision them to be more than pals... if you leave your life on hands of the man next to you on daily basis in combat, you could imagine such relationship deepen to a VERY close friendship. however remember that, although i don't know anything about mertens, there are no evidence of their relationship as something more that a deep friendship + hartmann was married to ursula petsch

#you know what i am trying to say is that surely in dark times the man at your side becomes the person you cherish the most; the one you - #would protect at all costs; in a war where everyone is so terribly alone and terrified it's not impossible to find consolation in someone - #who goes through the same things you need to experience #that's why sometimes the bonds between people in those difficult situations can look so strong & powerful #see it as you want BUT there's absolutely no evidence that their feelings for each other were romantic; they just fitted the description - #of the text post - that's why the person probably added them !! #replies #anon #wwii #fly on to the last drop of blood #hartmann

[sweeethinny]

Second son

Summary: ‘You ran away from home?’

‘When I was about sixteen,’ said Sirius. ‘I’d had enough.’

‘Where did you go?’ said Harry, staring at him.

‘Your dad’s place,’ said Sirius. ‘Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son.’

or

Sirius runs away from home, and we see it through Euphemia Potter's eyes.

kind of inspired by @questions-forthe-marauders perfect art! HERE

AO3

-------

December 23, 1976 - 5:25PM

Euphemia did her best not to cry when Minerva's letter arrived at her house.

‘’Mia,

I know what I'm going to ask of you is totally irrational and you have every right to ignore my request and yell at me, but I don't see any other way out.

I've been noticing for a few weeks that Sirius has been acting weird and seems to be distant from everyone. A few days ago I noticed a bruise on the corner of his mouth, but I can't tell if it was a fight with his brother or someone else, you know how boys are at that age.

Anyway, I've noticed that it's been a few months since his detention has been signed by his parents anymore, and I've tried contacting them but Dumbledore keeps saying there's nothing to worry about - you know him, he's terrible at times.

I think there's something wrong with him, and I know Sirius comes to your house during the holidays because I always hear James talking about it, so I came through this letter asking that if you notice anything strange, please tell me. Or talk to Sirius to see if you can find anything.

I'm very worried.

Love, and I'm sorry to bother you with this,

Minerva.''

It hurt her heart more than she thought it would, noticing that the signs Minnie had said were all right there under her nose. James hadn't said anything about Sirius coming for Christmas, and he'd been there for two years now, even though she felt a little bad that he wasn't with his parents on that date. And James looked weird too; he was angrier than usual, and reluctant to talk to them and getting locked in his room.

When they were at the station, Mia noticed that Sirius had got off the train alone and looked guilty, not even looking in their direction as he walked over to where his parents were - who didn't look at all happy with his presence there.

He had already told Monty a few times that his parents didn't like him going to Gryffindor, and James had once told her that Sirius didn't get along with Regulus. But Euphemia always thought it was silly things that teenagers took too seriously, but now, she felt she should have given more importance to the signs.

“Sirius isn't coming?” she asked when she saw James coming down the stairs, an unusually sulky look.

"I don't know," was all he said, walking into the kitchen and leaving her alone in the living room. Her heart clenched, a bad feeling burning in her chest.

"Didn't he tell you anything?" James always liked to talk about everything with Euphemia, Monty said he was a big mama's boy, but she didn't mind at all. As long as he was going to look for her to get her opinion, Euphemia would be only too happy to help him.

"He just said he didn't know if he was coming." James walked out of the kitchen, a glass of milk and a cookie jar under his arm, but when he threatened to go back up to the bedroom, she stopped him.

"Come here." James didn't like being confronted, he'd inherited it from her, and he used to frown when someone demanded answers from him. But Euphemia had no choice but to do that, so he was going to need to spit it out. ‘’Is something going on? Did you guys fight?” she asked, folding the letter and placing it on the coffee table with Minnie's name down, not wanting James to know she already knew. This made it difficult for him to speak.

"No." He sat up, sullen as he always was when she did that. James didn't meet her eyes however, and that was a red light for her. He was one of those people who didn't mind looking anyone in the eye unless he was lying.

‘’You know you can talk to me, don't you? I care about you two.”

"We don't…" He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the sofa cushions, the glass of milk and cookies forgotten on the coffee table. ''He was being an idiot the last few days, I don't know what got into him, but I was ignoring it because I don't know, he gets like that sometimes when he and Regulus fight, but then the christmas thing came up and I said if he continued in that mood he wouldn't be welcome here,'' James denied, pulling his hair angrily. ''I thought he'd know I was joking, of course he's welcome here, but then he got mad and told me he wasn't coming to bother me this year, and I yelled that it would be great so… I got mad, I wasn't thinking… so he got out of our wagon and went to Merlin knows where. I only saw him when we got off the train, and he was already going with his parents.'’

‘’Oh, son…’’

''I know I shouldn't have said that, but he was being an idiot, and now... I hope he doesn't hate me.'' Euphemia wanted to go to that hideous Black house to drag Sirius under her wing, force him and James to talk and make up, and bring him in with them. But Monty had already told her that this was illegal.

"He doesn't hate you, son." She opened her arms for James to hug her, stroking his hair and thinking about what she could do with the situation. "Did you say he and Regulus had a fight?"

"They...um," Of course James was too faithful to tell her about that. Too noble to betray his best friend. ‘’Kind of a fight.’’

“Does Sirius often fight with him a lot?” She remembered when they had once met Walburga and Orion at an event, and only Regulus was with them.

"Where's Sirius?" she had asked, because it didn't make sense to take just one child. And Sirius was what, twelve or thirteen at the time?

"He preferred to stay with my sister," Walburga said, smiling bitterly at Euphemia as if silently telling her not to meddle where she wasn't called.

She swallowed, thinking maybe she was seeing trouble where it didn't exist. Maybe he really wanted to stay with his aunt, she couldn't prove otherwise.

‘’Send him a letter later inviting him to our Christmas, okay? If you want,” she said, looking once more at Minnie's letter on the table.

"Fine."

December 24, 1976 - 10:54PM

It was snowing like never before outside, probably the coldest night this year so far, and the house was silent when she woke up to noises outside.

Monty jumped out of bed, wand in hand, just as she had, heart pounding in her chest and a motherly fear of protecting James at all costs from whatever was out there.

Ever since they declared support for muggleborns and as she and Fleamont began to increasingly advocate for minorities and help organizations of students who couldn't afford to buy supplies and clothing for the Hogwarts school years, they were marked as a target for the other traditional families, carrying a huge red flag where ''traitors'' was written in bold letters.

Euphemia couldn't care less about that, she was more than happy to be considered a traitor if it meant she was doing good.

“What was that?” James muttered, haunted brown eyes staring like he was going to war.

Her son didn't go to war, though, not when he couldn't even drink yet.

‘’Stay in the room, and get the portkey. Anything, use it!” She instructed him, but James seemed too stubborn to accept that. "James, enter your room now, and stay there."

“Three is better than two.” He continued to follow them, Monty further along and having already made a protective barrier between him and her and James.

‘’Not when one of them is fifteen. Now come in and stay there, me and your dad let's see what's going on.'

''Mom-''

"Don't make me need to use magic to get you to do what I want." She said authoritatively, and that caused James to fall back a few steps, looking at her startled. Euphemia mentally thanked him for that and walked downstairs, thinking that later she would apologize for talking to him like that, but that's because she wasn't risking her boy in that situation.

Monty raised his wand and opened the door, ready to attack whoever was there on the other side, but before he could, Sirius raised his arms and closed his eyes as if he too was waiting to be attacked. ‘’Sirius?!’’

‘’I'm sorry, I-’’

''What did we do on our last trip?'' Fleamont asked, and as much as Euphemia thought it was unnecessary - please just bring the boy inside he'll freeze! - she knew they were in the middle of a war.

''You tried to learn to surf with me and James, but you nearly broke your ankle when you fell.'' Sirius kept his arms raised, and she noticed that his lips were purple from the cold, and that jacket didn't seem to warm him. She didn't even wait for Monty to lower his wand and went over to him, pulling Sirius into their house and hugging him tightly, wanting more than anything to take away whatever inner pain seemed to haunt him.

He looked too terrified for a sixteen-year-old boy.

"What happened, Pads?" James ran up to them, looking worried about him too. ‘’You didn't even answer my letter and-’’

''I...I ran away from home.'' He shrugged and avoided looking her or Monty in the eye, Euphemia realized he had a backpack on his back. Her heart ached so much that she couldn't stop the tears. She pulled Sirius even tighter against her. "Mia, if I can't stay here, it's okay, it's just that I came walking-"

‘’Did you walk all the way here?! It's almost an hour and a half of walking, boy!” Monty yelled. "Someone could have tried something against you."

''It was okay, I,'' Sirius looked at James, and she knew he wasn't telling her all the details and he'd probably done something against the law to not die in the snow, but she didn't care about that now. "It was the first place I thought of coming."

‘’Of course, dear, of course. James, make him a hot bath, and Monty heat up dinner… are you hungry, Sirius?” He nodded, cheeks burning with embarrassment. ''Here, come sit in front of the fireplace… And of course you can stay here, please, I don't even want to think that you thought I wouldn't accept you.'' She sighed, walking with him to the sofa and taking off the wet jacket he wore, waving her wand so that the nearly extinguished fire began to crackle again, warming the room. "You can live with us Sirius, don't worry, you don't have to go back to those horrible people anymore." His gray eyes blinked with tears, and it was probably the first time she'd seen Sirius cry. ‘’Don't worry honey, you're fine now…’’

----

‘’Minnie,

I'm so glad you warned me about this, and I understand your concern.

Sirius ran away from home last night, he didn't want to tell us what happened and I think at some point I'll know, but the boy looks terrified now.

He's not okay, but he's going to be. And I've already sent a letter to Dumbledore telling him that now anything that happens to him is to call us.

I don't think Walburga or Orion will complain, they let their son run away in the middle of a blizzard and so far they haven't looked for him. But it's better this way, Monty would probably kill them if they showed up at our door.

You know that we always wanted to have one more child anyway.

With love,

Euphemia.’’

#james potter #marauders headcanon #marauders era #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #sirius black #my fic #the marauders era

[sonoftatooine]

Whumptober 2021

DAY 4: ‘TRUST FALL’ - TAKEN HOSTAGE

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Wilhuff Tarkin, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Bail Organa (mentioned), Obi-Wan Kenobi (mentioned)

Summary: Rebel AU - Instead of falling to the Dark Side, Anakin resists Palpatine’s manipulations, but not without consequences. With Padmé dead, he flees Coruscant, raising their two children in the fledgling Rebel Alliance. However, Palpatine has not forgotten about them. Several years later, Anakin is presented with an ultimatum - give himself up to the Empire or he’ll never see Luke and Leia again.

***

"Anakin Skywalker."

The voice of Moff Wilhuff Tarkin crackled with static as it was played through the holoprojector Anakin had cradled in his hand, his glitching image another flicker of light against the deep blue of hyperspace beyond the viewport of the ship that he had...borrowed without permission from the hangar of the new rebel base that they had set up less than a week past. By now, the message was as familiar to him as those blue lights outside; he had played and replayed it so many times. Every inflection of that smug voice, every minute change in expression on that gaunt face. But no matter the pain it caused him, he couldn't stop himself from watching it over and over, as if this time it would be...it would be—

He didn't know what it would be.

"The Emperor demands your presence," Tarkin continued. Anakin had to fight the urge to clench his durasteel hand into a fist, to crush the holoprojector into dust, as he had once on Kiros when confronted with the presence of the Zygerrian slaver on the planet. "For too long, you have evaded capture. I'm afraid that ends today."

The image jumped and stuttered as two small figures were pulled into the frame. A sob caught in Anakin's throat. Luke and Leia, their small wrists trapped in Force suppressing cuffs. Luke's eyes were full of tears, Leia's full of fury. But no matter how fierce her glare, he could tell she was terrified. They were both terrified.

"You have three standard days to come to the Mustafar system," Tarkin said, thin lips twisting into a small, cruelly satisfied smile. "Alone, unarmed. If you wish your children to remain unharmed, you will comply. Fail to do so in any regard, and you shall never see them again."

Beside him, the tears in Luke's eyes began to spill out onto his round cheeks as he frantically shook his head. Some of Leia's fear began to melt through her mask of anger, dark eyes widening in alarm as she opened her mouth to scream.

"No, Daddy, no! Don't—"

A snarl from Tarkin and the recording cut off. With a sharp clatter, the holoprojector fell to the floor as Anakin bent over with a wounded cry, burying his face in his hands.

It was his fault. All his fault. When their last base was attacked, his thoughts had only been to get them out, get them away to safety. Bail had had them go with Antilles to the rendezvous point, but Anakin had chosen to stay, to fight, to hold back the troopers long enough to allow them to escape. But in the end, it had done nothing to protect them. Luke and Leia had never arrived there. Antilles had been killed, and his children had been taken. Taken because he hadn't been there to protect them. Because he always made the wrong choice, failed the people he loved most. His mother, Padmé, and now...

And now, Luke and Leia—his precious children that he couldn't lose, not like he had lost their mother—were in the hands of the Empire, and there was only one thing he could do to save them.

One thing which the rest of the Rebel Alliance had deemed unacceptable. Most of them had been sympathetic, of course. Bail had been very kind and understanding after they had received the transmission, even as he had rushed to put himself between Anakin and the door to stop his mad dash to the hangar, no thoughts in his head beyond the need to get to his children, couldn't let them get hurt no matter what the cost. "Anakin," he'd pleaded with him, large hands pressing down on his shoulders to hold him back, and for one horrible moment it had struck him that, despite his size, it would have been so easy to just...swat him aside—this man who dared stand between him and the only option he had of keeping his children safe— "Anakin, please. I know you want to protect Luke and Leia, but giving yourself up to the Empire isn't the answer. That won't help anyone, least of all them." Obi-Wan had tried too, but he hadn't been any help. "You are the Chosen One, Anakin," he'd said. "We cannot risk you falling into the hands of the Sith. We will get your children back, but you mustn't allow your fear for them to cloud your judgement."

Obi-Wan didn't understand. He was hardly about to forget that he was the karking Chosen One when it was the very reason Palpatine had targeted his children—the man who had befriended him and manipulated him for thirteen years in order to shackle his power to him, who had taken Luke and Leia for the same end. As if he could possibly have forgotten what it was he wanted from him, when the memories of it still haunted his nightmares. His cajoling in the blood red office in the Senate Dome morphing into snarling threats as the Jedi Temple burnt around them, and then Padmé—oh Padmé—her life force slipping through his fingers like sand and there was nothing he could do—

But none of that mattered. Not now. Not when it was his children's lives on the line. He wouldn't risk defying him this time. He couldn't.

They'd tried. They'd tried to find a way to free Luke and Leia without giving into the Empire's ultimatum. But what could they do? They had no idea where Tarkin was keeping them, and if he caught the slightest wind that Anakin had not come alone to Mustafar, Force knew what would happen. He couldn't risk that. Though he was no longer naive enough to expect Tarkin to simply let them go if he caved to the demands (he steadfastly ignored the small part of him that always felt that if he had taken up Palpatine's offer, if he hadn't angered him with his refusal, that he might have let—he might have let Padmé—), perhaps he could find a way to escape afterwards. He would find his children and then they would all get away. But he couldn't let Luke and Leia suffer because of him. Couldn't let them be killed or-or spirited away and twisted by the Sith into something terrible because their father had refused to act.

He wouldn't make the wrong choice this time.

He hoped that nobody back at the base had noticed he was missing yet. He had left well past dark, slipping past the people on the night watch and away with ease. As far as Obi-Wan and Bail and everyone else were concerned, he was holed up in his room, not sleeping, not eating, and torturing himself over and over with that kriffing recording. With luck that he wasn't strictly supposed to believe in, they wouldn't go trying to talk to him too soon. If they found out he was gone, if they figured out where he was going and decided to go after him, Tarkin could take that as an attempt to breach the terms of the Empire's ultimatum, and what would happen to Luke and Leia then?

He was brought sharply out of his spiralling thoughts as his ship's console beeped at him. Blinking, he raised his head from his hands. The ship was coming out of hyperspace. Oh Force. Oh Force. He felt sick, deep in his stomach. His hands shook. For a moment, overwhelming fear seized him. The fear he had felt in the Council Chambers of the Jedi Temple all those years ago as he stared into the vicious yellow eyes of a man he had thought was his friend. Fear of everything he could do to him, and worse, to everybody he cared about. He could barely breathe. But he couldn't let himself get trapped in that fear. He had to do this. He had to—

The blue lights dissipated as the ship reverted to realspace, revealing the fiery image of Mustafar on the other side of the viewport before him. Anakin's hands trembled violently as he grasped the ship's controls—so hard that they creaked alarmingly under his mechanical fingers. For Luke and Leia. For Luke and Leia. He could do it for Luke and Leia—

He angled the ship towards the planet, and started the descent down towards the surface.

When he had come here to save the Force sensitive children kidnapped by Cad Bane during the Clone War, he had decided that, if there was a planet in the Galaxy that rivalled Tatooine in awfulness, it was Mustafar. The roaring boom of constant eruptions reverberated as fiercely in the Force as it did in his ears as he manoeuvred the ship to land on the platform adjacent to a shielded facility similar to the one he remembered from the last time he had been to the planet. Reaching out with the his Force senses, he searched for Luke and Leia and found...nothing. He swallowed. He hadn't really expected them to be here—too much of a risk that he would simply kill Tarkin, take them and go. Instead, what he sensed were echoes of fear and death, and a familiar presence that he had hoped never to cross paths with again.

Tarkin was waiting for him.

"General Skywalker." After so many times watching the holorecording over and over again, it was odd hearing his that crisp, clipped voice without static or interference. Anakin levelled the man with the fiercest glower he could muster as he stepped out of the ship. "Good evening."

"Tarkin" Anakin snarled through gritted teeth. It was all he could force out without succumbing to the urge to lash out, to let the terrible power within him that the Emperor so coveted reach out and destroy his servant in the blink of an eye. He would deserve it. Would deserve it for taking his children, for daring to threaten them— But his children were the very reason he couldn't do it. He couldn't risk them. With a great effort, he bridled in his rage.

Tarkin smiled—that thin, pallid twist of the lips that he recognised from the twilight days of the Republic. The burning red light of the lava glinting in his steely eyes made him think of the first time they'd met. Lola Sayu. The Citadel mission. Ahsoka had saved his life then. Briefly, Anakin wondered if it would have been better for all of them if the man had died there and then.

"I knew that you would come." The Force sent a flare of warning through him, and he suddenly became aware of the clanking of plastisteel armour as, at a wordless order from the man in front of him, stormtroopers surrounded him, blasters pointed at his back. "The Emperor has predicted your every move."

Tarkin's tone was unbearably smug. Despite Anakin's silence, despite his rage, the smile never left the man's face. The shadows in the deep hollows of his cheeks and eyes made him look even more gaunt than usual. Like a grinning skull, here to taunt him with his fate.

"And now... Now, there is no escape. For you or your children.”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #taken hostage #fandom #fic #star wars #star wars fic #star wars au #rebel anakin #rebel anakin au #anakin skywalker doesn't turn to the dark side #anakin skywalker #wilhuff tarkin #luke skywalker #leia organa #anakin & luke #anakin & leia #mine #my fic #sfw

[shades-of-stony]

Heavy Angst (And Not-So-Heavy but Still Angsty) Stony Fanfics!

I’m absolutely love a good Tony whump and hurt story so prepare to see a lot of those here! Get your tissues ready!

Push by phoenixreal

Summary: Tony Stark was known for pissing people off, it was a given. Then, after the man everyone thought was nothing more than a selfish prick decided to nearly kill himself saving Manhattan from a nuclear bomb, even the most sure of Tony's bastard status had to rethink it. And then, his team who were sure they had him pegged, they were invited (ordered) to move into Stark Tower with him. To their surprise, they found he had furnished full floors for each of them, somehow knowing their tastes exactly, including a floor dedicated to the resident Asgardian who would only be there some of the time. Surprised, and please, they all wonder at the enigma that is their host. After a couple months, Pepper Potts stops coming around so much, and they realize that something has exchanged between them because they are rather professional to each other. Pepper still frets over Tony, but instead tells the others to keep an eye on him rather than doing it herself. They easily forget that Tony is, and always has been, simply a human civilian. Then things get strange when they find themselves locked down within Stark tower, and after a harrowing viewing of a mysterious video, they find their resident playboy is completely gone.

Note: Prepare to cry and be hurt! This fanfic dabbles with Tony’s insecurity, self-worth, and issues. Please heed the warnings!

The words you choose to say by masterlokisev159

Summary: After the SHRA, the events around Steve’s death and Tony discovering he deleted part of his brain, Tony finally decides he's done enough. With Osborn taken care of, Tony leaves the Avengers and decides to quit being Ironman effective immediately.

He tells himself it doesn't hurt when Steve agrees. Why should it? After everything he's done, the team's better off without him.

However before he can truly move on, there are things he needs to take care of, and it's not long before he realizes he's dangerously close to losing his company. He's desperate and willing to do anything to keep it together.

So when, after months of silence, Steve asks him to drop everything and come work for Shield, Tony finds he doesn't have a choice. He agrees, no matter how much he knows he shouldn't. His reputation isn't exactly the best after the SHRA and he's heard stories of what he'd done as Director. He's knows what he's done. He's knows he's responsible for what happened to Steve.

He just wishes someone had warned him first. He hadn't been prepared to deal with the consequences.

Note: A 1000/10 angst fanfic that made me weep at 3 am in the morning. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. READ IT AND PREPARE TO CRY BUCKETS

Protocol SOTERIA by GoldenFinches

Summary: Friday's primary objective at all times is to protect one Anthony Edward Stark. And she will fulfill that objective no matter what it takes. Even if it means including certain people she thought she would never have to deal with again.

(Basically the Rogue Avengers get some sense knocked into them with the help of Friday and handful of videos.)

Note: A HIGHLY RECOMMENDED ANGSTY FANFIC. I CRIED SO MUCH READING THIS. 

Straight to Voicemail by YouMakeMeDokiDoki

Summary: "I DID!" Tony screamed, cutting Steve off mid-sentence and whirling around to glare at him. 

"I CALLED YOU! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!"

Or

The one where no one answered their phone and things got out of hand. 

Note: this will absolutely break you heart.

Sunshine and Luck by ImportedfromMunich2

Summary: Months after Siberia, Steve and the rest of the defectors are pardoned and allowed back onto the Avengers, with the help of Tony Stark. Now that they're back - nothing is the same as before. Tony is even avoiding Steve at all costs.

Then one night - Tony barges into Steve's bedroom while he sleeps, and they have spontaneous, passionate sex.

Only, the Tony Stark he just fucked isn't from this universe.

Now, Steve has to find a way to explain to Tony that he had sex with his counterpart from another dimension.

Note: A good Steve whump fic! 

When You Mess With Him... by REM_It_Up

Summary: During an event with the Avengers, Tony is kidnapped by an unknown group of men right in front of the team. The group who took Tony taunt the Avengers by leaving small clues to Tony's whereabouts. When the kidnappers finally get in contact with the team, they are forced to watch Tony get tortured on camera.

The Avengers desperately search for their missing friend before they never see him again.

The kidnappers are smart and fast, they have everything figured out in order to get away with their plan...They just forgot one thing--

Colonel James Rhodes

Note: Now this is really heavy! Brace yourselves for a kidnapped and tortured tony! Also, protective honey bear aka Rhodey bonus here!

To Need is Not To Want by Brixon

Summary: All his life Tony has been used as a means to someone's end. Always someone's tool in a game. Carelessly thrown aside, once they had no longer use of him. He keeps it bottled up because, because he's Tony Stark. But he's always had this desire that one day someone would come who would stay because they wanted and needed him. He thought he had that with the Avengers, but after everything with the Accords and everyone leaving after Civil War that hope of having something of his to stay was gone.

Despite being burned constantly, Tony still has this wanting. So when Ryder, an old college friend, comes back into his life and actually seems to want to stay because he wants AND needs Tony, Tony is beyond thrilled. Because Ryder is staying. It doesn't matter if the bruises stay too.

But what happens when the Avengers return and Tony finds himself wondering once again exactly what he wants and what he needs.

Note: I’m sure, from the summary, you can tell that it’s a heartbreak here. 

Hiding Things Is All Too Easy - Until It Isn't by audhds

Summary: Tony hasn't been the same since Bucky arrived at Stark Tower. That much is obvious. But Steve is overjoyed to have his best friend back and is somewhat oblivious to how Tony is withdrawing away from him. Because surely Tony is just overworked as usual. He must be quiet and jumpy because he is sleep deprived. And of course he has a few cuts and bruises on the visible parts of his skin - he fights and works for the Avengers as a living. It's part of the job description. Until it isn't.

Will Steve discover the physical and mental trauma that Tony is going through before it is too late?

Note: This is even heavier! Please read the tags carefully! Also, this has some serious Bucky bashing! If you are a Bucky fan but still interested in this, please prepare yourself. 

No Trait As Much As This by KandiSheek

Summary: Tony gets hit with truth serum. It's a terrible time for everyone.

Note: A bit lighter than the others but still angst nonetheless. The added truth serum element makes this even more interesting!

Good For You by @orbingarrow

Summary: Steve doesn't understand why Tony dates people who abuse him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve cares.

The rest is bad choices, good choices, rehab, milkshakes, paintball, YouTube videos, couples therapy and learning to put the past in the past. Or: How Tony finds his happy ending.

Note: Another Tony-in-abusive-relationships fanfic!!

hold the things you wanna say by SailorChibi

Summary: Tony is still a consultant, and between SI, the team and SHIELD he's overworked and exhausted. That's okay.

He and Steve have been having sex for weeks but that's all it is, just sex, and Tony wants more but he'll never get it and that's okay. Really.

What's not okay is the fact that Howard Stark has somehow appeared in the future and is the same as always.

This is definitely going to fuck up his schedule.

Note: Anyone up for some Howard-travels-to-the-future fanfic?

Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies by MemoryDragon

Summary: Seven-year-old Tony Stark wakes up on a Hydra base, lost, afraid, and alone. He has to overcome his fears before it's too late for the Avengers and Captain America.

Note: De-aged Tony just screams heavy angst and hurt!

Advanced Protocol by masterlokisev159

Summary: The Incursions are coming. The Illuminati have surrendered and everyone has come together to take one last stand.

Everyone except Tony. And Steve is tired of waiting. He wants answers.

There's something the Illuminati aren't telling him.

Note: If you don’t know what the Avalon is in Marvel, I recommend you search it up, or you could read this fic. You will be heartbroken with what you find. 

Flower Child by itsallAvengers

Summary: The point was this, though:

In a hundred million universes, in a hundred million different lives, there would never be a single one of them in which Tony Stark deserved anyone like Steve Rogers. Ever.

So this? Nonsensical.

Note: Another fanfic that highlights child abuse and Tony’s insecurities! 

What Pays All Debts by KandiSheek

Summary: No one is supposed to survive the date written on their skin. And yet Tony's numbers keep piling up.

Note: Angst + Death dates? You could probably foretell how much of a gut-wrench journey this is.

Falling Into You by sabrecmc

Summary: Tony and Steve end up as fuck buddies after the events of The Winter Soldier until Steve calls it off. When Loki's spell wipes all of Steve's memories since the last time Loki was in town, Tony decides it will be so much easier to just not tell Steve they had something of a relationship. Spoiler: It isn't.

Or, how Steve fell in love with Tony and forgot about it, and how Tony fell in love with Steve and realized it.

Note: There are just something about amnesia fanfics that makes it so goddamn heartbreaking. 

Art Freaks and Comic Geeks by Coil

Summary: Tony Stark had made himself a phenomenally renowned writer. The world had fallen in love with the heroes that appeared in his novels; captivated by his vivid words of life and colour.

His next ambition was to publish a comic book series starring the much-beloved heroes of his novels. There was just one problem. Brilliant as Tony may have been with his words, his skills in the field of drawing were less than great. It didn’t help that he barely knew what his characters ought to look like in the first place.

Enter: Mister Steve Rogers – an up-and-coming artist/illustrator with the potential to be brilliant.

Their paths happen to cross at Comic-Con.

Note: this is a much lighter angsty fanfic but is still angsty. It is a Modern AU mixed with Artist!Steve and Writer!Tony.

Unwritten Endings by XtaticPearl

Summary: Tony takes the bullet meant for Captain America at the end of their war and through his death, brings together the team again. Only, he isn't really dead and when he comes back, the equations between the team-mates begin to alter and reform, writing a new story altogether.

Note: Of course, you can’t have an angst fanfic rec without a fake death fanfic!

WIP

Need Is Just A Word by masterlokisev159

Summary: A month has gone by since the war and Tony has never felt more alone. of course, with the unrest within the government, the disappearance of the Avengers and the obvious lack of Steve Rogers, it was only a matter of time before the UN finally flipped out and decided to act on the last available Avenger. Too bad they didn't realise a promise had been made by Captain America to be there when Iron man needed him.

Note: a gut-wrenching Post CA:CW fanfic where tony is suffering the consequences of the civil war.

Take me out tonight by masterlokisev159

Summary: When Steve gets invited to a formal party with the government, Fury tells him he can bring a plus one of his choosing. While listening quietly in the corner, Tony heaves a sigh of relief because the team could really do with some positive publicity and any of the Avengers are a good choice for Steve. Tony just wants Steve to be happy after all, even if he knows Steve's gonna pick Natasha. He knows Steve doesn't like him and he's aware there's never going to be anything more between them. They're barely even friends really.

So of course he's absolutely shocked when a gold filigree letter rests in his palms two days later. He's the worst person for this.

Why on earth did Steve choose him?

Note: AHHHHHHHH, INSECURE TONY IS JUST A FAVORITE. Also, confident!Steve that knows who he wants is just a whole new mood!

The Soul Stone's Sacrifice by masterlokisev159

The soul stone demands a sacrifice that Tony and Steve are not prepared for, but in the end, one life is sacrificed for the many. Steve lets Tony go for the last time and mourns a future they never had.

That is until Tony comes back.

Note: A scenario where Tony and Steve where the ones to go to Vormir. 

#stony #stony fic #stony fic rec #steve and tony #steve and tony fic #stony au #stony angst #superhusbands #stony fics #stony fanfiction

[honeypirate]

Take me home

Benimaru x f!Y/n

A/n: I just want Beni to have a little slice of something good in his life, okay? 🥺

Your head is pounding, you feel blood pour from your nose and taste the blood on your tongue from your split lip. Your ribs are broken, your skins dry, and you can hardly breathe. You’ve expended all your energy and power and if you used anymore you’d burn up yourself.

“Mother fu..” you go to curse at your attacker but before you can they send an explosion into you again. Knocking you into the next burning building, you didn’t know how you were going to get out of this, you don’t think you can even move anymore. You can hear the evangelist come after you but your eyes are blurry with blood and smoke. You try to push yourself up but you fall back down, hearing the man just laugh maniacally.

That laugh got cut off by what sounded like a punch and another explosion before you lost consciousness.

You’re in darkness, floating, weightless. You’re dreaming but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes yet. Afraid of what you’ll find when you do. “Y/n... don’t leave me. Not yet” the voice sounded like a prayer. You know that voice. Your eyes fly open in the dream it’s Benimaru you thought to yourself. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move your body. You could only look around in the dark space where you were floating. What was this place? There were shadows in the darkness that you couldn’t see. Beni. Don’t leave me here alone. You thought again wishing you could wake up and see him. Scream out to him. You don’t know how long it’s been in the darkness of this never ending dream. You can feel warmth in your hand like someone’s holding it and then he’s back. Your Beni is back whispering things in your ear. “Y/n please” his voice sounds scared and like he’s been crying. Beni! I love you! You try to wake up. To grab his hand back. “I love you. Don’t leave me yet.” His voice is quiet like it’s far away. No. I won’t let this happen. Your body feels like it’s on fire before you actually see the flames. They’re so beautiful, reds and purples, it doesn’t even hurt to be in them. They just keep getting brighter and brighter until

The sunlight hitting your face is what woke you up, the hand that clasped yours is what pulled you from the darkness. A voice calling your name pulls you the last little bit to the light “Y/n?” Your eyes flutter open to see the ones you were hoping to see “my Beni” you say with a small smile and your voice cracks from unuse. He helps you sit up and gets you some water. “Where am I?” It didn’t look like your usual hospital and you were confused as you looked around the room. “You’re in the sixth. You really worried me, I had to get you here as soon as possible. Doctor Huang said your fire was strong but you had to fight the rest of the way yourself.” You smile at him when you realize it was him, “you saved me” you say quietly and he looks at his hand which went back to hold yours “I wish I could have found you sooner. I was afraid you’d end up like...like...” you squeeze his hand. You know what he’s gonna say. You very well could have ended up like Konro. “I know” your voice is soft. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I would have been fine but that last guy came out of no where. I had nothing left to give. How long was I out?” he meets your eye “just under a week” you nod and then look away blushing as you say “I had a strange dream of you calling out to me. Telling me not to leave you. And then I was consumed by a beautiful flame. I think... I think you saved me twice. You brought me back again” you feel tears sting your eyes and he hugs you tight, kind of awkward on the bed but you didn’t care. He felt like home and you never wanted him to let you go.

“Don’t you ever do this to me again y/n” you can hear his voice crack and if he pulled away you were sure you’d see him holding back tears

Just then one of his other men came in to get him. He clears his throat and kisses your head, composing himself before pulling back Before he leaves he turns to you and says “when you’re ready, get dressed and come find me in the main office. I have a meeting and then I’ll take you home” you nod and smile at him.

You get up after ten minutes and stretch, the doctor coming in to look at you and make sure everything’s okay. When she comes through the door you bow “Doctor Huang” your voice is respectful and she smiles warmly before looking you over. “You should have seen him. I’ve never seen a man more worried. He really cares about you, you know” you blush a little and pick up your clothes, facing away from her. “I really care about him too” your voice is quiet and she nods once “good. He deserves a good girl like you..” when you turn around she’s gone. You grab your bag, that someone from your company just have brought over with toiletries and other things before heading into the bathroom to shower and clean up. You send a small grateful feeling to whomever brought your things, the shower waking up your body and limbs. Moving around after being unconscious for a week wasn’t really fun and you swore you’d never do it again.

You realize it was one of the girls who packed your things because they remembered to grab your makeup and perfume, no one else would have because no one else knew about your feelings for Benimaru. You laugh when you pull out your favorite pair of leggings that make your butt look it’s best “thank you Maki” you whisper as you slip them on. With a simple black shirt and a pair of black sneakers. You were glad your team knew you so well to give you something comfortable to wear when you woke up. You put everything else in the gym bag and sling it across your body before you head down the office.

Walking up to the main office you see Beni walk from the office along with your Captain and turn your way. You smile when you make eye contact and you can tell if he could he’d run and hug you. You quirked your eyebrows at Obi but he just winked with a laugh and turns the other direction.

Your relationship with Benimaru was complicated. You were from two different companies, he was captain of the seventh and you were a pyrotechnic of the eighth. You only saw each other very rarely. After the second time you fought together he was impressed with you, asked for your number to keep in contact. You talked every day since then and if you were honest you fell in love with him quick. It’s like you could see right through him.

He fell for you slowly, the more he opened up more to you, the more he trusted you, the more he wished he could spend every free moment with you. When he found you in the fire, half dead, almost drowning in your own blood, your skin starting to char. It broke him. He thought he was going to lose you. It straightened all his priorities, his number one of solving combustion and winning against the Evangelists, was now beat by you. He would protect you at all costs now, he would convince you to come be with him, you would fight this war together so he wouldn’t have any regrets with you.

When you reached each other he tucked your hair behind your ear. “Your meeting was with Obi?” You ask and he nodded “I asked him to allow you to come to the seventh.” He took your hand when you and he kissed your knuckles as you started to walk together as he continues “I want you to come work with me.” You chuckle and lift an eyebrow at him “just work with you?” You ask and he clears his throat, he was nervous and it was so cute “no” he said and cleared his throat again, pulling you into an empty room to look into your eyes why he spoke “I want you to live with me, to eat meals with me, to fight by my side, and to let me take care of you. I want you to sleep by my side every night. I can’t be without you anymore. I can’t keep pretending I don’t love you” you press your lips softly into his and he shudders for a moment in shock before he kisses you back hungrily. You pull back and let out a breathy laugh, looking into his eyes “I love you too. Of course I want all of those things with you. Starting with making you dinner.” You kiss him again before saying softly “take me home Beni” he smiles and nods, a blush in his cheeks and his heart overflowing for the first time in what feels like forever. “Let’s go home” he agrees and takes your hand again.

He takes you to your company first, so you can tell your crew your news, if the captain hasn’t already, and pack your things. The girls were excited for you, but they’d miss you terribly and you’d miss them too. You’d miss talking to them about everything. After packing your things in a duffel bag you throw it over your shoulder before heading back out to the company truck Beni was driving.

You hop in and smile at him “okay. Let’s go home and you can show me where to put my things. Since it’s a new place you’ll have to help me cook dinner and since it’s a new crew I’ll make something for everyone so they’ll like me and..” he takes your hand, making you stop and look at him, and he laughs “you’re so adorable. I love you so much. I’ll help you make dinner but let’s do it tomorrow since it’s already late and I’m betting they already ate. ” you calm down, you didn’t even notice you were anxious until he took your hand. But seeing him smile and laugh made you feel lore at ease.

When you got to your new home it was late and everyone has already gone to bed. Beni showed you to your new room which was right next to his then excused himself to go talk to Konro and update him.

You unpack your two bags of things and set up a couple decorations before heading down the hall to find Beni, eager to not spend any more time part. You make your way down the hall to the light that was coming from a sliver in a door but stop when you hear Konro say your name.

“.... like y/n. I’m glad you finally did something about your months of pining Beni. If you didn’t do something about it I would have made my move.” You can imagine what Beni’s face looks like and your suspicions were confirmed when Konro laughs and says “what’s with that face? She’s beautiful” Beni’s voice is stern when he says “yeah and she’s mine now. Off the market” your stomach full of butterflies as you decide to move forward and knock quietly before walking in and smiling at Konro. “Hey long time no see” he says “hey Konro. you’ll be seeing me a lot more now” you say and Beni stands to hug you. “Do you want me to show you around?” Beni asks and you nod “that would be nice” you say and then Beni excuses you both.

In the hallway he takes your hand but when you get to your doors you stop and gently pull him towards you, wrapping your hands around his waist and laying your head on his chest. “Y/n?” He asks with a laugh as he hugs you back “Beni... how about you show me around in the morning and right now you just ...” he pulls back and kisses you, cutting you off. He was feeling the same as you, he just wanted to take you into his room and hold you. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath and says “come on” before gently pulling you into his room.

#fire force benimaru #benimaru x reader #benimaru shinmon #fire force #shinmon #benimaru

[ask-prime-starscream]

Now what? - The future of this blog

Currently I have five Alternate Universes float around in my head and maybe you’ll like them to come to life here? I plan fanart, comics and maybe some graphic novel style with art and written text. Please share your thoughts and opinions. <3 I. How to raise your sparkling - TFA AU

After Starscream got captured by the Elite Guard, they start to experiment with his CNA to create Autobots with flight ability. However, Starscream manages to free himself and out of spite he snatches the two protoforms right out of their incubator. But he doesn’t feel pleased with himself for long. On the run and with now two demanding sparklings craving his attention, killing Megatron and ruling the universe isn’t such an easy goal anymore...

II. Metroplex Asylum - IDW1/Cyberverse AU set after TAAO

Based on the scrapped idea for Starscream to return with amnesia, after his Quintesson form got destroyed. I would let this take place in the Cyberverse universe, but IDW1 provides so much better world building and consequences, so it’s set there. Windblade fights Vigilem alone in her own head until Starscream logs in to help. During the procedure, Vigilem manages to almost totally override Starscream’s brain-module which forces Airachnid to call a halt before it’s too late. She fries the unwelcome foreign pattern inside Starscream’s head, causing irreparable damage. When Starscream wakes up again - something they didn’t even hope for - he has only a fleeting grasp of some events (mostly early war), tends to terrible mood swings and is obsessed with Windblade, who feels responsible for him, but can’t handle his unfiltered feelings towards her. In the end they have no other choice, but to put the Chosen One, the leader of Cybertron, into an institution full with other bots with mental health issues. While Starscream bends over backwards to make sense of his surroundings and is generally at peace with himself, the past, present and future won’t stop haunting him.

III. Endless Utopia - IDW2 AU

I already started this comic until I put it on hiatus last year. However, I have nine pages in the making and plan to update this soon and hopefully at a faster pace. This AU is based on the idea of a “Nicescream”. Even though his life is more than complicated, he found his own little happiness. But pre-war Cybertron won’t leave him alone.

IV. Moon City - No specific universe with a pinch of Armada

Decades after the war between Autobots and Decepticons ended, earth is a mostly unhabitable place thanks to climate change and World War III. The only flicker of hope for the average human survivor is Moon City, a base built on the moon with artificial atmosphere and Cybertronian technology. While it provides a life in luxury and first of all health, not everyone can enter and the cost of living is sky high. Alexis Thi Dang got the grades to be accepted at the Moon City Academy, but scrapping the money together to keep studying is a daily struggle. Desperately searching on the network for ways to get benefits, she stumbles over the possible solution: In this city of the future, humans who are partnered to a Cybertronian are extremely privileged. Especially the winners of the war, the Autobots, are highly demanded partners. The Council of Humanity even runs a secret project to create a techno-organic mix-race which is supposed to be the answer to the new living conditions in space and possible colonies in foreign atmospheres. Anybody contributing to this goal has their place in Moon City ensured. Alexis however, is among the population just an average Jane, so she cannot even dream of finding a Cybertronian who wants to hook up with a human. Therefore she surfs the dark net and finds a fishy organization willing to provide her a partner... Starscream is on the run since the war ended and hides in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter where he scratches together all the energon he can find. One day he gets roused by humans searching for the same... and Cybertronian spare parts. Barely able to flee, he looks for a safe haven and meets Swindle who is into some not so legal businesses and makes Starscream some not so confidence-inspiring promises to smuggle him into Moon City, the only place of Cybertronian standards he can reach for now. Desperate, Starscream agrees... and gets paired up with Alexis. The beginning of a “wonderful” partnership.

V. Starscream the Movie - No specific universe

I once wanted to create a canon divergent Bumble Bee the Movie fic. This was born out of the idea that both Bee and Starscream are stranded on earth, but I rewrote the whole thing into basically “What could a movie about Starscream look like?” So, we got everything. His creation, his place among the Decepticons, his relationship with Megatron and of course his flock, Skywarp, Thundercracker, Slipstream... a benevolent doctor called Knock Out and the joys of being a giant robot thrashing planets with primitive species and Autobots trying to protect them.  Starscream’s winning streak goes to his head though and results in his fall from grace. He is basically degraded to hunt down insignificant Autobot bases and his first target is Bee on earth. This is probably my most ambitious project and that’s why I can’t reveal too much.

(VI. A forgotten grave - IDW1)

Short comic about Megatron who wants to meet Starscream one last time before his execution. Based on this:

Q: How did the LL crew - specifically Megatron - react to the deaths of Optimus, Soundwave, and Starscream? 

A: Let's specifically focus on Megatron - he would've been conflicted about all three. Would've been most cut up over Starscream's death, because there was a lot of unfinished business between him and Starscream, and the reformed pacifist Megatron never got to meet Starscream. That probably eats away at him. Closely followed by Optimus. Would've been incredibly interested in what Soundwave had done and would've been proud of him. Imagine he would have been bitterly affected by all three deaths in slightly different ways.

While Megatron shows NEVER any regret about how he treated Starscream in the comics, I’ll just take this word of god here and do something with it.

---

Well then. Any thoughts? ;D

#Starscream #TFP Starscream #TFA Starscream #IDW Starscream #Jetfire and Jetstorm babies

[sundaysundaes]

A Shatter in The Dark

Mark Lee X Lee Donghyuck/Haechan, ft. Taeyong | NC-17 | Smut, Fluff, Action, Angst | Zombie Apocalypse AU

Summary: A lethal virus has killed 90% of the world's population and turns 9.8% into zombie-like, cannibalistic mutants who are extremely vulnerable to the ultraviolet rays in sunlight. And yet, Mark Lee's number one problem is trying to stop himself from staring too long at the way Haechan's jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Warnings: Smut, Major Character Death, Slight Horror and Violence

Also available to read on AO3 here.

It’s strange, Mark thinks, for him to not be able to remember how it all started. Perhaps it’s a way for his mind to release himself from all the traumatic events he has gone through. Perhaps he’s just too scared to even begin to remember the details. Or perhaps he’s just no longer human—not like the way he used to.

“Just keep going,” he mutters to himself—a habit that begins to grow more with each day passing by. It doesn’t necessarily comfort him but it keeps him sane. He needs to hear a human’s voice in his ears, even if that comes from his own mouth.

He has stopped counting days, just like how he’s stopped taking three meals a day. Both for the same reason: to survive longer. His backpack feels heavy on his back and his untrimmed bangs stick uncomfortably to his temple, but he drags his feet along the pavement that’s scorching from the heat of the sun. His throat blazes just as hot, his lips chapped and he needs something to eat.

Back when he was fourteen and his imaginations ran wild from reading too many Stephen King’s horror novels before his bedtime, Mark once imagined how would his town look in a post-apocalyptic universe. He’d visualized the sky with no clouds and thunderbolts striking endlessly. He’d imagined the cracks on the roads with long, tall wild grass growing out of them, as they seek for the sunlight that is now shining bloody red. The air would be toxic, he’d figured, killing everyone who breathes it in without a filter mask and the seas would be dry, making water everyone’s priority and causing civil wars just to get it.

Now that he’s living in a post-apocalyptic world, he notices that it’s nothing like he’d fantasized.

The city of Seoul looks fairly the same, albeit slightly abandoned. Maybe it’s because it’s only been a few months since the outbreak, but the neighbourhood still seems familiar. The plants are unkempt, the bags of dust on the floors are thick in layers, and the pavements are covered with dry leaves. But if Mark closes his eyes for a few seconds, the wind still feels nice on his cheeks, the air still smells like how it does during the end of summer, and he can imagine kids running around down the street. He doesn’t though, because no one around him is alive. He hasn’t met anyone for God knows how long and it’s making him insane.

It’s a fucking ghost town and Mark wishes he could just disappear like everybody else. A few months ago, it was stated that the virus had killed 48% of the world's population. The outbreak had started in Korea as well but his government was trying their best to isolate the island. That was the last news he saw on TV before his mother took the remote control with a quivering hand and turned it off. She turned to her son, eyes trembling in fear, and said, “Let’s pray together. Our Lord will protect us if we pray.”

But Lord’s protection only lasted for two days before his usually calm neighbourhood began to turn into an uproar. The virus had infected one of them and it traveled fast.

Those who had weak bodies, Mark noticed, died within seconds and he witnessed with his own eyes how his father, who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a few weeks before, began to bleed from his mouth, nose and ears. It happened so fast, as if something invisible was choking the life out of him and he exploded from the inside. He could remember how his father was reaching out to him, his son’s name on his tongue and Mark stood there in horror, watching his loved one silently screaming in pain with bloody tears running down his eyes before he fell down his chair, smashing his face against the cold floor and gushing out more blood that seemed darker than the night.

Mark didn’t scream even though his mind was so loud; it felt like his brain was going to burst. He thought the virus was infecting him too and it probably was, but as he kept his eyes shut tightly, heart slamming against his ribcage as he counted to ten, he noticed he was fine. He counted again to one minute, then two, then five and he was still the same.

He was… immune. Or at least so he thought.

That was when he began to cry. And when he thought he would stop crying, he cried even harder with his hand pressed against his chest and his mouth desperately gasping for air. He glanced at the way his father’s lifeless body began to rot as if his corpse had been there for days and felt his stomach hurl.

Mark scrambled to his feet, ran upstairs to reach the room at the end of the corridor, praying frantically for his mother to be alive. And when he found her body lying on the bed, he wasn’t sure whether she was. Her body was still warm, her chest was still heaving up and down with the slow breaths she was taking, but no matter how much he tried to shake her awake, she wouldn’t budge. No matter how much he screamed her name, she wouldn’t reply. And no matter how much he cried, she wouldn’t hug him to soothe down his pain.

Hours passed by with Mark sitting at the edge of the bed,  staring at his mother with lifeless eyes, and he realized that his surrounding was quiet. Eerily so. Even the dogs no longer barked. He took a look out of the window and shuddered at the sight. Most of the people he knew from when he was still a child, were lying on the streets with bloody faces, mirroring the way his father was on his kitchen’s floor. With shivering hands, he tried to call the police with his cellphone but he couldn’t get connected. The signal was down, both the tv and his radio no longer worked and it just really hit him that the world was ending.

It took him another hour to process everything, but only a minute for him to finally get up to his feet and walk downstairs. He had a shovel in his hand, and dried tears lining his cheeks.

He began to dig.

***

“Sorry for barging in,” Mark calls, but not hoping for an answer, after he kicked the front door open. The wooden floor creaks under his step, and it rings loudly in this empty neighbourhood that he’s not familiar with. But at this point, anywhere looks the same.

He knows he’s not the only person living in the world. If he’s immune to the virus, then there must be someone else—maybe even a colony—who survive as well. He just needs to find them. He always hopes that he gets to meet someone as he wanders from one house to another, but months have passed and he hasn’t seen a single soul except those who lurk in the night. Those with cloudy white eyes and rotten skin, snarling at the thought of consuming human’s flesh. Those he sees a lot, and he’s been trying his best to avoid them at all cost.

These creatures that wander after the sunsets are something that fourteen-year-old Mark would most likely call zombies. They used to be the monsters of his worst nightmares but after witnessing them with his own eyes, even standing up against one of them once in the battle of his life, Mark noticed that they were not as terrible as he’d guessed. Though they look human, they no longer have the sense of smell as they used to and they simply move based on instincts, triggered by the movements of their prey. But they’re freakishly strong and fast, and even though Mark’s pretty capable of handling his own fight during high school, these creatures can easily break his arm and leg at the same time before Mark can even begin. So he survives by keeping a safe distance, shooting them in the heads or right in their hearts—because those two are their only weaknesses—before they even notice him being there and just does his best to hide during night time.

Mark breathes in and curls his fingers tightly around his handgun. It’s really a blessing, he supposes, that he managed to find a handgun with enough amount of bullets in the drawer of his neighbour’s house. And he really does thank the Lord for giving him the chance to learn how to hunt birds back when he was young with his father during summer. He may lack physical strength, but he’s fast on his feet and good with his eyes. Combined with luck, it’s the very reason he’s survived all these months by himself.

Mark avoids dark places where the sunlight can’t reach at all cost, so he usually doesn’t barge into a house with wooden boards covering its windows and doors like this but he’s starving and this was the closest place available that he could get on foot. Maybe someone used to live here, hiding from them by making a temporary fortress of their own house.

He tries calling again, hoping that someone is still alive but he huffs in disappointment when nobody answers. “Better luck next time, Mark.”

He carefully looks around, making sure he’s safe and alone in the house as he steps toward the kitchen. When he’s certain that everything is under control, he places his gun on the kitchen’s counter and begins to check the drawers, taking every canned food and water bottle he can find into his backpack. He’s so happy to finally find something he’s been dying to drink—a canned watermelon juice—when an arm suddenly circles around his neck and a tip of a spear point knife pressed against his throat.

“Don’t move.”

It takes a few seconds for Mark’s brain to process that it’s a human voice and it’s already sending a relieved, almost joyful feeling all over his body before it finally sinks that this human is now about to slice his throat open with his knife.

“Don’t you think it’s impolite to barge into someone’s house and steal their food?” The human—a man with a voice sounding young enough to be around his age or perhaps younger—asks with a poisonous tone laced on his tongue. “Step away from the counter.”

But despite his snarky tone, Mark can tell he’s nervous from the way he breathes rather raggedly behind him. Mark has learned some basic hand-to-hand combat techniques during his scouting days and he figures he knows how to struggle himself free. He’s just lacking some practices, that’s all.

Well, there’s always a first for everything.

Elbowing the other man hard on the stomach, Mark dips his head down, freeing himself from the other man’s hold and lurches forward to snatch back his gun. Mark already has his gun in his hand but the man steps faster before he can point it to his face. He knees Mark on his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs and shoves him down to the floor, face first. He punches the gun out of his hand, turns Mark’s body around and straddles him by the waist. Grabbing him by the collar of his black shirt, he lifts Mark’s head high enough in the air so they’re face-to-face.

“Do you want to die, you little shit?!” He screams, knife pressing hard against Mark’s throat that it begins to draw blood. Mark winces from the pain but he takes a moment to see the other man’s face.

He’s young, probably is younger than he is, with a mop of messy ash grey with new brown strands growing at the roots. He has his bangs falling over his big, round chocolate dark eyes. His skin is sun-kissed, and though he sprouts expletives from his mouth, his voice is thin and a bit high-pitched. His features are a bit soft compared to his attitude, and it’s the way he stares at him that stops Mark from moving.

This young man looks terrified beyond belief.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, and he genuinely does feel so. “I wasn’t aware that someone was in the house.”

“I think I made that clear before when I told you to not fucking move.”

“You’re right. I guess my instincts just kicked in. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing, though?”

He opens his mouth to retort but loses his words, and Mark smiles a little at him, earning a low growl and another shout from the other man. “Don’t you get all smart with me. Come here!”

Mark is being dragged down across the room by the back of his shirt, until the man finds himself a rope and ties Mark’s hands together behind his back. He pushes Mark down to the floor, tucks his knife safely to the back of his jeans and stares down at him with cautious eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Mark Lee.”

“You’re weak and skinny as fuck. How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know. Lucky, I guess?”

“Lucky—“ He seems shocked at the nonchalant shrug Mark is showing him. “You’ve never met any of them, have you?”

“You mean other people?”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course Mark knows what he’s referring to. He just doesn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t go out at night,” he says, slightly shivering at the thought of doing so.

“No shit, Sherlock,” He mocks, squatting in front of him so they’re eye-to-eye. “Now if I haven’t made it clear before, this house is too small for both of us. I suggest you leave.”

That’s a generous offer considering Mark did barge in without permission to steal his things, but it’s been so long for Mark to finally see another human—one that does not bleed from their face or tries to eat him alive inch by inch—so he stays still and just gazes at him.

“What are you looking at, you little shit?”

“Are you alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to come together with me?” Mark asks, and before the other man looks disgusted with his generous offer, he adds, “Judging by the food you have left, you can only stay here for three days at most.”

“Longer than if I come with you, I’m sure.”

“Fair enough,” Mark chuckles and he’s surprised by his own voice. “But you never know, though. We’re stronger in numbers.”

“We’ll be targeted more in numbers.”

“I know how to hide,” Mark assures, and it sounds like a promise, which again, kind of surprises him. “I can keep you safe.”

“I literally just whooped your ass.”

“But I’ve survived this far. Trust me. It’s better if we stick together.”

It’s perhaps the certain, confident look in Mark’s eyes that makes the other man contemplates in silence, or maybe just something else entirely because he asks, “What kind of shit have you been through?”

Mark blinks. “Just like everybody else, I suppose.”

Mark can tell that he doesn’t agree with what he says, nor does he trust him, but Mark smiles again at him and asks, “Can you tell me your name? Or should I start calling you ‘little shit’ as well?”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. It looks kind of fluffy, Mark notices, like a furry dog’s coat, as if he washes his hair regularly. And maybe he does, judging by the honey-like scent that comes from him. That’s probably why he lost the battle. He was distracted. “Just call me Haechan.”

“That’s your real name?”

“That’s just how they call me.” He glooms a bit. “Used to, anyway.”

“Well, you can call me Mark.”

“Nah, I’m just gonna keep calling you ‘little shit’.”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” Mark throws back his words at him.

“I’ll grow on you,” he replies, smirking at him and Mark feels dazed for a second—maybe because he got his head slammed against the floor earlier. Maybe.

“All right, Haechannie. Can I call you that?” Haechan grimaces but Mark continues nonetheless. “Haechannie, if it’s okay with you, I’m starving.”

Haechan stands up, looking at him with a bewildered look on his face. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

***

It’s funny how different it is to make friends during the time when everything is okay compared to when it’s at the end of the world but Mark is enjoying Haechan’s company more than he thought he would. It’s true that he’s not the easiest person to be friends with but when you haven’t met someone alive for months, you’d take anyone you could get—even if that person is a devil in disguise who practically spits fire every time he talks.

Haechan, Mark learns after spending an entire week with him, is the type of person who says mean things but doesn’t really mean it. Who laughs when he’s hurting inside. Who bites back with venom when someone insults him in the slightest way. But also, who sees and cares deeply for others even when he, himself, is needing help.

Mark can tell with the way Haechan secretly throws a blanket over him whenever Mark falls deep asleep on the couch. Or with the way he casually glides a warm cup of coffee down the table for Mark to catch every morning. Or simply by saying, “Watch your steps,” or “Be careful, you idiot,” whenever Mark goes out of the house to find some food and supplies during the day.

After three more days have passed, Mark insists for both of them to move out and Haechan finally agrees, saying, “I hate this house anyway,” even though his eyes do a double-take before he closes the front door.

“Is this your house?” Mark finally asks and he feels sorry for dragging him along like this but it’s for the sake of their safety.

Haechan, to Mark’s surprise, shakes his head and only mumbles, “Just had some memory with it.”

Mark slings an arm around his shoulders. “Then let’s just make another one. A much more fun one.”

Haechan smiles, but it’s bitter.

***

“I can’t believe you’ve never even tried to drive a car,” Haechan says, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple as he tries to hotwire a car. His black sleeveless shirt is sticking to his skin, and his plump cheeks are painted with tints of red from the heat. Mark has to remind himself to look away before he stares too long at how the muscles on his upper arm flex whenever he hammers a flathead screwdriver into a keyhole.

They had to choose between an Audi and a Wrangler, and Mark loved the Audi and Haechan probably did too but he always picked the opposite of Mark’s choice to spite him so they ended up with an eight-year-old Wrangler with a lot of scratches on the side.

“Well, I love walking.”

“What a load of bullshit, Mark.”

“What—it’s true! And also, it’s expensive, okay? I don’t steal expensive things. It makes me feel guilty.” Mark tries to add some common sense which makes Haechan roll his eyes in return. “Besides, I don’t have a driving license yet.”

“Neither do I, wimp, but I still drive.” He chucks out his screwdriver with a proud smirk on his face. The car’s engine is running loud—too loud for Mark’s liking but as long as it’s daylight, they should be fine.

“Driving without a license is irresponsible.” Mark puts his seatbelt on as he sits next to him on the front seat with his backpack tucked between his legs. “And dangerous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I better stop before I get arrested by the nonexistent police officers around here.”

Mark sighs. There’s no winning an argument against this kid. They bicker more often than not, and just when they reach the end of their bickering, they will bicker again over a new topic and it really just goes endlessly but Mark is enjoying every second of it.

Haechan drives like a mad man to the point that Mark has to close his eyes and swallow the vomit that’s about to erupt from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Haechan-ah, shouldn’t you slow down a bit?!”

“Why, because there’s traffic ahead?” Haechan snickers, turning the car window next to him all the way down and smiling as the wind ruffles his hair. “Loosen up a little, Canada, you need to live and enjoy the moment.”

Mark wheezes and almost faints when Haechan suddenly makes a u-turn just for fun before he steps on the gas again, blasting through the empty road. They’re now crossing the Seongsu Bridge, which overlooks the infamous Han River and weirdly enough, the entire place is empty—not even one car in sight—and Mark remembers how the government tried to isolate the country and lock people in their own houses to contain the outbreak. That’s probably why.

“I am trying to live,” Mark says as he clutches his seatbelt tightly with both hands. “Which is the more reason why you should be care—BRAKES, HIT THE BRAKES!”

And Haechan does, almost at the last moment before their jeep jumps into the river. The rest of the bridge has collapsed and Haechan was too busy looking at how clear and big the river was to notice the part where they’re about to fall off the edge.

Well, fuck, Mark thinks, so this is why there are no cars around.

Mark looks at Haechan with the most menacing, sadistic glare he’s ever made in his life. The younger man, in return, only grins mischievously and says, “Oops?”

They begin their search for a place to stay with Mark sitting behind the wheel this time. Haechan constantly whines and whines and whines about his driving not because he’s bad at it—he’s actually pretty good though Haechan won’t admit—but because he’s too fucking slow.

“Who the fuck drives twenty miles-per-hour on an empty street?!”

“People who nearly died from driving too fast, that’s who.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll grow on you.”

They take a stop at the gas station to fill up the tank and Haechan steals three bags of Cheetos, four bottles of beer for himself and one bottle of mineral water for Mark because you’re the designated driver and Mark punches him on the shoulder.

***

“This house is nice.” Haechan settles down on the leather-clad sofa, throwing his bag on the floor and propping his legs on the table. “I think we should just stay here and never move out. Ever.”

It is a nice house. It’s not particularly huge, and it doesn’t have a second floor or a balcony which is completely fine. It’s safer that way, and it also has a basement with a comfy couch, a pile of board games, and a wine cellar. They can really use that to hide during critical moments, but he better checks it thoroughly first because again, those… things really enjoy dark places.

“We’ll see about that,” Mark responses, exhaling in relief when he’s sure that the place is safe. No zombies in sight. No trace of blood or human flesh. Just a nice, warm house with ultra-wide flat-screen TV and the latest version of PlayStation. Yeah, they probably should just stay here forever.

“Haechannie,” Mark starts but finishes early when he sees the young man sleeping with his puffy lips slightly parted. Mark smiles, he must’ve been so tired. They have been wandering for hours after all, trying to look for the best place to stay. But the sun is setting, and they have to cover all the windows and the doors to make sure that the zombies won’t be able to hear their voices or see their movements during the night.

“Haechannie,” Mark says, softer this time as he leans closer. “Haechan-ah, wake up. We still have work to do.”

There’s this sound that Haechan makes, somewhere between a soft moan and a sultry whine, that makes Mark feel a bit weird but he pushes the thoughts to the back of his head when Haechan slowly opens his eyes.

“Ugh,” he says, yawning, “You again.”

And Mark chuckles a bit. “Sorry, were you expecting someone else?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Haechan freezes at his words. “Haechannie?”

“What?” He asks, trying to act as normal as possible but Mark catches on. “Stop calling my name like that, it’s gross.” He stands up before Mark can blurt anything else and immediately says, “Come on, start working. I wanna sleep early.”

They sleep in different rooms like always, only this time, Mark spends his night staring at the ceiling and wonders whether he said something wrong earlier. But no matter how much he visited his memory and replayed the conversation, he still couldn’t find his fault. He remembered the hurting look Haechan had on his face, though, and it bothered him so much that he began to lose sleep.

The next morning, Mark feels even worse not solely because he didn’t catch much rest but because Haechan looks like he’s been crying himself to sleep.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, staring at the other man’s face as if Haechan is about to turn into a zombie.

“Are you okay?” Haechan is clearly trying to distract Mark away from him. “You look like you haven’t slept for years.”

“I was…” Mark fumbles with his words. “Distracted, I guess.”

“With what?”

He doesn’t answer and Haechan spends a few seconds analyzing him before he finally sighs and grumbles, “I guess we both have secrets. I’m gonna make some pancakes. Want some?”

Mark lightly nods though his heart still lays heavy in his chest. But if there are things he can’t tell, then maybe Haechan does too. Maybe all they need is time.

But time is limited in this world, even more so than before.

***

“Have you taken a shower yet?” Haechan asks with a towel hanging around his neck. His hair is damp and he sniffles with his nose slightly red from the cold. “No, wait, let me rephrase that. Have you ever taken a shower?”

Mark begins to count the little holes on the wooden floor  underneath his feet to avoid looking at the way Haechan’s jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips, or the droplets of water that drips from his chin to his bare chest.

“Get dressed, Haechan-ah, aren’t you cold?”

“No, the heater is on.” But he still sniffs as he picks up his hoodie. “Look, I know I’ve been calling you little shit but that doesn’t give you the authority to actually smell like one.”

“Huh,” Mark takes a hold of his shirt, sniffing against the fabric. “Wow, I do kind of smell.”

“Kind of? I’m shocked that these zombies haven’t found us already from how god awful you smell.”

“Don’t call them zombies, you’re being rude.”

“What the fuck do you call them?”

“Sick people?”

“Jesus Christ, I literally can’t with you.” He sits down next to him on the other side of the couch, pressing his back against the furniture and stares at the ceiling. “What are we having for breakfast today?”

“Canned food.”

“Dinner?”

“Canned food.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Wait, I think we can eat…” Mark doesn’t finish right away, making sure that Haechan has a hopeful look blossoming on his face. When he does, he finishes with, “Canned food.”

“Aaaaaah~” He whines in the way Haechan always whines which sounds kind of childish but endearing to Mark’s ears. “I’m so tired of having fucking canned foods every day!”

“Be grateful that we have food.”

“I’d be more grateful if we have real food. Can’t you make yourself useful for once and cook something?”

“We don’t really have the ingredients.”

“Then I guess, we’re going shopping.” Haechan huffs before he glances at the slightly taller man. “After you take a goddamn shower.”

Mark can no longer remember when was the last time he took a shower—and a nice, warm one at that—so he almost weeps in joy when the warm droplets rain down on him, washing all the dust and fatigue away from his body. He stands still, enjoying the warmth before he reaches out for some soap and lathers it down his skin. He notices he has some bruises along his arm from where he tripped down the stairs yesterday, trying to help Haechan carry a medium-sized cupboard to cover the front door. I can’t believe you couldn’t even keep yourself up even when I’m practically handling all the weight, Haechan scolded him with both hands on his hips and it makes him smile at the thought.

But the bruises remind him of the pain he felt and pain reminds him of his mother. Of the way she suddenly jolted her eyes awake after five days had passed. Of the way she bared her teeth, lurched herself toward him, and tried to bury her fangs and peel the skin off his body. Of the way he shook in horror, screaming in pain and the way he begged her to stop.

And of the way he sank the kitchen’s knife to her chest and kept it that way until she stopped moving.

“What took you so long?” Haechan asks when Mark finally steps outside the bathroom after half an hour has passed. He observes the look on his face before he adds, “How can you look even shittier after taking a shower? Your eyes are swollen.”

Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I kinda cried while in there.”

“Because the shower was so good?”

“Sure.”

And Haechan doesn’t contribute any further, perhaps because of the way Mark looks like it’s something private they should both leave out of the conversation. Or maybe Haechan simply doesn’t care, Mark can’t be sure.

Mark doesn’t recognize the neighbourhood they’re in, so he lets Haechan leads the way to the nearest supermarket. The morning sun is warm on his skin, the leaves on the trees are turning orange and Mark can finally smell autumn after so long. He has grown tired of summer. It’s about damn time.

“Oh, I actually know this place,” Mark mentions, as they park their car a few feet away from the building.

“Congratulations, you just won at life,” Haechan utters flatly, taking three sheathed knives from his backpack and places them around the belt of his jeans.

“Must you be so rude all the time?”

“Just messing with you, Canada. Chill.”

“Why don’t you take any guns with you?”

“Because guns run out of bullets pretty fast. And these,” he stops with a smirk on his face, twirling a pocket knife around his fingers, “don’t.”

“Can you teach me sometimes how to use that?”

“And what do you have to offer, may I ask?”

Mark contemplates in silence. He really doesn’t have anything that might interest him, so he decides to joke about it. “My body?”

To his surprise, Haechan’s eyes grow wide and he doesn’t speak a word and it’s so weird because it’s supposed to be a fucking joke.

“I… I was just—” Mark splutters, blushing at his own antic. “I was just kidding.”

“It’s not funny, Mark.”

“Sorry.”

And Haechan lets out the loudest sigh ever before he steps down the car, leaving Mark inside looking like a goddamn idiot that he is.

“Okay, so,” Haechan straightens his posture, standing in front of the entrance door with his machete lays firmly on his hand. “Do we need a plan?”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on, Mark,” Haechan whines. “Yes, I know we can barely get any sunlight inside the store but we’re not going to take long. We’ll just grab some things and run back here. Even if there are zombies in there, they’ll be burnt to a crisp the second we’re outside.”

“But—”

“Marrrrkkkkkk.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Mark pushes his hair back with one hand in defeat. “I’ll go first,” he says, cocking his handgun. “You watch my back.”

“Why do you have to go first?”

“Because I’m older.”

“But you’re shittier than me.”

“With a gun on my hand? Not as shitty as you’d think.” Mark smirks, and he thinks he sounds cool but by the way Haechan is staring at him, he realizes he’s not. A flashback of Haechan completely overpowering him even when he had his gun came back to his mind and he winces at the thought. “Okay, so, you wanna go first?”

Haechan sighs, taking a step forward. Mark trails after him soon after.

Mark remembers this place, knows every aisle like the back of his hand from how often he accompanied his mother to stock up their groceries every weekend. It doesn’t look like what he’d committed in his memory in the slightest, though. The lights are still on, but they’re flickering here and there and ceramic tiles are mostly covered with liquid stuff coming from bleachers, oils or something Mark can no longer tell. Most of the shelves are empty and a lot of goods are thrown all over the place, but  fortunately, they’re not ruined.

Mark analyzes the place as best as he can with Haechan leading the way, doing the same. Everything seems fine and he can see Haechan’s shoulders relaxed a bit after a while. Swirling his knife around his fingers, he says, “I guess we’re alone.”

Mark nods. “All right,” he puts his gun on safety. “Let’s shop.”

Haechan says he wanted to eat some pasta for a change, and Mark follows with a hum. Anything other than canned foods sounds good these days. They stroll around the aisle, taking the necessary ingredients into their bags along with some toiletries and an abundance amount of water bottles.

Mark notices some board games when Haechan is busy flipping through pages of a Playboy magazine and he takes one that suits Haechan’s taste so they can spend more time together.

Mark freezes at the thought. Since when did he begin to want to spend time together with this pain in the ass?

“Yo, little shit,” Haechan calls, and Mark sighs. “Come here for a sec.”

Mark sneaks a glance over Haechan’s shoulders and feels his heart stops for a split second. “That’s—”

“Blood,” Haechan finishes, exchanging glances at him. “We’re not alone.”

Mark is still processing it down when a loud noise suddenly comes from two aisles behind them. With his heart jumping to his throat, Mark keeps his hands steady and points his gun forward. Haechan looms behind him, taking a long knife from the back of his shirt in another hand and stands alert.

“If it’s more than one, we run.”

“Don’t order me around, you little shit.”

But at this point, Mark knows how much Haechan depends on him and will follow his order in a heartbeat, which is kinda cute and reassuring, Mark thinks, as he swallows his breath. He’s prepared for the worst but what comes along is—

“It’s a dog!” Haechan claims, tucking both of his knives back around his belt and squats down on the floor next to Mark. “Come here, boy!”

It’s a Yellow Spitz, Mark notices, or a Nureongi people used to call. It has a short coat with patches of yellow and a melanistic mask on its face. By the sound of Haechan’s call, the dog comes running toward him with its mouth opened wide and its tongue lolling down.

“Ouch!” Haechan is laughing, enjoying the forceful tackle from the excited dog, and rubbing his hands along the fur. “Who’s a good boy?” He asks, rubbing the tip of his nose to the dog’s. “Yes, you are, you are a good boy—wait, no—“ Haechan grimaces when the dog licks his entire face, saliva blabbering over his skin but he laughs it off.

Mark stands on the side with a smile he secretly keeps to himself. He has never seen Haechan looking so young and open, like a child on his first trip, and it amuses him. “I didn’t know you could look like this,” he comments. “You should smile more often. It’s cute.”

Mark’s a bit taken by the look that fleets across Haechan’s face for a split second, and he swears that he just saw him blush but it’s too short to be sure about it.

“Maybe if you grow some fur, I will,” Haechan merely comments before he sticks his tongue out at him.

Mark only playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“Can we keep him?” Haechan’s asks as he cups the dog’s face and nuzzles their noses together. “You are so cute!”

“No. What happens if he barks?”

“But he doesn’t bark.” The dog suddenly barks two times and Haechan immediately wraps his fingers along its jaw to keep its mouth shut. “Or I can just do this whenever he does.” The dog growls, trying to wiggle itself away from Haechan’s grip. It suddenly looks nervous, almost terrified.

“Haechan,” Mark insists, “He’ll only attract attention. You know we can’t—”

“MARK, WATCH OUT—”

It happens so fast that by the time he realizes what’s happening, Mark is already on the ground, his back pressed against the ceramic floor with a zombie on top of him, baring his teeth and clawing at his skin. It’s in the form of a middle-aged man, in a cashier uniform with cloudy white eyes and dark veins covering his skin.

Luckily, Mark already has his hands in front of him, pushing that thing as far away as he could manage but it’s too strong. The zombie roars, spraying saliva mixed with blood onto his face and Mark immediately throws his head to the side. “Fuck!” He hisses, kicking it several times with his knee but it won’t budge, until suddenly a knife makes it way to its head, pushing through its brain and ending its life for good.

Haechan stares at Mark with horrified eyes, before he kneels down in front of him and immediately checks his face.

“Did you get his blood in your mouth?!” He asks frantically, worried to death by the look of it, almost like it was him who just got sprayed with zombie’s blood.

“I don’t think I did,” Mark says, still feeling quite dizzy.

“Spit it out!” Haechan shakes him desperately by the shoulders. “Spit everything out! Now!”

Mark doesn’t understand why he’s so afraid—because aren’t they both supposed to be immune to the virus?—but spits out a few times just in case. He rubs the back of his hand against his mouth before he turns toward the other man. “Thanks for saving me.”

And Mark thought that Haechan was going to sigh loudly at him and call him an idiot little shit for a few times on their way home, but what he does is lean forward and wrap his arms tightly around Mark’s shoulders.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs almost in a whisper, before he pulls back, clears his throat and adds, “You little shit. You’re lucky you have me saving your ass.”

Well, Mark supposes, he’s partially right about his thought. “I am.”

Haechan blushes again, but he doesn’t let Mark see.

“Come on, we should get under the sun,” Haechan says, offering a hand which Mark gladly takes. “If there are more of them, we should be safe as long we’re outside.”

“Still want to take that dog with you?”

“Shut up, little shit.”

***

“Come on, you have to pick truth,” Mark says, with a guitar on his lap, playing random chord that matches Haechan’s hums. It’s still two hours away before the sun sets and they have been spending the entire day just lounging around watching old movies and playing stupid board games. “It’s called Truth or Dare for a reason, Haechannie, and I’m already out of ideas of what kind of dare you should do because apparently, you have no fear—or shame for that matter—when it comes to it.”

“You’re just not creative enough,” Haechan says, smirking to himself because he’s undefeated when it comes to taking a dare. Whenever Mark tries to humiliate him, it ends up with Haechan humiliating him instead. “Okay, fine, truth it is. Give it to me, you little shit.”

“You do realize that I’m your hyung, right?”

“Well, then, give it to me, Little Shit-hyung.” Haechan snickers and Mark throws his shoe at him.

“When’s your birthday?” Mark asks, munching a chocolate cookie.

“That’s your question?” Haechan exclaims. “Shit, Mark, I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I just want to know you better!” Mark laughs when Haechan starts throwing Cheetos at him. “What is so wrong with that? You know you’d never tell me these things if I didn’t force you to do it.”

“Fine, geez,” Haechan succumbs, “Sixth of June.”

“Wait, let me put that in real quick.” Mark takes out his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. It can no longer make calls or surf the internet, but it can come in handy to keep himself on track with dates and times. “Sixth of June,” he mutters to himself as he taps his thumb on his phone screen.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m adding your birthday to my calendar.”

“Yes, I know, Mark.” Haechan rolls his eyes impatiently. “I mean, why?”

“Why?” Mark laughs a bit, looking at him bewilderedly. “‘Cause we’re friends, you idiot.”

“We are?” Haechan dramatically gasps, which earns him a kick on the knee and he whines loudly about it.

“I just think we should celebrate it together,” Mark continues without a care. “Well, starting next year anyway, since we’ve both passed our birthdays by now. One sec.” He holds up a finger, running his thumb on his screen again. “Sixth of June. Little Shit’s birthday. And save.”

Haechan glares but doesn’t make any remark on it. “What’s there to celebrate about?” He questions flatly. “The world is ending, if you haven’t noticed.”

“And that’s your reason to not celebrate birthdays?” Mark snorts. “I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Mark kicks him playfully on the knee again and they begin to wrestle until they become hungry. After quickly heating up some leftovers from the night before, they head toward their bedrooms.

“Stay quiet, little shit,” Haechan says, as he leans against his doorframe. “And if you’re gonna jack off—“

Mark throws a pillow on his face. “Just go to bed!”

“Okay, okay,” Haechan chuckles. “See you soon, Mark.”

“See you soon, Haechannie.”

Before Mark knows it, those words they say to each other become some kind of habit that they do every night. And the more they say them, the more they become like a promise for one another. It’s something that Mark needs, he realizes, because now he has someone to look forward to see in the morning. Someone with smiles as warm as the sun. And Mark can forget, at least for now, the fact that he’d lost everything and try to stay alive for another day.

***

Autumn is about to end and the weather is terrible for  Mark during the night, as he can barely stand cold. He can turn on the heater, of course, but it will probably make too much noise so both he and Haechan agree to just slip under the duvet, and wrap as many blankets as they can find around their bodies.

Mark jolts awake when he hears his bedroom door being opened with a soft creak. His ears are now trained to keep himself alert at night, even with the slightest sound. He has one leg down the bed, ready to do whatever it takes to survive if a zombie comes barging in. His handgun lays safely under his pillow and it will only take a second for him to grab it. He had tampered his window with wood boards on the first day they’d settled here, but the moonlight still somehow sneaks in between the tiny spaces, giving very little light into the room but it’s enough for Mark to notice that it’s only Haechan, standing with his pillow pressed against his chest, a blanket around his body, and a pale look on his face.

What happened? Mark asks, moving his hands and fingers in a sign language they have both learned to survive. Is something wrong?

I can’t sleep. Haechan says, and Mark can’t really tell within the darkness of the room whether it’s a blush appearing on his cheeks or it’s just the moonlight playing tricks on him. Can I stay here with you?

Mark nods, and Haechan walks close, settling himself down on the carpeted floor next to the bed. Mark taps his shoulder and when Haechan looks over, he nudges his head toward the bed.

Come up. It’s cold.

Haechan nibbles on his bottom lip, hesitation in his eyes, but he finally stands up and wiggles himself under the blanket. Mark scoots over to give him as much space as he can, and they both end up staring at the ceiling, awkwardness and silence filling the air.

It seems like a minute has passed by but it feels like forever and Mark is about to throw up from how fast his heart is beating and he’s asking himself why the fuck am I feeling like this when Haechan suddenly turns over to his side and whispers his name.

Mark can feel his own body stiffen but he tries his best to relax. He turns to his side as well, facing him. “Hmm?”

“Can I move closer?” He asks and Mark’s stomach does a flip. “So I can hear you better, I mean.”

“S-sure.”

And Haechan moves close—close enough for Mark to breath in his scent, to know that he uses the same shampoo as he does even though there are three different kinds of bottles in the bathroom, and it somehow smells way better on him and Mark doesn’t know what to do with it but it distracts him so much.

“You okay?” Haechan’s voice is soft and lacks the usual snarky tone he usually laces his sentence with. Mark nods, a bit shakily and the younger man giggles quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable sharing a bed with another dude but bear with me this time, will ya?”

“It’s…” Somehow, Mark’s throat feels like burning. “It’s not uncomfortable.”

Something gleams in Haechan’s eyes and Mark has to look somewhere else so he doesn’t fall deeper into that pair of chocolate brown eyes more than he already does.

“So, uhh,” Mark clears his throat. It’s weird that even when he’s whispering, his voice still breaks from how nervous he is. “Is there a particular reason why you can’t sleep?”

“Why so formal, Mark Lee.” Haechan snorts. “Must there be a particular reason for us to sleep together?”

Mark almost chokes at Haechan’s poor choice of words. Almost.

“How many hours left till dawn?”

“Umm,” Mark checks his phone, making sure he covers the light with his pillow. “It’s actually around two hours from now.”

“Well then, you’ve slept enough,” Haechan says, propping his chin on the pillow as he stares at him. “Accompany me till morning?”

“Sure, why not.”

And so he does, exchanging whispers in the dark and changing topics from one nonsense to another. Talking with Haechan is relaxing, Mark notices, though more often than not, it ends with an argument but he enjoys arguing with him. It feels like he’s learning more about him, more about the real Haechan—the one who is acting almost as young as a child—and not whatever it is he’s trying his best to be. And Mark is always happy to learn something new because he’s been studying Haechan’s figure over and over for the last few days and it’s tiring to be distracted by the shape of his pretty lips, or the cute tiny mole he has on his neck, or the sway of his hips when he walks.

“Are you sleepy?” Haechan asks after silence starts to grow within them and Mark curses inwardly. How the hell can I sleep when I’m so distracted with the way I can feel your breath on my neck is what he has in mind but on the outside, he just gives a nonchalant shrug and says, “Not really.”

“Good then.” Mark swears he can feel Haechan’s smile in his words and he can also feel the way he snuggles a tad closer, seeking his warmth. “Hey, Mark?” Mark hums in response. “How come you’re alone? I mean, someone as nice and frail as you can only live so long in a world like this without company.”

“I’m not sure whether you want to compliment me or insult me.”

“I just want to know more about you.”

It’s sincere and genuine, the way Haechan says it, and Mark raises an eyebrow, finally looking into his eyes again. “That’s a first. I thought you didn’t care about me.”

It’s Haechan’s turn to break off their gazes. “Believe me, I don’t. It’s just out of curiosity. Wha—is it so wrong? Stop looking at me like that!”

Mark bites his bottom lip to contain his laughter. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up!”

“Well, if you’re so curious about it,” Mark teases and Haechan pushes his palm against his face to wipe off his grin. Mark wraps his fingers around Haechan’s wrist to keep him away but he holds it a little bit longer than he’s supposed to before he lets go.

“I was staying with my parents when the outbreak happened,” Mark begins, locking his eyes at the ceiling and he can feel Haechan’s gaze scanning his face but he doesn’t dare to look. “Someone near my house got infected, and it traveled so fast that by the time I realized that the virus was airborne, people were already dying. And I—” Mark stops to take a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as the flashback hits him like a wave.

Haechan doesn’t say a word, but he reaches out to tangle his fingers around his under the blanket and Mark blinks at the touch before he smiles to himself.

“I watched my dad died,” Mark finally says, and it’s easier than he expected to be, probably because Haechan’s warmth is seeping into his skin. “It happened so fast. He was sitting on the dining table, already looking pale because of cancer that took him apart day by day, but the second he got infected, it was like something was exploding within him. And I watched him crumble, watched him reaching out to me for help and I just stood there. Watching him.”

Haechan holds his hand tighter. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Mark smiles weakly at him. “Thanks. I just wish I did something for him, you know? Like, hold his hand and tell him I love him, or something.”

“You were stunned.”

“I was just weak and afraid.” Mark unconsciously curls his fingers a bit harder that Haechan begins to wince but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I was so afraid that I’d die, just like him. It was until I found out I was immune that I began to cry and regret the whole thing. I’m the worst, aren’t I?”

Haechan shakes his head, whispering, “I would’ve done the same. Maybe even worse,” he adds a chuckle and it’s so genuine that Mark begins to feel like the heavy pain in his chest is being lifted little by little. “And your mom? What happened to her?”

It’s the question he’s been dreading the most but Haechan’s voice is silky smooth in his ears, and his touch is scorching against his skin, and as Mark breathes in his scent, everything becomes clear.

There’s a first for everything.

“My mom—” It still feels like he’s suffocating, so he intertwines his fingers with Haechan’s a little better to distract him from the pain. “When she got infected, she fell into a deep sleep. Like she went into a coma or something. And I was relieved because I thought she was going to wake up and smile at me again. I thought that her body was healing. I didn’t realize that she was… turning.”

Haechan’s breathing is steady while Mark’s is catching fire. “Mark, look at me.” And when Mark is too lost in his own thoughts, Haechan cups his cheek and forces him to look at him. “You’re okay. You’re with me now.”

Mark’s eyes are shaking but he gradually finds back his pace, finally able to catch his own breath. “I’m with you now,” he whispers back and Haechan smiles.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Haechan says, rubbing comforting circles on the side of Mark’s face with his thumb. “And I kinda have a hunch on where this story is going.”

“You—“ Mark wets his lips. “You do?”

Haechan’s gaze is intense but gentle enough to wash Mark’s anxiety away. “All I have to say is,” Haechan starts, “We all have our sins. What you did was based on instinct. You were trying to protect yourself. Anyone would’ve done the same thing so stop blaming yourself.”

Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until Haechan wipes a tear away from his cheek. “You’re innocent, Mark Lee,” he assures, smiling at him. “You’re just living in a shitty world, that’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark says, smiling a little to himself as he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, washing all of his tears away. “Who are you and what have you done to my snarky-ass Haechan?”

“Your Haechan?”

Mark blushes. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Haechan’s eyes gleam in a teasing manner. “What way then?”

Mark clears his throat. Hopefully, the night can cover how nervous he looks right now. “So, what about you?” He begins, putting his best effort to change topics. “What kind of sins have you committed that you start getting nightmares at night?”

The easy-going, reassuring facade Haechan tries to put on all night falters within an instant and this time, in the darkness and the silence of this room, he chooses to be honest.

“No,” he starts, exhaling heavily. “Nightmares happen only when you’re asleep. What I have happens when I’m awake.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s not something I want,” he murmurs quietly. “But I guess, it’s something I need. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy. I am going crazy.” He locks their gazes together, smiling like he’s on the verge of crying. “Would you mind hearing me out?”

Mark will listen as if his life depends on it and he promises him that in his heart. He nods.

“Promise you won’t judge me?”

Another nod.

“Promise you won’t leave me behind?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Haechan still looks unsure, but the more he takes in Mark’s feature and every detail of his expression, the more he wants to let go—to finally succumb to his sin, to hear someone say, “It’s okay, I forgive you. We all have our sins. We are not different.”

So in shaky whispers, he begins to tell the story and Mark listens.

Haechan was not alone before he met Mark. He had a family. He had a sister, only younger than he was by two years, and he’d loved her. He’d loved her so much that when his parents started to collapse, he took a hold of her hand and drag her to run without looking back even when his mother was still screaming his name, asking him for help. He knew it was too late to save them, but saving his sister was not.

Her sister, just like him, was also immune to the virus and Haechan thought everything was fine. They could still live and be happy together. So they began to wander during the day, and hugged each other to sleep during the night at an abandoned house, sharing headphones to mute down the snarling sounds of the creatures lurking around under the moonlight. They were okay. They were alive.

Until one day, when Haechan was too busy getting supplies from the kitchen, her sister wandered by herself toward the basement of a new house they found. Haechan didn’t know about it, wasn’t careful enough to check, and when he heard her scream, he realized it was too late.

There was a zombie, trapped inside the basement that crawled out when she opened the door. It was so fast, jumping on top of her and ripping the skin on her arm with its teeth. Haechan was so frantic that he began to stab it multiple times on the face, tearing its face apart again and again and again until his sister embraced him from behind and begged him to stop. Haechan held her in his arms like he’d never held anyone before and he thanked God for letting her stay alive, though badly injured.

Because he thought her injury would heal.

He thought she wouldn’t get infected because she was immune.

But when she became paler and paler with more days passing by, Haechan began to worry. Her skin began to rot little by little, and her stench was so strong that Haechan began to hold his breath whenever she was close. Black veins were creeping up her skin and she lost her beautiful brown eyes soon after, having them changed into a pair of cloudy white eyes.

Haechan was so afraid by the look of her that he began to apologize. Sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive me, he said again and again as he wrapped a scarf around her mouth, stopping her from calling his name. She was begging for him to spare her life and yet he held his knife firmly with both of his shaking hands, and he plunged it toward her chest.

She died in his hands, along with a part of him.

“She was still human when I killed her,” Haechan confesses, his voice quivering. “She kept asking me why, why are you doing this but I kept going. I can still remember how warm her blood was on my hands. I was so afraid. I was so afraid of her.”

Mark does not speak during his story and he finds himself lost for words when Haechan grows quiet. The silence is deafening and he knows he should say something, anything, but he’s busy trying to understand the look on Haechan’s face.

Their breathing matches each other’s and Haechan quietly laughs, “You know, it’s weird. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry but—”

And he breaks apart in the way Mark never sees anyone does.

Haechan’s whole body shakes as he gives his best effort to muffle his scream by biting his lower lip hard enough to the point it almost draws blood. He covers his face with both hands, sobbing furiously to his palms and even if he tries his best to be quiet, Haechan is still making noise.

And Mark wonders whether it’s because of that very reason of survival or it’s just really something he’s been wanting to do every time Haechan beams at him with that blazing smile of his, but he finds himself reaching forward, tangling his fingers around the strands of Haechan’s hair and pulls the other boy forward until their lips meet in a frantic kiss.

Haechan’s eyes grow wide for a good couple of seconds and Mark finally comes back to his senses when he notices the way the other boy stiffens in his arms. Haechan has momentarily stopped crying due to the sudden surprise, though the tremor of his previous sobs is still there and he’s looking at Mark with these huge, mesmerizing round eyes, with nothing but confusion and shock on his face, and Mark begins to ask himself what the fuck did I just do.

“Fuck, I—” Mark has never struggled this hard to find the right word in his entire life. “I didn’t know why—”

But he probably doesn’t need to say anything, because Haechan is taking the rest of his sentence into his own mouth, and tasting Mark’s feelings directly with his tongue. He’s being forceful, pulling Mark close with all his strength until the other man stumbles upon him and they’re pressed together chest-to-chest. Haechan has his hands circling around the collar of Mark’s shirt, smashing their lips together and they kiss hard and fast, tasting each other’s—owning each other’s—mouth until Mark is breathing his breath and Haechan is breathing his.

“More,” Haechan gasps, teeth nibbling against Mark’s bottom lip. “More, Mark, please.” And Mark just crumbles, moaning against his mouth and takes every soft whine that comes from Haechan into his memory.

None of them care at this point if they’re being too loud, so it’s really their luck that the sun has risen outside, its light seeping through the window, basking them with warmth but none of them need it. Not with the way Mark is hovering above him, his hands slipping under Haechan’s sweater, running his fingertips along the golden skin and emitting more moans from the other man.

“Haechannie.” Mark has his earlobe between his teeth and he sucks at the soft skin, before peppering kisses down the column of his neck. Haechan arches his back, grinding their hips together and begs him to, “Take my fucking clothes off, Mark.”

Clothes are scattered on the floor within an instant, and as Mark sits on his lap just for a few seconds as he pulls his own shirt over his head, Haechan is already latching his mouth on his stomach, licking a stripe up his chest before he pulls Mark down on top of him again.

“I want to feel you,” Haechan breathes out between gasps, “I want to feel all of you.”

“Calm down,” Mark says, softly smiling against his forehead “I’m not going anywhere.”

And they stop just to take a thorough glance at each other’s face now that the light is bright enough for them to see properly. Haechan traces his fingers on the side of Mark’s face, as if he’s a sculpture waiting to be adored, and it takes all the control of his body not to kiss him again right then.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he whispers as he brings his lips to Mark’s, pausing momentarily, just to add, “You little shit.”

And Mark laughs into his mouth but only for a moment before passion starts to take control of him again and he’s moaning, “Haechannie, Haechannie,” directly to his ear as they rock their hips together.

***

It’s already midday when Mark opens his eyes, sitting on his bed with a blank stare as if his soul just left his body. He thinks he just had the most pleasant dream he’s ever witnessed in his twenty-one years of living, but when he notices how his pillow smells like honey, realization hits him like a wave.

It’s not a dream. Haechan was really here.

So he jumps down his bed, trips over his own clothes and swears under his breath as he tries to dress as fast as he can. He stumbles out of his room, running toward the kitchen where he finds Haechan sitting on the kitchen’s counter with his legs dangling in the air.

Haechan’s eyes slightly grow wide at the sight of Mark standing gawkily in front of him with his terrible bed hair, but he quickly gains control of himself. “Morning,” he casually says, raising the red colored mug he always uses, “Coffee?”

Mark curls his fingers around the fabric of his sweat pants. “Okay.”

It’s awkward. It feels so, terribly awkward that they begin to tense every time one of them breathe a little too hard, or sip their coffee a little too loud. Mark is sitting on the opposite of Haechan on the dining table, like how they usually do, but it feels like the earth is about to swallow him whole.

“Haechannie!” Mark begins, a little bit too loud that they both flinch at the sound of his voice. “About last night—I-I mean, this morning—when we—”

“Do you regret it?” Haechan’s voice, unlike Mark, is much steadier, almost too formal, even. But after spending months with him, Mark can tell that he’s about as nervous as he is.

“Reg—no, of course not!” Mark has his eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you?”

Haechan looks away, taking a sip of his coffee as he murmurs quietly. “No.”

And silence comes in again like an old friend and Mark despises it so much because it’s making him insane. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Haechan sighs, scratching the back of his head and Mark finally notices that oh, he’s just embarrassed about it.

“I don’t really know how to face you,” he admits, blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears. “I didn’t think we’d end up that way.”

Mark opens his mouth but unsure of his words. “Then…” he whispers, uncertainly, with throat feels like blazing in flames. “Do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Haechan seems taken aback. Shocked, even, to hear Mark proposing something like that. Scowling a bit, he places his mug on the table with a loud thud and walks closer.

“Haechan—”

His kiss is more teeth than anything else and Mark freezes, not knowing what to do as Haechan climbs into his lap, twisting his hair around his fingers. It’s suffocating, the way Haechan kisses, but Mark likes it so much that he doesn’t mind if Haechan takes all his breath away with his.

After a good minute has passed, with a string of saliva connecting their parting lips, Haechan asks between heavy breaths, “Do you want to pretend this never happened?”

“Fuck no,” Mark replies in an instant and this time, he’s the one who takes Haechan’s breath out of his lungs.

They sleep on the same bed every night but only embrace each other during the day because Mark is getting exceptionally good at it and Haechan is having trouble keeping his moans to himself. They still share kisses in the dark but Mark always places his palm over Haechan’s face and pushes him away whenever it gets too much.

They haven’t moved out of the house even after the season has changed and Mark is getting an eerie feeling of being followed. “They’re triggered by movements and sound,” Haechan comforts him as he sits crossed-legs on the couch with a game controller in his hand, “So as long as we’re dead quiet during the night and stay out of sight, we’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” Mark agrees, though his heart still feels heavy in his chest. “I don’t know, I just… I can’t help but worry, that’s all.”

“Yes, because that’s you. All you do is worry.”

“I have been doing something else in the last few days, actually,” Mark says, suddenly leaning forward from behind the couch and whispering close to his ear, “Or rather, someone.”

“Fuck you,” Haechan says but his lips are turning into a cheeky grin. “Keep doing that, and I’ll attack you again.”

And Mark teases again because they both know that’s what they want. It’s funny how the world is ending and yet Mark feels like he’s complete. As if everything just fell into places. And seeing Haechan writhe underneath him, as he thrusts in and out, is something he could never even dream to have in his previous life.

Haechan is quite possessive, Mark learns, by the way he nips at the juncture of his neck until purplish bruises bloom along his skin. Mark knows how much Haechan likes to sink his teeth on his shoulder when Mark hits that spot deep inside him, and he loves it when he can make Mark groan at the pain, muttering, “Fuck, that’s so hot—you’re so hot—” before he takes Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth again. It’s as if he wants to make it known to the world that he belongs to him, even when they’re the only two people in the world.

“Donghyuck,” Haechan suddenly says, out of the blue as they share French toasts for breakfast.

“It’s Mark, actually.”

“No,” Haechan laughs, almost spilling his coffee. “My name, you idiot. Lee Donghyuck is my real name.”

“What?!” Mark complains, feeling utterly betrayed. “After all this time, you’re just telling me now?”

“Well, I like the way you say Haechan,” he explains. “So I don’t mind if you call me that. I just thought you should know.”

But Mark is still kind of upset about it and he still does for the rest of the day, until Haechan sits on his lap that afternoon, attempting to wash the pout off his face with something exciting and Mark leaves no time to waste. He calls Haechan’s name—his real name—whenever their hips meet together and Haechan blushes and begs him to stop, telling him it’s weird, but Mark still continues because somehow he can feel Haechan tightening around him when he does and Mark likes to see him crumble into a moaning mess that he is now.

***

“You’re shit at cooking, Mark,” Haechan grumbles with his eyes still bleary from sleep. He stabs his fork not too gracefully to something that Mark called as a decent-looking sunny side up. “Look at this.” He glares at the burnt white egg. “I mean, seriously, what the heck is this?”

“It’s food. Now shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Okay, Mom.” Haechan rolls his eyes, grimacing dramatically at the man who sits opposite him when the piece of food enters his mouth. “Yuuuuuummmm.”

“Shut up,” Mark shouts but he can’t stop himself from laughing. Haechan is so annoyingly hilarious and he whines about Mark’s cooking every single day but never even tries to offer any help or take charge of the cooking duty for him.   Mark never gets upset about it, though, because Haechan looks cute when he pouts and if it takes one plate of his bad cooking to see that adorable pout on his face then Mark will serve his decent-looking sunny side up every day.

They eventually stop conversing to be able to chew on their foods properly and Haechan has his eyes busy scanning the PlayBoy magazine he stole from the supermarket the other day. Mark has his gaze on his plate  as he plays with his egg’s yolk using his fork, but his mind is somewhere else.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I love you.”

Haechan’s fork flies out of his hand and ends with a clatter on the floor. Mark’s terrible fried egg is still half-chewed on his now half-opened mouth and it’s not an attractive sight in the slightest but Mark looks at him as if he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I—Y-you—” Haechan, the sharp tongue Haechan, never stutters in his twenty years of living and Mark is somehow proud of himself for being able to drive him to this point. “What the hell are you talking about—why—”

“Because I do.” Mark’s tone is so serious that it feels like he’s reading the news or reading the result of the latest presidential election. “I have been for quite some time. I just wasn’t sure you felt the same so I kind of keep quiet about it.”

And Haechan can only stare, and stare, and stare until he realizes that it’s better to just stay silent and do what his body tells him to do.

Mark is forced to stand on his feet before a pair of plump lips attack his own in a mind-numbing kiss. It’s a bit messy and Haechan tastes like the breakfast he just ate but Mark sighs against his mouth and lets him pull his shirt over his head.

Mark pushes his plate away from the table so Haechan can sit on the edge and tangle his legs around his waist and when it slips down to the floor, porcelain breaking into smaller pieces, he pays no mind because Haechan is now laying down on the dining table with his shirt going up to his chest. He pulls Mark down by the neck, and forcing him to grind his hips against him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Haechan gasps into his mouth, running his teeth along Mark’s lower lip. “Couldn’t you have picked a better moment to say that?”

“Sorry.” Mark’s lips part in a silent moan when Haechan slips a hand underneath his sweat pants and teases him over his underwear. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I woke up and it started driving me insane so I just had to say it.”

“Fuck, Mark, you’re so unfair.” Haechan takes a hold of Mark’s hand, leading him to where he wants to be touched and softly whines when Mark indulges him. “Tell me more,” he gasps, clawing against Mark’s skin as they rub their lengths together. “I want to, ah fuck, hear more, Mark, please.”

And Mark doesn’t hesitate one bit when he praises him, complimenting every little part, every little detail. I love you. I love your honey-like scent. I love your smile, and this mole you have on your neck. I love the way you say my name.

Haechan is powerless under Mark’s words, begging and writhing for Mark to pound into him until he sees stars and Mark is more than eager to comply. I love the way you moan. I love the way you arch your back. I love you, I love seeing you like this. You’re so pretty, Haechannie. So fucking beautiful.

And Haechan comes hard on his stomach with his teeth sinking at the crook of Mark’s neck, muffling his moan and he pushes Mark back to his chair, crawling between his legs and taking Mark deep into his mouth.

“Fuck.” He takes a handful of Haechan’s ash grey hair, slightly thrusting into his warm mouth and whimpers at how sexy Haechan looks on his knees, cheeks hollowing as he sucks him hard and fast. He has surprisingly long eyelashes, Mark admires, with small tears trapped between them from how hard Mark is hitting the back of his throat.

Mark’s about to come undone, low groans appearing at the back of his throat when Haechan suddenly stops and takes him out entirely, only giving kitten licks at the tip. Mark mewls with his eyebrows knitted together, begging Haechan to stop being a fucking tease and Haechan just grins against his skin because that’s simply what he is—a tease—and Mark is conflicted between loving and hating that trait of him at the same time.

Haechan eventually stops torturing him and sucks deep and slow the way he knows Mark would like it until Mark is spouting nonsense from his mouth, pushes himself forward abruptly and comes into his mouth. Haechan exhales heavily as he waits for Mark to finish, enjoying the low grunt he’s emitting before he swallows everything down. A little bit of his essence drips down his chin and Mark immediately apologizes with a stutter, pulling Haechan carefully into his lap and wipes his mouth with gentle strokes of his fingers. “You all right?”

Haechan looks up at him from under his bangs, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he takes two of Mark’s tainted fingers and places them between his lips, licking every bit of him with his tongue. Mark is looking at him with unblinking eyes and jaw hanging slack on his face.

Haechan leans close to embrace him, wrapping his arms around his neck and he sighs, kissing one of Mark’s shoulders. “I love you too,” he whispers and even though Mark can’t see, he dares to bet on his life that Haechan is now blushing mad at his own words. “But don’t get too cocky about it, you little shit.”

Mark chuckles because this is so Haechan. He pulls back so he can look at him in the eyes and Haechan is indeed blushing—even to the tip of his ears. “I won’t,” Mark says, letting his lips linger on his forehead. “I won’t, so stay with me, Haechannie. As long as we’re alive, don’t ever leave me.”

Haechan smiles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

***

“Okay, ready?” Haechan asks, a knife sits firm on his hand. “On three. One, two, three!”

Mark kicks the front door open, inviting himself to a new house he’s not familiar with. They both run out of food so it’s about time to search around again. It’s the only house in the closest neighbourhood that they haven’t ransacked yet, and it’s because the windows are covered with cardboard, and the sunlight cannot penetrate in. And the number one rule of living in this world is that you have to be in places where the sunlight can reach.

It’s dark inside the house—so, so dark, in fact, that Mark has to place a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “See anything weird?” He asks, as he observes as much as he could himself.

“Nope, they would come out by that ruckus we just made if they were here so I think we’re safe.” Haechan points his finger toward the kitchen. “Jackpot.”

“Stay close to me,” Mark reminds him and they both walk side by side with their weapons still aimed. There’s a window above the kitchen counter that Mark immediately tries to punch and kick through but to no avail. It won’t budge.

Turning to Haechan, who’s in charge of bringing weapons, “Do you have something to use to break that open? We need sunlight.”

“Okay, wait, I’ll—”

It’s faster for Mark’s eyes to process what is happening compared to his ears and what he sees is Haechan being tackled to the ground by a woman with cloudy white eyes and rotten flesh. And before Mark can even shout his name, he can feel his own body slammed against the wall, and a pair of large hands trying to rip his stomach open.

There are two of them and they’re both stronger than he could ever be.

Mark can hear Haechan shouting his name, but whether it’s because he’s trying to save him or screaming for help, he’s not sure and he doesn’t have time to think so. Mark lands a kick to the living corpse’s chest and it stumbles a little but enough for Mark to aim for his chest. He takes a shot, the sound of his gun thundering in the air, and pulls his trigger again to lands a bullet on its head. Mark quickly aims his gun at the female corpse next, missing his target by a few inches but enough to distract her enough so Haechan can slice her throat open with his knife.

“Haechan!” Mark immediately runs over to his place, pulling him up by the waist and drags both of their bodies  until they’re outside the house, where the sun is blazing over their heads. Both of them are lying down on the empty street, breathing hard and feeling adrenaline slowly rushes out of their veins.

“Fuck, we almost died,” Mark says, turning over to see the younger man who’s wincing from the pain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan hisses, “But I think my hand is—” The rest of his words hang in the air. “Mark.”

Mark follows his gaze and shudders at what he sees. There’s a bite mark just a few inches away from his wrist, and it’s deep enough to draw blood and nearly rips his skin apart. And if Haechan’s story was true, then—

“Stay away from me!” Haechan nearly trips over his own feet from how fast he tries to get away from him. He’s standing on his feet with his arms reaching out to keep their distance apart. “Don’t you dare get close to me, Mark.”

“What—” Mark jumps to his feet as well, stepping forward and Haechan points a knife to his face. “Haechan, calm down.” He raises both arms in the air, trying his best to stay sane for both of their sakes. “Let’s think this through.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “You need to stay away from me—”

“Haechan, we’re immune—calm down—”

“Not if we’re bitten, Mark! Fuck, didn’t you hear what I said back then—”

“Yes, but we’re not sure whether you’re going to. Maybe it’s different for everyone—”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not taking any chances,” Haechan hastily insists. “Go back to the house, Mark.”

“No.”

“Just go back to the fucking house!”

“And where are you going then?!” He’s shouting back at him at this point, his voice sounds thick with desperation. “Huh?! Just where are you going to go?”

Haechan grits his teeth, desperately looking for an answer himself. “It’s none of your business—”

“No fucking way, I’m coming with you.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me—”

“Because you’re not making any sense, why would I listen to you?! Just get back here, Donghyuck, and we’ll think about it when we get home!”

It’s tempting, especially after he hears his real name coming from Mark’s mouth but it’s not right. Haechan knows it’s not right. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mark.”

“Nobody is going to get hurt, so please…” Mark lowers his voice, taking a careful step toward him. “Please, Donghyuck. Come back to me. I don’t want to be alone, not again.”

Haechan has tears forming in his eyes as he brings his head up to face the clouds, and he stands still when Mark wraps his arms gently around him, pulling him close. “I’m scared, Mark,” he whispers, emitting soft sobs from his mouth and Mark nods, saying the same thing and they both just stand there in each other’s arms with Mark running his fingers up and down his spine to soothe him down.

“Let’s go home,” Mark says, cupping Haechan’s cheeks  with his palms and forces him to meet his eyes. “Okay?”

Haechan nods, sobbing quietly. “Okay.”

***

Two days have passed and Mark doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do.

Haechan is dying, and he dies little by little with every second passing by. It’s so apparent and fast, the transformation process, that when Mark fell asleep on Haechan’s shoulder just for a few minutes, he woke up with a jolt, noticing how paler Haechan has gotten and how rotten the smell that came from his skin.

His golden skin is now blotchy, black veins appearing underneath it and he looks ghastly.

“Mark…”

Mark can no longer recognize his voice. It’s more like a croak, as if his vocal cords are thinning into a small string that’s about to snap. Every time Mark holds his hand, and winces at how freezing cold it is, Haechan tries to pull it away with the little strength he has left and whispers for him to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you,” Mark always whispers back, and they both know it’s a promise. Haechan just wishes Mark would break it, because keeping it will only mean death for both of them.

The house that used to be so lively during the day and silent during the night, feels like a tombstone for every second that passes by. Mark hasn’t gone out of the house for a while, and he’s only eating one meal per day and drinks as little as he can to save every little food they have left. He forces Haechan to eat as much as he can, though, but the latter usually denies, telling him that he’s about to vomit when he has food on his tongue.

Mark carries him to his bed every night like usual but he no longer wraps his arms around him, otherwise he’d be shivering to death. Haechan’s skin is ice cold, and although he’s breathing very, very slowly, the puffs of air that flows out from his mouth do not feel warm in the slightest.

“Mark…” Haechan whispers into the night and Mark can’t contain the sadness that blooms in his heart when he hears how broken his voice is. “There are so many things… I wish I could say to you…”

“Mean things, I suppose?” Mark tries to keep it normal but the air still feels tense. “Donghyuck?”

Haechan’s chocolate brown eyes are gradually turning into silver and in the darkness of the room, they almost glow. “Thank you… for staying with me…” he murmurs and Mark can tell that Haechan is on the verge of crying, but he doesn’t. He’s no longer able to.

“It’s an honor, Haechannie.”

***

Mark hasn’t slept properly for three days and it’s taking its toll on him. He’s either staring at the ceiling, trying his best to count Haechan’s breathing and making sure that it doesn’t stop or waking up every few minutes with cold sweat, thinking that Haechan is leaving him for good.

So at one point, his body can no longer take it and he falls asleep with his head on Haechan’s shoulder. They’re sitting on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall, facing the front door. Mark has his handgun ready on his side, along with some of Haechan’s knife, but they haven’t been touched for a while. And Mark is not planning to touch it in the near future.

He wakes up with a heart attack when the front door is opened with a bang, and with bleary eyes, Mark sees several figures entering the house at once. He reaches for his handgun by instinct and aims it toward the crowd, but—

“Wait!” A man’s voice booms through the air. “Don’t shoot!”

It finally sinks in that it’s daylight and Mark is seeing people—actual breathing people who look just as weary as he is though not sleep-deprived—coming into his house. They have weapons in their hands, from crossbows to shotguns, but a man, who looks like he’s in charge, steps forward with both arms raised and sends him a reassuring smile.

“Calm down,” he says, “I’m human, just like you.”

Mark, who stands in front of Haechan by instinct to protect him, can’t believe what he’s seeing and he’s calculating whether it’s really just a dream but another man, a taller one with sharp jaws, points his gun at Haechan and Mark snaps back to reality.

“Taeyong-hyung,” the man says, “That one is turning. We should kill him.”

“NO!” Mark has his gun raised again, ready to pull the trigger. “Put your gun down or I’ll shoot, I swear to God, if you touch him—”

“Jeno,” the leader—the one who’s called Taeyong—waves a hand, suggesting him to drop his weapon down. “It’s okay. Let’s talk about this first.”

Mark drifts his eyes from one man to another, carefully reading their faces. “Who are you?”

“A survivor,” Taeyong smiles and it seems genuine but Mark doesn’t trust him in the slightest. “Like you.”

His heart is beating like crazy and he’s so amazed that there are, in fact, others like him who appear to be in much better condition too. “How many are you there?”

“Hundreds. We’re looking for more people to join our colony. We believe there are more survivors out there, and we can fight back if we grow in numbers.”

“Fight how? There’s no cure.”

“We’re immune as long as we’re not bitten.” Taeyong spares a glance at Haechan and Mark almost growls at him. “We’re harvesting our own foods, as well. You should come with us.”

“Can he come?” Mark nudges his head toward Haechan.

Taeyong has the audacity to look sympathetic, unlike his friend Jeno, who is still glowering at Haechan as if he’s a prey to be eaten when it’s supposed to be the other way around. “I wish I could say yes,” Taeyong says, “But I don’t think he can.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Taeyong sighs, but he keeps a gentle smile plastered on his face. “Can I, at least, know your name?”

Mark hesitates and he knows he’s being too cautious about everything, probably because Haechan is being targeted. Under different circumstances, he would’ve taken Taeyong’s hand in a heartbeat. “It’s Mark.”

“It’s nice to see you alive, Mark,” Taeyong says, offering his hand and Mark deliberately takes it for a handshake. “Is that your friend over there?”

Mark turns around, glancing at the man and he sees Haechan staring at him with soft eyes, his breathing slow and maybe he tries to smile but all he does is breaking Mark’s heart. “He’s—” Mark’s breath gets hitched on his throat. “He’s my family.”

Haechan closes his eyes, lips turning slightly upward.

“I’m sorry.” Taeyong places a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I really wish I could help, but there’s nothing we can do. There’s nothing you can do. It’s already too late.”

Mark knows that, he’s been telling himself that, but having it told directly to his face still hurts like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. “I know that.”

“I think he wants you to come with us too.” Taeyong walks closer to Haechan but still maintaining safe distance so Mark won’t aim his gun toward him again. He kneels in front of him, gently asking, “Isn’t that right?”

Haechan’s eyes are moving slow, searching Taeyong’s face and maybe his vision has already become blurry from the way his lenses are turning silver, but his gaze is firm when he nods.

“Please,” Haechan says, softly, quietly, and heartbreakingly, “Take him with you…”

Mark can hear his own heart shattering. “Haechan—”

“You sure?” Taeyong confirms and Haechan gives the slightest nod of his head. Mark’s not sure whether it’s because he’s too weak to move or he just doesn’t want Mark to go. Mark wishes for the latter, but Taeyong is waving one hand and the next thing he knows, he is being dragged across the room.

“No! Wait—don’t touch me—” Mark struggles, kicking all over the place as he is being held down by two guys who are way more muscular than he is. “Don’t you fucking touch me—”

“Mark.”

Mark freezes, his stomach flips at the sound of Haechan’s voice. It’s louder this time—loud enough for everyone to hear and for Mark to have his heart crushed to  pieces. “Just go.”

“It’s better to live than to die, Mark, even in a world like this.” Taeyong says, wrapping a hand around Mark’s wrist and this time, Mark follows. It’s as if all the strength of his body is leaving him and he’s not able to stand on his own feet if Taeyong doesn’t pull him up.

And as he walks away, Mark keeps his eyes on Haechan, still asking him why are you doing this? But Haechan only smiles and mouths something that makes his eyes widen. He’s saying the words—the promise—they usually share with one another, but this time, Haechan doesn’t have the power to make it come true. But he still says them, because that’s his final wishes before everything turns dark.

See you soon, Mark.

***

Mark’s first day in the colony feels like the world is ending, which is saying something because the world is ending but he just really feels like it is the second Haechan is out of his grasp.

Taeyong has offered him more variety of food than he has seen for the past two months and he still stares at his plate like it’s empty and he doesn’t know what to do with it. The place is safe, guarded with tall gates and watchmen, and there’s a campfire near the tent he’s staying. Mark knows how Haechan would’ve loved that. He would probably be dancing around it, telling Mark to play another Michael Jackson song with his guitar—Billy Jean, maybe—as he busts a move. And Mark would most likely have a hard time pressing the chords because when Mark dances more with his hands, Haechan dances more with his hips and he’s so naturally good at it that it makes Mark suffer from his longing to touch him. To wrap his arms around his waist, to mold his lips against his full ones, to peel every piece of clothing off his body so he can rake his fingers along the smoothness of his spine.

There are so many survivors around him, and people like Jungwoo and Lucas do smile brighter than the sun but Mark just wants to lurk in the dark. He already has his sun once, and that sun is dying.

“Mark,” Taeyong calls, sitting next to him in front of the campfire that dances in Mark’s eyes. “How are you holding up?”

Mark doesn’t answer, and it’s probably unfair because Taeyong has been nothing but good to him but he no longer cares.

“Look,” Taeyong exhales, placing a hand on Mark’s back. “I know how you feel but—”

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” Mark snaps, slapping his hand away. “Don’t tell me you know how I feel. You don’t.”

And Taeyong gives him a minute to catch his breath because it’s true. He’s breathless. He’s been feeling like he’s suffocating from the first time he took a step out of his house and into Taeyong’s van. But no matter how many hours have passed, he still couldn’t breathe.

“We need every survivor we can get,” Taeyong softly explains. “We can survive longer if we cooperate. Protect each other. And I really think it’s the best choice for both of us, but if you feel like this is not for you, then I won’t hold you back. That’s your decision to make.”

Mark looks up at the sky, which is painted in orange as the sun’s about to set. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Sorry for being such an asshole and taking all of this out on you.”

“Most people act the same when they first got here, so I kind of get used to it by now.” Taeyong chuckles. “We all have our stories, Mark, but whether we end it and start over with another page or dwell with the ending too long is our choice. And as you can see here, we’ve all made our choices. We chose to flip a new page.”

Mark takes a look at his surroundings, really observing every detail and he knows that the happiness around him is real. These people appreciate life more than they did and they find comfort in each other. Even if the world is ending, it feels just like another day of a new world for them. Another day to start over. Another day to appreciate joy if you give it a chance and look close enough.

“Have you lost someone close to you?” Mark asks, almost in a whisper and Taeyong spares him a glance.

“More than I can count,” he answers and if Mark listens very closely, he would notice the shiver in his voice. “I had someone before. Someone that I really loved. Almost like what you two had.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Taeyong exhales into the evening sky. “Like everybody else, I suppose. He died.”

“From what?”

“From a bullet to the head.” Taeyong breathes heavily. “My bullet.”

The silence hangs in the air and it just dawns on him that of course Taeyong has lost someone to the virus. Of course he knows how Mark feels. He’s been through a lot more than Mark ever did.

Taeyong told him that his name was Jaehyun but he always told them to call him Jay because it felt cooler that way. Mark witnesses how a longing smile appears on Taeyong’s face every time his mouth forms Jaehyun’s name but it doesn’t stay long. “He was bitten when he tried to save me,” Taeyong mentions, fiddling with his own fingers. “I thought he would heal, but—”

“He didn’t.”

Taeyong glances at him, at how Mark is fighting back the tears that form in his eyes and he exhales, puffs of air flowing from his thin lips. “He didn’t,” Taeyong finishes.

“I’m sorry,” is all Mark has to say after a while and that’s enough, it seems, by the gentle smile on Taeyong’s face. The older man lands a hand on Mark’s dark locks, patting his head like a father to his son, before he stands up and stretches his arms above his head.

“Talking from experience,” Taeyong says, walking away. “He still has at least a day.”

Mark knows he’s talking about Haechan, just like how he’s been thinking about him himself even during Taeyong’s story, and he notices something slips out of the pocket of his jeans. “Taeyong-hyung, you dropped something.”

“No, I didn’t.” He throws a mischievous smile over the shoulder. “Good night, Mark.”

It’s a key. Taeyong’s car key, Mark remembers, as it had jiggled around his hand when he took him in before. And Mark knows that it’s all up to him now, whether he stays or he leaves. Whether he chooses to stay with the living or vanish with the dead. Whether he chooses a few splitting moments with Haechan, or live properly for years with Taeyong.

And the answer is clear.

It’s only been a day. A whole fucking day. But Mark steals Taeyong’s car as expected and rides out the first thing in the morning as if his life depends on it. And maybe it does, because Haechan is his life and he’s losing his light like a dying star.

And if Haechan turns into a black hole, Mark doesn’t mind being sucked out of his life to join him in an eternity of darkness. There’s no light without his sun anyway.

It takes four hours for Mark to drive back to the house he’s grown to love, and he’s already driving as fast as Haechan usually was. The sun shines rather warm on his skin, but he still shivers from the autumn breeze. His heart is thumping so loud in his own ears that everything else feels like a whisper.

“Haechan-ah!” Mark shouts the second he barges into the house—the place they both call home. Please still be here. Please be alive. And he runs from one corner to another, looking for the man who owns his heart, and he can feel his feet crumbling under his own weight when he notices the sight of him.

Haechan is standing in front of the stairs that lead to the basement, and there’s a little part of Mark that wonders perhaps he had been staying there to avoid the sun but he ignores it. He doesn’t care. Mark doesn’t give a fuck if his transformation is nearly complete because when Haechan looks at him, his mouth shaping his name, Mark is already running towards him before his entire mind can process.

Haechan lays still in Mark’s arms as he embraces him with all his strength. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” Mark says, slipping his fingers around Haechan’s ash grey strands that are browner than the first time he met him.

Haechan can hear Mark whispering his name over and over and he notices he’s crying, clutching to him as if he’s the rope that’s saving his life. “Mark…” Haechan buries his face in the crook of Mark’s neck which feels both familiar and distinct at the same time because Mark can no longer smell that honey-like scent Haechan usually has, he can no longer feel his warmth seeping through his clothes, he can no longer hear the playful whiny complains he usually makes.

But he’s still Haechan and that’s what matters.

“Why… did you come back…?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Mark answers, shaking his head frantically. “I couldn’t, Haechannie, I can’t leave you. I don’t care if all we have left is just minutes or even seconds, I just want to be with you.”

Haechan grabs the back of Mark’s shirt, making a sound between a sob and a choke and he probably wants to cry, but he can’t. His skin is rotting, his bodily function has stopped working, and he knows he looks unbearably disgusting but the way Mark holds on to him still makes him feel wanted. Makes him feel loved.

“Mark,” Haechan croaks, pulling away and Mark nearly breaks into tears again when he notices how much paler Haechan gets, even if they’re only separated for a day. The black veins are more prominent, painting his face and his skin like a horrifying tattoo and the lens of his eyes are completely white now,. “Mark, you have to kill me.”

“What—no—”

Haechan pushes the machete he’s been holding in one hand to Mark’s chest. “I’ve tried but I’m…” His cloudy eyes seem to scream in agony. “I’m too afraid… Please, Mark…”

“No, there’s no way—”

“Mark!” Haechan’s paper-thin voice suddenly booms through the air, sending shivers down Mark’s spine. “I can feel it. I’m losing myself and…” There’s this glow in his eyes that forces Mark to take a step back, his heart slamming against his ribcage. “I’m so hungry.”

And it’s not human food he craves, Mark knows that for sure.

It’s frightening, the way Haechan slightly bares his teeth at him, and every inch of his body screams for him to run but Mark plays deaf. “I’ll wait until it’s really over,” Mark promises him. “I’ll wait until you’re really gone. I’ll kill you when there’s no trace of you left.”

But Mark’s not sure whether he can keep his promise even at that point.

Haechan eventually agrees with a tired nod because they both know Mark is much more stubborn than he looks, and he begs him to tie him up so he wouldn’t be able to attack the second he loses control and Mark follows. Haechan sits on the floor with his back pressed against a huge pillar that supports the house and waits as Mark circles a rope around his waist a few times before he ends it with a knot.

“Is it too tight?” Mark asks, worriedly, and it’s so Mark to ask a half-transformed zombie that question so Haechan smiles weakly at him and answers, “Not tight enough, you idiot.”

Mark falls weak at the sight of Haechan’s smile that he loves so much and he leans in to kiss him but Haechan immediately brings his face away.

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, though he’s about to be consumed by the same desire, “You’ll get infected.”

But Mark cups both of his cheeks firmly with his hands, whispering, “I don’t care,” directly against his mouth, not caring about his icy cold skin, or the awful smell of his rotting flesh because underneath all of that, he’s still Haechan and he loves him. So painfully and earnestly so.

“I love you,” Mark whispers between kisses, “I love you. I’ve always been in love with you. Haechannie…”

And Haechan closes his eyes, he can no longer breathe in Mark’s scent like he used to a few days ago and it’s depressing, because Mark always smells like summer and Haechan loves summer. But within a few hours from now, there will only be the darkness that welcomes him like an old friend. And if he’s lucky, if Mark really has the heart to kill him, then he’ll be swallowed by that darkness and it’s okay, as long as he doesn’t bring Mark with him.

Because Mark deserves the light, even if that means taking his own.

And so they wait. They wait with their bodies seated side-by-side, with their fingers intertwined, with Haechan’s head falling on Mark’s shoulder. “Tell me more,” Haechan begs, his eyes heavy and the pain in the pit of his stomach—this craving of blood and human flesh—is maddening, growing and consuming him from the inside. “Tell me why you love me…”

And Mark does it with no hesitation because what he feels never changes. He still loves Haechan’s hair, loves his eyes, loves his voice, loves his touch, no matter how different they are now.

“And I love how you always say I’m a bad cook,” Mark chuckles softly, “but you always eat like it’s your last meal.”

“Because it… could’ve been…,” Haechan’s voice is weak and sore but there’s a tint of humor in his tone. “Your cooking was so bad… it could’ve killed me…”

And Mark laughs, airily and young, the way he always does and Haechan wants to cry because he most likely won’t be able to hear it soon.

“I love how we fight from time to time, with you pouting every time I win an argument,” Mark continues as he gently smiles to himself, “I love how brave you are, how you tend to not overthink stuff and just go with the moment. I wish I could live like you.”

Mark’s voice begins to break the more he speaks, hot tears forming in his eyes. “And I really,” he breathes out between soft sobs, “I really love hearing you sing. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard and I wish I could…” His entire shoulders begin to shake. “I wish I could hear you sing again, Haechannie…”

Haechan’s breathing becomes slower as his vision starts to fade away. Mark sounds like he’s talking from a distance, as if he’s murmuring underwater. And Haechan feels like he’s falling into a bottomless pit, a monster waiting underneath and suddenly he’s just…

Gone.

“Hae… chan…?”

Mark’s eyes grow wide as he feels Haechan’s teeth sinking into the skin of his neck, gnawing against his flesh before he peels it away with his fangs. Mark’s entire body jolts in pain, sending electricity down to his fingertips. He crawls away from Haechan by instinct, his blood splattering down his shirt and to the wooden floor below him.

Haechan’s eyes are entirely clouded in white, saliva  mixed with Mark’s blood dripping from his mouth and he snarls, baring his teeth like a hungry wolf.

Mark tries to call his name but it’s no use. Haechan is something else. Something entirely different. And although the transformation process progresses little by little, once it’s complete, it still takes the air out of Mark’s lungs.

Haechan is struggling to break himself free, his fingers clawing the air, reaching for Mark with such desperation of a starving lion. Mark’s gun feels heavy on the back of his jeans, he knows what to do. He just doesn’t have the will to do it.

“Haechannie—it’s me—please, it’s Mark—”

Haechan roars, dark blood splattering from his mouth as he claws and claws with his legs kicking all over the place. The rope around his waist is the only thing holding him still, keeping them in a safe distance but Mark knows it won’t hold long.

Haechan is frighteningly strong.

Mark’s blood is gushing out of his wound, painting his  arm red and warm and it’s starting to make him feel lightheaded. At this point, he realizes he’s going to die by Haechan’s hands or going to turn into the exact creature snarling in front of him now.

Mark hooks his finger around the trigger, aiming the gun at Haechan’s head and he feels like he’s on the verge of vomiting his entire organs.

How can I shoot him—

But he tries. He tries because he has promised the man he loved he would do it. He tries because the world does not deserve seeing Haechan like this. He does not want anyone to look at him and think about him simply as a mindless, flesh-eating zombie when Haechan was so, so much more than that. Haechan was sweet, he was kind though he did have his own mischievousness from time to time and he shone so bright, almost blinding every time Mark looked at him.

So he takes aim and he misses because his hand trembles at the last second. The bullet that sinks to the pillar behind him only makes the creature growls at him louder, and the rope begins to tear apart.

Mark still can’t shake the memory of Haechan’s face when he told him he loved him too, or simply the memory of him—of how he used to. But the monster that he is now is not him. Mark just has to convince himself that.

He’s running out of time.

He takes a closer step, close enough that he won’t be able to miss, and he takes in a deep breath, aiming at Haechan’s temple. He steadies his hand as best as he can before he closes his eyes, feeling hot tears running down his cheek and he whispers, “See you soon, Haechannie.” And he pulls the trigger.

The room quiets down in an instant where Mark can only hear his own frantic breathing, but he doesn’t stay still for long. Not looking at Haechan’s body, he quickly loads his gun with another bullet—his last one—and presses the tip against the side of his head. It feels hot, almost scalding his skin but he doesn’t let himself think. He doesn’t let himself breathe. He doesn’t let himself feel.

And with the click of his gun, he finally smiles.

We’re together now, Haechannie.

***

#nct #nct haechan #nct mark #lee donghyuck #mark lee #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #markhyuck #mark/haechan #haechan/mark #nct 127 #nct u #nct dream #superm #zombie apocalypse au #smut #mark lee smut #markhyuck smut #mark lee fanfic #haechan fanfic #mark nct #haechan nct #nct fanfics #nct au #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #this is so long y'all #i got too many markhyuck feels writing this #mine

[firerose]

headcannons about each individual member kf the seven as dark?

So I decided to split this answer into seven seperate posts because otherwise it would be too long (I'm having to much fun wit this XD)

I'll post the first one here <3

Ok, here we go <3, Hazel: People expected her to change after Franks death She had lost her boyfriend at fourteen no one expected that to be easy So none said anything when she kneeled over his grave for five whole days and nights Reyna simply brought her food and hot chocolate and mourned with her But if they all could have had a look into Hazel's mind they could have seen the slow death of the sweet kind girl she used to be Thoughts of hate begin to burn inside her She asks herself why Juno who saved Franks stick from burning up as a baby refused to do it a second time. The question makes her storm up to Olympus, her brown eyes hard with anger Her friends are with her, Of course, they want to protect each other now that one of them has fallen Juno awaits them in her usual glory, tall with a cloak around her shoulder and .. jewellery precious metals decorating her arms and neck "Why didn't? Do you save him? Was he just a weapon you did not need anymore?!, hazel shouts out her suspicion and now people, gods and demigods alike begin to worry The queen of Olympus remains silent She sees the hatred in hazels eyes and regrets not answering her grandsons screams for help when he burned in the flames Her silence is Hazel's answer and in her growing rage the necklace on Juno's neck starts chocking the goddess Hazel does not feel remorse, only satisfaction as she hears Junos choking It is Percy's hand on her shoulder that snaps her out and Juno's necklace flys into her open hand "You will never use a demigod like that again I will make sure of that. She says and then with one last glare leaves Things are not the same when shes back at camp Jupiter Everything and everyone annoys her, reminds her of what she has lost They are around her all the time like, Leo who reminds her of Sammy, Jason who made Frank Praetor, Percy who loved Frank like a brother Whenever they talk about Frank she feels the desire to yell at them One time when Jason tries to comfort her once again she snaps "You don't have to do this just because you made Frank Praetor and you feel guilty.", Hazel tells him a bit too harshly and Jason leaves her She feels guilty so she does her best to act as grateful as possible from now on The days are very hard for her That is why she loves the night She hasn't forgotten the power rush she got on Olympus and that is why keeps practising She steals weapons from the night patrols She makes the tunnels under the field of Mars change so that they all lead to dead ends When some of the new Rome's war veterans talk about having seen lost loved ones at night Hazel pretends to not listen She just thanks Jason in her thoughts for telling her so much about the ones that fell in the titan war Hazel disappears two weeks after Frank's death The remaining five of the seven are devastated They immediately go searching for her but even after five months there is no sign of her Other demigods start whispering Even Thalia who visits Reyna often is part of those whispers She doesn't know hazel and Frank well and yet what she has heard reminds her so much of the story of a friend she had once lost He had been left alone with his fate with his insane mother just like Hazel Thalia fears that now that Hazel has lost a loved one she will seek revenge just like Luke once did. Nico and Percy are Hazel's greatest defenders They deny every rumour and says that Hazel just needs time to calm down it's the only thing that keeps them from drowning in their guilt Hazell has gone to her old home in Alaska Arion took her there It hurts to be back but here she is saved from the gods who used her and her loved ones She's so sick of being their pawn The years pass and all alone in this cold country Hazel's heart turns to ice A few old men yell insult her with racist phrases She controls the metal ankers on their ships to impale them She hears screams from her neighbour's house at night and so she breaks the metal lock to get in The man who is beating his wife only has a second to look at her before her senses reach metal and they find it......in his

blood She concentrates hand stretched out and the man chokes to death She leaves without a word There is no remorse in her, if the gods let her sweet gentle boyfriend die why isn't she allowed to kill a few bad peopöe One day she decides to return as thoughts about her past cloud her mind Someone has to show the gods that they can't treat their children like this She returns after ten years but does not show herself to her friends Maybe because she worries that they notice how much she has changed Instead, she decides to try to control the labyrinth just like Pasiphae once did The mist helps her to create new tunnels that lead wherever she wants them to go One day they lead to new Rome She just wants to look at how everyone is doing but when she sneaks near the city hidden in her magic she sees something that makes her furious Her friends have moved on She sees them celebrating with other Romans and greeks They celebrate Gea‘s defeat like it wasn‘t just a terrible unnecessary war they had to suffer through She hates that they enjoy their demigod lives They should have told the gods that they want to live normally away from both camps that endanger their lives Unfortunately, that makes her think of Frank and how he has ripped away from his life, his home country just to serve the gods Hazel feels her rage burning like an active Volcano close to erupting She walks up the hill over new Rome and looks down at the glorious city She could bury it without even trying For a moment she thinks about the lives that will cost but then again what else could make the gods notice their flaws She reaches for all the metals buried under the city She hesitates for a moment but then she thinks about Frank, his sweet smile and with a scream the earth starts shaking Buildings and temples collapse People get swallowed by big cracks in the earth There are screams horns are blowing Mist is rising and People hear voices whisper that this is god's fault They have to be punished for their mistakes It‘s like a storm of fog being thickest at the hilltop Hazel‘s old friends are filled with dread as they have seen those powers before Leo decides to fly directly into the mist together with Piper and Jason Hazel sees them approaching and a soft smile appears on her lips The mist lightens All demigods gasp Leo yells in despair He already blames himself for Franks death and now he sees that Hazel the girl he once loved has gone mad Her once curly short hair now long falls around her shoulders Her once brown eyes glow sickly golden as if the riches of the earth have taken control over her It drives him insane and so he rips out a hammer from his tool belt and attempts to attack her Hazel feels deeply hurt by this and so she moves her hands Leo is thrown of Festus's toolbelt made of metal turning out to be his curse Hazel smashes him into the ground a hundred feet under him Festus claws impale Jason and Piper before they have time to react Hazel feels a sting in her heart but she oppresses it The gods and their quest would have killed them anyway Percy and Annabeth are still in the falling city trying to get as many people out of there as possible They both try to ignore the corpses falling from the sky Percy‘s mind is still refusing that the girl he sees as a sister would do this He knows that she has to be stopped but how is he supposed to do that? He still loves her like a sister despite the lives she is taking Her real brother steps up instead Hazel can feel his presence behind her It makes her lose focus The citizens of New Rome cry in relief when the metals stop resurfacing Their city is in ruins but at least it has stopped Before Hazel can react skeleton warriors jump out of the earth restrain her by grabbing her arms She is furious about Nicos interference and struggles to escape „Hazel please it‘s not worth it just surrender and we‘ll talk about this.“, Nico says while he walks up in front of her. Hazel‘s heart breaks at the tortured look in his eyes and she realizes that she is the reason for it She disappeared She came back and murdered

hundreds She did it for Frank but she suddenly asks herself if Frank would have ever wanted to get justice in this way Would he wanted her to become hateful and obsessed with revenge just for him? As she looks into Nico‘s eyes regret strikes her „I……..I‘m sorry.“, She whispers with tears in her eyes. Nico smiles sadly happy that his little sister came to her senses He stretches out his hand to gently touch her cheek Thunder rumbles and suddenly a lightning bold explodes the hilltop right where the children of the underworld Jupiter feels nothing as he watches Percy, Reyna and Annabeth falling to their knees, sobbing and holding each other Hazel Levesque is just another demigod for him, a girl that could not get over her boyfriend Percy buries Hazel next to Frank all by himself New Rome is rebuilt with the help of the greeks The time goes by and slowly Frank and Hazel‘s names are forgotten Juno would love if they had never existed in the first place Whenever demigods speak of them they do it with anger and the queen of Olympus fears that one day a rebellion will start It's not often that their names are talked about but when they are people always refer to them as „Hazel Levesque and Frank Zhang. The couple that died in Storm and fire

#percy jackson #heroes of olympus #hoo #dark hazel #dark!seven #dark!Hazel #hazel levesque #frank zhang #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #annabeth chase #thalia grace #frazel

[cruelfeline]

I'm both a Hordak and Catra stan but Can you really blame the "pro" Catra-stans ? Their favorite gets suffocated twice on screen,right when she was showing signs of change by opening up to Scorpia, she has lived with severe anxiety thinking Hordak would demote her, dispose of her any second if she failed And lo and behold it did really come true too. She got stripped of her rank, became suicidal, indifferent to danger., She leaves the wastes because despite being punished by Hordak she still wants to prove herself to him and get that bit of validation to realize her own self-worth(she gets also triggered by Shadow weaver but that comes only after interrogating Adora) .In season 4 after she feels cornered again she "dethrones" him but temporarily she then soon reverts to her old habits by wanting validation from Hordak like he desperately wanted prime's, she was content with being equals, partners in crime with Hordak rather than overthrowing him for real and such as when she asks him permission to "give the command", she goes from becoming a SW to a Hordak closing herself off from everyone, yelling "Get out" While Hordak too is undeniably abused. The narrative follows Catra more we see more of her suffering. So I really get why they're so biased but it's sad too because Hordak and Catra have many similarities with eachother.

Sorry English isn't my native tongue I hope I was a little intelligible.

Ah, no worries; your English is far better than however I would fare in your native tongue c:

On your points regarding Catra stans... well... I mean, certainly people have the right to feel the way they feel. It’s not like we can really control our feelings towards these characters; they just happen (case in point: me and this embarrassing Hordak stint I’ve been on for over a year). However... I can’t say that much of what you say regarding Catra holds true for me personally. And for that reason, I just don’t find much in common with the really hardcore Catra stans.

To me, a lot of it has to do with choices. Catra is at her most sympathetic to me in the very earliest seasons, where things are truly out of her control. Adora leaves. Shadow Weaver is still in power and treats her abominably. At this time, I really do feel for her. As the show goes on, however, I find that my ability to really connect with her just sort of dwindles. Especially when Hordak is right there and not presenting any of the problems Catra does.

Like... so, you mention that she lives with severe anxiety thinking that Hordak will demote her for failing, and that this comes true. Well... that’s not really the case, is it? Hordak doesn’t demote her for failing. He’s demanding, yes, but he’s not unreasonable. Rather, Hordak demotes her because she lies to him. And that is a choice she makes. She chooses to prioritize Shadow Weaver over what is essentially her job, and she does so in a way that presents a significant danger to both Hordak and the Horde itself - a danger that truly does become realized when Shadow Weaver helps the Princesses infiltrate the Fright Zone. This situation doesn’t make me feel sympathy for Catra. Rather, it makes me feel exasperated because she was given a legitimate chance by Hordak, and she squandered it. 

When she leaves the Waste, it’s not because she wants to prove herself to Hordak. Rather, she makes it very clear that she is disdainful of him and doesn’t much care for his opinion at all (calls him a shut-in, remarks that he doesn’t know anything about the outside world). The reason she leaves is because she learns that Shadow Weaver is with Adora, a bit of knowledge that, to her, means that Adora is “winning.” She leaves because her self-worth is essentially based on Adora herself. Catra feels the need to beat her, no matter what the cost. A concept that is really driven home at the end of season three where she just about says as much, declaring that she’d rather see the world end then let Adora win. Which... I mean, I get that she’s coming from a sad place, but there’s a line crossed there, and it’s a significant downer for me.

Moving on to season four, I wouldn’t say that she feels “cornered.” At the start of season four, Hordak is absolutely not a danger to her. He doesn’t want anything to do with her. He doesn’t want anything to do with anything. He’s... well, to my eyes, he’s depressed. He’s deeply hurt over Entrapta’s supposed betrayal, and he just wants to be alone. He wants to build up his defenses and protect himself from being hurt again. Because of these desires, he essentially stalls the war, and this is why Catra dethrones him. Not because she wants validation, or because he’s dangerous to her. Certainly not because he “corners” her. I mean... she enters his sanctum uninvited. She makes that move. Not him.

She legitimately dethrones him because he’s not warmongering fast enough for her. She wants to continue the war so she can stick it to Adora, and Hordak is too melancholy for her tastes. So she attacks him and removes his life support and basically bullies a disabled man so she can get back to heckling Adora.

I just... don’t really enjoy that? There’s nothing in it that I find sympathetic. Honestly, I just find it uncomfortable to watch.

I find it uncomfortable because in all of these instances, Catra has agency. She has power. She has the ability to make a good decision and just... kind of doesn’t. Over and over again. In numerous different, varied circumstances. Despite receiving support and love from Scorpia. And the ultimate reason she makes these bad decisions is because she wants to hurt Adora (whom she supposedly loves more than anything, so...? Yikes?). In the end, she really does abandon seeking any authority’s approval and makes it her mission to ensure that she wins while Adora loses. Her focus narrows to that point, and I’m just not super into it.

Hordak, on the other hand, never gets this sort of... vindictive cruelty streak to him. He remains focused inward. To his detriment, the poor dear.

The narrative may try to paint Catra as sympathetic, and it works to an extent, but for me, it ends up becoming less compelling to watch as she gains power and continues to do the worst things imaginable. Whereas Hordak, upon getting like... his first offer for friendship, immediately begins to change and reevaluate his priorities. Only to be stopped by... well, by Catra making a stupid, awful decision and ruining it for him.

I also am of the sort that finds the abuse that Hordak goes through to be far more horrific than what Catra goes through. That’s not to say that what happens to her isn’t terrible; it is. But... to me, it’s like comparing the Etherian Horde to the Galactic Horde. Yes, both are bad. But the Galactic Horde has... I don’t know... there’s something absolutely sick about it that just makes it worse for me. Some sort of existential wrongness. The same thing carries over to Hordak’s story. While Catra’s, like the Etherian Horde, is terrible, it just doesn’t reach the same level of visceral horror for me.

So, anon, while I respect Catra stans enjoying their fave, I can’t really say I can relate all that much anymore. Honestly, at this point, I just find her sort of frustrating. Especially given how her redemption arc pushes all of the other characters to the sidelines of the narrative and still fails to address major events (like Angella’s death, for example). 

Hordak’s character doesn’t suffer from these frustrations. So, in the end, I’m afraid I’m going to have to continue to prefer him. But that’s fine, I think; to each their own! 

I’m glad you can enjoy both to their fullest c:

#discourse #Anonymous

[catrasredemption-moved]

Can see this being fuel for hurt/comfort and angst: Catra and Adora finally give Finn "the talk". i.e. the talk where Catra and Adora explain their history from before and during the war. Could start with a preface that explains why they're having this talk with Finn, possibly way earlier than they wanted to. Maybe something like Finn overhearing talk of the war from someone in Brightmoon or, even worse, overhearing things about Catra from people who still resent her.

((Finn’s probably like... twelve, so assume this is the universe where they adopt him))

They didn’t go to Salineas much.

Finn didn’t know why - it was awesome there. The beach was great (as far as they and Adora were concerned, at least - Catra hissed at the water), the food was great (all three agreed on that), and Mermista was one of the best princesses (which was apparently a controversial statement. Finn had to assure Aunt Glimmer that she didn’t count because she was the best queen, and Adora was different because she was only a princess sometimes and she was the best princess mom).

But Catra always got weird when they went to Salineas. She kept her head down and eyes on the ground, held Adora’s hand a little tighter, and only seemed to relax when they were in the safety of the palace or the little private cabin they sometimes stayed in on the beach (it was technically Mermista’s cabin but she didn’t use it and, it gave Catra and Adora one less excuse for why they couldn’t take a vacation because they always had  somewhere to go). Despite loving the food in the kingdom, Catra almost always made up a reason for why she couldn’t go to the restaurants with them, usually something work related. 

Finn had been confused for a long time about why Aunt Glimmer would let Catra work on vacation - sure, she was the queen’s adviser, but did the queen really need her to help Mermista with things when she was supposed to be relaxing? - until the last visit, when they had gone back to the throne room alone to get their forgotten jacket and overheard a whispered conversation definitely for their ears.

“Stop using me as an excuse to get out of going to eat with them. Finn’s gonna start hating me for making their mother work on vacation.”

“Please, you’re their favorite. I just... don’t want to go out there, okay?”

“It’s been ten years, Catra. You can’t hide from everyone who might hate you forever.”

“I’m not hiding, I just don’t want Finn to get caught up in things. It’d be different if it was only me and Adora, but Finn’s a kid. They don’t need that.”

“You mean they don’t need to know about the Horde.”

A long moment of silence had followed. “Yeah,” Catra finally muttered, sounding ashamed. Mermista sighed.

“You gotta tell them eventually.”

“I know.”

Finn had returned to Adora without their jacket, frowning slightly. “You okay?” Adora asked when she saw the look on their face.

“Yeah. I think I left my jacket at the cabin.”

Thankfully, Adora had a terrible memory when it came to things like that and didn’t question Finn.

They knew about the Horde, of course. Everyone knew about the Horde, and about how She-Ra had saved the entire planet. That wasn’t quite the whole story, but Catra had very firmly told everyone involved to leave her part out of it. Adora could have the fame and glory.

But Finn knew everything. Or they thought they did. What was Catra hiding?

All of that had led to where Finn was now, sitting in front of a large mural of She-Ra and Catra, holding the sword together. It was probably the only physical proof that Catra had anything to do with how the war ended.

“Finn?”

They jumped, looking up. “Hi Aunt Glimmer.”

Glimmer settled in beside them, tilting her head. “What’s up? You look upset.”

“I’m not, I just...” They looked back at the mural. “Mom doesn’t really talk about the war.”

Silence followed. Glimmer’s next words were obviously very carefully spoken. “The war was hard on both your mothers.”

“I know, but Mom just... tries to keep her name out of everything.” Finn waved a hand at the mural. “I’m surprised she even let this exist.”

“Oh trust me, it took a lot of fighting for her to give in,” Glimmer said dryly. “I’m not gonna lie, Finny, Catra’s part in the war was... complicated.”

“But she and Mama saved the universe, right?”

“They did, and it was amazing. But a lot happened before that.”

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

Glimmer shook her head, smiling sadly. “It’s not my place. Catra has a hard time talking about the past, and I know it’s frustrating, but you know the parts of the story that are important. She saved me at the cost of her own life, and she helped Adora stop the Horde Prime. She’s just as much of a hero as Adora is, no matter what she thinks.”

And that was good enough for Finn, for awhile. They loved their mothers, and they knew both of them were good people. Besides, the past was the past. It could stay there.

At least until their next visit to Salineas, nearly six months after that conversation with Glimmer.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Finn heard Adora whispering to Catra as they bounced ahead of their parents, eager to get to the restaurant. Catra had finally agreed to get food with them, though somewhat reluctantly. She was currently clinging to Adora’s hand, their arms pressed together as they followed their child at a more sedate pace.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m tired of disappointing Finn.”

“You could never disappoint Finn.”

The restaurant was busy, which wasn’t surprising - it was the best place in Salineas. They were seated by the smiling host and given menus, and Finn immediately started searching for what they wanted to try this time. Another table next to them was filled soon after by an older couple who kept shooting glances at the family. 

Finn wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but their ears were sensitive. “Can’t believe the princess lets her just walk around the kingdom.”

Catra’s ears twitched. She focused harder on the menu, brow furrowed as if reading some complicated document. Adora, unfortunately, lacked the same hearing as the rest of her family. “The salmon was pretty good, right Finny?”

“Yeah! I think that’s my favorite.”

“I didn’t know you could pick a favorite food,” Catra teased, relaxing. Finn stuck their tongue out at her. The waiter came to take their orders, and Finn was distracted for a moment with talking about going sailing with Sea Hawk the next day, until the couple began talking again.

“I didn’t know they served Horde scum here.”

“She should be rotting in dungeon after what she did.”

“Pardoning a warlord... I knew the queen was young, I didn’t think she was also an idiot, though.”

Finn finally looked at them, completely bewildered; Catra stood at the same time, taking a step toward the table. “If you have something to say, you can say it to my face,” she informed them. “Instead of whispering like a couple of cowards in front of my wife and child.”

The couple was silent now, of course, staring at her in horror. Catra clenched her fists for a moment before sighing and turning back to their table. “I’m going back to the cabin,” she muttered, grabbing her jacket. “Get my food to go.”

“Catra-” Adora started to protest, but Catra had already disappeared. Finn glared at the couple.

“You shouldn’t say mean things about people. It just makes you look like jerks.”

Adora half smiled, reaching over the table to ruffle Finn’s hair. One hostess came over to move the couple to another table while another one apologized profusely to Adora and Finn.

“It’s... fine. Can we get our food to go?”

“It’s not fine!” Finn protested. “They were being assholes to Mom!”

“Finn, language,” Adora scolded them lightly. They had, unfortunately, picked up on Catra’s habit of swearing when stressed about something.

“And they were saying stupid stuff!”

Adora hesitated at that, looking around, then back at Finn. “What... did they say?”

“Something like they couldn’t believe Mermista was letting her walk around and how Aunt Glimmer pardoned a warlord.” Finn’s expression crumpled in confusion. “Why did Mom think they were talking about her?”

Adora sighed. “Let’s... get our food and go back to the cabin. We can talk there.”

Catra was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, Melog sprawled over her chest. Finn wasn’t even sure the alien cat had actually come to Salineas with them, but he had an uncanny habit of knowing when Catra was upset and when he was needed.

He mewled when Finn and Adora walked in, making room for Finn to join him. “Are you okay?”

“You mean other than being crushed?” Catra smiled weakly, ruffling Finn’s hair. Adora sat at the end of the bed, hand on her wife’s knee. Their gazes met; Catra nodded once and shooed Melog and Finn off of her so she could sit up.

“Can you start?” she asked quietly.

“Of course.”

Melog shrunk a little so he could cuddle against Finn. “Mom and I didn’t always live in Bright Moon,” Adora began slowly. “We were raised in the Fright Zone when it was still under the Horde’s control.”

Finn blinked a few times, stunned. “Really?”

Adora nodded. “We were raised to be Horde soldiers and taught the Rebellion was evil, and that it was our job to stop them.”

“That’s dumb,” Finn said bluntly. “Who would believe that?”

Catra coughed, trying to cover a laugh, while Adora blushed. “It’s different when you grow up hearing that kind of thing."

“So what made you leave?”

“Well... I found the Sword of Protection.” Catra stiffened slightly. “And Aunt Glimmer and Uncle Bow brought me to Bright Moon to help the Rebellion.”

“So you found out what you were doing was wrong and changed. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Adora’s eyes flicked to Catra, who sighed heavily. “I didn’t go with Mama when she left the Horde.” Finn turned to look at her, eyes wide. “We fought on different sides of the war for a long time.”

“That... doesn’t make any sense.”

“It was complicated,” Adora said. “Mom was... very angry and caught up in a very bad situation. Her judgment sucked.”

“I made a lot of bad choices,” Catra picked up. “And I did a lot of bad things.” Melog nudged Finn’s arm and tuck himself beneath it so they were loosely hugging him. “Eventually I took over the Horde, and started doing worse things.” Her eyes were fixed on her shaking hands. “One of the last things I did was I lead a raid on Salineas that pretty destroyed the entire city.”

Oh. Finn swallowed, trying to figure out how they were supposed to feel about that. Catra’s behavior suddenly made a lot more sense. “You pretty much know the rest of the story from there,” Adora said after a minute. “Horde Prime kidnapped Mom and Aunt Glimmer and Mom risked her own life getting Aunt Glimmer back to me and Uncle Bow. And then we went back and saved her anyway.”

“But... you still helped save Etheria.”

“Not everyone is as forgiving as your mom and aunt and uncle,” Catra said quietly. “I spent a lot of time trying to fix my mistakes, and it was enough for the Princess Alliance to forgive me, but there are still people who think I should be locked up. And there probably always will be.”

“Is that why you don’t like Salineas?”

Catra chuckled humorlessly. “I think Salineas is great. I rebuilt half the city myself.”

“She’s not kidding about that,” Adora added.

“Salineas doesn’t always like me, though. And they’re not obligated to forgive me under any circumstances. that’s something I’ve learned to live with. It’s not worth getting mad about people whispering behind my back about me, because I can’t control them. Even if I do think they could be a little more tactful about it sometimes.”

Finn was frowning deeply by now, looking between their mothers, then at Melog, whose head was in their lap. “Those people were still being jerks,” they declared fiercely. Adora ruffled their hair, gently scratching their ears.

“I know we just told you a lot. Are you okay?”

Were they? Finn wasn’t completely sure. Finding out one of their mothers was sort of a war criminal was a lot.

She’s just as much of a hero as Adora is, no matter what she thinks.

Aunt Glimmer’s words echoed in their head, and after a moment they nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” They wiggled away from Melog and threw their arms around Catra, hugging her tight. Catra was surprised for a moment before she wrapped Finn up, almost clinging to the child. “I still love you,” they assured her quietly. Catra did her best to hide her tears, wiping her eyes over their shoulder.

“I love you too, Finny.”

#rootsoforigin #Sam Answers #catradora #catradora fic #finn #WELL THAT GOT LONG #I keep saying that #It keeps being true tho #askbox fic

[writeblrfantasy]

a king and his knight | part 1

from the day he was knighted, the knight had cared for the king. he wasn’t a king then, only a younger brother who would never become crown prince. he was quiet, kept to himself and his books, but snappy and feisty when provoked. he didn’t seem to care much about his future or his family.

the knight had taken oaths of loyalty for the sick king and his strong, eldest golden son, to serve and protect them and put their safety before all else. but while he and his fellows trained hard, worked themselves to the bone, defended and protected and upheld their oaths, his fellows looked to the king and crown prince, and the knight looked to the younger prince.

his fellows would try to curry favor from the older royals by helping them with small tasks or attempting great big ones, quests that either ended in their tragic ends or with beautiful prizes to give as tribute. the knight, meanwhile, gathered roses from the gardens and left them in a bundle by the prince’s door, since he’d never seen anyone give the prince flowers. he searched for and left him books he’d overheard the prince talk about not having, took a long journey to the sea to collect rocks and a jar of sand on his day off all because the prince had said to the librarian, one of the only people he conversed with, that he longed to go there. the knight had been seated at a table a few aisles over, pretending to read his knights’ handbook, as he often was.

he left notes with all of his gifts in his best attempt at courtly script, though he knew how bad it was compared to the prince’s elegant hand. he wrote little phrases that he hoped sounded charming, romantic, instead of creepy. these roses may be beautiful, but they have nothing on you. these stories could not possibly be greater than anything you might come up with. the beaches are just like you to me: breathtaking, untouchable, perfect. the one difference between the beaches and the prince was that the beaches were terribly difficult to reach. the prince was impossible.

these notes were never signed, there would be no point, if the prince even recognized his name.

the knight usually left his gifts at the prince’s door in the mornings just before he had to go to early training, and he’d only once been able to watch the prince find his gifts. that one time was burned into his memory, something precious and holy that still took his breath away to think about.

the knight had woken late after staying up all night preparing his next gift, and scrambled to get ready, knowing his commander would have his hide at morning training. perhaps to delay the inevitable a little longer, he’d stopped at the prince’s doorway on the way, the only royal apartment not guarded at all times. he wasn’t deemed important enough, he didn’t have any servants, either.

the knight had placed the wood box with the straps in them in front of the door, arranging his note so it faced the doorway, when he heard shuffling inside. he’d quickly hidden around the corner, heart beating quick. that’d never happened before. he’d never been almost caught. no one was up as early as the knights were. he was always gone thirty minutes before the prince was even awake, or so he assumed. today his lie in made him catch the prince coming out of his apartments.

it had occurred to him in that moment he didn’t know what the prince did with his gifts. he’d never seen the roses or the jar of sand or the books with the prince. he’d never even seen the inside of the prince’s rooms. he’d never even spoken to the prince. the prince could just be scoffing and throwing his gifts out the window, crumpling the notes, debating telling the knights that he had a stalker. the knight had turned his head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bear knowing if that was what the prince truly did, but the door opened before he could run away. he was forced to watch, helpless, as the prince tripped on the box.

“another one?” the prince murmured, his back to the knight as he bent to pick it up. the knight held his breath when the prince straightened up and he saw the prince was smiling, in a soft, subtle way unlike the wide grins of his relatives. was it just the sunlight, or were the prince’s cheeks growing red? the knight choked on a breath.

the prince adjusted the coat he always wore, a sky blue with a white fur interior, and cradled the box gently as he opened the lid. he held the note between his teeth as he examined the leather straps and buckles, much like a belt, with furrowed eyebrows. he set the box down to read the note, which said, i wish i could carry your books for you, but here is this instead, so that your arms do not get so tired. the prince could cinch a stack of books up with the straps and carry the loop like a bag. the knight knew how annoying it was to shove books in and out of bags. he’d used straps like these for years.

he’d been bolder with this note, mentioning himself for the first time. it had apparently gone over well, as the prince smiled again and brought his new gift inside his room, into which the knight finally snuck a glance. he saw a writing desk in front of a window, the jar of sand, the books he’d given the prince, before he made his escape. he did indeed get his hide figuratively whipped at training that morning, but it was more than worth it,

what had made the knight fall for the prince, someone so helplessly unreachable, someone who would never love him back? why did he neglect his duties and loyalties to the proper royals in favor of daydreaming about the prince, about showering him in the attention he deserved but never got, protecting him, kissing the back of his hand? well, the prince was breathtaking, with rich brown hair that shone gold in the sun, the loveliest brown eyes, the smoothest milky skin, long delicate fingers and trimmed nails. he was pretty, no, beautiful, the opposite of the knight, who was tall and sandy haired and a strong knight, a good fighter, but one who knew how to serve. just not the people he was supposed to.

the prince was a head shorter than the knight, which opened up all sorts of doors regarding how nicely he would fit in the knight’s arms, safe from the world, easy to protect. he was passionate and talented and had a brilliant mind, but simply because he’d been born two years after his brother, he was passed over, left to himself, without any companions but his books. the knight wanted to give him the world, and he would do it however he could, at whatever cost to himself.

one day, there came invaders from the south, with an army who matched the king’s own. the king and the crown prince assured all that things would be fine and under control, but the knight knew that this would never be the case. the royals were confident of success, the knight’s fellows were nervous but excitedly preparing for battle, and the knight’s prince hadn’t changed at all, still spending his days in the library, where the knight spent every moment he could in the aisles across from him.

the king gave a speech the morning of the battle, when his scouts had seen the enemy close to the royal castle. the king was too old and frail to fight, but his son wasn’t, their golden jewel that every knight drooled over, with his white toothed grin and his muscles and his red cloak and warhorse. the king beamed with pride as he sent his son and his knights off, but the knight slipped away, something easy enough to do in a crowd that large, when everything was chaos no matter how much the king liked to pretend it wasn’t.

going back to the castle instead of going to fight for the king was technically treasonous, but all the knight could think of was the prince, alone in the castle, oblivious or uncaring to the danger he was in. he drew his sword, something he didn’t often wear since it got in the way but was well used to wielding, and climbed the staircases he’d just went down, retracing his steps subconsciously to the prince’s rooms.

he steeled himself outside of it and took a deep breath. he could already hear the sounds of battle in the distance, war cries and blades knocking against one another. he prayed for things to hold just a little bit longer.

he knocked on the prince’s door. when the prince opened it, he looked surprised to see the knight, a bit confused, confirming the knight’s suspicions he’d never even seen the knight before. his heart sank a little. the prince’s beauty was even more stunning up close, long eyelashes and a slight blush to his cheeks.

these were not the first words he’d thought he would say to his prince, he’d have preferred something romantic and charming, but that was a loss he could not mourn right now.

“i’m here to save you. come with me and i’ll protect you, i swear on my life.”

if you read all the way to the end, thank you. i’m going to post part 2 very very soon. this piece means a lot to me, as it’s the first thing i’ve written in months that i’ve been excited for, unable to stop. a mere hour before i started writing this i wondered if i would ever be able to write again, and then i had the most fun writing something i’ve had in a long, long time. this is a reminder to myself and everyone else to write whatever you want, and don’t turn down an impulse to write something you want to because it’s not relevant to your current wip or it’s stupid or anything your brain thinks. write!! life is too short. i had SO much fun writing this and you should write what you want too :)

#writing #writeblr #my writing #writing short #fantasy writeblr #lgbt fantasy #lgbt writing #lila's short stories

[thenexusofsouls]

Flock- what is your muse's family like? How do they get along with them? (Tony)

Eagle- is your muse courageous or cowardly? What might cause them to act in the opposite manner, if anything? (Ethan)

Sparrow- what artistic or creative hobbies does your muse have? What is their favorite or most treasured creation? (Natasha)

Cardinal- how does your muse recover from strong emotions? How do they recouperate? (Michael)

{i am the caretaker of souls} This got long, haha, so I’ll put it under a cut.

Flock- what is your muse's family like? How do they get along with them? (Tony)

So... Tony’s relationships with various members of his family are complicated and not always positive, but the following five people mean the most to him, and with each of them, he’s tried to do the right thing at least at some point in his life. With some it worked better than others, for varying reasons, but I’ll focus on these and describe his relationship with them a little:

Father, Howard Stark: Oh boy. Where do I begin. There was so much wrong with Tony’s relationship with his dad. Both of them were incredibly intelligent and very arrogant, and that caused a huge ego clash between them, but for different reasons. Howard never felt that Tony lived up to his expectations as a son, although half the time he didn’t really give him half a chance or bother to notice when Tony did do something productive, constructive, good, noteworthy, etc. Tony wanted his father’s love, attention, and approval, but often went about it the wrong away, trying to stand out with bad behavior rather than positive achievements. Whenever they met in the middle and could have had a chance at bonding, the two of them were so defensive or closed off that they just couldn’t open up to each other. This never really got resolved, and then Howard was killed, so Tony was left with not only a huge hole in his heart from the love he felt he never really got from Howard, but also an emotional wound that would never have any closure.

Mother, Maria Stark: Tony loved his mother to bits, although when he was younger he often pretended like she worried to much and sometimes smothered him. From Maria, Tony got the love he felt he never got from his dad, but it was almost too easy. She just gave it unconditionally, and in some ways that offset what he wasn’t getting from his dad so much more because of the dramatic contrast in how his parents treated him. She was the softer, forgiving, understanding, encouraging parents in contrast to Howard’s aloof, distant, businesslike fathering. She was the one person in his life that he felt safe going to in any kind of vulnerable way, and losing her left Tony feeling very alone and isolated in a way he couldn’t express to other people... so he bottled it all up.

Girlfriend/Wife, Pepper Potts: Ugh. This relationship, in my opinion, was terrible and toxic. He was distant, defensive, and he abused alcohol to an extreme. Also he put her in danger either by accident or inadvertently with things he said or did. His communication was never the greatest and his coping mechanisms were unhealthy at best. She shamed Tony for his trauma responses as if they were personality flaws he should be ashamed of (scattered memory, nightmares, panic attacks, etc.), used walking out on him as a threat and emotional weapon against him whenever she just didn’t feel like dealing with him, and often was not there for him when he needed her. But... Tony genuinely loved her and something must have been good enough for both of them for them to want to make it work, and somehow, eventually, it did. I think once Tony knew he wasn’t going to lose her (the threat of her always just wanting to leave really kept him on edge in a way that was damaging to his mental health), he calmed down and some of his behaviors and coping mechanisms actually got better, which then in turn made Pepper want to stay with him and work it out, so those two things fed off each other in a positive way. Her actually marrying him brought about an emotional stability Tony never had before, both within himself and in a relationship. He settled down considerably after that and was much more stable mentally once he had her full support. He loves her with all his heart and there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for her.

Older Daughter, Carter Stark: This is going to sound terrible, haha, so I’ll preface it by saying that Tony loves Carter immensely. She’s his daughter and all he wants to do is keep her safe and make sure she has the best life she can. But... in many ways, she’s also a symbol of some of the worst times in his life, some of the worst things about himself, and some of the worst things he’s ever done. He slept around, he let people down, he got people killed, he wasn’t there for the ones he loved, etc. She reminds him of a lot of things about himself that he wishes weren’t true or didn’t happen. Her existence has also made him wonder on many occasions whether he might have other children whose mothers never knew he was the father or chose not to even inform him. He loves her, as I said, but there’s also just this aching pain and guilt he feels with her that he didn’t do enough for her, didn’t protect her well, or even that her life might have been better had she not known him. Some of that is his own anxiety telling him things that aren’t true, but some of it is due to events that happened that he knows have affected Carter’s mental health that Tony feels responsible for, either through his own actions or by the company he kept at the time. So Carter reminds Tony of the worst, lowest, and most broken aspects of himself, and I think that will always cause him to believe that he was a terrible father to her. He’s spent many hours wishing that he had done more for her in some way and had been able to be a better father than Howard was to him.

Younger Daughter, Morgan Stark: If Carter is a symbol of how bad a father he could be and some of Tony’s worst qualities, the Morgan is a symbol of the best he could be. Morgan in many ways is Tony’s redemption. Other people outside looking in might say his actions during Endgame were redeeming, or that he had moments before that throughout the franchise that helped redeem parts of him along the way, but in Tony’s mind, Morgan is his redemption. She’s what happens when he does things right. Carter helped contribute to this because he didn’t want to make the same mistakes he made with her, and he sought to correct as many as he could. His own father also contributed because Tony had a big example of the kind of father he never wanted to be, and he tried to avoid that at all costs. Stepping back from the Avengers and focusing on his marriage and being a father to his daughters was far better for his mental health, even with the guilt and sadness of everyone’s failure in Infinity War. So the years during which he raised Morgan were Tony’s most stable and healthy as far as his own mental state. If he was ever concerned about the legacy he would leave - and he was - he knew he was leaving something pure and positive behind after his death, whenever it might be, with Morgan.

Eagle- is your muse courageous or cowardly? What might cause them to act in the opposite manner, if anything? (Ethan)

Ethan is actually pretty damn brave, considering he’s lived a number of years in fear. Before he entered into this nomadic lifestyle in an attempt to keep other people at a distance, he was protective of his friends and girlfriends. As he and his more recent girlfriend Kelly dealt with the creature infesting their house, there were many times when he was woken up in the middle of the night by her or suddenly startled by her screaming and had to get up and see what the problem was. He would always go on the offensive, investigating with something held as a weapon, letting Kelly hide behind him. He was scared, but he wasn’t about to let her get hurt. The problem was, there wasn’t really anything he could do about it in the end.

When Ethan is by himself, it’s a different story. He’s willing to be that shield or put himself in danger to protect someone he cares about, but if it’s just him alone, he’s not stupid. He’s not looking to throw his life away for nothing. So when he’s alone, he’s a lot more attention to his self-preservation instincts.

Sparrow- what artistic or creative hobbies does your muse have? What is their favorite or most treasured creation? (Natasha)

Dancing. Specifically ballet dancing. Allow me to explain. You might think that she’d never want to touch pointe shoes again with how ballet was used against her in the Red Room. It was used as a conditioning tool, both for its strenuous and physical demands and difficult skillset necessary to master it, but also for other typical brainwashing techniques it provides, such as the use of repetition, association through music, and creating a sense of isolation through competition with others around you. However, something weird happened after Natasha defected to SHIELD. She started to dance for herself. She only did it when alone, sometimes with music but often times without any. Somehow, she took this thing that had been used against her and made it her own. It became a source of comfort, almost like the dancing itself had been a wounded friend, and somehow by only doing it privately and emotionally, she was helping it to be something more positive every bit as much as it was helping her heal.

While dancing, Natasha lets her mind wander. She allows herself to feel things she doesn’t express to others. At several points in her life when things hurt her emotionally, she took time out to dance. Such as when Wanda dredged up memories of the Red Room in her mind, when Bruce left her, and often during the years between Infinity War and Endgame. As far as hat her most treasured creation is... I suppose it isn’t something solid she can hold in her hands, but every time she dances, she feels like she’s created something good. And I would definitely say it’s treasured because it’s cathartic for her and helps her to feel whole and less anxious, and there's incredible value in that for her.

Cardinal- how does your muse recover from strong emotions? How do they recouperate? (Michael)

Since the word “recover” is being used, I’m assuming the strong emotions in question are negative ones? Anger, sadness, frustration, fear, those sorts of things? Typically, he needs to take a step back and be quiet and/or alone for a time to reset himself. Michael does have a temper, and he does feel emotions like sadness and grief very strongly, so sometimes he needs to step back and make sure that he doesn’t make any rash decisions based off of emotion. Quiet prayer usually helps, but if not that then just sitting quietly alone for a time, preferably out in nature somewhere, usually serves to reset his internal composure and steady his mind. Michael doesn’t like to act impulsively or in anger, so if he feels himself about to do that, he usually steps away. The one exception is when someone he cares about is in danger, then he might act on his protective instincts. Regret follows, but again, he finds prayer to be comforting to him in those types of moments.

#{ i am the caretaker of souls } ᵒᵒᶜ #headcanons #muse: michael #muse: ethan cavender #muse: tony stark #muse: natasha romanoff

[kendrixtermina]

Something which I think should be appreciated more that Melkor’s schemes didn’t just cause a rift between Feanor and everyone else; There would have been a lot of internal drama in each of the branches, too

We know Anaire dumped Fingolfin for his role in the kinslaying; Of course she might’ve blamed him for being a bad influence on the kids, but they were grown adults, with Turgon having a kid of his own, and we know Turgon and Fingon explicitly got their swoods bloody (and nothing we know about Argon’s and Aredhel’s personalities suggests that they didn’t) so it’s actually quite likely that their mother disowned them - remember a key point of the situation after the darkening is that everyone was acting on impulse & frazzled emotions, doing drastic things they might not have done if they’d had time to think it through. 

I mean, Galadriel flat out turned against the faction that her brothers & cousins were a part of (one could interpret “withstood him fiercely” to mean that she got into an actual swordfight with Feanor himself; And he might be the most powerful elf ever but Galadriel is explicitly number two. Since both lived, it was probably a draw; Maybe she had the sense to withdraw when he started winning; This is before she apprenticed with Melian so she probably hadnt reached her full potential yet) - one can totally justify why she’d take the side of her mother’s people since the Noldor clearly started it, but her brothers & cousins probably had opinions about that. Finrod was probably not present having lagged behind with Finarfin; Galadriel would’ve rushed ahead of them (& hence gotten there in time to witness the kinslaying) specifically because she was eager to leave - and then in Beleriand she gave up the whole battle for unwinnable (she was not incorrect about this...) and camped out in Doriath. (Part of this is probably that she had to be retroactively fit into an established plot structure so she doesnt get much to do apart from a few key moments (still a lot more than, say, Celebrimbor and Gil-Galad, especially if you go with the HC that she & Celeborn were the ones who absconded with Elwing), but it still has implications especially since she’s among the most powerful)

Contrast Finrod who didn’t expect Nargothrond to last & acted accordingly, but felt he had to fight to protect the world from Morgoth; He probably saw it as a good thing that Galadriel would go to set up contacts/ future strategic positions further east, but there was certainly a disagreement between her & her brothers. 

Add to this that she & her brothers were described as having been “as close as brothers” with Fingon & co, with Angrod and Aegnor being tight with Fingon in particular before all went to hell.

Angrod in particular probably had no peace at his dinner table; He wanted to go, but Orodreth and Finarfin didn’t; (At least we’re told that Finarfin’s kids did not criticise him to his face & retained some basic civility) Who knows what faction Eldalote’s family went with. And once he got to Beleriand, he got both Caranthir and Thingol accusing him of being in cahoots with the other faction; Plus the implication that Fingolfin sent him without informing the Feanorians which suggests at least some moderate political calculation on Fingolfin’s part;  No wonder he eventually snapped & spilled everything. 

And if you go with the reading that he was friends with C & C once, they definitely werent friends anymore by that time; though Caranthir clearly never liked em to begin with. 

Likewise, Turgon thought it all to be a very bad idea why all his siblings were like “Go! Adventure!”; Fingolfin himself was somewhere in between in that he didn’t want to go but felt it was his duty to look after the people & take revenge. 

Heck, though his motives were probably among the noblest, Finrod wanted to go while his BFF Turgon didn’t - and then Turgon lost his wife; It’s also implied that Turgon was pretty homesick at least early on seeing as he had Gondolin built to be like Tirion 2.0 while Finrod was initially super stoked to be exploring the unknown lands & meet & learn from the locals. 

Consider alsopoor, poor Finarfin, who probably parted on bad terms with all his siblings, was left without his children, no longer welcome where he ostensibly preferred living, left to mop up the resulting mess all alone, including diplomatic relations. 

We think of him as the one who knew better and noped out, but that would actually be Findis, who wanted nothing to do with the rebellion in the first place and appeared to have been so disgusted with Tirion & its inhabitants that she left & probably renounced the crown; She probably told her siblings that they were all terrible

Finarfin is the one who almost went and turned back last second - which requires a whole lot of self-awareness and humility, to admit that you were wrong; Maybe he’s less upright than his oldest sister but he was more responsible in the end in that someone had to be responsible for the remnants of Tirion and he decided it should be him, even though he was probably not prepared at all cause he was like, 25th in line after his older siblings & all their descendants.   It means that he had to explain to everyone why he’s leaving (including Findis, and his wife whose hometown was just turned into a war zone by his brothers), & then go back and explain to everyone why he stayed after all.

I don’t imagine the parting between Fingolfin and Finarfin to have been too pretty, either, especially since we’re told that Finarfin markedly refused to pick any sides. They would’ve been frustrated with each other at this point, seeing as they both had reasons to do what they did.

 At least Fingolfin’s got Lalwen, Findis is with their mom, Feanor & Finwe were probably soon reunited in Mandos, but Finarfin’s got no one; 

And we can assume that what happened with the royals also played out among the general populace of Tirion as families & friend groups were divided among the various factions. 

Initially the Feanorians would probably have been more unified (they would’ve been a tightly knit group, considering that their father is a standoffish loner who pretty much raised them in the wilderness) - though at the cost of an unreasonable loyalty that eventually proved their undoing, and must have strained what friendships they had with everyone else - though one can imagine that there was some friction between Maedhros as the official leader and Curufin looking to direct things from behind the scenes, with both having somewhat different priorities and principles, but it seems that rather than directly openly challenge/disagree with his older brothers, Curufin tended to try & influence them, or just do whatever he wanted without checking with Maedhros (Cue the Nargothrond debacle...) 

Likewise Maedhros would scold or defuse them & learned eventually not to bring Caranthir to diplomatic meetings, but he didnt efficiently curttail them either; loyalty to ppl you know to be questionable is not unambiguous; I personally got the sense that he was always trying to keep both his vow and his honor and then ended in a rather fatalistic, regretful, pelagian villain sort of place after the sack of Doriath - there he was, running through the forest, looking for both the innocent child casualties and the silmaril, and finding neither. In that sense Curufin was perhaps more pragmatic, but also very factional in his thinking & somewhat amoral. 

#silmarillion #house of finwe

[mistbornthefinal]

Madoka Magica Aniversary Analysis: Part 10

I Wished That I Could Turn Back Time

Well this is the episode, Episode 3 may have gotten people talking about Madoka but it was this one that cemented this series as a classic. 

We begin with Homura, but very clearly not the Homura that we’re familiar with. The introduction of this Homura is an inversion of what we saw in episode 1. Rather than brush off the curious students she needs to be “saved” by health officer Madoka. (rather than her transfer being mysterious we are told she just got out of the hospital for an unspecified heart condition that she still takes medicine for) This time Madoka leads and Homura follows, Madoka is the one setting the terms by which they refer to each other, Madoka complements Homura’s name which echo’s back to EP 1. Rather than Homura exhorting Madoka not to change it’s Madoka who exhorts Homura to try live up to her name. 

Also unlike in the first episode where Homura blows everyone away this Homura struggles with both academics and athletics. As she walks home she recalls Madoka’s call to “be cool to match her name” which only deepens her depression. She’s overcome with a sense of directionlessness and ennui that’s fairly similar to Madoka’s own insecurities. As he mood darkens the Witch Izabel calls to her seeding her with suicidal thoughts and then pulls her into her labyrinth. Her minions lurch toward Homura, all seems lost, but then a familiar theme is heard.

The Puella Magi, Mami and Madoka(?!) are here for a clutch save and they make short work of the witch. At Mami’s apartment Homura is (presumably) filled in on Meguca 101 but also that Walpurgisnact is soon to arrive. 

We cut to that immediately after that because this episode doesn’t mess around. Mami’s dead, Madoka is the only thing standing in the way of the mightiest Witch. Homura pleads with Madoka to run, that no one will blame her for it. But for better or for worse Madoka has the soul of a true hero. Even though it’s brought her into this seemingly hopeless situation Madoka doesn’t regret becoming a Puella Magi she leaps back into the fray with a smile on her lips.

She’s even able to defeat Walpurgisnact but only at the cost of her life. As Homura sobs over her body, she should have lived rather than save someone like her. In her grief Kyubey is there with the same offer as always, is there a wish she’s willing to trade her soul for? There is, of course.

I want to redo my first encounter with Kaname-san. But this time, instead of her protecting me, I want to be strong enough to protect her!

The soul gem rises from her chest shining, her wish has surpassed entropy. As she grasps it we see the gears of her shield start to turn. She awakens in a new timeline, the clock wound back to the day she was discharged from the hospital.

At school she grabs the hands of a very confused Madoka at the first oppertunity and tells her that she became a Puella Magi. We then cut to Homura demonstrating her power by wailing on an oil drum with a golf club in stopped time. It’s an impressive power but as Mami points out it’s limited by her ability to actually do damage as she seems to lack the superhuman physicality that the other Puella Magi seem to have. 

Homura elects to solve this problem by making pipe bombs, which we see her demonstrate on the witch Patricia. Much to Madoka’s... enthusiasm. 

Sadly the happy-fun-(yuri)-times can’t last while the shadow of Walpurgisnact looms. We’re back to were the last timeline ended, only this time there’s still a Soul Gem in Madoka’s hand one about to fully darken. Homura leans the terrible truth as Kriemhild Gretchen is loosed on the world, and then the clock is wound back yet again.

Now knowing the truth Homura attempts to warn the other Puella Magi about Kyubey’s deception. Unfortunately the other Puella Magi now incudes Sayaka, who is instinctively hostile to Homura and dismisses her out of hand. Though it might in part owe to swords comboing poorly with bombs. That part at least is something Homura can solve, by stealing guns from the Yakuza. 

Just in time for Sayaka to become a Witch. Madoka is on the “try to talk down Oktavia” plan that we saw in the last episode and it’s not any more effective than that last time we saw it. As Madoka is cornered by wheels Homura steps in with her time stop to deflect the attack with her new end the fight.

As the reality of what happened set’s in the girls are distraught, especially Mami who ties up Homura with her ribbons and then just shoots Kyouko’s soul gem. She turns her gun on Homura saying that if Witches are born from Soul Gems then they have no choice but to die. Before she can pull the trigger Madoka kills her. Homura tries to comfort Madoka saying that the two of them can still defeat Walpugisnact.

Well she was right, but though victorious the two of them are out of magic, and they both know what happens next. Maybe it won’t be so bad Homura muses, the two of them can become monsters together and lay waste to this awful world. Madoka has a different idea, she actually has one last grief seed and she uses it to cleanse Homura’s gem. She wants Homura to do something that Madoka can’t.

Could you save me from my stupidity... before I get fooled get fooled by Kyubey?

Homura agrees and in this moment that the Homura we know is truly born. She’ll do it no matter how many times it. But there’s on last thing, Madoka doesn’t want to become a Witch, the may be many sad and awful thing in this world but there are some worth protecting, and one last thing the two of them can do for this world. 

It’s in this moment that Homura is finally able to call Madoka by her first name, just as Madoka asked her two timelines ago. 

In the new timeline Homura leaps from her bed, heals her eyesight with magic, and undoes her braids, completing her transformation into the Homura we’ve gotten familiar with throughout the series. She then appears beside Homura’s window dead Kyubey in hand and tells her that if anyone offer a miracle she shouldn’t trust them.

Homura raids a military base and then wages a one girl war against Mitakihara’s Witch population. She makes a vow, she will never depend on anyone again, never allow Madoka to fight, she will destroy all the Witches by herself. Including Walpurgisnact. 

Just like that we’re back to the very beginning of the show. The scene that the current Madoka saw in her dream, Homura struggling alone against the legendary Witch. As before Madoka looks on in horror and Kyubey is there to tempt her into his trap. This time though we hear as Homura desperately calls out to Madoka not to trust his contract. 

And this time we see the aftermath.  Kriemhild Gretchen looms on the horizon like a mountain of darkness, Kyubey estimates that she will destroy the planet in about ten days. Kyubey predicted that something like this would happen but given he has met his quota it’s humanities problem now. But not Homura’s this isn’t her battlefield she says as she turns back time once again. 

We’re now in the main timeline seeing Homura hunt Kyubey in episode one from her perspective.

I’ll do it over... as many times as it takes. I’ll relive the same time over and over, searching for the one way out. I’ll find the one path that will save you from your fate of boundless despair. Madoka... my one and only friend. If it’s... If it’s for you, I don’t mind being trap in this endless maze... for all eternity. 

This episode ends with Connect rather than opening with it, just in case we weren’t now aware that it’s Homura song. This version ends with all five girls rather than Mami, Sayaka, and Madoka (who are never contracted at the same time in the main timeline)

So that was episode 10 as previously stated this episode is all about Homura’s character, her wish and how she came to be the person we met in episode one. Honestly I’d say that Homura is the most misunderstood characters in the series, like we’ve all seen plenty of “crazy stalker Homura” jokes.  Homura’s determination to save Madoka isn’t a totally one sided thing either, ultimately she working to fulfil the request of TL 3 Madoka. Rather the tragedy is that she decides her devotion to saving Madoka must take priority over her relationship with Madoka, which doesn’t leave anyone happy.

To a certain extent Homura is a foil to all the other girls. Much like Mami most of what we see from her is a façade, as much they both project confidence they’re hiding a lot of pain and loneliness. Like Sayaka she made a selfless wish for somewhat selfish reasons and is ultimately kept from the person they love in part because they are unwilling to be honest about their feelings. She puts on an air of cynicism despite being a disillusioned romantic in a similar way to Kyouko even though both of them are still willing to put it all on the line for the person they love. 

And of course Homura and Madoka share a self-sacrificing streak born from a low opinion of their own value, and what they both want form their wish is not only to save others but also to change themselves. Homura doesn’t wish merely to save Madoka but to become someone capable of saving her, much in the same way Madoka wants to be a person who saves others. 

#semi-original content #puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica anniversary analysis

[schiste-argileux]

Idw Prowl is an evil SOB (took him two years to send the Wreckers to Garrus-9 and help Maxy (who was protecting all the war crimes the Bots did), put Maxy’s torturer and a war criminal on board the Lost Light cuz why not, sent Pharma to Delphi knowing it was DJD territory)

Prowl... Prowl’s creation and competence in his area of work is astounding. He is brilliant, creative, and defiantly apathetic of this world. But, he is very human in his own way. IDW Prowl is selfish, yet not. He is a unique in that aspect because most people make decisions like his for the sole reason of benefiting themselves. But Prowl’s sole reason of existing is to create PEACE. 

Peace. Peace can only be done when people are complacent, happy, and satisfied. When things are stationary. Stable. 

But life is never stable. Elements desire to form bonds, yet are almost always leaning towards to instability... Prowl’s form of PEACE is a world where there is no fighting. But everything sentient requires to fulfill its desires. As long as there is desire, people will fight. 

A world of PEACE would be a world of full control, there are no surprises, no change. Safety, routines, and constants. No creativity, no development... nothing. stagnant. 

But I must admire Prowl’s tenacity and dedication to this world! 

He sacrifices everything for the sake of the directive, preserve cybertron, PEACE. He sacrifices his morals (Robot Gets Bullied By a Human), his dignity (Recent News, Cop Accepts Orgy For The Means of Establishing Peace, his body (Recent News, Cop gets Molested by A Spider for The Autobot Cause), and of course, thousands of lives (Not Recent News). :D Prowl respects and understands that there will always be chaos and instability, and he is so very flexible around it all! He literally can maximize everything and anything he has. He is the embodiment of consequentialism with a lil dash of politics. I wish my group project members were 1% as productive as him! Prowl tries to put everything black and white, and he gets upset when things get far more tricky, and wants to get everything in control so people can stay safe and remain in peace and not fight! And that’s a respectable goal! Control can be good, it means one understands and is able to retain themselves and the thing they are controlling. But Prowl doesn’t want to accept that there are things out of his control. And Prowl likes to think he’s justified when he controls the uncontrollable. 

I mean, yeah, if he didn’t do what he did, the autobots would have been six feet under A LOT EARLIER. Optimus is not a good leader, preserving organic life over his own soldiers? Psh. Look at Spike, he’s got valid points and can I understand why he left the ‘bots. Prowl’s probably thinking everyday, DAMN, OP, WHY R U SO DUMB. LISTEN WE NEED TO FEED OUR SOLDIERS AND PRIORITIZE OUR SPECIES LIVES INSTEAD OF THIS FUCKING CARBON BASED CIRCLE. HELLO??? And literally Prowl could have been like I’m gonna get ya assassinated so I CAN HAVE IT MY WAY. But Prowl was BORN for the RULES. To follow, to MAKE PEACE. Killing the prime figurehead is against that, even if it would make his life way easier! (hence, not that selfish and also sad that your life is the rules. That’s a short leash, but he makes due)

Honestly I feel bad for Prowl. Must suck to be so big brain that everyone hates you when you say the truths (but also you could learn some more tricks from Jazz to be nicer and hide the truth, but that’s scary because a nicer prowl means more people he can trick and use. Thanks Prowl for being so straightforward! Now people can avoid you easier). He's so straightforward about things that need to be done, he’s in constant denial about the grey area of life!

That’s why when Spike slapped Prowl with reality slaps, Prowl lost some of his shit. Remember, nearly everyone had the edgy depressed time in their teens or young adult years where you realize the world is truly unfair and nothing is black and white? Yeah. Slap that on a 6+ million year old robot with a battle computer and is capable of big brain CPU-age, and was literally built for the sole purpose of enforcing rules and making peace? And no one really cared about Prowl enough to understand him and his background. So Prowl goes through his angst moment alone with his huge titties, frustrated. THIS. IS. WHY. YOU. COMMUNICATE. YA DINGUS. 

Prowl doesn’t become a school shooter like Pharma cuz hes got bigger brain and a lot more power and control over himself, but he literally becomes Shadow The Hedgehog (Even if the world’s against me I’ll fight like I’ve always have). HE’S GONE ROGUE. MA’AM, SIR, THE FUCKING OREO COOKIE HAS TRANSFORMED AND ROLLED OUT.  like. OP was the one thing holding prowl back, which was good! But now prowl’s on the roll and bumblebee is too nice and passive to hold him back. + the bombshell brainwash? feels so bad. being prowl sucks. because Prowl is a necessary evil. 

At least he’s wonderfully blunt about his goal to create a peaceful cybertron, which makes it easier if you want to avoid him or smth. meanwhile you have fake people IRL that smile their way through and then slit your throat and you won’t even know it was them (hey jazz, no offense, but that’s what spec ops does). Fakers are the scariest enemy, but Prowl is still a threat, just not as big as a someone who fluffs you up on a balloon and then pops it. Prowl would just be like, hey, you’re really useful, come over here in my white van i wanna show you something and then maybe you get destroyed. But hey! You were the one with the highest chance of surviving compared to other people! Isn’t that great? You’re so skilled WOW. (Prowl gets punched. Again!) Prowl represents the necessary evil in society. We WILL ALWAYS HAVE EVIL people in this world. But Prowl is a far better evil than people who do evil for their own selfish reasons. It’s like how we have law enforcers and politicians . It’s basically giving them legal rights to do illegal things (lmao). BUT we need them regardless. We need those people to get their hands dirty, possibly killed, so that people can live in innocence and peace. 

I don’t think Prowl ever realized that he was a necessary evil, and when Spike showed him that, he was bitter. But he accepted it. Which I respect because most people can’t be bothered to understand themselves and just throw themselves in denial, and point fingers for their flaws. Prowl sucks up and understands who he is, and he makes the best of it to achieve his goal.  I mean, honestly? Prowl is probably a miracle worker. Not in a Ratchet sense. But look at the way modern governments run, nothing gets done, everything is stalled because no one has the guts to make sacrifices. Prowl would have gotten a shit ton of things done, man, and take quick efficient action. Even if he sacrifices many things for it.  (Warning. I do not condone any taking of lives, NO ONE has the right to judge whenever a person should live or die.)  Prowl reminds me of 秦始皇 (Qin Shi Huang), the king who unified China and sacrificed millions to make the Great Wall, canals, and road systems that last to this day. If it wasn’t for these accomplishments, China wouldn’t have been what it is today. Was it a good thing? For the future residents of China? Hell yeah. But the costs? Those are sins that can never be erased, and they are horrible and shouldn't be done ever again. Was it necessary? Perhaps. But that’s another discussion. Is Prowl evil? Depends on your definition of evil. Perhaps he’s justified, perhaps in his world, he’ll go down as the Qin Shi Huang of the Cybertronians. Regardless, Prowl like Pharma, is an EXCELLENT example to study on public ethics, and administrative officials should analyze him and learn from his mistakes and sins.  I think Prowl is not evil in a sense that he wishes to harm others, but evil in a sense of his apathy. Prowl is a necessary component to a functional society (someone to plot, to use people, to enforce rules even if some are sacrificed, someone who can get their hands dirty). He lives a terrible and sad fate, and I do not wish ANYONE to live a life like Prowl’s or look up to Prowl. Yes, he’s so clever and brilliant, but that kind of power will make you the loneliest person on Earth.

Thanks Prowl for taking the entire load of sin on your shoulders! Big MVP! You get nothing from the world except hate and contempt.  I would go on about him more but I have IRL stuff to do. I love Prowl as an example to tell people that MODERATION. COMMUNICATION. AND COMPASSION are important factors to have a healthy and good mental state. Prowl is the perfect example of someone who doesn’t want to empathize (haha so many people are like this today), who doesn’t want to try to use more braincells and friends help to make better plans that are more moderate and not extreme, and who doesn’t want to talk to anyone thinking its a waste of time or have difficulty explaining things.  BUT I LOVE G1 PROWL because he has far more patience and manners, and doesn’t take a darker, route for his goals. awhohdohd he’s baby,,, i wish all cops had patience and manners and in general open-minded yet cautious enough not to be taken advantage of,,,, perhaps then we wouldn’t have so much polarization and fighting with authority in this world.... 

uwuwwuwuwuw they did prowl so dirty in idw WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ;____;   Again, you are welcome to disagree or agree! I wrote this really quickly so I’m sure there will be points that could be clarified or edited. Prowl’s really complicated and I do not like to talk about current IRL problems, but Prowl represents a lot of problems in society. And I think it’s critical if we try to look at both perspectives to get an understanding on WHY people do these things, and is there a solution to AVOID making those same mistakes? There’s a couple of controversial things in this short essay I wrote, esp. about cops IRL. So feel free to have at it! Or ignore it! Whichever is more comfortable for you! Thanks for coming to my ted talk! Again, Prowl is a bad influence and a sorrowful life to live. please do not try to be like prowl. xD I won’t intrude on you if you do, because you have a right to live the life you want as long as you’re not hurting other people’s interests and wellbeing! 

#prowl #transformers #idw #asks #omfg #prowl is so horrible to write about #ugh #oof #idw prowl is the bane of my existence #i love g1 prowl