#romance is strictly in the eye of the beholder

[mosylufanfic]

I have a rebelcaptain prompt for you (i was thinking modern au, but whatever catches your fancy:

Cassian is planning on proposing, and he’s getting a bunch of tips from all kinds of people. Most people say to get her a ring, preferably with diamonds, either one big ass one or several, but he knows that’s not right for her. He ends up finding something that most people wouldn’t think of as “appropriate” (for example a knife of a type of less valuable mineral.

The moment I read this prompt, I remembered my Valentine's story from a few years ago. So this is a sequel.

Send me a prompt for NaNo!

It's About the Bling

Cassian swiped through the website, frowning to himself.

"What are you looking at?"

He jumped and scrambled to switch off his phone. "Nothing."

His friend narrowed his eyes, setting their coffees down on the table between them. "That is impossible. You were looking at something." He narrowed his eyes further. "Something that you don't want me to know about. Is this a - " He looked disdainful. "A surprise for me?"

"I know better," Cassian said. Kay didn't take well to surprises or big changes. Or unexpected news. Or mild inconveniences. "It has nothing to do with you."

"That's exactly the subterfuge you would undertake if you were planning a surprise."

He grimaced. He'd probably better come clean right now or Kay might never speak to him again when he did find out. "Okay," he sighed, holding the phone out. "This is what I was looking at."

Kay surveyed the screen. "You don't wear jewelry," he said. "Especially not rings. And these look very expensive. Why were you looking at them?"

"Really?" Cassian said.

"Yes, really, why were you looking at them?"

"Kay," he said. "Kay, I'm, uh, I'm planning to propose. To Jyn," he added, as if Kay might think he wanted to marry anybody other than his adored girlfriend of three years, who lived with him, and who had a semi-serious ongoing war with Kay. 

Kay was silent for several seconds, then handed his phone back. "Today was going so well."

-

Kes was much more excited for him. "That's amazing, man! It's about time!" He pounded him on the back. "Wait til I tell Shara! Oh, should I keep this a secret?"

"Why?"

"Well, Shara and Jyn go to the same kickboxing class. But she can keep her lips zipped if she has to."

"What, you think Jyn doesn't know?"

"Um?" Kes scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah?"

"We've talked about it," Cassian said. "I wasn't even sure she was up for marriage. But she says as long as it's to me, she's in."

Kes looked disappointed. "So you basically already proposed."

"Not really. I mean, it's not official."

"Man, you really have no idea about romance."

"Just because I'm not booking a mariachi band and a glitter cannon for my proposal."

"Took me days to get that shit out of my hair," Kes said cheerfully. "But she was surprised."

"Glitter cannons aren't really Jyn," Cassian said. He wasn't a hundred percent sure it was Shara, either, but whatever, she'd married Kes. Clearly it had worked. 

"Please tell me you're at least getting her a decent ring."

"Well, I'm trying."

-

"Mmm," Bodhi said. "Hmmm. Hunh."

Jyn put one of his couch pillows over her face. "They're all glittery," she said.

"I mean," he said. "They're nice." He was scrolling through the email that Cassian had sent to Jyn, with different rings he'd found. 

"I don't do glittery!"

"I know you don't, but this is going to be your engagement ring."

"Right. That I've got to wear. All day."

"Your entire life," Bodhi said.

"Fuck," Jyn said.

 "Hey." He tossed her phone aside. "You okay about this? You never really wanted to get married."

"I know, but it's Cassian. It wouldn't be like being married. It'd just be us. Together. You know?"

"Yeah, that's what being married is," Bodhi said. "Just you, together. With a whole legal component."

"No, I mean, I never wanted to be someone's little wifey, making casseroles and shit. How's your day, here's your slippers and your newspaper. A house in the burbs. White picket fence. A dog and two-point-five kids."

"I think you've watched way too many old sitcoms," Bodhi said. "You know it's not 1956, right?"

"Right, yeah, I know, but my point is, Cassian wouldn't want that anyway. So I'm not, uh, like  - "

"Scared?" Bodhi suggested.

She bared her teeth at him, which was how he knew he was right. "I want to be married to him," she said, picking up the phone and looking at the screenful of glitter and bling with a resigned expression. "I just have to get through all the wedding shit first."

-

"Did you get my email?" Cassian asked that night as they were putting dinner together.

"Yeah," she said, focusing hard on the carrots that she was slicing into perfect round coins. 

He was teaching her how to cook, because the last time it had been her turn to cook at the firehouse, all the others on shift had dialed out for pizza without even letting her try. Which was a little insulting. But maybe what she deserved, considering she'd had to take a fire extinguisher to her last attempt at dinner, and she was still weathering the teasing from that. 

"And," he prompted. "What did you think?"

Jyn swerved her thoughts from finding fire extinguishers in her locker to the ring pictures Cassian had sent her. "I - they, uh - "

He switched off the burner under the sauce and turned to her. "Jyn."

Faced with his stupid big brown eyes, she folded. "I hated them," she groaned. "I'm sorry. I know you must have spent hours picking those out. But they're just - they weren't - "

"You," he said. "They weren't you."

"No."

He rubbed his hand over his face. "I knew that," he admitted. "But Kes was all like, you need a rock, you need bling, she's gonna want to show it off."

"A rock would cut my gloves up," she said. "Although, you know Cinta? The one in my EMT classes? She puts her engagement ring on a chain. So that's not completely a no-go."

"Do you really want a rock?"

"No," she said. "Not those. And they were so expensive. We can't afford that."

"Well, those places are set up with payment plans," he said. 

"Great. So you can still be paying off my engagement ring when we're eighty and feeding each other applesauce."

He kissed her forehead. "You'll be very sexy eating applesauce." 

"Perv." She flipped him off and went back to slicing carrots. "Just find me something simple. That's all. And less blingy. And not that expensive."

"So, something small and cheap," he mused. "Where's the nearest gumball machine?"

She threw a carrot at him.

-

He was still teasing her about it when they visited the sweets shop on the corner, their next mutual day off. "Look," he said, fishing around the bin of Ring Pops that Chirrut insisted on having for the children. "Green or purple?"

Baze looked disgusted. "Since when do you eat solidified corn syrup?"

"Since always, but not here. He's making fun of me." She leaned on the counter, squinting at his hand. "Here, Baze, lemme see your ring."

He held out his hand. It was a simple platinum ring without outward decoration, but she knew from listening to Chirrut tell the story that it had the date they'd met carved on the inside. It was thick and plain and secretly sentimental, just like Baze. "Why the sudden interest?" he asked.

"Oh, well, uh - " She shrugged. "You know. We're planning on it." She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "Me and this idiot here."

He smiled, slow and quiet, and covered her hand with his. "Congratulations. I'm happy for you. Both of you," he added as Cassian came up, looping his arm around her from behind.

"Thank you," he said, kissing Jyn's cheek. 

She blinked against sudden tears. "Thanks. Um. What'd you do? You and Chirrut."

"For this? Ordered it."

"No, did you have an engagement ring or something?" How did that work? 

"We got married as soon as we could. We knew we belonged to each other. Who else matters?"

-

The thing was, Jyn did want something to mark her engagement. Maybe for Chirrut and Baze, just knowing had been fine. But she wanted something she could look at and touch and think, yeah, he gave that to me and I'm his and he's mine. 

But nothing they looked at seemed to fit. 

Solitaires and channel set and plain. Diamonds and emeralds and rubies. Nothing looked like anything she could wear for a lifetime. And so fucking expensive. Even when they looked for rings that didn't have anything to do with weddings or engagements, it all seemed marked up to the moon. 

"There's a gem and mineral show coming to town," Cassian suggested after one particularly tense browsing session. "Why don't we just go look?"

"You know what happened at the jewelry store," she muttered. They'd been asked, nicely but very firmly, never to come back. Fine by her. 

"I've worked security for the show before," Cassian said. "Nobody's on commission and it's a lot cheaper. Come on. We don't have to pick anything. Just look at things and figure out if anything looks even close to what you want."

"Fine," she sighed.

-

Parking at the convention center was a nightmare, and Jyn was ready to commit homicide by the time she walked in. But it definitely wasn't the jewelry store, with its bright lights and rows of glass cases, and the salesgirls with shiny white teeth and too much perfume not-very-subtly suggesting that carat size equated to how much Cassian loved her. 

This was more like a bazaar, crammed with people, booth after booth with something different everywhere you looked. Strands of beads and costume jewelry and giant hunks of rocks and rock-hound supplies and - 

"Meteorites," she breathed, stopping dead at a booth. "Really meteorites?"

"Got 'em on the Aldhani Plain in Antarctica. A lot of meteorites are harvested there because - "

"You can see them on the snow," she finished, reaching for one. 

"That one'll run you about three hundred dollars."

She curled her fingers into her palm again. "Shit, that's a lot."

"For that size and quality? I could get twice that online, but it's a special show price. We've got some smaller ones over here."

She hovered over the display, looking at meteorites that looked almost lacy, and others melted to smoothness by the heat of them screaming through the atmosphere, and others with blobs of different minerals polka-dotting their surface. 

"Hey," Cassian said. 

She didn't ask how he'd found her. He always seemed to find her. "Look at this," she said gleefully. "It came from fucking outer space. Cruised the solar system and then burned through the atmosphere. Millions of miles of stardust before it landed here for a bunch of apes in clothes to gawk at it."

"That's really cool," he said. 

"Look, this one's magnetic."

He smiled at her, then caught the booth owner's eye. "You got any jewelry?" 

She looked up. He mouthed, Just look, at her. 

"Sure," said the booth owner. "Pendants? Rings?"

"Rings."

He pulled out a tray. They were closer to what Jyn wanted. Simple, not expensive. Nothing that jumped up and down yelling her name, but closer. "Some nice ones here. What's your ring size?" he asked Cassian.

"Not me," he said. "Her."

"Oh, well, here's the ones for ladies." The owner pulled out another tray, this one with a locking glass lid. These rings were smaller, but considerably blingier, diamonds and colored stones glittering with blackish-grey meteorite accents set in the bands. 

"Oh," Jyn said. "Uh. Not those." She smiled tightly.

"We've got some simpler designs up on this row - "

She barely glanced at them. "Nah. I'm good."

"I could do a commission - "

"Let's go." She grabbed Cassian's hand. 

"Hey," he said when they were a few steps away. "Wait a minute."

"Sorry," she said, looking at his shirtfront. 

He pushed her hair out of her eyes. "You liked those meteorites. I thought - "

She shook her head. "They weren't right. Nothing's right."

He paused for a long moment. The babble of the gem show filled her ears. "Do you even want a ring?"

Her eyes shot to his. "You know I want to marry you." Did he think she was chickening out? Trying to softball her way out of forever with him?

"And I want to marry you," he said, intensely patient. Fuck, she didn't deserve this man. "Does it have to be a ring for our engagement? Can it be something else?"

She blinked at him. Rings equaled engagement. Everyone knew that. What else could - "Like what?"

He wove his fingers through hers. "Let's go look."

-

"Well," Kay said in the tones of a man who'd been carefully coached and possibly threatened. "It is unique."

"Yup," Jyn said happily, letting the pendant on its silver chain drop back to her chest. They'd decided to throw a barbeque as an engagement party and their tiny backyard was crammed with what felt like everyone they knew. 

"I mean," Bodhi said, intensely fair, "a meteorite necklace. It's really you, Jyn."

"Pallasite," she said. "Came screaming through the atmosphere, and it melted and reformed into a bunch of olivine crystals embedded in solid metal. Cassian, show them yours."

He fished his pendant out of his shirt. It was slightly bigger, and a different shape. But it matched Jyn's. 

"So you," Kes said. "You both bought an engagement . . . pendant? For yourselves?"

"I bought hers and she bought mine," Cassian said. "And we've asked the guy to make the wedding rings. Gold with embedded meteorite."

"And you proposed right there. In front of the meteorites."

"People clapped," Jyn said. "There's a video somewhere online."

"I don't get you."

"What's not to get?" his wife asked him. "You got me bling because I love bling." She fluttered her fingers at him and her engagement ring glittered. "Jyn and Cassian are like the definition of alternative."

"I've just never heard of a guy wearing an engagement necklace, that's all."

Chirrut said, "Baze, remember our old friends Rex and Cody? They did that, to mark their union."

Baze said. "1973. Matching pendants with silver and sapphires. Nothing new under the sun, younglings."

"I guess," Kes said. "But - "

"Why should she get all the jewelry?" Cassian said. "Besides, when the light hits it just right - " He held up his pendent to the light and twisted it a few times to different angles.  "Ah." He smiled. "It looks like her eyes."

"Sap," Jyn said, and kissed him. 

FINIS

#Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso #rebelcaptain #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #NaNo stories #modern AU #romance is strictly in the eye of the beholder #star wars

[levans44]

Apartment #3 - Chapter 6

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

taglist: @tsofo26 @yvonneeeee @cass0419 @nekoannie-chan @felicitylemon @nada3000 @rorilisa @observantplum-blog @strepsils123 @mrsevans90 @smhnxdiii @rorilisa

A loud ding from the timer marks 40 minutes.

She peers into her oven, nervously eyeing her little experiment—the best, fudgiest brownies EVER! as proclaimed by a complete stranger on the internet, but she figured that the thousands of likes and online reviews had to count for something,

She went all out for this particular recipe, fishing for ingredients she’s never even heard of—dutch processed cacao, single origin chocolate, maldon sea salt. Seeing as how she’s never really had luck with baking, she’s not sure why she had chosen such a complex recipe. And just to pack on the pressure, there was a lot riding on these particular brownies. It’s the only reason why, after the second time she knocks over the bag of flour while reaching for the whisk, she doesn’t give up, hastily wiping up the mess through gritted teeth. 

Because despite Fury’s orders to sustain minimal contact with her target, she could never stand to be in debt. 

And during these past few weeks, she’d been indebted to Steve in more ways than one.

With these brownies, she figured they were more or less even. 

One last time, and she could be done for good.

She waits impatiently, fingers drumming on the counter while the bake cools, before cutting up the brownies and draping some aluminum foil on top. She slides the tray off the counter and scoops it into her arms, balancing Steve’s thermos on top.

She slips out of her apartment and makes her way across the hall.

A tentative knock on apartment #4, then once more when no one responds after a little while. 

Must not be home. Great. She’ll just return his thermos some other time and take the brownies to work—it’ll earn her a few much-needed brownie points with her coworkers anyway. 

She’s just about to turn on her heels and head back across the hall, when she hears his door jerk open, revealing Steve in a white tank top and grey sweats. Her eyes falter for a second, a little taken aback by Steve’s unfamiliarly casual attire.

Eyes wide, he smiles, leaning forward with his palm resting on the door frame.

“Jess! Hey,” His brows furrow a little, eyes flitting down to the tray weighing down her arms. 

“Hey, Steve.” She nods, eyes still fixated on how relaxed he seems in his pajamas, before it suddenly sinks in that this might be his rare day off from work. The last thing he’d probably want is her company. 

She’s just about ready to thrust the brownies and thermos in his arms and run off, panic rising in her throat.

“Uhm, I’m just here to—“

“—hey, Steve, that the pizza guy?”

A male voice shouts from inside the apartment.

Shit, he’s got company. So definitely not a good time.

Steve swivels around, calling back to whoever is in his living room “Uh, no, Buck,  it’s my…”

He turns back to her, eyes hesitating with an unreadable emotion.  

“… my neighbor, Jess.” He finishes quietly. 

Though her heart already sinks at the mention of his name, her stomach churns a second time when she hears footsteps approach Steve’s side. And low and behold, there he was—the infamous Winter Soldier and Steve’s best friend. It’s the first time she’s seen Bucky Barnes in person, and he’s just as formidable as Steve at first glance—biceps bulging through a red Henley shirt, metal hand sticking out like a sore thumb under his sleeve, not concealed with the glove SHIELD advises him to wear during public outings. He immediately sticks his hand into the pocket of his jeans, surveying her reaction to see if she’d noticed. She feigns innocence, smiling politely.

Yet, not everything’s true to her memory. 

His hair’s a little shorter than how she’d pictured, and his eyes a little lighter, a strain of hazel running through the cool blue. Any lingering sense of intimidation dissolves when he smiles, casting a sideways glance at Steve then back down at her.

“So this is Jess, huh?” He smirks, leaning forward as he extends his flesh hand in greeting.

“Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

‘So this is Jess.’

That, and the way Steve’s perks up at Bucky’s words, the tips of his ears blooming crimson, could only mean one thing. It’s a glaringly obvious truth that she tries oh-so-hard to avoid. 

Instead, she glances down sheepishly at the tray of brownies in her arms, then back up at Bucky’s extended hand. 

“Oh, hey, let me get that for you.” Steve quickly reaches forward, taking the tray from her arm. She shoots him an appreciative smile before tentatively taking Bucky’s hand, feeling more than overwhelmed by not one but two super soldiers now crowding the doorway. 

Bucky’s grip is more calloused than Steve’s, fingers shorter and thicker. His grip is just as strong and warm, though, and the charming grin he flashes her way leaves her wondering whether he’s just as… forward in meetings with other strangers. The rumor around her office had always painted him as the silent, brooding type. 

“I-I was just gonna return your thermos, and uh…” her voice falters, gaze trailing over to the way Bucky was leaning over the tray still in Steve’s hands, lifting the aluminum foil on top curiously. Bucky looks back down at her, smiling sheepishly. 

“Sorry, these smell amazing. Are they… shit, Steve, they’re brownies.”

“Buck.” Steve mutters, subtly nudging his best friend’s side as he angles the tray away.

“Yeah, I baked ‘em this morning.” She nods, giving Bucky an awkward smile. She tucks her hair behind her ear, shifting her weight between her feet. 

Her gaze trails over to the blonde, who’s giving her that familiar warm smile.

“You didn’t have to Jess, really. Thank you.” 

His gaze is so earnest, voice deep as he thanks her. She can only nod hastily in response, swallowing thickly.

Steve clears his throat, taking another step toward her, and gestures toward the apartment with his head. 

“Do you… do you wanna come in for a bit? Bucky and I were just about to put on a film.” 

And maybe it was the endearing way he still uses the word film instead of movie.

Or the way he seemed so different from his usual put-together look—hair light and soft, standing up in small, unruly peaks as if he hadn’t styled it since he’s woken up. A white sleeveless shirt, clad tightly across his pecs, grey sweats hanging low over his hips. 

Or, maybe, it was just his characteristic way of making an honest offer—warm and earnest, without any pretense of false politeness. 

Whatever the reason, she finds herself nodding, slipping past Bucky as he steps aside to let her inside.

Steve carefully sets the tray on his kitchen island, quietly chastising Bucky when he immediately starts to fiddle with the aluminum, trying to sneak a piece. She shuffles awkwardly around the kitchen island, so that there’s 40 inches of beige linoleum between her and the two super soldiers. She refrains from peering around the rest of the apartment out of politeness. From what appears in her peripheral vision, though, she can tell that the layout of his house is pretty much the same as her own.

“Those are for me, jerk.” Steve mutters quietly, the corner of his lip quirking up in a smile as Bucky’s starts to pull a slice off of the tray. 

“Sharing’s carin’ Stevie.” Bucky mumbles nonchalantly, 

Steve gives in with a joking sigh, leaning against the counter as he looks up at her, brows raised.

“Do you want a piece, Jess?” 

“Oh, no, I’m okay thank—“

“—holy shit.” She’s cut off by Bucky’s loud moan, holding up a corner piece with a large section already bitten off. 

“Fuck, that’s amazing, Steve. You gotta try it.”

Bucky chews as he glances up at her, eyes glinting under the kitchen light. He swallows, licking his lips before asking:

“You a baker, Jess?”

Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, walking around the counter and reaching for a roll of paper towels at the other end. 

“She’s a nurse, Buck.” 

Bucky’s brows raise at that, eyes lighting up with renewed interest as he sinks his teeth in, taking another bite.

“You must like saving people, then, huh? Like Stevie here.” He juts his elbow toward his friend, who rolls his eyes and shoots her an apologetic glance. She tries to stifle a smile, settling down in one of the kitchen bar stools, feeling a little more relaxed as the two Avengers continue to bicker bout how many pieces Bucky’s allowed to steal from Steve’s tray.

“Bucky’s right, though, Jess. This is phenomenal. How long have you been baking?”

The truthful answer would have been 5 hours. Instead, though, she gives him a smile, shrugging innocently as she answers:

“Not long. Started a couple years ago.”

She figured the whole ‘home-baker’ thing tracked with Jess’s character—alongside the whole wide-eyed, girl-next-door look.  

“So what movie are we watching?”

She asks nonchalantly—a clumsy attempt at shifting the conversation away from herself, but it works nonetheless.

Bucky sighs dramatically at the question, while Steve shoots him an amused glance.

“Well…” Bucky starts, picking up another brownie square before walking around the kitchen island toward the living room. 

“… Steve was trying to convince me to watch Star Wars with him.” He sighs nonchalantly, plopping down on the living room couch. 

And she can’t help but let out a surprised snort at that, hand immediately flying over to her mouth to stifle the noise. Mortified, she glances over sheepishly at Steve. 

Leaned forward with both palms on the kitchen counter, Steve looks up at her with a raised brow, a slight twitch in the corner of his lip.

“Sorry, I just… that’s the last movie I would’ve guessed for you.” She murmurs quietly, still stifling a smile.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Steve shoots back almost immediately, his lips breaking open in an amused grin.

“Well, it’s just, you know… kinda nerdy?”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. 

“That’s fair.”

From across the room, Bucky laughs too, scrolling carelessly through the TV channels as he tosses out a comment in their direction.

“Oh, you thought he was cool, Jess?”

She leans forward in her seat, staring directly into Steve’s eyes as a new sense of adoration blooms in her chest. 

Who would’ve thought that Captain America was secretly a geek?

She shrugs, a small smile tugging on her lips as she mutters:

"I'd like to think so."

And despite the fact that the rest of the night is filled with nothing but trivial moments, she feels the knot in her stomach growing tighter with each second she spends with Steve.

When he patted the spot on the couch next to him, gesturing for her to sit down, the fabric of his sweats brushing against her as he shifted to make room. The scent of soft oak and fresh linen as he occasionally leaned into her side, pointing out nerdy tidbits about the Star Wars franchise, eager to share the comforting alcove of fiction he’d found in the 21st century. 

Or even when the pizza delivery arrived and she finally got a peek at the box, discovering the name of his favorite pizza place. She had glanced over at Steve instinctively, lips stretched in a knowing smile as they exchanged a look completely unbeknownst to Bucky. 

With Steve, her heart beats immeasurably faster at the littlest of things.

And it fills her with more dread than she can bear. 

Apartment #3 Masterlist

note: aaaand after an eternity and a half, she finally makes an update. we've got some more shameless flirting coming up folks, brace yourselves

#mcu #marvel mcu #mcu fic #marvel fic #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fanfiction #angst #eventual fluff #eventual smut #eventual romance #friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #neighbors au #mutual pining #neighbor steve rogers #apartment 3 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #steve rogers/bucky barnes #stucky

[seeingteacupsindragons]

This is a bit of an odd question, but what makes a character moral? Like, is it more about whether or not they strictly adhere to their own ideas of rignt and wrong or does it have to do with following what the society they live in deems morally correct? Can a character be a bad person and still be depicted as moral?(By the way, your blog posts are wonderfully well thought out and you deserve all the praise for it.)

This is such a complicated question, Anon. And a bit more philosophical than I expected today.

(Thank you for the compliments, by the way, but let’s get into the question)

Let’s start with some definitions.

A moral is a particular (usually somewhat specific) idea of right and wrong centered in religious roots.

An ethic is a particular (usually somewhat specific) idea of what is right and wrong centered in non-religious roots. These tend to be somewhat more widespread among people than morals, but are not really any less culturally biased.

A social more is as social or cultural tradition and accepted practice within that society.

A principle is a strongly held belief that guides a person’s actions.

Now.

Since these things all vary person-to-person, because of their religious understanding and social environment, their own innate personality, etc., what actions or beliefs are moral or ethical is rather in the eye of the beholder. Some people view queer behavior as immoral. Others don’t.

As for what makes a person or character moral, that would typically be someone who follows moral rules as determined by whoever’s deciding that.

As for what is a bad person, Anon, that’s a huge judgment to make about people and characters and generally speaking, I don’t find it helpful. Actions, ideas, and behaviors are more useful to judge than someone’s innate character in my opinion.

Additionally, none of those definitions above necessarily go together. Tax fraud is generally unethical most places, but plenty of religions really don’t get into tax fraud as a right/wrong thing, you know? A character can be strongly principled with an internal code they adhere to entirely without following anyone else’s idea of moral or ethical standards. If you have a bounty hunter who picks targets for traits and handles their catches all the same way, and if he finds himself targeted for those traits and expects to be treated the same way he has treated people—well, they’re strongly principled. They have great integrity.. But if that treatment includes abusive practices, is that…ethical? Is it moral? If bounty hunting is a socially disgraceful hobby, they are also not following social mores and society might disagree with his practices.

But the beholder for whether a character is moral or bad comes at three angles: the author, the narrator, and the reader. And these angles things may not agree on what they’re seeing.

Generally speaking, the story and narrative structure will give you some idea of whether or not the character should be viewed as correct in their behavior and beliefs. It might come to fruition in the way their character arc ends, how their actions affect themselves, the plot, and the story around them and what it does. How they feel about. How others feel about it. What the consequences are. A narrator is not necessarily the author, either: they might be deeply frustrated by how the story is portraying the actions of loved one. Someone who has forgiven a character might see them as much more moral than the plot and structure of the story does.

For example: there’s a weird, relatively small (thankfully, and mostly in Christian Romance) trend in romance novels to make high-ranking Nazis into romantic heroes for the protagonist (who is quite often Jewish). Now, I think a lot of people, even most people (who aren’t Nazis…), would see a Nazi as a bad person. An immoral person. An unethical person. Someone who was perhaps following the social mores of their time and place, but also who committed actions that are unrepentable and unforgiveable.

And yet in the context of a romance of course, they are shown to be lovable, forgivable, worthy of desire, etc. Some kind of Good or Valuable. Probably some kind of moral, because, Christian Romance, amiright? Because that’s the point of a romance novel. To show how and why a woman (a Jewish woman!) would love this man to root for them to build a life together and forgive and empathize with…

With, well, a Nazi. And his actions and his reasons for his actions.

But does the reader agree with that? Would an outside narrator? Say this Nazi romance was narrated by her sister. Would the narrator agree he’s a good person, even if all the details of the plot say what he did was fine?

Whether or not a character is moral is your own determination, Anon, and no one else can make that choice for you. How a character is depicted, however, is a thing entirely uncoupled.

[deviant3lover]

Markus 🥵 🔥 💐

🥵 Is your OC perceived as physically attractive to others? Is it at first glance or is it something that takes more time to reach fruition?

It’s a bit of both, though some people can relate more to the former than the latter. Markus is appealing, but he has his own drawbacks found in his personality.

As of Retribution, Markus is perceived to be the sort of hot that you’d associate with a cozy, attractive looking retiree. Stubble, worn neutral clothes, subtle experienced veteran vibes, scarred hands, disinterested eyes, all the like: all to maintain his cover. (He doesn’t particularly enjoy his actual looks like this.)

Even so, he does consciously maintain an unapproachable persona to discourage people from approaching him, usually by looking like he’s in a foul or pensive mood. His persona is given more character with sleepless eyes and an irritable attitude. 

At his finest, say for a once-in-a-lifetime fancy event that he’s genuinely looking forward to, Markus is quite gorgeous. 

Fierce gunmetal grey eyes, sleek and sharp classy suits, fine golds and blacks (with orange accents) tracing the contours of his body, Markus is quite the sight for sore eyes. His attitude changes to become something more genuine as well, clever wit that stings like a whip, and a smooth talking charm to lure in his subjects of interests- or alternatively, disarm and intimidate anyone he doesn’t care for. 

Of course, this is all for people he’d actually want to get close to. For everyone else, he’s just another handsome stranger stalking the edges of the circles of the elite. Looking like he belongs, shunning the spotlight all the same.

🔥 What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

(Behold: a rare image of what will happen if Markus reaches 100% Blushing Mess! He absconds like there is no tomorrow in an attempt to save his dignity!)

Ooohhh, tough question. Markus is pretty hard to fluster in general. To get him riled up, certain conditions have to be met.

The first and most crucial one is that whatever affectionate come-on has to be heartfelt/sincere, and coming in at a close second is that it has to catch him off guard. 

This is the reason why his Chargestep romance was a very reluctant slow burn in his Sidestep days. Ricardo doesn’t do vulnerable, and he flirts so often that whatever flirtations or compliments he sends in Markus’s way are brushed off or dismissed entirely- not to mention, even if Ricardo followed the conditions correctly, he still has a history of being a self-satisfied, smug ass about it that it’d probably kill off any real chance of getting Markus flustered. His love for Ricardo developed very, very slowly as he came to understand the man through the years. 

One person that follows this model successfully, and on a regular basis, is Chen. 

Markus had not expected him at the dog park, which already set the tone and foreshadowed how their future interactions were going to evolve. 

He did not expect Chen to have a crush on Ricardo + be gay. 

He did not expect him to open up like he did about Soo.

He did not expect him to… smile at Markus, like that. 

All in all, the Steelstep romance developed much faster than what Markus is normally comfortable with. Chen is constantly keeping him off balance and flustered, to the point where Markus is seriously considering paying for quality Marshal Steel porn just to get the attraction out of his system and finally get him and his feelings to calm down.

(Whether he follows through on this or not is strictly classified on his end, he will not admit anything one way or the other. But you can imagine how well it would go…)

 💐 What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

It really depends! Markus likes taking stock of other people’s personalities before augmenting his own courting style to properly woo them. If it’s too different from Markus’s own personality and capabilities, however, he’ll likely drop it and let his attraction die off.

For @allens-chocolate-dreams’s Matheus Carvalho, Markus takes on a more subdued approach at first. Matheus is shy and withdrawn, and Markus had made the first move while they were both visiting the same bar- sending him a drink and a note asking him about his tech work. Matheus is reluctant to enter relationships thanks to his ‘all or nothing’ approach to them, and Markus understood that deeply. He opted to slowly build up their bond through more personal encounters and hang outs, starting off with invitations to each other’s homes, and gradually growing in more intimate encounters. 

For Ricardo, Markus was not planning to court him at all at first. Back in the Farm, Markus (and some other Re-Genes) perceived flirting to be an antagonistic act. (There are several reasons for this.) Even though Markus was completely aware that it had different connotations in most human cultures, he, like many people at the time, believed Ricardo was straight. 

He initially flirted with Charge in a ‘civil’ (passive-aggressively) way to tell him to back off. 

So, back then: Markus was a little aggressive. He flirted back as a challenge, and his sense of courtship straddled the lines between rivalry and escalating sexual tension. It was a power high for him to get Ricardo to blush, and even more so when he made him flustered. Those were exceptionally rare. 

It wasn’t until some years later that he realised that he eventually came to love Ricardo, his feelings developed from seeing and bonding with other facets to him that wasn’t the infuriating Charge persona.

In a similar vein, Markus did not intend to romance Chen at all. His realisation of his developing feelings + attraction over the past months was only truly realised in the diner, when Chen is revealed to have a crush on him. A then frazzled and freaked out Markus forced himself to calm down and regroup about this later on… only for Karen to intervene and ruin his plans by talking to Chen.

And it was all downhill from there…

#Fhr #Markus deavor

[gay-impressionist]

Berena Fic Rec

Bernie x Serena (Holby City, BBC)

Disclaimer : I have never watched the entire show, only Berena scenes because they're hella cute (if you’re interested i can give you some links)

Thank you a million times @thasminlove for making me discover them ❤️

Without further ado here are my favorite Berena fics, in no particular order :

Wonderland by ddagent : 11k, Christmas fluff, meet-cute

Bernie and Serena meet at Holby Christmas market in 2001, 2011 and finally 2018

Murder on the streets of Holby by Squishmitten/@squishmittenficfan : 57k, Murder AU, slow burn

Where Bernie is a Detective Chief Inspector and Edward has been murdered. If you liked Gemma Redgrave as DI Jill Raymond in Silent Witness (meaning, if you're wlw because damn that waistcoat) please read this

if you want to be happy in a million ways by lavenderseaslug : 8k, Christmas fluff

Serena is alone for the holidays so Bernie brings her to her parents' house. They're not together at first. Pure fluff

concerto for two (hopeless hearts just passing through) by spilled_notes : 48k, slow burn, Teachers AU

Where Bernie and Serena are teachers at Holby Community School

Eye of the Beholder by kooili/@kooili158 : 72k, slowburn

Bernie has traveled across the world as an ophtalmologist to help isolated communities before deciding to settle down in Holby at Keller's Opticians. Serena, vascular surgeon at Holby City, needs glasses

her heart drinks wine by @ktlsyrtis & lavenderseaslug : 13k, no angst

Bernie and Serena meet at a wine club

Bake the Yuletide Gay by sevtacular/@slightlyintimidating : 6k, Christmas fluff, Bakery AU

Bernie is a renowned baker who opens a shop in Holby. Serena both falls in love with the pastries and the woman behind the counter... not knowing that it is Bernie herself.

shut up and dance with me by spilled_notes : 32k, Ballroom dancing, angst

Bernie and Serena discover they both love dancing and it becomes their thing outside of the hospital. Otherwise canon-compliant until after Kyiv

I’m a thousand miles away (but girl tonight you look so pretty) by spilled_notes : 17k, Journalists AU

Serena is one of the BBC’s top newsreaders and Bernie is a correspondent based in Middle East. They have a crush on each other

chapter two, i feel in love with you by @ktlsyrtis, lavenderseaslug : 15k, Author AU

Where Serena is a successful romance author who Bernie reads with passion as she is stationed in Afghanistan, so of course she goes to her book signing when the chance arises

Paradise Gained by ProfessorFlimflam : 27k

Serena is on holidays on a Thai island. Bernie is the owner of her resort

The Wrong Side of Fifty by @daisydoctor13​ : 63k, slow burn

Serena’s colleagues assume she’s queer and set her up on a blind date with Bernie. She assumes Bernie is a man and agrees

A Certain Step by sevtacular/@slightlyintimidating : 106k, slow burn, Ballroom dancing, AU

Bernie is a podcast host who is invited on Strictly Come Dancing. Serena is one of the professional dancers.

EDIT : i went through the reblogs and put the tumblr handles of the people i could connect to ao3 accounts. if i didn't, please tell me so i can credit you! 😊

#i know nearly no one knows this ship but idc #i love them so much #and the fics for this fandom are *chef's kiss* #berena #bernie x serena #serena x bernie #holby city #bernie wolfe #serena campbell #fic rec

[rosy-cheekx]

Peeling Labels

Aspec Week, Day 7: Something New-- @aspecarchivesweek

an exploration of Jon and demisexuality! As a demisexual mspec person, a lot of this is based on my own anxieties as an aspec person and not being “ace enough.” (thanks to @ombreblossom for listening to me try to parse out how being demi feels and how to word it for the fic.)

Rated T for reference to a sex dream, but no explicit language/smut words used!

-

Jon has a weird relationship with labels. Labels are good, they categorize and compartmentalize feelings, situations, states of being. An archivist’s dream, really. But when they are applied to Jon, either by himself or someone else, they feel non-Newtonian, as if holding onto the word for too long causes it to slip through his fingers.

Usually, it’s fine. He knows that labels don’t really matter, but they still feel good. It’s comforting to know that he isn’t broken or a liar or confused; there are people in the world who share a word with him. They are bonded under a flag of black, white, purple, and grey.

Jon had set the precedent quickly, with Martin, on the first night they had been in Jon’s flat, pressed against a doorframe and exploring each other with gentle urgency. “I-ah, Martin,” he had broken away from Martin’s lips, eyes shining with a mix of adoration and anxiety. “I don’t think I’ve told you before, but I’m asexual. Just-uh, well. Thought you should know.”

Martin had nodded, eyes soft and full of understanding. “Okay. Do we have a boundary I should know?” The answer was yes: anything below the belt was strictly off limits, to give or to receive. And that was that. Martin was the perfect gentleman, checking in constantly whenever they were in the heat of a moment. The rule remained and was never crossed. Rules have labels and that label was: asexual.

 Except, it wasn’t that easy. God forbid anything was easy for Jon. Labels are nice and they’re helpful to the part of Jon that craves structure, order. He’d found his ace identity while dating Georgie, after she gently asked him what was up after his third gentlemanly refusal of her advances. He had stammered out that he liked her, but didn’t want sex, at all, and he didn’t want her to be upset with him. And of course she wasn’t, because she’s Georgie, and she helped him find the word asexual, that glorious, blessed word that made so many frustrations and doubts slot into place.

Their romance didn’t end because of his aceness, far from it in fact. In fact, honestly, they were probably together as long as they were because their friendship was the strongest part of their relationship. But god, they were too similar to be in love. They were both too stubborn, too determined, unable to reach compromise when it came to the silliest things like movie nights (Jon found Georgie’s Lord of the Rings box set far too long and far too pretentious for his taste) or how their cupboards should be arranged. Their relationship was something they could win, and they were both determined to be the victor.

In the end, they both lost.

--

While Jon and Georgie had been a couple first, friends second, he and Martin had a foundation. There was friendship, shared trauma, a love that surpassed romantic and dug into something deeper. When they’re in bed and the dark is warm and heavy, limbs intertwined, Jon is reminded of the Greek myth of soulmates: a four armed, four legged being split in two, deemed to be too powerful by the gods. Sharing an essence, completing each other, making two halves whole. It makes Jon smile and kiss Martin’s forehead affectionately. They had been too powerful for the gods, hadn’t they? Unstoppable, really.

All this to say…what he has with Martin? It’s new. Something he has never experienced before. And it’s leading to a host of new, confusing experiences. He’s been in a relationship with Martin for nearly six months now. Jon really thought that at 32 years old, after battling down fear entity after fear entity in an apocalyptic hellscape, there were no new feelings he could experience. But here he was, lying awake, trying to trace patterns in the ceiling and understand the dream he had woken up from.

Not a nightmare. No, quite the opposite. Nightmares he knows how to deal with: slip out of bed, make a cup of tea or a glass of water, slip on the lamp by the bed, and cuddle into bed, reading quietly until sleep steals him away. But he does not know how to deal with this new dream of Martin, hovering above him, low voice stealing his breath and pressing kisses along his jaw, collarbone, shoulder as delicate, warm, strong hands brushed his body, dipping low with confidence. Jon woke up to a heat pooling in his core, tight and powerful, one he hadn’t experienced in such a way.

Jon has a libido, sure, but it’s always been a bodily desire, not a…what would you call this? Emotional one? He certainly never fantasized about another person, especially not someone he knew, that felt so invasive. He felt a flush heat his cheeks and chest as he pictured that image of Martin his subconscious has supplied him, above and around him with that concentration face he wears whenever he’s starting a puzzle or stuck on a particular difficult crossword, the one that always makes Jon grin and kiss his wrinkled forehead. But this one looked more heated, more filled with lust. And it… it affected him. Jon realized with a dawning that he liked it. A lot.

Jon glanced at the bedside clock and sighed at the blinking green 5:15 on the LED screen. Good a time as any to get a hot shower and let his feelings wash away with the soapy water. He extracted himself carefully from Martin’s warm arms and slipped into the ensuite, stripping to the sounds of water pounding from the showerhead and letting the steam and hot water envelop him. He scrubbed himself down harshly, watching suds rinse down his legs and down the drain, trying desperately to keep his mind off whatever that had been.

Once his skin was blotchy from heat, Jon decided he had enough. He slid into the flannel trousers he’d left abandoned on the floor of the loo and slipped back to bed, trying to do so without disrupting his sleeping boyfriend. Martin looked so lovely like this, auburn curls streaked with white plastered against the pillow and his forehead, mouth hung open and naked torso splayed so openly, so unguarded. He looked so lovely, the freckles smattered on his shoulders and stretch marks carving beautiful lines across his skin; the stars and the rivers below, a whole world in the work of art that is Martin Blackwood. How would he feel if he knew Jon had had that dream about him?

Jon’s staring, the lowercase-b-beholding of the man he loved was broken by Martin sleepily opening his eyes, a moment of confusion followed by focusing on Jon, who was kneeling on the edge of his side of the bed, captivated.

“Mmm. Hi there, love,” Martin mumbled, running a hand through his hair and sleepily glancing over at the clock. “You alright? Bad dream?”

Jon nodded; the spell broken. “Ah, yeah.” He couldn’t tell Martin, it was just a dream; he didn’t want to confuse Martin or worse, convince him he was a liar, that he wasn’t asexual, that it had all been to avoid-

Oh. Martin had spoken. He was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response. “Sorry, say it again?” Jon asked meekly, sliding back under the covers.

“Do you want to talk about it, Jon?” The voice was patient, so patient. Jon shook his head and tucked himself into Martin’s side, tying up his damp, freshly brushed hair out of the way.

“I don’t really remember it anymore.” Lies. “It mustn’t have been that bad.” Martin’s hands were cool on his skin, still warm from the shower, as they brushed over the planes of his face in a slow way, stroking his nose and cheeks and forehead in the way Martin always did when he wanted Jon to go back to sleep. With some reservation, Jon let himself fall back against the pillows.

--

Jon thought about “The Dream” quite a bit in the week that followed. He wanted to understand it: why it had happened at all, but also, why it was still affecting him. Every so often, between emails sent and papers graded, his mind would drift back to the image of Martin, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy, gazing down at him with such affection and Jon’s whole body would freeze up. Why was he suddenly attracted to Martin in such a new way? He loved that man with his whole being and yet, there was suddenly a new element, something unexpected, coming over the horizon. It’s been almost six months with Martin; why now?

The implications scared Jon. He had always identified as asexual; it was a core part of who he knew himself to be. Had it all been an unknowing lie? Had he just never been attracted to Georgie properly? Was it like when people get STIs; would he have to ring Georgie up and say, “hey, sorry to bother, I was never asexual, oops!”? He really didn’t want to have to do that. Would Martin be upset, angry that he had missed out on six months of potential sex just because Jon was…what? Prudish? Naïve? Afraid?

The worst part was that this…desire hadn’t come on all at once, he realized. He hadn’t even noticed the way his stomach would flip when Martin’s hands brushed his thighs, blaming his touch-based love language. It was in the way he stared at Martin when he couldn’t see it; eyes tracing his form and wondering what it would be like to feel every inch of him, in a way he had yet to experience. 

God he…had to tell Martin, didn’t he? He didn’t want to feel like a pervert in his own relationship, observing and imagining from afar without Martin’s knowledge. It felt…dirty.

--

Jon made dinner, nine days after the dream. Nothing extreme, tikka masala, rice, and garlic naan. Martin’s favorite. As he cooked, he vacillated between trying to plan out what he wanted to say and very-much-not-thinking about how the evening could end. The worst outcome, he imagined, was Martin storming out, betrayed and heartbroken. That…that probably wouldn’t happen. No, he knew Martin Blackwood. Better than anyone else in the world. That definitely wouldn’t happen. Lo-fi techno crooned through the speakers as Jon cooked and he let his thoughts float away with the music, trying to focus on the spices of dish he was making and not the knowledge that Martin would be home in ten-

Oh. Jon heard the shhlik of the door sliding against the welcome mat and felt his whole body tense up.

“Jon? You making dinner?” Martin’s voice was warm as he called through the entrance, he didn’t know yet what Jon was going to tell him, that it was all a lie-

“Yes!” Jon called back, determined to keep his voice light and casual. “Your favorite. Be ready in five, so get out of your work clothes.”

“Smells delicious,” Martin was behind him now, voice low against the shell of his ear. Jon felt a shiver run down his spine, to where his stomach and pelvis met and a ball of electricity crackled there, unbidden. Martin kissed the crook of his neck chastely and Jon froze, unsure how to reciprocate.

“You okay?” Martin’s chin was on his shoulder now, voice soft.

“Fine, fine. You smell like crayons. The cerulean one.” Jon nudged Martin away casually, trying to pass off a witty remark.

“Hazard of the job, I suppose. You know you love it,” Martin mercifully pulled his hands from Jon’s waist and retreated to the bedroom, and Jon exhaled in relief.

Jon plated the masala. Martin poured the wine. They sat down to dinner. Jon felt it all happen, was there for it all, but it passed in strange jerky stop-motion, and he couldn’t seem to slow it down. He couldn’t see to find the words, so elected for none at all, eating silently. Eye-contact would give away the anxiety brimming inside him, so he kept his eyes on his plate and the wine and the sleeve of Martin’s sweatshirt, anything but Martin’s warm hazel eyes that he knew so well.

“Jon.” He could hear it in Martin’s voice, the gentle prompting. He could hear the worry, the confusion. God, it was going to happen wasn’t it? He was going to tell Martin and what happened happened and he couldn’t do anything to change that. “How was your day?”

“I-ah. Martin.” He said, voice jerky, unable to find a rhythm that felt right. “I have something to tell you.” The words fell from his mouth in a tumble.

“Oh?”

“I. I had a dream?” Martin’s eyes widened and he set his fork down. “N-not one of the Eye’s dreams,” Jon reassures quickly. He really wished dreams weren’t such a theme in his life. “Not a statement dream, but a… different kind of dream.”

“I…I don’t follow.” Martin was confused, eyes searching Jon’s face.

“A dream…about you?” he tried, unable to add the words “sex dream” into his vocabulary quite yet.

“Oh. Oh!” Martin understood at last, eyebrows raised and forehead that adorable, confused wrinkle. “That’s, well, nice, I guess?” Jon’s face must have given way to his thoughts, as Martin tried again. “O-or maybe not?”

“Martin,” Jon steeled himself. “I…I think I’m maybe not asexual.” The words rang sharp in his ears, grating; they didn’t feel right. But it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what sort of explanation there could be.

When Jon dared to look into Martin’s face, he saw an expression he didn’t know how to parse. Furrowed eyebrows, eyes searching Jon’s face, head cocked slightly. “Okay. Because of the dream?”

“Um-kind of? But also…” Jon felt blood rush through his cheeks, was certain the Desolation had picked now to tear its way through him, and was grateful. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About you. In-in ways asexual people shouldn’t. A-and I thought you should know, because I didn’t want you to think I was lying to you and I don’t want to be having those thoughts without you knowing because that feels rude, in a way? Like I set a boundary but have been crossing it in my head this whole time?” Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Martin’s voice was even, level, hard to parse as he spoke. “Jon, can I ask you a question? Only because you seem upset and I want to try to help you.” Jon was frustrated. Why wouldn’t he have the decency to be upset? At a nod, Martin’s chair scraped backwards, and Jon found Martin kneeling him beside him, hands on his knees as Jon swiveled to face him. Taking his pockmarked hands in his own, Martin rubbed Jon’s knuckles slowly, tenderly.

“Have you ever felt those feelings before?” Jon shook his head meekly, certain the lump in his throat would betray him. “Have you had those feelings the whole time we’ve known each other? Like, since the Institute?”

This time, Jon shook his head. “Not-not until after we were dating. The safehouse, maybe?”

“This one’s gonna sound a little rude, Jon, but bear with me. Do you think you’ve ever been as emotionally close to anyone else as you are with me?” He squeezed Jon’s hands warmly, adding: “And I am with you?”

Jon shook his head. Of course not. Martin was something new to him, something untapped in the world. A treasure, a diamond in the rough. There was nothing that compared to their relationship.

“Jon. I don’t want to tell you how you identify, that’s not my place, but I, I think you’re still asexual.” Jon’s eyes snapped to meet Martin’s; it was his turn to furrow his brow. “After you came out to me, remember? I started looking into asexuality. I wanted to be able to impress you at Pride this summer,” Martin ducked his head, wincing at the cheesiness of his words. “But did you know there’s a bunch of subtypes of asexuality?”

What? This was news to Jon. There’s wanting sex and not wanting sex, right? He shook his head numbly and felt a comforting, grounding squeeze of his hands again.

“There was one I researched a little extra, because it confused me, and I wanted to understand the difference,” Martin continued, moving a hand to stroke Jon’s cheekbone, to guide his face to meet his. “Demisexual, Jon. It’s a subtype of asexuality, and it’s when-” Martin’s eyes rolled back in his head, as they were want to do when he was struggling to recite something from memory. “-you don’t even have to option to feel sexual attraction until an emotional bond is established. And it’s not, like, a one-to-one thing, either. There was a woman talking about her experience on a forum and she basically explained it like sex being a door, right? And the door has a padlock on it. Emotional connection opens the padlock, but you still have to open the door.”

Jon’s mouth was agape. He…there were so many things to parse out here. “You…you looked all this up for me?”

Martin’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I wanted to make sure I understood asexuality. It’s a whole subgroup of its own; it was interesting.” Martin had been a Researcher for a reason, Jon supposed dimly.

“I. I want to research for myself, but demisexuality?” He rolled the word in his mouth as he spoke. It felt nice, weighty. “And it’s still asexual?”

Martin nodded, vehemently, pulling out his phone as he spoke. “Yeah! Its flag is the same colors too, just arranged differently.” He showed him the white and grey flag, divided with a smooth purple stripe and a black triangle on the edge. “A-and, I mean, if you realize you’re not asexual, or you’re something else, you know I’ll still support you regardless, right? I don’t love you because of your sexuality, or your identity. I love you because you’re Jonathan Sims, and everything else besides that is bonus.”

Jon exhaled, feeling the Choke release the hold on his chest. “Demisexual. I…Thank you, Martin. For listening and believing me. I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to Martin’s forehead, carding fingers through the tumbled curls. “Let’s eat, and maybe you can show me that forum afterwards?”

#cw: internalized acephobia #cw: sex dreams #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #georgie barker #fanfic to a tea #ace week #aspecarchivesweek #aspec archive week

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | ix

genre: romance, fantasy, erotica

pairings: vampire!jaehyun x college!female reader

words: 14k

warning: bane of the devil deals with themes of deaths, physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

sexual content: fingering, semi-public sex (phew), blowjob, slight degradation(?)

“As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.” — Anne Sexton

Lucas and Eva stepped inside Madame Juana’s chambers. The first thing the two noticed were the navy blue curtains pulled to the side to reveal the gigantic gothic windows that permit a large quantity of light to infiltrate the room. The redolent of burning incense filled their nostrils as they spotted the witch mixing different herbs and colorful vials in a mortar.

“What’s that for?” Eva asked, her right hand resting on her dagger fastened to her waists.

Juana fanned the smoke to her face, inhaling the scent of the potion she was working on. She let the mortar sit near the window, where the sun could glare at it, before facing her two visitors. “For Y/N,” she said.

Eva’s mood began to dwindle. The fight from earlier hasn’t died from her system yet. And the thought of Y/N’s audacity made her temple ticked in annoyance.

Lucas remained standing near the door as he observed Juana’s chamber as if it was his first time beholding the eccentric room.

“I don’t know why, Madame,” Eva began, gathering the full attention of the witch as well as her comrade’s. The hunter stood rigid, chin held up high as she spoke, “Don’t you think I’m much more capable than her in killing Alena?”

Lucas shot up in alarm. Eva had no business discussing the matter with the witch. Juana had strictly commanded the both of them to remain silent about the matter. Especially around Y/N, who has no idea that the hunters knew her reasons for joining the Academy and the mission Juana bestowed upon her.

Juana walks with her hands behind her towards the fireplace. She poured tea in her pint pot before sitting on one of the soft couches, one leg over the other. After sipping from her cup, Juana cleaves her tongue to her upper lip, licking the excess tea.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” the witch asked while raising a perfect brow.

Lucas takes two strides to stand beside Eva. He gently wrapped his hand around her arm, but she wiggled herself free, refusing to lose her composure.

“Eva,” Lucas breathed in warning.

Whatever the hunter has in her mind, it’s better to let it go. No amount of disrespect would be tolerated inside the Academy.

Eva merely glanced his way before focusing her eyes on the sitting witch. “Then why?” she insisted.

Juana refused to look anywhere but at the fireplace. A small fire dances in it, casting a bit of an orange hue to the rather porcelain skin of the witch. Lucas would never understand the need of a fire in this sweltering weather.

Juana snapped her head towards the still-standing hunters. It was something that she didn’t invite them to sit. Then she asked, “Do you know what I’ve promised Diego before he breathed his last?”

Eva exchanged looks with Lucas. Voice laced with utter curiosity, the woman asked, “What?”

Juana smoothed out her skirt. “I won’t let his hunters do my dirty work.”

With that, Eva blinked. Confused and out of focus, she stated the first words that slipped past her lips, “But we were born for that type of life. Alena killed Sicheng—”

“Eva!” Lucas hissed. They were forbidden to speak his name. Now Lucas feels utterly enraged by the woman’s audacity. Juana wouldn’t let this past without ramifications.

“My son.” Juana pinned the words with warning. “Is alive.”

Eva shifted to where she stands, barely noticeable because of her forced confidence. “Yes. But she killed his humanity nonetheless.” She took a step towards the witch. “I want to help you, Juana. Let me avenge your son.”

Lucas would’ve been moved by the determination in Eva’s eyes, if not for her grip on Juana’s hands. This side of her, he didn’t know how to process. He admires her bravery and need for revenge. But it doesn’t sit well with him, and he doesn’t think it will be.

“I made up my mind, Eva. I won’t risk any of your lives. I need you alive.”

The statement ticked something inside Lucas. They are hunters: born and bred to fight off vampires. He knows how to use almost every weapon in the armory. But Y/N… she still has a lot to go, despite of her steadfastness. It took Lucas years to master the hunter life. By his own experience, he doesn’t think three months are enough for Y/N.

“Forgive me but I don’t understand any of this,” Lucas chimed in, garnering the attention of the women. “Eva is right, Juana. She’s more capable than Y/N. Let’s give her that credit. But you still insist to send Y/N off to the ball to kill Alena— the vampire primus in this town— and refuse to vouch on us to accomplish this mission instead.” Lucas’s brows were furrowed all throughout his sentence. “It doesn’t correlate.”

With a certain edge to her voice, Juana countered Lucas almost immediately, “Y/N is a collateral damage. And she needs me.”

“Collateral damage?” Lucas and Eva asked at the same time. But the difference between their tones was staggering: Lucas’s disbelief was evident in his voice, whilst pure mockery laced Eva’s.

“Yes. Collateral damage. She’s nothing but that. And as I’ve said, she needs me.”

Eva smirked. “And you took advantage of her.”

Lucas, on the other hand, didn’t know what to say. Words won’t come out of his mouth.

“Exactly. So let’s end this discussion before I turn you both into frogs,” Juana chuckled.

Eva’s mirthful laugh echoed through the whole room. But Lucas remained unmoving, fisting his hands behind him. This is not right. This is not what I’ve vowed to do.

“Lucas?” Juana called.

Lucas shook his head out of his trance. “Yes?”

“Juana asked if you’d join us to dinner?” Eva pronounced instead.

Dinner? Lucas’s appetite went downhill by the conversation that has transpired inside this room. He doesn’t think he could bite and swallow down food.

He shook his head as he refused. The two women shrugged before Eva linked her arm around Juana’s and guided her out of the room, leaving Lucas with his thoughts.

—

“What happened to your nose?” Rhianon asked as you seated yourself across from her in the cafeteria.

Irritation washed through you by the memory of what happened back in the woods. You would’ve felt better if not for the red tinge which adorned your nose yet again.

“I fought with Eva,” you mumbled while forking the green something on your plate.

“What?!”

Heads turned as Rhianon exclaimed. But she seems unperturbed by the stares as she reaches for your hand over the table. Then she speaks again, “Are you alright? What did she do to you?”

The catfight between you and Eva ended with glares and threats. It’s painful to recall, yet you don’t think you will forget it any time sooner.

After the fight, you anticipated a summon from Madame. But as the day continued on, you failed to see her and vice versa.

Unsurprisingly, Eva taunted you as you sparred with Lucas. Every now and then, she would tell how weak your stance was, or how frail your bones were. Lucas encouraged you to ignore her as best you could. But when she hit the back of your leg with her stick, you stood up and faced her. The both of your faces were mere inches away as you sized each other up. If Eva moved an inch then, you would’ve slapped the teeth off her gums. Lucas held her firmly and guided her away towards somewhere you couldn’t be bothered to ask before she could attack you.

“She just taunted me.” You shrugged. As if the fight didn’t leave a hollow feeling inside your chest. You would be lying if you’d truly shrug it off and tell everyone that it was only a part of your training and Eva must’ve been acting earlier for additional emotions. But it wasn’t. She was truly irritated with you.

Rhianon sighed, “It’s not the first time she’d done that.”

The statement piqued your interest. You looked up to see a frowning Rhianon. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… that’s what she did to me in my first day of training. I couldn’t show it to you through this uniform but I’ve attained a keloid here…” She twisted her arms a little to show the location of her keloid right in her biceps, “...when we sparred using daggers.”

“Using daggers?” You gasped in disbelief. First day of training… and with daggers?

“Yeah. Before entering the Academy, they would ask you about your skills. I told them my expertise was using daggers—” A pause, then her eyebrows knitted. “Did they not ask you about your skill?”

You blinked and slumped back to your seat. “I— they didn’t.” You wanted to tell her how you got in the Academy without the process of being ask in any interviews about your skills and whatnot. But the small, scared part of you refused to sound privileged to Rhianon.

“Well, that’s a first,” she commented, “They would normally ask about your skill in weapons before you could enroll. And if you don’t have any, they would advise you to return once you’ve mastered at least one weapon.” Then she chewed up the leafy vegetables with a scowl.

“I’ve never heard of that,” you admitted.

Rhianon did her best to hide her surprise, but you have already seen the glint of it through her eyes. It made you feel odd. All of the students who enrolled here had gone through thorough trainings on their own before entering the Academy. Do they know that you didn’t go through the same hardship? Is that why they look at you as if they are disgusted by your weakness?

“I… think that’s alright? I mean, Eva went easy on you because of that.” Rhianon once again reached for your hand and squeezed. “Don’t fret, Y/N. I know to myself that you’re going to be an adroit hunter.”

Yes, you believe that too. But all of the trainings you would go through would be for naught if until the ball you’d remain inadequate.

A vampire almost killed you. A hunter vowed to hurt you. And there’s a witch who’s withholding information from you.

In the vast expanse of this Academy, you only have three people you could trust. Two of them, you are still hesitant to confide in. That leaves you to one person only.

Jaehyun.

—

Jaehyun decided to return to his own room after the tenuous scene back in the woods. One hunter was more than enough for him to bear. Two would be the death of him. Albeit he’s half-dead already.

He must admit that you made him proud earlier. And he didn’t anticipate such fire in your heart and grace in your movements. If you’d continue to take your training by the heart, you’d absolutely chop off every vampire’s head without sweating.

The thought bothers Jaehyun until now. One way or another, you would he his enemy. And if you declined to be his enemy, you would be his prey. Being a hunter gives you some perks as a human being. As a hunter, you are still vulnerable to vampire attacks, but you would have a chance of surviving. Whilst being a human, the ordinary human, you’d remain ajar and weak for any vampire to prey on. Jaehyun forces himself to think that it’s for your best. But the pathetic part of him wants to drag you out of this Academy. Right now.

Both of you didn’t start off as friends. Hell, who, in their right minds, would offer friendship to someone who bled his stomach out on your doorstep and admits that he was a vampire on your first encounter? Despite of that fact, Jaehyun still couldn’t grasp the idea of you, killing his compeers.

However, why the fuck does he care? It’s your life. You could do anything with it. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t protect himself from you.

On his way to his own chamber, Jaehyun drew in a halt upon noticing that Juana’s door was slightly ajar. Everything went louder as Jaehyun intensified his sense of hearing: the muffled chatterings of students from afar, the birds singing as they perched on a tree, the crackling of fire in Juana’s fireplace… and the conversation between her and her two hunters.

Someone’s forgetting that there’s a vampire prowling this Academy’s vicinity.

For a moment, Jaehyun debated whether to listen to his own room that was across from Juana. But he couldn’t risk being spotted. Over the years, the hunters have developed a keen sense of hearing. Courtesy of Juana’s magic, no doubt.

The hallway provided no space for Jaehyun to hide as it was in a straight line. He had no choice but to press himself to the wall. Exactly three meters away from Juana’s door.

Lucas’s voice had a crisp edge to it because of Jaehyun’s vampire hearing. “Eva is right, Juana. She’s more capable than Y/N. Let’s give her that credit. But you still insist to send Y/N off to the ball to kill Alena— the vampire primus in this town— and refuse to vouch on us to accomplish this mission instead.”

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched by the mention of Alena’s name. Once, he had worshipped that name. No more.

Mixed feelings swirled up inside Jaehyun by Lucas’s statement. He was right. Jaehyun has been wondering about how it doesn’t make any sense either. Y/N has the spirit, but she won’t stand a chance against a vampire primus if she’d only train for two or three months.

Jaehyun hates Lucas. But he must admit that he does have a point.

“It doesn’t correlate,” Lucas added.

Jaehyun then heard Juana’s sultry voice. “Y/N is a collateral damage. And she needs me.”

For a moment, and despite his sharp sense of hearing, Jaehyun doubted the words he heard. Y/N… a collateral damage? How could someone say that as if a person’s life is nothing but a toy you’d be so willing to throw once it served you enough entertainment?

“Collateral damage?” The two hunters asked. Lucas was appalled. Yet Eva didn’t share the same reaction. She was curious. Curious and mocking.

Red suddenly filled Jaehyun’s vision. The silhouette of gothic windows became a darker shade of crimson. Everywhere he looked, red dominated. It took Jaehyun all his willpower not to barge inside and snap Juana and Eva’s necks.

“Yes. Collateral damage. She’s nothing but that. And as I’ve said, she needs me.” Juana spoke as if she was talking about a fly and not a person.

Jaehyun tried to close his eyes to get rid of his red visions. But the anger inside him refused to subside. He walked towards the door with the grace of a panther, but before he could push open the wood, a force pulled him away. He took a step back to his own accord. No. Jaehyun won’t be able to protect you if he’s going to murder the women behind this huge door.

He pivoted on his heels and grabbed his doorknob instead. Without making any sound, Jaehyun entered his chamber. Dark brown once again coated his pupils as he shut the door behind him.

Heavy and velvet curtains refused to allow any light from infiltrating Jaehyun’s chambers. At least, that bitch witch had the notion that she was catering to a vampire.

What a fucking joke, Jaehyun mumbled. If you are a five-hundred year old witch or a veteran vampire hunter, you’d be careful to converse— even in the comforts of your chamber— to anyone about your wicked plans using your imbecilic minds especially when there’s literally a vampire on the loose.

Jaehyun had given enough credit for the students and hunters in this Academy that he’d forgotten how vapid their likes could be.

What now? he asked himself as he let his back fall to his mattress, his arm propped up on his forehead.

He’d been right all along. Juana is indeed hiding something from Y/N. Jaehyun’s head was full of scattered plans but his fury remained undeterred. He needs to plan something— anything. If it was his life on the line, he wouldn’t think twice about killing the witch and that hunter Eva. But it’s you. And somehow, that makes it more frustrating.

You need this. For your murdered parents. You have been waiting for this chance all your life. Jaehyun would kill himself before ruining this opportunity for you. If he could only do something about Hubert, to make him fucking talk, Jaehyun knows that he would go to the ends of the world to do it— for you.

And when did he start thinking this way? When did his chest start aching by the sight of you? As if you are the one star in his rather dark skies, and that he couldn’t reach you no matter hard he tries.  

Jaehyun bolted upright as swiftly as a cat, then ran a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t be able to think straight if he keeps thinking about you. With a frown, Jaehyun grabbed his cigarette pack on his drawer and lit one. Blowing smoke from his mouth, Jaehyun sat back on one of the soft couches and started to dwell in his other thoughts instead.

—

The day had worn you out to frazzle that all you could think about was to lay on your bed and get cozy in the sheets. Drying your hair with a towel, you walked and sat on your mattress, while Rhianon once again focused herself on reading her Book of Enchantments and Magic.

The golden embossing of the title against the velvety crimson cover never failed to entice you. You weren’t one for magic, but by the luring looks of the cover, you wanted to ask Rhianon about the words written on it.

“What’s your favorite enchantment, Rhianon?” you asked out-of-the-blue.

She seemed surprised by your question that she accidentally closed the book all of a sudden. “Oh, I… well… this might freak you out— but I like the enchantment where you could put back a missing part of a person’s body.”

Something inside you clicked. But you couldn’t put a finger to what it was. You furrowed your brows in scrutiny. “That’s so cool. Have you ever tried it?”

Rhianon sighed, “Uh… no. They said it is reckless. Especially when the person is already dead.” Then her face lit up as she looked at you. “But I wanna try it someday. You know… just to see the extent of my abilities.”

“Your abilities?” you asked. What abilities?

Rhianon blinked, clearly surprised by her own sentence.

Uncertainty creeped up in your chest. You weren’t dumb to wave off her statement. There is something she’s not telling you. Gods, is everyone in this Academy has their own secrets that they don’t tell anyone?

“I… I mean— oh! There’s someone knocking!” She threw the book to her bed before standing and bolting towards the door.

You stared at her back, your own thoughts suddenly disheveled. Then her little squeal broke you out from your trance.

“Your vampire boy’s here!” she exclaimed, opening the door wider for you to see Jaehyun standing on the doorway.

Your chest started to shrink on its own by the sight of him. Suddenly, you felt as if you were back in the woods and sparing with Jaehyun again. His unearthly scent weaving its way through your nostrils as if it left a permanent mark in there because of the proximity you shared with each other earlier.

“Uh, Y/N? He’s waiting?” Rhianon voiced out while nervously looking at the standing vampire.

“Oh, yes,” you mirthlessly chuckled. Pinching your arm to get a grip of your thoughts, you sauntered up to the door to face the leaning vampire on the doorframe.

You shot up a brow. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s with that expression?” He reached out to tangle the edges of your hair with his fingers. “Didn’t you miss me?”

Rhianon let out a suppressed scream behind you. You turned to face and glare at her. She straightened before scurrying back to her own bed.

Jaehyun was still playing with your hair when you swatted his hand away with a frown. “I told you, boys aren’t allowed here,” you said with a sigh.

“Let’s not pretend that you’re not enthralled to see me here.”

“I am not.”

Jaehyun grinned before wrapping his hand around your wrist gently. “Liar,” he said before pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Heat crept up to your cheeks, you were glad for the darkness as it had successfully hidden your crimson cheek. With a last look at the reading Rhianon, you closed the door behind you.

You cleared your throat. “Okay, what’s this?”

“We’re going to train,” he simply stated. As if the moon wasn’t on its full glory in the heavens, and as if the students’ curfew won’t ring anytime sooner.

“Jaehyun,” you sighed, coaxing whatever patience you have inside you, “It’s nine p.m., please let me rest.”

“Do you want to be the greatest hunter of all?” he asked while wiggling his brows. His current expression has extremely juxtaposed his aura, that you would’ve chuckled if not for the fatigue sticking to your bones.

You deadpanned, “To be honest? I don’t. I just went here in hopes that I could—”

“Do you want to learn how to punch Eva straight in her—”

“Yes.”

Jaehyun chuckled, “That’s my girl.” Jaehyun took advantage of your astonished and blushing face and successfully guided you towards the railings. He leaned closer to your ear, arm still wrapped around you. “First lesson, learn how to jump.”

By looking at the ground below you, you wiggled yourself free from his grasp. “Are you nuts?”

Once again, a deep throaty chuckle resonated with him. “I’m kidding, of course. Just ride me— I mean, ride on my back.”

Ride me. You weren’t so sure if you’d survive this night without your lungs giving out.

“Don’t act so surprised, Y/N. There’s a process to that.”

“To what?”

“To ride me.”

“You’re disgusting.” You turned on your heel and walked away. But Jaehyun grabbed your arm once again.

“Please, kitten, don’t blush.” Jaehyun quickly placed her arm on your back, while his other scooped you up in a bridal style.

“What—! Jaehyun! Let me go!”

He shook his head, “I don’t think I could do that.”

You have no idea how he did it while carrying you, but Jaehyun had managed to climb on the cemented railings. You craned your neck and saw the strands of his hair brushing the roof of the floor.

Without any warnings, Jaehyun jumped. You wrapped your arms around his neck while screwing your eyes shut. The scream forced its way to your throat, but you refused to make any sound and have Jaehyun to tease you after you land.

It took him seconds to land on the hard ground. His body bounced slightly by the impact of his toes on the earth. Then he guided you to stand up on your feet.

Catching a gulp of air for your decrepit lungs, you slapped Jaehyun’s arm. “What was that?” you gasped.

Jaehyun rubbed his chest with a painful expression. “Damn, you are strong.”

You snorted, “Why are we here? I swear Jaehyun, if the guards see us, I’m gonna kill you.”

Jaehyun walked in front of you, purposely waving his hands for more dramatics. “As I’ve said, we’re here to practice your legs and your emotions.”

“Emotions and… legs?” you dubiously asked. “This is not what I am thinking, right?”

His playful façade swiftly turned into that of a predator as he stared at your face. “Why? What are you thinking?”

Jaehyun’s face was clouded in darkness as he stood under the moon. All his ludic emotions vanished instantly, replaced by the mystery that was inside his bones until kingdom comes.

You were reminded then that you wouldn’t understand Jaehyun no matter how hard you try. Both of you are different creatures pretending to co-exist in a cruel world. A world that forbids intimacy between a human and a vampire.

“Torture,” you answered with a nervous chuckle. “I meant you could torture my emotions and my legs, you know.”

“Why would I torture you?” he rasped. Little emotions adorned his voice. It was almost indecipherable, but it was there.

“I was just kidding! Let’s get this over with now, shall we?” You started to walk ahead of him. Agitation filled your chest without any reason at all. Jaehyun silently trailed behind you, until you reached the edge of the woods.

Crickets sang in the darkness. And the hooting owls were obscured by the lush fronds of trees. A shiver ran through you as the crisp wind caressed your body. It whispered to the branches, making them bend and elicit sounds as if they were snapping.

“Alright,” Jaehyun spoke behind you. “When I tell you to run, run as fast as you can Y/N.”

“What do you—” Your voice was cut off by the animalistic snarl he echoed. You pivoted on your heel to witness Jaehyun as he elongated his fangs, the red tinge on his pupils stark against the night. Like the embers of a cigarette.

“Run.”

With your heart in your throat, you whirled and ran towards the woods and into its danger. As the fallen branches snapped underneath your feet, you chanced a look at Jaehyun. His stature was turning smaller as you ran farther away from him. But he remained standing there, watching you disappear into the maze of trees.

All of a sudden, Jaehyun ran towards you. Your eyes widened in mortification. You could hear your heart pounding in your chest as you run and run deeper into the heart of the forest. The thought of a vampire chasing you kindled your adrenaline. It forced out a strength from your legs you didn’t know you possessed.

Jaehyun was near. You could feel him. Perspiration drenched your clothes. The fear inside your chest is raging like a wild animal. As the sweats dripped down your lashes, blurring your line of sight, you failed to notice the rock protruding from the ground. You hit its hard surface with your toes then you went tumbling down the earth.

For three times, your body rolled off the soil. You only closed your eyes, waiting for something to hit your head and kill you afterwards. But all you could feel was the dust and the dried leaves sticking to your sweaty skin.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried. Literal tears streamed down your face as you felt the defeat and the aching of your bones.

You remained lying on the ground while covering your face with your palms. You failed to see Jaehyun as he crouched beside you.

“Get up,” he said while nudging your shoulders.

That simple gesture was enough to irate you. You sat up despite the pain in your bones and glared at Jaehyun. “What was that for?” you sniffed.

“I needed to see if you could outrun a vampire,” he explained. He stood up and offered you a hand. You gave it a hard look before standing up on your own.

“That’s madness, Jaehyun.” And I was so scared, you wanted to add. But the stubborn part of you refused to acknowledge that. You had enough of Eva reminding you the same thing for hours, you didn’t need any reminder now.

“To you. But if you’re running for your life, and there’s a vampire trailing behind you, what would you do? Would you stumble on your feet and cry on the ground like what you did just now?”

You padded the dusty part of your skin and clothes. The dust from the ground has turned muddy already. It took all your willpower not to dash Jaehyun’s head because of it. You shouldn’t have said yes to this folly.

While watching you as you dust off yourself, Jaehyun added, “And you’re scared.”

“I am not,” you lied.

“You are. I could still taste your fear in the air.”

You rolled your eyes in exasperation. “Whatever. I want to go back.” Your statement was followed by a hiss, as you felt a sharp pain on your elbow. You folded your arms to see a large scrape of wound on the skin.

Jaehyun took your arm softly, while he reached for his back pocket to reveal a kerchief. In all his hard edges, you didn’t expect the softness of the way he dabbed the fabric to clean your skin around the wound. “Alright, I’m sorry for this. I shouldn’t have scared you like that.”

Your heart did its unusual thudding as you stared at his face while he leaned closer to inspect your wound. His pallid features was illuminated by the moonlight, making him more eccentric than he already was. The blood pigment of his lips was ever the only color in his rather dead-looking face. But how is he so beautiful being half-dead like that?

You immediately looked away when Jaehyun looked up to you.

“I have something to tell you,” he said.

Trepidation quickly settled in your chest like a boulder. “What is it?”

Jaehyun kept the kerchief to his back pocket before guiding the small of your back towards a clearing. You have a hard time seeing the path now that your nerves had calmed down. Then you saw it. It was a space of green bermuda grass at the other side of the woods. It provides enough privacy and tranquility to whatever Jaehyun has in his pockets to say to you.

Unfortunately, there were no stars twinkling in the skies when you looked up. Only the moon and the thick clouds could be seen in the heavens.

“It’s about the witch, and her hunters,” he began as he sat on the grass.

You did the same. “What about them?”

“I heard them talking earlier. About you.”

“What did they say about me?”

He gave you a look that pierced right to your soul. “She has no plans to help you, Y/N. To really help you. She thinks of you as a collateral damage.” Then he furrowed his brows. “Have you told anyone of your true intentions for joining this Academy?”

Your throat suddenly felt dry. “Lucas and Madame knows, of course.”

Jaehyun cursed as he ran a hand through his face. “I should’ve— fuck— she knows, then. Eva.”

How did she know? No, it was obvious who told her. But why would Madame tell her about it? When it was confidentially between you, Lucas, Jaehyun, and her only?

“That’s why she’s bitching. She knows she’s better and more capable than me,” you scorned, “And what about the collateral damage?”

“Eva wanted to finish the job for herself. But Juana refused and told her she needed Eva alive.”

You frowned. “But she’s willing to sacrifice my life.” You couldn’t believe it. There wasn’t a trace of sadness in you. Somehow, you have anticipated for this to happen ever since Jaehyun talked to you yesternight. Oh, how easily things are lining up. “They don’t believe in me,” you stated through clenched jaw.

You feel more insulted than hurt. What are you? What does your life means to them? Not because they are witches and hunters doesn’t mean your life is worthless than theirs.

You let out a deep breath, “We need plan B.”

“The plan B is that I’m getting you out of here, Y/N,” Jaehyun stated with a spirit that blew you out of proportion.

As much as the offer was enticing, you couldn’t will yourself to assent. “No.”

Jaehyun quirked a brow. “No?”

“No. I’m not leaving.”

Jaehyun worked his jaw then he moved his body closer to yours. “Listen, Y/N, those fuckers think of you as a bait. No more, no less. I’ve heard them myself—”

You reached for his hands. “I need to train myself.”

“I could teach you. You know I’m better than most of them anyways.”

By that, you chuckled, “Yes. But I need Juana’s protection.”

“Thank fuck I could protect you myself,” he countered.

You hated to say it, you truly do. But if you don’t, Jaehyun would only insist on getting you out of the Academy. “Not from Alena,” you smiled bitterly.

Realization dawned on Jaehyun’s face. His determined expression turned lax. But he knows it, too. However hell-bent he could be on protecting you from anyone else, he won’t be able to guard you against the vampire primus who turned him. He is a vampire now. And he must abide to their law if he doesn’t wish to be dead.

You tightened your grip on his hands. “But it’s alright. I understand. I truly do.” Blowing out a shuddering breath, you chuckled tonelessly, “Just… let me do this. This is the only way.”

Jaehyun’s hand strayed to your cheek. The intimacy of his touch blurring all your senses. “Alright. I know you’re doing this for your parents. In the meantime, we’ll pretend that we know nothing. We’ll find a way to make Hubert talk.”

You heedlessly leaned in to his touch. His hand was cold, but it warmed your body nonetheless. Gods, since when did your body started reacting this way around Jaehyun? “You said… Hubert has no tongue…” you began. Jaehyun nodded. “Where is his tongue, then?”

Jaehyun’s hand fell to his side as he let the memories swept his focus on the real world. “Well, there is a rumor going on back then. That he purposely cut his tongue out. But I don’t believe it. I think someone cut it to withhold anyone from knowing informations from Hubert.”

“Wait… so, let’s say someone cut off his tongue. How could Juana make him talk, then?”

“Through magic, perhaps. Or…” Jaehyun’s lips turned into a frown, “She could put his tongue back.”

She could put his tongue back. You furrowed your brows. You were certain that you have heard about body parts being put together by an enchantment— Rhianon!

As if a thousand ants crawled to your back as you shivered at the realization. Your eyes widen, then you took Jaehyun’s face with your hands. “I— my roommate! Jaehyun, she knows how to do that!”

Jaehyun’s face didn’t share the same excitement. “Only witches could do that, Y/N. Are you saying that your roommate is a witch?”

Your body felt leaden as you leaned back, losing your hold on his face. “No. She… she’s just really interested in magic. But perhaps she could help?”

“If the both of you are willing. You said you don’t want anyone else knowing your true reasons for coming here.”

A heavy sigh. “Yes. And I don’t think I could trust her just yet.”

This time, it’s Jaehyun who took your face with his hands as he searched for your eyes. “C’mon, don’t frown. We’ll find a way. Together.”

The rawness of his emotions moved you. It’s unbelievable to think that the same man who stood bloodied on your doorstep currently looks at you like that. You could almost tell the stories hidden underneath his eyes by how bold he lays himself tonight with you.

“Reading faces?” you chuckled to ease the swirling of your stomach.

Jaehyun didn’t let go of your face as he spoke, “Only yours.” Then his eyes cascaded down your lips.

Vampires do not breathe. So you didn’t feel his breath before his lips collided with yours. You let your eyes fall shut as you kissed him back. This isn’t your first kiss. But everytime his lips would touch yours, the feeling of being kissed for the first time always washes through you. It’s always anew. As if something didn’t want you to get used to it.

Jaehyun’s lips moved with ease against yours. As if he has already memorized the plains and bumps of your lips. He kisses you as if he has been doing it all his life. His tongue slid inside your mouth, tasting the crevices of the flesh inside.

Under the moon, the both of you fought for dominance. The wind billowed, sweeping a cold touch to the burning kiss you shared. Yet no amount of distraction could stop Jaehyun from tasting you.

You would destroy him, and he would let you.

To hell with the ramifications. And to hell with the forbidden love this intimacy would bear. Not even the death that reeks inside him could stop him from wanting you.

Jaehyun’s hands strayed inside your clothes. His every touch burns your skin, leaving your teat tingling and puckering. As if he could feel the desire between the both of you, he easily unhooked your bra and caught your right breast with his left hand.

Jaehyun circled your teat with his thumb, earning a gasp from you against the kiss. He chuckled before trailing kisses down your jaw, all while playing with the hardened teat.

A slick and thick liquid threatens to slide from your sex by his penetration. As if his vampire instinct could sense every bit of arousal from your body, Jaehyun leaned in to your ear and spoke, “Is that for me?”

You groaned. It was silly, because it was obvious. But the desire you were feeling couldn’t help but double by the question.

Tonight, he would own you. And you would let him.

He laid you down the soppy grass, his lips never leaving yours, his hands still leaving permanent marks in your soul.

Jaehyun, with both his swiftness and strength, he had managed to pull down your pajamas to your knees, revealing the lace underwear you were wearing.

You should cover yourself again. You should put an end to this folly. You should cut the feelings before it could bloom into something you won’t be able to control. But as the chill of the night crawled to your exposed skin, you let Jaehyun marvel at your body.

Jaehyun pulled away, then he slowly opened his eyes. Whatever blood he has in his body, they crept up in his lips as it turned swollen.

Your body was lucid and blurry from the desire. However, you refused to pounce on him like a wild animal. Somehow, you wanted to taste every bit of the moment.

His own desire mirrored in his eyes. Without any warning, Jaehyun swiftly pulled your underwear to the side and plunged a finger inside you. The gasp you emitted was too breathy, for a moment you were afraid for your lungs.

Carnality dances in his eyes as he slowly moves his fingers inside you. Your slickness is undeniable because of his penetration.

You shut your eyes. “Jaehyun.”

His hand rested above your head while he caressed strands of your hair. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he commanded. The virility of his voice made you open your eyes, so languidly as if to taunt his arousal even more.

You tried to hold his stare as he curled his fingers and deepened his reach. As if he wants to acquire something inside your flesh. Your stomach caved in as his fingers went faster. You writhe and you thrash when he pressed his thumb on your clitoris. A wave of signals tighten your lower abdomen, your arousal screaming for release.

He plunged his finger deeper, all while circulating your clitoris with his thumb. Jaehyun curled his finger inside you. “Jae— Jaehyun!” you whined against the woods behind you, and the stretch of grass in front. There were no stars in the skies, but you were certain you saw white lights bursting as you felt the climax washing through you like some sort of a wave.

Satisfaction was in the eyes of the vampire as your body went lax on the grass. He trailed open-mouthed kisses around your cheek and the sides of your face.

“Let’s stand up,” he offered.

A different person replaced you as your forehead creased in confusion. “We’re not… we’re not doing it?”

If he could blink from astonishment, he would.  What did you just say? Crimson painted your cheeks as his face softened. “Do you want us to?”

The wanting overcame all your senses. And you found out that you really do want to do it with him. As your clitoris once again pulsated from the notion, you nodded sheepishly. “Yes,” you breathed.

A tinge of red flashed in his eyes then it was gone in an instant as he shuffled his pants off. The reality of being in an open field, half-naked and waiting for a vampire to fuck you senseless somewhat obliterated the humanness inside you. You reached for Jaehyun as he lined himself up to your entrance and gave him a sloppy kiss. The head of his length touched your inner thighs, you jolted through the kiss from the contact.

A throaty laugh echoed through him as he lined himself once again to enter your sex. Jaehyun pulled away, an inch from your face. “How do you wanna be fucked?”

Your breath hitched as the desire drove a velvety punch in your gut. “Hard,” you answered. Jaehyun made a noise, somewhat between a groan and a guttural sound, before he entered you with smoothness and with ease.

Both of your mouths turned into o’s by the friction. Jaehyun placed your legs on his shoulder as he began to thrust in and out of you slowly.

“What… what is it?” you asked as you noticed the way his brows were furrowed.

Jaehyun looked at your eyes while he tried to thrust deeper. “You… fuck, you’re so tight.” Your mouth opened up to say something, but Jaehyun moved his hips to fully own your sex. Instead of a word, a cry sounded from you as he hit something sensitive inside.

It was indeed an uncomfortable position: with your pajama covering his lips. But Jaehyun tolerated no distraction as he mercilessly moved his hips in and out of your sex. You fisted a handful of grass with your palms, nails grating on the soil. Gods, you wanted to shout.

You bounced as Jaehyun continued to fuck you, balls-deep against the grass. His own throat emanating throaty moans, which added to the climax building up to your abdomen.

The night was unforgiving. So is he.

His pupils dilated, then it turned red as he pulled his length from your sex and spilled all his semen on your stomach. The warm liquid soaked your thin t-shirt, sticking to the fabric like a thick wax of white substance.

Jaehyun forced his mind to think again. But he was shrouded with absolute pleasure upon seeing how your clothes sipped his semen.

You did it. With him. Under the moon. And on the stretch of grass as far as the eyes could see.

You were only a girl, in a little town, with your scattered dreams and unrealistic goal in life. But tonight, you had sex with a vampire. You didn’t know how to process such mind-sweeping reality.

Jaehyun took care of you. He gently helped you put on your undergarments before he settled himself. After a few minutes of steadying the rhythm of your heart, with Jaehyun placing back the strands of hair behind your ear, you sat on the grass in silence.

“What do you feel?” you decided to ask.

Jaehyun is a vampire, yes. But he had been human once. You didn’t want to presume anything about his human life before, but with that kind of beauty for sure comes a great deal of girls behind him. He certainly knew how to please you, how to make sure he owned every inch of you. And that’s not something a beginner knows how to do.

“That was amazing,” he grinned. “It’s not something I’ve ever felt before.”

Without asking the question, he already knew the answer. A small and proud part of you wanted to know whether being with you, and being inside you illuminated something new to him. And it’s fulfilling to know that you did.

“But I am wondering,” he chuckled lowly, “I don’t know if this is my arousal getting a hold of all my vampire instincts, but, I couldn’t read your mind.”

The world stilled. And you have found out that you couldn’t answer. The dryness of your throat intensified.

“I…” you stutter.

Jaehyun raised a brow. “You, what?”

“I… I told Madame to block you off from infiltrating my mind.” Then you bit your lower lip in shame. You shouldn’t feel this way, right? It’s only right to take precautions. And he was not allowed to read your thoughts.

Jaehyun’s face grew vacant but it spoke volumes to you. “Don’t you trust me enough for your thoughts?”

You quickly waved your hand in defense. “No, it’s not like that— I just don’t want you to invade my mind.”

His expression remained eerie and impassive as he looked at you. “I didn’t invade your mind, Y/N. Not once.”

What? You knitted your brows. “But… what about the times—”

“Your thoughts were too loud. I heard them as if you were speaking to me with your own voice. Never once did I infiltrate your privacy and forced my way to your head.” He stood up and padded his breaches. “Come, let’s get you back to your room.”

Unable to process words, you remained sitting. The warmth from the intercourse you shared was now replaced by the coldness. But the wind didn’t provide such cold. It was in you, from you.

“Jaehyun,” you called out to him. But he didn’t turn as he entered the woods.

—

Rhianon turned the page of her book, but she found out that she couldn’t process the words printed out on the parchment. The memory of you as you carefully inquired questions and with Rhianon almost spilling her true self failed to vanished in her mind.

She still didn’t know your intention for being here in this Academy, but she would, soon. She needed to know if you could be trusted. She needs to make sure that you are not one of Juana’s tentacles.

She fastened the book shut as three knocks resonated from the door. Glancing at the wallclock hanging on your side of the wall that read as eleven fifteen p.m., she sauntered up to the door.

She veered the doorknob and swung the door widely. “Welcome bac—” Rhianon’s words died as she took in the face of the man in front of him. Tears easily seared the back of her eyes as she jumped and hugged the man. “Sicheng!”

Sicheng chuckled and hugged her back. “How are you?” he asked in her hair.

Rhianon pulled away and wiped the tears from her cheeks before answering, “Worse.”

“Let’s get inside,” Sicheng stated while looking at his left and right.

They both entered the room. Then Sicheng halted as he saw the other bed as pillows and blanket occupied it. “Who’s with you?”

“She’s not here,” Rhianon sniffed.

“Juana gave you a roommate?” Sicheng raised a brow as Rhianon led him towards her own bed.

Rhianon shrugged. “Still asking myself why. But why are you here? It’s dangerous.”

“Alena—” Sicheng chuckled by the look Rhianon gave her, but he continued on, “She commanded me to find someone. And I’ve decided to start here so I could visit you. How have you been?”

She knew not to ask about the mission. Sicheng would tell her nothing. Rhianon slumped herself back on her bed, while Sicheng sat beside her. “I don’t know. Juana still refused teach me anything.”

By her statement, Sicheng’s own expression hardened. Rhianon never fails to be astounded by the pale features of the man beside her. It’s been years— too many years— but the bleached face of Sicheng and his too-red lips still leaves her in wonder. Why do vampires look like that?

“You know why,” Sicheng answered.

Rhianon frowned. “Enough talking about me—”

“We didn’t even talk about you, Rhi,” Sicheng deadpanned. “Tell me about your roommate.”

Rhianon gathered her forgotten book on the mattress and played with its embossing while thinking of proper words to answer. “Well, she’s kind and nice. But I’m still skeptical about her. I’ve been alone in this room for years— then Juana barged in and told me to clean up because apparently, there’s someone coming.”

“It’s only right for you to be skeptical. Be wary of Juana and her plans. You know how cunning that woman could be.”

Rhianon punched Sicheng’s arm lightly. “You talk as if she’s not your mother.”

Impassiveness laced Sicheng’s following words, “She’s not. Tell me, does she still insist to avenge me?”

The woman sighed, “I think so.”

Sicheng let out a curse. “You must talk and tell her to fuck off already.”

“And be casted out from here? I don’t think so,” Rhianon snorted. “I need her guidance to become a witch.”

“You are a witch. You inherited her blood.”

Rhianon knew that if she spoke the same words to Sicheng, he would only brush it off like it was some kind of a dirty statement he wished not to hear again. But for Sicheng to say that to Rhianon, it was… heart-warming.  

“I am. But I know next to nothing. I have never even casted a spell yet.”

Sicheng reached out and took her hand. “I believe in you. You know that, right?”

Rhianon breathed. It’s been a while since she heard those words. When it comes to boosting her spirit, Sicheng remained unparalleled. “I know. And I think you’re the only one who does.”

“As long as I live, I will vouch for you.” Sicheng suddenly shifted, as if the air whispered on his vampiric ears. Rhianon sat upright, suddenly nervous of what did the man pick up. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed.

“Oh my, it’s my roommate.” She bolted to her feet, Sicheng copying her movement.

“I must go,” he pronounced, “While they’re still climbing the stairs.”

“Alright, come,” Rhianon stated as she pulled Sicheng’s wrist towards the door. “You could sprint away from here since you’re a vampire.”

Sicheng opened the door and pressed his lips to Rhianon’s head. “Take care of yourself. I’ll visit whenever I can.”

Rhianon nodded. “I will. You too, brother.”

When she blinked, Sicheng was gone.

—

Silence dominated the walk back to the dorms. Jaehyun was four paces ahead of you, and you didn’t bother to run after him. If he needed time to think, you would give it to him.

But you must admit, how things went downhill in the blink of an eye left a painful throbbing in your heart. Mere minutes ago, you were making love with him. And now both of you act as if you didn’t know each other’s name. Somehow, it had leached your bones to utter exhaustion.

You didn’t even notice that you were already climbing the stairs up to your room when you almost tripped over one of the steps. Gripping the railings tight, while your heart jumped in your chest, you glanced at Jaehyun who was already on his way to the fourth stair. Stubbornness made its way to your brain, whispering things such as: Why is he angry? It’s just right to block someone from infiltrating your mind. It’s called privacy! But you must also admit that you’d feel and act the same if you were on his shoes.

You stood straight and walked with forced dignity until you reached your doorstep. “Thank you, for tonight—”

But he already pressed his palm on the cemented railings and jumped.

So frustrating! You tugged on your hair before entering your room. Rhianon was splayed on her bed and snoring loudly when you entered. You shook your head while chuckling lightly, guessing that the question you have for her could wait until tomorrow.

A sigh went past your lips as you felt the tiredness seeping in your system. You badly wanted to sleep. But the sweat and the scent of sex still lingers on your skin. You turned on your heel and decided to shower instead.

As the cool water cascaded down your body, you couldn’t help but blush as you remembered Jaehyun’s hands. The way he kissed your lips, and the way he played with your teat. The memory made your clitoris throb in arousal.

Underneath his touch, you felt powerful. Like there wasn’t anything in this world who could take the power from you. He made you feel something— someone who isn’t exactly you. You gripped both your breasts as you felt the phantom of his hard length pushing in inside you. And you weren’t certain whether the liquid that has cascaded down your legs was from the shower or your sex.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you shook your body like a dog that has emerged from the water. This is weird, you whispered.

Jaehyun is a vampire. You are a human. There isn’t a happy ending to this story. But why do you dare to think that there might be?

—

Jaehyun couldn’t take it anymore. The reek of this vampire trailing behind him was too much for his sensitive sense of smell. So he snapped his head towards the shadow and bared his fangs. “Show yourself, boy.”

From the shadows emerged someone Jaehyun had learned how to trust when he became a vampire. “Sicheng? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Jung.” The other vampire saluted lightly, before reaching out his hand to Jaehyun. The latter took his hand and then clapped his back. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Jaehyun kept his hands to his pockets. “Me, neither. Why are you here?”

“Alena sent me to find you.”

Jaehyun turned his back towards his friend. He never wanted to hear that name, now that his irritation could reach the roof of this Academy. “Tell her to fuck off.”

Sicheng snorted, but he trailed behind his friend nonetheless. “Why are you here?”

Jaehyun shrugged, as if the answer to that question could be spotted in his body language alone. “Protecting someone here.”

“Protecting?” Sicheng dubiously asked, “A hunter?”

“Get it over with, Sicheng. What do you want?” Jaehyun whirled on his comrade again when they reached the pathway through the building where his bedroom was located.

“She wants you to escort her to the coming ball. You know how it is. Everyone knows you’re engaged.”

He worked his jaw before placing a hand on Sicheng’s shoulder. “I’m not marrying her. So for the last time, tell her to fuck off because I don’t want the marriage.” Then he turned on his heel, but before he could walk away, Sicheng voiced out something which drew Jaehyun in a halt.

“I could smell her in you, Jung.”

Jaehyun felt his muscles tensed. Without facing his friend, he asked, “Who?”

“A girl. She’s here. As much as I want to, you know I couldn’t withhold information from Alena.”

Of course. Jaehyun knew that. It was Alena who turned Sicheng. She had her hand wrapped around his throat, and he was spinning on her fingers.

Jaehyun has no idea about Sicheng’s life when he was a human, but he somewhat understood what he must be feeling— being controlled against your will.

He ran a hand through his face. “I would kill for her, Sicheng.” Aghast by the truth of his own words, Jaehyun felt as if he was struck by lightning. He was truly willing to defy all odds— to defy Alena— for you. And if it comes to that, he knows he is willing to die for you, too.

“And Alena would kill her for you.”

Jaehyun wanted to shout. He wanted to throw and break things. But he willed himself to stay calm, because no hunter in this Academy would be able to stop his wrath if he succumbed to it. Yet he didn’t want to beg. He didn’t want to beg for Sicheng to keep the reality of you away from his Primus. From Jaehyun’s Primus and fiancée.

“Let it go, Jung. If you think you could protect her by staying at her side, you know you’re mistaken,” Sicheng added, “The best way to keep her safe is to leave her alone.”

With that, Jaehyun spun so fast— hands clenched into fist— and attempted to punch Sicheng in the face. But the vampire was gone before he could do exactly just that. With a clenched fist, Jaehyun stared at the miniscule tornado in the sand from where Sicheng once stood.

—

Your eyelids were heavy with something wet— wet and thick and coppery to the smell. What is that? You whispered as you slowly opened your eyes. The first thing you saw was the ceiling of plain white above you.

Where am I? Your body felt dense. Wet. Cold. It took you a moment to realize that you were in a bathtub. What? Questions filled your mind as you roamed your eyes around you. The walls are white. The ceiling is white. The tub you were in was white. You failed to see the furnitures and Rhianon’s bed wherever you look.

Your lower body was deep in the water. Your hair was soaked with something sticky that doesn’t feel like water. Then you tried to stand up. But your body was glued to the tub with an invisible adhesive.

All of this doesn’t make any sense. You could still recall the way you dried your hair before climbing on your bed and falling into oblivion the moment you closed your eyes.

How did you end up here?

Someone whispered. You craned your neck to see no one behind you. It was painful to tug your hands from the tub, as if your skin is peeling off as you pull.

“Help, help us,” they whispered. “Please, help us.” They sounded as if they were choking.

Your eyes grew frantic as someone— no, two bodies— emerged from nowhere. Their faces were obscured by how distant they were from you. But they slowly drew closer and closer.

You fought the urge to scream when you recognized their faces. They were your parents. With their necks slit open and blood gushing down from it.

“Help us.” They reached out their bloodied fingers to you.

A phantom hand wrapped itself around your neck. It was so hard to breathe.

“Mom, Dad,” you choked. “I— I’m trying my best— I—”

Then their faces crumpled. Their mouths widened as they scream at you. “You can’t save us!”

“I can! Mom! Dad! I can!”

You felt someone leaning closer to your ear. Then a whisper, “You can’t save them.”

As if someone drop an ink to the water, it slowly turned red. You could perceive the way the crimson color crawled and occupied the once crystal clear surface of the water. Then you were soaked in blood. Everywhere you look, there is blood.

“You can’t even save yourself,” the voice whispered again.

No. It wasn’t someone. Because when you turn your head to the side to face the voice, the bloodied face of Jaehyun greeted you.

“Jaehyun?”

You jolted awake the same time the rooster cackled. The first thing you did was to look around you frantically. Rhianon was there, snoring loudly. Then you touched your eyelids, there wasn’t blood. You are here, you are alive.

But that gave you little to no comfort.

Nightmares once dominated your every sleep when you were a kid. It was predominant in the year your parents had died. But it’s been years since you have had them. What business do they have to be showing up now?

From the darkness that covered the skies, you realized that it was still gloaming. You debated whether to go back to sleep, but you were afraid of the possibility of another nightmare. The look on your parents’ face, as if they were in absolute agony, pierced your heart with a hundred needles the size of your arm. You won’t survive to witness it the second time.

Instead of lying back to the bed, you grabbed your phone from the bedside table and tried to occupy your brain of different posts from the internet.

Haechan posted a picture together with Mark on his bedroom, with a caption that says: Y/N’s probably fuming that she couldn’t be with us tonight.

He was mistaken. You aren’t fuming. You are crying. Warm tears slid down your face as you looked at their picture. They are the only thing that tethers you to the real world. And that world feels as if it is slowly fading away like thin smoke.

You left a comment and decided to send your brother a simple message about your day. Wherever you are, Johnny, I hope you’re fine. Because I am not.

It’s been… what? Three days? Not even a week that you have been here and you felt as if the goal to discover the vampire who murdered your parents was too impossible to attain.

No. You cannot simply falter now. You have to keep making yourself stronger to attain Juana’s protection. And the thing about Hubert… you need to talk to Rhianon and convince her to help you. In all of this chaos, your goal to kill Alena remains undeterred.

You sat back on the bed and stared at Rhianon’s sleeping frame. What are you hiding from me, Rhi? Her book of enchantments silently lies beside her. It is her favorite book, no doubt. For a moment, you wanted to reach out and pick and read it. But it felt wrong somehow— as if the action would intrude on her privacy.

As you have no idea on what to do, and you refused to dwell on the memories of Jaehyun, you sat your back on the mattress while staring at the canopy, thinking about your nightmare and abour everything that you need to think. Until Rhianon shifted and sat on her bed.

She was wide-eyed while taking in your awoken state. “Didn’t know you’re a morning person,” she said as she stretched her limbs.

“I am not. I just had an awful nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep because of it,” you sheepishly stated before sitting upright on your bed, back resting on the headboard.

“That sucks. And I’m afraid the breakfast would also suck. This Academy doesn’t even allow us to eat sausages,” she grimaced, “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner— it’s all the same and I’m so tired of—”

You cut her off, “Rhianon, I have something to ask you.”

She was still stretching her limbs when you cut her off, causing her arms to froze midair. “What is it?” She must have seen the gravity in your eyes for the first sliver of earnestness slipped past her lips.

“Are you a witch?” You felt awful asking the question. It was as if concluding a person’s sexuality. And that’s offensive. But you truly couldn’t waste time. Apologies would go after Rhianon’s answer.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well… your books, things—” You screw your lips shut as Jaehyun’s voice whispered in your ear.  

If the both of you are willing, he said. Are you? Are you prepared to strip naked all your secrets?

Before continuing, you gulped, “Because I need a witch’s help.”

Rhianon’s eyes bore into yours, scrutinizing your façade, as if she would find the answer by looking at you alone. “Juana is a witch. You’re here because you need her help,” she concluded, “Knowing her, she won’t give what you want that easily. And you must’ve realized that she’s not willing to help you at all— that’s why you’re searching for alternatives.”

Words slipped out of your system. You felt as if the alphabet was nothing but jumbled lines of letters in your mind. “I,” you cleared your throat, “Well, that’s correct. Most of it are.”

Moments of taciturnity, then Rhianon leaned closer. “Why did you let her fool you?”

“I didn’t. She’s still willing to help me, but she’s also sacrificing me in the sense. I mean—” you groaned. The words won’t simply come out.

“Y/N, tell me everything. So I know if I could help you,” she uttered.

While rolling your lip with your teeth, you ran a hand through your hair. “My parents were killed by a vampire. I need to know who killed them. Then I met Jaehyun— who is a vampire— and he’s helping me to discover what really happened to my parents. We arrived at Juana’s gathering, and asked for her help. She’s willing— but I must kill Alena, first.”

It’s Rhianon’s turn to gape at you. Then her expression hardened. “That’s insane, Y/N. I understand it now. You’re here because she said you must train. For Alena—” Then a heavy, painful sigh, “It’s impossible. That Primus is almost untouchable. Even Lucas— who’s the best vampire hunter to ever exist after Diego— is nothing compared to Alena.”

“What should I do? It’s the only choice left. I must kill her so Juana would help me enchant Hubert.”

Her brows furrowed. “Who is Hubert?”

“He’s a ghost. A gravedigger of some sorts. Jaehyun and I visited him, to ask about the fate of my parents. Apparently, he knows everything about vampires and their victims especially when it happened in the cemetery,” you explained, catching your breath after, “But he has no tongue. So he couldn’t talk.”

Something spark in Rhianon’s eyes. Interest, you could tell. “Where’s his tongue?”

“I have no idea. But you said… you said you’re interested on how to put back body parts right?”

“I am interested, Y/N. But I didn’t say I could do it.”

“Please, Rhi. I need this.”

She sighed, “Y/N. What did you discover to change plans like this?”

“Jaehyun heard them talking. Juana, Eva, and Lucas. They were talking about me. Juana said I am only a collateral damage— probably a tester to know how powerful Alena is. Before she would dispatch Eva or Lucas to kill her.”

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the bedsheets. “Of course. She would do that. And why does she want you to kill Alena?”

“To avenge her son, she says, whom Alena turned into a vampire.”

Rhianon ran her hand through her face. “Fuck.”

“Why? Why, Rhianon?”

She shook her head at you. “Nothing,” she sighed, “This is complicated, Y/N. And I don’t know if I could help you. But… but I will try.”

Happiness and gratitude swelled inside your heart. Everything is lining up according to your plan, at last. “Thank you, Rhianon.”

—

It’s been a week since you shared your secrets with Rhianon and until now, she didn’t know what to do with them. You have repleted her too much information that she has no idea how to jumble in her mind. Her brother is right— she should really talk to Juana.

It has been years since Sicheng was turned. He had accepted his fate with the whole of his heart. Rhianon found it hard to swallow either— the turning of her brother. It made her angry, it made her want to tear Alena herself, too. But as the saying goes that blood is thicker than water, Rhianon found herself embracing the new life his brother decided for himself.

Sicheng was born as a male witch. For the witches, it is an atrocity to give birth to a male. A male witch is nothing: no magic, no abilities. Sicheng bore no supernatural instincts in his system. That’s why the remaining witches tried to cast him out. Rhianon would never forget the blood coming out from Sicheng’s hundred wounds when the witches tried to kill him. With his mother standing in the sidelines, watching the torture of her own son.

Rhianon and her grandmother helped Sicheng escaped, but they didn’t anticipate him to run to the vampire Primus of Detritius clan. When Rhianon forced herself to ponder the reason of her brother’s action, she knew to her heart that she would’ve done the same to survive.

What is the point of all this? Is it really the unbelievable motherly affection in Juana’s heart? That’s why she insists to kill Alena for allegedly turning her son into a vampire? Or is it the shattered pride? Because her mortal enemy has her son?

Rhianon soothed her nerves before pushing the doors of Juana’s chamber open. The first thing she noticed was the stark white hair of Lucas, as he leaned closer to Juana, obviously talking to her about something. Yet Lucas’s mouth shut abruptly by the sound of the door swinging open.

“Rhianon,” he stated.

At normal times, Rhianon would’ve blushed and squeal to herself that Lucas called her name. But this isn’t normal times. And she needs to talk to Juana.

“Leave us, Lucas,” Juana commanded.

Lucas pressed a fist to his heart before departing the room, casting a lingering stare at Rhianon’s face.

“What do you want?” Juana leaned to her table, reading documents Rhianon knew made no sense to her at all.

Rhianon willed strength to her bones, authority in her voice. “Sicheng wants you to stop whatever you are doing to get him back.” There’s no point for segue-ways.

“Don’t talk to me about Sicheng.”

Rhianon remained standing to where she was. “Aren’t you tired? You need to stop this folly! He doesn’t want to come back!”

The wooden chair of Juana grated the floors as she forcefully stood up. “Get out.”

She walked towards the witch with her chin held up high. “Stop ruining other people’s lives for Sicheng. You failed him. Years ago.”

“He is my son! How dare you say that to me?!”

The fire from the fireplace ignited brighter by Juana’s rage. Rhianon should run and shut the door behind her before Juana does something both of them would regret. But she couldn’t move a finger. Running felt horrid somehow.

“He is your son no more! He stopped being your son when you let the witches torture him to death—!” A palm to the cheek. Again. Rhianon bit her lip, tongue catching the swell of blood from the side of her mouth.

Juana’s fury enveloped the room with a darkness that wasn’t perceived by the eyes, but rather felt in the marrow of the bones. “Watch where you’re going, Rhianon. If you don’t want me to send you back to where you belong.”

Her shoulders vibrated by the petulant chortle she echoed. “Go on. Send me back to the woods. As much as I can remember, you’re the one who’s responsible for my being here. Grandma’s dead, so you don’t have any choice but to take care of me— your only daughter.” The word taste bitter on her tongue, as if it was acid scorching her flesh. “Perplexing, isn’t it? I am the one who inherited your witch blood. But you refused to acknowledge that— over and over— because what? And why? Why do you torture me like this, mother?”

All the neglect, Rhianon swallowed. But some wounds truly couldn’t heal without a touch of the right medicine. The patches in her heart yearns for a mother’s touch. And her own mother doesn’t want to tend to that.

Juana flinched by the word ‘mother’. Rhianon saw it with her own eyes. She flinched because she’s failed doing that responsibility again and again. “Because I hate your face. You remind me of your worthless father. I hate looking at you—”

“No, mother.” Rhianon gritted her teeth. “You hate looking at me not because of my father: you hate looking at me because you see a witch so powerful she rivaled your abilities.”

With that, Juana laughed her witch laugh. Mocking. Sarcastic. “Come again, Rhianon? You? Rivaling my power?”

Rhianon fisted her hands. “Yes. You know it. There’s no one who would inherit the magic in your bones but me. And I could feel it running in my veins.” Her mother’s nostril flared, but Rhianon continued, “You refused to admit it yet, but your powers are dwindling. And I am becoming stronger. Know this mother,” Rhianon pinned the words, “I will be better than you.”

Juana’s knuckles turned white. Her words clipped with warning, “Get. Out.”

Rhianon pressed a fist to her heart. Before she could bow, Juana sweeped all the things off her table.

“GET OUT!” she roared.

A triumphant smile spread out on Rhianon’s lips. She’s forgotten all respects, she’s forgotten the defeat, as she smiled and pivoted on her heels— turning her back on her mother.

—

A week has gone by. The days were occupied by you swinging your fist and your feet, drawing a bowstring or throwing daggers at a straw man target. The progress was slow, but it was there. Lucas had made sure that you appreciate yourself at the every end of the day. And you did, despite Eva’s unending glares and insults.

Rhianon provided you another comfort in the strict and lonely atmosphere of the Academy. Every now and then, if the both of you weren’t tired to the bones, you would talk about your plans. She seemed open about the discussion, but she still didn’t give away too much information about herself.

You knew she’s a witch. She hasn’t denied it yet, and she hasn’t confirmed it either. The question is still there, hanging between the both of you.

As much as you wanted to read through her books, you forced yourself to calm down since you would never want to rush her. Or make her feel as if you are rushing her. There’s still time until the gathering. All you need to do is ground yourself until then.

And Jaehyun… well, he remained conspicuous in the comforts of his chamber. The nights that he didn’t visit you had become the loneliest nights of your life so far.

There was an ache whenever you would turn around because you thought he was following you. You had become used to his presence that it was as if he left something in the corner of your eyes— a phantom— for you to miss him even more than you could.

It was maddening: this stage of developing feelings. The first are always the butterflies in the stomach and the need to see that person everytime. And when there’s a quarrel, you won’t know what to do. Because at the end of the day… there isn’t a knot of relationship tying the both of you.

You wrapped your hand aroud the neck of your beer before taking a swig from the bottle.

The nights were turning cold, so your roommate has decided to sneak in liquor to your dorm and drown yourself until you pass out. Rhianon seemed to be doing exactly the same.

“Where’s your vampire?” she slurred.

You watched as her eyes turned droopy with a small chuckle echoing through you. “He’s hibernating.” You wish. For all you know, he’s debating whether to help or abandon you now. The thought tied your stomach in knots.

“I’m sorry if I’m not doing anything yet to help you,” Rhianon shies.

“No. I understand. You’re giving me hope, Rhi. Please don’t put yourself down.”

Against the light of the room, a pinkish tinge adorned Rhianon’s gold skin. “I will try my best, Y/N. That, I could assure you.”

“Thank you.”

Rhianon tossed her bottle to the air, while laughing her heart out. There was something both ecstatic and sad in the way that she carried her expression that made you doubtful of the laugh that she was echoing. But you were never one to stick your nose to other people’s business, so you let it go and watched her in awe instead. You have been finding that same energy in you for weeks now.

She talks about her life, yet still careful of the words that comes out her mouth even though it is obvious that she is already intoxicated. Upon hours of swigging on her bottle and talking with slurred words, Rhianon finally started to snore as she reclined her head to the side of her bed.

You chuckled and helped her to lay down. You weren’t much of a drinker but you must admit that the beers had warmed up your body— too much for what you had expected.

Beer bottles littered on the floor, with chips and other wrappers that you have no idea how she sneaked in the dorms. You picked up the first bottle when a knock stopped your movements.

It’s eleven p.m.. Who could that be? Oh, no. It’s not the guards, right? With clammy fingers, you sauntered up to the door and swung it open.

“Hey,” he garbled.

There it was again: the thudding of your heart. Jaehyun stood on the doorway clad in his pajamas. He was looking at you with hooded eyes: like how a predator stares at its prey.

You gulped. “What are you doing here—”

Preventing you from finishing your words, Jaehyun pulled you closer, boxing you into a tight hug. Unable to form words nor move a muscle, you stood frozen and let him sniff on your hair like it was his favorite flower.

“I miss you,” he mumbled against your hair. “I miss you so much it hurts.”

His words and this feeling inside your chest. There was pain, there was suffering. But behind the hurt, you couldn’t help but fall.

“Jaehyun—”

“I can’t,” he whispered, “I can’t let you go.”

He pulled away and took your face with his hands. Those tantalizing eyes of him never failed to pierce right into the fiber of your very being. You shuddered by the intensity of his expression. “What do you mean?”

His lips were inches from yours. With the right push, those luscious lips would collide with yours undoubtedly. “You’re so beautiful,” he stated instead.

Jaehyun placed his hand to the small of your back before capturing your lips with a lazy kiss. You heedlessly wrapped your arms around his neck and guided him inside your room. You shut the door by pressing your back behind the wooden surface.

The hollow feelings that had been eating up on you of those days that he didn’t show himself were slowly closing in with the passion of the kiss. You have never thought that you could be this weak for a boy.

You and Jaehyun were like the sun and the moon— always chasing each other. But no matter how you run, you’d never sate the fervent wanting inside your souls for one another.

Jaehyun’s kisses moved downwards until he was sucking on your neck and eliciting moans from your lips. Perhaps the sound drove him mad, for he fumbled on your clothes and tried to get them off of your body. But you grasped his wrists to stop him.

Wide-eyed and with his mouth swollen because of the kiss, Jaehyun stared at you. “Why?”

“Let me,” you whispered before licking his lips. An echo of a throaty moan moved past his lips before you sunk on your knees and pulled his pajamas down his knees.

Jaehyun’s look hardened as his throbbing cock displayed himself in front of you. You gulped by the sight of him— in all his glory— then took his length by your hands.

“Suck me good, angel.”

You inspired upon hearing that same virility, that same wanting. And you did as you were told. With your sex aching by the arousal, you took Jaehyun’s cock in your mouth. His scent whiffed your nose, making you move your tongue along the veiny length of his cock as you swallowed him up and down.

Mouth hollowing by the burning desire and greedy need to make him come for you, you took the root of his penis and pumped while you sucked the crown of his cock. Jaehyun seized a handful of your hair when his hips jolted forward. The movement drove you wild, that you double-fisted the other half of his cock while you sucked his head down the length your mouth allowed you to swallow. Your eyes fluttered upwards and saw Jaehyun grit his teeth as he did his best not to make any sound.

The thought of Rhianon waking up kindled the lust a little bit brighter. Then you sucked Jaehyun until your jaw ached. The restraint and his grip on your hair making you delirious that you took his whole length until his cock hit your throat.

Jaehyun straightened as his hips stilled. Warm and thick spurts of semen filled your mouth you struggled to swallow. You whined against his cock, the taste of his semen overwhelming your tongue, your throat and every flesh inside your mouth.

“Swallow it. All,” Jaehyun commanded. You whimpered and did as you were told with diligence and tears searing the back of your eyes.

With one last gulp, you stood and faced Jaehyun. His cock was still hanging and rock-hard when he wiped your lips harshly with his thumb, painting your lips with the last bit of semen still on your gums. Then he captured your lips, tasting his own self.

You whimpered by the animalistic penetration he did inside your mouth. During the kiss, he fumbled on your pajama strings and pulled your panties down with it. You gasped as he inserted a finger inside your dripping sex abruptly. Jaehyun lifted your one leg as he dipped another finger. When your mouth opened, he looked at you in warning.

“You can’t really shout, can you?” Then he curled his fingers, stretching your flesh with carnal desire in his eyes.

“Jaehyun—” You whined as you grabbed his shoulders for support.

“What? What, angel? Tell me what you want.”

“I’m— I’m coming—” you struggled to breathe and say the words because of the pace he was fingering you in. “Jaehyun!” you cried when he released his fingers.

Without another word, Jaehyun pulled your body towards the space between your bed and Rhianon’s. She was snoring softly, oblivious of what’s happening around her.

“Jaehyun— she might wake up—” you breathed.

Jaehyun seemed as if he didn’t hear a word because he pressed his lips to your ear, licking your earlobe before whispering hoarsely. “Get in all fours, angel.”

Your eyes widened as you glanced at Rhianon, who had her body turned sideways. If she would open her eyes, she would see your naked lower body. But the lust was blurring all your senses, and the insatiable need to have Jaehyun inside you was a physical ache cursing through your swollen clit.

You gulped before bending over the cold hard floors. Palms and knees pressed on the tiles, your body inches away from your sleeping roommate.

“Wider, angel,” the devil whispered before spreading your legs with his.

You swallowed a gasp when the air caressed your sex. “This is a bad idea.”

“Why? You’re afraid of being caught?” Jaehyun leaned towards you, the skin of his cock pressing on your sex, making you giddy with pleasure. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this, angel. I could smell the lust in your pretty little cunt.”

You bit back a cry when Jaehyun inserted himself inside you. With his hand pushing your upper body down the tiled floor, and his other pulling your ass to the air, Jaehyun started to fuck you from behind.

Your cheek was pressed against the cold hard floor, while his balls slapped against your buttocks by every thrust. A whimper escaped your lips, intensifying the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The slap of skin to skin was so intense you were clearly baffled that Rhianon continued to drool and snore on her bed.

Jaehyun willed your body to bend while he wrapped an arm around your neck, still fucking you with the same pace that hit all the right spots in your sex. “Jesus, fuck,” he muttered while ravaging your tight cunt.

His outburst made you lose your mind as you let the pleasure pull you underneath its grasp. Your knees hurt and your back aches but Jaehyun kept you in that position, fucking you restlessly and fervently as if it was blood— as if it was his lifeline.

“Jaehyun—!” you whimpered when he reached for your clit and rubbed it harshly, building your climax right in your lower abdomen.

“Right,” he uttered, “Scream my name and let all the hunters know how filthy you are for a vampire.”

Your sex tightened by the dirty words, and Jaehyun felt it too. For he released your clit and let it throbbed in anticipation for a climax that was put off. “Jaehyun,” you cried, “let me come.”

“Soon, angel.” Then he let you fall back to the floors as he pulled himself out.

Your legs were still shaking when Jaehyun climbed in on your bed and sat. He tapped his lap while jacking off his cock.

“Ride my cock,” he commanded once again.

You shuddered by the command. As you remained sitting on the floor, with Jaehyun masturbating on your bed and Rhianon snoring behind you, you decided to touch your clit and get it over with. The climax you have been anticipating since earlier was hanging on a loose thread, ready to burst and drive you mad.

“Don’t even dare,” Jaehyun warned before you could rub your swollen clit. The danger in his eyes made you halt, and with a whine you climbed up on your bed and sat on his lap. “Be a good girl and ride me.”

Jaehyun was… huge. It was your first time to realize as his cock reached the skin a few centimeters up your navel. His cock would destroy you. And you would let it.

Placing your hands on Jaehyun’s knees, you sank your sex down his length. He gritted his teeth, fangs slowly elongating. You arched your back and dragged your sex along the rigid length of his cock. Jaehyun placed a thumb on your clit and started to draw lazy circles that made you shiver in pleasure.

Rhianon was meters away from the both of you as you fucked the brains out of each other. Whenever you think of being caught, your desire would double up. You continued to drag your sex down his length, buttocks slapping against his lap by every arch and fall your body makes.

His brows knitted together as you vacillate your hips. By every pump of your hips, your lower abdomen and core tightens. Jaehyun’s business rubbing your clit like that didn’t help— it was maddening.

One last stroke of his thumb and you would explode from the pleasure of it all.

As if he heard the animalistic roar of your body language, Jaehyun leaned and grabbed the back of your head, holding your eyes with his red pupils as your cunt quivered and your stomach caved in. You bit back a cry when your climax finally washed through you. Jaehyun grinned when you started to shake, his cock still inside you. He pulled you closer and let your forehead sit on his shoulder while your lower body still shivered from the pleasure.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered before pushing you away from him. His semen spurted out from his cock and to his thighs, to your own mattress.

You languorously watched his jaw clenched. All the strength from your body was sapped, but you forced yourself to sit and lick the semen off his legs. Jaehyun cursed as he watched you. Then he grabbed your chin and planted a savage kiss on your lips.

“So fucking dirty for me,” he whispered as he fisted a handful of your hair. You gaped, feeling the salacity in his voice down to your very core.

Jaehyun planted open-mouthed kisses on your shoulders, neck, jaw, and cheek as he laid you down on your mattress, covering both your bodies with the sheets.

Your mind was hazy and your eyes were heavy from pleasure. You let the tingling feeling to spin inside your stomach as Jaehyun continued to pepper you with soft kisses.

“Are you sleepy?” he whispered while scooping you closer to his frame.

Finding words to say and failing in the process, you only nodded.

“Sleep, angel,” he mumbled.

But before you could close your eyes, you stared at him and tried to memorize the plains of his face to join you to dreamland. “You hid yourself from me for a week.”

Jaehyun let out a throaty and full chuckle before placing kisses on each of your fingers. “I did. Because I needed the time to think.”

You hummed, trying to raise one brow in inquisition.

“I needed the time to think because I was afraid.”

“Of?”

“Of everything regarding you, angel.”

You hugged his waist, burying your face to his chest and inhaling that unnatural yet enthralling scent from him. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind what I mean. Just…” Then he began to caress your cheek, sweeping strands of your hair away from your eyes. “... trust me. Believe in me.”

“I believe in you.”

“Then I am thankful,” Jaehyun whispered once again. With one last kiss on your cheek, you drifted fully to oblivion, the dreamlands pulling you under.

#neowritingsnet #jaehyun angst #jaehyun fic #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader

[sparklingchan]

Why,why? || Kang Hyunggu(Pentagon)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Kino.

Word count : 1k+

Warnings : Suggestive.

Genre : Fluff, romance, boyfriend au, established relationship.

Description : Just like the stars in the sky, there are an infinite number of reasons as to why you love Kang Hyunggu.

Author’s Note :  Guess who’s still crying over Ptg’s first win…. I’m so happy y’all  >_< So here’s a lil something to celebrate it<3 Repost because tumblr sucks ass.

Please do reblog , like and comment if you like this. My DMs are also open so if you want to gimme a review , feel free.

Enjoy!

They say that one cannot count the stars in the sky , but on rare times like this , you strictly disagree with that statement.

You stare at the dark purple sky above you , your brain now having counted upto a hundred stars just to prevent yourself from getting overwhelmed by the presence of the person beside you.

“A penny for your thoughts, y/n.” The feeling of Hyunggu’s soft tender fingers playing with your hair brings you back to reality, making you lose count of the stars above you as you concentrate all your attention on the one beside you.

“I’m not thinking anything ,really.” You reply , staring up at his face from his chest.

The moon shines on his face just enough to illuminate his best features - his eyes , his plump lips , the mole under his eye.

And you suddenly want to grab his face and place kisses on every inch of it ,even though you had done it just a few minutes ago.

But who can blame you , a man as beautiful as Hyunggu belongs in an art gallery and it is unbelievable that he still chooses to lie down on the moist grass with you in his arms, talking about everyone and everything.

“I love you.” you breathe into the fabric of his shirt , drawing small circles on his stomach with your fingers.

He has heard you say those words many times before ,yet they still make him feel giddy everytime you say it. It’s hard for him to believe that someone out there actually harbours such feelings for him, despite all his flaws and mistakes.

It feels surreal to him , just as it does to you, for true love is an emotion not many people know. One can offer their hearts to many people in one lifetime, still it needs luck to have the same people give their own hearts in return.

“Why.” Now that is a new response from his side - the answer to which you’d assumed he already knows.

“Why? Why is ’ why ’ even a question, Kang Hyunggu?” you roll your eyes , smiling sheepishly.

He shrugs as his free hand ghosts over your fingers for a few seconds and then he laces his fingers through yours. You shiver and you blame the fact that you’re wearing a simple shirt and track pants when in reality, it is his touch that chills you down to your bone. But , again ,in your defense, you’d never really fallen so sincerely in love with a person before - this is all so familiar yet exciting to you.

“I don’t know.” he replies with a mischievous smile, “You tell me, y/n.”

Hyunggu surely does know how to play hard to get , and it has never failed to make you feel all flustered .

It’s like a tug of war game , for it is unsure which side will win at the end but everyone enjoys it nevertheless.

You pull away from him , just enough to flip onto your stomach and rest your elbows on the grass and your face on the heel of your hand.

“Okay , so reason number one,” you start with a grin on your lips , “You’re an insanely talented musician.”

Hyunggu shrugs like it’s not a big deal at all , trying to be modest ,but it is a big deal. To you at least.

His devotion and passion towards music is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.The dark circles under his eyes , the outline of his headphones on his cheeks , the ink on his hands , you notice everything but never once have you seen him complain about it.And the way his eyes sparkle with joy when he talks about his songs and music is a sight to behold.

Hyunggu ’s entire existence revolves around music , like music were his sun and he were a planet. Planets cannot survive without a sun.

“The second reason is your personality. ” you place your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently. He smiles into your touch.

Anyone who’s ever met Hyunggu can confirm whole heartedly that he is the human personification of a warm blanket on a chilly winter night.His presence is so warm and alluring and comforting that you sometimes wonder how you had survived so many years without him. Alone. Cold and lonely.

“The third reason is your smile.” You say as you bend down to quickly peck him on his luscious, pink lips. He blushes under you.

His smile is a treasure you’d like to protect with everything you have ,for as long as you can. He has a smile that looks like it were the bright crescent moon on a cloudless night, carved by the gods and blessed by the angels.

You would do anything to see him smile. In a heartbeat, without a second thought.

“And the last reason has to be your eyes.” You whisper. Hyunggu wraps a firm arm around your waist , pulling you closer , “Now that’s something I’ve never heard before. Care to elaborate?”

“Well , you know how much I love stars, right? I feel the same way about your eyes because they’re so shiny and calm.” You sigh.

And you decide to not add the part where you think that his eyes look like your own two personal stars. Specially sent for you from the sky.

His eyes , nose , lips , heart , mind - everything was given over to you

He’s yours, just how you are his and this is how it will be till the end.

Hyunggu pokes his nose into your cheek , pulling you out of those self indulgent thoughts.

You giggle , your hand resting on his chest as you lean in to kiss him properly this time. Desperate and passionate. With tongue and teeth and tight embraces. You would never get tired of this , you realise. Never in a billion years. Even after your names have been forgotten and your bodies have turned to dust.

You would never get tired of Hyunggu.

#kpop #kpop au #kpop bias #kpop imagines #kpop ff #kpop icons #kpop imagine #pentagon #ptg #pentagon imagine #ptg au #pentagon au #ptg kino #pentagon kino au #ptg x reader #ptg fluff #ptg smut #pentagon imagines #ptg angst #ptg kino imagine #pentagon kino imagine #kpop fluff #kpop idol x reader #kpop smut #kpop angst #pentagon fics #pentagon gifs #pentagon gfx #please appreciate this #tumblr

[aion-rsa]

Best Serial Killer Movies of the ’90s Ranked

https://ift.tt/3tcsgCf

Someone must have left the freezer door in the morgue open, because grisly reminders of the past are thawing before our eyes. You can see it this weekend with the release of John Lee Hancock’s The Little Things, a throwback to the days when movie stars hung out at crime scenes instead of in spandex, and it’ll be more apparent next month with the launch of Clarice, a television spinoff of 1991’s The Silence of the Lambs. All the evidence points to only one conclusion: the serial killer thrillers of the ‘90s are back!

Not that we’re complaining. For a macabre minute or two, every Hollywood name appeared eager to play either the detective or the killer—the hunter or the obsessed, which often proved interchangeable for both characters. Granted that means there can be something formulaic about many of these movies. Yet they can also be bleak, hard-edged, and ambiguous. From our modern gaze, where the dominant studio conventions prefer reassuring morality tales and sunny lighting, these movies’ preference for shadows and discomfort in the mainstream is kind of startling.

So grab your magnifying glass and fortify your stomach, because we’re about to revisit some of the best (and worst) of ‘90s serial killer thrillers. (Also this list is strictly for the decade when the genre was at its height and it excludes slasher movies like Scream, which may feature serial killers but were not exactly adult-oriented thrillers.)

12. Eye of the Beholder (1999)

Eye of the Beholder is a tonal oddity that only passingly flirts with the conventions of ‘90s serial killer thrillers, all while it tries to pay homage to (read: rip-off) Alfred Hitchcock. But any credit it deserves for deviation—including making Ashley Judd’s central femme fatale the killer—it loses in execution. As a muddied, impenetrable tale about an intelligence officer (Ewan McGregor) who spies on and falls in love with a serial killer, Eye of the Beholder is a scattershot of bad ideas that run the gamut from ludicrous to misogynistic.

Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but this movie will close the lids over your pupils inside of 30 minutes.

11. Nightwatch (1997)

It feels a little mean to rag on Ewan McGregor back-to-back, but maybe serial killer movies just aren’t his genre? That could be at least one takeaway from an ill-advised double feature of Eye of the Beholder and Nightwatch, the latter of which is a remake of a 1994 Danish film that I’ve not seen… and probably won’t since both the original film and American remake are directed by the same man.

McGregor plays medical student Martin here, a kid who gets an after school job by becoming the night watch security at the local morgue. But as a series of grisly prostitute murders pile up, Martin realizes he needs to figure out who the killer is—that or continue to be framed by the necrophiliac fiend who keeps coming by the morgue for one last liaison. It’s exactly as skeevy as it sounds. Do yourself a favor and go your whole life without hearing Nick Nolte sing “This Old Man” while climbing onto a corpse.

10. Natural Born Killers (1994)

The movie that Quentin Tarantino disowned, Natural Born Killers is a seedy mess based on a Tarantino script that was heavily rewritten by Oliver Stone, David Veloz, and Richard Rutowski. The concept itself is a seemingly inevitable escalation of the “bad romance outlaws” archetype that’s been floating around Hollywood since at least 1950’s Gun Crazy, and which was then made iconic by Bonnie & Clyde (1967).

But whereas those films relied on bank robbers living fast, Natural Born Killers descends into a seeming final form with Mickey and Mallory (Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis) as giddy serial killers who are eventually out for maximum carnage. Technically the pair are supposed to be presented as victims of traumatic child abuse—and who are then wrongfully glorified by the media. But Stone’s sloppy and tanked vision lacks the discipline to achieve anything beyond its maliciousness. Early sequences imagining Mallory’s abusive childhood like it’s a television sitcom, and later psychedelic visions of Robert Downey Jr.’s opportunistic news reporter as the Devil, do little to divorce the film from its shallow self-satisfaction in close-ups of heads being shot.

The movie came under controversy in the years after its release for inspiring alleged copycat killers as well as school shooters. It feels irresponsible to blame media for actual violence, but it’s still quite an indictment that Stone’s attempt to criticize media glorification became a favorite for many a disturbed individual with a gun.

9. Kiss the Girls (1997)

When studying competent, middle of the road Hollywood thrillers, Kiss the Girls is a solid place to start. As a decently made bit of studio convention, the movie is anchored by strong elements like Morgan Freeman as James Paterson’s literary hero, Alex Cross, and Ashley Judd as Kate, the victim who survives a masked killer’s attempt to abduct her into his harem.

Moments like Kate’s escape sequence through the North Carolina wilderness are effectively filled with adrenaline, and Judd particularly gives the salacious piece conviction. However, it is salacious to a fault. Even if the movie toned down the source novel’s even more lurid misogyny, the film studies Kate and the other victims with a lascivious male gaze, blurring sex with violence, real world horror with leering entertainment. Right down to its title, the film can be rightly criticized as Hollywood glamourizing another story about violence against women. Whether that damns the whole movie depends on the viewer, but it certainly keeps it low on our list.

8. The Bone Collector (1999)

Marketed with a hell of a tagline about there being thousands of taxi cabs in New York City that’ll get you home—and one that won’t—The Bone Collector is almost comically slavish to the clichés of ‘90s moviemaking. The wrinkle here is that after a faux cab driver begins abducting his victims off the street, the crime psychologist who must stop him is entirely stuck by his bedside. Due to a tragic accident, Denzel Washington’s Lincoln Rhyme is paralyzed from the neck down. Yet he is still able to catch serial killers by communicating in the earpiece of police officer Amelia Donaghy (an entirely unconvincing Angelina Jolie).

Read more

Movies

Lost Girls Review: Netflix Takes on the Long Island Serial Killer

By Rosie Fletcher

Books

The Last Book on the Left Takes on the Grim History of Serial Killers

By Alec Bojalad

Together the pair stay one step behind the mystery killer’s tracks as he executes a series of increasingly gruesome and ridiculous murders. It’s preposterous, and in some ways a forerunner for Saw with the satisfaction it takes in absurd death traps, but Washington is effortlessly compelling, even when he never leaves his apartment. As a bit of absurd Hollywood fluff, right down to the ultimately lackluster unmasking of the killer, it can be entertaining, even if you’ll deny it afterward.

7. Copycat (1995)

More potent than I remembered, Copycat is a genuinely well-crafted Hollywood thriller that may not reinvent the wheel but takes it out for a damn good spin. In the driver’s seat is Sigourney Weaver as Dr. Helen Hudson, a criminal psychologist who is an expert on serial killers until one follows her into the bathroom after a guest lecture. He nearly hangs her from the ceiling. Following that white-knuckled opening, the film jumps years ahead and Helen has become agoraphobic and afraid to leave her home.

Yet when a local series of murders reveal the pattern of a predator imitating the methods of his favorite “celebrities”—one crime scene is like the Boston Strangler and another emulates the horrors of Jeffrey Dahmer—Helen is pulled out of retirement by a no-nonsense detective (Holly Hunter). The winning chemistry between Weaver and Hunter—who are refreshingly free from the studio-mandated romantic subplots in some of the other movies on this list—and the blunt force power of their performances aid this sincerely disquieting flick. A needlessly convoluted third act aside, the movie still works as a warning about the danger of fanboys a generation early.

6. Fallen (1998)

Denzel Washington appears again thanks to this clever supernatural spin on the serial killer genre. At the beginning of Fallen, Washington’s John Hobbes appears on top of the world. The serial killer he chased for years (Elias Koteas) is about to breathe deeply in the gas chamber. Yet after the lever is pulled, and with Koteas singing the Rolling Stones’ “Time is On My Side” until his last breath, a funny thing happens: the murders continue.

In fact, more than just the killings, strangers in the street sing “Time is On My Side” in Hobbes’ ear, and he soon realizes that he faces a devil of a killer whose been operating since the beginning—quite literally since the villain is a demon who was once an angel that fell with Lucifer. It’s a bizarre premise given strutting confidence thanks to Washington’s performance, as well as good supporting work by John Goodman and Donald Sutherland. Twenty years later and its ending still sticks with me.

5. The Exorcist III (1990)

If you haven’t seen The Exorcist III, we know what you’re thinking: “Really?!” Yes. In fact, this isn’t even an exorcist movie; it should’ve been titled Legion like the 1983 novel it’s based on. Alas writer-director William Peter Blatty was forced to use the title and do reshoots that added an exorcism in the climax. Still, this supernatural thriller which involves a serial killer back from the dead is far better than it has any right to be.

Following the character of Lt. Kinderman from the 1973 masterpiece, the middle-aged gumshoe is now played by George C. Scott instead of the late Lee J. Cobb, and he possesses Scott’s usual love for contrasts between the restrained whisper and a bombastic howl. He also makes a sympathetic, secular detective forced to face the horrors of Hell when a series of murders committed against Catholic priests appear to be the work of the Gemini Killer (Brad Dourif), a serial killer whom Kinderman sent to the chair more than 10 years ago.

Read more

Movies

The Exorcist III is a Classic and Better Than You Remember

By Jim Knipfel

Movies

The Exorcist Is Still the Scariest Movie Ever Made

By David Crow

Somehow the fiend—plus Kinderman’s long dead pal Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller)—appear to now be living in the same body of a John Doe kept in a mental asylum. With an unrelenting atmosphere of dread, palpable tension, and more of Blatty’s intellectual struggle with concepts of faith and evil, the film is more high-minded than its hacky title suggests. It also features one of the best jump scares in movie history.

4. Summer of Sam (1999)

The only movie on this list directly based on an actual serial killer’s crimes, Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam is a serious-minded joint. However, it’s only partially about the murders perpetrated by David Berkowitz, aka the “.44 Caliber Killer,” aka the Son of Sam. Rather the film focuses on the effects a serial killer has on the culture of New York City during the sweltering summer of 1977, and how it affects young lives trying to make it in the big city.

Influenced by Lee and his co-writers Michael Imperioli and Victor Colicchio’s memories of growing up in 1970s New York, the pic is a love letter to a grim moment in history when the city was about to explode with murders, blackouts, crime, and disco. All of this is digested from the vantages of Vinny (John Leguizamo), a philandering hairdresser guilt-ridden for cheating on his wife (Mira Sorvino), and his childhood pal Ritchie (Adrien Brody), who’s left the old neighborhood behind to join the fledgling punk rock scene.

With a greater interest in how a serial killer affects the culture and institutions of a city on edge than being a traditional crime drama, Summer of Sam is a bit of a forerunner to David Fincher’s far more polished Zodiac from a few years later. With heavy-handed dialogue and a plot too big for Lee to fully get his arms around, even at 142 minutes, Summer of Sam can be uneven and messy. But it has the sweaty incorrigibility of a long night out, and of revelries half remembered like from a fever dream.

3. The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999)

The rare serial killer movie told entirely from the perspective of the killer, Anthony Minghella’s The Talented Mr. Ripley is disarmingly creepy. Despite its glossy awards bait sheen, there is a cold-blooded streak that runs deep to the heart of the piece, likely due to Patricia Highsmith’s source 1955 novel. Starring Matt Damon fresh off his Good Will Hunting golden boy sheen, the film uses its casting to disorient and ultimately disturb.

Like Highsmith’s book, the film is not structured like a traditional thriller. It instead favors a detached ambivalence about its seemingly nebbish hero as he agrees to become an errand boy for the rich by traveling to 1950s Italy in order to retrieve a silver spoon cad (Jude Law) for his father. But the more time Tom Ripley (Damon) spends with Law’s Dickie Greenleaf, the more he grows envious of Dickie’s lifestyle, his wealth and confidence, and maybe even his affection for socialite Marge (Gwyneth Paltrow). There is a subtle—too subtle due to ‘90s Hollywood conventions—homoerotic undercurrent throughout the film as Ripley slowly works up the courage to take his first life. It won’t be his last.

Read more

Movies

Knives Out: When Murder Makes You a Better Person

By Natalie Zutter

Movies

Seven: The Brilliance of David Fincher’s Chase Scene

By Ryan Lambie

Highsmith wound up publishing four subsequent sequels to The Talented Mr. Ripley, but unfortunately no more were made with Damon. Perhaps because this was too unsettling for an ongoing franchise.

2. Seven (1995)

While watching David Fincher’s masterful Seven, the thing that immediately stands out is the oppressive nihilism that permeates throughout. There were decades of neo noir before this detective yarn about the hunt for a serial killer, but none demonstrated such an overbearing sense of despair before the opening credits were even concluded. And perhaps what makes it unshakable is how welcoming the film is toward bleakness; it succumbs long before the gut-punch finale.

Telling the story of an old cop days from retirement (Morgan Freeman) and a hotheaded rookie detective (Brad Pitt), Andrew Kevin Walker’s script has an economy of pace that still impresses despite its cynicism. Very quickly one murder becomes two, then three, and soon four. Yet none of the atrocities are reveled in by Fincher’s blocking; they’re off-screen mutilations which leave psychic damage on his two leads and, eventually, us. The deaths also quickly establish a pattern that their serial killer is targeting seven souls, each intended to embody one of the seven deadly sins.

The movie is a classic now for its climax where the killer “John Doe” (a reptilian Kevin Spacey) turns himself in and leads the cops into the darkest pit, but it’s the entire package that makes this one linger more than 25 years later. At the end of the film, Somerset quotes Hemingway by saying, “‘The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.’ I agree with the second part.” I’m not convinced his film does.

1. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

As the film that kick-started the idea that serial killers could create their own film genre, The Silence of the Lambs still remains the best of its kind. Blessedly unaware that it was creating conventions for countless copycats, the film tells its psychological drama with simplicity and clarity. Whereas other films on this list bask in their bleakness, there is a dogged optimism and even perverse warmth to this Jonathan Demme adaptation of Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs novel. And that’s of course largely attributable to the casting of Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster.

As Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Hopkins is of course monumental. It’s a performance that turned a quinquagenarian into an overnight movie star, and became Hopkins’ calling card as he returned to the not-so-good doctor’s well one too many times. Still, he’s undeniably enthralling as Hannibal, a cannibal psychologist with superhuman powers of observation and mental menace. Even so, Foster is often overlooked by critics for her own contributions as the FBI trainee who’s proverbially fed to the incarcerated Lecter—a pretty face to get the serial killer to consult pro bono on the crimes of another mass murderer. It’s just one more example of casual sexism faced by Clarice that gives Foster as much to play as Hopkins.

Read more

Culture

David Fincher’s Zodiac: The Movie That Never Ended

By Don Kaye

Movies

The Little Things Ending Explained

By David Crow

Surrounded by the slights and prejudices of men—be they in law enforcement or straight jackets—Clarice is constantly underestimated. She finds an intellectual rapport with Hannibal, but she pulls herself out of the darkest night, and the screaming of the lambs, without assistance. Her perseverance matched by Hannibal’s darkly seductive qualities is the juxtaposition that makes Silence of the Lambs one of the finest films of its decade.

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The post Best Serial Killer Movies of the ’90s Ranked appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[blooddrop-palace]

Project Updates - What to Look Forward To

<3 Hello all! I've realized (humbly) that I have a small following of very nice people that seem quite interested in what I've written so far, and after seeing some mutuals post update-status posts, I thought I should share what's going on with my projects, also. (Thanks for the encouragement, @queenmuzz!)

Updated Dec-10-20

Sons of Fortune

Probably somehow my main focus now, though I am steadily working on other works. Currently working on the “In Between” special short before I start on Chapter 12.

I would also like to talk a little bit about my plans for this story: if anyone has paid attention to this story's tags, yes, I am touching up on the plots of most of the games. In fact, all of them, and the anime. (I already dealt with DMC4. No, I will not tear apart Fortuna lol.) Not all relevant tags are in, yet, because small spoilers. It looks like it's going to be a long while before I even get to the Temen-ni-gru, though. (There is a reason why that event is getting pushed back.) I want to have fun with the family fluff that is the twins each learning how to parent, first. 

Hell Froze Over, and We Shall Reignite It

The drama of it all! Dante and Vergil are finally back from Hell, and Nero doesn’t even know his mother is now standing right in front of him. Meanwhile, even I’m anticipating seen how Snow and Dante is going to handle the obvious things currently unsaid... and I have a feeling a small measure of stupidity is still going to be involved.

Current chapter progress: Outline complete.

It's going to feel so interesting, shifting from "Fortune" back to Reignite. I get to write Sera and Vergil falling in love all over again, with a different set of circumstances. Whoa.

And, and... Nero meeting Sera... odd that I'm saying this as the writer, but I have a "I hope he likes his mom" feeling going on. 

Also, no doubt Dante's brain is going to 404 when he sees Snow. 

Nico prepares popcorn.

This is Not an Office Rom-Com

I have... about 8 new skits planned out. Nothing more written just yet.

That’s all I’m saying about this for now. =P

Hierarchy of Kings

Purely indulgent M/M romance of Vergil and an OC, existing all thanks to

@wordborne

Working on chapter 2. 

I know I said 3 chapters only. I might have lied depending on how much I want to write. It's supposed to be just... awkward fluff of a listless part-devil who somewhat-recently lost his mate, got in a bit of a tiff with his brother, and now his children are trying to set him up with the prospective-king-of-hell, Vergil. 

I think about this one a lot but I haven't written anything new for it yet, only because "Fortune" is taking over my life right now, haha.

Through the Lens of the Beholder

Okay, so...This story has no real plot. As a result, my drive for it is purely down to "if I think of a badass or cool photograph to describe." There is a TINY bit of plot. Only a little. And I don't know when I'll update. But this is why I'm trying not to START new projects. Four  is a lot already! But because this one is supposed to be simpler than the other two, I will most likely finish this one before the others, so I can open a new project. 

---------------

Speaking of new projects... Here are things ideas bouncing through my head:

- I still have a prompt from @maybeishouldwait sitting in my inbox. I WILL have it done one day, when I find the perfect way to write it. 

A whole, entirely royally late set of Dadgil week fics.  Yep. I want to write them. They just won’t be on time. 

Written in Ink

A plot-less post-DMC5 story. 

I say plot-less. There is a plot. The plot is:

Dante: Damn it, Verge, are you trying to turn my office into a zoo??

In which Vergil compulsively starts contracting strong demons he's defeated, left and right, because he's discovered "the joy of pets." The demons all take on a dark animistic form and things get wild. 

A Persona and DMC fusion/AU

I have no title for this yet, and I absolutely cannot start this one until I have finished one of my other big projects. This one will take a lot of big planning, because I am making a new plot, using the mechanics of Persona, with DMC characters and setup.

What I want to write, is a teenage Nero as the protagonist, trying to solve a mystery... probably starting with the sudden disappearance of his mother. (Most likely Sera.) And he meets a lot of "new" people, and even finds new family... and yes, he will find his dad. (I'm thinking he'll know about Vergil, though. At least in name and a photo? Isn't that an interesting difference?)

For those of you not familiar with Persona, the major theme I really want to play with is that of the protagonist growing as a person (and in power) by befriending different people that helps them grow as a person. Each party member and important NPC is represented by a Tarot Card, signifying the type of journey the protagonist (The Fool) "embarks" with that character. There is growth in both the protagonist and that characters. 

Again, this is ambitious to try and pull off... but it's in the back of my head. I'll focus on it once I've cleared some other stuff. 

Sugar Sweet

A somewhat short-chapter series reader fic... of a surgeon/doctor!reader (barely 30 and good at what you do) who often saves the lives of shady people (e.g. mafia) because you care about saving lives, not the politics. But you do make good money out of it. (Hey, you gotta be at least a bit morally ambiguous if you're going to deal with devils.)

You meet one mess of a young mercenary named Dante, who is totally not human and deals with things like having bullets healed into his back, and he can't reach them to cut them out. 

Dante doesn't care about bills for his office, or a lot of the debts in his life. You don't know where his money is going, or if he even makes much money at all (for the kind of specialty work he does? Money's going somewhere, but that's none of your business.)

You won't pay Dante's bills, or his debts, but he will accept pizza and ice cream. And new parts for his jukebox. And maybe a motorcycle. Or a new coat. Or a new car...

And you might complain to him about your dumb patients. Or just listen to him talk about his job. Or you two watch a movie together.

And this just continues. For years. 

Tokusatsu DMC fusion/AU

So. First thing's first: I'm a big fan of Sentai/Tokusatsu. What is that, you might ask? It's a Japanese genre, and if you're familiar with Power Rangers, that's derived from Sentai. 

Basically: Masked heroes with transformation gadgets, sometimes with motorcycles, fighting against evil. ("Magical girls" but strictly the opposite, a lot more physical combat involved, may involve upgrade gadgets, and not strictly limited to male heroes though mostly a male cast. Also not strictly for male-only audience. Girls like the eye-candy, too. :eyes-emoji:)

Why am I thinking about this?

Because I have found out that: Vergil's VA, Dan Southworth, was the Quantum Ranger (WHICH WAS RED). Nero's VA, Johnny Yong Bosch, was a Black Ranger and a Green Ranger. 

...And Dante's VA, Reuben Langdon, had a role in a Japanese Toku show as "B-Fighter Yanma" forever ago???? (HE WAS BLUE!!)

What am I going to do with this info? I'll let you know later. But my Sentai/Toku-loving little heart is about to burst with hyperfixation overlap. 

If I ever write this out, expect it to be just as cheesy as an actual Kamen Rider show. Or, at the very least, expect some art. I love Kamen Rider stuff!

Family Fantasy MMO

Snow introduces Dante, Vergil, Nero, and Kyrie to Final Fantasy 14 (because that’s the MMO I play) for family bonding. Yep. Mainly for silly indulgence.

Stardew Valley Visit

Post DMC5, Vergil and Dante accidentally end up going on a vacation when they try to leave Hell. No pairing with the farmer, but instead just a relaxing and somewhat introspective moment of the boys being stuck with most of their power temporarily sealed, learning how to take care of a farm, and maybe do a bit of healing by interacting with the townsfolk while they try to find out where their swords went and how to get home. 

Re-Colourize

Otherwise what I would call the “re-colour of Nero and Snow” AU. 

What if Vergil was found by Kassy’s family and raised among them? What if Dante ended up briefly in Fortuna and then convinced Sera to run away from the island?

What if we have a Nero who, though brash, is outwardly more soft and open-hearted, and has red-orange and gold colours instead? What if we have a Snow who is named Chiyuki, who wields her katana more like Vergil does, and has a more ice-queen aura about her, and has a teal and blue colouring about her?

This is my excuse to switch up the pairings, but also write Vergil being taught to fight more like an assassin. 

Raised by the Blade

Imagine: Yamato, cracked, broken, and separated from her Master... desperately searching for a way to get back to him, and ended up washed up on the shores of Fortuna. Humanoid, but clearly not if anyone saw the cracked, broken, and no-normal look of “shattered” in her torso, that she would have to keep covered. 

Made from the power of Sparda, she is pale with white hair... and she finds herself drawn to the orphanage...

Where she finds the toddler that is Nero.

Devil Hunters’ Podcast

Nico “accidentally” finds entertainment in recording the Sparda Family arguments as they talk about hunting; after all, they all share one braincell. 

Ascended Monochrome

A white angel remains by the side of Nelo Angelo. Mundus was not pleased by the behavior of his second creation, from the human woman that he had picked up with the treacherous Son of Sparda. But he later discovered that by using her, he could keep Nelo Angelo complacent. Eventually, underestimating love will be his downfall.

Fall to Royalty

A story of where Vergil wins against Mundus the first time, and takes the throne of Hell. But what is he to do next? Eventually, ruling Hell seemed meaningless when there was no one by his side, so he goes to seek out the Lady Knight that he had vowed to never think of or go back to unless he had obtained the power he sought.

Doppelganger Woes

So, I heard Capcom retconned Gilver to be some sort of imitation created by Mundus. I’m all for this! And I’m going to DO something with this.

Side-Project: DMC Tarot List

I started on this maybe months ago; and I have a tentative list oh what characters go with what card and a few detailed descriptions. I think I should confer with

@harlot-of-oblivion

at some point about this, and anyone else interested in, well, Tarot stuff. 

#devil may cry #fanfiction #Project Update

[delicrieux]

hi!! for the au+trope+prompt thing,, could i plsss get college+fake dating+prompt 11 with eleventh or twelfth doctor and nonbinary reader?? your choice which! maybe they’re both teachers or something of the like ? thank you!!!

!!! Hope you like it, nonnie ✨💗✨ 

Ah, how exactly did you get into this mess to begin with? Well, it all started with an overly clever exclamation from a Professor of Theatre in your department, and you, a newby lecturer of Literature Theory had fallen into a terrible, comedic trap. You had seen his face around, laughed silently at his peculiar mannerisms and his curiosity for everything and anything; you had heard other teachers gossiping about him at the teachers lounge but never quite got his name, seen, in passing, his initials, quirked a brow at anyone who, confronted with this pressing question “What’s his name?”, answered only with a shrug and “He’s a private man and erratic man. A modern genius, though. We just call him Doctor. He has a lot of PhDs under his belt.” And lo and behold, you just had to say something equally clever to him though you never quite expected such a drastic turn of events: after a coffee break he had found you on your way to class and, sly as he always was, suggested to take part in a study he was conducting. Naturally, from such a peculiar and highly intelligent man you expected nothing but absolute professionalism, and accepted right away before even asking “What’s the study about, anyway?”

With a pleased grin he pointed at you, “You.” then at himself, “Me.” he then brought his hands together, “Us. I want to see how quickly the staff believes we’re dating.”

Naturally, you could have backed out and said “No!” as later you found out many of your colleagues did. You told no one of this experiment, though once, when the two of you were disscusing philosophy, a fellow lecturer strolled up and pulled you aside, “He hadn’t asked you to participate in his study, has he?”

Feigning innocence, you asked, “… What?”

Your colleague had narrowed her eyes, glanced you up and down, and then looked at the Doctor, standing at the other side of them room, clearly focused on a novel, “…He just… He’s a bit of an odd fellow. If he thinks you’re interesting he tries to coax you into some sort of pyramid scheme. Don’t ask why, I have no clue. Theatre people frighten me, honest.”

Things sailed smoothly from there: you had religiously pretended to be his significant other, holding hands, talking in hushed voice, helping him grade papers (this, he had said, was peak romance) and vice versa. Though all of this was strictly done in public, and he was nothing if not respectful in private. He never once made you feel uncomfortable or forced, on the contrary, this act had become quite enjoyable and exciting, like a comedic play.

Your colleagues didn’t buy it for a minute, though.

However, what was not as exciting was the realisation that your pretend feelings are slowly growing into real ones. He is most handsome, but more than that he is interesting and kind and you cannot for the life of you imagine why anyone else overlooked these important traits. He often looked you in the eyes and you thought the whole universe was within his iris, such an old, mysterious look; and he smiled softly when he held your hand, secretly almost, as if you were not meant to see. He was playing a part, of course he was, so were you, but you dreaded the moment when one day, when you slipped into his office, he’d announce, “The absolute fools, they are! We have successfully convinced everyone. You are a natural at this. Should’ve considered a job in Theatre. You’d be magnificent on stage.”

It was the third day of December and the two of you were walking the college grounds, hand in hand. The weather had been nice: clear skies, though a bit chilly. Snow crunched under your boots and a pleasant silence followed both of you. The only real twinge of warmth was your hand in his and the unmistakable rouge on your cheeks.

“You know,” He started, thoughtful, his gaze cast far away, “you have been a wonderful companion. It will be difficult letting go.”

His words pieced you like a needle through thread. There was tenderness in his voice, near wistfulness, and no one was around to heard his gentle tone but you. Alarmed, and quite hurt, you frowned, “Listen, I know it’s the thought that counts and all but it really didn’t sound like you thought through what you just said.” and how you said it, you wanted to add, but refrained. His words inspired hope. And hope was the last thing you needed - being turned down…you doubted you could take it.

He was quiet again, lost in deep thought. Alas, he nodded, “Of course. My apologies. I didn’t mean for… well, never mind now.” He then turned to you, a smile hiding his distress, “Hot chocolate?”

Despite the urge to reject him and be done with this toying of your heart (though you knew full well it was never his intention to do so), you caved in and allowed yourself a moment of content and happiness, “Alright.”

How and when this study shall end you didn’t know. It didn’t matter at the moment, either. You were just happy to be with him and, undoubtably, with you.

#doctor who #eleventh doctor #11th doctor imagine #doctor x reader #11th #matt smith #eleventh doctor x reader #dr who #request #christmas #imagine #imagines #reader #reader insert #xreader #angst #fluff #advent day #3 #college au #🤩 #i wish matt smith fake dated me lol

[phantomchick]

Tony Stark Fic Recs

Burning Candles - by kerravon Hurt/comfort, exhaustion, concussions, hurt tony, steve is a bro, nick fury being morally shady, the avengers! Summary: A few months have passed since the Avengers fought the Chitauri, and the team is coming together, except for Tony, who seems to be coming apart. At first, Steve assumes that he's just being irresponsible and annoying, but then JARVIS clues him in.

Fifth Time Lucky - by Arkada oneshot, fluff, this fic is short, sweet and a lot of fun. Well worth the read. Summary:  Tony Stark has five soulmates, but he gave up on finding any of them a long time ago.

Hide A Heart Of War - by RayShippouUchiha Tony Centric 2 chapter fic. Flower soul mark au. EXCELLENT ANGST.  Lots of feels, there’s also a slow burn romance in the background. Rhodey is a good bro. Loving all the descriptions of the soulmarks. Summary:  “You’ve got war in your heart boy,” Howard sneers, “don’t ever try and pretend to be anything but what you are.” Tony feels the familiar burn of a flower mark being etched into his skin but he doesn’t look, doesn’t try and check to see what it is. Instead he keeps his eyes on Howard and his hands cupped around his bleeding mouth and nose.

The (Not So) Great Pretender - by RayShippouUchiha Complete, secret identities, tony/bucky which i don’t usually ship but hey this author really makes it worth it. Oblivious Avengers. Hilarious but also angsty? Summary: Basically no one believes Tony when he tells them he’s Iron Man so he’s just... reluctantly keeping his secret identity going? It’s super funny.

To Victor Goes the Spoils - by tisfan Tony Stark/Victor von Doom, 10 chapters, complete, secret identities. Summary: In which Doom finds himself at a super hero masked ball... and gaining the attentions of the handsome and charming Tony Stark...Just one dance... just one kiss... before Doom unleashes his evil plot. Backstory: I accidentally stumbled on this doom x iron man fic so i thought i’d read it for laughs but then the fic itself was really good and I was suckered into shipping it. Now I’m in rarepair hell. The end. 

Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended - by lilsmartass Gen. Complete. 9 chapters. Angst, lots of angst. Hurt/comfort. Unintentional bullying. Rhodey is the captain of the tony stark defence squad. AND HE WILL HAVE HIS REVENGE. Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

That Which Kills Us - by Ironlawyer Ultimates!verse, steve/tony, oneshot, internalised homophobia, Tony is not a good patient. Summary: Sometimes Tony hates being alive as much as he hates dying. Trying to juggle duties to The Ultimates and a terminal illness isn’t exactly easy. Throw in an irate Steve Rogers and things just get too damn complicated.

Doomed To Failure - by DobbyRocksSocks Oneshot, excellent content, i read this fic and then i had to sit in my chair and be like ‘whoa’ for a while. This au is very well done! Summary: Everyone is born with their soulmate on one wrist, and their mortal enemy on the other. What do you do when it's the same person?

Say Goodbye to Yesterday - by melonbutterfly 4 chapter fic, complete, time loop, team building, alien invasion. time travel is a trope i keel over for this you must learn. Summary:  The day after the invasion Tony wakes up and his tower is intact again; everything is exactly the way it was before this whole mess went down. 

Don't Bet Against the House - by AlexTheShipper 2 chapter fic, complete, protective Jarvis, team dynamics, fluff Summary:  In which jokes about the arc reactor are not taken lightly, not by JARVIS who will never again sit trapped in his servers as someone attempts to kill Sir.

From A to Z - by Rachel500 26 chapter fic.Complete. Very very good, *sips fruit juice out of my champaigne glass* a classic of the genre! I’m a sucker for time travel as a trope, pair that with fixing the disaster that was the mcu chronology? BUDDY I’M SOLD.\ Summary: “OK, hypothetically, you get sent back in time one year. Does that make a difference?” Strange asked. “Two? Three? Could you live through the worst experience of your life again to preserve enough of the timeline to continue? Could you stand aside and let someone you love live through a bad experience in their life?” “OK. I get it. Bad idea.” Tony smirked at Strange to cover for his unease. “So. Plan B?” Strange grinned but there was a serious glint in his eyes. “How about we make it plan Z?”

Acceptable Risk Is Not - by izumi2 Super bamf tony, oneshot, Maria Hill redemption arc. Captain america the winter soldier. Not steve friendly but this can be blamed on the plot of the movie making zero sense with hindsight. Summary: what if someone considered an alternate solution to the data drop?  THIS IS ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE FICS FOR REASONS SO PLEASE TRY IT.

The Course of Reason - by Infie Oneshot, aftermath of captain america civil war, Carol Danvers is a relateable ho whom I stan, the saltiest of all possible responses to that film. YESSSS. This is it. The fic that finally knocked me over the edge onto the civil war team iron man side of the fence. BEHOLD. It’s greatness. Summary: The UN has asked Tony to discuss their options with the Fugitive Avengers. It does not go the way they expect it to.

Uncompromising Principles - by Kizmet 19 chapter fic, it’s completed and it’s very well done, legal drama, Tony/Pepper, Steve is... a good person who made mistakes, he’s trying anyway, i can’t say more without spoilers, but it’s A Ride, like you’ll read this and it’ll make you have Feelings and Thoughts and it’s very clever in how it goes about making those Feelings and Thoughts happen. Captain America: civil war aftermath fic. Summary: After leaving Siberia Captain America begins his plans to overturn the Accords. But not all is as it seems.Not compliant with the end of "Civil War".

To intervene - by apathyinreverie Currently at 15 chapters, ongoing, a lot of fun, tony stark has a heart, tony and rhodey, civil war team iron man, mutant kind, pro accords. Summary: The one where Rhodey stages an intervention after the whole Ultron fiasco.

Veni, Vidi, Amavi - by Maedlin Treat yo’self. It’s a Time travel fic. ONE OF THE BEST: Bamf Tony Stark, Bamf Jarvis, Palladium Poisoning, Complete, 26 chapter fic, but you’ll wish it was longer by the time you’re done. (Luckily there’s an ongoing sequel series to enjoy!) THIS FIC IS SUPREMELY GOOD! And HEAVY on the Jarvis love! DO YOURSELVES A FAVOUR AND TRY IT SERIOUSLY YOU WON’T REGRET READING THIS. Highest of recs goes to this. Summary:  (We came, we saw, we loved.) Tony's not the hero type. To suggest otherwise would be outlandish and fantastic, clearly.  Yet somehow, he's the one that's responsible for saving the universe. Now, he's a decade in the past. He's just revealed to the world he's Iron Man.  Tony finds himself facing dozens of old problems, and as time passes the ripple effect of his presence generates ever more new issues. All the while, the impending threat of Thanos looms ever-closer.

With One More Try (Can We Start Again) - by Infinite_Monkeys 5 Chapter fic, and it’s Completed. Time travel fix it, not strictly tony stark-centric but still a firm fave, A masterpiece. Definitely in my top 5 time travel fics and i’ve read a LOT so that’s saying something! Contains: That Good Loki Content. Summary: Loki's attempt to conquer Earth has, to his great dismay, succeeded spectacularly. When Thanos sends him to collect the Time Stone, he strikes a deal with the Stone's keeper: He'll be sent back to the beginning of the invasion, and this time, armed with knowledge about his opponents, he can lose properly. Or: a time loop fic in which Loki does increasingly desperate things to try and get the Avengers to defeat him already.

(Science) Bros before (HYDRA) Hoes - by Kizmet Tony is the captain of the Bruce Banner defence squad, Legal Shenanigans, It’s marked as Ongoing but what’s there is satisfying enough on its own I promise, basically a huge callout for Johannesburg, Hulk deserves a hug. Summary: The Hulk isn’t taken from the planet after AoU, there’s no one conveniently out of reach to take the fall for Johannesburg… A choice is going to have to be made: Wanda or the Hulk. 

A Larger Matter - by TheSovereigntyofReality Oneshot. Consequences! The ‘Steve’s blood’ scene in the agent carter tv show always pissed me off so this fic was uh Cathartic shall we say, but honestly you can read it and have it make perfect sense even without having seen the show, Howard Stark, teenaged Tony, Team Stark. Woohoo. Summary: When Peggy Carter tipped out Steve's blood, she had no idea the hornet's nest she just kicked.

Who in their Right Mind... - by AnonEhouse Crackfic, Oneshot Summary: Dum-E saves the universe

Catching Butterflies - by GremlinSR Ongoing, 6 chapters and counting, very very good content, like you wouldn’t think so from the summary which is a little bland but it’s actually very very good. Believe me when I tell you: It contains The Good Stuff. Time Travel fix it, Bamf Tony Stark, Bamf yet confused T’Challa. Summary: Tony snaps his fingers...and wakes up five days before the events that led to the death of JARVIS and the creation of Ultron. He decides he won't let the future he lived come to pass, no matter how thoroughly he has to destroy the timeline.

The War is Far From Over Now - by Dont_call_me_Carrie Ongoing, 40 dhapters and counting, this fic is clearly the author’s baby and they put so much work into it so watching it grow is a pleasure. Protective Jarvis, Protective Stark Industries Employees who like their boss. Rhodey is a good Bro, Awesome Pepper Potts. Fix it via Accidental World Domination. Summary: In which Tony does not, in fact, intend to take over the world.... unfortunately, everyone else missed that particular memo.

Can I Quote You On This? - by Wix Oneshot, Mcu critical, Avengers Critical, salty, extremely salty. Uncovering Plot Holes is easy when the road’s full of them. Summary:  Christine was sent in to just do a puff piece about the Avengers. What she uncovers instead is so much more interesting.

Strong Enough to Bend - by Kizmet Oneshot, salt and shade, tony stark & steve rogers, the author has Opinions about mcu steve so if that’s not your thing i wouldn’t rec it, not steve friendly? Summary: Steve ‘watches’ the videos on Tony Stark that Shield provides him with

Take that Away and What are You? - by Kizmet Oneshot, kidnapping, bamf tony stark, not steve friendly, I love this fic Summary: Tony and Steve get kidnapped. Since Tony’s wearing a tux, Steve figures it’s all up to him to get them out of this mess. Steve never really thought much about the conditions under which Tony built the Mach I.

Facing the devil (and the deep, blue sea) - by petroltogo Oneshot, au, not steve friendly, steve isn’t a good person in this fic, but it’s juicy, soulmate au, soulmarks Summary:  Alternate title: No obvious truth  Post-CACW: In an alternate universe where everyone has the name of their soulmate and the name of their greatest enemy written on their wrists, recently captured ex-Avenger Steve Rogers receives an unexpected visitor two days before the start of his trial. [The trick is figuring out which name is tied to which fate.] [The trick is realising you’ll never know.]

Asking Why - by Kizmet Oneshot. the relief and catharsis of logic. Nat, Hill, Cho, Rhodey and Pepper sit Tony down to talk about what led to the creation of Ultron. Scapegoating is stupid: The Fanfic edition. Summary: Applying analytical techniques in the aftermath of Ultron

#Tony Stark Fic Rec List #tony stark #fic recs #tony stark fic recs #Iron Man #Fic Rec List #Tony Stark has a heart fic recs #Iron Man fic recs #Avengers #Civil War Team Iron Man fics #warning i am very much pro civil war team iron man so some of these fic skew that way #i tagged for it #but as the marvel fandom can be pretty vicious #i'd like to say once and for all don't send me anon hate for reccing the fics that pick a side #don't like don't read #these are just fics I happen to like PERSONALLY

[starlight-matrix]

Cold

@vldangstbang Behold, my 2019 Voltron: Legendary Defender Angst Bang fic!

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Violence, Major Character Death

There is a scene toward the end of the fic that may be very triggering for some audiences, so please be very careful! There is a marker labeled “First Ending” and if you might be triggered by some extreme violence, please just stop there. I’ll put an explanation of the scene at the very end of the post for anyone who is curious and wants to know without reading the actual content. Stay safe!

The first time Lance meets Keith, he gets punched in the face.

It’s his own fault, really. Everyone knows not to approach Keith Kogane when he’s pissed off. Lance decides to approach Keith when he’s in the middle of a fight, which is, in hindsight, a fucking stupid decision. Some time after the fact, however, he finds he doesn’t regret it.

The first time Lance meets Keith, he gets punched in the face.

It’s his own fault, really. Everyone knows not to approach Keith Kogane when he’s pissed off. Lance decides to approach Keith when he’s in the middle of a fight, which is, in hindsight, a fucking stupid decision. 

(Some time after the fact, however, he finds he doesn’t regret it.)

He makes the dumbass decision halfway through the second semester of eighth grade, when he really should be in the library studying for final exams instead of in the school courtyard, flirting with Nyma Johnson while Pidge and Hunk laugh at him from a bench ten feet away. It’s blessedly beautiful out, just enough clouds for it to not be sweltering, but still few enough for the sun to shine down and brighten up the grey of the school.

Lance is in the middle of a slowly ebbing conversation when a sudden ruckus from the other end of the courtyard catches his attention. Loud shouting and sounds of a scuffle are audible in the distance and Lance excuses himself to see what the fuss is about. By the time he reaches the source of the noise, a crowd has gathered, students cheering on two teens pushing and shoving at each other like fighters in the center of a ring.

Lance immediately recognizes one of them as Keith Kogane. How could he not, when the guy’s practically the school prodigy? It takes him another few moments to recognize the smaller kid as a sixth grader who rides his bus and is generally quite obnoxious.

And, of course, Lance’s first instinct is to attempt to dispel the fight. On his own. A fight between Keith Kogane and someone who very obviously does not regret pissing him off.

As previously said: a fucking stupid decision.

“Hey, guys, I know you’re both mad but if Iverson catches you fighting you’ll probably get in-”

Before Lance can finish his sentence, Keith’s violet gaze is turned on him, and pain blossoms in his cheek as he gets caught up in a fight he really shouldn’t have had anything to do with. Hunk and Pidge are shouting in the distance as Lance stumbles backward from the force of the hit, his mouth tasting of iron and aching terribly when he lifts his hand to the swollen area. He glances at Keith and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The guy looks absolutely livid.

More shouting ensues and Lance tunes it all out, returning to Hunk and Pidge and letting his two friends fuss over him. The crowd suddenly disperses and Iverson’s voice cuts through the chaos in the courtyard screaming ‘Kogane’ at the top of his lungs. Lance looks past Hunk inspecting his cheek to see Iverson grabbing Keith by the arm, shouting at him about the school rules and how many infractions he already has.

Iverson stops his lecture to drag Keith back into the building, and for a split second, Keith’s gaze meets Lance’s once again. This time, Keith almost looks apologetic.

News of Keith’s expulsion is the first thing he hears at school the next morning, and Lance doesn’t see Keith again, nor does he expect to. Rumors about the raven-haired prodigy spread and quickly fade away. People stop talking about him as if they’re both terrified and vaguely awed by him. Keith disappears from everyone’s list of conversation starters, and Lance can’t help but wonder if there was anyone in their school who actually knew him beyond his reputation.

Lance is undeniably excited for his first day of high school. He has his favorite sandwich tucked away in his bag, he’s wearing his favorite outfit, he’s sitting on the bus next to his favorite friend. Lance doesn’t think the start of his day could possibly get any better.

He also doesn’t think the start of his day could get any worse, which is a mistake on his part.

The first thing Lance notices as he’s stepping off the bus is Keith’s form in the parking lot, next to a bright red bmx bike with chipped paint and a fraying seat. His hair is longer, though not by much, and Lance grudgingly admits that the mullet doesn’t look terrible on him. Keith is taller too - again, not by much - and Lance offhandedly wonders if anything else about him has changed.

(The angry curse Keith spits out when someone bumps into him doesn’t encourage that particular train of thought.)

“Lance? What’re you glaring at?” Hunk asks.

“Keith Kogane.” Lance replies, the distaste spilling out before he can pretend it’s not there.

Hunk follows his line of sight and quirks his brow. “Isn’t that the guy who punched you last year?” He says dismissively. Lance shoots him an incredulous look. “Hey, man, you got in the middle of that fight all on your own, even though you knew his reputation. That hit was just a side effect.”

“I kept biting my cheek for a week because it was all swollen!”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should learn not to butt into people’s business.”

“Says you, Mister I’m-Going-To-Pry-Into-Your-Love-Life-Until-I-Ruin-Your-Chances-At-Romance!”

“Again, totally your fault,” Hunk counters matter-of-factly. “You’re the one who blatantly insulted Rolo in front of Nyma when he just so happened to be her best friend.”

Lance frowns and crosses his arms over his chest indignantly, knowing Hunk is right. Of course Hunk is right. Hunk is always right. “Yeah, well, you’re not the one who got punched in the face for trying to keep a sixth grader from getting pummeled. Or who got slapped by the girl you like.”

Following Hunk through the front doors of the school, Lance watches Keith fade into the crowd of students and instead turns his attention toward a familiar length of blonde hair. Nyma is standing only ten or so feet away, right next to Rolo, smiling her perfect smile and laughing her perfect laugh. Lance pointedly doesn’t acknowledge their linked hands, or the way Rolo leans over to kiss Nyma on the cheek. Hunk makes a noise of understanding and leads him further down the hall.

Pidge is leaning against a pillar where the hall opens up into the cafeteria, scrolling through her phone and glaring down at whatever she’s looking at. When Lance and Hunk call out to her, she tucks her phone into her pocket and waves back with a half-smile, grey bags under her eyes.

“God Pidge, did you even sleep last night? You look like hell.” Lance says.

Pidge frowns. “Gee, thanks Mr. Casanova. You sure know how to make a girl feel beautiful,” She deadpans, shoving Lance with her shoulder. “And no, I didn’t. I was up late playing Overwatch with Matt.”

The three of them maneuver through the hall and plop down at an empty table in the cafeteria to compare their schedules, chatting about Overwatch and Pidge’s brother, Matt. Lance and Pidge both silently mourn the fact they don’t have any classes together. He and Hunk have three of the same classes though, which is a good thing. They continue their conversation about video games until Pidge brings up a sore (not really) subject.

“Hey, did you guys know Keith goes here too? I saw him walk by right before you guys showed up.”

Lance groans in loathing, and Hunk answers for him. “Yeah, we saw him when we got off the bus. Lance isn’t too happy about it, but it’s not like we have to hang out with him or anything.”

“But he goes here! Which means we could end up in the same classes!” Lance complains. “If I have to relive the trauma of being punched in the face by him every day, I’ll be miserable!”

“Stop being so dramatic, you big pissbaby. It’s your fault he hit you anyway, you’re the one who butted into his fight.” Pidge points out. 

“I have the worst friends! Neither of you are supporting my perspective on this!”

“That’s because your perspective is flawed.”

Lance shoots Pidge and Hunk equal looks of ‘I-Can’t-Believe-I-Trusted-You’ and they both firmly ignore him. Before he can make a bigger show of pouting, the bell rings overhead, and the three of them are standing to find their respective classes. Pidge grumbles incoherently as she heads off to the gym and Lance wishes her the best of luck, hoping and praying none of the staff will give her any trouble concerning the locker rooms. He and Hunk split ways in the hall between the science and mathematics buildings, Lance not quite appreciating the fact that he has maths class first thing in the morning. Can’t be worse than having P.E. first, though, he thinks.

His immediate thought when he walks through the door of his new maths class is “Oh God, it actually can be worse,” because there in the middle row, looking ridiculously content sitting in a maths classroom, is Keith Kogane, eyes distant as he stares at the whiteboard at the front of the room. Lance notes that he has earbuds in, and silently hopes Keith gets busted by the teacher. Moving to take a seat as far away from Keith as possible, Lance looks up at the whiteboard and scowls at the sloppily-drawn seating chart in one corner.

His morning only seems to get worse when Lance walks up to the seating chart and realizes he has to sit right next to Keith. Apparently there isn’t anyone with an “L” surname in this class.

Glaring at the whiteboard for far longer than is strictly necessary, Lance turns and maneuvers through the rows of desks and drops his bag onto the one to Keith’s right with a loud thump that makes the raven-haired boy jump, much to Lance’s amusement. Keith shoots him a glare and folds his arms over the table, resting his head on them with a sigh. Lance’s victory smirk melts to a frown. Did Keith not remember him? There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in that glare; what if Keith simply didn’t know him? Lance huffs and sits down, admittedly disappointed.

A couple minutes later, the second bell rings to announce the end of the passing period, and the teacher stands from her desk to introduce herself. Lance turns to see if Keith is paying attention (he’s wearing earbuds, so clearly he’s the type who doesn’t care about class, Lance thinks) and realizes that his earbuds aren’t actually earbuds; they’re simply aux cords plugged into hearing aids in both of Keith’s ears.

Lance wonders how he never previously noticed Keith wore hearing aids.

He also wonders how the whole ‘aux cord turns hearing aids into earbuds’ thing works, but that question is dissipated by Keith catching him staring and raising an eyebrow. Lance quickly looks away and focuses his gaze on the teacher, who starts to explain the class rubric. Lance can feel Keith’s eyes on him for another few seconds, but he doesn’t look back, and when he glances at Keith again in the middle of class, he’s dutifully taking notes as if nothing had happened.

Lance tunes out most of first period, simply due to the fact that the teacher handed out a syllabus at the start of class that specifies everything she’s saying to them in perfect detail, word for word, so it’s pretty redundant to listen to her say it all over again. Lance finds himself watching Keith out of the corner of his eye. As soon as the teacher had started talking nearly half an hour ago, he’d produced a couple of barrettes from nowhere and pinned his hair back so it wouldn’t fall in front of his hearing aids, and Lance can’t stop his brain from telling him it’s cute.

The entire time the teacher drones on about classroom etiquette, Keith is jotting down everything she says in his notebook, writing so fast Lance can hear his pencil scraping over the page, and a subtle glance at Keith’s notebook tells him it’s likely that Keith is the only person who will ever be able to actually read his notes. It’s weird for Lance to see Keith so focused and peaceful - the only emotion he’s ever seen on the guy is anger; intense, furious anger.

But here, in a maths class of all places, Keith looks strangely calm. There’s no hint of frustration in his face and his eyes only ever leave the front of the room when he’s pausing to take notes.

The bell is ringing before Lance even notices the time flying by, and he quickly looks away from Keith in an attempt to keep his absent staring a secret. He listens to Keith shuffle about beside him as they both put away their things, and when Lance looks up again, Keith is across the room and walking out the door. Lance waits a good long moment before following, meeting Hunk in the hallway outside and making no mention of Keith as he’s swept up in conversation.

He doesn’t see Keith again that day. When Lance gets home that night and his mother asks how his first day of high school was, his response is: “It was a very enlightening experience.”

Lance continues to silently observe Keith throughout first period maths. He doesn’t get to do so as fervently as he had the first day of school, since after the introductions of the first day, they’re immediately thrown into actual classwork and assignments. Lance doesn’t enjoy maths - he doesn’t hate it, of course; he understands the practical nature of everything and doesn’t have enough of an issue with the content to really dislike it at all - but he finds himself actually looking forward to it every day, simply because of all the things he notices about Keith.

He learns that all of Keith’s notebooks are space-themed, with planets and nebulas on the fronts of each one. He learns that Keith’s favorite pencil is a red mechanical one with rubber grips; he once watched Keith miss a good two minutes of the lecture in favor of rooting through his bag in search of said pencil when there were two other, perfectly usable pencils already on his desk. He learns that Keith takes his hearing aids out when the class gets too loud during work time.

Lance watches Keith out of the corner of his eye whenever the teacher pauses her chatter, and Keith never catches him staring, always absorbed in the lecture with tunnel-vision focus Lance is somewhat jealous of. The constant observation causes him to have a little more homework to do after school, but he can’t bring himself to break the habit. He’s too curious about Keith, about how this ragged teen who once showed such livid anger manages to look so soft.

A month has passed since the start of high school when Lance speaks to Keith for the first time.

He’s walking out of his American History classroom during lunch, having forgotten his jacket on the back of his chair earlier in the day and gone back to fetch it. The classroom is in a short hall that is almost impossible to find without some kind of help unless you’ve been there before, and Lance’s heart jumps into his throat when he trips over a pair of legs sticking out from next to a trash can in the walkway. He catches himself and turns to find Keith sitting on the floor up against the ugly brown brick wall, knees now pulled to his chest as he stares back at Lance.

“Keith?!” Lance says, visibly surprised. Keith’s brow furrows. “What are you doing here?!”

“Um...eating lunch?” Keith deadpans, gesturing to the sandwich in his hands.

“Yeah, but why are you eating lunch way out here? Wouldn’t it be better to eat in the cafeteria? This hallway isn’t even indoors, you’ve gotta be freezing your ass off.”

Keith simply shrugs. “Cafeteria’s too crowded. And noisy..”

Lance nods in understanding, even though he can’t really relate to Keith’s point. He’s always felt a little at home in chaos - it’s simply a side effect of growing up in a busy household.

“You sit next to me in maths, right?” Keith asks. Lance nods. “And you’re the kid I punched last year too, aren’t you?”

Lance is shocked to hear him say that, and it must show on his face, because Keith shrinks a little smaller and turns his violet eyes to the floor, and Lance can’t help but notice the pink flush that reaches up to the tips of his ears.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean to hit you, especially not as hard as I did. I thought you were one of that kid’s friends, joining the fight to back him up. I acted on reflex.”

“Oh.” Is all Lance can say, and after a few seconds of silence, he pulls his jacket on against the cold and takes a seat on the cement next to Keith, far enough away so they aren't touching but close enough that he won’t have to talk too loud to be heard. 

“Why were you fighting him, anyway? He was a sixth grader, what did he do to piss you off so bad?” He asks.

Keith looks up at him and then away, as if pondering his answer. “...he stole something that was really important to me. And then threatened to give it to the Principal and get me expelled.”

“Whoa...wait, what the heck did you have that could get you expelled??”

Again, Keith hesitates, and Lance finds a pair of violet eyes on him once again, studying him, as if Keith is trying to gauge whether or not he can trust Lance with whatever the answer is. Lance can’t blame him for it. After the fight last year, it’s a totally plausible theory that Lance would take Keith’s answer as blackmail to get him in trouble- revenge for getting punched in the face.

“...a knife,” Keith says after a long moment. “It used to belong to my parents. That kid stole it out of my bag during P.E. and threatened to take it to Iverson so I’d get expelled from the school. That wasn’t the actual reason I got expelled though, ironically enough.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, obviously waiting for an explanation, and Keith’s face tilts up into a smile that makes Lance think his assumption that Keith was just a rude fuck is very wrong.

“I punched Iverson in the face.”

“You punched Iverson?!” Lance blurts, grinning from ear to ear. “Dude! That guy was an asshole! Man, sucks that you got expelled for it though, with how rude he was to all his students.”

“Yeah. He was going off about how I was supposed to be a good example, spewing shit about how I’m a prodigy or whatever and shouldn’t be getting into fights and ruining my image. Made it seem like my image being ruined somehow ruined the school’s image too,” Keith explains. “They weren’t going to even suspend me for the knife thing, but then Iverson said it was stupid that I cared so much about a gift from two people I never even got to meet. And I fucking decked him.”

“And that’s why you got expelled. For decking Iverson.”

Keith nods, and Lance is in awe. He can’t say he wouldn’t expect such a thing from Keith - after all, he is known for being prone to fighting - but to punch Iverson, the meanest adult Lance has ever laid eyes on, is something he considers to be incredibly admirable despite the fact he definitely doesn’t condone violence. Keith seems to loosen up a little at the fact that he’s smiling, which Lance watches with keen eyes; the way his knees drift farther from his chest, the way his head lifts up from where his shoulders were stooped low.

Lance’s cell phone vibrates in his pocket, startling them both, and he pulls it out to find a couple texts from Pidge asking him where he is. He’d completely forgotten about his normal lunch plans in the unexpected conversation with Keith. He texts her back saying he’ll be right there.

“My friends are waiting for me, so I gotta go,” Lance says, standing and brushing dirt off the back of his jeans. “If you want, you can come eat with us. We eat in the courtyard, so it’s not loud. And it’ll just be me, Hunk, and Pidge. They’re both nice, I’m sure they’d like you.”

Keith looks at him with wide eyes, and Lance offhandedly realizes that this is the first time he’s ever actually spoken to Keith. He also remembers the fact that Keith did, in fact, punch him in the face last year, and while he knows Hunk and Pidge don’t hold a grudge over that, Keith doesn’t. Lance almost expects Keith to decline his offer and never talk to him again.

But then Keith smiles, a small, soft smile, and gathers his things. “Sure, I’d like that.”

Keith easily becomes a natural part of their group. He’s awkward that first day, not knowing how to act or what to say, but he quickly warms up to Hunk and Pidge, and after about two weeks it’s hard to imagine what their group would be like without Keith.

Lance doesn’t stop his observations. His eyes are constantly on Keith, taking in everything about him. He learns that Keith loves everything there is to love about space and its infinite possibilities. He learns that Keith is a good artist, and prefers drawing nature and space to anything else, but can still do amazingly realistic portraits. He learns that Keith has lived with his current foster family since he was twelve, and that this is the longest he’s stayed in one place in his entire life.

He learns that Keith was born with good hearing, but a degenerative disease caused his ears to slowly become less functional, and now he can’t hear anything without hearing aids. He learns that said degenerative disease could one day cause Keith to be completely deaf.

With Keith opening up to them and showing his true colors more and more, Lance comes to see that he really isn’t a violent person at all. When they hear stories of Keith’s fights from his point of view, they learn that most of the time, the other person was goading him or did something cruel that most definitely deserved a good hit. They learn that Keith sometimes has trouble controlling his emotions, and that when he gets angry or upset, it almost always ends badly. They learn that Keith doesn’t feel guilty for any of his outbursts, save one: the one with Lance.

That in itself is gives Lance goosebumps, and when Keith first tells them, he swears they’re both red in the face. Keith says he feels guilty for hitting Lance when he was just trying to help.

Of course, Lance forgives him - he already has, in his mind at least. Keith starts to adjust his old routes through the school so he can join the group on their way to class, suddenly appearing at Lance’s side from seemingly nowhere so they can walk to lunch together. And because he’s with their group most of the time, he gets halfway through the school year without a single fight.

The first time Lance learns anything substantial about Keith’s home life, he doesn’t even realize it.

It’s raining out - not the gentle, peaceful kind of rain, but the kind of rain that makes your skin ache and soaks you to the bone. The four of them made the regrettable decision to walk to the arcade instead of riding the bus straight home after school, and they spend a good twenty minutes racing through the downpour before they finally make it to Pidge’s house. 

Colleen Holt offers to dry everyone’s clothes and make them all hot chocolate, and offers to drive Lance, Hunk, and Keith home afterwards. Keith gently denies a ride home, even though Colleen insists that cycling home in the rain is a terrible idea, but then the storm slows into a sprinkle, so she stops pushing. Lance and Hunk have spent enough nights in the Holt household to have clothes there, and Pidge offers up some of her brother’s old clothes for Keith to wear.

Lance is mostly dry, snug and warm in a pair of blue lion-themed pajamas Pidge says are tacky when Colleen hands him some black plaid pants and a bulky maroon sweater that looks like it’s from the early 80s to give to Keith. He finds Keith in the upstairs bathroom, and when he pushes open the door that isn’t all the way closed, he catches Keith with his shirt halfway off, his back exposed and showcasing several colorful bruises painted along his spine.

Lance expects Keith to hide himself, and he’s right, as Keith whirls around and turns toward him, back now hidden against the wall. Lance turns his gaze to the floor and sets the stack of clothes on the bathroom counter. “Uh, Colleen wanted me to bring these to you...sorry for not asking if I could come in, that was bad manners. I’m just gonna…go. Now.” 

With that, Lance retreats out the door and pulls it shut, pointedly avoiding Keith’s gaze. However, the image of Keith’s violet eyes wide in shock stays in his head long after he’s back downstairs.

They don’t talk about that incident at all that night. Keith comes into the living room with his hair curtaining his face and takes a seat on the floor in front of the couch, right in front of where Lance is sitting cross-legged next to Hunk. He counts this as him being forgiven, and when their clothes are done drying and Colleen is piling everyone into the Holt family stationwagon, Lance’s eyes stay on Keith’s form until the car is too far away for him to see that mop of black hair.

Over the next few weeks, Lance’s gaze is on Keith more than ever before, and he starts to see ticks in his friend that he’d not quite seen for what they were previously. He catches on to the way Keith sits, arms tucked close to his body, back slightly hunched, as if he’s trying to occupy as little space as possible. He watches the way Keith is always hyper aware of his surroundings, how his gaze lingers on anyone who walks by their lunch spot, how he flinches whenever someone is too loud or when someone gets too close. How he never sits with his back to anyone, always sitting against a wall or tree or in a spot where he can see the entire courtyard.

Lance notices how he’s never seen Keith without his signature red hoodie on, sleeves all the way down and black fingerless gloves covering his hands. He notices how Keith’s hair is always left to curl around his neck and most of his face. He doesn’t have the same P.E. class as Keith, but according to Hunk, who does, Keith never changes into his uniform in front of others.

While Lance has no concrete evidence to back up his theory that Keith is being abused at home, the pieces of Keith’s behavior that suggest it are overwhelming.

One day, after at least two weeks of theorizing, Lance finds himself on the complete wrong side of town from where his house is. He’d taken a few wrong turns walking home from the arcade he was at with Pidge and Hunk - from whom he’d turned down rides, since Hunk and his mom weren’t going straight home and his house is further away than the Holts’ - and is suddenly in a neighborhood he’s never actually been in before except for on the school bus, and even then, he’s always so engrossed in conversing with Hunk he never really notices the scenery change.

The houses here are small, tiny, even, and all of them are in varying states of disrepair: yards of dead grass full of weeds and litter. Lance can’t help but feel rather uncomfortable in such an environment, and he’s on the verge of calling his mom to come pick him up when shouting from one of the houses catches his attention. 

It’s incredibly noisy, even though it’s at least two houses down from where Lance is standing. He can make out that the argument is centered around money, though he can’t tell what the two sides are, or distinguish between who’s yelling what. But then the shouting increases to full screeching and a door is thrown open with a crash that makes him think the door might have actually been broken, and a short frame stumbles out, a fist from inside the doorway connecting with their face and then pulling the door shut again.

It isn’t until the person is out in the yard that Lance recognizes them. It’s Keith, and the fact that his theory is suddenly being proven true makes his heart wrench in his chest.

Lance waits until Keith is collapsing onto the curb before he walks another two house’s distance so he’s at the edge of Keith’s brown lawn. Keith looks up and sees him before he can speak, and the look of pure shock mirrors the expression he was wearing that day so long ago when Lance caught him by surprise in Pidge’s bathroom. It’s a bookend, he thinks to himself; a moment in the beginning of a realization that happens later on, exactly the same.

“Lance?” Keith says, words quiet and stunned-sounding. 

Lance nods with an awkward half-smile and twiddles his thumbs in front of him, taking a few more small steps toward Keith. “Hey.”

As he steps closer, Lance can see Keith’s condition more clearly in the fading light. The street lamps flicker on just as he stops about two feet away from his friend, and suddenly he sees the way Keith’s ear is split open, blood trailing down the side of Keith’s face.

“God, Keith.” He says, taking a seat next to Keith on the curb, glancing back at the house with an ache in his stomach. 

Lance pulls his sleeve over his hand and inches toward the wound. Keith starts, leaning away, and Lance pauses. Their gazes meet and Lance feels his stomach sinking further when he can only interpret the expression on Keith’s face as fear. But then Keith’s features soften, and he lets Lance use his sleeve to wipe off the blood trailing down the side of his face. There’s only the sound of their own breathing and a dog barking somewhere in the distance, and Lance barely registers that he now has Keith’s blood all over the sleeve of his favorite jacket.

When the blood is mostly gone or dried onto skin, Lance carefully dislodges Keith’s hearing aid from his ear. It’s broken, a long crack going down the entirety of the speaker and exposing the wires within. Lance gives it to Keith, who looks down at it with a quiet huff. 

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, is it.” Lance says, more a statement than a question.

“...no,” Keith says. “But it is the first time he’s broken one of my hearing aids. Usually he avoids hitting near them, since they’re so expensive.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone? You could get him arrested. A guardian shouldn’t act like that.” 

“I know. I only live with him because he’s the only person in the area who could take me when I got kicked out of my previous foster home a while ago,” Keith explains, curling his fist around the hearing aid and pulling his knees to his chest. “And...there are a couple of reasons why I haven’t told anyone. Mostly because I don’t want to have to leave this neighborhood.”

Lance waits for Keith to continue, and he does.

“When I was younger, I had a foster brother. His name was Takashi Shirogane but everyone called him Shiro. We lived here together. We were really close, or...so I thought, at least.”

A car drives by, casting stark shadows against Keith’s face. Keith’s eyes dart to the ground, to Lance, to some point in the distance. But Lance can’t bring himself to look away.

“When he turned eighteen, he got kicked out and disappeared. I thought he would come back for me, even just to visit, but...he never did. But I don’t think he would just leave and never come back, you know? So I chose to stay here in case he ever comes back. He won’t be able to find me if I get sent to some other house in some other town.”

“Keith-”

“That’s not the only reason, though,” Keith interrupts him. “I was planning on running away, when I first started high school. He started treating me worse because he thinks I’m more of man now, since I’m older, so I should be able to take it. But then you spoke to me that one day, in the hall. And you invited me to sit with you and Pidge and Hunk, and you didn’t make it a one-time thing, either. You let me keep coming back, day after day.” 

Keith leans into Lance, and Lance lets him. “Did you know that you guys are the only friends I’ve ever had in my whole life, aside from Shiro?” 

“No, I didn’t know that.” Lance whispers. 

Keith doesn’t seem to have anything else to say, and Lance doesn’t know what else he can say, so they sit there in silence until Lance’s mom calls, demanding to know where he is. He explains that he got lost and that he stumbled across a friend’s house, and that he really doesn’t know where the hell he is. Keith supplies his home address and Lance’s mom says she’s on her way there. Silence falls once again when Lance hangs up.

“I should go back inside before your mom gets here.” Keith says after a moment.

“Keith, are you kidding?” Lance gapes. “You shouldn’t go back in there, period!”

“It’ll only be worse if I stay out overnight. And I don’t want to be a burden, not on you or your family or anyone else. I’ll be fine, Lance.”

Lance wants to argue that Keith’s definition of the word ‘fine’ has to be drastically skewed for it to apply right now, but he has a feeling it’ll only cause problems, so he says nothing. Keith stands, and Lance does the same, and before Lance can do so much as wipe the minuscule pieces of gravel off his jeans, Keith is hugging him and burying his face in the crook of his neck, carefully aiming his wounded ear away from Lance’s jacket to avoid getting any more blood on it. 

It’s Lance’s turn to be surprised - he’s never seen Keith hug anyone. Physical touch has been a slow thing for Keith. Pidge had to teach him what a fist-bump was. Yet, here he is, arms wrapped around Lance’s torso, fingers clinging to the fabric of his jacket as if Keith doesn’t want to leave him after all.

But then Keith is pulling away, and he says a quiet “seeya” before disappearing inside his house.

Lance almost expects the yelling to pick up again, but it doesn’t, and only a few minutes pass before he hears his mom’s voice  calling for him from her car a house over. He climbs into the passenger seat and apologizes for not having called earlier, and he vaguely explains that he got so caught up in talking to Keith that he didn’t notice the time passing by. It isn’t a lie - Lance doubts he’d ever be capable of lying to his mom - but it isn’t the whole truth, and while he wants to tell someone about what’s happening to Keith, it’s not his truth to tell.

And so he keeps it in, only half-listening as his mother recounts her day and blatantly ignoring his siblings as they start rambling about the chaos of life when he gets home. He sits through dinner without adding much to the conversation, and if anyone notices, they don’t say anything about it. His older sister gives him a dirty look when he misses her question about whether he’ll be bringing Pidge and Hunk over anytime soon, and he slips into his room before she can complain.

When Lance gets to school the next day, he pretends not to notice the lie in Keith’s story that the now-missing hearing aid fell out and got stepped on the day before.

A week later, Keith comes to school with a black eye and cut lip and a wrist that twitches whenever he tries to use it - the only injuries Lance has ever noticed outright, though he wonders if maybe he only noticed because he knows - and Lance decides he has to do something, whether Keith wants him to or not. 

Lance calls Pidge and Hunk over to his house that weekend under the pretense of a dinner with his family. It starts out just like any normal dinner with them over: Hunk helps cook dinner and chats avidly with Lance’s mom in the kitchen, Pidge beats Lance’s brothers at Mario Kart and effectively distracts them from bugging everyone else, and all of Lance’s siblings talk at a mile a minute to get ‘embarrassing school stories’ about Lance from both his friends. 

After dinner, Lance swiftly ushers Pidge and Hunk up to his bedroom and blocks the door with his desk chair to make up for his door not having a lock, placing both hands on his hips and turning to his friends with what he hopes is a serious expression that doesn’t betray the worry he feels for Keith. 

“Okay, why are you looking at us like that? You look like you’re about to scold us or something.” Pidge inquires, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at Lance.

Lance lets the serious expression slide off his face and takes a seat in his desk chair against the door. “Um, so last week I found out where Keith lives by accident, and I kinda found out his foster dad is abusing him, and technically he never asked me not to say anything and he came to class the other day all injured and I honestly can’t ignore it now that I know, so. I want to do something, but I don’t really know what I should do, and you guys are smart so I thought you could tell me.”

“Whoa, that sounds like some pretty heavy stuff.” Hunk says, concern riddling his features.

Pidge nods and rests her chin in one hand, focusing on something across from her with pinched eyes. “We should definitely tell someone. But we shouldn’t involve the police right away, it might be too much for Keith. We should take it slow, subtle.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Lance agrees. “So who should we tell?”

“Your parents. They’re probably the best people for this. They’ll be understanding.” 

“Don’t you think Keith would be overwhelmed by my family, though?”

“Oh, definitely. You just have to be there to help him out when it gets too intense.”

Lance takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this then.”

One week later, Lance has a plan. 

His entire family ends up involved in it somehow, and Lance is grateful to have such a large family: it means he has a lot of support. Pidge and Hunk were eager to help - and their parents all agreed to help as well - and Lance has to admit that the two of them came up with most of the plan themselves. Lance just provided the most crucial part. An endgame.

The endgame? Getting Keith into a safe space: Lance’s home. 

Now, they just have to convince Keith to go along with it, without him actually knowing the plan.

Lance does his best to act like there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn’t want Keith to be suspicious of anything, or worse- think Lance doesn’t like him now that he knows the truth.

He waves at Keith when he gets off the bus with Hunk. He groans when Keith reminds him they have a maths test in about fifteen minutes. He listens intently as Pidge rambles about how Matt’s supposed to be coming home next month, and that he’ll be bringing his college roommate.

When Hunk and Pidge split off to go to their own homerooms, Lance turns to Keith and begs for a run-down of the formulas they need to know for their test. He hasn’t studied; he was too caught up in planning to even remember. But he knows Keith studied. And even if he hadn’t, he knows Keith is too good at maths to not know. So he begs Keith for help. And, like the good friend he is, Keith does.

They spend the precious few minutes before the start of homeroom running through all the material they’d learned the past month, and by the time the bell rings, Lance feels at least a little bit prepared for the test.

(He still fails, which he doesn’t find out for another week, but he tried, and that’s what matters anyway, right?)

It isn’t until lunch period that their plan really goes into action.

“Hey, so my brother’s birthday is today,” Lance starts - and it isn’t a lie. “and my family’s got plans to bake him a cake and set up for like, his birthday party and whatnot. He’ll be at work until like seven pm, so my mom said I could invite you guys to come help with the setup.”

“Well, you know I’m coming. My moms already told me your mama invited them to do all the food prep.” Hunk answers immediately.

“I’ll call my mom and let her know. It’s not like I have plans or anything.” Pidge says.

They all look to Keith at exactly the same time, and for a split second, Lance is worried Keith will suspect the entire conversation is scripted (which it is), but he just looks awkward and nervous.

“You won’t be a burden if you decide you join us, y’know.” Lance says.

It must be like Lance was reading Keith’s thoughts, because Keith’s ears turn pink, and he shifts a little in his chair. Pidge and Hunk nod and hum in assent to Lance’s statement, and Keith looks to be considering his options: he can accept, and hang out with his friends in their home environment for the first time since that rainy day that feels so long ago, or he can decline, which would ruin Lance’s plan completely, however unintentional.

And either Keith is finally starting to truly warm up to them, or Lance is just plain lucky, because Keith smiles - a rare, toothy, beautiful smile - and says, “Sure. Why not?”

Lance beams in return, can see Hunk and Pidge beaming as well, half out of relief their plan is working and half out of pure happiness, because Keith is coming with them, and while it isn’t a big deal, really, Lance suspects all three of them see it as some kind of milestone.

With that part of their plan sorted, normal conversation resumes, and when the bell rings, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge share a thumbs up between each other the moment Keith’s back is turned. He doesn’t seem to suspect a thing, and Lance is grateful, because the entire plan hinges on Keith staying oblivious and not getting angry at Lance for concocting the plan in the first place.

Lance tries not to think about what’ll happen once Keith inevitably realizes he’s been betrayed.

After school ends, Lance calls his mom to come pick the four of them up, because Hunk is the only one who could actually ride home with him on the bus. She’s expecting his call. True to script, he asks if she can come get them, and she asks if it’s just going to be Hunk and Pidge. Lance feels himself smiling when he says “No, Keith’s gonna be coming too. I know you wanted to meet him.” and he can imagine she’s smiling, too, because aside from Hunk and Pidge, she was the first to accept Lance’s plan, and had dove headfirst into helping with the preparations.

They chatter rather aimlessly while they wait for Lance’s mom, everyone but Keith a little bit on edge with the secrets they’re keeping, and Lance is grateful it only takes her about five minutes to arrive (he suspects she may have already been in her car, ready to go, when he called).

“You must be Keith!” She says as they all pile into the car. “Lance has been chattering on about you for a while now, I almost thought he’d abandoned Hunk and Pidge completely!” 

Lance sputters, can feel his face growing red, can feel Hunk and Pidge’s eyes on him. He turns to look out the window, because he doesn’t want to see the knowing looks they’re surely giving him. And he doesn’t want to even imagine what kind of expression Keith has.

“I bet he just badmouths Keith for being better than him at everything.” Pidge says snidely.

“Hey!” Lance squawks, because he has absolutely been doing that, but no one needs to know. Especially not Keith himself. “He’s not better than me at everything! And I don’t badmouth!”

Lance can see his mother side-eyeing him, eyebrows raised. He knows she can see straight through his horrible attempt at saving himself from embarrassment. Which is pointless, because he’s already embarrassed. And, because she’s Maria McClain, he watches her smirk and roll her eyes as she turns her gaze back on the road and continues talking like nothing’s happened.

“So, how was school, then? Anything noteworthy happen?” She asks, perfectly mundane. “How did you do on that test you forgot to study for?”

Keith is chuckling in the backseat, Lance knows it, and he shoots the guy a look that he hopes conveys how utterly betrayed he feels. “Hey, I’ve been busy! Doing...stuff.” Right, because that wasn’t at all ominous. Keith just raises an eyebrow. “And besides, Keith helped me study! This morning. Before the test. That counts!” 

He doesn't sound at all convincing, but everyone is entertained to some degree, and while Lance kind of wants to point out how they’re all entertained at his expense, it’s nice to see a smile on their faces. With all the planning they’ve been doing and the nature of the situation at hand, it’s been a few days since Lance has seen Hunk’s eyes crinkle around the edges or heard Pidge’s full belly chortle. And Keith...well, he’s chuckling, and that’s something Lance recognizes as rare.

The ride from Alternia High School to the McClain residence is spent in constant chatter. Lance steers the conversation away from himself and his mistakes, and they get talking about cakes and party decorations and what kind of music should be played and oh yeah, Andi doesn’t even like cake, so what on Earth are they gonna do now? By the time they pull up to the quaint grey and white house Lance has known all his life, Hunk and Maria have narrowed down a list of four food choices to prepare in place of cake, and Pidge is playing space trivia with Keith in the back.

Toni and Camilla’s matching Frozen bikes are toppled over on opposite sides of the front lawn and on a normal day Lance would have been wondering who was watching them if they weren’t in the car with his mother, their full-time babysitter. But this isn’t a normal day. 

“Alright kids, let’s get to work!” Maria says, turning to wink at everyone before climbing out of the car, waving her hands in an encouraging gesture Lance immediately interprets as “hurry up.” His friends also grasp the message and soon they’re all clambering up the steps onto the front porch of the McClain residence. Maria kicks a basketball out of the way of the door and opens it with one hand while texting with the other, and, once inside, is nearly bowled over by small children.

“Tio Hunk, tio Hunk!” Toni and Camilla, their words overlapping as they interrupt each other and compete over who can manage to get to Hunk first. 

Hunk, to his credit, has mastered the role of ‘doting uncle’ and scoops them both up at the same time, one in each arm, and lets them throw their arms around his neck and pepper his cheeks with kisses. Pidge snickers into her hand, and Lance can see Keith trying not to laugh, too.

Lance puts on a fake pout and crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey hey hey, since when is Hunk the favorite uncle?”

“Since always!” Camilla says with a smile, giggling even more when Lance scowls.

“Oh, come on,” Pidge pats him on the back. “You can pout and complain over being abandoned later. We have a birthday party to set up, remember?”

Nodding, Lance lets Pidge wrap one hand around his arm and her other around Keith’s, and pull them both after Maria, who has disappeared into the kitchen. There are three other adults in the kitchen already - Lance’s father, who appears to be rummaging through kitchen drawers; and Hunk’s moms, who are greeting Maria with kisses on the cheek and both seem to be holding an assortment of dishware. His sister Melissa is standing on a step-stool in the living room, holding a roll of red paper streamers and looking incredibly bored. Half the roll is already taped up on the wall and Lance wonders why the hell she isn’t taping the rest of it up instead of standing there.

“Did you find any tape yet, dad?” She calls across the room, sounding annoyed.

“Not yet, just be patient! Why do we have so much junk in these drawers?!” John McClain calls back, sounding equally as annoyed..

Ah, that makes sense.

“You should have told me we needed tape earlier, I could’ve grabbed some on my way home!” Maria says. Lance watches her cross her arms and frown disappointedly at his father.

It’s quite funny, actually, how easily she can throw even her own husband into instant regret.

“I didn’t know we were out of tape in the whole house! I could have sworn we had more in one of these drawers, but we have so much random crud in them that even if we do have more, I don’t think I’d be able to find any if I looked around for ten thousand years!”

“Still, I think tape is a pretty important thing for a birthday party, don’t you agree?”

“Are they fighting?” Pidge asks quietly, leaning close to Lance’s ear, as if trying to be discreet. “I thought it was impossible for your parents to fight.”

Lance laughs a little to himself. “Oh, trust me, they fight sometimes, and this is not it.”

John and Maria are still bickering over the obvious importance of tape in any kind of situation that involves decorating, and Hunk bypasses all of it to offer his personal tape roll to Melissa, who looks like she’s about ready to keel over from holding her arm up so long. She smiles gratefully and continues hanging the length of streamers, carefully climbing down the step ladder to move it a few feet over before climbing back up to curl and hang more. It looks amazing, Lance thinks.

“Tio Lance, whos’ that?” Camilla says, tugging on Lance’s sleeve and pointing at Keith. 

“That’s Keith,” Lance answers with a smile. “He’s my friend, like Hunk and Pidge. And I think,” Lance leans in close to Camilla’s ear, Toni leaning in to eavesdrop. “He could use some hugs.”

Toni and Camilla nod very seriously, turning toward Keith with a synchronized rhythm that could actually be considered quite creepy, like they’re the twins from The Shining or some shit. Keith, who has clearly been watching the conversation - most likely because it was about him - has a very quizzical expression on his face and Lance puts on his best evil grin as he watches Toni and Camilla practically barrel into Keith’s legs, wrapping their arms around him as best they can.

Pidge full-out belly laughs at how completely out of his league Keith looks, hands hovering above Camilla and Toni’s heads like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to hug them back, but then they’re giggling and he smiles, genuinely smiles, and his gloved hands rest on their shoulders as they rub their noses on his calves. Lance doesn’t mention that they might be wiping off actual snot.

“You’re tio Keith now!” Toni tells Keith, clearly not willing to accept rejection. “Come help us with our project! It’s the most important project of the whole party, mama said!”

“The most important? What is it?” Keith questions.

“Decorations! The plate ones!” Camilla yells in Keith’s ear. “We have to make ‘em ‘cause mama  said a party has to have plate pictures! The best ones!” 

“From the best artists, mama said!” Toni agrees, beaming.

“Wow,” Keith says, crouching to Toni and Camilla’s height. “That really is the most important.”

That feedback seems to be the final building block in Toni and Camilla’s easy love of Keith, since as soon as they hear him reiterating how important their job is, they each grab one of his arms and almost make him fall over in their haste to drag him over to what Lance assumes is their designated “decorating area” in a corner of the living room. They spout out questions on if Keith is a good artist and what kinds of things he can draw, and Lance finds himself simply waving the three of them off when Keith looks back at him and Pidge, as if asking what to do.

“Do you think we should save him? I doubt they’re gonna give him back unless you go tell them he has a different job to do.” Pidge asks.

“Nah,” Lance says. “This’ll keep him busy so we can talk to mama and the others.”

“Fair enough.”

While Keith is occupied with drawing on the paper plates Toni and Camilla hand him - turns out he’s a really good artist, who knew? - Lance drifts from person to person in the most natural ways he can, making sure everyone knows what’s going on with Keith. He takes Melissa’s place hanging the streamers when she complains about her arm being sore. He relieves his father of the search for tape by telling him Hunk had some, because apparently no one had done that yet. He hunts down and cleans some dishes Lily and Sunny Garrett needed but couldn’t find.

He, Hunk and Pidge drift past each other while helping prepare and trade information, some of it useful - like Pidge’s discovery that Andi will be home an hour early because of an unexpected hour change due to the time of year - and some of it not - like Hunk’s unnecessary comment on how Lance keeps glancing at Keith and is eventually gonna give them away. Which actually is helpful, now that he thinks about it, but the smirk and eyebrow wiggle Hunk gives him really isn’t.

When the brunt of the preparations are done, Lance breaks away from setting the table to grab the paper plate decorations Toni, Camilla, and Keith were meant to be making. He finds his niece and nephew practically laying on top of Keith, whose face is almost obscured by carpet as he valiantly tries to continue drawing what looks to be Camilla in a princess dress while the two kids are bouncing up and down on his back, clearly having gotten bored with coloring.

Or maybe less bored with coloring, and more intrigued by Keith. Lance doesn’t know which.

Keith looks up when Lance approaches, and Lance effortlessly scoops Toni off Keith’s back. Toni protests with an obnoxious whine but doesn’t make any attempts to get up when Lance sits cross-legged on the carpet and plops the boy down in his lap. Camilla stops bouncing and Lance is pretty sure he hears Keith heave a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t mention it.

“How are the decorations going, kids?” He asks, ruffling Toni’s hair. 

“Uber good!” “Good!” Toni and Camilla say, their sentences overlapping. “Keith is uber good at drawing! Just like us!” Camilla continues. 

“Uber good? Where did you learn that?” Lance questions.

“Lourdes!” 

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Is Lourdes your other sister?” Keith asks, eyes still on his paper plate drawing. “You’ve never talked about her before, just Melissa.”

“Yeah, she’s the middle sister. Melissa’s the oldest, then Andi, Lourdes, me, and then these two little pains in the butt.” Lance explains, ignoring Toni and Camilla’s whining about being insulted.

“So you’re technically the baby of the family, then.”

Keith still doesn’t look up from his drawing, but Lance can see the corners of his mouth quirk up and knows he’s smirking, as if this were some funny joke. Which it isn’t. Toni and Camilla laugh at it anyway, and Lance frowns. “Maybe! But that doesn’t mean I’m any less mature!”

“Oh right, as if Lance and mature even belong in the same sentence.” Says a new voice.

Lance turns to find Lourdes standing right above him, holding two huge paper grocery bags and looking like she’d just rolled out of bed despite it being early evening. One of the perks of college, Lance supposes- everyone’s too Done and Tired to care about appearances anymore. 

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Lance snaps, scowling up at his sister with his hands on his hips. “And also, what the actual heck do you have in those bags?”

“Four lemon curd cheesecakes, a box of those vegan pumpkin cookies Melissa likes, and about six rolls of tape. Mom texted me to get some stuff because apparently she completely forgot that Andi doesn’t like cake and needed an emergency backup. Lucky I wasn’t home yet.” Lourdes replies, ignoring his scowl. Her eyes land on Keith and she raises an eyebrow. “Who’s he?”

Lance stops scowling and Keith finally looks up from his drawing, confused and maybe a little bit sheepish. Lance opens his mouth to answer, but Toni and Camilla beat him to the punch.

“He’s Keith!” “He’s Lance’s friend!” “He helped us with our pictures!” “Yeah, he’s uber good!” The two of them talk over each other, as always, but their explanation (if it can even be called that) gets across well enough. Lourdes smiles at Keith and Keith tentatively smiles back, grunting in discomfort as Camilla flips positions on his back to gesture wildly at his drawing. “He’s drawing me as a princess!” She says, beaming from ear to ear like it’s the best news in the whole world.

“Whoa, that’s pretty cool!” Lourdes sets the paper bags to the side and crouches down next to Lance and Toni, peeking at Keith’s drawing and whistling. “And it is uber good, just like you said.”

“Yeah, uber good!” Toni parrots. 

Keith mumbles out a “thank you” and watches Lourdes ruffle both Toni and Camilla’s hair before standing back up again to take the paper bags to the kitchen. Lance watches her go. In any other situation, he would’ve expected her to tease him- because yeah, he’d talked about Keith a lot, even before he’d involved his entire family in his plan. He’s still kind of surprised she didn’t tease him, even a little bit, but the smarter part of him knows it’s because she doesn’t want to make it obvious that everyone in Lance’s family knows who Keith is, even if it wouldn’t be that strange.

“Lance! We need to get the desserts set up, come help get this cheesecake on the table.” Maria yells as she makes her way over to them. “Toni, Camilla, go ahead and put your decorations up.” 

Toni and Camilla scramble to gather all the paper plates strewn about the living room floor. Keith helps them and lets the two kids drag him to the dining room table, showcasing where to put the paper plate art and chattering on about how “the angle has to be perfect” or something similar. Maria reaches Lance’s side and walks with him toward the kitchen where the cheesecakes are.

“It looks like he’s opening up. That’s a good thing.” She says, smiling warmly at the three. Lance knows she’s talking about Keith, and his own gaze falls on the boy. He nods. 

“Have you figured out how you’re going to explain this all to him?” 

“Not yet.”

Lance can feel his mama’s gaze on him, and he just keeps watching Keith. He watches him struggle to get one of the half-bent paper plates to stay neatly upright against a bowl of oranges, watches Toni and Camilla watch him, waiting, watches them applaud when he moves away and the plate doesn’t topple over. Then one of them bumps the table and causes it to fall, and they both start apologizing profusely while Keith looks on like he’s waiting for death’s sweet release.

“You’ve been brave with this plan, mijo.” Maria says, tucking an arm around Lance’s middle. “You know Keith might not react well. He’s probably going to be hurt, if he’s as guarded and private as you tell me. But I think it’s good that you’re here for him. Sounds like he needs it.”

Lance rests his chin on her head. “Yeah, I know he does. I just hope he doesn’t hate me after.”

Andi hadn’t been included in any of the plans for helping Keith, since it was all meant to overlap with a Super-Secret-Birthday-Bash Andi couldn’t know about, so the shocked expression on his face when he comes home to a horde of people screaming “happy birthday” at him in varying volumes is entirely genuine. He leaps about a foot in the air and the (empty) plastic cup he’d been holding goes flying across the entryway, almost hitting Sunny Garrett in her smiling face.

“The fuck?!” He yells, half-glaring at everyone.

“Language, mijo!” Maria yells back, though she’s still smiling from ear to ear. She pulls him down to her height and presses a kiss to his cheek. “It’s your birthday! Your surprise birthday party!

Andi makes a face like he’s constipated and then tilts his head, eyebrows going upward in a yeah-that-makes-sense fashion. “I feel like I should have expected this.”

“Well, it’s good that you didn’t, it would have ruined the surprise. Now come on, we got you cheesecake.” Maria pats him on the back and leads him out of the entryway, toward the kitchen. As she passes by where Lance is standing with Hunk and Pidge, she nods to Keith - still stuck in a Toni-Camilla sandwich - then winks and keeps moving. Andi notices the exchange and shoots Lance a confused look. Lance just shrugs. He’ll have to explain everything later.

For now, he has a message to pass on: it’s time to make Keith Kogane a McClain.

(Or, well, get him used to the McClains. Saying they’re gonna make him a McClain is weird. Like he’s gonna marry into the family or something, which is definitely not what’s happening here.)

(Later, Lance sees that Keith does become a McClain, as wholly as if he’d been born one.)

Dinner is a whirlwind of energy, with the ever-so-embarrassing Happy Birthday song ritual that has Andi’s ears turning red and food being passed around and everyone talking at once with at least four separate conversations going on at any given minute. Everyone’s eager to talk to Keith, and if it were anyone else’s birthday Lance would probably feel terrible for his friend taking the spotlight, but it’s Andi, and one glance at his brother confirms that Andi’s most likely grateful to have the attention on someone else so he can eat his cheesecake in the rare, temporary peace.

Keith is introduced, a little belatedly, to everyone at the party and they all take their turns making conversation with him, asking about his art and how classes are going and if Lance is just as annoying at school as he is at home. Lily and Sunny ask him for an opinion on the pizza they’d all had for dinner, and when he expresses his gratitude, they start on about whether or not he likes cooking or baking. Turns out, he’s never actually baked anything in his life, and the only thing he knows how to cook on his own is mac & cheese. The women look personally offended.

They promise to teach him how to cook at least a few basic dishes sometime, and Lance smiles to himself at the barely-there grin on Keith’s face when Sunny ruffles his hair.

Lance gets roped into a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos by Toni and Camilla, and he loses every round because he’s too distracted, watching Lourdes and Keith where they’re sitting on the floor across the living room. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but by the time the game is over, Keith is bright red and Lourdes is cackling like a Disney villain. Which she is. Lance swears.

Melissa gathers Toni and Camilla and bids everyone goodbye over the sounds of their protests. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning, calm down.” She says, when Camilla starts crying.

“But tio Keith won’t be here tomorrow!”

Lance thinks it’s adorable how attached to Keith the two had become over the course of the evening. Camilla continues to sob and Toni looks like he’s on the edge of crying too, and Melissa sighs, probably bone tired. Lance moves to try and calm them, but then Keith is crouching low to hug the both of them, still looking totally out of his element but perhaps a little less terrified.

“Hey, I’ll come back and visit sometime, okay?” He says. Toni and Camilla nod. “I promise.”

The two siblings cling to Keith a little longer before pulling back and hurrying to their mama, sobs replaced by little baby sniffles. They all wave until the door is closed behind them. 

“So, who’s up for some MarioKart?” Pidge suggests, raising an eyebrow..

“Oh hell yeah! I’m gonna whoop your butt, Holt!” Lourdes easily accepts the challenge.

Pidge, Lourdes, Lance, Keith, and Hunk all end up crowded on the living room couch, trading off controllers whenever one person loses. Both Lance and Lourdes’ legs are in Hunk’s lap, and every once in a while he makes a face at their feet, though he makes no move to push them off. Pidge is sitting with her neck up against Lourdes’ side and the rest of her body flopping over the armrest like a limp noodle, and Keith is squished into the space between Lance and the other end of the couch, hands leaning on the armrest to avoid getting bumped by Lance’s elbows.

It’s mundane, and familiar, and comfortable, and Keith looks so relaxed, and Lance prays that it means his plan is working. He prays that Keith will understand, once everything is explained. He prays that Keith won’t hate him and run away and refuse help like he did before.

He prays that, no matter whether this fantastical plan succeeds or fails, Keith will be safe.

Lance’s nerves get the better of him, and he gets no higher than seventh place on any round. Pidge and Lourdes wipe the floor with all of them, expectedly, stealing first place from each other over and over until they’ve got about the same amount of wins. Keith does surprisingly well for a MarioKart beginner and Lance finds himself watching Keith more than he’s playing the game. 

Thoughts swim in his head of the worst possible outcome of the night, where Keith calls him a traitor, storms out of the house, and refuses to talk to Lance ever again. He imagines what he’ll say, what he’ll do, what expression will be on his face. He imagines what would happen if Keith just… went with it. If he easily accepted that Lance just wanted to help, and chose to stay. That’s the outcome Lance wants, and he’s more than a little bit terrified of the other possibilities.

He wants Keith to let him help, wants Keith to be safe, wants Keith to be happy. 

Lance’s hasn’t been in the game for several rounds now, and he only half-notices Pidge’s eighth win of the night. He’s staring at Keith’s fourth place ranking when Maria calls for them all to come into the kitchen for cocoa. There’s a lot of shuffling and stumbling and Lourdes almost falls on her face, but they all make it into the kitchen laughing and smiling from ear to ear.

He and Keith are the last ones into the kitchen, and he watches his mama gently tap Keith on the shoulder and usher him back out of the room, handing him a mug of cocoa on the way. And oh fuck, here we go. Lance holds his cup but doesn’t drink. He tunes out the MarioKart character stat debate going on beside him, is too busy watching his mom and Keith. He knows what they must be talking about- knows she must be explaining their plans to Keith. It’s nerve-wracking.

Lance knows the exact moment Keith realizes that everyone who was at that party, aside from Andi, is 100% aware of everything going on in Keith’s life. He knows because Keith’s head snaps around and sharp eyes land on him- glaring, cutting holes in his skull, full of hurt and anger.

This is what Lance was scared of.

Keith turns away, and Lance feels his stomach plummeting into the ground. Does Keith hate him now? What’s he thinking, of course Keith hates him now. How could he have thought everything would work out just fine? They’re not in a damn fairytale- this is real life, with Lance’s real friend, whose secrets he’s spilled to practically everyone he knows. Lance knows his intentions were good, but does that really outweigh the fact that he’s meddling in Keith’s life? They haven’t even been friends for that long. A couple months at most. Lance has no right to tell Keith what to do.

No more than two minutes into Lance’s staring-off-into-space-silent-guilt-parade and movement snaps him out of his thoughts, and Lance watches Keith storm around the living room, collecting his things. No one is talking about MarioKart now. Everyone is watching Keith.

“Keith, mijo, at least let me drive you home. It’s late.” Maria asks, her face full of concern.

Keith shakes his head, avoiding eye contact, and yanks his shoes on. He looks back at Lance and Lance feels like he might crumble under that gaze, because Keith is fucking pissed.

The front door opens and Keith leaves, closing the door behind him, and without really thinking, Lance races after him. He’s wearing socks and cargo shorts and it’s past dark in late autumn, and he’s freezing the second he walks out the door. “Keith!” He yells, his feet already sore from running on cold pavement. “Keith, wait!” Keith is fast, and he doesn’t slow down.

Lance catches up and has to stop himself from grabbing at Keith’s arm, because the last thing he wants right now is for Keith to react on impulse and get them in another bad situation.

“Keith, please listen to me! I just wanted to help-”

“Help?!”

Keith whirls around and Lance takes a stumbling step back. Keith is glaring at him, expression clear even in the dim street lighting. He looks small, somehow, his shoulders hunched in and his arms pulled close, hands balled into fists at his sides that Lance can’t help but stare at. 

“Do you really think spilling my private life to everyone you know is gonna help?! What if they tell the police?! What do you think is gonna happen?!”  

“He’s abusing you, Keith!” Lance says, trying not to shout. “What if we can get him arrested?”

“And what if you do?! Lance, the whole reason I haven’t told anyone about this is because when social services finds out, they’re gonna relocate me. Another family, another town- that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid! I finally made friends, I don’t want to leave. But you know what? It doesn’t matter now, because clearly the friends I made don’t care about my fucking privacy.”

Keith’s words sting, like little needles stabbing into his skull, and Lance says nothing. Keith looks angry, and hurt, and there are tears in the corners of his eyes that twinkle in the lamplight. What can Lance say to him? After all that? Keith’s right. Lance fucked up. There’s nothing else to it.

Lance watches Keith turn around and leave. He stands there on the pavement until Keith’s form disappears around a corner and then he stands there a little longer, because he’s… in shock. 

This is what he was afraid of. This was the worst case scenario.

Finally, when Lance’s socked feet are numb and his whole body is shivering, he turns his back on where Keith’s gone and walks back up to the house, where Maria, Lourdes, Hunk, and Pidge are all waiting just inside the door, the same expression of concern mirrored across their faces.

“He left.” Lance says. “I- I fucked up. Really bad.” 

“Oh, mijo, this isn’t your fault. You did what you thought was right.” Maria says, pulling him into her arms. “Sometimes, when we do something out of love, it backfires. That isn’t our fault.”

“I don’t think Keith’s had a lot of love in his life. Maybe he just doesn’t understand.” Hunk adds.

Lance nods against his mama’s shoulder, and she pets his hair for a bit. Once they all discover how freezing cold Lance is, they gather around to smother him with blankets from the couch and Maria makes another round of cocoa for everyone. Conversation is slow and strained, and Lance tries to tune out most of it, but every time he slips into feeling absolutely miserable about hurting Keith, Hunk or Pidge or Lourdes says something funny that has him giggling despite it all.

When the cocoa is gone Maria finally ushers everyone to bed, and Lance ends up in his room with Pidge and Hunk shoved in next to him on the bottom bunk. 

“What should we do now?” Lance asks into the dark, Pidge’s hair tickling his cheek.

Hunk, already half asleep, mumbles into his shoulder. “Just give him space. He’ll come ‘round.”

Keith does not come ‘round. At least, not very quickly.

When Lance and Hunk get of the bus on Monday morning, Keith doesn’t wave at them from his bike, doesn’t follow them to where Pidge always waits, doesn’t walk with Lance to maths. 

Keith doesn’t give Lance so much as a side-eye during class, and Lance says nothing. 

It’s like they’ve gone back to the first weeks of school, when Keith was just “that kid who punched me that one time” and Lance was “the one who got in the way.” Keith doesn’t walk with them to their classes, doesn’t sit with them at lunch, doesn’t share his notes with Lance or argue about the probability of aliens with Pidge or let Hunk fuss over his hair like a surrogate mother.

And Lance says nothing. Keith has every right to avoid him- to avoid all of them. Lance feels bad that he’s ruined Pidge and Hunk’s friendship with Keith too, just by getting them involved. But he does his best to stay positive, to not let what happened with Keith drag him down too much.

(He lies. It eats away at him as he tries to sleep, and no matter how many times Hunk or Pidge or his mama try to tell him it’ll all work out, Lance can’t seem to figure out how it possibly could.)

Around a week and a half passes before Keith approaches them again, and when he does, he has another black eye over the one that had finally started to heal, a gash on his eyebrow, and a thick ring of bruises around his throat that have Lance’s stomach churning. When he looks Keith in the eye his heart sinks too, because Keith’s expression isn’t angry, or hurt, just… tired. 

“Dude, you look like you’ve lost a Kaiju battle or something.” Pidge blurts out. 

Lance blanks, because what the fuck, Pidge?! But then he hears Keith actually laugh- not quite a happy laugh, more the awkward kind of laugh, the kind of laugh you laugh when it feels like the world’s falling to pieces around and you have to laugh because if you don’t you’ll just start crying.

“Yeah, well,” Keith says, his voice cracked and raw. “It definitely feels that way.”

Pidge snorts, and Hunk sighs, and Lance stares at Keith. He should say something. But what? Apologize? He already has, and Keith didn’t take it too well. Should he explain himself? He thinks that might make Keith even angrier- it would sound like Lance thinks Keith is weak and helpless.

But Keith doesn’t want to talk about the failed “rescue mission” half-disguised as Andi’s birthday party. Keith doesn’t mention it at all, just asks, “Can I sit with you guys?”

No one answers. Pidge and Hunk are clearly waiting for Lance to make the call, and Lance appreciates the gesture, even though he doesn’t think it’s earned. Keith waits, not mentioning the fight they had or how Lance betrayed him or even anything more about his wounds. Keith waits, watching Lance watch him, and Lance thinks that Keith’s question never needed to be asked.

“Of course you can.”

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they’re all together, joking and laughing and poking fun at each other, just like friends should. Keith is smiling, and laughing, and Lance is happy. 

When they all get out of class at the end of the day, Keith is waiting for them in the main hallway. He seems nervous, more nervous than he had at lunch, but he debates with Pidge the logic or not-logic of a comic series they apparently both read and Lance decides not to mention it. Hunk joins in on their debate once he has a better picture of the context and Lance listens with a laugh, not really understanding any of it but enjoying the ridiculous things they use to justify their side.

They all say hi to Mrs. Holt and wave dramatically at Pidge as their stationwagon pulls out of the parking lot, and Keith falls behind as Lance and Hunk make for their bus. Hunk goes on ahead with a playful nudge at both of them and Lance pauses, watches Keith, tries not fidget.

Keith looks at him and his expression is sad, almost desperate. “Lance, I’m really sorry about the other night. You didn’t deserve to get yelled at. You were just trying to help me, and I didn’t want to admit I needed help. I just- I’m not used to people being nice to me. It caught me off guard, still does, and I think I didn’t know how to cope with your family treating me like I’m… one of them. So I picked the first excuse I could to get mad and I treated you like actual shit. I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, you had every reason to get mad-” Lance starts.

“No, I really didn’t!” Keith interrupts him, quietly catching himself with a whispered apology. “You wanted to help me, and you did what you thought would help. You told people you trusted and I got mad at you for it. That’s not fair. It’s not fair for me to reject you when you’re just trying to be a good friend. I think I understand what that means now, y’know. Being someone’s friend.”

Lance finds himself smiling, because this is what he wanted Keith to understand- that he has friends, people who love him and care about him and want him to be safe. He wanted Keith to understand that he has people who want to help him. People that will help him, if he asks.

“Keith,” Lance says, holding a hand out for Keith to take, if he wants. “Wanna come to my house tonight? You did promise you’d visit Toni and Camilla again sometime.”

Keith stares at him for a moment, and Lance wonders if maybe he should have said more, if he should explain more of his process or how much his family loves Keith or apologize again, even though Keith doesn’t seem to think he’s at fault. He wonders if this is too forward, asking him to come over again like it’s not big deal. He wonders if Keith will say yes after all that’s happened.

Keith smiles, shy and small and real. He takes Lance’s hand, and says, “Yes, please.”

That night, when Lance and Keith are snuggled up in blankets on different bunks in Lance’s bed, Lance explains to Keith every aspect of his plans to get Keith into a safer place.

Keith listens, doesn’t say anything until Lance is finished. A heavy silence hangs between them.

“How many people were involved?” He asks.

Lance counts on his fingers. “Well, my whole family, aside from like, Toni and Camilla. And Andi, since we couldn’t tell him about the party. Hunk’s moms, Hunk and Pidge, Pidge’s parents- we had backup plans in case you’d rather stay with Pidge or Hunk than me. So… ten people?”

That heavy silence falls again, and Lance finds himself fidgeting, anxious and impatient. He picks at hanging threads from the mattress above him, fiddles with the hem of his blanket, and waits.

Finally, a reply. “That’s a lot of people.”

“Yeah.”

“That means I’m important to you, doesn’t it?”

Lance blanks, for a second, then smiles from ear to ear, because yes, Keith finally gets it. “Hell yeah you’re important to me, dude! You’re one of my best friends now! That makes you a VIP.”

Lance hears Keith’s soft, raspy laugh echo in the darkness of the room. “Sweet.”

Just like how Keith became a part of Lance’s little friend group in no time at all, Keith becomes a part of the McClain family pretty much within the span of a single night. 

No one so much as bats and eyelash when Keith joins them at the breakfast table the morning after his first night staying over, and in the week since, he’s had personalized allergy-free lunches made for him by Maria, had an hour long Nicolas Sparks debate with Andi, and had his makeup done by Melissa, Lourdes, and Toni and Camilla, all on separate occasions. 

(And yes, Lance forced his mama to take pictures on each of those separate occasions.)

Maria drives them to and from school, picking up Hunk along the way most days. She takes him and Keith out to buy coats and new jeans, because Keith didn’t bring a whole lot with him when he left home and he doesn’t actually have a good winter coat, which is sacrilege in her eyes. 

Lance offers up his own bedroom to share with Keith, and at first he’s nervous. He’s always had a hard time sleeping with others in the room, because he’s a restless sleeper. He moves around a lot. He makes noise. Growing up, Andi constantly complained about being kept up by Lance shaking the bed, until finally Melissa moved out and Lourdes offered to share with him. 

Keith? Keith does not complain. Keith sleeps like a rock. It usually takes Lance a good while to fall asleep, even with his earbuds in playing ocean songs and all possible light blocked out by an eye mask. Keith, however, simply lays down and passes out, and does not move until he wakes.

It’s almost like we were meant to be, Lance thinks. The sentiment makes him giggle.

Everyone adores Keith, dotes on him and teases him and treats him like he’s been a part of the household from the very beginning. Lance can’t help but wish that Keith never has to leave.

(Lance worries. He worries so much. When they turn onto the main hall in school one day and Keith’s foster dad is standing there, talking to a teacher, and Keith looks so pale and small and scared, Lance grabs his arm and guides him to another exit, Hunk doing his best to calm Keith and Pidge watching behind them like a hawk watching for a potential predator. Keith stays home from then on and Maria lets him. And Lance worries. How long, exactly, can all of this last?)

“Is Toni gonna die?” 

Lance looks at Camilla and resists the urge to smile, because despite the nature of her question, she doesn’t seem even the slightest bit concerned for her brother’s well-being. 

“No, Camilla, he just has the flu. He’s not gonna die.” He says, patting her on the back.

Camilla turns and glares at him for making her stumble and Lance has to hide his smile behind a hand. She finishes off the braid she’s doing in Keith’s hair and turns to Lance, holding it out in his direction with the most begrudging expression a five-year-old can have. She’s Melissa’s kid, that’s for damn sure. Lance takes the end of the braid and ties off the elastic for her.

“All done! Look, look, look!” Camilla says with sudden enthusiasm, shoving a plastic play mirror into Keith’s hands so he can see the masterpiece that is his new hairdo.

Camilla has spent a good fifteen or twenty minutes twisting three smaller braids into one gigantic plait that’s about as wide as Keith’s head, with bumps at different angles and crooked chunks of braid and little hairs that didn’t quite fit into the plaits sticking out every which way. It looks terrible, Lance thinks, but in the cute, learning-curve kind of way that can only really be achieved when you have a five-year-old who has only ever done the hair of dolls decide to give you a makeover.

Lance fully expects Keith’s face to contort into something that portrays how much Camilla might need to practice, but Keith just smiles, turning the mirror this way and that to get a view of every angle he possibly can. He’s beaming, and Camilla is beaming, and Lance fucking giggles.

How can a guy who didn’t know what a fist bump was a few months ago, be so good with kids?!

“It’s amazing, Camilla,” Keith says, handing her back the mirror and feeling along the plaits with his fingers. “I love it. Thank you.”

Camilla squeals and throws her arms around Keith, probably dislodging part of the braid as she jumps up and down in her excitement. Keith has spent long enough in the McClain house to be very much used to Toni and Camilla’s boundless energy, and he just laughs, a soft, comfortable laugh, gently patting the braid back into place (still crooked, but a little better) when Camilla stills.

The three of them are all bundled up in late-autumn-early-winter-weather clothes, sat outside on the front walk to avoid contracting the flu from Toni and getting sick themselves. Lance is sat on the steps of the porch with his jacket pulled up as far as it’ll get on around his neck, while Keith and Camilla are on the walkway with a few blankets between their butts and freezing concrete.

It’s been ten days since Keith started staying at the McClain house, three days since he stopped attending school, and Lance feels an ache in his stomach, like their luck is going to run out soon.

An unfamiliar car pulls into the driveway.

At first, Lance eyes the car with vacant curiosity. Their house is at the dead-end of a street and it isn’t uncommon for their driveway to be used as a turn-around for lost drivers. 

One glance in Keith’s direction and Lance instantly knows that something is very, very wrong.

Keith looks scared. His face is ashen, eyes blown wide, hands gripping the blanket beneath him like a lifeline even as he scoots in front of Camilla almost on instinct. Lance is on his feet and moving toward them before the car door can open. And when it does, all hell breaks loose.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” The man shouts, in a voice Lance barely recognizes from that night so long ago. “You fucking ran off for an entire week, you think you have the right?!” 

Lance doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say, it’s like a horror movie is happening in front of him. The man shoots out a hand and grabs at Keith’s hair like a murderous villain, lifting him off the ground and dragging him a good few feet forward, as if Keith weighed nothing at all. 

“Get off, asshole!” Keith shouts, kicking at the man and shoving at his hand, trying to dislodge the fingers tangled in his hair. “Fucking let go!” 

Without thinking, Lance lunges for Keith and pushes at the man’s hands, shouting for him to let the fuck go and fuck off, what right does he have to treat Keith like this? Camilla is wailing and Keith is swearing and Lance is shouting and the man is yelling at Keith for being a brat and disobeying curfew, what a fucking idiot, how dare he. If there was a neighborhood watch, surely someone would have called the cops by now, with all the noise they’re making.

Lance takes an elbow to the face and stumbles, falling on his ass and catching himself with one hand that he’ll definitely be picking rocks out of with tweezers later. Keith is screaming his name and then screaming curses at the world. Keith’s foster dad kicks the feet out from under him and Lance watches Keith get manhandled, kicking and scratching and biting, toward the man’s car.

Lance climbs back onto his feet and a door opens, but not a car door- the front door of the house is thrown open, and Lance doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful to see his dad’s face. 

John McClain, Captain of Lions Beach Police Station, walks out like the eye of a storm, calm and collected. He lifts one hand out at Lance as a cue to stay right where he is and Lance does stay. He hears Camilla’s cries soften and turns to find his mother in the doorway, one arm cradling a coughing Toni and the other holding Camilla close, both kids’ faces pressed up against her and shielded from the drama. When she catches Lance’s gaze, she smiles, small but reassuring.

“Let him go and put your hands up!” John demands, loud and stern.

Keith’s foster father pauses, but only to glare at John as if he were the scum of the Earth. “Why the hell should I listen to you? You kidnap my kid and then think you can order me around?!”

John pulls out his badge, and the man suddenly looks very, very scared. He drops Keith instantly.

Keith scrambles to his feet and runs for the house, grabbing at Maria’s sleeve as soon as he’s near. Lance picks up Camilla so Maria has a free arm to hug Keith. He can feel Keith shaking, can hear his heavy breathing, but his eyes refuse to leave his dad and the scene before them.

“John Doe, you are under arrest for trespassing and assault. You have the right to remain silent.” John pins the man up against his own car and handcuffs him. There’s a police siren in the distance. “If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you…”

A police car pulls up to the driveway just as John is finished, and out climbs two officers Lance vaguely recognizes, probably from some potluck or another. The two new officers take over and Keith’s foster father disappears into the police car. A minute later, an ambulance pulls up.

“Lance, mijo, take Toni for me, okay?” 

Lance sets Camilla down and takes Toni, who is fast asleep despite the chaos. Maria kisses all three of them on the head before wrapping both arms around Keith and starting down the steps. 

“I called Melissa and Lourdes, they’ll be home soon as they can be. I need you to stay here for a little while, okay? Take care of Toni and Camilla?” Maria says, her smile strained.

‘Why can’t we go with you?’ Lance wants to ask. But he knows why. There’s no telling how long it will take to sort out everything that’s just happened, no telling what will happen to Keith or if they’ll get in trouble for harboring a runaway or- or- Lance shoves aside thoughts of Keith’s foster dad getting off scot-free and Keith having to go back to him. His parents will never let that happen. 

So Lance just nods, tries his best to smile, and stays. Keith peeks out around Maria as they walk toward the ambulance and Lance doesn’t know what to say. So he says nothing, just watches as his parents disappear down the road, and prays that Keith will be with them when they return.

Lance takes Toni back to bed in the living room and Camilla helps him lock up every window and door in the house. He makes it into a game and manages to win a bit of laughter from her, which he counts as a feat. But as soon as they’ve settled in the living room next to a sleeping Toni, she releases all her questions on him in rapid succession. Where did nana and papa go? Why did the big truck take Keith away? Who was that man? Why was he being so mean to Keith?

Lance hugs her close and tries to explain. “You know how the bad guys in movies can be really mean to the heroes, and at the end the heroes beat the bad guys in a fight?” Camilla nods. “Well, that man that hurt Keith was a bad guy. Papa’s at the police station to make sure than man gets in trouble for being mean, and nana’s at the hospital to make sure Keith’s okay. That’s where the big truck took him- it’s an ambulance, they come rescue people who are hurt and heal them.”

Camilla nods, taking his cobbled-together explanation as fact. “When will tio Keith come home?” 

Lance gives her a shaky smile. “Soon.”

Half an hour after the first responders have come and gone, Lourdes gets home, and Lance tells her everything their mama didn’t have time to mention. Camilla is fast asleep and when Lourdes pulls Lance into her arms, he cries, because he’s worried. He lets out all the emotions he’s been holding back, because he couldn’t bear to cry in front of Camilla and make her more scared.

John calls not long after Lourdes gets home to say that Keith’s foster father is in holding and that the specifics of the arrest will be handled by other officers, and that he’s heading to the hospital to check on Maria and Keith. John tells them not to worry, that everything is going to work out.

(Lance still worries, but he forces himself not to focus on it, because John McClain is not a liar)

Melissa gets home after the call, Andi gets home an hour after that, and they wait together in the living room, huddled like wolf pups waiting for their mother to return with food for the winter. Toni and Camilla wake up and demand movie time, and three episodes of Tangled: The Series later, they’re asleep again, along with Lourdes and Andi, who are both exhausted from their days.

Lance is exhausted too, body and soul, but he can’t find it in himself to sleep. His mind is going a mile a minute with thoughts of Keith and their parents and restraining orders and relocations and what if Lance could track down Keith’s brother? His fingers fidget with whatever they touch and Lance fights the urge to text Hunk or Pidge for help, because he’s not sure if he should share yet. What kind of rules are there in sharing this kind of thing? Would he get in trouble for telling them?

“I can hear you overthinking from all the way over here, Lancey-Lance.” Melissa says, using an old nickname that he hasn’t heard from her in years. “Do I have to ask what’s on your mind?”

Lance looks around Lourdes and Camilla’s sleeping forms between them, locks onto Melissa’s calm gaze, so much like their mama’s. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what’ll happen to Keith. What if mama and dad get in trouble for letting him stay here? What if social services take him to some other family in some other town and I never get to see him anymore?”

“Lance, Keith ran away from a man who was abusing him. I don’t think mama and dad could get in trouble for protecting him even if dad wasn’t a police Captain. They’ll fight for Keith if they have to, you know that. And besides, they have a little trick up their sleeve they haven’t told you yet.”

Lance narrows his eyes at her. “What kind of trick?”

Five and a half hours. Keith’s ER checkup takes five and a half hours. Lourdes is awake again and doing homework in the dining room, Melissa is heating late-night leftover fried rice, and Andi is still passed out in the living room with Toni and Camilla. Lance is sat across the table from his sister, trying to focus on his own homework, but he has to keep reading the same sentences over and over again because his brain is too distracted to comprehend the material.

Lights stream through cracks in the dining room curtains and there’s the sound of an engine, of car doors opening and closing, of footsteps on the stone walkway and hushed voices outside.

Lance is on his feet in seconds and heading for the front door, Lourdes at his heels. He hears her talking to Andi, probably trying to wake him up, hears Toni and Camilla’s still-sleepy voices, but he doesn’t wait. He pulls the door open and there are his parents, coming up the steps.

Keith is wedged between them, a duffel bag in his arms. He’s smiling.

Everything in Lance wants to throw himself at Keith and squeeze his brains out in a hug, but he has no idea how injured Keith might be, so instead he throws himself at his mama and reaches an arm carefully around Keith to pull him closer. Keith comes willingly and Lance feels fingers in his jacket, holding tight. It doesn’t take long for everyone else who’s awake to join the hug.

“I’m fine, really.” Keith says in Lance’s ear, answering the question he hasn’t even asked yet.

Lance deflates, tension flowing out of him. Keith is okay. Keith is home. The hug huddle starts to disperse and Lance is shoved aside by Camilla, who tackles Keith ‘round the middle and sobs into his coat. Maria pulls Lance closer and kisses him on the cheek, hands in his hair, and Lance leans into her with a smile even as his eyes stay on Keith and Camilla. Keith drops the duffel bag onto the porch and kneels to Camilla’s height, hugging her back. She sobs a bit more and everyone starts to gravitate back into the house, but Lance stays, watching.

“That scary man came and hurt you and then the hospital people took you away-” Camilla says between hiccups, one hand wiping tears while the other clings to Keith’s jacket with an iron grip. “And Lance said you would be home soon but then it was a really long time and I missed you!”

Keith smiles, and Lance swears there are tears in his eyes. “I missed you too. All of you.”

No one asks for a full story from John and Maria McClain until Camilla has been detached from Keith’s torso and put to sleep again, Melissa having made the decision to simply stay the night rather than try and drive home. Toni is balled up in one of the armchairs and Camilla is splayed across the fold-out couch in the living room, dead to the world despite her earlier energy.

Andi is half-asleep and groggy but he lets Lourdes pull him into the dining room and sit him down to hear the news of the night. Lance sits with his chair right up next to Keith’s, their shoulders up against each other, the steam from their cups of tea mixing, their fingers just a few inches apart.

“So, there’s a little something we didn’t tell everyone while we were making plans for the party, simply because we weren’t sure how it would work out if needed. But,” Maria explains. “when we were thinking of ways to truly help Keith, Melissa suggested we apply to be emergency foster parents. That would mean if a foster child nearby was displaced, they would be brought here, Keith included. And your father was able to find out that there are no other such families nearby.”

“Which means that when Keith was taken into social service custody, he was automatically put into your custody after the hospital cleared him, right?” Lourdes asks, beaming.

Maria nods, and Lance wants to cry, because his parents are amazing, so beautifully amazing.

“As foster parents, we will only have custody of Keith until a family chooses to adopt him. And you guys seem to enjoy having him around so we talked to social services about how we could go about adopting Keith to be a part of our family, permanently.” John starts, expression smug as he drags out his sentences. Lance and his siblings are hanging onto every word. “Of course, we asked Keith first if he would like to stay, and, well, you wanna tell them what you said, Keith?”

All eyes lock onto Keith and he shrinks under their gazes at first, clearly exhausted and ready to sleep and perhaps still adjusting to having siblings, but then he smiles, brighter than Lance has ever seen him smile, and Lance’s entire body seems to heat up. “I said yes.”

Lourdes starts to cheer and Andi whacks her upside the head, reminding her that there are kids asleep in the next room over. Lance wraps his arms around Keith and Lourdes is pouncing onto them just seconds later. Keith melts into their hug and Lance couldn’t possibly be happier.

If someone had told fourteen-year-old Lance that he’d end up with Keith Kogane as a brother in under a year, he never would’ve believed them, but right now? Being with Keith just feels right.

✿ First Ending, Fin. ✿

“What the fuck do you mean, we missed Keith’s birthday?!” Pidge yells, enraged. “You mean his birthday was like, a week after we became friends, and he never told us?! Dude!”

“He said he’s never celebrated his birthday before, since he doesn’t actually know his real one. I think he just… didn’t think it mattered? I mean, this is Keith we’re talking about.” Lance says.

Lance, Pidge, and Hunk are sat at a corner table in the obnoxiously busy cafeteria, their normal spot being damp and freezing with early December rain. There’s less than a week before winter break starts and the three of them are despairing over the fact they’ve missed Keith’s birthday.

“Well, maybe we can still do something? It might be a little late, but it’s better than nothing.” Hunk says. Lance nods. “Besides, he’s a McClain now. And the McClains are great at parties.”

Lance snorts a laugh, because that’s something Keith learned very quickly- there have been two more birthday parties since Andi’s, and both had hours upon hours of loving setup behind them. The McClain family goes big or goes home. Hunk knows that, has been a part of that mindset for as long as either he or Lance can remember, and he chuckles too, leaving Pidge to roll her eyes. 

Someone’s yelling in the distance and Pidge shoots a glare down the hall in the direction of it. “I forgot to tell you guys, Matt’s bringing his college roommate home for Christmas break.”

“Oh, I remember you mentioning it.” Lance says, sucking down the last of his Capri Sun.

“Yeah, well, apparently Matt cried over the phone because his roommate doesn’t have a family to spend the break with, so mom told him to invite the guy to spend the holidays with us.” There’s more yelling and Pidge frowns. “I’ve only heard stories about him so far, but he seems cool.”

“What’s he like?” 

“He’s in the same major as Matt, so he’s an astrophysics nerd. Matt has a total crush on him so I know he’s buff as shit and he has this cool scar over his nose, and he’s Japanese, so I’m pretty sure Matt’s used anime puns. Apparently he talks in his sleep.” Pidge pauses, clearly thinking up more tidbits. “His name’s Takashi but Matt says everyone in their classes calls him Shiro-”

“Wait, Shiro? Like Takashi Shirogane?” Lance blurts out. He remembers the name.

Pidge tilts her head at him. “Yeah, do you know-”

A high-pitched scream cuts through their conversation and everyone whips around to look at the origin of the sound. It’s a young girl Lance recognizes from his English class, Rom or Roxy or Ro or something similar. But Lance’s eyes don’t stay on her for long. Because there’s a gun.

(If you had told eighth-grade-Lance-McClain that his first thought, when caught in one of the most terrifying situations he could have possibly imagined, would be “what would Keith do?” …)

What would Keith do.

Lance knows Keith. Lance knows Keith. Knows how determined he is, knows how protective he is, knows how strong he is and how quick he is to take action, knows how many fights he’s been in- knows he came out on top in every single one, despite whatever consequences followed.

Lance knows if Keith were here, and he hopes to God Keith isn’t, that he would charge the kid holding a gun and firing on people Lance has known most of his life.

Lance can’t charge the kid holding a gun. He’ll die if he charges the kid holding a gun. He doesn’t want to die to the kid holding a gun. So he searches for the next best thing and instantly his eyes land on Romelle, the girl who screamed whose name he suddenly remembers clear as day.

She’s crumpled and crying and only a few feet away, and Lance drops to the ground, doesn’t let his eyes leave hers as she watches him come closer and closer until his hand touches hers.

She looks up at Lance and Lance smiles a shaky smile, fumbles for reassuring words. 

She looks up at him and starts wailing.

Lance looks up, at the shadow behind him, and there’s the gun, inches away from his temple.

Keith can’t breathe.

He sits on Lance’s bunk, huddled in a corner, staring at nothing. His eyes are rubbed raw and he can’t bear to move from his spot, can’t bear to leave the room, can’t bear to see Lance’s family - his family, now. It hurts too much to see the tear lines on their cheeks, the bags under their eyes.

So he stays on the bed, curled in Lance’s jacket that still has faded bloodstains on the sleeve.

❀ Second Ending, Fin. ❀

For those who scrolled down to get that content warning- there’s a school shooting scene at the end of the fic. I’ve not experienced a school shooting or any kind of shooting, but I’m sure it’s absolutely harrowing, so I don’t want anyone who might be sensitive to that content to be hurt. Please be careful!

#voltron: legendary defender

[bapydemonprincess]

ALL HEADCANONS FOR AMBROSE!!

☾ - sleep headcanon

Ambrose is definitely an insomniac, and that doesn’t just magically change cause he has a boyfriend :( But when he does finally sleep, he feels much safer now in Eddie’s arms than when he was alone for years and years.

★ - sad headcanon

There were times when Ambrose has almost reached a point of wanting to see if becoming a reaper might just be better than being stuck here struggling as a human the rest of his life. :( It’s a good thing he found that book when he did cause who knows..

☆ - happy headcanon

Despite hating being a human himself, Ambrose enjoys people-watching and observing human life in general. (Much like how a demon would likely be) it kind of strangely soothes him to see the world revolve around him.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Ambrose is usually too uncaring to get TOO riled up, but when challenged to a fight by reapers Grelle or Knox, Ambrose may sometimes do the opposite and get TOO riled up, to the point of needing to be dragged away and calmed down before he gets himSELF hurt.

✿ - Sex headcanon

At the point of meeting and getting together with Eddie, Ambrose is VERY experienced sexually, even for his age. He knows a few rather kinky moves that he knows he can’t quite do with Eddie yet. And some hobbies with rope binding and handcuffs, as well as sometimes liking to be dominated and hurt in various ways (like with knives or a whip) by said dominator. >:) So yes, you could say raven boy is a switch, if you will. ;)

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

Ambrose may have seemed like he was good at keeping things tidy at home with his family, but once he got his own place, he really started slacking off to the point of almost uncaring... :( The only place that does stay clean is his bedroom mostly, out of pride for not wanting to get all his possessions dirty! However, thankfully, Eddie helps him clean house when the two are living together now!

♡ - romantic headcanon

Ambrose is entirely an amateur when it comes to romance compared to his sexual finesse. He’s so used to only keeping things strictly business that it’s hard! But there is some romantic notions that do shine through, such as reciting poetry to Eddie and taking them on long walks, being more patient and gentle with the sweet demon, and instantly and instinctively gravitating towards whispering sweet nothings, complimenting them, and giving them ALL THE PET NAMES HE KNOWS. 🖤🖤🖤

♥ - family headcanon

Obviously with most of Ambrose’s family he seems completely cold and uninterested most times, however... somehow... Hannah of all people, is a favorite to go to when he needs to escape and talk about how he feels, DESPITE the fact that she was the one to take his demon powers..

☮ - friendship headcanon

Before Eddie, Ambrose’s only friends were either cats or... surprisingly.. RONALD KNOX. The older male picked on him a lot as a child and never really relented, however at some point, Ambrose grew strong and bold enough to FIGHT BACK, and the two started getting into all out BRAWLS. Just with fists! Of course, at first this lead to Sebastian wishing to intervene, but low and behold the demon mother discovered something baffling. These fights actually helped Ambrose feel BETTER. He would actually start grinning as he and Ronald threw blows, and the reaper himself wasn’t REALLY actually giving it HIS ALL in the fight. Not really. Sebastian would know, after all. So it became clear that the two had found.. something akin to a friendship, Sebastian supposed. 

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Reading ALL THE BOOKS, observing, writing in journals and trying occasionally sketch things too. Playing the piano (at his own place its a keyboard but still), and just getting lost in his own mind..

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

Likes peace and quiet, rainy days or snow days, losing himself in music that ranges from classical to heavy metal. Dislikes crowds and lots of people talking over each other, having to wait in lines, when people stare at him. (He WILL STARE BACK)

▼ - childhood headcanon

Ambrose was very reclusive as a child. He would stay in his room on hours on end, avoiding everyone and everything, sometimes even ignoring the need to eat. :( If he was forced to come out he would cause a ruckus in most cases and have a tantrum, or go silent and refuse to answer anything. It was definitely difficult for his short tempered mum, but Agni had the patience of a saint, of course, and if it hadn’t been for Agni being there all those times, things would’ve certainly become disastrous. 

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

Knowing now that he will be able to turn into a demon at the end of his natural lifespan, Ambrose learns to really calm down and find peace, being okay with aging now. 

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Ambrose just CAN’T COOK. XD before Eddie while living on his own, he’d usually order out, go to a bar and not really eat just DRINK, or just not eat at all. :(

☼ - appearance headcanon

As he ages, Ambrose loves just letting his hair keep growing! He loves having long hair and he honestly doesn’t mind putting it up or having it played with as well. He always wears the same kinda attire. Snazzy long black coats or short dress jackets, sometimes black turtlenecks, sometimes black button up shirts. He likes simple black dress shoes and black pants, though sometimes when trying to actually impress (ahem with his physique 👀 ) he’ll wear TIGHTER black pants.~

ൠ - random headcanon

Despite enjoying the company of all of the family’s cats, one puny little black beauty caught Ambrose’s eyes the most. Sebastian explained she was very malnourished and it was a brief time of understanding where both mum and son worked together to revive the poor thing’s health. This little beauty became Ambrose’s “Lenore”.. and she lived a very long time, happily, though sometimes a bit lonely as her boy would go out and leave her... and one day she simply passed on. It was a very very dark day, and Ambrose never really took in another cat again after that. Not wanting the same thing to ever happen again. He always mourns his lovely lost Lenore. 🖤

#Answer #Headcanons #Ambrose #Little Raven #Thank you for the ask! #Anonymous

[lokbobpop]

Beauty beautiful

pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically. Oh high standard

the word beautiful comes from the word “beauty” with Romance origins, meanwhile the “ful” is a suffix for forming adjectives with Germanic origins, like awful, wonderful, which this suffix cognates with many Germanic languages. and -té = -ty (in English, which probably derived strictly from French also

Beauty bea uty be auty b eauty

Beautiful beauty full beau it fall be aut it full beaut it full be a ti foul

Writing the word beauty and beautiful

Black beauty the movie tv show where you’d always be worried something might happen to beauty or someone it was always upsetting with an happy ending these story now piss me off like lassie tear jerker i dont watch them.

Wanting to be beautiful all my life like at school the most beautiful girl i though was blond wavy hair i thought she was but we were never friends i think i was jealous of her and this was at primary school then anyone after that I thought was better than me i think I didn’t like because i was jealous of them and there looks and remember slagging off a boyfriend once for not liking a guy because he was handsome when i did it myself. I saw these women as competition and could get in the way of men and the men i wanted or even worse take my man away from which would have been heart breaking for me.

Reading the words beauty and beautiful

What a Beauty like when you pick or by a fruit and its a big beauty and you cant wait to eat it.

Black beauty again

Something being beautiful like a house gardens or an item i want to buy thinking it perfect. To live in a beautiful house or have a beautiful garden that out not only be admired by me but others so i would feel good about myself.

Wanting to be beautiful but knowing im not beautiful as ive judge myself as not being inside and outside

Be jealous of beautiful people how lucky they are to be so beautiful

Saying out loud beauty and beautiful

Beauty is within the eye of the beholder

Beauty never lasts you get old and it goes but some people are very lucky and stay beautiful even when old

Plants are beautiful i love then and unique houses or view that are amazing or scenery animals there is so much beauty on this planet

I love beautiful things like the things i collect i find beautiful and even better when someone finds my things beautiful so i can feel better about myself.

Sf

Does this definition support me no way how awful how much ive put on beauty and beautiful things and how i wish is was beautiful and all my things being beautiful theres polarity within this word of beauty being great to have and to be jealous of others beauty

Beauty be me

Beautiful be till fall

Beauty

It stands out from the rest has perfection within the eye of the beholder

Beautiful

Inside and out

I am beautiful to me inside and out i love myself and my beauty of kindness

How will you live this word? I will live this word with inner beauty and outer beauty and seeing this within myself and others whatever they look like or have everyone is beautiful inside and out we just need to see it within ourselves too see it in other. Living the words self love love all as equal as one the beauty we are and all things are.

[fictionadventurer]

Father Brown Reread: The Wrong Shape

Certain of the great roads going north out of London continue far into the country a sort of attenuated and interrupted spectre of a street, with great gaps in the building, but preserving the line.

 Nice description. Even though I’ve never been to London and live a century later, I can still visualize the sort of “thinning out” of a metropolis that he’s describing.

The opening paragraph is a nice "establishing shot” for the story, the same way a movie would zoom in on a setting before starting the narrative. When the story was written, cinema was too new to have been much of an influence on literature. But interestingly, this type of technique seems more common among classic writers than modern ones, who have definitely been influenced by cinema.

For this is the story—the story of the strange things that did really happen in it in the Whitsuntide of the year 18——:

!!!!!

The stories aren’t contemporary to their publishing dates!

Way to go, Chesterton. Wait until I’ve decided that all your stories are contemporary, then prove me wrong.

The latest this event could have taken place is 1899. This means that Flambeau’s criminal career was entirely in the Victorian era.

(Someone give me Sherlock Holmes tracking the great French criminal. Failing to catch him, of course, but figuring out the crime before he escapes). 

This means that everything before “The Flying Stars” takes place in the 1890s at the earliest. Were socialism and the other political issues of in these stories concerns during the 1800s? I’ve always considered them strictly 20th century problems. Is this a fault in my history knowledge? Or is Chesterton so focused on addressing modern philosophical concerns that he’s not thinking through the implications of using this slightly historical setting?

Anyone passing the house on the Thursday before WhitSunday at about half-past four p.m. would have seen the front door open, and Father Brown, of the small church of St. Mungo, come out smoking a large pipe in company with a very tall French friend of his called Flambeau, who was smoking a very small cigarette.

Whitsunday is Pentecost.

Father Brown finally has a parish! (I feel like there’s been a mention of the different parish for Father Brown, but a quick skim doesn’t show me anything). This story, more than any of the previous ones, is trying to create a concrete world for the Father Brown stories, rather than the nebulous fairy-tale setting of some of the previous stories. 

St. Mungo is the nickname of St. Kentigern, the founder of Glasgow, who died in the early 600s (Wikipedia and Catholic.org give different death dates). Mungo means “dear one” or “darling”, and is most commonly given to him in Scotland. Most parishes and schools named after him use the name Kentigern, but there’s is a St. Mungo’s Academy in Glasgow. St. Mungo is the patron saint of Glasgow, Scotland, Penicuik, those accused of infidelity, against bullying, and of salmon. There are also a lot of fairy-tale-style legends surrounding his life. This feels like an appropriate saint to connect to Father Brown.

I like the picture that Chesterton makes of Brown and Flambeau next to each other. For some reason, it made me think of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. I’m not sure why, given that I’ve never read the book, and I don’t know if the physical descriptions match at all. But Chesterton has a fascination with the book, and Flambeau is a bit of a brash, romantic Quixote figure next to the more grounded Father Brown. 

The first of these two rooms was the study in which the celebrated Mr. Quinton wrote his wild Oriental poems and romances. The farther room was a glass conservatory full of tropical blossoms of quite unique and almost monstrous beauty, and on such afternoons as these glowing with gorgeous sunlight. Thus when the hall door was open, many a passer-by literally stopped to stare and gasp; for he looked down a perspective of rich apartments to something really like a transformation scene in a fairy play: purple clouds and golden suns and crimson stars that were at once scorchingly vivid and yet transparent and far away.

The grounded world of the story is falling away and we’re traveling back into fairyland again.

Mostly this is here because I love this description.

For he was a man who drank and bathed in colours, who indulged his lust for colour somewhat to the neglect of form—even of good form. This it was that had turned his genius so wholly to eastern art and imagery; to those bewildering carpets or blinding embroideries in which all the colours seem fallen into a fortunate chaos, having nothing to typify or to teach. He had attempted, not perhaps with complete artistic success, but with acknowledged imagination and invention, to compose epics and love stories reflecting the riot of violent and even cruel colour; tales of tropical heavens of burning gold or blood-red copper; of eastern heroes who rode with twelve-turbaned mitres upon elephants painted purple or peacock green; of gigantic jewels that a hundred negroes could not carry, but which burned with ancient and strange-hued fires.

An artist and writer obsessed with colors. Sounds familiar, Chesterton.

If I recall correctly, in his youth Chesterton explored some of these Eastern philosophies. Is Leonard Quinton’s fascination drawn from his own experience?

Flambeau had known Quinton in wild student days in Paris, and they had renewed the acquaintance for a week-end; but apart from Flambeau’s more responsible developments of late, he did not get on well with the poet now. Choking oneself with opium and writing little erotic verses on vellum was not his notion of how a gentleman should go to the devil.

Flambeau was educated in Paris. “Wild student days” suggests university to me, but I suppose it could refer to earlier education.

“More responsible developments of late”. Does this mean that Flambeau’s conversion is recent? 

I find it amusing that Flambeau has Opinions on the Proper Way to live a life of sin. But of course, in Flambeau’s head, if you’re going to go wrong, you should at least be an active, romantic figure, not waste away in solitude.

He was a bull-necked, good-tempered little man with a small moustache, inexpressibly ordinary, yet giving an impression of capacity.

In this somewhat enchanted background, Dr. Harris is an entirely ordinary figure. He provides a contrast to the romantic and mystical Eastern elements. 

“It’s very beautiful,” said the priest in a low, dreaming voice; “the colours are very beautiful. But it’s the wrong shape.” “What for?” asked Flambeau, staring. “For anything. It’s the wrong shape in the abstract. Don’t you ever feel that about Eastern art? The colours are intoxicatingly lovely; but the shapes are mean and bad—deliberately mean and bad. I have seen wicked things in a Turkey carpet.”

Chesterton’s addressing the notion of objective beauty in art. Modern thought places no limits on art--beauty is entirely in the eye of the beholder. Father Brown’s words show this as a cousin of moral relativism. For art or morality to mean anything, there must be limits. There must be a way to determine the “right” and “wrong” shape of art and thought.

If we take color as a metaphor for passion, and shape as a metaphor for morality, this is a thesis statement for the story. Passion for something can be beautiful and good. However, if it is in the wrong shape--if it is ungoverned, or governed by a flawed morality, it can become a twisted and wicked thing.

Flambeau spoke quietly to him in answer. “The Father sometimes gets this mystic’s cloud on him,” he said; “but I give you fair warning that I have never known him to have it except when there was some evil quite near.”

Father Brown’s never been such a supernatural creature. He has flashes of insight--like in “The Queer Feet”--but Flambeau’s practically calling him a prophet.

However, this sets him up as a foil to the Eastern mystic who’s about to step on the stage.

“Thank you,” said the face in excellent English. “I want nothing.” Then, half opening the lids, so as to show a slit of opalescent eyeball, he repeated, “I want nothing.” Then he opened his eyes wide with a startling stare, said, “I want nothing,” and went rustling away into the rapidly darkening garden.  “The Christian is more modest,” muttered Father Brown; “he wants something.”

This echoes some of Chesterton’s critiques of Eastern philosophies in Orthodoxy. 

There is a lot of uncomfortable exoticism of the Indian in this story. But it serves as a misdirection for the mystery--which is as un-exotic and domestic as it’s possible to get.

And Father Brown’s critique of the Indian is of his philosophy, not his race. He would have made similar comments to a white socialist.

“That woman’s over-driven,” said Father Brown; “that’s the kind of woman that does her duty for twenty years, and then does something dreadful.” The little doctor looked at him for the first time with an eye of interest. “Did you ever study medicine?” he asked. “You have to know something of the mind as well as the body,” answered the priest; “we have to know something of the body as well as the mind.”

Father Brown’s diagnosis sounds entirely psychological--nothing to do with the body.

Dr. Harris probably asks the question because, if he’s going to pull off a murder under their noses, he doesn’t want to risk Brown understanding the physical evidence of the corpse.

This suggests that Harris and Mrs. Quinton conspired together over the murder.

“That’s all right,” he said, with an apologetic smile. “Twenty-three sheets cut and twenty-two corners cut off them. And as I see you are impatient we will rejoin the others.”

This is one of the few physical clues that Brown has collected in any of the stories so far. Despite the mysticism, the story is a touch more grounded in reality--you can almost play along with the mystery, though it doesn’t last very long.

“When that Indian spoke to us,” went on Brown in a conversational undertone, “I had a sort of vision, a vision of him and all his universe. Yet he only said the same thing three times. When first he said ‘I want nothing,’ it meant only that he was impenetrable, that Asia does not give itself away. Then he said again, ‘I want nothing,’ and I knew that he meant that he was sufficient to himself, like a cosmos, that he needed no God, neither admitted any sins. And when he said the third time, ‘I want nothing,’ he said it with blazing eyes. And I knew that he meant literally what he said; that nothing was his desire and his home; that he was weary for nothing as for wine; that annihilation, the mere destruction of everything or anything—”

Despite some uncomfortable statements by Brown, I can’t accuse him of racism. A few lines earlier, he said there was “something in the air of this place” that was partly to do with the Indian. But this shows that Brown isn’t uncomfortable because the man’s an Indian, but because he’s an Indian with a frightening personal philosophy.

Admittedly, I have no idea what Brown means by his interpretation of the first “I want nothing”. (That one does seem a bit racist).

Here also he found a drama, though of a more grotesque sort. It showed nothing less than his big friend Flambeau in an attitude to which he had long been unaccustomed, while upon the pathway at the bottom of the steps was sprawling with his boots in the air the amiable Atkinson, his billycock hat and walking cane sent flying in opposite directions along the path. Atkinson had at length wearied of Flambeau’s almost paternal custody, and had endeavoured to knock him down, which was by no means a smooth game to play with the Roi des Apaches, even after that monarch’s abdication.

FLAMBEAU! Can’t we leave you alone for five minutes?

I tried to look up what “Roi des Apaches” referred to. I came across annotated Father Brown books that attached footnotes to the phrase, but the footnotes aren’t available in Google previews.

“Confound him,” cried the doctor, stamping furiously. “Now I know that it was that nigger that did it.”

Ouch.

At least it’s the murderer who said it.

Meanwhile Father Brown had made his way into the house, and now went to break the news to the wife of the dead man. When he came out again he looked a little pale and tragic, but what passed between them in that interview was never known, even when all was known.

I always love Father Brown’s mysterious off-screen conversations. It  keeps some mystery in the tale, even after the mystery is solved.  

“Will you do me a favour?” said the priest quietly. “The truth is, I make a collection of these curious stories, which often contain, as in the case of our Hindoo friend, elements which can hardly be put into a police report. Now, I want you to write out a report of this case for my private use. Yours is a clever trade,” he said, looking the doctor gravely and steadily in the face. “I sometimes think that you know some details of this matter which you have not thought fit to mention. Mine is a confidential trade like yours, and I will treat anything you write for me in strict confidence. But write the whole.”

Though Chesterton has put in three characters whose sole purpose was to serve as suspects for the mystery, we barely spend any time considering them before Brown finds the real criminal.

I wonder if Brown’s interview with Mrs. Quinton uncovered any further evidence...

Not that he needed it when Harris offers such feeble excuses as “oh, he cuts all his paper like that.”

I love how confident and controlled Brown is here. He makes sure Harris completely understands him without stating anything directly.

“Flambeau,” said Father Brown, “there is a long seat there under the veranda, where we can smoke out of the rain. You are my only friend in the world, and I want to talk to you. Or, perhaps, be silent with you.”

Oh, my heart! Flambeau’s his only friend?

The best friendships are the ones where you can be silent together.

But for the present my point is this: If it was pure magic, as you think, then it is marvellous; but it is not mysterious—that is, it is not complicated. The quality of a miracle is mysterious, but its manner is simple. Now, the manner of this business has been the reverse of simple.” [...] “There has been in this incident,” he said, “a twisted, ugly, complex quality that does not belong to the straight bolts either of heaven or hell. As one knows the crooked track of a snail, I know the crooked track of a man.”

This is one of Father Brown’s definitive passages. A distillation of the philosophy of his universe. That last sentence could be a voiceover in a movie trailer.

I love the Catholic Church’s scientific approach to the supernatural. We have processes to prove miracles. The worldview allows for the supernatural, but also seeks understanding through natural means. 

The priest leant forward again, settled his elbows on his knees, looked at the ground, and said, in a low, distinct voice: “He never did confess to suicide.”  Flambeau laid his cigar down. “You mean,” he said, “that the writing was forged?”

Flambeau’s not quite as dense as he’s been in some of the previous stories. Though Father Brown has to lead him there, he is coming up with rational theories. You may make it as a detective yet, Flambeau. 

DEAR FATHER BROWN,—Vicisti Galilee. Otherwise, damn your eyes, which are very penetrating ones. Can it be possible that there is something in all that stuff of yours after all?

“Vicisti Galilee” translates to something like, “You have won, Galiean.” It is attributed (wrongly, according to Wikiquotes) to Julian, the last pagan emperor of Rome.

Harris was skeptical of mysticism, but because most of the talk was about “exotic” religions, it was easy to overlook that he was against religion in general. 

I loved Quinton’s wife. What was there wrong in that? Nature told me to, and it’s love that makes the world go round. I also thought quite sincerely that she would be happier with a clean animal like me than with that tormenting little lunatic. What was there wrong in that? I was only facing facts, like a man of science. She would have been happier. According to my own creed I was quite free to kill Quinton, which was the best thing for everybody, even himself.

Here’s where the theory of art meets the reality of life. Quinton’s emotions, his care for Mrs. Quinton and a desire for them both to be happy, could be good and beautiful things--beautiful colors. But they were guided by the wrong philosophy--put in the wrong shape--and so they became evil.

This is so, so relevant to moral relativism that is wreaking havoc on our modern Western world. 

When I had done it, the extraordinary thing happened. Nature deserted me. I felt ill. I felt just as if I had done something wrong. I think my brain is breaking up; I feel some sort of desperate pleasure in thinking I have told the thing to somebody; that I shall not have to be alone with it if I marry and have children. What is the matter with me? . . . Madness . . . or can one have remorse, just as if one were in Byron’s poems! I cannot write any more.

Moral relativism won’t make you happy, kids.

Harris was the exact opposite of Quinton--scientific and practical where he was caught up in mysticism. But they were both drawn in by passion--bright colors--and now that Harris has given into his passions, is he on a path to becoming what Quinton was?

He plans on marrying and having children? He plans to just get away with it?

Father Brown carefully folded up the letter, and put it in his breast pocket just as there came a loud peal at the gate bell, and the wet waterproofs of several policemen gleamed in the road outside.

Is Father Brown going to let him get away with it? Or is this a sign that the police are going to catch him?

Flambeau never did find out the solution to the mystery. But it seems as though Brown was willing to lead him there, before he was interrupted by Harris bringing the letter of confession.

Father Brown has said he’ll keep the confession secret. But that doesn’t mean that he’s going to hide all the evidence. Does he plan to let Flambeau make the last few deductive leaps and help the police find the murderer?

I wonder if Father Brown asked for the written confession just for Harris’ own good. It seems as though the act of writing the letter helped him feel remorse and unburdened his conscience. But it also seems as though Harris plans to live life in freedom, not to confess and face justice.

I know that Father Brown’s more about mercy than justice, but he’s never let a murderer get away before. Keeping the confession secret is his act of mercy. However, don’t think he’s going to obstruct justice. If Flambeau and the police figure it out, Harris will face the consequences of his crime.

#father brown reread #father brown #the wrong shape #g.k. chesterton #flambeau