#i dedicate this drawing to all the mice in my walls

[cloud-ya]

snack???

[wickedmilo]

LESS LIKE A MONSTER | MILO & METZLI

PLACE: Metzli’s apartment TIMING: 9:03 PM SUMMARY: Milo introduces Metzli to Summer, and Quinn WRITING PARTNER: @deathisanartmetzli CONTENT WARNINGS: None??? Rodents tw if you want to avoid! 

Milo was tired, not physically but emotionally. The strain of the past week had finally managed to catch up with him, and in a way, he was grateful to be with Metzli. Despite Eloy being the cause of his stress, staying with a friend really did help him feel safer, even if he knew that feeling was a desperate illusion. He had been right to tell Metzli that together they were a bigger target, far more likely to draw the attention of their sire. But now, in the comfort of their apartment, he could almost convince himself otherwise. Summer and Quinn’s cage had been carefully balanced on the coffee table, and a curious Yuca had given the mice a sniff before deciding she wasn’t interested in them. Seeing them safe, after being forced to carry them, exposed, and vulnerable on his walk to the building, was undeniably a relief. And now he was finally able to do what he had been eager to for longer than he cared to admit; introduce them to Metzli.  

It was ridiculous, he knew, to take so much pride in such a simple task. Caring for two mice wasn’t exactly difficult. But they were his mice, and he had saved them from the woman at the market. They were alive because of him. Not only that, they trusted him. They were so delicate, so easily harmed, and they knew somehow that he would never hurt them. That he had dedicated himself to keeping them away from danger. Glancing up at Metzli, his eyes shining with pride, he couldn’t help but beam at them. “Aren’t they sweet?” He asked, making it clear he wouldn’t accept anything other than an enthusiastic yes. “They’re tame, too… I spent weeks training them to climb into my hand. I think they know… they know that I want to protect them.” There was something so genuinely touching about the thought. People had taken to reminding him he was dangerous, a threat to the safety of others. It was comforting to know Summer and Quinn believed otherwise. “Would you like to hold them?” 

Metzli peered at the animals in their cage, unsure what to make of them. They knew mice made good pets, but had never actually encountered them themselves. But if they were Milo’s pets, they had to be special. As special as Yuca was to the vampire. “Uh...sure. But what if they’re scared of me?” They answered, still staring at the cage and pacing around the living room. Nervous energy consumed their whole body, unable to fully relax since Bex was attacked by Eloy. Staying still wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t exactly what they had wanted to do. The outside contained monsters that they could encounter and use for distractions, but right now they had company, and they chose to focus on that instead. 

“Never held a mouse before. Do they crawl a lot?” Metzli asked, finally taking a break from their pacing and sitting down on the couch next to Milo. His presence was calming and made them feel safer. The cold interior of their apartment tended to make the loneliness harder to bear, so they took to having Milo accompany them and stay for a while. They thought it might even prevent them from accumulating more battle injuries from their distractions, too. With as much blood as they consumed, their skin was still laden with cuts and bruises. 

Milo could sense Metzli’s hesitance, but he wasn’t about to let them hover at the edge of his peripheral vision. They had asked him to stay, and this was a brief respite from the grim reality of the world beyond the walls of their apartment. If he could only convince them to give Summer, and Quinn a chance, he felt sure the mice would grant them the same comfort they so often granted him. They were generous creatures, and he loved them with all of his heart. “Kind of, but they won’t ever jump.” He assured his friend. “Come on, I swear there’s nothing to be worried about… they want to meet you!” As if to prove his point he opened the lid of the cage, slipping a hand in to scoop up the mice, who readily climbed into his open palm. “See?” He prompted, cradling them both against his chest. The familiar warmth of their tiny bodies was stark against his skin, but he enjoyed it.  

Shifting on the couch when Metzli finally decided to join him, he moved so that he could transfer his pets over to them, cupping their hands to make sure they didn’t drop them, or let them go in their heightened state. He could still feel their nervous energy, but he was determined to help in any way that he could. Provide the escapism they were both craving. “There, like that…” He murmured, watching with open affection as Summer curiously nipped at Metzli’s fingertips. The mouse never bit down enough to cause any pain, and he read online that they used their teeth as a way to feel out certain situations. Still navigating his own instincts telling him to rely on his fangs, he couldn’t help but relate. “Summer’s just trying to figure out who you are.” He explained. “He’s gentle…”

A soft laugh huffed out of Metzli’s mouth, letting themselves feel the foreign sensation of small teeth nibbling on their fingers. The mice were cute, and reinforced the smile that was already laden on their face. “Hello there, chiquititos…” They cooed and ran their thumb gently over Summer’s body. Reaching for Quinn and allowing them to trot swiftly into their hand. Small warm bodies walked about, familiarizing themselves with the environment and their soft fur caressed their skin. “Ay que lindos.” Voice raised a few octaves, trying to sound friendly and sweet. Similar to when they spoke to Yuca and gave her affection. Not many people go to see that, but the comfort they felt with Milo allowed them to tear down that wall and behave naturally around the tiny creatures. 

“They’re really sweet. May be the first mice I’ve ever met, but I bet they’re the best mice in the world.” Metzli raised the mice to their face and rubbed their nose against theirs softly. It tickled and made them release a rare giggle, one that immediately caused them to feel embarrassed and hide their face from Milo. Clearing their throat, hands reached back towards Milo and hands opened to release the mice back over to him. “I like them. Hope they enjoy staying here.” 

Milo felt himself relax at the sound of Metzli’s laughter. Any remaining fear, and anxiety he had been holding onto suddenly seemed to dissipate. He hadn’t been aware of it, of just how scared he was, until he was no longer scared. Until he was finally able to break free, if only for a moment. Hearing his friend’s voice, soft and content, was so alien, but so welcome. It was what he had been hoping to achieve, though he supposed in a way, Summer and Quinn had been the ones to achieve it for him. They were the true heroes, so quick to trust, without judgement, or skepticism, or an ounce of prejudice. They only had love to give, and he only had love to offer in return. “They are the best mice in the world.” He said quietly, leaning forward so that he was eye level with his boys. “They were runts.” He admitted, thinking back to how badly they had been treated. “I think they were being sold as ingredients, they were separated from the others because they were worthless, and I-” He frowned, unable to stop his expression from darkening. “I know what it feels like… to be seen that way. I couldn’t leave them in that jar, I couldn’t do it.” 

Forcing himself to focus on the present, allowing himself to be grounded by Metzli, by the joy on their face as they rubbed their nose against Summer’s soft fur, Quinn reached up with his paws to touch their cheek, and his smile was soon firmly back in place. He hadn’t heard Metzli laugh like that, not ever. And he decided the past didn’t matter. Not for Summer, and Quinn. Not for Metzli. Now that they were cared for, and happy, things would be okay. He needed to believe that. Summer, and Quinn didn’t show any signs of being traumatised by their history, and hopefully one day Metzli could reach that point too. “I’m sure they’ll love it here.” He insisted, straightening up again so that he could hold Metzli’s gaze. “I do.” It was true that Metzli’s apartment had become one of his many homes away from home. No doubt Summer and Quinn would grow used to the new scents, and sounds. “They make me feel less alone, you know? Less like a monster…” It felt strange, and uncomfortable, being so honest. It wasn’t in his nature, but it was important to share the truth, especially now. “I just- I need you to know that you also make me feel that way.” 

Shoulders released and eyes grew incredibly soft as Milo confessed how he felt. How he felt safer and less like a monster. Metzli could never see Milo as a monster. He’d never done the things they had. He’d never killed hundreds of people, or tortured them, or destroyed towns and left nothing but ash. Milo was just…Milo. A person with a giant heart and lots of love to give. “You make me feel less alone too.” They said quietly, not looking at Milo directly and avoiding eye contact. Though they couldn’t feel less like a monster now, maybe they could in the future.  

Nudging their head forward and bumping it softly to Milo’s forehead, and keeping it there. They uttered a single word. A word that said exactly what the two were now. A word that was something Metzli never dreamed of having. Something they’ve always wanted and finally had. “Family.”

[gentlemanmendes]

Beauty behind the Madness | 20

a/n: I know I said you would find out what Shawn did in the part but it was too long (like 8000 words) so I had to put it in two but don't worry this part is fluffy for you guys and the whole next part will be dedicated to what Shawn did!

warning: kinda angsty at the start but don’t worry it’s all fluff at the end! and sorry not proof read I just really wanted to post it right now!

previous chapters can be found in my masterlist under beauty behind the madness

20:

Rolling over on the floor again I push myself up in hopes of getting a view of the alarm clock beside the bed to see that it’s only been an hour and I still haven’t fallen asleep. Arleigh and I had finally arrived in Newtown a little after three in the morning, she had given me the directions to the motel that she had stayed at with her dad and after arguing with the lady at the front desk for ten minutes we managed to get a room, the only problem was the only room ready at this time in the morning was a room with one bed and I doubted Arleigh wanted to share a bed with me so I gave her the bed and opted for the floor taking the spare pillow and sheet I found in the cupboard making my self a pathetic excuse for a bed.

I wasn’t sure if Arleigh was awake or asleep but I didn’t dare ask. The last one hour of the drive had been more torturous than the first, finally getting a taste of something you had craved for so long only to have it snatched from your grip. The story Alriegh told me in the car replays over and over in my head and the picture she had drawn. She hadn’t been able to draw the picture exactly because she couldn’t remember it and every time she searched her memory it seemed to come back to her differently. None of the paintings she had done were an exact replica and for some reason it seemed to frustrate her. She hadn’t told me this in the car but I had once asked her what made that image so important that she had to draw it out so many times and that had been the response, I hadn’t known it was the first thing that had inspired her to pick up painting.

The date was now the tenth of October, Arleigh’s birthday, she is officially eighteen. She used to dream about this day all the time, eighteen meant freedom to everyone but more importantly freedom to Arleigh. She could now legally move out if she wanted to and her dad couldn’t do anything about it. I wonder what she has planned now that she is eighteen. We had never spoke about it much, the only plan we had ever made was for her to finally get the answers she deserved. But now it hits me; spending her eighteenth birthday in a police station is a really crappy way to spend your birthday, no matter how desperate she is for answers. She has waited six years, what is one more day?

Realising I’m not going to be getting any sleep anytime soon I push myself up off of my pathetic excuse of a bed and grab a room key trying to be as quite as possible as I make to leave the room. Thankfully Arleigh is asleep or if she is awake she pretends to be asleep in the hopes of not talking which I wouldn’t blame her for, the last thing I wanted was another awkwardly tense conversation. This weekend seems like it will be a disaster and we are barley five hours into it.

As soon as I am outside and the cold night air hits my bare skin I immediately regret not bringing my hoodie along but I’m too stubborn to go back into the room and get it so I toughen up and make my way back to the bitchy receptionist with the hopes that she will be a little more helpful.

***

“Arleigh, Arleigh, Arleigh.” Mitch sings teasingly causing me to roll my eyes as I barrier my head deeper into my locker to ignore Mitch. I don’t know if he is teasing me or if Arleigh is actually at her locker but I don’t dare to look or even give Mitch my attention not wanting him to know just how much this got to me.  

I had told Mitch about my fight with Arleigh needing advice, Arleigh and I hadn’t spoken after last night and I’m not exactly sure where we stand and if we are still together or not, but going to Mitch was the worst thing I had ever done. Naturally if you had a fight with your partner your would go to your best friend in hopes of advice, unless in the case your best friend is Mitch.

“Arleigh Axle.” He says, moving away from me making me assume that Arleigh is really at her locker and he is just being Mitch. My body tense as I watch from the corner of my as he moves closer to her, leaning against the locker besides here while she ignores him frustratedly shuffling books around in her locker making a mess of things.

Giving a look over my shoulder both Jonnie and Andy are watching Mitch cautiously all of us knowing how he can be down right cruel towards Arleigh sometimes. Jonnie and Andy had gotten used to having Arleigh around but for some reason Mitch seemed to never get bored of teasing Alreigh the way he did everyone else. Usually he got bored when he didn’t get a reaction out of someone, but reaction or not his favourite victim seemed to constantly be Arleigh. I had figured after he told her about what happened with his parents he would stop knowing she had leverage over him but that only seemed to make him target her more, as if he needed to remind her who had the real power. But Arleigh had never brought up what Mitch had told her once. I wondered why, she could easily shut him up with one threat but she never did. I suppose I should be happy that she isn’t the type of person to stoop so low but someone needed to shut Mitch up and it wasn’t going to be any of us, Mitch would just laugh in our faces.

“Are you coming to the party Arleigh?” He wondered innocently, only anyone who knew Mitch knew he was anything but innocent. Mistaking Mitch as innocent would be like trusting a mass murderer with a weapon in the middle of a public area. “Few drinks, maybe some beer pong, a little dancing?”

Arleigh’s gaze switched briefly from Mitch to me, a cold hard glare plastered across her face in the split second that our eyes met but just as quickly she looked away. However that brief moment was all Mitch needed. Smirking to himself his eyes lit up in that devious way of his when he planned on hurting someone, knowing Mitch this wasn’t going to end well.

“What? Shawn?” Mitch questioned faking cluelessness. “Ah fuck him. Oh wait you didn’t” he laughed. Arleigh’s eyes widened as her frown deepened almost hiding the shock that showed on her face. It takes me a moment to realise that it’s not shock but betrayal. “that’s the problem you guys are having right? That’s why Shawn was hitting on Layla earlier.”

In this moment there is nothing more I want to do than slam my locker door on my head or even better Mitch’s. The dick really liked to fuck around with people and knew just how to do it.

Without even another glance at any of us Arleigh slams her locker shut so hard that the vibration can be felt against the wall. The few people that stood in the hallway looked over at us in alert, clearly startled by the loud slam of Arleigh’s locker, suddenly all were curious what drama had gone down so they could gossip about it with their friends later.

Following Arleigh’s actions I slam my locker shut, only not as hard as she had and give Mitch a shove.

“Your a fucking dick.” I mutter as I hurry after Arleigh leaving Andy and Jonnie to put up with Mitch.

Jogging to catch up with Arleigh I see her hair bouncing as she storms with her head down towards the girls bathroom. Without a care in the world I follow her inside. When I step inside the first thing I notice is how much cleaner the girls bathroom is to the guys but then my attention drifts to the freshman’s who started yelling at me to get out.

“If your not peeing get the fuck out.” I yell over there whinny screams which the immediately oblige to, all of them scurrying away like scared little mice running from a cat.

Once the bathroom is empty I make my way to the only stall with a closed door and tap gently on the door knowing that I’m walking bare foot on broken glass. The last thing Arleigh probably wants is to talk to me after the fight we had last night and now this but I take my chances. This could either go really well or back fire hard.

“Arleigh can we please talk about this.” I mumble my forehead pressing against the cold door cooling down my heated skin sending relief through me.

She doesn’t answer and I know this isn’t going to be easy.

But to my surprise I hear shuffling behind the door followed by the door moving from underneath me causing me to loose my balance but quickly grab onto the sides of the stall to stop myself from falling on top of Arleigh. Taking a few steps back I give Arleigh the space she needs to come out of the stall. It takes a few moments before Arleigh lifted her gaze to meet mine. She isn’t crying right now but the evidence that she had been crying previously was written all over her face.

“Arleigh just ignore Mitch, he’s problematics we all know it.” I say but all she does is push past me and go to the sink to wash her hands. Turning around, my gaze follows Arleigh watching in the mirror as she gives a dry chuckle shaking her head to herself.

“What?” I quiz my confusion getting the best of me.

Once she is finished drying her hands she scrunched up the paper towel aggressively before getting overly frustrated and throwing it at me.   Even though I’m aware that it’s a paper towel and that it won’t hurt I still flinch and move my arms up in defence to cover my face.

“The problem isn’t Mitch you idiot,” she yells storming towards me. “it’s you!” As if to make sure her point got across she pointed her finger into my chest in accusation. “You sit there and you dismiss Mitch’s problems, because let me tell you that guy has some serious problems. You act like his behaviour is normal which makes it worse! Then you sit there and you mimic him, I don’t think you even realise your doing it, but for some stupid reason you praise his actions.”

Arleigh’s rant is briefly interrupted as the bathroom door swings open causing both our heads to snap in that direction.

“Get out!” We both shout in unison scaring whoever the person was away.

When we are alone again Arleigh lets out a deep sigh before running her fingers through her hair worrying me slightly, she was overthinking, running her fingers through her hair is her overthinking trait.

“I just can’t put up with your friends, the things you do, the things you let others get away with doing, it’s sickening. I’m looking out for myself from now on because I’m done waiting for you to stick up for me, it’s never going to happen.” I can’t help but frown at what Arleigh says. She’s acting like all of this is my fault when I didn’t do a single thing wrong. She’s overreacting! Sure what Mitch said was shitty and out of line but she was taking it too far, becoming one of those over dramatic teens that breaks up over the stupidest things.

I can feel an adrenaline from anger build up inside me as suddenly a million and one different thoughts of what I could say to Arleigh rush through my mind. Yet instead I stand there speechless, unable to form the words I want to say. Frustration is building high inside me and yet for some reason I can’t bring myself to speak them. It’s like my body is completely frozen. I stay in the same position staring down at Arleigh who seems to be waiting on me to say something know I have never been one to shy away from a fight.

She must realise that I’m not going to say anything because she shakes her head and mutters something to herself. Just as she reaches the door she pauses and turns back to me.

“You were always different to all of them, that’s why I respected you so much, that’s why I put up with this shit for so long because I know your better than this. But lately shawn I don’t even know.” She pauses for a moment letting out a sigh and shaking her head in disappointment the same way my dad does when his favourite team looses. She isn’t even looking at me, she is looking directly past me as if I’m not even important enough to acknowledge. “You have fun with Mitch and Layla but just leave me the fuck alone.” And with that she swung the door open leaving me alone in the girls bathroom.

I hate when she talks like that! She can’t make it clear if we are still together or not, instead she has to make things worse by making sure I constantly struggle on knowing where we stand. Does she do it on purpose thinking I will chase after her because this time I won’t. She wants me to leave her the fuck alone then that’s what I’m going to do.

***

“Are you sure you know where your going?” Arleigh pondered aloud, again ,as she watched me take the next turn off to our destination. At the start I had been a little lost especially without my phone for a navigation, I could easily use the navigation in my car but that would ruin the surprise and Arleigh would know where we are going straight away.

Instead all I had to go by was hotel receptionists directions and the tiny map I hid under leg out of Arleigh’s line of sight.

This morning I had woken Arleigh before going to the breakfast buffet and getting us two take away coffees and two muffins for the drive. Arleigh had been confused and I simply shrugged her off  by telling her I made a promise only I wasn’t talking about the promise I made her, I was talking about the promise I made myself last night; that I will give Arleigh a much better birthday than the lousy one she had planned for herself.

Thankfully this car ride hadn’t been as bad as last nights, Arleigh’s burning curiosity distracting both of us too much for any tension to build. As I drive down the streets getting closer to our destination I can’t help but suddenly feel anxious, completely overwhelmed by my nerves. This plan could either work extremely well in my favour or backfire completely, when it comes to Arleigh there was no telling which way it would go.

If she knows where we are, or where we are going, she doesn’t make a show of it as she stares out of the window completely puzzled.

To keep the surprise, and Arleigh’s helpless confusion, lingering a little longer I park a block away and the fact that it was the cheapest parking space I could find was a perk too.

“Will I need my jacket?” Arleigh asks as I pull my backpack from the trunk of my car and throw it over my shoulder, Arleigh’s present rattling inside but thankfully she doesn’t notice.

“Arleigh, how would I know if you need your jacket?” I teased earning  me a glare in response.

“I meant is it going to be cold where we are going? Since someone is too keen on keeping secrets.” She elaborated giving an eye roll at the end as if I should have known what she was hinting at as if  it was common sense.

“Arleigh how am I supposed to know what the temperature is going to be like where we are going? For all I know they could have the air condition on cool to the  point we freeze our asses off, or it could be on heat making us question if we are in the Sahara or not.” My joking around seems to work because she lets out a small giggle before biting down on the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from smiling, something she usually did when she was trying to stay serious or something wasn’t a laughing matter.

“You know what, fine be difficult.” Although she raises her voice at me slightly there is no menace in her tone thanks to her little giggles here and that. “I’ll just shove my jacket in your bag and you can carry it around all day.” She declared before reaching for her jacket and making way for my bag that I quickly move out of her line of reach. Maybe a little too quickly because she starts eyeing me suspiciously as if she knew I was up to something and wasn’t giving her any details what so ever.

Taking her jacket from her I lead the way beginning to walk along the footpath while shoving Arleigh’s jacket into my bag cautiously not to damage her present.  

“Thank you for being careful with my designer forever twenty-one jacket, it cost me a whole life savings of twenty-two dollars.” She smiles in acknowledgement causing me to roll my eyes but give her a small chuckle in response.

“I couldn’t care less if your jacket was twenty dollars or twenty thousand dollars, I was being careful because of my precious belongings in here.” I corrected causing her to roll her eyes again.

“What do you have in there anyway, a bomb? Is your idea of a date to blow me up?”

My body tenses and for a moment I can’t help but wonder is this a date to her. The last person she probably ever wanted to go a date with was me so her comment surprises me. As if realising what she had said Arleigh’s eyes widen and the smile wipes from her face. Her attention is directed anywhere but at me as she mutters an apology of not meaning it and old habits and again that unwanted awkwardness returns, settling between us strong and hard. It was a tease, for a moment I had forgotten about everything and all that remained was the way I felt for Arleigh, the girl that had always been my best friend first. It had been so easy to talk to her like we used to, to tease one another knowing we wouldn’t get offended but now it’s like walking on a tight rope with no net to catch us if we fall.

The last few steps towards our destination seem to drag on forever with our silence but as we make our last turn I notice that Arleigh still has no idea as to where we are. Jolting to a stop I rummage through my bag ignoring Arleigh’s questioning gaze. Unfortunately the only thing in my bag is either Arleigh’s birthday presents or her jacket. Sighing to myself I pull out her jacket and move towards her.  

Deciding that the best way to get rid of the awkward tension between us is by forgetting anything ever happened, from what she had previously said to the six painful months of not talking and even that night, and act like everything between us is fine. If I do that maybe Arleigh will just copy me.

I can’t help but grin at Arleigh as she stares at me confused, she has no idea what I have in plan but I know as soon as I tell her what I have planned.

“I’m to need to blindfold you with this.”   I tell her causing her eyes to widen as her protests begin.

“That is so stupid! Why?”

“Because if I don’t it will ruin the surprise.” This is only half true but as soon as she see the building she will know where we are and what I have planned. Regardless of whether she sees the building I’m sure she will still be surprised but this will only make the outcome better. She might hate me in this very second for it but as soon as I get her to where I want to go she would have completely forgotten about me blind folding her with her jacket.

“It is still a surprise.” She huffs her   stubbornness making its way to the surface but in this moment I don’t hate it, I actually find it adorable how clueless she is right now to what is to come causing me to smile more.

“Fine we will just stand here until you agree.”

We wait a few moments, Arleigh staring me down with a determined glare while I smile broadly knowing it will only irritate her more. She begins tapping her foot and I know she is getting tired of this hopeless stare down because I don’t seem bothered by it at all. I’m not bothered because I know she’s about to give in.

She lets out a huff before turning around and throwing her hands in the air as she shouts a ‘fine have your way.’  I can’t help but cheer silently to myself in triumph knowing I finally got my way with Arleigh, it took six years but I did it.

It took me a few tries to cover her eyes because the jacket was heavy and I didn’t want to suffocate her until I eventually gave up and just left the jacket to rest over her head the way kids do with white sheets on Halloween when they want to dress up like a ghost, only Arleigh’s didn’t make holes cut for her to see through. After  forcing Arleigh to reassure me that she couldn’t see I began to lead the way down the rest of the street becoming as giddy as a child the night before Christmas. When we reach the stairs that led up to the entrance I attempted to couch Arleigh up he stairs but after a few fails where she almost fell face first on the stairs in front of her and both our frustrations rising with each other, and not to mention the attention we were gaining from people passing by, I decided to just pick Arleigh up and carrying her the rest of the way through the front doors, past the severity guard who watched us with a glare of caution mixed with bafflement.

Arleigh hadn’t protested when I picked her up nor when I out her down once we reach the front desk, if anything it was the longest I had seen Arleigh go without talking. All the stuff in the entrance were watching us weirdly causing me to stifle a laugh at how clueless Arleigh was to everything around us.

“Entry for two.” I tell the women who was watching Areligh instead of focusing on me. “We have student cards so I think it’s cheaper.” I tell her causing her to roll her eyes at me. I’m a teenager with no job who lives with his parents and doesn’t even focus on school, if I can get a discount I’m getting one. Thankfully I was left with enough cash in my wallet to pay for our entry and still have enough money for our lunch later today. After the whispered directions from the women who served us, who I’m sure was glad to get rid of us, I lead Arleigh in the direction the lady told us to go.

“Can I take this off yet?” Arleigh protests causing me to groan.

“No!” I huff as I try to figure out which way I’m supposed to be going, was it a left down this hallway or the previous one?

“Do you even know where your going?” Even blindfolded Arleigh still knew me well, she knew me better than anyone else so Im not surprised but it was still a comforting feeling like butter melting on hot toast.

“No.” I laugh in response as she sighs.

After a few more turns and corridors and asking another security guard which way to go I finally make it to our destination smiling to myself.

“Can I take it off yet?” Arleigh asks once we stopped. I’m too busy studying the painting in front of me to answer Arleigh. She’s right it was completely different in person to the replicas she had made at home.

“No!” I shout as she goes to remove the jacket from her head causing the people looking at other artworks in the gallery to stop and stare at us in annoyance. “I have to get you in position.” I whisper hoping that now I have quietened down all the other people visiting the art museum will stop staring at us. For the most part it works.

I help Arleigh move to a decent distance away from the painting and in the middle before removing the jacket instructing her to keep her eyes shut. She does as told and I dump the jacket on the floor on top of my backpack before moving my hands to cover Arleigh’s eyes. My heart races a million miles an hour as I stand so close behind her, my body briefly touching her from behind as my hands cover her eyes, her skin so soft under mine. Suddenly this gesture seems so intimate, not in a way that is sexualised but in the way that two people slowly expose every inch of who they are for each other to see. I can’t reminder the last go,e I felt this close to so,some and I don everything in my power to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can. Even when I led the way for Arleigh or carried her up those stairs I hadn’t felt this close to her. In this moment it felt like she really trusted me, after everything I did to her she still trusted me.

“Shawn?” Arleigh’s voice comes out as barley a whisper but it’s enough to shake me from my trance but what stirred me is the soft tenderness in her tone as if she had felt the feeling I had and understood what it meant. But if she did she doesn’t say  or give any other indications that she has.

My mind falters as I try to think of something to say until I realise that there is nothing to say, I will just let the gesture speak for it’s self. Removing my hands slowly from Arleigh’s eyes I still stay in my position not wanting to move away from Arleigh, if anything I want to move in closer to her. I crane my neck enough to see her expression as she excitedly opens her eyes before they widen completely followed by her body freezing. My heart stops for a moment as I wait for her reaction. Shock was expected but would she love it or hate it?

My still question isn’t answered as her hands move up to cover her mouth as she gasps but then she moves closer to the painting and reaches her hand out to touch it as if to make sure this is real but quickly decides against it remembering that we are in an art museum where the number one rule is not to touch the art work.

She quickly turns around making her way back towards me, she looks like she is about to cry and I feel the longing to reach out and wrap my arms around her but I can’t do that. At first she looks at me waiting for answers until she begins to put the dots together  from the story she told me in the car last night to the forty minute car drive and the surprise trip to somewhere I didn’t know where I was going.

She parts her lips as if to say something but decides against it. Instead she moves closer to me and wraps her arms around my waist before nuzzling her head into my chest. My body becomes as hard as a rock from shock. Arleigh’s body pressed against mine in such a simple way and yet it’s driving me insane inside. Common sense finally kicking in, I wrap my arms around her body hoping to pull her closer to me.

I don’t want to let go but eventually we part. I can’t remember if she pulled away first or if I did, all I remember  was that letting go was the hardest thing I have done in a long time. I was afraid that if I let go of her it would be permanent, and for all I know it is.

“I got you something as well.” I tell her hoping to break whatever had settled between us. It wasn’t that familiar awkward silence because the situation wasn’t awkward right now, Arleigh showed no regret in hugging me and I sure as hell didn’t regret it.

I pull the wrapped gifts from my bag and hand them to her. She carefully unwraps the first one I handed to her which was an art journal and then the second which was a packet of pencils nit wasn’t the best of presents but I figured it would work well enough for her to finally replicate the painting.

“I figured you could just draw it now and then when you get home paint it?” I shrug suggestively. She doesn’t say anything but the expression in her eyes as she looks up at me is answer enough.

Arleigh settles down in a comfortable position at a decent position away from the painting and opens up the journal. I told her that I would go looking around and come back to find her later which she agreed to.

Just as I make my way to leave Arleigh’s voice stops me.

“Thank you,” she said causing me to turn to look at her. “I thought you didn’t care but after today I realise you do.”

tag list: @honeypotmendes @illuminatedestiny @youllbemineandillbeyours @justanotherfangirl272 @clarissityy @bianca-warriorwriter @transparentjudgepicklething

[ganymedesclock]

I think a while ago you talked about how Pidge would be a Beast Tamer in a fantasy setting and Keith seems to often get compared to a knight in the show (shield&sword for bayard, assigned the knight pieces in the comic, etc) and we all know Allura's a (fairy) princess. So, based on the common troupes/character traits with certain fantasy roles, what do you think Shiro, Lance, Hunk and Coran would be?

Honestly I’d argue that Keith’s not really what I’d put as a knight in a pure high fantasy setting, so, I’m just going to go with a lot of my sensibilities/rough abilities that I sorted them into in Hallowed AU:

Pidge: Rogue (Beast master)

Not much to say here. Pidge offsets her own relative lack of staying power, reach, etc. with stealth, maneuverability, and tricky properties. It’s very popular to make her a wizard, but I’ve always thought it’d be interesting, rather than giving Pidge a massive font of magical power, for her to have a few very limited little magics, things she hasn’t had enough time to study or the materials to perfect since she’s on the road and on a mission, but a lot of experimentation and little flash grenades and glamours and sharp daggers. And probably poisons, too, considering her canon affinity for plant life coupled with, in this continuity, a fondness for cute little guys that just might be a little bitey if you aren’t her friend.

But of course, her bag of tricks is limited by necessity- she herself is small, slight, and not really kitted out for direct engagements. In this sense, the kind of creatures she’s liable to befriend fit nicely- she usually goes for the small ones, with the exception of Green- and even she’s small, nimble, and stealthy compared to her brethren. Just imagine Pidge fitting her faithful companion and steed with a set of saddlebags to carry all kinds of equipment and reagents without fear of them falling out if they run into trouble suddenly and need to launch evasive maneuvers.

Keith: Spellsword (Dark sorcerer)

What’s the point of having a long lost bloodline if it doesn’t give you spooky magic, right? Also, in a high fantasy setting, Keith is just set out to be a wizard. Boy’s a glass cannon, through and through.

My personal favorite spin on this is the idea of Keith’s capabilities being overwhelmingly self-taught, framing him as both kind of a prodigy, and in an awkward position since his particular brand of magic is really not socially acceptable or in fact, usually practiced by good people. Which, again, as a self-taught vagrant in the middle of nowhere puts him in just a bit of a pickle to explain himself to well-meaning local law enforcement.

No, if anybody’s a knight in here, it’s....

Shiro: Paladin (Mounted warrior)

Give him a hand-and-a-half sword, a shield with a royal crest, and some spiffy armor and just watch this guy sit straighter and carry himself as befitting a Defender Of The Realm, Ally of Justice, basically a faux-medieval superhero. While I like to reimagine the Lions in a fantasy setting as steeds, I can imagine Shiro and Black having a unique bond where they’re the most likely to actively wield proper cavalry tactics and fight more together than apart. Not that the others don’t fight together, but Shiro having like... actual training and an education in battlefield tactics and why you don’t leap over your allies’ shield wall when your enemies all have spears and you don’t wear armor, Keith.

The thing about knights is more than just Some Guy With A Sword, there’s a pretty big deal in most high fantasy about honor. “Chivalry” literally comes from the same root as cavalry, and while all of the team arguably fights for a higher, more noble cause, Shiro’s the kind of guy who I can see pursuing a career that lets him really dedicate his life to that higher cause, because frankly, whether or not he had a liege to serve and a sword in his hand, he’d be making a stand against injustice anyway. That’s just the kind of guy he is, and when we have an obvious liege that would look favorably on that sort of thing, it’s pretty clear what the result is.

Lance: Bard (Longbow fighter)

Not only is Lance a quintessential support class- he very naturally and easily falls back to let other people shine and picks off enemies with rather fearsome precision from a cozy distance- he’s someone who loves people, and, frankly, has a rather effective way with them. No, he’s not the casanova he sort of pretends he is, but he’s an actor, a charmer, a showman, and specific to Hallowed AU, he might just have a pinch of supernatural assistance in that regard.

My first reflex as weapon of choice would be a crossbow, since it has a lovely silhouette very similar to canon Lance’s rifle, but the longbow spoke to me, because the thing about Lance, is he’s very not a prodigy. This is a major point of contrast between him and Keith- and yet on several occasions in canon, we’re shown that people who are hard to impress (Commander Iverson, and the Red Lion) find Lance worthy of standing where Keith, the actual prodigy, once stood. This tells us that Lance is a hard worker. 

The longbow is a very difficult weapon- they say to train a longbowman, you start with his grandfather. That saying, for me, makes me want to put one in Lance’s hands in a fantasy setting for what it implies- about him, about his family. That he started young, that he likely hails from a family of, perhaps even generations of, archers. And of course he’s not going to say that, acknowledge training until his fingers bleed, or anything like that- he’ll goof off and show off- but there’s a certain obvious respect just him having that weapon and using it effectively and when he notches an arrow, draws that fairly heavy bow back, and fires with deadly accuracy.

Hunk: Fighter (Alchemist)

Hunk seems commonly sorted as a cleric and while I can appreciate that, I think personally Hunk doesn’t have the kind of patience to pursue a skill set where he can’t barge up to the thing chewing on his friends, who he is trying to keep healthy, thank you very much, and crack ‘em solidly in the teeth. He certainly has the muscle of a frontline fighter, and I can see Hunk wielding a simple, but sturdy crooked staff.

The real danger comes in the fact that while Pidge has a foot in the magical and the alchemical, higher education likely pointing to a more aristocratic background- I can see Hunk being someone of humble roots who, out of a combination of necessity and curiosity, learned how to fix, stitch, patch, scratch, and brew, just about everything.

Hunk who smugly goes “Yeah, well, I’m no wizard, but if all you need to knock a wall down,” lights the fuse on a homemade tied-off little packet and lobs it to a satisfyingly sized explosion, or who heard you were picking a fight and brewed up a batch of greek fire for the occasion. He’d probably leave the poisons to Pidge, though- someone who takes as much pride in the culinary arts as he does isn’t going to sully his cooking with anything if he can help it.

Allura: Mage Knight (multiple weapons)

Allura’s handiness with the bladed whip makes a lot of sense as athletic royalty who has the time and leisure to acquire unusual weapons and train with them heavily, though supplementing her more eclectic decision with something as ubiquitous and versatile as a pikestaff means that even caught unarmed, she only needs to lay hands on the nearest broom, or whatever other straight, sturdy piece of wood is around to be seized.

Her being a sacred princess possessing a grand holy power able to work miracles with the right setup frankly needs absolutely no modification for a high fantasy setting except more practice and proficiency in it given it’s more common and ubiquitous in this sort of world. As a personal addition for fun in this setting, the mice are full-tilt shapeshifters able to reconfigure themselves into different forms for Allura’s needs- able to be anything from horses to handmaidens to small but aggressive dragons.

Coran: Spymaster (swordsman)

I sort of like the idea of largely nonmagical Coran, following in the wake of magic using Alfor and Allura, and yet in a context where Allura would be surrounded by a proper royal court and a lot more attendants and advisers, I’d make changes to make sure Coran properly stands out himself- because really, he’s the royal family’s steadfast blade in the dark. If there is anything they need, he’s the kind of person they can trust absolutely.

And absolutely nobody is going to suspect the older, foppish nobleman loudly recounting the time he got peas stuck up his nose to a vaguely disquieted audience is an obstacle to an assassination plot until he very politely rests a blade against their jugular and informs them that they’re going to have a friendly little talk, over there, in the room full of surly guards, about trying to drop unapproved things in the princess’s drink.

Because frankly having quick reflexes, a keen eye, and a couple of shortswords hidden up your sleeves is a very fast route to being plenty dangerous. 

[sawyernathan1991]

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[ladystylestores]

Graphic novel on the Tiananmen Massacre shows medium’s power to capture history

As a young man in Beijing in the 1980s, Lun Zhang felt like he was taking part in a new Chinese enlightenment.

The country was undergoing paramount leader Deng Xiaoping’s “Reform and Opening Up,” and previously sealed-off areas of knowledge, arts, and culture were becoming newly available.

People who had only years before been living in the stifling, hyper-Maoist orthodoxy of the Cultural Revolution, in which anything foreign or historical was deemed counter-revolutionary, could now listen to Wham!, hold intellectual salons in which people read Jean-Paul Sartre or Sigmund Freud, or even publish their own works, taking aim at previously sacred political targets.

“In those days, our thirst to read, learn and explore the outside world was insatiable,” Zhang writes in his new graphic novel, “Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes.”

But with this intellectual awakening came a growing frustration with the pace of reform in China, particularly how economic liberalization was taking precedence over any suggestion that the Communist Party give up its tight control on the country’s politics.

An apocryphal quote attributed to Deng captured the mood at this time, that “to get rich is glorious,” but for many people, it was increasingly apparent that only a handful were becoming wealthy, while others were suffering due to growing corruption and the destruction of the social safety net.

Small demonstrations against graft and for greater political reform ballooned into what would become the 1989 Tiananmen movement, in which hundreds of thousands of people protested across the country, with the largest demonstration in Beijing led by workers and student groups.

The pro-democracy protesters occupied Tiananmen Square for months, even holding meetings with top officials. At the time, many felt hopeful that these actions would bring about wider societal change in the one-party state.

Crackdown

Zhang was on the square that spring, when the protesters put forward seven demands, including for democratic elections and an end to state censorship. He was there as the crowds paid tribute to the late reformist leader Hu Yaobang, and he was there as the occupiers sang and danced on what had become the people’s square.

He was not there when soldiers opened fire on protesters and fought with them in the streets of the Chinese capital. He was not there when the tanks rolled in. Zhang was in the suburbs of the city with another activist, recuperating in preparation for what some thought would be a last push before the government gave into the protesters’ demands.

“When we heard the army had entered Beijing, we tried to reach the square, but our efforts were in vain,” Zhang writes of when they learned of the bloodshed.

Far from reaching the center of the city, Zhang’s attention turned to escape: the authorities were rounding up prominent protesters and leaders, and he was worried about arrest. He fled first to rural China, eventually becoming one of dozens of Tiananmen protesters smuggled into Hong Kong by activists in the then British colony.

An excerpt from “Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes.” Zhang (pictured wearing a sash on the bottom left) was a young sociology teacher in the late 1980s. During protests, he was in charge of management and safety. Credit: IDW Publishing

Graphic novel

Zhang eventually moved to France, where he has lived ever since, and is teaching at the Cergy-Pontoise University near Paris. While he writes about the Chinese economy and geopolitics, he has largely left out his own personal history prior to this month’s publication of his graphic novel.

“I worked with (French journalist) Adrien Gombeaud, who wrote the script for the format,” Zhang told CNN. “We read some graphic novels about historical events, and together came up with the plan, for example, to imagine a theater scene to link all the parts of the story.”

While the Tiananmen Square Massacre has been widely covered in the media and in documentaries, with many focusing on the iconic image of the Tank Man or utilizing archive footage from the square itself, much of the events leading up to the infamous night have been lost to history, available only through witnesses’ accounts. Zhang said that the comics format provided a key means of capturing the emotion of the demonstrations, in a way that does not necessarily come across in text.

“It is difficult to find a satisfactory way in which this kind of big event is reported, in my opinion,” he said. “In some reporting on Tiananmen, the authors didn’t reflect enough on the will of students to cooperate with the authorities in peacefully reforming China.

“When you take into account the emotion involved, we can understand why the peaceful way of demonstration was chosen, why there was the huge hunger strike.”

After the initial script was written, the authors worked with French artist Ameziane to develop the comic’s visuals, by sourcing images of the various characters, and referencing archival photos of era-appropriate objects, such as clothes, cars and teacups from 1980s China. “We spent a lot of time in discussions on how to arrange the scenes, how to convey the essential message, what limits we might have on a given page. It played to the style and skill of our painter,” Zhang said.

The shift in artistic style is most notable in the scenes depicting the massacre itself. Prior pages feature white backgrounds and muted colors, but as the crackdown begins, the pages turn to black, with a heavy use of oranges and reds. Ameziane’s illustrations become looser and full of movement, emphasizing the chaos and panic experienced by the characters.

The book is structured in several acts, with Zhang as its narrator. He said the play format was an obvious storytelling device, given “the protest movement itself felt like a drama, with its different phases akin to great acts.”

Comics journalism

Zhang, Gombeaud and Ameziane’s book joins what has quietly become a major strand of modern comics: graphic journalism or historical comics dealing with topics that were once considered out of the art form’s remit.

American cartoonist Art Spiegelman’s “Maus,” a Pulitzer Prize-winning account of his parents’ experiences as Holocaust survivors — with the Jews depicted as mice and the Nazis as cats — has long been considered a masterwork in the graphic novel genre.

While adult themes and history were features in comics long before “Maus” debuted in 1980, including in Spiegelman’s own work, its use of accessible, black and white art combined with a sweeping historical narrative broke into the mainstream, and set a new standard for “grown up” comics with political subject matter and potentially upsetting content.

Works like Maltese-American Joe Sacco’s ground-breaking comics journalism in “Palestine” or “Safe Area Gorazde,” and French-Iranian Marjane Satrapi’s “Persepolis” have further driven this trend, with the latter turned into an Oscar-nominated movie in 2007.

The popularity of comics and graphic novels has only grown in recent years — with the help of blockbuster film adaptations. This has happened in conjunction with the rise of comics journalism, in everything from newspapers to dedicated publications such as The Nib, which has long recognized the medium’s ability to tackle serious issues, interweaving reporting with satirical cartoons.

Sacco has talked about how the use of comics, the presentation of the artist and writer as a figure in the story, helps remove “the illusion that a journalist is a fly on the wall, all seeing and all knowing.”

“To me, drawing myself signals to the reader that I’m a filter between the information, the people and them. They know that I’m a presence, and that they’re seeing things through my eyes,” he said in a recent interview.

This is very much apparent in Zhang’s book, as he uses his role as narrator to critique both the protest movement and himself.

“Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes” cover. Credit: IDW Publishing

Asked once about whether drawing helped him deal with being the child of Holocaust survivors, Spiegelman answered: “I’ve had therapy, and I’ve made comics. The comics are cheaper.”

Part of “Maus” deals with Spiegelman’s guilt over his difficult relationship with his father and in comparing his problems with depression and work to the experiences of his parents. Zhang too writes in “Tiananmen” of his own survivor’s guilt and of questioning his decisions made as a younger man in the midst of history.

In an interview, Zhang said he did not write about Tiananmen for so long, because his role, his involvement, seemed inconsequential compared to what some went through.

“The way I saw it, there were many people dead or wounded in the aftermath, and many people lost their jobs; their families were never the same after,” he said. “The real heroes were the ordinary students and people in (Beijing) and other cities. By comparison, what I did personally didn’t seem worth telling. The most important thing I could do was live my life in a way that wouldn’t dishonor the dead.”

He was eventually convinced by an editor to write the book last year, around the 30th anniversary of the massacre. “She convinced me that I had a duty to the memory of that time,” Zhang said. “I accepted it. ‘No justice, no peace,’ but I think also, ‘No memory, no justice.'”

“Tiananmen 1989: Our Shattered Hopes,” published by IDW Publishing, is out now.

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[fictionalrat]

let it happen | chapter 4

read on ao3

9:40 A.M.

Lance saves the document, closes it, stares at his laptop desktop image until his eyes start to sting, groans in frustration, and slams his laptop shut. Puts it aside. He crosses his arms like a petulant child, he chews on his bottom lip, his eyes roam around his room.

He watches as the wind plays lazily with his curtains, making their shadows dance, swaying back and forth.

Something moves in his peripheral vision. He rolls his head to the side, fingers hovering over the keypad. The sight that meets him makes him pause, his fingers freeze, Keith looks so peaceful, he looks almost… ethereal. It’s kind of disturbing, yet mesmerizing at the same time.

Keith’s pale face glows a tender hue under the morning light, the sun tinges his chapped lips a deep pink, the scar under his left eye looks almost translucent.

Keith’s so… unfairly beautiful.

He catches himself tracing down the slopes of Keith’s face, the lines of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip with his eyes like a piece of chalk on canvas. He’s never seen something quite this stunning before in his life (granted, he’s only 22, but that’s beside the point), if only he knew how to draw like Keith does.

Lance can’t take this, his heart’s too weak.

He wants to bury his face in Keith’s ruffled hair, wants to breathe him in, wants to have him in his arms, wants to touch, but he seems so out of reach like this. Lance curls his fingers into fists, aching to touch. He restrains himself from charting pale, fading freckles down with his fingertips.

It… it’s very distracting, is what it is.

Keith scrunches up his nose, grumbles and throws an arm over his eyes. Lance’s breath catches in his throat.

Lance… Lance is fucked, he knows he’s fucked, he already knew that then (when Keith suggested this… arrangement), he knows that now, he’s known that for some time now, but it never fails to catch him by surprise. This… feeling never fails to overwhelm him. He fucking hates this… whatever this is, he has no fucking word for this… feeling. It claws at his throat, it kicks him the gut, it scorches his heart, it clenches his heart in a death-grip, it steps on it, it rips his heart apart.

Lance covers his face in his hands and rubs, groaning in frustration. This is ridiculous. He forces himself to look away, and focuses on drilling a hole into the wall with the force of his glare instead, running his tongue over one of his canines.

Do not distract yourself with cheesy rom-com bullshit, bitch, he scolds himself, Write. Yes, writing is good. Stressful, but good. Go back to writing. Avoid contact. Don’t look. Avert your eyes. Work. You’ve got work to do, so do it.

After about five or so minutes of glaring despondently into fucking space and hating himself for being pathetic, he does. He’s always been good at taking all his frustrations on his writing.

He pulls his laptop into his lap, opens it, double taps, and the document appears on the screen. The cursor blinks curiously at him, he blinks back, and sighs. He starts scanning it for typos, and corrects them, all the while grumbling about how fucking stupid he is, and how fucking stupid all those mistakes were.

He adds some of the worst expletives in big, bold and italic capital letters next to shitty, weird ass sounding paragraphs that don’t ever seem to get any better, even after rewriting them seven thousand three hundred and eighty-four fucking times. Doesn’t matter how many times he tries, how many times he bangs his fists on the keyboard, how hard he hits the keys, the words don’t ever seem to come out quite right.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

“¡BESA MI CULO, PUTO!” He snaps at one particularly dumb typo, and deletes its whole sentence out of spite.

Keith stirs, and groans next to him, turning his body towards Lance. Lance tenses, holding his breath and sitting very still until he’s super sure, 100% Keith won’t wake up. Keith sighs obliviously in his sleep, and turns on his stomach. Lance lets out a relieved breath, closing his eyes.

He snaps them open and shakes his head in frustration, “No seas tonto, Lance.”

He hits ctrl-z and skips the paragraph entirely, jumping to two paragraphs bellow, he reads it and gasps, “¿Qué carajo? Who wrote this? A fiveslgfjdjdfds.” A hand lands on the side of his face with a smack, smooching his cheek. Lance screams, - of course he does, how could he not. - and almost falls off the bed.

“SHUT YOUR ROTTEN MOUTH, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP,” Keith growls at him, voice raspy, and low, and terrifying. Even muffled by the pillow and drowsy, his voice doesn’t lose its aggressive edge. What the fuck.

Lance, after recovering his soul, turns his head so he can stare at Keith with raised brows, and huffs, “Hella lot of words coming from a sleeping person, I’d say.”

Keith groans and lifts his face off the pillow, glaring at him through squinty eyes, “Shut that fucking trap, you moldy piece of bread, or get out.”

“This is my fucking room, Keith,” Lance sputters, snapping his laptop shut for added effect, “you get out.”

“I’M SLEEPING, PISS OFF,” Keith kicks at Lance’s leg with enough force to bruise.

“OW! CAREFUL WITH MY COMPUTER, YOU BRUTE!”

Keith grumbles, turning his back to Lance and covering his head with Lance’s comforter. He curls into a ball, shutting Lance out.

Lance relocates his grumpy ass to the couch after flipping an oblivious, snoring Keith off.

He loves the guy, but damn, can he be an asshole so-

…Wait, did he just-

Oh, hell no.

10:34 A.M.

stud muffin so………….. do i even wanna know? probably not, but you’re gonna tell me anyway pidge, cover ur eyes

pidgeotto shut up hunk im not 5 GIVE ME DA DEETS LANCE

space boi lance AWWW MAN MY DUDES MY BROS MY PALS MIS HERMANOS

pidgeotto oh boy here we go…….. im regretting this already

space boi lance SHUT IT BIRD TURD anyway where was i before i was so rudely interrupted??? ah yeah OH MY GOD MY DUDES hes a screamer KEITH KOGANE OUR KEITH IS A SCREAMER ITS LIKE AAAAAA GUYS boi so thicc too goddem cant wait to have him up my ass honest such a nice dick 11/10 reallygreat work of art grade a AND DAT ASS!!!!!!!! GUH SO FUCKING SMOOTH he looks really nice when hes sleeping too so soft i want to chomp on his cheeks ughhhhhh how can he be so perfect its so unfair im swooning i swear to GOD he looks hot even when hes kicking me out of my own room which UNFAIR

A facebook notification pops up at the top of his phone screen in the middle of his rant.

Hunk Garrett tagged you in a post, it says.

Lance arches an eyebrow, “Huh.”

He taps it open.

Hunk Garrett is listening to the less i know the better, by tame impala i’d like to dedicate this song to my good pal Lance Martínez you know /why/ Pidge Holt and 5 others 

Pidge Holt  HOOOOOO BOY THE BURN THATS Y UR MY MAIN HO HUNK I LOVE U

Matthew Holt lol babe look at The Shade Takashi 

Takashi Shirogane Ah yes, that is indeed The Shade Of It All *scratches chin* Lance Martínez shiro i love u but dude ure embarrassing get off the internet Matthew Holt dont trash talk the baby lance Matthew Holt he’s sensitive Matthew Holt (ure adorable babe) Takashi Shirogane I take offence to that Lance Takashi Shirogane No more dog memes for you Lance Martínez NOOOOOO DAD NOT THE DOGGO MEMES Takashi Shirogane ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Pidge Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Hunk Garrett ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Matthew Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Lance Martínez u guys are absolute TRASH

Lance Martínez the WORST I TELL U WORST

Lance Martínez I NEED NEW FRIENDS ASAP 

Pidge Holt awwwwwwww lance i love u too Pidge Holt u can tell me everything later i’ll allow it Pidge Holt bring food Pidge Holt and redbull Pidge Holt tons of redbull Lance Martínez ure… ugh Lance Martínez i hate u Lance Martínez u tiny bird turd Pidge Holt URE tiny Lance Martínez GASP U TAKE THAT BACK Pidge Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Hunk Garrett ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Matthew Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Takashi Shirogane ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Allura Ourania ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Lance Martínez LULU NOT U TOO Allura Ourania ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

11:35 A.M.

He’s avoiding the huge ass, one-sided, and glittery elephant in the room, he’s avoiding the fuck out of it. He’ll avoid the fuck out of it until it goes away, until it disappears for good, until it goes to fucking hell, until it’s burning in the fifth circle of hell.

He has no time for this.

This project is worth 40% of his grade.

His prof’s a mad man, yeah, but that’s how it is. He won’t flunk this class just because he can’t control his feelings.

He can’t, won’t, jeopardize his project just because of fucking feelings.

¡No, de ninguna puta manera! 

He needs a shower. 

And a joint. 

And coffee. 

Tons of coffee. 

But a shower first, then facials, then weed, then coffee.

Tons of coffee. 

He’ll also down a shot of tequila, because he’s feeling adventurous. 

(Reckless, he means reckless.)

1:45 P.M.

Lance’s minding his own business, stirring his way into his fifth?? possibly, probably, he’s not sure, cup of coffee, and stuffing his face with ham and pineapple pizza rolls in the kitchen after smoking a whole joint by himself in the bathroom, when he hears it. It is terrifying. A dull thud reverberates through the apartment, echoed by it; the most earth-shattering, ear-splitting shriek he’s ever heard.

“LANCE!”

He freezes, his heart plummets.

His spoon drops and clatters on the floor.

“LANCE, YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD,” the deity roars.

Lance squeaks like a fucking mice, and squats, hiding behind the counter.

Run. Pack your things and go, get out of town. Flee to Europe, change your name-

He presses his overheated cheek to the counter and sighs, so good. He grins wide.

Keith’s feet smack on the floor as he stomps, over-aggressively, I dare add, out of Lance’s room, “What the fuck did you do to my ass, you rotten egg?” His voice is louder now, much louder. Lance jumps mid giggle-fit, which sets him off into another one.

“ME!” Lance peers over the countertop and raises his hand, waving sluggishly and cackling, bloodshot eyes wide. Well, as wide as they can go, which, honestly, isn’t much, considering, “I DID THE FUCK! I PUT MY DICK IN - HAH - YOUR ASS! YOU LET ME - HAHAH - IT WAS WILD!”

Keith takes a long look at him and, like a flip has switched, his scowl melts and he bursts out laughing, his nose crinkling up. It’s so fucking adorable, Lance’s heart hurts. It burns. It screams in pain. Lance laughs the pain away like the idiot he is, or maybe just because he’s high as fuck. One can never be too sure, ya feel.

“I know that, you fucking stoner, I mean THE BRUISES.” He points at his bare hips, trying to catch his breath.

Lance’s eyes travel south.

Helloooo there, legs.

Wait, he went too far.

Go back two frames.

There, hips.

Lance blinks, and tries to open his eyes further. He can’t.

He blinks again.

Oh.

Ho boy, he did a number on the guy alright.

Also, this part is super wild, bare with him, it looks weirdly… beautiful? It’s gorgeous, actually. It’s a masterpiece, Lance is an artist.

The red and purple splotches scattered across Keith’s skin are… kind of blurring together in one big ass bruise, that reminds him oddly of the Milky Way. Lance fights hard against the white urge to draw an alien-head above Keith’s hipbone. Keith probably wouldn’t mind it, though. The nerd. Lance chuckles.

Keith clears his throat.

Lance flicks his eyes up at Keith, blinks languidly at him several times. Keith’s waiting for something, isn’t he? What is it again? He rakes his brain for an answer. It beeps.

Ah, yeah.

An answer, right. He needs to answer Keith, duh.

Lance cackles at his stupidity.

“Oh, that.” Lance wipes his eyes on his sleeve in between chuckles as he finally answers, sniffing. He braces his arms on the counter and pushes himself up on his feet, winking, “I’m not sorry about that.” He lies his torso on the counter, smooching his cheek against the cool surface, and shoots Keith a lopsided smile.

Keith shakes his head, “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you looooooove me,”  Lance sing-songs, finger gunning lazily with a grin.

Keith rolls his eyes fondly, and gets closer, dragging one of the stools from under the counter, and sitting down gingerly, wincing a little. His eyes flicker swiftly to something as he settles, before they land on Lance again. Keith frowns, “Should you be drinking coffee?”

Lance frowns back, puzzled, turning his head so he can look at his mug. “Shouldn’t I?” He wonders.

Keith leans over the counter, elbows propped up, and starts picking idly at one of the pizza rolls sitting pretty on the plate in front of him, “It doesn’t affect your high?”

Lance gasps. His pizza rolls. “No touching, you fugly mullet, it’s mineeeeee,” Lance whines, reaching forward and swatting Keith’s fugly hand away. He snatches the plate from Keith and brings it closer to himself, tucking it in between his arms, away from pizza roll-thieving mullets. Lance sticks out his tongue at him, before fitting two of the biggest rolls in his mouth. At the same time. For emphasis. His cheeks puff out.

Keith ducks his head to hide his grin. “You look like a chipmunk,” he comments nonchalantly, tapping his knuckles idly on the surface.

“Nhobowdshy ashkd yuh, Puhtrish,” Lance shoots back.

Keith rolls his eyes and flips him off with both hands, leaning back on his stool.

Lance flashes him the half-chewed food.

“Fuck, that’s gross.”

“Ah.” Lance struggles to swallow all of it dry, but manages, “I forgot to - clears throat - answer, coffee doesn’t affect my high much.” He shrugs, taking a bite off one of the rolls. Keith hums.

Lance swallows, “Pass me the straw, please. The long, bendy one.” He gestures a thumb back.

Keith slides from the stool in one smooth movement, makes his way around the counter and goes for the drawers. Lance hears as it slides open, “Which color?”

“Purple,” Lance answers over his shoulder.

He stretches his arm when Keith pulls the straw out and makes a grabby hand at him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Keith holds the straw over his head.

“Gimme, or I’ll punch your di-I-i-aaAAAAAah,” he tries to steal the straw from Keith, but loses his footing and almost dives face-first into the cold, hard floor. “¡Coño!” He fumbles to keep upright, hooking a hand on the edge of the other side of the counter. Thank fuck for long fingers.

Lance manages to get his balance back by planting his feet firmly on the ground. Keith makes his way back to his stool, and once he’s settled, he hands Lance the straw already stretched. Keith’s lips quiver in a poorly concealed attempt not to laugh, eyes twinkling mirthfully.

Lance rolls his eyes as he throws the straw into his cup, propping himself on his elbow and resting his chin on his palm.

Keith makes gagging sounds, bangs falling on his eyes.

Lance ignores him in order to bring the straw to his lips with his free hand, and suck the coffee, swallowing in an obnoxiously loud gulp.  

Keith’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “You’re gross,” Keith comments, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“Thanks, I try,” Lance grins around his straw, then frowns at Keith’s bare chest. “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes, though?” Lance asks, eyes half-lidded, “It’s freezing, Keith.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, looking down. “Off-topic, but no, Lance, it’s not,” he shoots Lance a look, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “And how would you know, anyway? You’re high.”

“What’s this jealousy I’m feeling? There’s more, you know.” He pats the breast pocket of his sweatshirt with a dopey smile, and meets Keith’s eyes as he takes a sip, waggling his brows. He swallows and winks, “Don’t need to get all broody on me, grumpy pants.”

Keith hides his face on his arms and groans. Lance can see the blush rising on Keith’s neck, and allows himself a mental pat on the back as he pushes himself upright.

“Okay, let’s go,” Lance trots towards his bedroom.

3:32 P.M.

When they sober up enough to get stuff done, they throw themselves on the couch, legs tangled because why not, right? It’s not like Lance’s life makes any sense, anyway.

Lance with the camera in his hands and laptop on his stomach, Keith with his headphones around his ears, and one of his weird, edgy sci-fi books resting on his thighs.

Lance rests his head on the armrest and hits play.

Keith’s feet tap a comforting rhythm against Lance’s.

4:02 P.M.

Keith falls asleep against the couch, mouth slightly open.

Lance does a poor job at reducing the volume of his laughter at his dramatics on video. Even though Keith’s got his headphones on, Lance still manages to wake him up, and ends up getting kicked in the shin by a very rumpled, grumpy, and over-sized baby with a fugly mullet for that.

He tries not to laugh again.

…He fails miserably, and both his shins suffer.

Terribly.

4:30 P.M.

Because Lance has shit luck, and the universe is out to get him, they didn’t manage to catch Keith’s o-face on video. Life is unfair, God hates him, Jesus hates him, even Buddha must hate him, because this, right here, has got to be some sort of twisted divine punishment. Maybe it’s Karma, maybe he was a murderer in his past life, he doesn’t know. What he does know, though, is that this must be fixed.

“Dude,” he kneels on the couch and shakes Keith’s knee to wake him up, “Dude. DUDE!”

Keith’s eyes flutter open and he squints at Lance, blinking blearily, utterly confused.

Lance sits back on his heels and he offers Keith the camera, “Look.”

Keith, while frowning up at him, sits up and takes it. He yawns, unplugging his headphones from his phone and into the camera. He hits play.

Keith snaps the camera shut after about ten minutes, a furious blush burning his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He still looks mildly confused, though, and astoundingly flustered, bringing his knees to his chest.

Lance bites on his bottom lip and heaves a huge breath. “We’ll have to tape chapter 1 again,” he clarifies.

Keith lifts an eyebrow, face still bright red, “Because…”

“I can’t see your face when you’re coming, dude.” Lance explains, waving his hands at the camera in exasperation, “That’s unacceptable, you know. really preposterous. I can’t have this, I can’t WRITE like this. This is a disaster. We gotta redo this, Keith. It’s a matter of life and death.” He grabs both Keith’s knees and shakes.

“But- I’m awake now, dipshit, quit shaking me,” He snaps, batting Lance’s hands away from his knees, “But… don’t you remember my face when I was actually coming yesterday?”

So, you see… remember when Lance mentioned he has shit luck, and the universe is out to get him, and some sort of divine punishment is being inflicted upon him? There’s another reason to back up that assessment.

They not only hadn’t caught Keith’s o-face on video, but he also didn’t get to see Keith’s o-face in living color yesterday because he had his fucking eyes closed. Which rude, Lance. That is just plain rude. There’s no excuses. That’s probably why God, Jesus, and Buddha hate you this much.

Lance hangs his head. “I- I had my eyes closed,” he confesses, accepting defeat.

“You’re hopeless.”

Lance’s head shoots up and he gasps, “Excuse!”

“No,” Keith stands up abruptly, almost kneeing Lance’s nose in the process.

Lance squawks and reels back, out of reach, eyes wide, “Wha-”

“Shut the fuck up, you dry raisin,” Keith glares accusingly at him and Lance flinches, “I’ll fix this.”

“Kei-”

Keith’s arm shoots up, and he points his index finger at Lance, thick eyebrows pinched. “Stay put,” he warns, waving his finger, “don’t fucking move, don’t breathe.”

Lance is too confused to react, or even say anything, so he just gapes.

“Just… stay there, I’ll be quick.”

Keith returns buck naked, with a dildo and the lube in hands.

Lance’s at a loss, he’s a loss for words, his sass is gone, along with his ability to form coherent thoughts. Keith has that effect on him, apparently. Keith always finds a way to give Lance whiplash.  

Keith dumps the stuff on the coffee table and turns his attention to Lance, he chuckles at what he sees there, “Shut your mouth, Lance, you’ll catch a fly.”

Lance finds his voice. “Wha-” he clears his throat, and shakes his head before continuing, “What the fuck?” (Eloquent.)

Keith rolls his eyes as he picks up the camera, “You’re gonna tape me as I touch myself.”

Keith hands Lance the camera.

“I don’t…” Lance takes it, still completely dumbfounded.

Keith cuts him off, “I told you I’d fix this, didn’t I? So this is me, fixing it.”

Something in Lance’s brain seems to click.

“Oh,” he replies dumbly.

Oh no, is what he means, no fucking way. He’s gonna die today.

Yup, today is the day.

“Okay, so…” Keith claps his hands, “scooch over, I need the space.”

Lance’s eyes widen, “You really gonna do this here? On the couch?”

“Is there a problem?”

Yes. There’s a ton of problems, actually. Not with Keith doing it on the couch, but still, there’s a problem. Tons of problems. These problems have problems. For one, Lance will probably die. For two, he can’t do this anymore. He can’t but he has to, and he will because his project is worth 40% of his final grade, he will because he has to. He has the moral duty to prove to Keith, and to himself, that he, as a matter of fact, can do this, even if he’ll end up hurt. Fuck his feelings.

“No, no, nope, no problem at all. I’m all up for jerking off on the couch, sign me the fuck up. It’s just…” Lance blows a raspberry, scratching the back of his head, looking around the room, uncertain. He can’t meet Keith’s eyes, “it looks too cramped, I think? I was just, uhm, thinking that maybe, I don’t know, you’d prefer doing this on a bed?”

Keith snorts, “Nah, it’s okay.”

Lance finally looks at him, searching his face, “You sure? Like, 100%?”

Keith rolls his eyes, “Yes Lance, don’t worry, just… keep the camera on me.”  

Lance sits upright, crisscrossing his legs, and points the camera at Keith.