#the way the university has been treating these students is abominable

[wife-beam]

update as of 4/28: the university lied in talks with UR SJP and later released a statement saying it would NOT divest from israel; UR SJP is still fighting for this meanwhile the university has begun issuing student bans

Action items students are asking support with: emailing U of R admin to lift student bans, mutual aid donation to students who are encamping, and show up to campus demonstrations (email template and cashapp found here: http://bit.ly/3QnCwoJ )

[the-s1lly-corner]

When Bump first started as VP/If he has had any other jobs?

Bumps career hcs!

(I ran out of bump gifs)

I like to think that he always generslly wanted to go into teaching, one way or another

But there was a period where he considered going pro with flyer derby; but due to some unfortunate circumstance or accident, that dream was stamped out

Now I don't think he IMMEDIATELY became a vice principal; and I may be really dumb because admittedly idk how this stuff works irl, but I don't even think it's a thing to be. Fresh out of college with your devress and be a principal without any experience

Correct me if im wrong though because i /gen dont know

Call it chance or a bias for hexside, but he does eventually find his way back to hexside after he gets his teaching degree or some shit

Are there even colleges and universities in the demon realm?

Personally I like to think so; just like how I like to think there's more than 3 schools (which, granted, arent as big as hexside/glandus/saint epiderm), and different isles with their own ways of living. But hey, thats just me

Anyways

He starts off as an abominations professor, and does that for a few years

Let's him get a handle of being a teacher, which admittedly, does take some time getting used to since he's always been the student before

"Were we really this... rowdy..?" He thinks to himself while sitting at his desk, grading worksheets. A student had dared another student to throw a desk. That was that days incident

Oh and he's still as awkward as he is as a VP; just more so, since he has even LESS experience than he did before and is still trying to find his footing

Neither a strict nor laid back teacher

He won't tell on you to Faust if you're doing something harmless, but he will lightly scold you if it's causing a disruption

He... doesn't like sending kids to Faust.. if he can help it; he knows how harsh Faust can be

Falls for the "I'm gonna get my teacher to tell a story so we can get out of work today" thing, a lot

Hands out stickers

Doesn't really know how to treat students yet

Basing this off my own experience with a new teacher but imagine Bump is passing out stickers to a almost empty class, almost everyone skipped because of some event (eg. Field trip or senior skip day) and he's giving stickers to those who still turned up for class. Doesnt matter what color star you choose, he's gonna ask if its your favorite color and also say its his favorite color as well in literally the most awkward yet robotic voice

He just like me frfr

But I think he'd also like playing and making games with his students, especially studying games. Makes studying fun and helps the kids engage and remember the material; sometimes he'll even throw in a prize if the game had winners. Something small, like candy

One of the few times in his early career where he's not awkward, gwts very into the game and just flows with it

Of course everyone had to keep it down because I don't think Faust would approve

"Learning isn't supposed to be fun!!" -the snake history teacher from that one episode

When he's promoted to VP after a few years, he's still carrying his awkwardness on his sleeves. Sort of a transitional stage between the hcs above and what we have in TTBK, he's slowly mellowing out...

Sorta....

Also I feel like in the beginning, as a teacher, he'd try too hard to relate and appeal to the students

Mopes and ask for advice from the more experienced staff members in the teachers lounge

Do not he fooled, that gloomy mood stated above does not last long; Hieronymus is no quitter!

[cobaltswriting]

It has been a few days, huh. I’ve been resting, nothing bad happened. Although I doubt any of you were worried.

Anyway, time for the dump of stuff about the second Universe I might expand into more stories, Universe 2: ‘Demon’ King.

The Demon King started off life as the offspring of an elf and an orc. While not necessarily illegal, it is a huge taboo in this world for an orc and an elf to have sex, let alone have a child, and both of his parents were killed by an angry mob.

Luckily, the mob had enough mercy to realize that, as a small child, there was no fault on the side of the child themselves. However, the child was still shunned, called an abomination.

The child, nevertheless, did his best to fit in, at first. He even broke off his orcish ‘tusk’ teeth, to try and fit in better, but to no avail. He would later on remove what remained of the ‘tusks’, since in that state, they were doing absolutely nothing.

Despite his best efforts, though, no-one would accept him. And that’s when he became fed up. He stole into libraries, homes, wizarding institutions, stealing food and books. And he eventually came across a tome of forbidden magic.

Why was this magic forbidden?

Because it taught people how to summon demons. And then, through battle and defeating them, take their power as their own.

And the child was nothing if not determined. He fought demons. And with each demon he defeated, and the power he absorbed from, he became stronger and stronger. Eventually, the demons he summoned would not fight him. They could sense his strength, and had heard of his deeds from the demons whose power he had drained. They would bend a knee to him, and pledge to serve him.

And that is how the child eventually came to be called the Demon King. By this time, however, the child was an adult, in his early to mid 20s. Having absorbed so many demon’s power, his ageing had been slowed to a crawl.

Despite his moniker, though, he still had some mercy. While he sent his demon underlings to raid villages for whatever he needed, whether it be food, water, ore, anything, he told them to keep casualities to a minimum, and that if any of them laid hands upon a child, they would live to regret their actions for only a short while.

He does not have any remorse though, nor does he feel any guilt for any adults killed. They never spared any remorse or guilt for the way they treated him, after all.

The Gods took note of this, how the demon hordes avoided children, specifically, and in all their ‘wisdom’, and not wanting to ‘waste’ their own troops, started telling children that they were the chosen one, the destined warrior chosen to slay the Demon King, thinking that the Demon King would not harm a child.

To both their disappointment and the Demon King’s guilt, they were wrong. Child after child fell before his hand, but the Gods continued to send children after him.

How many children were sent, in total?

Well, there are 150 graves in his graveyard, that he tends to. Having made each tombstone, given each child a proper burial, and put their name and dates of birth and death upon them. And he tends to them at least once a week.

Then we get to the point of what I had already written.

What happens after that?

Well, the Demon King changes. He took the child under his wing, and told him the secret behind what was going on. All about his past, and all about what the Gods had done.

The child became his first student. Under the Demon King, he learnt to fight properly. He learnt magic. He went to the villages to spread the word, and to recruit anyone else whom wished to fight against the Gods.

Of course, at first, he was greeted with anger and violence. Luckily, he always managed to escape.

But once the people calmed down, they realised. The demons raiding had never killed indiscriminately. They killed by accident, and killed those who attacked them, but other than that.

And people started to turn away from the Gods. Some even went to join the Demon King, many moved in the old village at the base of the castle and continued to live their lives there, farming, tending to livestock. The Demon King eventually had no need to send demon raiding parties. And the people found that demons, despite their fearful reputation and immense powers, were not actually so bad. They were quite similar to humans in many ways.

The Gods, of course, did not like this. And by now, they had no choice but to send their troops to try to stop the Demon King, especially since he was essentially raising an army to try to take on the heavens.

The first child that the Demon King had taken under his wing had become his most trusted lieutenant. And while the Demon King had taken on many students and trained them to fight, his army was still much smaller than that of the Gods. So he mostly focused on defensive tactics, to repel the intruders with as little sacrifice as possible. This does frustrate some, but he is unwilling to make the large sacrifices needed to push forwards.

The Gods did slip up at one point, though. At one point, one of the Gods did come down into the battle themselves, and they were eventually killed by Demon King’s lieutenant. Earning him the name “Godslayer”.

As people came to trust the Demon King, his name changed as well. People believed that, despite the past, he was sent from the heavens to protect them from the Gods who would sacrifice them and their children like pawns.

As they believed he was sent from the heavens (not Heaven, where the Gods reside), they called him ‘The Fallen Star’, although the Demon King does not like this name. He is still the Demon King, he claims.

Godslayer is the only one who knows his full story, but he will not tell. And he encourages the use of the name ‘The Fallen Star’, knowing that the Demon King needs to see the good inside himself, despite his past actions.

He does also try to push the Demon King to be more offensive in his strategies, but he does understand why the Demon King would rather fight defensively for now, to protect those under his care.

[wh6res]

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic. 

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane." 

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears. 

"bitch," you mutter under your breath. 

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again. 

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?" 

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway. 

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?" 

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him. 

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath. 

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement. 

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year. 

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her. 

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich��. the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" 

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living. 

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing." 

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done. 

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way. 

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement. 

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears. 

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend. 

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word. 

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel. 

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode. 

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information. 

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics. 

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve. 

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too. 

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today  —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?" 

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind. 

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head. 

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest. 

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!" 

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys. 

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history." 

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said. 

"do you really want to know why?" 

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart. 

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss. 

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone. 

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment. 

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day. 

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor. 

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down. 

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud. 

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand. 

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't… 

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper. 

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused. 

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going. 

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back. 

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video. 

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers. 

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples. 

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration. 

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin. 

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day. 

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder. 

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp. 

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time. 

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside. 

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home. 

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off. 

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung. 

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him. 

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with. 

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it...  but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you. 

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob. 

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face. 

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

[beyejun]

"connoisseur," he corrects, knowing that he's kinda annoying for doing so. stevie really didn't ask, but yejun couldn't let his friend go around saying that he's starting a coffee business when he really has no idea what he's saying. "me neither but i drink a lot of it. maybe i should start a review blog or something. people make money on that stuff." he shrugs; he won't do it anyway. there's not enough hours in the day or energy left in his tank to attempt it.

he wonders, as stevie tells his story, how his friend manages to have as much energy as he does. yejun doesn't understand it. sure, there was a time in his younger years (not that he's that old) when he also felt the need to run everywhere, too eager to experience the world that was still so big and bright and full of dreams. he wonders how stevie's world still manages to be so exciting, so full of life, when his own has turned dull, gray, and monotonous. yejun supposes that it's own fault; he gave up on himself, he knows. still, there's not many young men past their twenties who still have the same childlike excitement for life that stevie does. yejun finds himself envious.

"it can't be that bad." if there's a downside to stevie's childlike lease on life, it's the fact that yejun assumes he's over-exaggerating everything. "i mean, people buy it enough for them to keep it on the menu. if it was that bad, they'd stop making it." maybe it's an acquired taste or something. but he shrugs; what does he know? but he lets stevie pull away from their conversation, securing a place in line while yejun saves their table. he's back soon enough, arms loaded with way more than yejun expected him to come back with.

"dude," he reaches over to help get everything set down safely, no spills or accidents, "you didn't have to do that. i'd drink it even if it was bad, i don't care. let me pay you back for some of this." sure, stevie offered to treat. somehow yejun still feels bad, like he's taking advantage. "you got too much."

yejun sighs, and then laughs, and then really doesn't know how he's going to survive the mad dash to the end of the semester. he's dead tired as it is. and then there's exams to study for on top of the assignments. "both?" he shrugs. "i've been trying to chip away at everything but it's not like the professors coordinate with each other... or maybe they do. maybe they're trying to break us, who knows." he reaches for the abomination that's called a drink before him, risking a sip. and yeah, it's nasty, but also... he goes for another sip... strangely addictive, like a jolt of electricity being shot through his veins. "i appreciate the offer. but you know my parents would probably kill me if i don't come home with all A's for them." he probably sounds like a high schooler, not a university student. such is the price of living at home in his adult years.

“yeah, let me know how it is! i’m not really a coffee– entrepreneur? whatever the word is.” stevie shrugs, patting his pocket for his wallet. brows furrowing, he reaches towards his bag, zipping it open. as he sifts through it, stevie glances over at yejun to acknowledge the question, other hand looking for his wallet. “me and a friend walked past it once, saw the sign for it and wanted to check it out. rooftop places are usually like, really indie or really bougie.”

he still hasn’t quite decided which one it is– or if it’s a combination of both. but today is the day to make the decision. “we took like, a quick run up here, looked around and left– but i remembered the view.” he nods his head towards the view of the cityscape. “thought it’d might shake things up a little.”

stevie blinks, eyebrows raising. “really? i mean…okay, your funeral. if the taste doesn’t kill you, i think the caffeine might.” part of him almost wants to try it himself. he’s going to find it completely foul, he’s sure— but also he can’t help but be curious. “dude, if you don’t wake up from this– you might be like, immune or something. where the hell is– ah! there we go,” tugging out his wallet with a grin, he turns to yejun and goes, “okay– hold that thought. i’ll be right back.”

he darts over to the counter, eyeing the caffeine monstrosity before he orders it, albeit a little hesitantly. then as an after thought, he orders yejun’s usual, too. because what if he doesn’t like it or it really does kill him? pleased with the decision, he adds in his drink order, then a few small bread and pastry options because he has no self-control. it takes a few minutes, but he ambles back over to the table once he has everything, focusing very hard on carrying everything on the trays given.

thankfully, he makes it without spilling everything. “here’s your death sentence. and also an actual drink for you. because i’ll feel bad if it’s actually nasty.” stevie drags his backpack off the seat and plops down, pocketing his wallet. “i got a couple of little pastries too, in case you really need to wash it down. anyway– you said ten assignments?” drinks out of the way, they can finally sit and chat. catch up a bit.

“no wonder you’re so tired.” he murmurs thoughtfully, stevie’s hand moving to grab his hot cocoa so he can warm his hands. “is that just from procrastination or are they really trying to run you ragged?” that would overwhelm him. where do you even start? “i can try to help– though i’m not sure you really want it though.”

[septembersghost]

Hi,

I just wanted to say, your response to that anon reminded me so much of me.

I was sexually harrassed by a professor at 19, when I was in my third year of university. I went right out of highschool and did everything you're supposed to do, but a man with power over me felt entitled to me and then my advisor decided to cover it up to save face for the university and paint me as crazy.

I fled to another school, but my advisor found me and managed to force me out of that school too.

Now, despite having done 4 years of college, I'm 27 with no diploma and I'm just this year finally, sheltered by my new school's title XI office {who has basically had to contact everyone involved in my education to let them know that my old advisor might try to con her way in and cause trouble} a senior in college again.

But what you said about being frozen in time, I felt that so much. I am 27, I have (online) friends who are 26-27 and I've worked very hard to keep up with my age peers, but I keep saying I feel like I'm frozen in time as the 20-year-old university student.

Luckily, I look young for my age so I don't turn heads on campus, many people actually express surprise to hear I'm a senior cuz they thought I was a freshman.

And anyway *bangs head into a wall* I don't have a point other than, you're not alone.

Also, I've taken an incredible amount of comfort in how old Jimmy and Kim (particularly Kim, more than Jimmy) were when th

i'm going to kick tumblr for this very obviously cutting you off 😥🥺

this is dreadful and abominable, and it makes me LIVID that you suffered this, and that more protections aren't in place for students to be heard, believed, and supported. it makes me sick, there is no excuse for it. i am so sorry this happened to you, instead of being properly cared for and treated with respect. it's vile that not only was this allowed to happen at one school, but that your advisor had ANY power whatsoever at another? i'm immensely proud of your strength and that you've continued to pursue your education through all of this, that's amazing. 💗 i am sending you so much love and hope as you persevere, and that everything goes well for you.

i look young for my age as well, though that could be from...staying inside like a victorian recluse for what feels like a lifetime now. and given those circumstances too, i am much younger than my age in certain measurable ways. i have online friends and mutuals whom i adore ranging all ages on here, and i appreciate that immensely, but it's very alienating having to think about the real world implications of everything and where my peers (who i never did fit in particularly well with? i always either felt too young and innocently sheltered around them or like too much of an old soul, not in a pretentious way just in a bit of a contemplative/separated one, but never...right or what i was supposed to be) exist with educations and jobs and relationships and children etc. it's...kind of a living nightmare at certain moments because all of my 20s and now beyond (*throws self on the ground and cries in despair* listen, i am extremely anti-ageism while at the same time unable to embrace or recognize my own existence past the age of 22 at most?). i think it's additionally difficult and frightening for me this year because my mom (my parents had me a bit later) turned 70, and i cannot exist without her and her help, but i see things getting a little harder for her and it fills me with worry and despair, because i'm basically useless and can't fix any of this or ease our situation. there is no safety net for me, i am not welcome anywhere else because nobody can or will deal with my illnesses (i have been told this directly), so she's my only constant family and lifeline. it's just. it's a lot, and i'm feeling almost existentially weighed down by it.

kim being a bit older as a central female character, and yet that never being a factor in her accomplishments, her strengths, her worth, her attractiveness, etc, is SO SO important, and i love how she embodies that for many of us.

[questionsonislam]

Muslims, Jews and Christians? How are they all related? Also I have heard somewhere that these are the only people that will actually make it in front of Allah on day of judgment? is this true?

1. The true religions have two fundamental principles. The principles of belief and deeds. The principles of belief are the same in all religions. However, there are differences in deeds and laws called Shariah. The differences are due to some wisdom because different clothes are used depending on the seasons like summer clothes and winter clothes. The medicines that are used in the treatment of diseases vary depending on the state of the patients and diseases.

Similarly, the humankind was divided into different layers during the time of the previous prophets; since they led a nomadic life, their temper was rude and their understanding was different, there were even different prophets that were sent down for the people living in the same periods. Those prophets made them wear clothes appropriate for the seasons and treated the diseases using appropriate methods. In other words, they educated the elementary and high school students based on their regions and levels.

However, the age when Islam was sent down is like the university period. People proceeded in the way of civilization; the means of communication increased; their levels approached each other; since they reached a level to listen to a single teacher, the divine wisdom equipped the Islamic Shariah with equipment that would be appropriate until the Day of Judgment. Islam became a teacher for the whole humankind by including the applicable aspects and universal beauties of the previous shariahs.

Some examples regarding the issue:

a. According to some scholars, the fasting period was fifty days in some previous nations. In Islam, it was decreased to thirty days. (Razi tafsir, V/63).

b. Hazrat Musa (Moses) was ordered to make his house the qiblah and pray there.

In Islam, the whole earth is regarded as a mosque. Muslims can prayer anywhere they want. (cf, ibid)

c. Some food items were haram (forbidden) for Jews but they were made halal (permissible) for Muslims. The following verses indicate it:

“Say: "I find not in the Message received by me by inspiration any (meat) forbidden to be eaten by one who wishes to eat it, unless it be dead meat, or blood poured forth, or the flesh of swine― for it is an abomination or what is impious, (meat) on which a name has been invoked, other than Allah's." But (even so) if a person is forced by necessity, without wilful disobedience nor transgressing due limits― thy Lord is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.

For those who followed the Jewish Law, We forbade every (animal) with undivided hoof, and We forbade them the fat of the ox and the sheep, except what adheres to their backs or their entrails, or is mixed up with a bone: this in recompense for their willful disobedience: for We are True (in Our ordinances).”(al-Anam, 6/145-146).

2. Every person has to follow the true religion in his age.

3. After the emergence of Islam, those who know about Islam have to accept Islam no matter which religion they follow and they have to live in accordance with Islam.

[dualdaospirits]

Do you think if they ever reboot ATLA they would make Zutara canon? Reboots have changed quite a few things(the new She-Ra is vastly different from the original) especially with all the support Zutara got post-series

Hmmm, an interesting question. It depends on many things I think, not the least of which being who the showrunners are and the tone they want to set. We may get to see our reboot soon, actually, since there’s a live action Netflix series in the works (they haven’t started production yet though, so don’t get too excited). As far as I know, Bryke is at the forefront, and while that’s great news since it means another abomination hopefully won't happen, it does mean that a Zutara relationship probably isn’t likely since they’re big fans of the Katara/Aang relationship.

That being said, I think it would be a missed opportunity if they didn’t, and I’ll explain why. (Disclaimer for any non-Zutara fans reading this, being a Zutara shipper is not my main motivation for thinking or wanting it to be canon). First things first, the audience. I don’t know if post-series Zutara support would have much of an effect on Bryke, but it’s possible that the producers or Netflix would notice and try to factor it in. However, I don’t think pandering should be the reason they include Zutara--far from it. The original audience that watched Avatar has grown up at this point. Many of us are in our twenties, give or take. We’ve matured, and it would be foolish of the showrunners for ignoring this fact. If there’s a reboot of Avatar, live action or animation, the majority of the audience will be those that grew up with the show, not kids the same age as the audience of the animation. I think that’s evident enough with the release of Avatar on Netflix (notice how many people are rewatching and falling back into their love for the show?) and the comics. Ah, the comics. Some things they did well, others...not. What they did do well is writing the storytelling more maturely than the show. I don’t mean to bash the original show as it obviously had no problems including the dark effects of a war story in bite size, easy-to-swallow chunks for kids (a good thing). However, they treat the audience more seriously, knowing that not everything needs to be spelled out. You see the same in Korra. And to me, that’s part of what makes the Zutara relationship so captivating and intriguing--it’s mature. It’s not easy, and it has faults. It’s not “hero gets the girl after saving the world”. It’s complex. 

I’ll say this now: there’s a difference between a relationship being canon and being endgame, and it’s an important difference. I definitely think Zutara should be canon, if not endgame, in any reboot they do.

Personally, I’m excited for a live action version if they ever get around to it. It brings many new factors to the table, and the majority of them have to do with adaptation. (I’ll mainly be talking about a live action version for a little bit, excuse the art student that shows). Adaptation, especially between mediums, is tricky to execute. You see many book-movie adaptations that succeed, and some that miserably fail, and others in between. This goes for other forms as well, ex: book to comic, book to animation, animation to film, etc. With any medium adaptation, the story will inherently change. You can't hear a character's inner dialogue or prose written in a book in a film, so changes have to be made or the filmmaker must write or use film language to substitute for it. With adaptation, changes must happen, that's a fact. To me, more often than not those adaptations succeed when the creator embraces that fact and uses the medium to their advantage. Sometimes this changes the story, and sometimes that change enhances it for the better. Take Game of Thrones or Harry Potter. The former deals with many characters and worldbuilding that is extremely complex, and they did an excellent job in getting you attached to those characters. However, they did have to change some things from the books, and while some weren’t as successful, others did remarkably. (Before anyone starts raging, I’m specifically talking about the seasons where they still had books to go off of). For Harry Potter, we have eight movies to analyze, which I will not be doing, but I will say that the weakest films storywise were the fifth and seventh, simply because they tried to do both too much and too little, if that makes sense.

How would this apply to a live action ATLA? Well, it wouldn’t be like the animation, most likely. It’s a medium adaptation, meaning that the approach they had in the animation won’t work the same in live action. Think about it--you don’t watch animation, especially 2d, the same way you watch live action, psychologically and subconsciously. There’s a separation there between their world and ours. It lessens with 3d animation, but it’s much much smaller when it’s live action since it looks like our world, more or less. Would GOT beheading and other violence (you know what I mean) have had the same effect if it were 2d animation? No, probably not. Yes, I know that anime has its fair share of gore that can be extremely realistic and gross, but it still doesn’t have the same impact it would if it appeared on your screen with quality vfx. Now, these are extreme examples. I really doubt that they’ll make the violence that intense or realistic in the show, as they’ll more than likely want to keep it family friendly (there’s still kids that watch the original). Another disclaimer (ik there’s a lot of them, but people can misunderstand this kind of critique as bashing, which it’s not): I am not saying that the original animation of ATLA is not impactful, absolutely not. I have no trouble getting attached to animated characters, laughing or crying with them, etc, especially if the writing is good. However, it was a kids show, and it was written with that in mind. This is apparent to me as I’m rewatching the show now. There’s some dark stuff that happens, as is the nature of a war story, and the animation handles it excellently. But think of how different it will be seeing the ruins of the Southern Air Temple, practically a garden of bones, Gyatso’s included, in live action. Show us all the nitty-gritty of the lower rings of Ba Sing Se, and the corruption up top. Let this affect the characters. Bring this moral ambiguity into light, as it was done in the show. I think that if they’re going to tackle a show in this way, not a movie or series of movies, it would be smart of them to lean into these darker themes, not shy away from them. Like I said earlier, the audience has matured, and there’s so much more to explore with these stories and themes. I’ll say with confidence that they’ll definitely do this, and possibly add a story or two. Otherwise, it will just be a rehashing of the original, word for word dialogue. Not that the original is bad (obv not), but I don’t think we should want that. There’s a lot of potential in a live action series, and I think they’ve learned lessons from the abomination that already tripped over itself. It was an example of adaptation done badly. However, you can change a story without destroying it, but it’s a delicate operation. That’s why having the original showrunners on gives me a bit more confidence. To be clear, I don’t think they’ll go full PG-13 or higher. It’s still possible to have family/kid friendly media without shying away from the darker parts. ATLA is a great example of that. If you want a live action example of a show that balances humor, heartache, and violence beautifully, look at Merlin (bbc). 

I think you bring up an interesting point with She-Ra and it’s divergence from the original. I haven’t seen the original animation, but I can say that the new one was successful in telling a new and fresh story in the same universe. The act almost as parallel stories in that universe. How To Train Your Dragon is the same way--the book and movie have very very little in common story wise, but it’s a beautiful trilogy nonetheless. Would this work with ATLA? Possibly, though I doubt they’d want to stray away from the original’s core themes. Though, you can fight me on this, Zutara does align with those themes, but that’s another post (this one is long enough). However, it’s such a complicated question because it inherently considers countless possibilities, so there’s no definite answer. It’s a beloved show that’s already been butchered once, so how much would they be willing to change?

Now, how does Zutara factor in? (getting to the point now). For many of the reasons above, I think it should be canon. Their dynamic, their rocky relationship, the journey of trust and acceptance, the connection they have, all of it is ripe for exploration, especially in a revamped, inherently more mature story. Instead of a predictable relationship where there was never any real conflict (Katara was always loyal to Aang, and their fights were never truly consequential), you have a relationship coming from a difficult, seemingly impossible place, one that requires time to establish. Like I said, it’s not an easy relationship. Part of it is strengthened by Zuko’s wonderful redemption arc. He needs to build a foundation of trust before almost any of the Gaang trust him (Aang, the angel, is willing to give him a chance almost immediately in Book 1, and though she didn’t care one way or the other at first, he did accidentally burn Toph’s feet). What would a Book 4 have brought us? Despite what Bryke say about it being a false rumor, Ehasz, a co-producer, said that it was at least discussed, plus Book 3 definitely had more to give, so I take it with several grains of salt. Anyways, even wondering about it hypothetically produces interesting theories. We see at the end of Book 2 in the cave that Katara, once she overcomes her immediate, and warrented, repulsion of Zuko, she’s able to connect and see a bit of his heart underneath the layers and layers of angst and anguish obscuring it. This scene is popular in the Zutara fandom for a reason. However, I think that making changes to characters, especially in Zuko’s case should be done extremely selectively and purposefully. His arc is one of the most fantastic accomplishments of the show, and I think very little should be changed. For example, he should still make that doomed, yet inevitable choice in that cave to join Azula, but perhaps they’ll include his mother as a more forefront character, especially when he goes back to the Fire Nation. By all means, give Ty Lee and Mai more than just a conversation to supply their backstory. Thoroughly explore the swampbenders and the Freedom Fighters. Show more of the original airbenders in Aang’s memories! There’s room for exploration without dismantling the world or characters like the M. Night film did. For Zutara, I think that expanding Book 3 and giving the characters more time with each other would be invaluable. Think of how quickly Katara and Zuko grew close, from Katara threatening to off him first time he even hinted at being a threat, to becoming one of the most instinctual and formidable teams in the Gaang, to saving each other’s lives in the final battle. That’s not even mentioning the Southern Raiders.  The conflict over the entire show as the backdrop for a relationship like that, romantic or platonic, is incredibly suitable for a reboot. If it was explored, the outcome would be so powerful. 

I said before that there’s a difference between canon and endgame relationships. This just means that a relationship can be confirmed and explored without being the outcome. If Bryke include Zutara at all, that’s most likely how they’ll do it: adding a love triangle that ends up with Katara and Aang getting together. Honestly, it would be a method of making K/A a more interesting relationship and a way to have the characters grow a bit. However, this has the awful potential of just shitting on Zutara and turning it into a toxic relationship, which I’d rather not see.

But if it wasn’t Bryke running it? Absolutely, I think Zutara would, and should, be canon. Adaptation should take risks and be willing to explore, and I think Zutara is the type of dynamic we should see.  

[kessielrg]

[KH+DA] A Life Forgotten

Summary: Inspired by @chibi-mushroom‘s Dragon Age AU for the Kingdom Hearts series, focused solely on Anora. [can be read standalone without knowledge of Dragon Age or Kingdom Hearts][oneshot]

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,215

If you like the story, please reblog!

---

“Jump, Razzie!”

The little girl, no more than 5 or 6 years old, hesitated for a moment. Her short, raspberry red hair was gently tussled by the wind that passed by the top of the cliff. Her cousin, Kieran, waited for her at the base of the cliff with his arms outstretched. The smile on his face illustrated that this was nothing more than a game- like they were playing in a parlor with the girl about to jump off the table. But the distance was far greater than that. Quite a ways down, actually.

This was where most of her memories started. This cliff, her cousin patiently waiting for her, and her tiny heart beating in her chest like it wanted to come out. The memory was so old that it usually felt like a dream instead. She tried hard to hold on to it; it was all she had left of a life she never knew.

She took a few steps back, then started to run at full force before jumping off the cliff. She couldn't keep her eyes open as she fell. The wind stung if she tried. But there was a peace as she fell; it felt like the world was slowing just for her as she made her free fall. No one but her cousin could see that she was actually slowing her descent through an unconscious act of magic. To the outside observer, Anora Guinevere Ravishta was flying.

Even when her arms started to wrap around Kieran, it felt like she was trying to hug him, not holding on to him for dear life after making a fate-defying fall. Her sense of weightlessness immediately left when she had wrapped her entire little body around her cousin. She allowed her eyes to flutter open and was instantly greeted with her cousin's beaming smile.

“You did it Razzie!” Kieran happily cheered, doing a little jig as he held her. Anora was sent into a flurry of giggles from the movement. Her cousin's laughter mixed with her own as he slowly ceased dancing to press their foreheads together. What stopped this memorable moment between the cousins was the sound of someone clearing their throat not far from them. The duo turned their attention to a Templar.

This Templar wore an armor that would very soon be very familiar to Anora. The top portion of the Templar regalia as much like that of a regular knight, the symbol of their organization taking a prominent stance on the breastplate. The lower half was more like a blood red robe that stopped a bit ways from the ground. On the Templar's head was a square-like helmet that did not give any indication of what this person looked like under. Anora shrunk a little. She had yet to know the wrath of the Templar Order, but even now she felt intimidated by their armor.

“The young girl's father is here to see her.” the Templar told the two in a gravely voice.

For a small, subtle, moment, Kieran held Anora bit tighter.

“Tell him we'll be there soon.” he affirmed, regardless. The Templar nodded and went back to the main camp to pass the word along.

Kieran waited for the Templar to be out of eye range before setting Anora down. Hand in hand, the two walked back to the main encampment. Anora had decided quite early on that the Avvar were a weird set of people. They were a nomadic bunch, never quite staying in the same place for very long, and their houses were more teepees and tents than brick and mortar. Anora was more fascinated with the augur. The augur was a special mage that frequently talked to the spirits from the Fade- or, as the Avvar called it, the Land of Dreams. The augur talked to the spirits from the Fade, to whom the Avvar refeered as gods, and in trade the spirits watched over the Avvar people.

The Templars were not easily a welcomed (or even a familiar) party among the Avvar. Many of the Templars from this side of the mountain came from Ferelden. A feud between the Avvar and Fereldens was a long and bloodied one- the reminder of which came from one passing look at the glorified soldiers. Kieran and Anora were Ferelden as well, but there was a small exception to them that caused either indifference or quiet scorn. Kieran was a student from the University of Orlais, sent to train into becoming an ambassador of sorts for the Avvar people. The Orlesians were more welcome than the Fereldens, due to the former providing trade and goods that the Avvar could not make otherwise. Had Kieran not be the kind, easy going young man he was, the Avvar would have denied him the moment the empress requested him.

Anora had never quite been sure when the Templars arrived at the Avvar encampment. Despite all the talk then, there were only four of them. She would not understand until later how much danger a single Templar could carry, or what the Avvar did to train their kind's mages. She would not know that Kieran had tried to delay the Templars from finding her by having her with him. She never even realized that the Templar in charge had been her own father. Perhaps, in another time, Kieran would have been successful in keeping her with the Avvar. Maybe she would have become the augur's apprentice. But in this one, she was made prisoner.

Her father, like the other Templars, was dressed in the standard regalia. She would never know his face, but his voice was a lot like Kieran's.

“It is time to stop running,” he said, more to Kieran than the both of them, “Anora is being sent to the Circle.”

“I won't let you do that.” Kieran opposed. “She'll be safe here with the Avvar. You have no right to take care of her anymore.”

“She will go where I say.” Anora's father demanded in return. His stance was neutral, almost unnervingly so, as his voice rose to thunderous levels. “She is a mage, she is Ferelden, she must go to the Circle as per the Chantry's laws!”

Kieran was visibly shaking.

“Anora, go to our tent.” her told the little girl, his tone riddled with a harshness not intended for her. “Unco and I need to talk in private.”

If Anora had known then that this would be the last time she'd see her cousin for almost two decades, she would have put up more of a resistance. But, in this very moment, she looked from Kieran to the Templar before giving a small nod and doing as she was told. They both listened for the sounds of her tiny footfalls to fade before giving each other deadly glares.

“You're not taking her.” Kieran said first. “The Avvar have one of the better methods of letting mages begin their talents, and it doesn't involve keeping her held captive.”

“No child of mine will become an abomination to 'begin her talents.' It's a bloody miracle that we have no control over stamping out all of these undocumented mages. Anora is Ferelden, ergo we must-”

“It doesn't matter whether Anora is Ferelden or not!” Kieran thundered, stamping a foot to the ground and clenching his hand into a tight fist. “She's family! You can't abandon family to rot in some fancy named prison cell!”

Anora's father was silent for a long time. The air electrifying around the two men as both were too stubborn to agree on the other's solution.

“What would a boy like you know about family?” Anora's father then slowly asked. Hatred dripping from his voice with every chilling syllable.

“Apparently more than you! How could you even think about abandoning your own dau-”

Kieran never got to finish because his uncle had been so enraged that he slapped him. The young man immediately staggered backward, nursing his cheek as the wound throbbed. The Templar stepped closer, taking the young man by the scruff of his collar to demand eye contact.

“You understand little of the sacrifices it takes to be in my position.”

“But you always have a choice.” Kieran spat. “Don't you?”

Once more, a silence came between the two before the Templar set Kieran down. No other words were exchanged between the two as the Templar left. Neither of them even needed to say where he was going. It took Kieran a moment to process this, and when he did he let out an anguished yell as he started to charge after the Templar. He didn't get far because the augur had appeared directly in his path.

“Let her go.” the augur said to him in a soft, comforting, tone.

A spell had not being cast, but in that moment everything in Kieran paused. He looked at the augur with bitterness and equal exhaustion. With the traditional mask the augur wore that covered all but their mouth, it was hard to gauge just what expression the augur was giving the young man.

“Excuse me?” was all he could say. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, thankfully the augur gave a nod of silent apology.

“The old gods that protect our hold have spoken, young one. Her destiny lies at the Circle.”

For a moment, Kieran was too stunned to respond. When he did talk, his voice wavered; “You… you talked to your spirits about her, when we're not even…?”

“The gods protect our hold because we give them gifts and offering, not because they have a fated loyalty to us.” the augur explained. “We give them what they ask, and in return they show us their wisdom. It has been this way for millennia and it will be that way for the next millennia.”

Hearing this, Kieran was even more at conflict. “Ser, in all respects, I think you fail to understand how differently magic is treated outside of the Avvar. If Anora goes to the Circle, then she may never get out. She may even forget that I'm...”

But the augur silenced him with only a gentle hand on Kieran's shoulder.

“The gods gave me a message for you- one of assurance. They said, 'kin has betrayed her, but love will protect her.' Trust the gods, young one, they know more than we could ever fathom.”

Kieran didn't know when he started crying. He knew his legs gave out before trying to hold onto the augur for dear life. The augur was patient, allowing the young man to let out his frustrations, fears, and sadness out. Only fate could guide Anora now.

. . .

They never even got to say goodbye.

The Templars left the Avvar clan within the hour. When Anora had come to realize that she would never return to her cousin, she cried a lot too. The Templars were not as understanding as the augur had been- telling her that she had to shut up. One Templar even slapped her, which only made things worse. By the time the company arrived at Kinloch Hold, Anora's face had become stained with tears. No Templar pretended to be kind as they moved her inside.

If she had noticed things a bit more clearly then, she would have realized that one of the four Templars never entered the hold. He had remained behind, contemplating the wisdom of his young nephew, while also wondering how he was request a change of station.

As Anora was brought into the hold, forced into several corridors she would come to recognize like the back of her hand, the company went past two new Templars and a girl just a year older than Anora herself. The other girl, sporting blue hair with matching eyes, suddenly stopped in her tracks to gap in awe at the new girl. One of the Templars noticed the blue haired girl's surprise, then took a look at the Templars. In seeing Anora, the Templar seemed to understand why the blue haired girl could not stop staring.

“It seems you may be meeting a new friend, Aqua.” the Templar said to the girl with a grin.

“I doubt it, Campbell.” the other Templar huffed. “She was among the Avvar when she was reported. May already be an abomination. I heard that after they collect her phylactery, she'll be sent to First Enchanter Mickey right away.”

“If her being an abomination is such a concern, shouldn't she see the First Enchanter now instead of later?” Campbell questioned with a raise of his eyebrow. Aqua looked up at the Templar with a curious tilt of her head.

“Why would she be an abomination?” the young girl asked- her voice sounding even more curious than what her expression was.

Both Campbell and the other Templar looked down on her in such a way, Aqua shrunk a little in her spot. It was Campbell who bent down to give her head a little pat.

“Keep to your studies, Aqua,” he assured her, “You'll find out on your own eventually.”

The seven year old still curiously looked at him before a wide smile stretched across her face. “Right.” she agreed with a confident nod.

But, still… just who was that girl?

[optimiist]

𝚒’𝚍  𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙  𝚊𝚗  𝚎𝚢𝚎  𝚘𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖  ;   that  there  is  LIONEL  MILLER  ,  notorious  for  being  (  resentful  )  and  (  tense  )  ,  but  there  are  times  when  he  can  be  (  considerate  )  and  (  self-effacing  )  .   i've  heard  that  he  could  pass  as  a  YUSUF GATEWOOD  doppelganger  ,  but  i  don't  see  it  .   the  (  thirty-eight  )  year - old  cis man has  been  in  town  for  (  his entire life  )  and  they  are  an  (  english professor  )  by  day  and  murder  suspect  by  night  .   they  tend  to  spark  images  of  an endless collection of the romantics - from the john donnes of the world to the carson mccullers’ ,  the perfect leather-on-tweed stereotype , being a willing human doormat to those with bright eyes and a kind smile , rehearsing the humphrey bogart but ending up the victor laszlo , a secret even worse than murder: …your favorite movie is the abomination of 2019  .   you’ll  know  when  they  walk  by  because  they  always  seem  to  be  blasting  as  time  goes  by  by  DOOLEY WILSON  .   it  truly  explains  why  they're  known  as  THE  SECRET  ADMIRER  .

TO KNOW:

born to a single mother, lionel was lucky in never joining the daddy issues™ club. nonetheless, his mother’s status still deeply affected him. with all of the men he watched go in and out of her life, none staying around long enough for him to call his true role model, he found a very thin line - but it was still a line and he knew exactly which side he wanted to be on. the line? separated the good men from the toxic men. and, of course, he wanted to be a good man!

it should be noted that his mother worked in the local library ( he was unaware of why it was named what it was named for quite a while - he thought it was just named after abraham lincoln and some other guy ). naturally, he spent most of his youth reading authors all the way from shel silverstein to lewis carroll to… most importantly… t.s. eliot. why is this the most important? you may ask yourself.

he unironically likes cats. the book it was based on… the musical… even the 2019 movie… there are very few people he’d ever admit it to, but… his favorite movie is cats (2019).

ANYWAY, as he grew, he matured into the catalogs of writers such as john donne, william shakespeare, tennessee williams, carson mccullers…

he was fucked!!

the authors and the poets and the playwrights all gave him a sense of what love is, what love must be. he began writing poetry, attempting to mimic donne’s subtle style. this both helped and harmed him when he met the girl he was totally sure would be the love of his life: chastity. she was gorgeous and kind and had bright eyes… 

he prepared a speech asking her out and rehearsed it every morning. just in case he forgot, he even wrote it down on notecards. but, when the time came, he was always just too… frozen. 

he didn’t shoot his shot on time - before he knew it, ethan kim was dating the girl he’d psyched himself out of asking out one too many times. 

although it was difficult for him to try to see chastity as just a friend ( perhaps friendly acquaintance at most on her part ), he did his best… especially when ethan enlisted him to help him get the girl™.lionel had plenty of moral qualms about it, but… ultimately, money was money. libraries didn’t make much. even the smallest amount would help. 

not to mention, it was an excellent way to see if he… would’ve been successful in asking her out. in words, at least.

he’d give ethan poems he’d already written, soliloquies he’d been inspired to write, and just… ultimately give him the advice that all of the romantics had given him throughout the years.

when chastity was murdered, his heart :( shattered :( died along with her but more poetically :( while his alibi checked out - he had been in the library writing a poem in donne’s style, the subject inspired by mccullers’s ‘the lover v. the beloved’ tangent in the ballad of the sad café, and he won! there were some areas in which they could poke holes: his mother, who clearly wouldn’t want her son to go to jail, was the only eye witness, they had no way of proving the date he submitted the poem, etc., etc. but, for the most part, his alibi was pretty solid.

this idiot didn’t profess his love until she was dead. WAYYYYY too late to shoot ur shot buddy!!

anyway, he’d already gotten accepted into college - thank god because he, otherwise, would not have been in the state to write a worthy application. he chose local for his undergrad. 

along the way, he found some new people to love. or try to love. it wasn’t exactly the actual relationship that made it hard for him to ‘get over’ chastity, what considering they’d never had one, rather the literal death and lack of closure.

but, come grad school, he met the woman he would be able to call his wife!! she was lovely and kind and beautiful and had such bright eyes. after only two years of dating, he proposed (granted, he’d been prepping… for an entire year... ) and!! she said yes!!

with an english professor slot (yes, slot) opening up at the university, they returned to taunwick. it was absolutely perfect, if you were to ask him. he could help his mom as libraries went the way of the dodo, he could potentially start a family (they were considering adoptive), he had a job he loved!!

but... then there’s that whole problem of the reunion… and, while he’s been doing well in taunwick, what in spite of the reminders of chastity… this could be yikes central for his marriage!! which is why it’s gonna be submitted to the main in .5 seconds!! 

and that’s what you missed on glee!

TL;DR:

hopeless romantic who will never admit that he unironically likes all forms of cats.

CONNECTION IDEAS:

** (open to any gender unless otherwise specified)

his wife (f): WILL BE BEING SENT INTO THE MAIN.

people he tried to love: as was previously mentioned, when he entered undergrad, he desperately tried to find people he could love just as much as he figured he’d loved chastity. only real requirement would be that they would’ve both gone to the local university at the same time!!

opposites attract: he’s meek, easy to unnerve… give me this. give me 13 going on 30’s main friendship.

neighbor: pretty self-explanatory!! they live in the suburbs next door to he and his wife… both of whom are disgustingly domestic!! 

couple friends: pls this idea just makes me laugh. we love the failed version of this connection where… it’s their last resort… they’re desperate… everyone else is trying to induct them into having a foursome… they just want a wholesome friendship… this is the closest they’re getting!!

students: let’s hear it for all the younger characters out there!!

more to come!!

FURTHER:

for a bit of a better idea:

pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/idkimnewwastaken/lionel-not-richie/

playlist (the final song is a lil treat): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vYatuuQmEWxcKvs2CBjCa?si=_XQCKYGsRz2jujfMT7V1BQ

musing tag: https://optimiist.tumblr.com/tagged/lionel-%7C-musings.

mini stats (to be later extended): optimiist.tumblr.com/ls (the font is strangely huge rn but… don’t feel like fixing it at this moment in time :\ )

[naruwitch]

Code Geass: Paladins of Voltron Chapter 24: Message From Kyoto

"We have the Japan Liberation Front on the run due to your attack, Viceroy. Without a stable fortress, it should be easy to snuff out any remaining survivors."

"Are you trying to mock me?!" the Viceroy spat at the officer, "That was no victory! Not only is it confirmed that Zero is alive, but now he has some sort of gigantic Knightmare on his side?! It should be absolutely impossible!"

The annoying bureaucrats kept on spewing ridiculous excuses, but Cornelia could barely listen to them. That battle hadn't gone according to plan at all! She had gone into the fight, confident that victory would be hers over the Japan Liberation Front. She never would've expected something like a giant Knightmare mech to fall from the sky and nearly wipe them out in minutes. Not only that, but its interference had given a majority of the JLF's leadership time to escape, along with the Black Knights. What stung her the most, however, was that Black Lion Knightmare she had faced had not only beaten her but had completely disrespected and humiliated her. She was going to make the pilot of that machine pay dearly for his actions!

"Viceroy, if I may," Euphemia spoke up timidly.

"What is it?" Cornelia hoped she didn't sound too impatient and angry towards her sister.

"Well, it's just, I was wondering, but it's possible this isn't a Knightmare at all. At least, not an Earth-made one, according to Earl Asplund. He ran the data the Lancelot received in its fight through every metal compound and alloy he could think of. None of them was a match."

"Sub-viceroy, are you actually suggesting that those machines were sent by extraterrestrial life?" an officer asked very skeptically.

"I know it's strange to admit this, but I wouldn't rule out that possibility just yet," Guilford spoke up, causing many of the ministers and officers to look his way. "Think about when that Blue Lion was first seen, over two months ago. It happened right before Zero disappeared. After it was initially spotted, we weren't able to locate it since then, even with our informants or the most advanced tracking capabilities. But when you throw in the factor of alien life, it oddly makes sense. It's possible that that Knightmare, and Zero for that matter, couldn't be found because they weren't even on Earth at the time. Also, in that video message we saw the other day, he specifically called that robot, Voltron, the 'Defender of the Universe.'"

"As fantastic as it sounds," Darlton said, "it's certainly a possibility."

Cornelia scoffed, "If that is the case, why on Earth would Zero involve aliens, of all things, into our affairs? And besides, this move has been his boldest one yet. It could give the Chinese Federation or the EU the push they need to launch their own attack."

"Vice-minister," Dalton spoke up, cutting off the bureaucrats' mutters of confusion and fear with a pointed look, "internal affairs has appointed a special group of Elevens to sub-govern these areas, isn't that right? A group that is called the N.A.C. When we stormed Narita, we looked for evidence of the N.A.C's conspiracies. But it was buried in the wreckage." Darlton turned to face his princess, "Still, our suspicions remain high… if we suppress them now…"

Cornelia nodded, "Hmm, a group of bluebloods and plutocrats…" she muttered, looking down in thought, "Relics of their dismal past…"

"Wait, please! These are just rumors, there's no evidence of that at all," one of the aids stood up. Still, he gulped under Cornelia and Darlton's gazes, so he grabbed a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his head. "If you suppress them, then the Elevens' economy will certainly collapse. That means no tax revenue to send to the Homeland. Also, it's a prime directive of the Empire that Numbers should take care of their own kind."

"And what have you done to find Zero or that Voltron abomination?" Cornelia shot back, annoyed.

"Well we-," the aid stuttered as footage of the Lions appeared on their screens, alongside a list of Britannians that died during the battle. And the list was not short, "We managed to obtain samples from some of the wreckage left behind, but that's it so far. We can't squeeze information out of corpses."

"So you can't catch Zero, and you don't want us to hit Kyoto," Cornelia mused, "Do you know the word 'incompetent,' Minister? It's for people who can't get results."

"Either way, Zero directly challenged the Emperor in that last video message," Guilford said gravely. "All we can do now is wait for his Majesty's response."

Cornelia scowled but nodded. Nothing to do now but wait.

o~o

"So the Britannian Viceroy has gone this far already…" A figure noted as he and several older men sat seiza-style around a fireplace as they discussed the latest chain of events.

"With the Japan Liberation Front nearly smashed, the last embers of Japan have almost died away."

"Wait, they may be on the run, but General Katase and Todoh are still strong! Still fighting!"

"Even if that's so. I heard he lost his custom Burais, so there's no hope."

"There is hope." A fifth voice corrected, this one much younger than the others. They turned to face the speaker, a young girl with black hair and bright emerald eyes. She was sitting behind a screen, smiling at them.

"The Black Knights?" the fourth voice muttered, sounding both skeptical and disbelieving as he stared at the speaker, "You've been infatuated with Zero since he rescued Suzaku Kururugi."

"Yes, but of those Knightmares that rained down on Narita. It would be foolish not to take full advantage of them. The Britannian army stood little to no chance!"

"Perhaps, but will they answer a summons if we send one?"

"If they truly wish for the freedom of Japan, they have no reason not to. Also, it could be just the test they need to confirm their true loyalty…"

o~o

"I'll be honest, that went a lot smoother than I thought it would," Suzaku said as he, Lelouch, and Allura met on the bridge.

"As I told you, they trust Kallen, and if Kallen trusts us, then the Black Knights have reason to as well," Lelouch said with a small, proud smile. He was still dressed fully in his Zero uniform, but his mask was held at his side. Currently, the Black Knights were settling into the Castle and being given a tour by Kallen, with Coran and C.C supervising.

"I do agree with you, though. I was pleasantly surprised at how easily they took the information in."

(Two days previous)

Voltron dispersed upon getting in view of the Castle, and the Lions landed safely in each of their bays.

"Hey, uh, Lulu, quick question. Is it safe to have our helmets off when we meet the Black Knights?" Shirley asked.

"Don't worry about that, Shirley," Kallen answered before he could, "I'll put a good word in."

"O-Okay if you say so."

"Well, come on! We're keeping them waiting!" Rivalz exclaimed impatiently.

With a chuckle, Lelouch exited Zenobia and made his way to the bridge with the other Paladins. Upon entering, Tamaki was just coming out of his fainting spell. Which meant he was the first to spot them.

"Wh-hey! What are Britannians doing here?" he shouted, shaking the other Black Knights out of their shocked stupor enough to notice them.

"Hey, isn't that Kururgi?" Sugiyama asked, spotting Suzaku.

"I recognize you two," Inoue said, glancing at Milly and Shirley, "you were hostages at Kawaguchi!"

"Wait a minute," Minami realized after he got a good look at them, "you-you're all those Ashford students. The ones that went missing two months ago!"

"Yep, that's us!" Milly said with a small smile, though her demeanor and sweat on her forehead showed how nervous she was. Rivalz awkwardly waved next to her.

"Kallen, what's going on?" Ohgi asked sternly. None of the Black Knights looked very happy to see that most of the Paladins in front of them were Britannians. They hadn't even noticed that Zero was standing calmly in the back.

"Ohgi, everyone, don't!" Kallen exclaimed, stepping to the front of the Paladins and holding her arms wide in front of them. "These are my friends. I've been with them, and Zero, the entire time. I trust them, so please, give them a chance."

"We're here to help you," Rai said, coming up next to Kallen, "we're not like the Emperor. We don't want anything to do with that scumbag!"

"Yeah…" Shirley said with a sad frown, "Zero told us what life is like for all of you. And... I'm so sorry! If that's really how you're treated, and the Emperor is encouraging it, we don't want anything to do with it!"

"Yeah, what she said!" Rivalz agreed, holding a raised fist. "No way can I follow a lunatic like that! I just wish we realized it sooner."

"...Alright, Kallen, we'll trust you," Ohgi eventually said. Most of the Black Knights calmed down upon hearing this. Tamaki folded his arms with a pout, but he didn't protest.

"I assume you all have questions," Zero said, stepping forward once Kallen lowered her arms.

"Questions?" Ohgi asked incredulously, giving a short laugh, "Well, wha-where, do I even start?"

"You're free to ask anything you wish," Coran asked, "we'll answer to the best of our abilities."

"Okay, well…" Ohgi took a second to gather his thoughts, the rest of the Black Knights staring at him intently, "I guess… you called that robot 'Voltron,' so what exactly is that?"

"Voltron, he's known as the Defender of the Universe," Zero explained, "The warrior himself is made up of seven lions. The same ones that you saw back at Narita. Princess Allura's father, King Alfor of Altea, was the one that originally built the Lions. And they certainly aren't Knightmares. Calling them such things would be insulting."

"The Lions themselves choose the pilots," Allura explained, "by mirroring the quintessence of the pilot with the Lion, a bond is formed that is far greater than any science can explain."

"Woah, woah! Wait a minute!" Minami interrupted, holding up a hand, "'Choose'? Are you saying that these Lions… are alive?"

"In a way they are," Kallen confirmed, shrugging her shoulders. "We do know that they possess some form of consciousness. They can't communicate the way that we normally do, but when I'm flying Aka, the Red Lion, I can definitely feel when she's talking to me. It's like we can read each other's minds through some sort of psychic link."

"Hold up! We talking magic or some bull?" Tamaki asked, sounding highly doubtful.

"Maybe," Suzaku shrugged, rubbing his neck thoughtfully, "I mean, it's more advanced technology than anything Earth can come up with right now, so it would make sense to throw some magic into the mix."

"Wait, so do you guys know what this means?" Inoue asked, voice rising in excitement. "With this Voltron thing here, Britannia doesn't stand a chance. We all saw them wipe the floor with the army in that last fight!"

"Yeah! Britannian Emperor, look out! Here we come!" Tamaki cheered.

Everyone else chuckled at the Black Knights' enthusiasm. Even Ohgi's eyes sparkled with concealed excitement.

"Yes, it was made quite clear in that last fight that Britannia is in trouble," C.C. smirked before her expression turned serious. "However, as of right now, the Britannian Empire is actually the least of Earth's worries."

"Least of our worries?" Sugiyama asked, "What are you talking about?"

"C.C. is correct. While Voltron is an amazing discovery, and a valuable weapon, unveiling him is only part of the reason we're here. During the time Kallen, I, and the rest of the Paladins disappeared, not only did we learn of Voltron's existence, but we also discovered something else. Something bad."

"Okay, and what was that?" Yoshida asked, feeling confused.

"This part is going to sound hard to believe, but please hear us out, okay?" Kallen said with a severe frown before turning her attention back to Zero.

Zero nodded back to the Red Paladin before he continued, "We found out, through Allura and Coran, that there is another alien regime out there, not too different from our Earth's Britannia. And for the last 10,000 years," Zero emphasized the number, "this regime, known as the Galra Empire, has been expanding and conquering every planet and civilization within their sight."

"Wait, 10,000 years?" Ohgi asked, making sure he heard that number correctly.

"That is correct," Allura said, pulling up a screen and pressing a button. The Black Knights gasped as the star map blinked into existence all around them. "As I explained to the Paladins when they first arrived here, during these 10,000 years, the Castle has been picking up distress signals from all the following locations." One by one, almost the entire room began to illuminate with red lights, each symbolizing a planet that called for help at one point or another. "The Galra Empire has wasted little time in conquering almost the entire known universe," she swiped her hand. The universe moved to the left until a large bright dot came into their field of vision, just within a border of unaffected blue stars and planets. "Where we are right now, in your Solar System, is right here." All of the Black Knights gawked in fear and shock when they realized just how close they, and Earth, were to the flood of red.

"As you can plainly see, if the Galra continue to spread at the rate they have been, an attack on Earth isn't likely, it's inevitable," Zero told the Black Knights gravely.

After about a minute of silence, as he and the Black Knights took in all this new information, Ohgi swallowed and licked his lips, which had become incredibly dry within that short time frame, "...How dangerous are they?"

Allura and Coran both began typing on separate hologram screens, and within moments, several images started popping up around the Black Knights.

"This is what we know so far. The Galra Empire itself is what we might call a star-faring race," Coran explained. "This means they don't have any set planet to call home, which is partially the reason for the forceful expansion of territory. It's likely due to this expansion that the Galra have been able to also create a large plethora of advanced technology." Images of Galra battleships, guns, cannons, sentries, fighter jets, and several other things flashed throughout the room. "Not to mention, the Galra themselves are formidable warriors in strategy and the art of combat." Images of Sendak and several other unknown Galrans then flashed on the screen. There were even some videos of when Kallen, Suzaku, and a couple of other Paladins engaging Sendak and eventually defeating him.

"All of this, this entire empire, is led by one being: Zarkon," Zero said, as finally, the form of the Galran ruler himself appeared. Upon seeing the emperor with their own eyes, the Paladins could immediately see the intimidation that flashed within all the BKs' eyes. They didn't blame them, though. Zarkon was an imposing creature to look at, and most of them have only seen him from a distance. The award for meeting him up close and personal went to Kallen, Suzaku, and C.C., and they certainly didn't recommend that to anyone!

"Hey, hold on a second!" Yoshida suddenly said, "So this guy has been ruling for over 10,000 years? How's that even possible? Do these Galra guys live that long?"

"Absolutely not!" Allura replied, "But we do have yet to discover what has been keeping Zarkon alive all this time."

"It could have something to do with those huge vats of quintessence we found at that one station," Rai said thoughtfully. "Maybe it helps extend his lifespan?"

"Quintessence?" Ohgi asked, sounding the strange word out.

"In simplest terms, quintessence is an energy generated by living beings. Basically, it's their life force," Coran explained.

"You mean alien life force, right?" Minami asked, sounding a little disturbed.

"No, quintessence exists within all living things. If the Paladins, as humans, didn't have any, they wouldn't be alive right now, much less able to pilot even one of the Lions," Allura corrected.

"Hang on, if that's true, wouldn't we, or even Britannia, have discovered something like that by now?" Tamaki asked with a skeptical frown.

"Well, Shinichiro," Kallen said as she stepped closer to the red-haired BK, "tell me, have you ever traveled faster than the speed of light? Have you ever seen a giant, petrified animal be used as a planet to house other lifeforms? Have you ever come face to face with an alien warlord who's older than the entirety of human civilization? Well, we have. And I'll personally assure you, right now, it's all real!"

Tamaki backed up a few paces, clearly intimidated by Kallen's challenging gaze, "...So he's basically like an alien version of the Britannian Emperor?" he asked uneasily.

"Worse. Much worse," Kallen corrected.

"Anyway, during Zarkon's 10,000-year reign, the Galra have conquered and destroyed countless planets and worlds." Zero explained as the star map came back into view, "One of them… was Allura and Coran's home planet, Altea."

Immediately, all of the Black Knights looked to the Alteans with a new layer of sympathy. After all, Britannia may not have physically destroyed their country and home, but in a manner of nationality, it might as well have been.

"And it's easy to see how he was able to as well," Suzaku added. "During one of our last missions, Kallen and I actually fought Zarkon, in our Lions," Ohgi's eyes widened immensely at this revelation, "and he was only armed with one handheld weapon." Suzaku made sure not to mention the weapon itself. "I don't think he was even wearing proper battle armor. Anyway, we fought him together, and I don't think we even managed to scratch him, but he alone was able to put both of our Lions out of commission for several hours afterward."

Some clips from both Aka and Yoru's fight flashed onto the screen next, and the Black Knights watched in shocked horror, as both Lions were practically thrown around like ragdolls.

During this, Rivalz leaned over to C.C. and whispered, "Um… should we tell them that Zarkon was the original Black Paladin too?"

"I think, for the time being, it's best to keep that under wraps for right now," the immortal whispered back.

"...So, how long until they get here?" Ohgi finally asked.

"That is hard to say, unfortunately," Allura admitted, with a slight frown, but her gaze was steely. "It could be tonight, tomorrow, or several decaphebes ("Years," Kallen translated) from now."

"It doesn't matter when Zarkon comes. What matters is that he will," Zero said with finality. "Which is why the Black Knights have a new goal, a new mission. This castle will serve as our home base; from here on out, the Black Knight's purpose is to prepare Earth's defenses for the Galra's inevitable arrival. This means that we must cripple and dismantle the Britannian Empire as soon as we possibly can. Not destroy it."

"Wait, hold on, what?!" Tamaki voiced the thoughts of most of the Black Knights present, as they all had matching looks of confused shock on their faces.

"We understand if you're concerned about this, and trust us; we don't blame you. Britannia has done horrible things to your country and people, but take a moment to think, please," Rai said calmly, holding his hands in a pacifying motion. "Out of all the nations on Earth right now, Britannia is by far the most advanced, technology-wise. If we're to have a chance when the Galra get here, we're going to need that to help us."

"Plus, as amazing as Voltron is, we're still beginners too!" Milly pointed out. "We've only been piloting the Lions for a couple of months, and we can still barely hold back one or two Galra fleets. If there were to be an entire invasion force, we would still struggle. Especially if Zarkon himself shows up."

"Not to mention that we can't stay on Earth forever," Rivalz piped up. "Our mission is to free the entire universe from Zarkon and his goonies. That's kinda hard to do when you're homebound to one planet…"

"Let me try to rephrase my statement," Zero said, seeing the lingering hesitation in the Black Knights. He clasped his hands behind his back, "Our mission isn't simply about repelling the Galra attacks. It's to make sure that Earth has the means to stand up among other advanced alien races, without becoming too reliant on Voltron in the process. But for that to happen, Earth must unite, not under the thumb of one empire, but under a government where all nations and people are treated as equals."

Ohgi's breathing hitched, and his eyes widened, understanding spreading over his face. "That means... also possibly changing Britannia, as opposed to just straight-up destroying it."

Zero nodded gravely, "Exactly."

"So, that's why you openly challenged the Emperor in that message!" Inoue exclaimed, realizing the same thing.

"Also true. Given the circumstances, I usually wouldn't be too lenient on a man like Charles zi Britannia. But as the old saying goes: 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' If it means standing up to a race as hostile as the Galra, I am willing to cooperate if he agrees to assist. Only if he agrees to assist."

"You really think he will?" Sugiyama asked curiously.

"If you want my personal opinion, no," Zero shook his head almost mockingly. "However, when put under pressure, people can surprise you. But, if he does foolishly decline my offer that I'm practically handing on a silver platter, I will fight him. As will the rest of these Paladins!"

All of the Paladins matched the determined grin that was hidden under Lelouch's mask. Even Suzaku had a slight curve of the lips. Suzaku admitted, he was quite surprised with what Lelouch said in his speech just now, about changing Britannia. However, he wasn't quite as naive anymore. He knew that if the Emperor did turn down this ultimatum, they would have to fight. Earth's survival depended on it, after all.

Most of the other Black Knights seemed to relax and nod, understanding their leader's intentions. Tamaki, however, was still scowling skeptically, and Minami had a nervous frown, likely more out of fear than distrust for Zero.

Noticing this, Allura took the time to speak up once more, "I understand if this development greatly concerns you still, and I personally understand wanting to do nothing but destroy the same monster that took your home. But this is the only way to ensure that your planet survives, along with its people. We will need to work as quickly and efficiently as possible. For all we know, Zarkon and his armies on their way here right now."

(Present)

"I'll be brutally honest with you Lelouch, I certainly wasn't expecting the people I met that made up these 'Black Knights,'" Allura confessed. "Most, if not all, seem highly undisciplined, and I'm not completely fond of that Tamaki character."

"True, they may not be the classic definition of soldiers, Princess, but as you said the other day, you should understand what they're going through. Their home has been forcibly taken, and they now must conform to the cruel ways of the empire that conquered them. Otherwise, they face dire consequences. The fact that they are attempting to rebel is a huge act of courage on their part alone," Lelouch then chuckled. "Besides, Tamaki's temper reminds me quite a bit of your own, Princess."

"I-What?!" the Princess exclaimed, cheeks colored and looking appalled. Suzaku started laughing as now that he thought about it, it was entirely accurate!

"Lelouch, did you-" Suzaku guffawed again, "I've never seen you make a joke about that. It totally suits you."

Lelouch smirked good-heartedly, and once Allura grasped the joke, she actually giggled a little as well.

"Despite their… flaws, however," Allura said, after composing herself, "I do see that they have the drive to be Defenders of the Universe themselves, whether they are Paladins or not."

"That's good to hear," Lelouch nodded with a smile. He expected as such. If the Black Knights thought it would be smooth sailing for them from now on, they were in for a rude awakening.

"Now, I think it's time to find Nunnally," Lelouch said, a determined frown on his face as he started to walk towards his seat on the bridge.

Before he could get to his seat, however, a beeping sound blared throughout the bridge. Startled, but curious about who was trying to hail them, she pulled up the bridge's monitors.

"Someone from your planet just sent us a message," Allura informed them.

"Really? Who?" Suzaku asked. Lelouch looked on curiously too.

"It doesn't say, but I'll play the message."

What they received though wasn't words, but what sounded like satellite interference and a strange combination of beeping sounds.

"...Perhaps the castle accidentally scrambled it," Allura said with a frown, "we can have Rai look at it later."

"Wait! Play over again, a little slower," Suzaku said.

"What? Why?"

"Please, Princess, I want to check something."

Though she still looked perplexed, Allura did so. Hearing it slower the second time through, Lelouch realized what Suzaku was getting at.

"It wasn't scrambled, it is a message," Lelouch practically leaped into his seat and asked for the recording to be played again. As it was, Lelouch's own screen expanded in front of them as he typed in the message.

"I do not understand," Allura said, "how are this static supposed to be a message?"

"Not the static itself, it's the beeping pattern we hear in it. It's called Morse Code," Suzaku explained. "It's pretty old-fashioned, but the military will still use it from time to time to communicate information since not many people outside militia know how to read it. Plus, sometimes, the message itself can be coded in a way that only some people will know what it means."

"Well, I don't see anything cryptic about this," Lelouch said as he typed in the last number.

On the screen in front of them were three words.

Voltron. Zero. Kyoto.

A set of numbers followed the words, which Lelouch recognized as longitude and latitude coordinates.

"Kyoto? What's Kyoto?" Allura asked after reading the message.

"Um… how do we explain this?" Suzaku muttered. "Their full name is the Six Houses of Kyoto, and it's made up of about six members who own large industries throughout Japan. They were once some of the main advisors to my father."

"When Britannia came though, they cooperated with the colonial rulers, so they became an Eleven governing body to help govern the Elevens," Lelouch continued. "But in reality, from what I understand, they're actually a group of double agents. Though they officially still answer to Britannia, they secretly support resistance groups all over Japan. And it seems that they wish to meet with us."

"Well, this is a good thing, isn't it?" Allura asked.

"I want to think it is. They want Japan free just as much as any rebel, and they probably see Voltron as a chance to do so finally."

"So, we're going to go?" Suzaku asked.

"Hmmm… they may not be too happy to see you Suzaku," Lelouch decided, "I'll take Kallen, Ohgi, and another Black Knight with me. Rai can fly us down to the meeting point in Zerith. Then he can hover from above and track our path to the meeting point, and provide an escape route in case things go south."

"Are sure that's all you'll need?" Suzaku asked.

"No," Lelouch smirked slightly, "I have another plan. And Coran is a key part of it."

"Huh?" Allura blinked. What in the world did Lelouch have in mind this time?

o~o

Red and violet energy continued to crackle back on the Galran HQ. Zarkon was particularly eager that quintant to locate the Paladins. Had that rogue Galra not interfered, they would have almost been victorious.

Once again, Zarkon felt the sense of rushing wind pass him as he dove deeply through the astral plane of the cosmos, his black Geass flaring in his eyes.

Suddenly he stumbled. It was as if his astral self had slammed headfirst into a thick metal wall. The druid's energy flashed out upon this impact, and Zarkon collapsed to his knees.

"Sire, what's wrong?" Haggar asked in apprehension.

Zarkon ignored the inquiry and stood back up, "Again!"

"But my Lord-"

"AGAIN!" Zarkon roared, silencing the druid that had spoken up.

More hesitantly this time, the druids threw their magic at the Emperor. Once again, though, as Zarkon cast out his astral range, he ran into the same wall, and no matter how hard he pushed, he couldn't get through.

When the Emperor stumbled again, Haggar raised a confused eyebrow. Through the tiny threads of her spell, she had also felt the impact. But what could possibly have stopped her lord's search? The new Black Paladin's bond with the Lion was still weak; there was no way he discovered what they were doing and built up his own defense in such a short amount of time.

"Sire, if I may…?" Haggar asked cautiously, approaching the Emperor on the platform.

Zarkon grunted and narrowed his eyes, but allowed Haggar to place her hand on his head.

Closing her eyes, Haggar tracked the same path her lord took to find the Lion. When she came across the wall, she pushed against it herself. She hummed curiously, waving a spell along the wall. The energy it emitted felt familiar.

Then she remembered. It was nearly identical to the energy she felt from that Earthling woman they had captured with the Princess, as well as the smaller waves she had sensed from Zero, and even the Champion.

However, there was a slight difference to it, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it. She scowled thoughtfully.

"My lord," she bowed after removing her hand, "I ask that you permit me to investigate this anomaly, personally. Though there aren't exact coordinates, the star system they've traveled to should suffice. I will find what is causing this disruption and eliminate it myself, allowing you to track Voltron once more."

Zarkon hummed, an annoyed scowl on his lips. He didn't like the idea of sending his closest advisor to the location alone. Not that he doubted the druid's abilities, but it irked him that he couldn't do it himself.

"Very well. Take one of the western fleets to accompany you," the Galra finally said.

"Pardon my objection, my lord," Haggar argued, "but I believe this mission will require stealth. I will investigate it. Alone."

o~o

"...I'm impressed," C.C. scowled as she sat back, relaxing in one of the lounges, "I didn't expect your range to carry out this far… Apologies for being rude, but as the kids say nowadays, that's none of your business."

On the other end of the couch, the four mice were lying lazily and enjoying the quiet of the room. Chuchule, however, perked up when she heard C.C. talking. Tilting her head in confusion, she wondered who the woman was talking to. Other than her and her brothers, they were the only ones there.

"If you're so curious to know, he's perfectly fine. Even off the planet, I don't make a habit of intentionally endangering my contractors… What does that have to do with anything?"

As C.C. continued to speak, the other mice soon were roused from their slumber to glance curiously at the woman as well. Platt scratched his head, plainly confused.

"Well, who said you were in charge of that? Last I checked, I'm the one that decides that. Not you… How many times must I spell it out for you? I'm not coming back! You can throw all the tantrums you want, my answer will remain the same."

After another pause, the mice saw C.C. smirk, "Heh, good luck with that. Just a fair warning, your little project is about to be torn to shreds, and I will do everything I can to ensure that happens."

With that final declaration, C.C. abruptly stood. She then noticed the mice watching her curiously.

She shook her head with a tired sigh, "Just be glad you don't have a bitch in your little heads." She then walked briskly out of the lounge.

All the mice could do was look at one another in confusion, concerned squeaks sounding among them.

"Now then," C.C. smirked as she snuck to the launch bay, "on to more... important business."

o~o

"This is taking too long. When will we get there?" Tamaki grumbled as they sat in the back of a car.

The coordinates that Suzaku and Lelouch found had brought to the outskirts of one of the many ghettos. Rai dropped off Zero, Kallen (in her Paladin armor), Ohgi, and Tamaki in Zerith, invisible, and then took off into the atmosphere to await further instructions. The car to take them to Kyoto arrived about fifteen minutes later, and the four entered the car quickly to avoid being seen.

When the Black Knights heard that Kyoto had sent the Castle of Lions a message, they were excited. Kyoto backed up all of the main resistance groups in Japan. The fact that they wanted to talk to them was huge news.

"Ugh, could you chill out, you're embarrassing," Kallen sighed. Kallen was surprised when she heard Lelouch tell her to come in her Paladin armor. She understood that Lelouch wanted to introduce the Paladins to Kyoto, and this was likely the least violent way of doing it. She hoped that she made a good impression.

Suddenly the car jolted, and the party felt as if the car was moving up rather than forward.

"What the hell?" Tamaki grunted.

The car was taken up by a massive elevator that was seemingly built into the ground.

"We're going up?" Kallen wondered.

The elevator stopped, and when the door opened, the car jolted forward again towards its destination. The car soon came to a stop, and the passenger door opened, the driver escorting the quartet out.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," the man stated, allowing Zero and the Black Knights to exit the car. "The master is waiting for you."

What they saw took their breath away. Tamaki, eyes wide in shock and awe, ran over and looked out the window, seeing the Britannian Settlement far off in the distance.

"Wait, this is... the Fuji mines?" Ohgi asked, sounding shocked.

"That is not possible!" Tamaki exclaimed, hands on the window, seeing the solar panels and metal workings outside. "There's no way we could be here!"

"It has to be!" Kallen said, "It has to be Mt. Fuji. There's only one mountain like this in Japan!"

"So, that means the Sakuradite is right below us?" Tamaki asked. "The damn treasure that started this whole war! You know what they do to intruders here? Execute them!"

"Their power reaches all the way out here? The Kyoto group is amazing!" Ohgi gasped.

"It's repulsive," an elderly tone sounded from behind them as the windows went dark. Turning around, the group finally noticed two veiled seats at the other end of the room. On either side were men dressed professionally, wielding guns. "Mount Fuji. A sacred mountain once known for its clear water and quiet beauty. Now it is bent to the Empire's will. A place of hideous violation. A reflection of what Japan has become. It pains me so…"

As the group turned to fully face the two figures, he continued, "Zero, you seem to have caused quite the uproar as of late. We've never encountered such a thing as this 'Volton' you presented two days ago."

The man paused as if expecting for Zero to reply, but the masked Paladin remained silent.

"...We apologize for not showing our faces, but Zero, your face is hidden as well," he continued. "Unfortunately, we can not allow this. To trust you, we must know who you are. Therefore, you will show us your face!"

With this proclamation, the man seated on the right chair raised his cane he had been holding, turning it outward. At the gesture, three Burais and another Knightmare, the one they recognized as the Guren Mrk II rolled in from the shadows, rifles raised and ready to fire.

"Wait! Please!" Kallen exclaimed, stepping forward and throwing her arms out in front of the Black Paladin, "Zero has given us the opportunity for victory with Voltron! That alone should-"

"Silence!" the man barked, cutting Kallen off, "Now, which of you is Ohgi?"

Said Black Knight straightened, "That's me!"

"You will remove Zero's mask."

Ohgi gasped slightly, looking at the masked rebel. He then swallowed and walked as calmly as possible towards Zero.

Kallen looked nervous, but she didn't move to stop her fellow Black Knight.

"I'm sorry, Zero," Ohgi said, "but we need a reason to put our faith in you too," he reached to the sides of Zero's mask. "So help us to put our trust in you."

Zero's mask was slowly lifted to reveal the face underneath. Everyone, except for Kallen, gasped.

"Wait-you're!" Tamaki sputtered as Coran's Altean features came into view.

"What?! No! You're not Zero!" Ohgi exclaimed in shock.

"You're right, Ohgi, this isn't Zero," Kallen said calmly, before turning to the two veiled individuals, "This is one of the Alteans. His name is Coran."

"...Is this true? You're one of these extraterrestrials we've been hearing rumors about?" the man asked, tone laced with surprise and disbelief.

"That's correct," Coran greeted quite cheerfully, before bowing deeply in respect, "Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe at your service. And it is a pleasure to meet you as well… Lord Taizo Kirihara and Lady Kaguya Sumeragi."

The second that Coran gave their names, the two guards tensed and reached for their weapons.

"Anyone who can identify them must die!" one of the guards exclaimed.

"Especially someone who isn't Japanese!" the other shouted.

"Hey, hey! Wait a second!" Tamaki shouted in panic as Kallen and Ohgi tensed, preparing to be shot down.

Before any triggers could be pulled, from Knightmares or otherwise, the roof above the humans suddenly gave in with a crash. With a deafening roar, the Black Lion itself landed directly in front of the two Kyoto chairs. The guards and the Knightmares all wavered in fear. They knew from Narita's footage that no weapons they had were going to so much as dent the beast.

"You're soft, and your methods and thinking are outdated!" Zero's voice rang through the room as the Black Lion lowered her jaw to the floor, allowing the masked leader to walk out. "That is why you'll never win!"

'And my theory before was correct,' Lelouch added with a smirk. Despite the dramatic entrance, Lelouch had wanted to test something with the Lions themselves. Zerith he could understand with her invisibility, but he wanted to see if any Britannian satellites would pick up the Black Lion's signal. None did. Not only were they the most advanced weapons they had, but against Britannia, they were practically undetectable.

"Taizo Kirihara, founder of Kirihara Industries which has a monopoly on Sakuradite mining, formerly a key backer for the Kururugi regime," Zero said calmly as he walked up to the two leaders. "However, when Japan fell, you dodged the tribunal by collaborating with the colonial rulers — commonly known as Kirihara, the Traitor. In reality, you, as well as Lady Kaguya, are two of the leaders of the Six Houses of Kyoto who support resistance groups throughout Japan. Double agents, how cliché."

"Show some respect, you swine!" one of the guards shouted.

"Stop, please!" the person, a child really, exclaimed from the other veiled chair.

Lelouch chuckled, "It is as you guessed, though. I am not Japanese."

The Black Knights all gasped at this, though Kallen more out of the fact that Lelouch actually admitted it.

"In fact, only two of the Paladins of Voltron are so," he continued. This resulted in another round of shocked noises from everyone but the Black Knights behind them.

"...If you, and the majority of your party, aren't Japanese," Kirihara responded slowly, "why are you fighting for Japan? What is it that you want? "

"Let's just say that Japan's liberation is essential for what is to come. If action isn't taken soon, not only Japan, but our entire world is at stake." Zero then seemed to sigh in relief as he reached for his helmet, slowly removing it, "I'm glad it is the two of you I am dealing with."

Once Zero's mask was removed, Kirihara's eyes widened, and Kaguya audibly gasped.

The Black Knights were also quite shocked to see that Zero removed his mask.

"What's going on? I can't see him!" Tamaki complained.

"Hold it!" Kallen ordered sternly, shooting Tamaki a stern look. Kallen knew that this was the make it or break it point for them. If Kyoto refused to support them, it would make liberating Japan much more difficult.

However….

"Kehehehehehe..."

Everyone looked at Kirihara, who had begun to chuckle. It soon turned into a full-blown laugh.

"Hahahahah! I see how it is now! So, the flower from eight years ago has bloomed at last?" the old man cackled.

"Indeed it has, Lord Kirihara," Lelouch couldn't help but smirk, amused.

The guards, upon seeing Kirihara's reaction, immediately relaxed and lowered their guns, which they had raised when Lelouch removed his helmet and stood back. As soon as they did, however, Kaguya dashed out from the curtain and rammed into Lelouch, nearly knocking him down, wrapping her small arms around his waist.

Everyone's reactions were quite amusing, as well. Kallen developed a tick mark, Tamaki's jaw hit the floor, Ohgi took a step back, and Coran actually squawked in surprise.

"LELOUCH! Omigosh, to think that you were Zero! IknewitIknewitIknewit! And you've gotten taller!"

Lelouch chuckled despite himself. He had to admit; he missed the bubbly girl.

"It's been a long time, Lady Kaguya," he smiled, patting her head before turning to face the Black Knights.

Upon seeing his face, Tamaki's jaw practically hit the floor while Ohgi looked gob-smacked. Kallen looked surprised too, but more on the fact that Lelouch revealed his identity in this way. She was actually more surprised that Ohgi and Tamaki's reactions weren't more concerning.

Kirihara emerged as well, steadying himself on his cane as he walked toward them. The Black Knights immediately straighten themselves out, not wanting to show disrespect.

"Ohgi!" Kirihara exclaimed.

"Yes, sir!" Ohgi replied.

"This man before you is a true mortal enemy of Britannia! He hid his face from you for vital reasons. Should the enemy see it, they will target not only him but also those closest to him, the Black Knights included. That is why his face must remain hidden! I urge you to follow Zero. If you do, we shall supply you with medical aid, financial support, weaponry, and intelligence."

Everyone's eyes widened. The plan had worked. Kyoto was in on the fight. Tamaki began grinning like an idiot, Ohgi bowed forward respectfully along with Kallen while Coran sent Lelouch an approving smile.

"We thank you!" Ohgi said.

Kirihara then turned back to Lelouch, "So, have you decided to embark on the path of blood?"

Lelouch smirked back at the old man, "If it is what's before me, then so be it. However, time is short. I also bring a message that must be passed to the other leaders of Kyoto at once."

Hearing the seriousness of his tone, Kaguya finally let go of Lelouch and gave him her full attention, Kirihara also gazing at him, waiting for him to continue.

"The Black Knights have already been informed of this coming threat, but it will mean little to nothing if we don't prepare. If we do not, not only is Japan in danger but possibly the rest of the world as well."

"Go on…" Kirihara attentively.

"It's something that we, myself and the Paladins, discovered not too long ago. Shortly after the Blue Lion was spotted leaving Earth's atmosphere. It was another alien race. A race known as well the Galra."

Lelouch went on to explain a summarized version of the events that happened since they had left Earth, not too different from when the Black Knights were briefed. By the time he finished, Kirihara's expression had become grave, and Lady Kaguya looked genuinely concerned.

"And this Voltron is the only thing that can stop this race from reaching Earth?" Kirihara asked.

"As of right now, yes. However, the question isn't if the Galra will come, but when. Time is short, and although Voltron is a powerful weapon, without all of Earth's cooperation, it's unlikely the human race will be victorious."

"Very well. I will gather the rest of Kyoto to discuss this matter."

"I thank you, Lord Kirihara," Lelouch bowed before reattaching his helmet and walking back to the Black Knights.

"Hey um, Zero, I mean, Lelouch, or whatever, why didn't you tell us who you were back at the Castle? Why have Coran parade around as you?" Tamaki suddenly asked.

Despite the unfortunate timing of the question, Lelouch snorted and shrugged, "To be honest, I just wanted to mess with you."

Kallen couldn't stop the giggles that escaped her, and Ohgi had to cough to cover his own snicker.

'Guess Zero is human after all,' he thought as he shook his head fondly.

"Plus, Coran wanted to try the cape on," Lelouch added, pointing to the Altean in question. In reply, Coran swept the cape in front of him and then posed dramatically, causing another round of laughter from the small group.

A hissing sound from behind them stopped the Lelouch and the Black Knights from leaving just yet. Turning around, Lelouch's eyes widened and felt like an ice cube was sliding down his back slowly as Sayoko emerged from the Gurne Mrk II and landed gracefully on the floor in front of them. Unlike her maid outfit, though, the ninja donning a magenta suit that was zipped up to her neck with light blue armored plating.

"It is good to see you once more, Master," Sayoko greeted, bowing deeply to Lelouch.

Lelouch stood frozen, his heart rate accelerating, and eyes filling with dread.

"Sayoko, where's Nunnally?"

o~o

Zerith came in fast as she and Zen returned to the Castle of Lions. Upon landing, the group disembarked and were met with the rest of the Paladins and Black Knights that stayed behind on the castle.

Along with Rai and the other Black Knights that accompanied Lelouch, everyone was quite surprised to see Lady Kaguya practically skip down Zerith's ramp. Upon seeing her, Suzaku, in particular, was surprised. It had been years since he had last seen his cousin, and she had grown a lot. If his memory was correct, the last time he saw her, much less had contact with Kaguya, was before Japan was conquered.

"Suzaku!" Kaguya gasped upon spotting him and soon barrelled into him, knocking him off his feet. Shirley, Rivalz, and Milly looked on in surprise, "Lelouch said you'd be here! It's so good to see you!"

"It-It's good to see you too, Kaguya!" Suzaku stuttered and smiled as he got back to his feet.

"Wait, Suzaku, who's this?" Rivalz asked, glancing warily at the young girl.

"Oh! This is Kaguya Sumeragi; she's one of the heads of Kyoto. And she's also my cousin."

"It's so nice to meet all of you!" Kaguya chirped, turning to the rest of the group.

"Lady Kaguya agreed to stay in the castle as Kyoto's representative," Ohgi quickly explained.

"Oh! Well, it's nice to meet you too, Kaguya," Milly said with a smile, bowing slightly in Japanese custom. "I'm Milly Ashford, and this is Rivalz Cardemonde and Shirley Fenette."

"Pleased to meet you!" Kaguya greeted with a smile.

Rivalz greeted with a smile, and Shirley giggled at how bubbly the girl was. She then turned back to Rai, only to see the distressed and disturbed look on his face.

"Rai, what's wrong?" she asked.

The Green Paladin swallowed and turned to face everyone, "Lelouch said to meet on the bridge. Immediately."

Everyone suddenly stood at attention, seeing the shine of fear in the Paladin's eyes. Something else had happened when they were on Earth. But what?

"Hey! And where the hell is C.C?!" Kallen suddenly asked, looking around with a frown.

She got her answer when one of the Castle's pods suddenly flew in and landed right next to Zerith. As the top of the pod opened, C.C.'s face showed itself… and next to her, and stacked up high in the back, were several dozen boxes of Pizza Hut pizza. Plain cheese from the aroma that wafted out. In the immortal's arms, was a large yellow, cheese character plushy.

Seeing the looks of disbelief, and even mortification, on the rest of the party, C.C. glanced around at them, clearly confused.

"What?"

o~o

Lelouch, Allura, Sayoko, and Coran were already on the bridge, waiting for everyone to arrive. As they turned to face everyone, Allura spotted Kaguya.

"Who's this?" Allura asked curiously, but with a layer of seriousness.

"This is Kaguya; we'll explain why she's here later. What's going on?" Suzaku asked urgently.

Lelouch scowled and clenched his fists, not answering as he turned to the bridge's main controls. He pulled up a large screen, and on it was the Britannian news broadcast from Earth.

"This is live," Lelouch murmured as he turned the volume up. On the broadcast, they saw that it was being filmed from Pendragon, Britannia's capital. And standing up front, in all his glory, was Charles zi Britannia himself, a massive scowl on his face.

"The world lies. Thou shalt not commit murder. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Thou shalt not cheat. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife. All of these are lies. Mere illusion. Nothing more."

As the crew gazed up at the image of the Emperor, Coran couldn't help but gulp, feeling slightly intimidated, Shirley sharing a similar expression on her face. Everyone else, though, including Suzaku, was glaring up at the Emperor.

Lelouch, in particular, was clenching his fists and gnashing his teeth as he burned holes into the face of the monster that he called his father.

Allura also felt her own rage bubbling up inside her. True, she had seen the Emperor in Lelouch's memory he had shown them on Arus, but seeing the man currently only cemented her hatred towards him. She could see that this man didn't have a lick of good in him, and was genuinely stunned to realize that Lelouch was related to him. If anyone else, but Lelouch, had told her that, she would've laughed and brushed it off as a ridiculous joke. But no, there was nothing funny about this now. That was, indeed, Lelouch's father.

o~o

The broadcast was being shown all over Area 11. Every television and radio station was playing the words of the Emperor.

From the Viceroy's palace, Cornelia, Euphemia, and Nonette sat together in the throne room as they watched and listened to the Emperor's remarks.

"They don't want to be killed. They don't want to be robbed. Using the twin lies of justice and morality. The weak are endeavoring to protect themselves."

It was even being played in the military hospital, where Villetta and Jeremiah were recovering from Narita's defeat. Jeremiah had several bandages wrapped around his head and upper body, while Villetta had some gauze on her cheek and her left arm in a sling.

"But the first truth there is that the strong devour the weak. So let us feed upon people, upon wealth, upon riches and power. We of Britannia shall feast upon the raw flesh of the world itself. As well as upon this fiend that calls itself Voltron! No matter what stands in our way, we will crush this deception and bring forth the truth!"

o~o

"Zero! You asked for my reply, and now I give it to you!"

Lelouch straightened and observed the screen, knowing his father was now talking directly to him.

"The future of Earth will be decided by our beloved Britannia and her alone! Not by this abomination known as Voltron!"

Though he didn't say it directly, the Emperor's response was unequivocal. He was refusing to cooperate, and would rather fight Voltron rather than work with it. Even if it meant the death of millions.

As Allura's fists clenched in rage, Suzaku felt the dwindling hope that the Emperor would see reason spiral down the drain. That was it, then. They had given the Emperor fair warning. Now it was time to fight.

"All of Britannia backs this decision. Especially those of the royal family."

The screen suddenly shifted, moving away from the Emperor. When it came to a stop, there was a collective gasp throughout the bridge.

In front of them, sitting in a wheelchair, facing the camera, wearing a fashionable dress with a pink color scheme, was Nunnally vi Britannia. Standing off to her left, with a neutral expression, was none other than the Prime Minister of Britannia, Schneizel el Britannia.

"Oh no…" Milly murmured, hands covering her mouth, though her statement voiced what everyone was thinking at that moment.

"Zero, this is Nunnally vi Britannia..."

o~o

"...I speak on behalf of the people of Britannia. Please, surrender peacefully, and I am sure that we can cooperate to bring a brighter future."

"Nunnally…" Cornelia gasped as she leaped from her throne in shock.

"She's alive!" Nonette added.

Euphemia was at a loss for words. If Nunnally was alive, and with their brother apparently, why hadn't he alerted them immediately?!

o~o

"Princess…" Jeremiah murmured, eyes wide. He couldn't pull his gaze away from the girl whose mother he had failed to protect all those years ago.

"Also, to those of you who are holding my brother and his friends captive, please let them go. By holding them, you are only causing more suffering to others. And Lelouch…"

o~o

Lelouch barely kept himself standing upright as his sister began to address him directly.

"...if by some miracle you hear this as well, please come home safely," Nunnally choked as tears trailed down her face before gasping out her last words, "I love you."

The video cut back to the cruel face of the Emperor as, to Lelouch's rage, a satisfied smirk flashed across Charles's face before he spoke again.

"Zero, consider this your only and final warning. This Voltron will submit and bow to Britannia, or else it will be your forces that will be decimated. All Hail Britannia!"

As the Emperor threw his fist in the air, the crowd watching the speech live shouted back in unison.

"All Hail Britannia! All Hail Britannia!"

The screen soon turned dark as the broadcast ended.

"Well… this isn't good," Rivalz finally said after several seconds of silence.

"Oh, ya think?!" Kallen snarked, shooting Rivalz a side glare.

Princess Allura, in all of her life, had never thought that she would meet another person that she would hate as much, if not even more so, than Zarkon. But the man that she had just watched address his nation just proved her wrong. Not only was it clear that he cared very little of what became of his subjects, but to use his own disabled child in such a way was beyond cruel as well. She swore that if she ever had the displeasure of meeting him face to face, he would receive no mercy from her. She was sure that if Alfor was still with them, he would be sharing very similar thoughts.

"Lelouch…" Suzaku addressed cautiously, his voice drawing everyone's attention to the Black Paladin. The expression on Lelouch's face was one that Suzaku had only seen one other time before.

The day that an eight-year-old Lelouch swore his vengeance on Britannia.

There was nothing but unadulterated rage on Lelouch's face, his hands were clenched so tightly, that if it weren't for the gloves he had on, they might actually be bleeding.

However, there was also a small glimmer of another emotion on Lelouch's face. One that only a select few had seen before.

Pure terror.

[bellnini-blog]

Move on #2

I was part of them yesterday, yesterday before yesterday, and every day before yesterday.

I witnessed myself walking on the way back home every day.

From a university student to a white-collar worker, every day I blend in the homecoming crowd.

(cr: vurtual)

“Yes, I’m coming home.”

A 24-year-old me stood at the crossroads, answering the phone.

Saying that ‘I’m coming home’ was a certain degree lie for some reason. I just found it was impossible to adjust my pace to the same speed as usual and calmly face the direction of the home even if it was equal to nothing more than a common meal for me.

From that time on, subtle pains piled up like gravel that covered unmanned trail gradually. I set up a new beginning in each morning with my hope of heart, and in the evening of twilight, I noticed the tiny dust that came back again, lingering day after day.

My heart might eventually grow a desert. I don’t know when the heel of yellow sands fell in every oasis that yearned for happiness. In the long years of age, successive greens are gradually submerged under the ridiculous absurd scene of this no man’s land, which supplanted the host to become the main one, even the solemn and hopeful process of intaking air into my lung at every beginning of the day could never escape.

I dragged my steps to the station and chose the window-by-window position in the carriage, watching everything out there dyed with the colour of the setting sun. 

(cr: flowartstation)

The music in the headphones made me ignore all the sounds, whatever female voice of stop announcement, ringtones of the passengers, or chats of people. I ignored everything. While on the other side I had no way to ignore the voice in my mind, repeating the stupid things I did before today’s sun fell, as well as ‘rewards’ of that stupid thing - ridicule, loud noise, even a few words that my friend said as comfort but wasn’t in fact.

This sound is amplified, enlarged, so large that I couldn’t tell what the uninterrupted music in my headphones was actually singing about.

I unavailingly thought of the hope that I would always hold in my hands every morning, and it was like a bubble that eclipsed together with last rays of the setting sun. That hope built for my mom, for my little family, for the small balcony of mine, for night stars, for the hope of continuing small happiness, left by poor and abominable totter.

But I know that the next morning, this hope would wobble back to my hands. I would hold it tight, then experienced the bubble again and again, while still trying hard to treat the bubble as a straw without weight.

When I got off the bus, I didn't even have a sunset.  Stars hung up in the dark blue sky.

I saw the balcony of my home. I used to sit there a few years ago and spent a whole night looking for stars, or just felt blowing the wind, even in the winter.

Busy work made me forget this balcony. Trees that always block my sight were covered with autumn special golden-red colour, bespreading sidewalks and lawns. And my balcony, my wooden table and chairs, stayed quietly but spotlessly. Fallen leaves were cleaned and piled up in the corner, and my mother was helping me to take care of this place I had loved.

My mother was taking care of our home, a sweet and warm home, regardless of spring, summer, autumn and winter, rain and frost. All of them were safe and sound.

Now I was really coming home.

AKMU – Way Back Home (집에 돌아오는 길) Lyrics

(retrieved from: https://ilyricsbuzz.com/akmu-way-back-home/)

The bus driver’s indifferent eyes The never-ending stairs, I’m walking while staring at the ground Until the jammed up highway clears up I’m looking at the colour of the sky In order to hide my regret The sunset is glowing red

After the day ends, a sigh comes out The hope I borrowed in the morning gets returned again However it ended up, like this, like that I look at the sun that has fallen back Then I estimate the distance to going back home My day was used up by the work I had to do Not enough time to start something new So I tie up my worn out shoes And I’m going towards the dream of my family Putting my earphones in Turn the music on

The streetlights create lines on the walls Past the streets that pinch me Kicking a lone stone with my feet It goes ahead and I follow it Then I smell a familiar scent and hear a familiar sound Ever since I left, it was the same The dog from the house in front barks And the blue and bruised front door creaks

The night air that drenches me is damp I’m silently walking on the endless road I’m walking until I run out of breath If I feel like giving up, I take a break and sit I think, what you have been doing for Work that was so hard up until a moment ago I’ll forget about it once today passes I wanna get under the covers and fall asleep with time I wanna fall asleep with time

Bending my back to climb the hill From far away, I smell the stew cooking Some places there’s silence, some places there’s laughter My clothes are all disheveled

Everyone’s waiting for the green light Like everyone gathering around the red light I’m waiting for happiness While all these little complaints are welled up inside I’m waiting for happiness While all these little complaints are welled up inside

The streetlights create lines on the walls Past the streets that pinch me Kicking a lone stone with my feet It goes ahead and I follow it Then I smell a familiar scent and hear a familiar sound Ever since I left, it was the same The dog from the house in front barks And the blue and bruised front door creaks

The streetlights create lines on the walls Past the streets that pinch me I’m drawing the faces of my family On the dark moon in the night sky Then I smell a familiar scent and hear a familiar sound Like today’s breakfast that I met with a half-asleep face The white heat waves in front of me look tired

[rosesisupposes]

Destined, part 18

aka Dante’s Inferno

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: one-sided Loceit

Chapter Warnings: TW FOR ABUSE and child abuse, Villainous Deceit, Sympathetic-ish Deceit, cigarettes/smoking

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice   @fellowthomassandersfander @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 17 | Masterlist | Chapter 19>>

read on ao3

Everything was working out according to plan.

Dante had been nervous that the Sage would follow him, or try to interfere, but he hadn’t even sensed him again since his divining. At least the man’s ridiculous notion of giving up on magic was good for something.

Dante had been so hopeful - him, of all people, hopeful - that a Sage of all beings would understand. He’d barely believed his luck when he’d run into the ancient being five days ago. With intense focus and a complete sacrifice of his human form, he’d been able to vaguely sense the presence of something non-human and magical in the city. He wished it could be have been another sorcerer or sorceress from the old days - Mordred maybe, or Morgan Le Fay, if he was dreaming big anyway. He would have been satisfied with a sprite. The ones who’d moved out of their now-hidden communities probably had a high enough level of bitterness for him to exploit, and he knew all too well what a single sprite could do if they put their mind to it.

But then, he had just walked into him, this unassuming young man in a dark sweatshirt with bangs falling in his face, and he’d felt and seen it immediately. The flow of active magic. The sudden white glow in the man’s startled eyes. The familiar echos of ancient times. He’d only ever felt such a strong sense of eternity once- when he’d sought his destiny at Zephyr’s grotto. As he’d watched the man stammer, turn several shades of red, and practically sprint away from him, he knew he absolutely needed to find him again, no matter how many days it took.

Dante leaned back, sighing, as he dragged on his cigarette. The burning sensation in his mouth and throat centered him, gave him focus. It was the closest he could get to swallowing fire. The side effects of his downfall-by-fire-sprite were varied and incomprehensible at times, but this was definitely the strangest one. Smoking was comforting, the flow of carcinogens into his lungs calming. It dampened what hunger he still felt, dulled the pain of constant shape-shifting, and cooled his ever-present rage at the injustice that was the steady disappearance of magic. Was he even susceptible to disease or degradation in this form? He doubted it. He’d been alive since 1473, a magic-scorched adder since 1505. If a physical illness could end him, it would have by now. When he had the energy, he could light the tiny death sticks with his fingers. When he didn’t, he had a tiny yellow lighter on his person at all times. Humanity didn’t do many things right, but at least they’d made breathing smoke easy.

Of all the wonders of the world, though. A Sage, a being who was infinitely knowledgeable and immortal because of magic who didn’t understand why Dante wanted to preserve it? To ensure magic’s proper place at the top of the world order? Dante ached for the old days, when he walked to the bottom of the ocean without a moment’s thought, and could lift himself to fly through the air if he really focused. He’d studied alchemy, transmutation, history, and learned to enhance and channel his natural power further. Yes, he’d had to scheme to be taken seriously, but he’d learned the ways of wizards and humans, how they’d jump and how they worked. He could be very charming when he wanted to, and he could seek information wherever it was found. He had felt so alive.

And he’d had Septimus. Brilliant, driven Septimus. Who had welcomed him into the hallowed halls of learning that worked on every other side to make him feel unwelcome. Who had brought him into his academic world with open arms and an open invitation to use his personal library whenever it could help him. Timus who had fought for him, whether it was letting him pursue his chosen research topics or sleeping in the dorms without being encased in a magical ward at all times. Timus who’d given him acceptance and free reign without a second thought, who treated both his ability and aptitude as a matter of course.

He’d been so disoriented when he’d first met the older sorcerer. For his entire life before university, he’d been treated as a mindless weapon who would hurt anyone and everyone around him if left unattended or uncontrolled. Even the wizards of the university wanted to lock him in a room that was little better than a cell in order to protect the other students. And why wouldn’t they? He was a sorcerer. He was a liability. Long nights shivering in his cold-blooded scales brought back the memories as easy as closing his eyes. The details had lost definition, but he remembered a young frustration, a failed chore, tears conjuring a rainstorm without needing deliberate thought. Warm, maternal hands turned cold and harsh as they left a stinging mark on his cheek. The tears hadn’t stopped, and the storm has grown sparks. Screams in his ear, shouts behind closed doors, and Dante had been carted off to an unfamiliar place.

A place with adults whose voices reverberated like thunder through the halls and through his skull. Foster home, it was called. Correctional facility would have been more accurate. His new ‘siblings’ were child wizards, sirens, half-dryads, fairy changelings. All magical beings. All lone survivors of lost colonies or other younglings abandoned by their families. Or more simply, if you asked those disciplinarians who ran the gray institute, freaks. Abominations. Mistakes to be corrected through whatever means necessary. The siren was dehydrated. The dryads were scorched. Wizards and witches were kept illiterate. But Dante was a rare case. They couldn’t throttle out the magic that begged to be channeled through his hands and fingers, not when it flowed all around him, twining around his shoulders like an affectionate cat, cradling his chin, caressing his chest. They couldn’t force him to have no magic. But they could and did punish every expression of it. Any object that moved without him touching it. Any unexpected weather in the sky. Any metallic glint that could have come from his eye or hand - all provided more than enough justification for isolation, starvation, and savage beatings from the owners of the facility. Even those ignorant humans had made the connection between emotion and magical flares, so expression of feelings, too, were punished. With each missed meal, each night spent in a noiseless room, each lash and scar there was an accompanying whisper. The magic was persistent. It urged him to defend himself, to shield his body from harm. To retaliate.

But the years taught him that no magic could keep him safer than a blank face. His expressionless mask slid into place when he watched another magic child be left at the iron gate. When his roommate was tied to a chair in direct sunlight to dry out her scales. When the owners lectured them all of the wrongness of their existence. The mask spoke, too, producing the words its listeners desired. The lies that kept him safe. He tried to teach the others, but none were able to maintain the deception, and put cracks in his own mask when they failed. Surviving the institute was every being for themselves. He didn’t have the luxury of friends. His magic kept him warm.

His anger at the injustice had been all that kept him sane, all that drove him to escape in his late teens and survive the journey to the university. And the mask traveled with him, prepared and ready for the headmaster’s skepticism and fear. Already in place when the scholars rebuffed his petitions to become an apprentice. And then suddenly, it wasn’t just cracking, it was dissolving, melted away by a warm hand on his shoulder, a word of genuine praise in his ear, a pair of deep blue eyes streaked with gold meeting his in perfect understanding. It was no outcast who took him in, no half-rate archivist taking pity on the disturbed little sorcerer. It was the prodigy, the star of magical academia, the one who never took an apprentice. It was Septimus.

Septimus who was long, long gone from this earth, where Dante still was, where Dante still remembered him and missed him. And regretted not saying goodbye. He’d seriously considered asking the older sorcerer to join him all those years ago. If he’d had Septimus the Azure at his side, maybe his plan would have succeeded. Or maybe he would have just cast him out in disgust. Timus was always too good for Dante, too patient, too willing to let indignation and frustration wash over and past him. He had an ability to just accept the world as it was that had never made any sense to the younger sorcerer. But despite that, or maybe because of it, he’d been Dante’s only friend in all his 500-plus years of existence.

And it was his own fault he’d lost that, all of it. He’d overreached himself, wanting to rule over all beings while preventing the loss of magical beings entirely. He’d been so caught up in the potential of the staff’s power that he didn’t address practical concerns, like warding an incredibly sensitive magical working of immense magnitude. This time around, he had a better focus. He merely wanted to bring back what once was. Once he found the magic beings still in existence, he would convince them to join forces. As they grew in number, they would attract ever more. They could convince those purely magical beings who had fled to the ether to return. If they asked or allowed him to rule, all well and good - what happened after was not his objective nor his particular concern. The real goal was to revive them.

Except, first, he needed to unite them by finding others. Any others. In his prime, he could sense magical beings from across continents. Not that he’d had a need, nor had they ever been so spread out. And his current magical reserves were still in shambles. When that sprite had ruined his plans (“turn to Flame,” what a joke), he’d been deep in a magical working, with all his power engaged. It was the only reason he was still alive, long after even a sorcerer’s normal lifespan should have ended. The backlash had indeed trapped him in serpentine form, as he’d told the Sage. But the years had only slowly recovered his magical ability, not actually healed his body. Stuck in this world of humans, he expended far more magic than he’d like to shapeshift himself into a human form. Losing his concentration or switching to another complex spell broke his ability to stay humanoid. At least he retained his memory, sanity, and ability, no matter how many miles he’d had to slither on his belly across this godforsaken earth.

Once he gathered the magic folk to him, the ambient magic in the world would increase from their density, and his personal reserves would replenish more easily. He just needed to find them, and convince them the old world was not lost, not entirely. He had a theory that the density of magical beings was what led to new ones being born. It was like a forest growing back after a wildfire - once the sturdy, fast-growing trees were in place, the trees who flourished in shade were able to grow at their own slow pace. From what magical arcana he remembered or was able to find in the modern world, particularly his research on Sages and their life-cycles, he felt confident in his theory.  And now, he finally knew just how he’d find the other magic folk: by using the innovations of this strange new world. Turns out, magic folk had slight genetic differences from humans, differences that, if you knew to look for them, could be spotted and traced, with the right technology. Thanks to some intrepid eavesdropping, Dante knew exactly whose research could act as a roadmap to a new - and dare he say - Golden age of the fantastical.

Dante adjusted his new leather gloves. The yellow was a bold choice, he would be the first to admit, but the color was nostalgic. Gloves meant one more part of his body he no longer had to expend so much effort to cover in fleshy human skin. And of course, there was his second Prophecy to think on. He’d risk no “inadvertent prints” now.

author notes:  I love my dark strange evil son Love to watch him scheme Love to watch him suffer [Thank you @Hela from the Powerless discord for encouraging the angst]

(if you didn’t read chapter 17 right before starting this one please go back and read the last line immediately before this chapter’s first line because it makes me very happy)

[96thdayofrage]

Bill Cosby Should Have Been Denounced by Black America Long Ago

The following article was authored by Glen Ford when he was editor of The Black Commentator .

Bill Cosby’s Confused Notions of ‘Responsibility’

The Black Commentator, June 3, 2004

Bill Cosby has some nerve talking about “personal responsibility.” On May 17, with no warning, the 67-year-old multimillionaire comedian ambushed three venerable Black organizations – the NAACP, the NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund, and Howard University – fatally disrupting a gala celebration of the 50th anniversary of the Brown desegregation decision. Cosby drew from the hip (or the lip) to spray the hall with generalized insults against people who weren’t even there: the Black poor who, he said, “are not holding up their end in this deal.”

Apparently, Cosby thinks he is one of the deal-makers, and that he’s been cheated. The mostly Black, tuxedoed attendees at Washington’s Constitution Hall, forced to bear witness to Cosby’s tirade, were also to blame “in this deal” since they had collectively failed to sufficiently call the “lower economic people” to account for their “personal responsibility” deficits.

Not once did it occur to ��Cos” that he owed his immediate and larger audience the benefit of a well-prepared presentation. Dr. Cosby saw no need to buttress his rant with a single reliable fact, nor to provide a coherent structure for his argument, so that reasonable people might arrive at some useful conclusions. Instead, he played the elderly “shock jock,” frothing and flailing away, spewing a sewer of abuse that, if directed against other ethnic groups, would be considered blood libels. (See a compilation of “Cosbyisms” at the end of this essay.)

The super-successful entertainer, famed for his practiced timing and flawless delivery, the evangelist of education – the discipline in which he received his Ph.D. – displayed an utter disrespect for his audience and for the august occasion of the anniversary. His extended outburst, presented without the evident benefit of even the most rudimentary preparation, was a gross violation of professional and personal discipline – an affront Cosby would never commit against a half-drunk nightclub crowd, much less the corporate and university audiences he regularly addresses. Yet he gave free rein to his inner demons in front of a throng of African Americans at Constitution Hall on the anniversary of Brown.

The irresponsible icon

Icons always have apologists; Cosby has a media-full. Black people who should be insulted, instead make excuses for Cosby’s shameful, impulsive, totally uninhibited behavior that, in a non-icon, would invite suspicions of substance abuse.

USA Today’s Black columnist DeWayne Wickham – normally a smart fellow – sugarcoats Cosby’s bile as “talking black” – as if Black discussions of public policy, including subjects as momentous as the Fate of the Race, are by definition devoid of substance, structure, precision or logic. A similar exculpatory current runs through most corporate newspaper columns penned by Black writers in the wake of the Cosby abomination.

Amazingly, the out-of-control, grotesquely self-indulgent comedian was roundly praised for his “courage” in confronting the supposed Black phobia against “airing dirty linen” in public, i.e., within hearing distance of whites. How perverse and ironic! Much of the Black talking classes forgive Cosby’s clear lack of a sense of “personal responsibility” and elementary decorum, precisely because to do otherwise would risk diminishing a Black icon – in front of white people! Better to let Cosby’s insults to African Americans, slide.

And since when was it an act of courage to badmouth poor Black people in America?

By simple standards of civility Cosby is guilty of an extreme lapse in “personal responsibility” by dint of his behavior to his audience and to the millions of people he slandered. More to the point, Cosby doesn’t know the meaning of the term – and neither do most of the Black chatterers who have been bandying it about.

Role Model mogul

What do the various political actors mean by “personal responsibility?” Certainly, we know that in the mouths of Republicans and their Black camp followers “personal responsibility” is a code for what people are told to exercise when the state refuses to see to the general welfare of its non-rich citizens. We know that song. But what does Cosby mean, and why are otherwise progressive Black writers and politicians bending over backwards to find ways to agree with him?

An enormous vacuity surrounds the Black discussion over Cosby’s remarks. People rush to say “yes” to a term, the definition of which is not necessarily shared or understood. Where does “personal responsibility” end and “social responsibility” begin? If a comedian turned demagogue can hector a substantial portion of a race of people to behave as he (vaguely) commands, then surely he is talking politics, not just giving advice to individuals. Cosby’s politics are in fact rooted on the conservative side of the Black spectrum – that is, when he is being coherent at all.

The Chicago Tribune’s Clarence Page recalls:

”Cosby was saying the same thing backstage when I interviewed him during my college days. It was 1968, but he didn't want to talk about black power, Black Panthers or cultural revolutions. He wanted to complain about why so many young blacks of my generation were wasting the great opportunities that hard-won civil rights victories had brought us. In those politically polarized times, I was disappointed by his traditionalist attitude. But I appreciate its wisdom today with new eyes, the eyes of a parent.”

Actually, Page appreciates Cosby with the “new” eyes of a highly paid corporate journalist who finds enough common ground with white conservatives to appear regularly on shows like The McLaughlin Group.

Thirty-two years later, Cosby was still urging young people on campus to be politically passive. At Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania in May, 2000, he warned students:

”Those of you going to grad school, listen to me carefully… I know you have an idea of how you want to make a change in the world. That is not what grad school is for. Do what they tell you to do and then when you graduate, do what you want to do. That is what grad school is for. If you're gonna argue with the professor you're going to not get a good grade, you're not going to graduate in grad school. Okay? So take your young idea, study what they want you to study, kick tail and then when you get your turn to write your dissertation then you tell it the way it ought to be told.

”It is not for you to stand up and argue… You get an A on all the tests and then, make your move.”

By that, Cosby meant, make your personal career move. Don’t dabble in campus politics, or challenge the orthodoxy of those in power at the institution. Shut up.

Because of men and women who shared Cosby’s worldview, many Black college campuses were relatively quiet during the Civil Rights Movement, a silence enforced by Black administrators who did not hesitate to expel students and fire faculty who sought any change whatsoever in the status quo, on or off campus. Later in the Sixties, Blacks on white college campuses tended to be significantly more activist than students at traditionally Black schools, largely because they were not smothered by a “tradition” hostile to mass Black political activity.

Cosby advocates a neutered Black politics of individual striving within the parameters that are allowed by those in power. He projects his own, self-invented persona as a “role model” for African Americans to follow as individuals, while rejecting collective action to alter power relationships. His message: Each of you people should do as I did. Cosby’s method is derived from a long line of accommodationist Negro leaders whose message was the equivalent of, “Eat your Jell-O.”

Ironically, the young Cosby did not follow traditionalist counsel. He dropped out of college to pursue the wildly perilous career of Black standup comedian in a largely segregated America. Had he failed as a comic – as the odds overwhelmingly dictated – without a good education he might not have been able to buy his mother a fine house far from the projects where he grew up. Luckily, Cosby the dropout didn’t listen to people like – Cosby.

Spurned, vengeful benefactor

Cosby bucked the odds, but never the system. His job was to become a Role Model for a Black presence within the existing order. Once that was accomplished, he added a make-believe family to the Model: the Huxtables. Writer Khalil Tian Shahyd “wasn’t surprised at all” at the tone of Cosby’s Constitution Hall remarks:

After all, for more than a decade he presented us every Thursday with what he thought the ideal African-American family should look like. That we should listen to jazz, and have people like BB King come into our home for dinner and invite us to sit front row at his shows. Take weekend trips by limo to the most expensive hotel in the city for dinner and pampering just to treat our partners to a day without the children. Live in a big house with not one neighbor of color, where our children shave their heads to appear in a skin head rock video and are sheltered from the real world of zero sum politics, gentrification, under-funded and abandoned school districts, swelling prison populations, racial profiling, economic marginalization, domestic abuse and all those specifically “poverty based social ills.”

In addition to making Cosby a lot richer, the TV show proved that a Black-cast show could hold white people’s attention in prime time for multiple seasons. This was considered a great victory. The ideal Black Role Model – Cosby himself, or the self he created – was now the entire nation’s Role Model for Black people. Heady stuff.

Role Model Politics is nearly as emotion-laden as cult-of-personality politics – and just as divorced from reality. The Role Model is, by definition, the template of righteousness and progress. Those who fail to follow the Role Model’s path are rejecting the Model’s persona. No wonder Cosby goes ballistic at poor Black people’s behavior – or what he imagines that behavior to be. He takes it personally. It’s as if “those people” are all playing the “dozens” at his expense. How else to explain the explosive vitriol of Cosby’s Constitution Hall performance?

However, Cosby’s inability to perceive that he is obligated as a matter of “personal responsibility” to atone for his blanket verbal assaults, is his personal problem. It is far more worrisome that so many Black opinion molders harbor similar attitudes towards politics and the poor. Cosby showed his ass, but the same ill winds are blowing through the spaces in lots of Black skulls in high places. Deep down, they value other Black people little, and trust them less. They would rather celebrate virtual social mobility (the “Huxtables”) than fight for the material resources that bring the possibility of dignity to millions. They see more virtue in a millionaire parting with a fraction of his money – although never enough to risk falling out of wealth – than in the selfless work of thousands of community organizers and activists who are motivated by a sense of both personal and social responsibility.

Dr. King and Malcolm X and Fred Hampton died in a social struggle to empower Black people. Cosby demonizes these same people, employing the enemy’s language, like some vengeful, spurned benefactor. Yet much of Black media pretend not to see the throbbing ugliness in their icon, thus calling into question their own fitness. In the face of a brazen assault on the human dignity of African Americans, they equivocate – or join in the mass lynching. Mimicking racists, they impose yet another burden on the already super-disadvantaged Black poor. As Paul Street wrote in the April 8 issue of :

”The harsh material and structural-racist reality of American society interacts with timeworn, victim-blaming ruling-class explanations of poverty to play an ugly game on the nation’s most truly disadvantaged. They are expected to magically leap beyond their social-historical circumstances – to exercise an inordinately high degree of sound personal responsibility just to keep their heads above water – while others are structurally empowered to “pass Go and collect $2 million” without such exercise, and indeed to deepen the well of black disadvantage.”

If huge numbers of Black people could be drawn together to figure out precisely how we have failed each other, that would be one helluva “social responsibility” conversation. But the Bill Cosbys of the community cannot be allowed to hog the microphone, just because they may have paid for it. As journalist-educator-lawyer-activist Lizz Brown says, “That doesn’t give him license.”

In truth, we can’t afford Bill Cosby anymore. He costs more than he gives.

Bill Cosbyisms

Cosby on the Black poor:

"Lower economic people are not holding up their end in this deal. These people are not parenting. They are buying things for kids – $500 sneakers for what? And won't spend $200 for 'Hooked on Phonics.' "

Cosby on Black youth culture:

"People putting their clothes on backwards: Isn't that a sign of something gone wrong? ... People with their hats on backwards, pants down around the crack, isn't that a sign of something, or are you waiting for Jesus to pull his pants up? Isn't it a sign of something when she has her dress all the way up to the crack and got all type of needles [piercings] going through her body? What part of Africa did this come from? Those people are not Africans; they don't know a damn thing about Africa."

Cosby on civil rights:

"Brown versus the Board of Education is no longer the white person's problem. We have got to take the neighborhood back. We have to go in there – forget about telling your child to go into the Peace Corps – it is right around the corner. They are standing on the corner and they can't speak English."

Cosby on literacy:

"Basketball players – multimillionaires – can't write a paragraph. Football players – multimillionaires – can't read. Yes, multimillionaires. Well, Brown versus Board of Education: Where are we today? They paved the way, but what did we do with it? That white man, he's laughing. He's got to be laughing: 50 percent drop out, the rest of them are in prison."

Cosby on poor Black women:

"Five, six children – same woman – eight, 10 different husbands or whatever. Pretty soon you are going to have DNA cards to tell who you are making love to. You don't know who this is. It might be your grandmother. I am telling you, they're young enough! Hey, you have a baby when you are 12; your baby turns 13 and has a baby. How old are you? Huh? Grandmother! By the time you are 12 you can have sex with your grandmother, you keep those numbers coming. I'm just predicting."

Cosby on the sons and daughters of poor, Black, unmarried mothers:

"…with names like Shaniqua, Taliqua and Mohammed [!] and all of that crap, and all of them are in jail.

Cosby on Blacks shot by police:

"These are not political criminals. These are people going around stealing Coca-Cola. People getting shot in the back of the head over a piece of pound cake and then we run out and we are outraged, [saying] 'The cops shouldn't have shot him.' What the hell was he doing with the pound cake in his hand?"

The Black Commentator June 3, 2004

[mercerislandbooks]

A Mighty Fine Aspiration: An Interview with Robert L. Tsai

Robert L. Tsai, a Professor of Law at American University, graciously took the time last week to answer questions regarding his new book Practical Equality. Between his busy schedule of TV appearances and book talks, I am grateful for the kindness he showed in answering my questions. Before we get to those, I want to tell you a bit about how reading his book made me feel.

Since graduating from college, I have been burying my head in fiction like an ostrich, giving my brain a rest from brain-stretching academia. Reading Practical Equality reminded me not only how much I love to learn but also how important understanding your country’s legal system is. I had so many “so that’s why this happens!” or “so that’s what that was all about!” moments while reading his book.

Boxing key concepts in the introduction

With a pen in hand, I annotated the first half of the book to track my reactions, important passages I wanted to return to, or questions I had about the material. I remembered that note-taking skills were life skills. Needless to say, I had fun being a student again. The reading experience was enlightening and incredible.

Practical Equality goes over court cases aimed at equality, and how historically  arguments alternative to equality have won civil and human rights cases. As Tsai said in one of his answers, “That’s a mighty fine aspiration, but in reality it’s a very hard promise to keep.” No matter what side of the political line you fall on, Tsai tries to appeal towards all readers dissatisfied with the status of social politics through facts and circumstances.

The most exciting aspect about this book is its scope: while he shares aspirations of a truly equal society, he integrates historical, social, and political contexts into his accounts of various court cases or social issues. He doesn’t shy away from hard-to-swallow pills, but he doesn’t cast anyone as a villain. His easygoing yet knowledgeable tone taught me more about myself through my reactions to the facts.

I found his insight invaluable, hence the hefty set of interview questions below...

Island Books: You use the word egalitarian frequently throughout the book. What does an egalitarian society look like to you? How far are we in America from that ideal?

Robert Tsai: For me personally, an egalitarian society is one that takes seriously the promise that each person living in that society is worthy of being treated with respect. That’s a mighty fine aspiration, but in reality it’s a very hard promise to keep. Some think that all we need to care about is political equality: a handful of rights that are closely associated with citizenship like the vote. Others think that we only need to care about equality among citizens but can mistreat non-citizens whose labor we extract to maintain the American lifestyle. I believe in a certain amount of reciprocity, so even non-citizens who contribute to our society deserve to be treated with respect. I also think that people who commit crimes don’t give up their basic humanity, and, while they are in prison, and especially when they’ve done their time, certain kinds of conditions shouldn’t follow them forever. In my book I spend some time thinking about felon disenfranchisement, which is an abomination in a democratic society like ours.

"The key is the social meaning of an act, not merely how the action is intended but also how it is received.” - Tsai on discriminatory laws.

IB: While you show that there is a way to communicate between conservative and liberal political agents without talking about social morals, you make clear which side of the moral and political argument you fall. Have you received political, social, or general backlash for your book?

RT: I haven’t yet received any backlash for anything I’ve written about the book, but I expect that not everyone will agree with what I have to say! I do hope they give the book a try, though, since I wrote it with an eye toward appealing to a broad cross-section of readers who might not always agree with where we are in terms of social progress. I think that’s a broader lesson when it comes to struggles over equality. We do have to take sides, and that will naturally cause social friction. Sometimes, though, we can shift our arguments slightly and find a more receptive audience. And history has shown that you can’t expect to get everyone on your side, but you do need to convince a handful of people to come your way, especially those in power, if you want to help the most vulnerable in society.

IB: In Practical Equality, you utilize terms such as “fair play," “reason,” etc... in place of the word “equality” to persuade judges to see your argument for equality. Why do you think it is difficult for people to understand that “equality” and “fair play” are one in the same? Do you think that eventually judges will catch on to this as a tactic for helping them understand the importance of equality? If so, do you expect backlash or open arms?

RT: A lot of the alternative arguments I talk about in the book already share some commonalities with the traditional idea of equality. They’re also all deeply rooted ideas in our political and legal culture. But each of them has a slightly different structure and appeals to progressive and conservatives a bit differently. It’s not that these arguments lack morality, but they might emphasize a different kind of morality (for instance, fairness arguments stress procedural morality). One thing I want to point out is that although many of the historical examples in the book are in the courts, a number of my examples are out-of-court battles over equality. And my broader argument is that these arguments can be made to judges, but also to other people who have outsized influence over our lives: principals, teachers, mayors, city council members, legislators, governors. The point I try to make is that you have to build coalitions if you want to get anything done about inequality, but they don’t always have to be massive endeavors. On a three-judge panel, you have to get one judge to slide over and join a progressive judge (if there is one). On today’s very conservative U.S. Supreme Court, you need to convince Chief Justice Roberts, who is already an institutional and social conservative, to join the liberals. At the state level, you might need only convince an attorney general or governor about the righteousness of your cause and, say in the criminal context, a great deal of inequality could be ameliorated that way.

The location of the final say on many of the cases Tsai discusses in his book.

IB: When I first started your book, I wondered if pursuing these other arguments for the sake of justice would be putting aside the work of equality. Though we were still holding to its message, the idea of equality and the moral ground would be left out of the media and the judges’ responses. Many people feel as though the system of justice is not successful unless the offenders are told that they were wrong. How would respond to someone who argued that your book was not doing the moral work of equality?

RT: I try to make clear that accepting my argument about how to do practical equality doesn’t mean giving up one’s closely held moral views about who deserves equality. It doesn’t mean that we should stop arguing, for instance, that people who don’t look like us deserve to be treated like full moral beings like the rest of us. It just means that you need to recognize that conflicts will arise, and that you can’t convince everyone, or even most people, to adopt your moral view of things. I say that we should look into alternative arguments as backups, so we can reduce the suffering of vulnerable segments of society whenever we can, while we continue to have our important moral arguments.

IB: What do you see as the most common method from your book for dealing with justice?

RT: At the moment, arguments about fairness and avoiding cruelty are capable of doing tremendous work. And as I say, sometimes these arguments can help reduce existing inequities even though we aren’t talking about equality in a full-throated sense. These ideas overlap with equality and can have broad appeal even when people disagree over who deserves to be treated equally. Right now, we are going through a trying time as refugees and visitors from Hispanic and Muslim countries are being treated unequally by the Trump administration. We might not all agree in a deep sense that foreigners should be treated exactly the same as U.S. citizens, but many of us think that these populations should be treated fairly, and that abusive conditions must be avoided. The administration is dealing with different migrants and refugees differently, it has separated migrant children from parents, and even plans to speed up asylum applications and deportations. These arguments can do some good in reducing disparities in how people are treated.

To learn more about Robert L. Tsai and his research, join us Friday, March 8th at 6:00pm for a Mercer Island Democratic Association. He will discuss his book and have a Q&A session about the his research and the current state of affairs in America and the world.

-Kelleen

[bellakitse]

You've probably had a hundred of these but coffee shop meet cute for evak? Maybe they both go for the last blueberry muffin and end up sharing?

The Hot Muffin Thief

Summary: There is a magical muffin at the café where Isak’s buddy Jonas works. It’s Isak’s lifeline, he has it every day and then one day some hot art hipster steals his muffin.

There is a magical muffin at the café where Isak’s buddy Jonas works. It’s blueberry and spongy and so perfect that Isak who never wakes up before he absolutely must gets up an hour before his first class to walk across the University of Oslo’ campus from his dorm to get to it. It’s become a custom to get there, get one of the last muffins since he’s not the only one on campus addicted to the blueberry goodness, drink his coffee and catch up with Jonas for a while before heading to class.

It’s routine that Isak has gotten used to and it’s when that routine is broken that Isak truly realizes how much a creature of habit he really is. He doesn’t like the break in his routine.

“Sorry man, we’re out of blueberry today, want a banana nut?”

Isak blinks at his friend, one, twice, three times, he’s not at his best in the morning and he’s having trouble focusing on the horrible words coming out of Jonas’ mouth.

“Isak?” Jonas prompts. “Banana nut?”

“What?” Isak grunts, frowning in confusion. “No, blueberry.”

Jonas stares at him for a moment and Isak returns the look before his friend rolls his eyes at him. “Like I already said, we’re out. I just sold the last one a few minutes before you came in.”

“But,” Isak starts and he can hear the whine in his voice, he cringes at it, but it doesn’t mean he can stop it, it’s early, way too early for him and his sole reason for not being in bed has been taken from him, he’s allowed to whine, damn it. “You always have enough, where is my muffin Jonas, I need it.”

His so call friend instead of feeling sympathy for him just rolls his eyes at him again. “You have a problem, might want to look into it, but like I already said twice sold the last blueberry muffin,” Jonas continues, his tone couldn’t be more patronizing if he tried and Isak resents him for it.

“That guy in the jean jacket bought it,” Jonas says pointing with his chin behind and to the left of Isak, Isak turns to look, ready to hate the person who dared take away Isak’s joy this early in the morning. By the window sits a guy who like Jonas said is wearing a jean jacket over multiple layers, he’s tall, the way his legs clad in snug Demin stretched out in front of him lets Isak know that. His hair a darker shade of blond than Isak’s is artfully swept up. He has a drawing pad leaning against the table and what looks like a piece of charcoal in his hand. The guy is hot, no way around that but as Isak’s eyes leave the boy to the blueberry muffin sitting on a plate untouched Isak remembers that he’s a muffin thief.

He’s a hot muffin thief.

Isak isn’t sure how hard he’s staring but obvious he is, the guy feels the intensity of his stare because he looks up from his pad and locks eyes with Isak. Even from where he’s standing Isak can see they are a clear blue. The muffin thief raises an eyebrow in question and Isak startles so hard he bumps into the counter behind him and Isak feels the blood rush to his face as the guy’s pouty mouth quirks upward and Jonas lets out a snort behind him.

He swirls around to face his best friend, eyes narrowing when he finds Jonas smirking at him.

“You let some art hipster steal my muffin?” Isak hisses out, his eyes in slits when Jonas dares laugh at him.

“He paid for it.”

“Not the point,” Isak argues. “What am I supposed to eat now?”

“Banana nut?” Jonas suggests one more time, letting out another laugh when Isak makes a disgusted face.

“Some friend you are,” Isak grumbles as he heads for the door without making a purchase.

“Come again,” Jonas calls out because he’s an absolute shit sometimes. Isak doesn’t feel bad about flipping him off as he goes, especially because Jonas’ hearty laugh follows him out the door.

*

The next day the same thing, no muffin, Jonas shrugging at him unconcerned, hot muffin thief is at his usual table with Isak’s muffin, untouched.

The pattern holds, doesn’t matter that Isak gets to the café 15 minutes before his usual time, 20 the next day, half an hour the day after that. When Isak walks in, his muffins are gone and the culprit is sitting calmly by the window oblivious to how he’s destroying Isak’s life.

“Jonas,” Isak starts on the fifth day and he knows he sounds crazy and desperate, but he’s up almost two hours before his 9 am class for the chance at a muffin and Jonas is shaking his head at him. “What kind of friend are you? You are letting him steal my muffin every morning.”

Jonas looks at him with that calm expression on his face that makes Isak even crazier. “Yeah he’s stealing by being a paying customer and I’m letting him in the way that it’s my job to serve him.“

“Don’t use logic against me,” Isak hisses. “It’s barely seven in the morning, it’s mean.”

Jonas shakes his head at him and looks over his shoulder to the muffin thief, he looks back at Isak and lifts a shoulder. “He hasn’t bitten into it, if you’re so desperate for it, go ask him if he’s willing to sell it to you.”

Isak scoffs, looking over his own shoulder that the guy, he’s removed his coat and has a dark plaid shirt over a red tee, his hair as always styled attractively. It annoys Isak how good looking the guy is, every time he looks at him Isak has to remind himself that the guy is while unwittingly, making Isak’s life miserable and therefore Isak does not like him. “I can’t do that, that’s crazy.”

“You look on the verge of a nervous breakdown over a muffin, Isak” Jonas answers dryly as he passes him a cup of coffee. “I think we left crazy a few days back, go ask him.”

Isak wants to protest but he knows Jonas is right and it’s been five days since he’s had his favorite treat, so he sucks it up, grabs his coffee and makes his way over to the guy. He comes to stand behind the empty chair at the guy’s table and waits to be acknowledged, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“I’m not selling you my muffin,” the guy says as he draws in his art book like every morning, he pauses for a moment to look up at Isak, his blue eyes full of amusement as Isak stares at him with his mouth open. “You and your buddy don’t exactly speak in hush tones and this place isn’t full right now, voices carry.”

Isak hears Jonas let out a chuckle from behind the counter, proving the guy’s statement.

“I won’t sell my muffin,” the hot muffin thief repeats letting out a smile when Isak makes a sad noise. “But if you sit down, I’ll share it.”

Isak sits down.

*

The hot muffin thief’s name is Even, he’s a 2nd-year film student who draws on the side.

The first bite into the muffin after days of not having it, Isak lets out a sound of pure bliss, closing his eyes to savor it.

“Wow,” Even laughs causing Isak to open his eyes to look at him, he looks amused but there is also something else there on his face. “That’s a very interesting sound to make for a muffin.”

“It’s the best muffin ever,” Isak answers around a mouthful.

“It’s good,” Even agrees. “I just don’t think I have enjoyed it as much as you are enjoying it right now.”

“That’s because you haven’t had it stolen for a week by a muffin thief,” Isak retorts, smiling when Even lets out a laugh at that.

“It that me?” Even points at himself, a wide smile on his face, his pretty blue eyes dancing, looking like he’s enjoying himself greatly. “Am I the muffin thief?”

“The hot muffin thief,” Isak answers without thinking, his eyes widening when he realizes what he’s just said, he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and he finds himself looking down at his coffee cup.

“Well,” Even says softly and Isak peeks under his eyelashes to look at him, his breath catching when he sees the sweet smile playing on Even’s lips. “I’m okay with being called a thief if I’m a hot one.”

Isak gives him a small smile, it grows when Even pushes the rest of the muffin his way.

*

A new pattern takes hold, every morning Isak walks into the café, heads for the counter, orders his coffee from Jonas who smirks at him amused and knowing, Isak rolls his eyes at him through his blush and then he heads over to where Even sits with a blueberry muffin untouched on his table. They talk about anything and everything, Even’s film classes, Isak’s biology, movies Even loves and Isak has never seen, music. Sometimes they sit quietly as Even draws and Isak eats, more often than not eating the whole muffin, not that Even seems to mind.

The first time Even shows him a drawing, Isak’s breath catches as he stares at himself, his face partly in profile as he stares out the window. Isak studies the drawing, the attention to detail, from his wayward curls to each mole or slight imperfection. Isak has never thought himself to be particularly attractive, he knows he’s not ugly, men and women have been known to check him out, but he’s not like Even who is beautiful to anyone with eyes. And yet that’s the only word he can think of as he looks at the drawing of himself. Beautiful.

“Is this how you see me?” He asks quietly, his heart pounding so loud he’s sure Even and everyone in the café can hear it.

It skips a beat when Even looks at him, with warm eyes and simply says. “Yes.”

*

The next day after Isak has collected his coffee from an even more amused Jonas, Isak turns to his and Even’s table to find that on it is the usual blueberry muffin in front of his usual seat but a half-eaten banana nut in front of Even.

Isak gives Even a questioning look as he sits down. “Why are you eating that abomination?” he asks, smiling when Even laughs.

He watches as Even lets the laugh trail off and gives him an unsure look, biting down on that bottom lip of his that has been getting more and more distracting for Isak.

“I have a confession to make Isak,” Even starts, still looking uncertain but with a small hopeful smile on his face. “The first is that I hate blueberry muffins, I mean I really hate them.”

Isak stares at Even confused. “But-“

“Which leads me to my second confession,” Even continues not letting Isak ask his question. “I have been buying the last muffin every day in the hopes that eventually you would talk to me.”

Isak stares at Even some more at a loss for words, he’s sure he looks like an idiot with his mouth opened.

Even shrugs at him. “I had seen you come in here every day for a muffin and I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know how and then Jonas said to buy your muffin-“

“Jonas,” he squeaks, turning in his chair to look at his friend who has the nerve to give him a cheeky grin and mocking salute, Isak turns around in his chair again, letting out a huff.

“Yeah,” Even says with a contrite smile. “We have Social Media together, I have probably been driving him crazy with my crush on you.”

“You have,” Jonas calls out, laughing when Isak throws a glare at him.

He turns back to look at Even. “You stole my muffin to get me to talk to you, because you like me,” Isak confirms, trying to sound annoyed, but he knows he doesn’t quite pull it off, even he can hear the fondness in his voice.

Even rolls his eyes at him. “I didn’t steal it, I bought them.”

“You didn’t eat them!” Isak exclaims remembering the days before he started sitting down with Even, how the muffin laid on the table untouched. “Did you throw those muffins out, Even?”

Even shrugs at him again.

Isak shakes his head. “These are magical muffins Even, you’re going to have to make up for this offense,” Isak teases, feeling giddy when Even grins at him.

“How am I going to do that?” Even questions, a playful look on his face.

“You’re going to have to buy me my muffins in the morning.”

Even grins. “I already do that.”

“I’m not done,” Isak says biting down on his lip to keep a grin from breaking through. “Muffins in the morning and dinner tonight when you take me out on a date.”

Even’s grin grows. “Is this relationship going to be based on food?”

Isak lifts a shoulder and waits for Even to take a sip of his coffee before he answers. “And hopefully sex.”

He smirks as Even chokes on his drink in response. A start for stealing his muffins.