#The sketch for this looked stupid (intentionally) and then i did colors

[karoochui]

Im gonna make out with your human sun design for LDR /pos

Thanks the goal is to make him look like he screams at an awkward pitch. Also considering the story im positive he'd make out with you too (he wants u so bad)

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 2 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

Yanli is determined to set about evening the exchange of their gifts after she finds a little chest full of her favorite floral incense on his pillow next to her when she wakes. She would like to collect information as he does, sifting through conversation to remember errant tidbits about interests but he is as frustratingly tightlipped on the subject of himself as he ever is. Agreeable to any attempt to draw out his preferences to the point of obfuscation. “Don’t you love this color, A-Yao?” elicits a kindly, “It’s very lovely,” no matter the color in question. She thinks it might be his way of not being a bother, because he certainly isn’t doing anything intentionally. Little does he know that, in reality, it’s making things more difficult on her.

I will know you, she thinks, watching him with keen eyes as they all eat breakfast together and talk. I will give you what you want, if only I could find out what that is.

He catches her watching and tilts his head, smiling in question.

“How are your dumplings?” She asks as an excuse, gesturing. 

“Oh, very good. Would you like some more?”

This man. 

His plate holds a bit of everything on the table, including one of A-Xian’s favored spicy dishes--while it’s something, she already knows he had grown up in Yunmeng and can tolerate spice. She just doesn’t know whether he likes it or not.  

It has almost become a game, to her, if not to him--though she thinks it might be, at least a little, for she sees the flash of satisfaction in his eyes when he lets her take his arm and breathes deeply, taking in the scent of the incense she had let envelop her as she dressed that morning. “You smell wonderful,” he murmurs and she feels herself flush up her neck, even though it had been the whole point of steeping herself in it to begin with.

“Thanks to you.” When she lays her head on his shoulder--partially in thanks, partially to hide her pink cheeks--she feels him lean closer.

She wants to delight him, to see him pleased and surprised into a genuine smile. But more than anything, she truly wants to know more about him. 

There is an inkling of a clue when she buys a guan for him made of graceful silver arches that form a lotus that seems to sit upon water that is reminiscent of the hair pin he had gotten her. When she presents it to him at bedtime, he seems surprised. He lets loose a soft, “oh,” turning it this way and that in his hands. Watching him, triumphant, she slides out her own pin and twirls it next to the guan, allowing her hair to begin its tumble down. “We’ll match.”

For a moment, he simply looks between the two ornaments, one hand coming out to slide his fingertips down the beaded chain of hers. Then, he smiles at her, and it’s wide and very nearly new. “We will.” 

“You like it?”

“Of course, it’s beautiful! I will like everything that you choose to give me.”

She scrunches her nose and tweaks his cheek. “Well, that’s hardly fair! How will I know if you truly do and aren’t just pretending for my sake?”

Turning, he picks her hand up from the bed and chastely brushes his lips across her knuckles. “I will like them because you are the one who gave them, A-Li.”

And at long last, it’s something! Because she thinks it’s true. Perhaps, for him, like it is for her, it is not the usefulness, or the beauty of the thing, but the loving it was given from. She has kept the little drawings A-Xian has given her since he was young, the little carved creatures of wood and soap that A-Cheng used to whittle her (though, realistically, they are little more than blobs she was told are bears and the like. Whatever they look like, they are blobs of love.) She has them lined up on a shelf in her old room, and has brought a few over to the room shared by A-Yao. They make her smile to see because they were made for her; love in a little scene she can revisit through touch again and again. Sometimes, she simply holds them and remembers how it used to be.

This, she decides, is probably what she should focus on for A-Yao--a shelf of happy memories and the knowledge he is loved. 

So, when she is sitting in her favorite pavilion one bright and breezy morning and He Si, one of the servants, delivers a gorgeous new calligraphy set to her and informs her with a barely contained grin that her husband has sent it, Yanli sets to work. After she unpacks and marvels over shiny new things, of course. It’s all sleek and beautiful and of the highest quality.

All morning, she uses his new gift to write him notes that she spends the afternoon ferreting away into places he will find them--like in his pockets or his desk drawers or under his spare boots. Some of them are little lines of poems she cherishes, one or two are shy sketches of the butterflies that had visited and twined through the fluttering, gauzy green curtains as she wrote, and more, still, are idle little thoughts she thinks will warm him. ‘I will be pleased to see you at dinner.’ ‘Remember not to work too hard.’ ‘Have a good day.’

She even gets the joy of seeing him find one while on a walkway, tucked in between 2 delivered missives with the help of He Si’s sleight of hand. The brisk, dutiful stride to business pauses and Yanli watches his slightly bowed head as he reads, the sunlight sliding down his hair like silk. When he looks up and around, she slips behind a delicately carved pillar on impulse so that he can’t see her. Then, she peeks back around. He’s looking back down at the slip of paper in his hand, his mouth a small curl of aching fondness. This one had said, ‘thinking of you.’ Warmth spreads through her when he folds it, neatly and carefully, into his fingers and presses his knuckles to his lips, closing his eyes. It is a moment of him with no mask in sight and she would feel sheepish for intruding if it didn’t bring her such happiness just to see his own. Even after he resumes his purposeful stride and disappears indoors, she is grinning, glowing, and allows herself a moment to seek out He Si to review the heist. “Did it please him?” the girl demands, excited. “What did it say?”

“It’s a secret,” Yanli teases. “And oh yes it did.”

It continues in this manner almost daily, when his gifts allow it; he gives her a parasol and she invites him on a walk under it with her; he buys rich embroidery thread and she weaves a delicate braid for him to wear or display a pendant from. He presents her with a fine silken handkerchief that she returns only days later, embroidered and thoroughly infused with the incense he had given her, draped over his pillow. Sadly, she didn’t get to witness this discovery, but she does see him slip it from his inner pocket as he removes his outer robes, that evening. As she watches him from the bed, Yanli resists the most absurd urge to bashfully pull the covers up over her nose and asks, “You...found it, then?”

Instead of answering, he slowly sits on her side instead of his and spreads it between them on the covers with deliberate care, one side of his mouth tucked up, that dimple pressed in sweetly in the lantern-light. “A pair of mandarin ducks,” he observes, voice quiet, eyes on the handkerchief as he runs his fingertips over it.

“I stitched them myself.”

“They are masterfully done and the colors are beautiful.”

“It was the thread you gave me. I wanted....” The intentions, the symbolism gets caught on her tongue and she blushes. Husband, she has to remind herself. It’s allowed! It’s expected! A long and happy marriage is what one is supposed to want. He makes the prospect of closeness and affection all at once so mysterious and alluring, almost a forbidden thing (though the thought is a ridiculous one, she admits.) “Do you like it?”

He raises his eyes to her and they are night soft. “A-Li, may I kiss you?”

Yanli’s heart jumps to her throat in an anticipatory sort of apprehension and her hands twist in her lap. Anxious without fear; she trusts this and him. “You may.”

Though she had kissed his mouth once before, he had been still, accepting the simple press and nothing more. Now, as he leans in, his hands settle lightly on her jaw, tilting her face up to him, his lips are a sure, gentle slide over hers. It’s odd to have someone so close to her face, and it’s  warmer than she would have thought--not to mention wetter. But not bad. 

Oh no, definitely not bad. 

A-Yao kisses her with the same keen attention he gives everything else; controlled and intent. It feels as if he is slowly sampling her, sometimes the pressure feather-like and almost tickling, and other times an earnest press, inviting her along. The entirety of her skin grows hot at the realization she is being experienced and she can feel her heartbeat as if her entire chest is a drum. He makes it easy, a song that sounds vaguely familiar without completely knowing the next step. She doesn’t feel lost or stupid or silly. She feels wanted. Precious.

When he draws back, her lips are tingling--who would have thought such an ordinary part of her face could produce that much sensation? One would think she would have noticed this before!--and he is watching her carefully. His own lips are slightly pinker and without thinking, she reaches out to touch them, wonderingly. His watchfulness melts at her touch and he smiles against her fingertips--his mouth is warm, like her own when she lifts her other hand to compare. 

“That was….”

“Good?”

“Oh, it was strange but I think I liked it. I--can we try again?”

A-Yao laughs and reaches out as she eagerly shuffles forward on her knees. Yanli allows him to draw her onto his lap sideways but, this time, she reaches out and draws him down. And being the good, patient man that he is, he lets her try again and again as she wishes, moving as she does.

There is no sudden revelation or awakening as she had secretly hoped there might be with such a kiss, (how easy that would have been, if all the whispers and stories and songs had all aligned with ultimate clarity and understanding within her, if it was all at once as easy as everyone else made it seem). But it is new and oddly pleasant to simply be in his arms, closer than she has ever been before, sharing with him. He pulls away and takes her wrist, eyebrows pinched. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?”

Oh. It seems she is. It isn’t fear, but instead a sort of deep trembling that seems to originate from her core, almost like excitement or the kind of giddy terror of a friend chasing you in a game of tag. She smiles up at him. “It’s...new. I think I’m just getting used to it. You’re my first kiss.” 

Something she can’t define as positive or negative before it’s gone passes over his face and he gathers her up, burying his face in her neck, squeezing. She curls back around him, hands stroking his soft hair. “I’m so glad it’s you,” she murmurs, the ghosts of the kisses still shimmering on her lips. “You’re so sweet and kind to me. How did I get so lucky?”

Against her throat, he sucks in a deep, shaking breath before pulling back to deliver an almost perfect smile, the slight tremble in the corner of his mouth the only thing betraying whatever depth of emotion he is feeling. “Jiang-furen,” he says with playful reproach. “You simply can’t steal my lines like that. What will I be left with?”

In response, she clasps his face and leans up to rub the tips of their noses together. "Oh, you're so very clever. I'm sure you'll think of something."

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 42 – Does This Mean I Can Hope?

“G-good evening to you, sir.”

Lunark bowed to Raizel out of gut reaction, but he gave not a single sign of acknowledgment.

He merely positioned himself, reticent and elegant, bestowing shine upon the entire balcony, so tiny and unimportant, by simply staying poised.

Like a lake in silent slumber under the moonlight.

Like a crane standing upon a snowy meadow.

Those who know him well would have seen immediately that was his characteristic way of responding to someone’s greetings.

Unfortunately, Lunark’s personal history with the Noblesse was not long enough for her brain to identify such behavioral pattern of his.

“Forgive me for making myself a guest without your permission.”

Lunark spoke, feeling compelled to defend herself once more. To her greatest relief, this time Raizel yielded a visible reply.

“...Have no concern. The door of this house is always open to my family. And their guests.”

Instantly relieved, Lunark let her shoulders slouch, and her head thawed enough to dissect Raizel’s words.

‘A family, huh?’

What a heart-warming term, thought Lunark.

During the course of her personal chronicle as a warrior of wolfkind, she could not find a chance to experience what a family is like.

It has been several centuries since she parted ways with her biological parents, and she had been admiring Muzaka and thus aspiring to be a warrior since young.

She had never allowed idleness to dare constitute her life, in a fierce, almost bloody competition against fellow werewolves, ones she would have dubbed her friends or colleagues had she been part of the human world.

Naturally, her life has come to center on her identity as a warrior and the relations based on such identity.

Including, for example, the “warrior crews” and their “components” within her race.

Or the “elders” she used to share elder’s chairs with, before her departure from the Union.

And as of now, she has only her “fellow warriors” and “lord” to bring up if she is asked to name those meaningful to her.

From her past to present, she has found relations somehow distant from “a family.”

Which is why she could not stop retracing the terminology from her mind.

And she could not stop thinking about Frankenstein, who provided a family for Raizel.

‘Ugh, not again...’

Her self-reprimand was close to a lament.

The werewolf beauty’s head dropped, and Raizel’s crimson eyes flashed with intrigue as she was exhibiting the top of her head in the presence of the Noblesse.

Which did not last for long.

She presumed Raizel was not hinting any accusation for her visit.

For such reason, she could not imagine why he would confront her now, when he was mere minutes away from a snack party with his friends.

Apparently Raizel read the question from her stare; his aesthetic lips slid open.

“A bidding I have for you.”

“A bidding...?”

The situation was so sudden, out of blue, because of which Lunark could feel her logics thinning.

Raizel kept his gaze locked upon her face as he continued.

“Frankenstein, it concerns.”

Right then Lunark could feel a pregnant weight plummeting from her head to toes.

‘Frankenstein?’

Automatically and habitually, anxiety and tremor started to creep upon her entire form, causing subtle yet definitely-there wrenches in her chest.

That was when a well-known fact about nobles knocked her memories.

All nobles are gifted with mind control, and it is common for them to utilize such endowment to sketch what lies within their audiences.

‘Did he notice that I have feelings for Frankenstein...?’

Promptly following her cognitive process, a grief almost biting shook her undivided presence.

‘Is my love so unacceptable, so outrageous?’

Muzaka already lectured her to withdraw her feelings, and she could still remember how bitter she had felt.

And now she is faced with another lecture from Raizel.

Lunark minced her lips, despising herself for lingering for the sake of her stupid curiosity.

She was hit with an urge to bolt away from her spot, but she was educated enough to tell herself that there is no way she could commit such discourtesy to the Noblesse.

Instead, she steeled the dual ventricles of her heart and intentionally disconnected her mind.

She did not want to listen to whatever Raizel had in his mouth to ruthlessly drill her heart with.

To her appallment, her eardrums disregarded her stance and sharpened themselves for Raizel’s words, perhaps because they would involve Frankenstein.

“Anything do you know about Frankenstein?”

Upon hearing him, her eyes were inadvertently drawn to his countenance.

“What do you mean by that...?”

“Quite a long time has passed since Frankenstein left this place for his individual mission. Nothing have I received from him ever since, though the distance between us I deliberately maintained, in honor of his choice.”

Raizel provided no further explanation, yet Lunark could picture what his most trusted lieutenant would have appeared upon leaving his house, as bold and determined as a patriotic general about to face off against millions of invaders to his homeland.

Lunark gave her head a few waves without realizing it, and Raizel squinted his eyes in a mysterious shape as he witnessed her action.

“Frankenstein is bound to me under our contract, breathing within our spiritual essence as a mental link. Which stays in power as we speak.”

“You mean... At this very moment?”

Lunark was mystified. She knew Frankenstein and Raizel were at least miles away from each other.

She projected a link of the Noblesse is nothing like those from the lesser nobles, until he revealed that is not the case.

“Frankenstein remains in the dark regarding this – ever since I have returned, more influential and substantial our link has grown. Now distance serves as no barrier for me to feel the climate of his heart, one of small changes I have gone through since my return; natheless, as a secret I have kept so far, for I feared I would add one more to his troubles.”

Lunark briefly wondered if he could hear Frankenstein’s heart as they were conversing.

The moment she thought of such possibility, her heart tore itself from her dominance to fire a soundless scream of inquiry: Do you know by any chance how Frankenstein feels about me?

Luckily her lip muscles remained loyal to her and secured her screech within quiet.

“Howbeit, not available to me are all of infinitesimal emotions and ruminations embroidered upon his heart. The book may be his heart, but it will not open its pages and allow its lines and characters to pour into my cognition. It will simply spill some of its most predominant words only occasionally.”

So mind control is not another name for a master key, murmured Lunark in her head upon learning something new.

The topic was quite appealing, but she was still clueless why he would mention it to her out of all people.

“And to my gravest dismay, as of late the words from Frankenstein’s book were too heavy and too dark in depth and color.”

“What do you mean by that...?”

“I am afraid too shy is the reason in treating me. It is true that I am his master by our contract of blood, but it is not in my power to pick out and examine his heart whenever I please, as if picking out books from a library.”

Lunark began to squeeze her brain for a potential theory, calculating everything she knows about him as of now.

She already knew that Frankenstein is pushing himself to his limit to find out the secret of Raizel’s return, even taking tonics to force insomnia upon himself.

And it was highly likely that the darkness within Frankenstein is the result of his strain.

‘But how come I have a feeling that there is more to this than it seems?’

Raizel is utterly respectful of individual choices and decisions; nevertheless, here he was, seeking her privacy to discuss Frankenstein’s state without his knowledge. Which suggested to Lunark that Frankenstein’s emotional state is somewhere very far from healthy or normal.

“Anything do you have to provide for me about this?”

He even asked her right in her face, because of which Lunark could see how serious the situation was.

And she felt so remorseful that there was nothing she could tell him.

Or rather, she could not tell him though she had something to tell him. She did not want at all to do something Frankenstein would not be happy with.

And Raizel would note that she is hiding something on purpose; however, she could only hope for his understanding regarding her deceit.

To her gratitude, Raizel did not pose any more question or accusation, though Lunark felt something was off.

‘Why would he ask me about Frankenstein?’

Even a toddler would be able to speculate that there had been a communication or two between her and Frankenstein, in coordination of their tasks.

‘But it looks like it’s not simply because I’m his... His ally in battlefield, to say. Or did I go too far?’

Perhaps her heart was shrieking too ardently.

Or perhaps the inquisitiveness on her face was too conspicuous.

But Raizel did not hesitate to clarify.

“For a reason and cause I have yet to explore, your name would spark in my head whenever I collect Frankenstein’s heart. It has happened in the past, but recently the occasion has turned more frequent.”

“Beg your pardon...?”

“Like I said, the pieces I can collect from Frankenstein’s heart are keywords from a book he safekeeps within. In other words, the shards of his heart that would ebb and flow into my mind are what he holds priceless to himself.”

Suddenly Lunark could feel her head spinning.

Her brain cells were busily replaying what the Noblesse just disclosed, in furious skepticism of her comprehensive aptitude.

“I do not know how you would accept this, but... I suspected the tempest in his heart is somehow related to you.”

That was when with a thump Lunark’s heart resonated in an unnatural way.

Her heart was adrift in midst of chaos, glittering in a surreal color – a color she would have labeled as “hope.”

“Hey, Rai! Where are you?”

“Hurry up! It’s almost ready!”

As she was frozen, baffled by her own reaction, a boy and a girl called upon Raizel, and his head rotated towards the living room.

“I believe it is of no manners to hold you any longer. No easy decision would have been your visit, with your pathway teeming with tasks. I wish you a safe return.”

Raizel gave a solemn nod before he turned away.

Lunark was glued to her spot, before she hopped from the balcony, her a motion very clumsy for a werewolf warrior.

‘There is storm in Frankenstein’s heart... Because of me?’

Of course, concern was the first and foremost thing that gripped her heart. After all, it was about Frankenstein out of all souls.

At the same time, she could not restrain her mind from whispering: Does this mean I can hope...?

She came to find herself looking back at Frankenstein’s house, before she gritted her teeth.

‘Snap out of it, Lunark. This is not what you are here for.’

Her job was done, and it was time to leave.

Feeling how her heart grew murkier upon her every self-rebuke, Lunark was about to kick off from where she stood, when someone called upon her.

“Wait!!!”

(next chapter)

Like I mentioned at the end of the previous chapter, this chapter centers on conversation between Rai and Lunark. This is something that troubles me whenever I present Rai in a chapter: how to make Rai’s speech eloquent as expected from the Noblesse but at the same time easily readable and understandable. And his appearance has never failed to trouble me so far lol. By the way, Lunark’s parents have never been mentioned in the original webtoon, let alone featured. I didn’t want to waste the progress giving my personally invented details about them, so I just decided they parted with their daughter long time ago (though that created another question to be left unanswered for my fic). Now this fic is moving on to the highlight of the entire plot, and I will do my best to unleash everything I have built up so far. :)

[marvelousmatt]

The Accidental Comedy of Matt Berry

The star of IFC’s detective-series spoof ‘Year of the Rabbit,’ famed for his booming voice and over-the-top faces, never set out to be funny

Matt Berry as Detective Inspector Rabbit in 'Year of the Rabbit.'  Ben Meadows/IFC

If you know Matt Berry from his most famous roles — such as The IT Crowd’s idiot boss Douglas Reynholm, Toast of London’s pompous struggling actor Steven Toast, or the preening and lascivious vampire Laszlo on What We Do in the Shadows — talking to him over the phone is sort of like meeting his un-evil twin. Where his characters are outrageous and inappropriate, Berry is circumspect and gentlemanly. While they pronounce every word as if they’re doing Shakespeare in the Park, with a ponderous theatricality, his signature rich baritone comes over the line from London sounding muted by comparison. It’s as though he’s playing the straight man in a sketch of his own life.

Whatever absurd and profane notions he has rattling around in his head, Berry saves them for his work. His latest offering, IFC’s Year of the Rabbit (a collaboration among Berry, producer Ben Farrell, and writers Andy Riley and Kevin Cecil), is a send-up of the period detective shows that are a staple of British television. Set in Victorian times, it centers on his titular character, Rabbit, a cranky copper who bumbles through every episode but slyly solves the whodunit in the end — a kind of gruff, English Columbo in a waistcoat. In the “why not” fashion typical of Berry’s comedy, the character is missing an eyebrow (a trait the show repeatedly explains away with the intentionally unconvincing line that it was chewed off by a dog last Christmas). He’s named Rabbit — his actual first name, with no surname — not because of any correlation with, say, the Chinese calendar, but because… well, just because.

“His father couldn’t be bothered giving any of the kids any normal names, so he just named them after animals and then left them outside a church,” Berry says matter-of-factly, as if Rabbit and his father are real. Pressed on the matter, he adds, “We have a huge history over here of these shows, Agatha Christie and stuff, and they all have these names, Inspector This and That. I just wanted to do something stupid with that — give him an animal name and not anything else. So he really is as earthy as you can get in that way. There’s nothing fancy about him at all.”

Rabbit is an inveterate boozehound with a colorful vocabulary. He beats up a schoolteacher on career day to demonstrate interrogation techniques to the children. He tells his rookie partner that the way to keep warm during a wintertime stakeout is to piss himself. He describes the London of his day as “a rat eating its own babies. Babies made of shit. And once it’s eaten its own shit babies, it shits them out again.” He is paired, reluctantly, with two bright-eyed and bushy-tailed colleagues to form a crack investigative team, a juxtaposition which only underscores his baser qualities.

“He’s basically trying to hide the fact that he’s incredibly hungover and not firing on all cylinders,” Berry says. “Whereas his younger sidekicks won’t be, because when you’re that young, you know, you get over a hangover by like 10 o’clock in the morning. I wanted him to be dull, in terms of reactions to things, but effective.”

Robert Bathurst, Matt Berry, and Harry Peacock in Toast of London. Photo Credit: Kuba Wieczorek/IFC/CH4

Ineptitude and buffoonery are much more the calling cards of Steven Toast, whose massive ego blinds him to his own failings. He is an oblivious object of mockery at the hands of his voiceover producers, a pair of douchey hipsters named Clem Fandango and Danny Bear, and his mistress, Mrs. Purchase (wife of Toast’s acting nemesis Ray “Bloody” Purchase), looks eternally bored during their trysts. His long-suffering agent has to force him to become a laxative pitchman, yet he complains that she’s not scoring him Oscar-caliber roles.

If Toast is the character closest to Berry’s heart, it’s for good reason. Despite a brand of humor that seems firmly rooted in the British tradition — the surreality and silliness of Python, the cartoonish prurience of Benny Hill — Berry, 45, maintains that he wasn’t especially interested in comedy growing up. He cites as his primary influence not comedic greats such as Peter Sellers or contemporaries like Steve Coogan, but “straight actors, people that normally weren’t trying to be funny.” The more “mannered” and “self-important” the star, Berry says, the funnier he found them. The line to Toast is clear — especially in his puffed-up diction and bizarrely exaggerated pronunciation of ordinary words (such as his praise of guest-star Jon Hamm’s “charismaaaaaaaeeeeeee”). Imagine the famous outtakes of a drunk Orson Welles filming a Paul Masson wine commercial, and you’re on the right track.

Berry’s career in comedy came as a complete surprise to him. He grew up in the hamlet of Bromham in Bedfordshire, about two hours north of London, in a wholly unartistic family who had “normal, decent jobs,” he says. “My mom was a nurse, my sister went into law — nothing like what I ended up doing.” Still, his parents were totally supportive — worried, but supportive — as he stumbled through temp gigs and patches of unemployment as a young man.

He was far more interested in painting and music — and, in fact, today is an accomplished musician who’s recorded eight studio albums (prog rock-ish, inflected with funk) as well as the scores and themes to numerous TV series, including Toast. That show’s frequent musical interludes, gonzo song parodies a la Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, speak to Berry’s true comedic beginnings. In between stints at the London Dungeon — a haunted-house experience where actors play figures from gruesome corners of the city’s past, like Jack the Ripper — he managed to book solo gigs as a singer-songwriter. But he found that spiking his performances with humor won over a crowd.

Natasia Demetriou and Berry in What We Do In the Shadows.  Byron Cohen/FX

“I was playing before comedians, and the gigs just seemed to go quicker and better if I put some comedy into the songs or the bits in between the songs,” Berry says. “I only did it so I’d fit in with what was going on after. Then I really got to like it.”

Fellow performers Richard Ayoade and Matthew Holness noticed his act, and cast Berry in a horror/sci-fi spoof they created called Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. From there, his television career exploded, with recurring roles in several series before his breakout in 2007 with The IT Crowd. Despite a nomination for “best newcomer” at that year’s British Comedy Awards and a 2015 BAFTA for Best Male Performance in a Comedy for Toast, Berry insists he doesn’t have any particular aptitude for the form, and draws a blank when it comes to defining his style. Mostly, he chalks it up to timing (“Whether it’s music or comedy, that’s the most important thing for me”) — as well as a lack of training.

“I’m not held back by any sort of rules and regulations in terms of performance,” he says. “I’ll just do what feels natural, and because nobody’s said in the past, ‘Well you can’t really do that, because of this,’ you just do it. If it works, it works, and if it doesn’t, you just try something else.”

He does acknowledge one foolproof stylistic flourish that may be deeply ingrained: a true relish for the scatological and sophomorically sexual. See: Laszlo’s vulva topiaries, or the preposterously elastic faces Toast makes while he’s shagging Mrs. P (“Hang on — my balls are about to fizzzz!”) or pleasuring himself to old-timey images of women in military uniforms. A key moment in Rabbit involves the inspector having a pocketful of dog poop.

“I suppose that’s the British toilet humorist in me,” Berry admits. “It doesn’t matter where you go in Europe, toilet humor is enjoyed by all. Being from the U.K., it’s in you, like, from birth. You know, if you’re little and people are laughing at something all around you, it kind of sticks. If it’s something that my granddad laughs at and my dad laughs at, there’s a good chance that I’ll laugh at it, too.”

[fair-fae]

Never-Ending Survey: Faye Covington

Rules: Repost, do not reblog, tag 10 blogs!   Tagged by: @kodie-ffxiv, @lukelxiv, @illia-ast, @lavender-hemlock, and @captainkurosolaire Thank you all for tagging!! Tagging: @an-honest-waltz, @resistance-ranger, @under-the-blood-moonlight, @duskspeakers, @hangedemperor, @littlestcreampuff, @wayward-soul-ffxiv, @darkamaya, @sakuyamori, @paleshadeofrose​

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Faye Covington

NICKNAME: "Princess” if you’re @its-the-val-pal

AGE: 30

BIRTHDAY: 14th Sun of the 1st Astral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Hyur Midlander/Garlean

NATIONALITY: Gridanian

LANGUAGE/S: Eorzean, some Ishgardian

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteromatic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Bonded

HOME TOWN / AREA: The East Shroud

CURRENT HOME: The Lavender Beds

PROFESSION: Teahouse owner, information broker & private investigator

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Platinum blonde/white, long, curly

EYES: Pale blue, hints of violet/red/pink

FACE: Soft, feminine, attractive

LIPS: Full, light pink, glossy

COMPLEXION: Pale, smooth, unblemished

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Scar along her left wrist where her skin meets the Magitek prosthetic

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT: 5′8″

WEIGHT: 135 ponze

BUILD: Slender, soft, curvy, tall, hourglass shape

FEATURES: Plush lips, keen eyes, sly smile, good posture, Magitek left hand

ALLERGIES: None

USUAL HAIR STYLE: Long, well groomed, curly, neat, loose

USUAL FACE LOOK: Polished, subtle makeup, calm, friendly

USUAL CLOTHING: Long dress or skirt, gloves, boots, jewelry, lace, expensive fabrics, formal attire, stockings, little skin showing

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Failure, weakness, dismemberment

ASPIRATION/S: Fame, wealth, success, happiness, a family, Garlean extermination, and good ol’ world domination

POSITIVE TRAITS: Polite, intelligent, patient, friendly, confident, ambitious, calm, rational, educated, curious, cunning, quick-witted, charming, eloquent

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Power-hungry, nosy, self-righteous, uppity, proud, posh, cruel, vengeful, manipulative, deceptive, callous, distant, distrustful, spiteful

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric MBTI: ENTJ

SOUL TYPE/S: The King

ANIMALS: Fox, swan

VICE HABIT/S: Tea addiction duh

FAITH: None

GHOSTS?: Yes

AFTERLIFE?: Unsure

REINCARNATION?: No ALIENS?: Unsure

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: None

EDUCATION LEVEL: Well-educated

FAMILY.

FATHER : Deceased

MOTHERS : Deceased

SIBLINGS : No full-blooded siblings, adopted brother deceased, several half-brothers

EXTENDED FAMILY: None of note

NAME MEANING/S: “Faye” meaning “fairy”

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None

FAVORITES.

BOOK: None; she enjoys reading, but has no particular favorite

DEITY: Nophica

HOLIDAY: Starlight

MONTH: First Astral Moon

SEASON: Winter

PLACE: Her teahouse

WEATHER: Clear, temperate

SOUND / S: Music, conversation, wind rustling through leaves, running water

SCENT / S: Tea, roses, vanilla

TASTE / S: Tea, wine, sweets, savory

FEEL / S: Silky, velvety, smooth, soft

ANIMAL / S: Checkers the dog. Only Checkers the dog.

NUMBER: 1

COLORS: White, pink, blue, lavender, red, gold

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Conjury/magic, teamaking, sewing, persuasion, management, spying, manipulation, business

BAD AT: Cooking, physical labor, physical combat

TURN ONS: Ambition, strength, cunning, intelligence, good looks, physical fitness, confidence, respect, affection, CUTE CATBOY EARS, badass scars, loyalty, endearing stupidity, dominance, education, good manners, chiseled abs glistening with blood sweat and dirt

TURN OFFS: Rudeness, disrespect, bad hygiene, helplessness, flakiness, insecurity, shyness, meekness, immaturity, laziness, lack of motivation, indecisiveness, promiscuity, dishonesty, smarminess, incompetence, whining, needy, clingy, smothering

HOBBIES: Socializing, hosting, tea-making, sewing, reading, learning new things, practicing magicks, fashion, shopping, writing, sketching, music

TROPES: A lot that surely fit her, but none in particular that I’m intentionally aiming for

QUOTES : “Manners!”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?       A1: Idk what it be called but it would be a gothic horror Victorian period film full of beautiful costumes and sets, vampires, and intrigue.

Q2: What would their soundtrack/score sound like?           A2: ANGRY VIOLINS Q3:  Why did you start writing this character?         A3: I’ve had some concept of this character since I was like... a kid, so I couldn’t really tell ya. She’s slowly evolved and had several iterations since then. This version I started writing just ‘cause I wanted to RP in this game and needed to pick one of my characters who could competently lead an FC since that was something I decided I wanted to do. Q4: What first attracted you to this character?         A4: Want be pretty lady. Want be cool and sassy and evil. Want wear fancy dresses. Want be vampire and take over the world. Q5: Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5: I don’t particularly dislike anything, I guess the closest I could say is we’re so different personality-wise that sometimes it can be challenging or draining to portray her as faithfully as I would like to write her Q6: What do you have in common with your muse?           A6: Ummm we’re both long-haired married white women in our 20′s - 30′s who were born in a kinda rural wooded place with no full-blooded siblings, some daddy issues, an overbearing mother, and a passion for catboys (or in her case just one, I guess) who don’t do casual sex, are into feminine things, enjoy pastels and tea (mostly just sweet iced tea for me though tbh), and are a lil sassy?? There’s not a ton of overlap tbh. Q7: How does your muse feel about you?         A7: She’s a fictional character soooo she doesn’t. Assuming I’m an all-powerful entity controlling every aspect of her life, she’d probably not be too fond! Q8: What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?       A8: Any character played by someone who gives me good material to work with, provides interesting hooks, writes something engaging, plays off me/my character, offers an actual interest in my character, or in general makes RP fun and has chemistry in our RP. The type of character doesn’t really matter; the interactions can be fun whether they’re making friends, butting heads, or doing something wild as long as the person writing is feeling it and doing their part. Q9: What gives you inspiration to write your muse?     A9: Life, movies/TV, anime/manga, video games, books, music, other RPers. A bit of everything. Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?   A10 : About two hours of intense multi-tasking and distractions

[gypsophiaa]

click for better quality!

don’t repost! reblogs appreciated (・ωｰ)～☆

meet Stella, my Blood Donation / IkeVamp Persona! more detailed description under the cut!

she's not that different from my Cradlesona, but i did change some stuff that are half true irl to make her fit well in the ikevamp universe. i mean i wish i can speak and understand several languages so i downloaded duolingo skskskksks

go make your own Blood Donation! Here's my lil reference you can use, I added some more details to fit in the story :) also, a big thanks to @trulipan for the inspiration of using the character screen!

*disclaimer: the character screen belongs to Cybird, the character info and sprite are fan made :)

Basic Info:

Nicknames: Stella, Sol (Leonardo), Peaches (Arthur and Comte)

Birthday: October 21

Age: 25

Height: 156 cm

Nationality: Filipina

Blood Type: A

Physical:

Eyes: bluish purple

Hair: gray platinum with bluish tips, short and wavy

Accessories: golden hoop earrings, sunflower pin (a souvenir she bought before arriving to the musee)

Features: beauty mark above her left lip, a fainter mark on her right cheek

Illnesses: sleep deprived (?)

Social:

Species: Human

Previous Occupation: Graphic Designer

Occupation: Right-Hand Woman (Assistant)

Relationships:

Arthur Conan Doyle, bickering writing buddy. They often get mistaken as siblings and it peeves them both. Stella dislikes his flirty and teasing personality a lot but she’s more than willing to lend a hand if he starts to run out of ideas (which is NOT her body). He loves to tease her and get her on her toes, which resulted to Sebastian lecturing him quite often. Ironically, they’re close friends

The Count of St. Germain, father-figure. They met when she accidentally dropped her sketch notebook. He complimented how she smelled like peaches and started calling her like that (which Arthur caught wind of and started teasing her for it). He spoils Stella rotten with chocolates, satiating her sweet tooth as much as possible to keep the smile on her face.

Leonardo da Vinci, language mentor. He was impressed when she understood what he was saying in Italian. Then tested her with Latin, German and Spanish. Stella was ecstatic to learn more languages causing his sly advances go over her head (much to everyone else’s relief). She organizes his room as best as she can as thanks.

Theodorus Van Gogh, mortal enemy but not really. He would always refer to her as “Arthur’s little sister” and it would often lead them to constantly bicker. However, both of them share the addicting love for pancakes and will eat it at any time of the day, this was one of the few times where they get along very well. Other times usually involve making Vincent happy and safe. Secretly, however, they look out for each other like actual siblings.

Sebastian, meme buddy. They converse in memes, confusing everyone else, when not too busy in work. She would often ask him historical facts about the others and appreciates him going the extra stretch (she likes listening to his history fanboying). He would also save her from Arthur’s teasing and Theo’s yelling, but sometimes he just stands at the corner and listen to them go mad because he finds it amusing.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, radio (I don’t know how to call it HAHAHAHA). Stella would intentionally pass by near his room just to listen to him play the piano, reminiscing the time where she had a violin. It had always been her dream to hear a live, professional recital of one of his pieces, so hearing him composing new ones just beyond a door made her very happy. Mozart knows she’s listening.

William Shakespeare, neutral but very afraid. Stella avoids him as much as possible, his words are very confusing and deep but she tries her best to understand and remain kind.

Napoleon Bonaparte, older brother figure. He knows her unusually strong peachy scent would attract others and he dedicated himself to protect her. She's probably the most casual one to wake him up — Stella earned the free slap card when he tries to kiss her as thanks for endearing his habit.

Jean D'arc, stranger. She hopes to get to know him better. She would always see him with empty eyes and worries for him. She would often secretly pray for his happiness. Jean knows this.

Osamu Dazai, laugh pill. Though she often gets startled when he enters through windows out of nowhere, its followed by laughter she couldn't control. He likes seeing her laugh and it encourages him to never use the door (much to everyone else's dismay).

Isaac Newton, neutral. They don't speak much. Stella would smile his way whenever she sees him but often receives averting eyes in response and a mutter of hello. She would sometimes lightly hop in Arthur's teases about apples.

Vincent Van Gogh, lover. Stella admires his works since forever and to see him alive and well in person brought tears to her eyes when she realized that everything happening around her was real. Their relationship grew gradually, taking soft steps together until they realized they were in love. She would always sit near him when he's painting at the garden and play with his pet raccoon. She melts when he smiles.

Personality: Artistic and bubbly, she finds beauty in everything. Very expressive, but she keeps a facade when she's sad and it is quite difficult to pin out. She's more than willing to help anyone with whatever she can do. She is easily pleased with the simplest things and gets overwhelmed with gifts. She's usually quiet but if you spark a conversation with her it can go on for a long while, she likes to listen to stories and experiences. She loves to learn different languages and cultures. Can be smart then a dumbass the next moment. Underneath the innocent face is a sultry attitude that she's mastered to control and portray to catch people off guard — though she gets flustered easily when complimented.

Before the Visit to the Louvre: A fresh graduate from BA Multimedia Arts, she earned enough money from commissions to travel to famous museums and relax before starting her work on an international news media site.

Likes:

Chocolates

Adobong Baboy (A Filipino dish)

Pancakes

All the pets!!

Flowers!!

Dressing up!!!

Warm colors

Modern day jokes

Performing

Fruits

Dislikes:

Arthur

Skirt chasers

Being belittled

"Arthur's little sister"

Not knowing what is happening

Being stagnant (not doing anything)

Washing the dishes

Skills and Special Abilities:

Can understand several languages because of her constant travelling, speaks Spanish and Filipino very fluently.

Paints

Writes short stories

Can act like a completely different person if needed

Can go for three days without sleep or sleep for three days, no in between.

Inhales food like Kirby, her stomach has a void somewhere and she gets full very rarely.

Plays the violin (when she was a kid, very rusty today)

Paired with:  Vincent Van Gogh

Life in the Mansion: On a daily basis, she helps Sebastian in his duties. Sometimes, she can be found talking business and assessing deals with Theo. She can also be seen in her room rereading Arthur's first manuscripts and editing them. When taking a break, she's sitting by the garden and having tea with le Comte, or watching Vincent paint. She would drop by the library an hour before bed to have a quick foreign language lesson with Leonardo.

Other Info:

She sings when painting very softly, especially when its raining where the pitter patter can drown out her voice.

Cries a lot in her sleep, mostly because of overthinking. She's gotten used to a life where she would be happy for one moment and devastated the next.

She bites. Metaphorically and literally. Arthur got hurt because of it one time.

Bribed easily with sweets — to an extent. She's not that stupid.

Always screams when surprised from behind while quickly whipping around to slap whoever jumped on her. She got a terrible childhood history with those kinds of surprises.

Slaps people by accident when she gets all panicky and will constantly apologize for such a rude habit.

Secretly very horny and has earned a PhD in self control. (Really makes you think that she's actually Arthur's long lost sibling)

She can't smell her peach scent which drives her nuts. A lot of people had told her that since coming in to the mansion. She's never even had peaches before.

The scent grows stronger after sex and bathing, which she found odd because none of the products she uses has peaches as an ingredient. She even uses a different perfume every time but the peach scent still somehow overpowers it.

Vampires are the only ones who can smell the scent, human don't.

Never touch her notebook. Ever. She's insecure about whatever notes and doodles she has. She's hidden it deep in her closet that even she herself forgets.

When questioned why she "doesn't look like a Filipina," she answers with deadpan eyes and a bored look. "We were colonized by the Spaniards for 3 centuries. My grandfather is Spanish." She's tired of being asked often.

Has acted for school plays all her life.

Laughs at everything.

Cries when mad, it adds annoyance to herself.

[elo-kodon]

Untitled Iwaoi Short Story #1

(Part 1 here)                             

                                                        PART 2

           “That was such a great dinner, Auntie! I’m completely stuffed, right Iwa-chan?” Oikawa exclaims happily, his voice carrying through the small house in bright, musical tones.

           Iwaizumi receives a short but painful jab to his side with Oikawa’s elbow. The movement almost makes him drop the dinner plate he’s scrubbing into the soapy water. He gives Oikawa a short, annoyed look before responding. “Yes, thanks so much!” he calls out hurriedly.

           “Ohh it was no trouble at all boys,” Oikawa’s aunt says, gracefully gliding down the stairs in her long, summery-red pleated skirt.

           Once Iwaizumi had met Oikawa’s aunt, her sophisticated and bubbly personality was one of the first things he noticed about her. She gave the boys a warm hug, welcomed them in, and immediately turned to Iwaizumi. “Now Iwaizumi dear, let’s do away with the formalities for now. Why don’t you just call me Hisako? Goodness knows all my colleagues already do.” Hisako waved her left hand air in a quick flourish and lead the boys into her house. She showed Oikawa and Iwaizumi to their room upstairs. “I’ll leave you two to unpack for a while. I’ve got to head back downstairs to finish up dinner. Feel free to join me whenever you boys are ready to eat!”

           “She’s great, isn’t she?” Oikawa threw his duffel bag onto the ground, turning back to Iwaizumi proudly, “Mom says she’s a spitfire, but I like her a lot! She’s always been there for me, ya know?”

           Iwaizumi considers Oikawa’s past words as he continues to work on the last of the dinner plates. It’s no surprise that Oikawa would like her. Hisako had a lot of qualities that reminded him of his best friend. Their determined attitudes and boundless energy were practically the same. No wonder Oikawa was so excited to make the trip up here.

           Hisako calls out from the other room. “If you two are about done with the dishes, would you mind meeting me in the living room in a bit? I’d love to show you a few of my designs for the show on Sunday. Tooru, you also need to hear the rundown of the itinerary so you know what to expect.”

           Once the boys get done cleaning up, they join Hisako on her pink and blue floral patterned couch. It’s a cozy fit with all three of them, Hisako on the far left, Iwaizumi on the far right, and Oikawa snugly in the middle.

           Tucking a loose strand her wavy black hair behind her ear, Hisako reaches down to the side of the couch, picks up a thick shiny black binder and hands it to Oikawa to open. He carefully takes the huge binder from her and opens to one of the first tabbed pages.

           “So for this particular show, since it’s still only my second one, I really wanted to focus on kids’ streetwear. I’ve noticed that a lot of students like to have clothing that’s still modern and practical, but also wear things that fit to their own unique sense of style…”

           They spend the next half hour pouring through the thick and colorful pages of Hisako’s designs. Oikawa listens with keen interest as his aunt talks to them about her ideas and underlying concepts with model’s outfit. It seems like with each particular outfit and pattern, Hisako has a wonderful remark or funny story to recount on each model.

           “You see now why I wanted you to join me on this project Oikawa? I really need students with strong personalities, since the show’s main concept is based around stories of youth. So, this is where you come in…”

            Oikawa lounges back while he listens to his aunt talk about what she has planned for his design. He loves hearing about Hisako’s stories and inspiration behind everything, but he can’t help but wonder if Iwaizumi is starting to feel a little left out. Carefully, out of the corner of his eye, he slowly and surreptitiously directs his gaze to Iwaizumi. With Hisako’s voice still in the background, he puts his hearing on autopilot for a few moments while he stares at his best friend.

           Iwaizumi has his knees brought up to his chest, his hands wrapped around them as he gazes down at the sketch of Oikawa’s proposed design for the show. Oikawa’s breath hitches softly as he scans Iwaizumi’s face. There’s a fondness to the boy’s dark eyes, his lips are slightly pursed. It reminds Oikawa of how Iwaizumi used to look at him when they were children. But there’s also something else to it… With a confused realization, it dawns on him. Iwaizumi looks like he’s concentrating on something. Like he’s drinking in the design on Hisako’s drawing, trying to memorize the curve of each pencil marking, of each splotch of color on the roughly sketched pattern. Iwaizumi’s left hand reaches down to feel the small piece of fabric stapled onto the bottom right corner of the page. Oikawa catches his eye once Iwaizumi turns to pretend to look at Hisako.

           Iwaizumi locks the back of his jaw once he realizes Oikawa’s caught him staring. The pair lock eyes for a second. The light brown irises of Oikawa fixate on his own, like a curious tiger pup. Iwaizumi ducks his head down towards his lap, knowing that the heat traveling up his neck and onto his cheeks are definitely noticeable. “Stupid idiot…” he thinks.

           Goosebumps appear on Oikawa arms as he slowly averts his eyes. “Weird…Why did Hajime blush just now?”

           Guess he’d have to tackle that question later.

———————————————————————————————————

                                                       *Saturday*

           “Here you go!” Hisako sings out, beaming down at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, setting down a plate of pancakes and two tall glasses of strawberry-and-kewi smoothies in front of them. “Now, Tooru, dear, just so you know, I’m gonna be out at the office in town for the majority of this afternoon and the evening, so you’ll have to be in charge of making sure this young man,” she gestures to Iwaizumi, “gets fed a good dinner, okay? There’s a nice little market about a few miles still outside of town that you two can drive over to pick up whatever you’d like. I’d make dinner for you both but I need to stay late at the studio tonight so we can finish paperwork and make any last minute adjustments before the show tomorrow.”

           Oikawa nods eagerly and salutes his aunt, “Of course Auntie, you can count on me! Can’t wait to see my outfit in person tomorrow, I bet it’ll make all the girls swoon!”

           Hisako lets out a sparkling laugh, “Oh, I’m sure, Tooru.” She puts her breakfast dish in the sink, walking over to the front door to grab her sweater and her large canvas bag. “Hope you two have fun hanging out today! There’s a great beach nearby that you boys should go to if you have the time. I’ve got to run, take care now!” Iwaizumi and Oikawa hear the final few clacks of her shoes as she shuts the screen door behind her and walks down the steps of the front porch towards her car. They hear her engine start and then she’s off.

           “God, you really are a putz” mutters Iwaizumi, lightly smacking the back of Tooru’s head.

           “Not my fault you don’t know how to talk to women, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as he attempts to dodge Iwazumi, but ultimately failing.

           Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair. He didn’t feel like bickering with Oikawa today. He was in too good of a mood, plus he really wanted to go somewhere with Oikawa to play volleyball anyways.

           “Sooooo Iwa-channn what’s on the agenda for today?” Oikawa asks. He stands up from his chair and stretches out his tall torso, his arms almost touching the bottom of the fan in the kitchen.

           “Wanna do a practice match somewhere?”

           “Hmmm. Yes, but I also wanted to check out that beach Auntie mentioned. Not like we really have a beach back home.”

           “Why don’t we do both? We can set up a court once we find a good spot.” Iwaizumi suggested.

           “Ohhh a beach match? You’re on, mothman.”

           Iwaizumi lets out a small, soft “Dumbass” under his breath, then quickly runs up the stairs to grab their duffels, Oikawa slowly following up after him.

———————————————————————————————————-

           Oikawa’s high-pitched falsetto voice pierces Iwaizumi’s ears while he tries to keep concentrating on the winding road in front of him. He sings out another lyric of the weird country song that they happened to discover on the local radio a few minutes ago.

           “Joooooooooooleeeenne, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Puh-LEASE don’t take my maaannn. Even though you totally caaannn-“ Oikawa drawls out in a feminine, old-lady voice, intentionally fucking up the lyrics.

           Iwaizumi lets out another round of loud barking laughter. He forgot how genuinely funny Oikawa can be once he lets his guard down. But that usually only happens when it’s just the two of them together. He scrunches up his eyes, tears of laughter pricking at the outer edges of his eyelids. He’s laughing and smiling so much that his jaw is starting to get sore. “S-stop it you bastard, you’re gonna make me crash this damn car.”

           Oikawa grins over at Iwaizumi, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He turns back forward and smiles quickly to himself. He absolutely loves Iwaizumi’s laugh. The sound never gets old. “Damn, what a stupid song. Who the fuck is Jolene??”

           “I don’t-“ Iwaizumi tries to respond but is stopped by another round of laughter. “I don’t know man, but she’s got some issues apparently. I feel kind of bad for her, honestly.”

           “Eh, not bad enough,” Oikawa grins. “Since when does Japan have American country stations? Is this a new fad or some shit?”

           “I have no idea.”

           “Oh, Iwa-chan, there’s the turn up ahead!” Oikawa says hurriedly, leaning forward in his seat.

           Iwaizumi turns off the main route onto another small, dusty dirt road. As they make a couple more turns, the truck spits up dust.

           “Oh wow, is this sand?” Oikawa tries to squint through the yellowish haze.

           “I guess so. We must be close.”

           They head around a row of trees and then make one final turn. Iwaizumi parks in one of the faded parking spots, then kills the engine. It doesn’t take too long to unpack the bed of the truck. With both duffel bags slung around Iwaizumi and Oikawa carrying the net bag, they walk down a sandy path to the beach below.

           They find a good, flat area of sand and throw down their bags. Iwaizumi sets up the volleyball net while Oikawa takes off his flip flops. He unpacks the volleyballs, water bottles, and snacks.

           “Hey, ‘kawa, the net’s done.”

           “Lit.”

           Iwaizumi throws the net bag down near the duffels and Oikawa takes a couple minutes to mark the edges of each side of the court using a stick. He squints at the line on each side, then runs over to the other side to check the dimensions.

           “It’s fine, Oikawa. Let’s play already.” Iwaizumi drawls.

           “Fine, fine.” Oikawa takes his sunglasses off and perches them neatly in his hair. He picks a light blue volleyball up from the ground and walks onto his side of the court. Iwaizumi’s already on his side, hands on his knees, ready for Oikawa to start. Using only one hand, Oikawa swiftly throws the ball high up in the air. “You know I’m totally gonna win this match, right?”

           Iwaizumi snorts and smirks at Oikawa through the holes of the net. “Not on your life, pretty boy.”

———————————————————————————————————-

           Soaring through the air over the net, the small blue volleyball heads toward Iwaizumi’s side of the court. With the quickness of a puma and the grace of a warrior, the spiky-haired male crouches down and receives the ball. The volleyball bounces back upwards, over Iwaizumi’s head and the boy looks up. He ends up timing the comedown of the ball perfectly, executing a three step approach. Calf muscles tensing, Iwaizumi swings his arms back and jumps up in the air. With a look of fierceness set in his face, eyes gleaming, his right arm whips forward and sends the ball flying straight down towards Oikawa’s side.

           Oikawa dives forward and manages to keep the ball up, but only enough to the point where it flys forward underneath the net. His sunglasses fall down crookedly onto the bridge of his nose. He groans. He almost got a mouthful of sand from this last one.

           Iwaizumi lets out a snicker, “What was that about beating me again?” He grins, watching Oikawa pick his lanky frame up off the sand.

           Dammit. Oikawa was sure his past spike wouldn’t turn into a chance ball, but somehow Iwaizumi managed to receive and turn it into a downward attack. He watches Iwaizumi take off his shirt through the lenses of his sunglasses. Iwaizumi grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink of water, his other hand resting on his hip.

           What a cocky bastard. Oikawa mentally convinces himself that he’s not taking this moment to run his eyes down the frame of Iwaizumi’s body. Nope. Definitely not taking in his wonderful, tan shoulders, and his stocky biceps, and of course that stupid lovely six pack- Wait what the hell? When did Iwa-chan get so buff??  Has he been doing extra strength training on the side or something?

           “Ready to get your ass whooped again, Shittykawa?” calls out Iwaizumi.

           Oikawa dusts the sand off his knees, sweat dripping down his bangs into his face. He takes a few ragged breaths. “You fuckin wish, biiiitttcchh.”

           Iwaizumi is about to make a retort when he notices Oikawa’s fast panting, his chest heaving in and out to try and steady his breathing back to normal. His hair is drenched, his shirt covered in sweat. Oikawa glances down worriedly at the wrap on his knee, reminding Iwaizumi of his past injury. He hastily looks at his watch.

           “On second thought, you look pretty tired, Tooru. It’s getting close to dinnertime anyways. Let’s call it a match and pack up, yeah?”

           Oikawa lets out an annoyed huff but then concedes.

———————————————————————————————————–

           They arrive back home, laughing about another funny joke Oikawa said when they were on the road. Iwaizumi and Oikawa tramp up the porch steps and through the screen door, both letting out relaxed sighs when the air conditioning hits them. They head towards the kitchen counter. Iwaizumi turns around and tosses his water bottle quickly to Oikawa, Oikawa wordlessly catching it in his hand.

           “Take this back up to the room, then we can go to the market and get some food. I’ll make dinner tonight if you want.”

           “Uh…sure Iwa-chan.” He replies, hurrying up the stairs in a daze.

           He sets both he and Iwaizumi’s water bottles on top of the dresser in their room. He takes a minute for himself, grabbing a towel and running it through his locks of hair to get the sweat out. He’s about to head out of the room when his eyes naturally find their gaze to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He walks closer to his reflection, placing the towel around his neck.

           Oikawa inspects his appearance in the mirror. Eyebrows knitted together, he turns his face to either side, looking at his cheekbones. His wide, almond shaped brown eyes. His thin lips, still nicely rounded out for a guy’s mouth. He had okay teeth, straight and not too big.

           “Iwa-chan’s still prettier though,” he thought.

           He shakes his head, trying to regain focus. Bounding down the stairs to meet Iwaizumi, he realizes he left his flips flops somewhere in the living room.

           “Almost done Oikawa? I’m starving, we should head out now.” Iwaizumi calls from the kitchen.

           “One second!” Oikawa answers. He’s slipping his toes through his sandals he found underneath the coffee table when something black and shiny catches his eye. “Auntie’s binder?”

           He reaches over and slowly slides the binder towards him. He opens to a random tab and somehow manages to get to the exact design that’s supposed to be what he’s wearing for the show tomorrow. Running his fingertips over the drawing of his figure, it finally dawns on him. His eyes widen and snap up from the book. “I’ve figured it out! I know what I need to do!”

           “Seriously Shittykawa let’s-,” Iwaizumi walks over and stops to see Oikawa staring at the designs, “go…”

           Oikawa quickly looks up at him from his sitting position on the floor. “Oh Iwa-chan, uh-“ Iwaizumi notices his eyes flit away from him for a couple of seconds. It looks like he’s trying to come up with something to say. “Right, about dinner…uh, could you go on without me? I uh, have a stomach ache. I’ll just stay here. Pick out whatever, okay?”

           His wide orbs stare up at him nervously and Iwaizumi knows he made that last part up. “Sure….if that’s what you want…” he narrows his eyes at Oikawa. He just knows the little shit’s up to something.

           “It is, now please goooo Iwa-chaaann. Out, out, out!” Oikawa pushes him happily out the door, tossing his truck keys to him.

           When Iwaizumi’s finally gone, Oikawa sighs heavily and looks up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was already 5pm. He does some quick math in his head, trying to see if he has enough time to leave and come back before Iwaizumi gets back home. It would probably take Iwaizumi about 20 minutes or so to get to the market Hisako had told them about.

           “There’s no way I can make it all the way into town and back without the chance of Iwa-chan knowing I was gone. Hm. Unless….yes of course! I’ll use that shortcut!”

           He grabs the house keys, changes into his running shoes, and sprints out the door. Instead of running alongside the road all the way into town like he usually would, he hops a small fence and takes a shortcut through the neighbor’s small forest. He ends up running through a wide barley field, the sun beating down on him in waves and his body starting to get sweaty all over again. The leaves of the plants in the field scrape against his calves but Tooru pays it no mind. He makes his way down to a large road on the corner of town. Once he crosses one of the main roads, he’s able to slip behind the main buildings and into a suburb which he knows will lead him to where he needs to be.

           He passes the last house in the long, narrow neighborhood street and makes another turn, leading to a small set of offices. He runs through the bronze double doors and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor, leaning back against the wall of the elevator to finally catch his breath. The door opens to a bright white hallway, giant black and white photos of models striking dramatic poses in different outfits line the walls. He gets to the end of the hallway and fast-walks into his aunt’s studio space. He scans the area and spots Hisako standing near her desk with two colleagues, leaning down and pointing to a areas on a printed photo with her pen.

           “Oh, Oikawa dear, I’m quite surprised to see you here. Where’s your friend, Hajime?” she asks curiously.

           Oikawa takes a deep breath, wringing his hands in front of him. “Yeah, about Iwa-chan… Auntie, I need you to help me out with a huge favor.”

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A/N: wooww wonder what happens next?? Yeah I meant to post this way earlier today since I was hella excited about it and I had already typed out the outline for this part but it ended up being pretty long lol. Anyways, thanks for reading, if you like the story so far let me know by liking and commenting on it! I’d love to hear what you think! Also stay tuned for Part 3 where we finally get to the day of the fashion show! 

Also if anyone knows how to get a quick AO3 invite/account set up, let me know. I’d love to be able to post this to that site as well. Thanks so much for all your likes and support for my first ever haikyuu fic!

-Elo

[flightofaqrow]

‘getting to know you’ game

qrow x Lifa Hakon [incomplete]

Lifa looked around the room, before she inched over to her bunk and grabbed her rucksack from under it. “We could go, if you’re willing to hike for a bit and be ready for a scrap if there’s Grimm or wolves. Or bears. Or really, really angry owls. It’s worth the trip and it’s the perfect time of day to start the journey! It’ll be dark by the time we get to the lake and that’s the best time to be there.”

“i asked for adventure, didn’t i?” qrow opens his arms wide and excited. this could all go terribly, terribly wrong for him at any time, and probably will. it always does. but for once, he thinks just maybe it might be fun enough to be worth it.

just for one damn night let him not ruin it.

...

“Do you know this game? The goal is to trap the fox where it can’t escape or eat one of the birds. If there’s no space behind a bird, it can’t be eaten but if there is, the fox can jump over and gobble it up. I’ll play the fox?”

“…so better for the birds to work in pairs.” a universal truth in qrow’s life, “s’this mean i get t’call ya a fox now, since you said it first?”

“You can, but I’ll be calling you Scare-Qrow if you do.”

Lifa takes a sign of bad luck and changes it to something a bit silly, that hangs out in an open field, and is meant to protect… “kinda like that one actually.”

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“this is your dorm and i just came in and ruined everything, didn’t i?”

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Lifa stared at the scattered papers and folders that she had organized in a filing system all her own, now in chaos on the floor after a lanky fellow student burst inside and collided with her just as she was going to leave. Her fingers twitched in despair and irritation, before she slowly took a deep breath, turned to face Qrow and grabbed a fistful of his vest. Not violently, not too hard. Just enough to firmly get his attention. “I’ll hide you from whatever it is but you are helping me clean this up. Understood?”

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qrow ruins everything. he does. of course it’s just his luck he picks the room of the pretty girl from the roof to try and duck into.

and that there would be some sort of elaborate shelving unit that definitely didn’t seem standard. and that his awesome cape would get caught on the stupid doorknob, and send his gangly limbs flying into said shelves. and she’d be standing right there.

is it really so bad when he already gets to see her, faces nearly touching, yanking at his clothing…? ah, well. yeah. it is. when all her hard work is in chaos on the floor and he still looks a damn fool.

he faces away, ready for a scolding, ready to be passed off to Raven and the teacher she alerted. but none of it comes. seriously?

qrow nods in agreement. he’d be shuffling some papers together already if he weren’t, uh, otherwise restrained. “man, i knew you were cool.”

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“Damned right I’m cool!”

Lifa has lifted him ever so slightly off of his toes before she let him go, realizing she might be a little overzealous. Despite the circumstances, she was glad to see the nice boy from the roof again, even if he was going to see her messy desk…Oh, shit. Family pictures.

Lifa quickly gathered up some papers and threw them onto the desk, taking the moment to snap the frame face down before he got a glimpse of her and her father in full regalia, posing for her fifteenth birthday. All around it were tiny tools, clockwork parts, scraps of metal…

The papers were blueprints, for weapon and armor designs but also a few charcoal sketches of woodland scenes, marked with lines of simplistic colored pencil to represent the presence of evergreen needles and a broad frozen like and a crumbling cabin. Lifa turned to face the mess once more, tightening her jaw. “Ugh, they’re all out of order…what did you do that’s got you on the run, anyway? Hide a toad in someone’s boot?”

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qrow knows she’s hiding something. they’ve all done that frantic scatter at some point when suddenly intrude upon. however, he thinks little of it, lumping similar ultimately unimportant reasons in with those same memories. not that he isn’t curious, of course. but he’s not one to press when she’s already doing him a kindness.

not to mention, what he can see is fascinating enough in itself. landscapes… weapon and gadget ideas… not bad ones, either. the roughness of her hands make more sense if she’s a tinkerer on top of a fighter. really cool.

“heh. somethin’ like that. switched my sister’s tea with some of the weird grasses outside. but forget that. …is all this stuff for real?” he holds up some of the drawings he’s gathered, and points to one of the frozen forests in particular, “i mean, can we go here? is this what ya were talkin’ about last time?”

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“I’m going to wager a guess that you are the younger brother,” Lifa mused, since that sounded like something Runi would absolutely do, with perhaps a more devious twist. As she laid things out to survey and put them back in their place, she smiled softly. It took the edge off the need to laugh.

She glanced back at him, in the middle of lining two see through papers together so one layer of armor completed the other. A method that helped her better plan how to complete the final result. “You mean the lake?” She asked, rubbing the soft paper between her fingers and enjoying the pleasant smell of it and fresh ink. “I mean, yes. The lake is real but the plans are all theoretical, or at least all except the shield. I made that for the Vytal fight…it’s north east of the city, if you really want to go but it’s not exactly a stroll in the park to get there.”

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“by two minutes that she constantly holds over my head,” he says with equal amounts annoyance and affection. he crawls around on the floor, looking for anything that my have snuck beneath furniture while she starts arranging things back in proper order. it takes a second a second for it to click, but he got there. “…you got one too, then?”

stragglers collected, he stands next to her and looks over her work. it’s all very clever. he can see the thought process and enhancements. “okay, Lifa, you got me. i’m impressed.” he crosses arms over his chest and grins, as if he had any authority to be appraising. “most of the students stop after building their own weapon. this is certainly next level.” meaning, it looked like she enjoyed further improving her own equipment, and designing even beyond that. for other people too perhaps?

he shrugs, drums his fingers on his arms, “s’too bad about the lake, then. anythin’ interesting within reach? i do need to avoid Raven for awhile…”

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“A brother? Yes,” Lifa ran her fingers along one frame that she pushed over and lifted it upright again, since it had nothing incriminating to reveal. She missed the northern lights and smells of her home, but couldn’t not miss anything more than her family and her scruffy haired know-it-all little brother.A boy not more than ten, with lots of tawny brown messy hair seated in a wheel chair and seeming like he was about to lob the wrench in his hand at her. “His name is Runi. He’s ten.” Impressed? Suspicion lurked in her eyes but she had to remember he didn’t know who she was. Any respect he had, she had earned it by her own merit. She moved a lock of hair behind her ear, since most of the red locks were piled in a hastily woven bun at the back of her head out of her eyes so she could work. “Thank you, that’s– that means a lot…My brother and I’ve always made these sorts of things together. He’s the brain, I’m the hands.” Lifa looked around the room, before she inched over to her bunk and grabbed her rucksack from under it. “Don’t be disappointed, we could go, if you’re willing to hike for a bit and be ready for a scrap if there’s Grimm or wolves. Or bears. Or really, really angry owls. It’s worth the trip and it’s the perfect time of day to start the journey! It’ll be dark by the time we get to the lake and that’s the best time to be there.”

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one tidbit more of personal information reveals itself, then. her brother has wings of beautiful feathers, even if his body doesn’t seem like it can make very good use of them. that makes Lifa half faunus. which changes absolutely nothing of qrow’s opinion, but is interesting to know.

“heh, that makes sense. i remember your hands,” qrow winks, waits just a beat. “Runi looks just s’cool as you,” now he’s intentionally laying it on thick, but the undertone of appreciation for family weaves into the flattery anyway. he’d die for Raven, kill for Raven, almost and has, respectively, and he trusts the same from her. they acquired their weapons separately, but have gone through many a process side by side. he can’t imagine ever not having her there. he opens his mouth to ask if it’s hard for her to be here without him, but stops, and only nods in acknowledgement. maybe that’s too personal. maybe he’s wrong when she’s moved on from the subject so quickly. maybe he shouldn’t make her think of that kind of thing and ruin the mood for basically attempting to ask her on a date.

…or she could make the offer and already be grabbing her things. honestly, she’s adorable. “i asked for adventure, didn’t i?” he opens his arms wide and excited, “gimme a tick to grab Harbinger and let my team lead know i’ll be out again. i’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

this could all go terribly, terribly wrong for him at any time, and probably will. it always does. but for once, he thinks just maybe it might be fun enough to be worth it.

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“My hands?” She blinked and looked down at them, noticing the scars around knuckles that nicked edges and hot surfaces when she was too in the moment to be careful and didn’t notice her injury until much later. By the time she looked back up at him, some of her freckles had faded under a new blush. Is he…? No. No way. But at the mention of adventure, she smiled the tiniest bit and began pulling her blanket off the bed, rolling the handmade quilt up tight and shoving it into her pack along with a few snacks she pulled from her desk drawer. “Harbinger? That’s very fitting, for a boy named for the crow. I’ll get Forsvarer and Utholdnet. See you there!” By the time she got to the courtyard, she had redone her hair in a more casual style, braided around the top in a pretty manner but tied off loosely at the bottom so it trailed down her back. Snow was slowly falling and Lifa was just making sure her oil lantern was secure to her pack side, her eyes darting around for Qrow’s presence.

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he sneaks in the shadows, in all the darkness of his namesake and skills, just for fun. he sees Lifa, notices the charm in literally letting her hair down, and also suddenly feels severely under-packed with only Harbinger and a blanket roll strapped to his back for the occasion, but he’s always traveled light. qrow is used to finding what he needs where he goes, or simply going without. …or losing things, or having them be more trouble than they’re worth… he doesn’t give himself time to dwell, pursues further in his game of how close he can get before she senses him, eventually stepping into the light slightly to the side and behind her.

“ready to go?”

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Lifa turns towards him and with her lopsided grin, she pulls her deer skin hood up, lined with white fur, and nods. “Ready and eager.” And seeming none too surprised at his sudden presence. Things lurking in the shadows? Child’s play for her. Lifa leads him through busy city streets, knowing the way to her destination easily as she had been there frequently enough to have it memorized. It was quite a trek through civilization alone, so she passed the time on their way to the border with the only chatter she could think of. “So what sort of weapon is Harbinger? A sword? You seem like a swordsman.” Weapons. The first subject that came to mind. “One handed, if I had to guess.”

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well, he tried. good practice, anyway. at least she doesn’t rub the lack of surprise terribly in his face. admittedly, he’d be disappointed if other students were as easy targets as any old passerby.

and he has one more piece of information about her skills for the tournament. qrow plans to hold onto his secrets as long as he can. this is almost immediately tested, even in the middle of qrow’s wide red eyes trying to take in the city of atlas. everything is steely and it feels like rain-washed glare even on a sunny day. it’s not the most comfortable or familiar of environments, sterile, almost, but it has its own beauty.

he lets his head lull to the side, smirking, lifting an accusatory brow, “Sunshine, you’re really just gonna straight up ask a guy how he handles his sword?” a crude twist of implication, but he’s a teenage boy with adventuring and a pretty redhead on his mind. he turns to start walking sideways, and flips up his cape to reveal the longsword in its entirety. he lets that answer for itself, and even though the small rig of gears could easily suggest to someone with Lifa’s engineering skills that there’s more going on, he says nothing else further. they can geek out after the fights. “…mostly one-handed. buuuut there’s also a lotta things i like using two for.”

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Was the architecture impressive? Yes. Did Lifa like it? No. It lacked something personal and homey for her, no personal connection or familiarity for her to appreciate other than the engineering perspective. When they finally passed the city into the snowy fields, she breathed a deep breath of relief and took it all in, the open horizon caressing something in her soul and reminding it that it was alright. “Well– yes. How else would I learn about your method of combat?” Lifa looked at him quizzically, even tilted her head to the side in a manner so innocent that it was hard to tell if she was messing with him or really didn’t get it.

At his show of weaponry, Lifa her flexed arm in the sleeve of plate that covered from the shoulder to the fingers in a gauntlet and all at once, it showered down to knit into plate sections and spiraled out around the back of her hand to form a heavy circle shield, meaning the sleeve couldn’t be light either. “Interesting you forgo a shield. I was always taught if you have to choose between a blade or shield, take the shield. Did you fight before the academy?”

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a grin returns all the wider when he looks to Lifa again. qrow has seen and done enough playing dumb to know pure innocence at face value. faking it lacked the curiosity clearly on display. oh boy, what is he getting into. trying to get into.

… calm down, qrow. when leading flirtations fall flat anyway, it’s time to simply join the conversation. he lets his cape fall to drape along his back once more, but keeps his hands at the back of his head and laces fingers together, elbows happily raised while he walks and thinks.

“well, mosta the time i find that nothin’ ‘learns’ ya better’n actually trading a few blows instead’a talkin’ about it. but your team made it t’the next round too, right? so we got more of that comin’ up.”

he watches the deployment of her equipment, more impressed by how smoothly it executed in both inner workings and user experience than by the piece itself. his gaze follows along up her arm for eye contact once more, offering a serious expression, “been fightin’ all my life in one way or another. …an’ i was taught if you need a shield, ya ain’t fast or clever enough.”

well, and Harbinger is wide enough to block shots as well as any shield if positioned right, but again, she can find that out for herself. “… so the people who taught ya were more the defensive type, huh?”

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“Indeed. We fight well together, but that’s about all we do together.” Was that bitterness in her voice? Maybe. Scorned by those she was chosen to lead for all her time spent away from home, for the first time in her young life, was something that she couldn’t help but stew over. Lifa lifted her shield slightly to look over the runes she had painstakingly engraved around its rim and took comfort in its familiar presence, like an old mentor showing her the way. “That may be true, but words still have their merit…The shield is a symbolic choice. Almost all of our warriors use them.” The crunch of snow was the only noise for a moment, as Lifa absently rubbed the shoulder of her shield arm, recalling one of many scars she wasn’t quick enough to avoid.

“Ever since I can remember, Grimm clawed at our gates. I didn’t want to hide behind the barricade and hope someone else kept my family safe. I wanted to be one of the shields protecting them. Hence…” and she lifted it with a tired smile, feeling her point was made, as she gestured her fingers around the runes and translated them. “ ‘Fight because you love what is behind you, not for the hatred of the enemy before you.’ If you’re using a shield to hide, you’re dead or worse; useless. But fret not, I also have an ax to take the limbs off any Beowulf too bold for its own good.”

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finally, all the scenery hits qrow. trees stand taller than he’s ever seen sprawling in more packed patterns. the air freshens, the sounds quiet, save for their footsteps and Lifa telling her story. he realizes quickly that his boots are not made for this kind of snow, but at least he has steady feet, most of the time. Lifa acts confident in the direction they are headed, and he’s glad.

lips scrunch into a pout at her obvious resentment, but he doesn’t push it. they differ there, too. everything the tribe did, they did together. even when physically separated, each group was a cog in the wheel of the same goal. survival. and survival when they had no gates.

she has his full attention when she starts talking about being a protector. “that’s… all very noble.”

he’s staring at her, nearly in wonder, while lost in his own head at the same time. another difference. he and Raven came not with hatred nor love in their hearts. simply to learn to kill. because that was their place. their job. maybe it could fall into the category of loving the ‘family’ that would be behind him, but. did he? did he really love any of them besides Raven, who would always be by side? he shakes his head, covers the gesture with a chuckle at her last comment.

“i bet you would. much as i’d like to, i hope i don’t have t’see that today. …so where is all the ‘we’ and ‘our’, anyway? besides ‘not atlas city’, i mean. sounds like the kinda place that’d have a name.”

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“I’m grateful you think so,” Lifa turned her face towards his and smiled warmly, her eyes lighting up with it. He was a good listener or perhaps he was just waiting for her to stop talking…No, she believed the first thought. He had that sharpness to his gaze that said he didn’t give his attention to anything he didn’t want to and that was something she quite liked about him already. Lifa walked strangely in the snow. Toe heel, toe heel, toe heel. Piercing the icy surface carefully with the point of her boot so her foot slid into the powder almost silently. But as she noticed the way her was looking at her, with all that garnet intensity, Lifa for once felt compelled to turn her own gaze away and that was not something she did lightly. With her free hand, she reached above to run her fingers along the lush green needles above. “Of course it has a name, it’s just not one people in Atlas respect much. As for if we’ll meet any Grimm…Hush for a few minutes and I’ll be able to tell you.” Was she purposely dodging the question? Perhaps. As they ventured deeper into the wood, she slowed down and turned her face up to the treetops before lifting her hands to her mouth and emitting a high, pure series of sung notes. It echoed high into the air and Lifa gestured for him to wait. Distantly, there was the flutter of wings and chatter of birds in response. Some even emerged from the branches to investigate them with curious dark eyes and Lifa smiled and pointed to them, “See? No Grimm close by.”

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when she stops holding the connection of their smiles, he does too. he’s nothing if not observant, watching her feet instead. an attempt at walking the same way shifts balance, and he has to continue looking down. the snow gets thicker and thicker as told by how much the rocks and underbrush becomes buried. she wasn’t kidding about it being a hike.

if not observant, then call him too curious for his own good. he looks back at her with a quizzical lift to his features. had Lifa just answered the question, qrow could have been satisfied. skirting around it made it a far, far more interesting topic. he’ll drop it, but now he’d have to dig and find out not only what the name is, but why she wouldn’t want to say. surely someone around the school would know.

speaking of dropping, somewhere between the new footwork, the shifted attention, trying to bring up an argument about being hushed when he was already quiet, and likely his damn curse, his carefully stepping feet slip right out from under him when she holds her hand out for a halt; he falls right to his ass with a grunt.

which, maybe, is a good thing, because he’s rather glad to already be floored while trying to process the sound she makes. Somewhere between singing and an animal call, a captivating, otherworldly sound that’s of such a pitch it almost hurts his ears, and then echoes back softly from every surface for what seems like miles. the animals nearby even respond.

his jaw hangs open, and his eyes fill with disbelief, and his hands hold himself upright in the snow, clutching as if he might just fall through the ground because everything suddenly became a crazy dream. he had no idea humans were even capable of making such beautiful noises with nothing but their raw voice.

and then she turns to him like what she’d just done was part and parcel of any other day. the grimm are currently the least of his worries. she keeps getting more beautiful and magical by the minute, and he might just be getting in over his head, but for better or worse that’s never really stopped him. but he really does hope she’s going to offer some sort of explanation for all that.

seriously, who is this girl and where did she come from?

“………”

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“Qrow!” Lifa exclaimed when she found him up to his waist in snow, like a fawn that had misjudged its next few steps and was waiting for its better-knowing mother to come dig him out. She didn’t mean to laugh at his expense, truly, but his looked so dumbfounded by the circumstances, wide eyed and mouth agape, she had to let a tiny giggle win. “Comfortable down there?” She reached down and grabbed him by the back of his jacket with a firm grip. One good pull and she lifted him straight out of the snow, his feet cleared the ground and she gave him a slight shake to dust him off (or perhaps to be comical) before she set him back down on his feet. She hardly grunted with the effort. “Joke as I may, you should really step carefully. It would dampen the mood if you break an ankle and I have to piggy-back you all the way home.” Lifa didn’t give him much time to recover but she was certain he could shake off the astonishment and fall into step. She smirked to herself as she continued forward, taking smug satisfaction before she brought her hand up to her mouth again and without warning, belted out that call once more, reverberating from her throat with a rich vibrato. It was like the forest swallowed it up and breathed it bigger into what should be possible for a small girl to make. She didn’t stop walking or even look at him, as she gestured vaguely in the air with one hand and tapped a branch so snow showered down on them both. “It’s called kulning, if you’re wondering.” On their horizon, the sky was growing a dark indigo color and the first pinpricks of starlight were making themselves known and with the glare of sunset, Lifa could see far ahead the blinding line of white as it reflected on a large body of ice.

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no. no qrow is not comfortable stuffed into the snow, but at least the chill along his back matches the chill down the inside of his spine that her voice had just given him. she’s laughing, and that’s better than the alternative.

he pouts when she plucks him from the snow. she’s strong - he knew that from the way she tugged on him the other day. and earlier today. she really did like the lifting and the tugging, huh? but even though she’s strong, his legs and arms pull in like he’s some kitten lifted by the scruff, as if consolidating his mass might make it easier to hold.

it really couldn’t get more embarrassing.

and he really shouldn’t have thought that, because then it did. she’s not laughing anymore.

“yeah, i know,” he says in a harsh mutter. he knows it would dampen the mood. it always does. he always does. he’s been afraid this whole time, trying to convince himself it would be okay, but now she fully admits it. and it all has nothing to do with his steps.

he almost feels better, letting him self sink into that singing sound again, to let it carry him away maybe to come back more spirited, but then face and shoulders scrunch as more snow invades his space and melts into his clothes. rude. he loves snow on a landscape, but finds it’s not as pleasant all caught in the entirety of his clothes now, and slowly seeping into his person.

“kulning,” he repeats, making the effort to show he’s still listening, but unable to hide the quickly waning amusement. his head hangs too low to enjoy the sunset.

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He had sombered as quickly as a cloud’s shadow passed over a plain and Lifa wondered if it was her doing. Something she did? Said? Had she made a terrible social misstep again and spoiled everything? Maybe he didn’t like her singing. That had to be it. Why did she ever sing in front of people? Stupid, she thought as she twisted the end of her braid around her fingers and muttered, “Kind of annoying, I know.” more at herself than anything. But she wouldn’t let him see her affected. She urged her steps to have purpose and to carry her steadily forward to their goal again, her back straight and eyes pointed forward attentively. Expression set to be impenetrable, as so well trained it was to be. She was looking for something, anything to change the subject to something he felt comfortable with and then she spotted it. As they neared the frozen lake in sight, Lifa reached to her pack and slid out her hatchet. She hefted it once in the air and when it landed in her palm again, she hurled it off to their right.

The blade sank deep into a fallen tree that was leaned sadly over a snowdrift and some stones. Lifa jogged up and hammed the back of the blade once with her shield edge to drive it deeper, before she levered the handle and the wood splintered loudly to reveal the core. A few more solid whacks and Lifa pried a chunk loose and held it up to him victoriously. “I’m sure you know, but a dead tree’s middle is the best dry wood you can find in snow and rain. Help me harvest it? We’ll need a fire to last. If you don’t want to dull your sword blade, I have a hatchet you can borrow.”

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he is still paying attention. he hears Lifa, and watches her lips move. “the safety lectures? yeah a little, tch.” blunt, but honest. as if to prove a point to himself, her, and the whole world, he pumps out a little kick at the next snow drift they pass, even shaking the scooped up chunks free from his boot, all while keeping his footing just fine. tonight, it’s Raven he hears in his head, calling him a moody broody little brother.

that cloud lingers and settles over them both. Lifa trains her gaze forward and with a purpose, so qrow hangs back by a few steps in silent follow, taking and offering some space. although, voicing his complaint, and letting loose his mini tantrum, he does feel a little better. he distracts himself the rest of the way studying those soft reddish braids again. the weave looks familiar, but the patterns are new. he could figure it out. probably. now he can’t get rid of the urge to play with her hair.

he’s supposed to be sight seeing but between his own misery and her, he can’t seem to stay focused on more than immediate surroundings. they stop moving again, and this time he’s prepared for… anything. the wield and throw of a hatchet only makes his shoulders square for a second, because he assumes there’s some sort of enemy target.

and when he figures out it’s only a log, he’s unsure if she’s just having fun or showing off. quickly getting to work and requesting he do the same doesn’t really clarify. well, at least chopping away at some stuff would blow off the rest of all his internalized steam. “yeah, okay.” hands remove from pockets, “i’ll take the hatchet. best to use the tool intended for the job, right?”

for now, he takes the first log and sets to the side to start a pile. finally, he finds a smile once more, “got any work songs to sing t’go with that forest call? i can pay it back once we get the fire goin’.” is that how it went for her too? trading entertainment for entertainment and hospitality. but qrow always had an easier time of it along with the rhythm of flames.

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“No, I meant my…” Lifa swiveled around sharply to stare at him, surprised he had missed her meaning and her hair swung over her shoulder as she did. But she saw the expression on his face and left it alone. Maybe it’s just wounded male pride after all. Thirty second cycle and he’ll be over it. She took the twin and tossed it gently in his direction, trusting he could catch it by the handle but she didn’t look to see if he did. If he didn’t, it would fall short just in front of his toes into the snow. Lifa set to work prying more wood free, intending to go in silence and just hope once she showed him the lake, she could make things better but then he asked. Lifa rested her fingers against the engravings of the blade, remembering the time she carved them with her own hand and the tune she hummed with the grind of metal. “Only if you pay it back,” she relented. So she chopped, stacked and wrapped the bundle in time to a gentle but comforting melody. “I know a place we can go, No one has been there and no one will know, There it is quiet, forget all the violence We’ve tried so hard to endure…” Lifa took a cord from the outside pocket of her bag and fastened her dense firewood bundle to it before she swung it onto her back and passed him a second one to wrap his own, finding a small smile again as she blinked snowflakes from her eyelashes. “So come with me dear, The bright city hum hurts my ears. Sigh with the trees We could be free. Oh, I know a place we could go.” With the last note on her tongue, she turned and began to walk. Over snow. And then onto the ice. “I’m tired of fear. Grasping for safe, familiar. You are like me, oh, could we leave?”

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qrow catches it easily. not that she’d have any reason whatsoever to trust his reflexes at this point. and she didn’t even watch when it worked. oh well. he already knows he’s missed some things, because he always manages to in his sour moods. he spins the hatchet in his hand, feeling the weight and balance of it, appreciating the design and craftsmanship. it is clearly a weapon, but he’s allowed to use it as a tool. to him, that is quite the sign of trust.  

he takes comfort in knowing this has still been an adventure and it isn’t over. and that there will soon be a fire. a warm, dry fire. (he tries to ignore all the ways he could further screw it up.)

what she sings is not a burly, rhythmic work song as he thought, with a pounding beat to chop to, but instead something as lovely as the kulning, but softer. soothing. and he doesn’t wonder if the lyrics are intentionally chosen. between the song given, and Lifa’s own patterns, he finds a timing to work alongside, but almost feels guilty to interrupt with hatchet hacks and wood splitting.

he pretends the pieces are grimm. fears. doubts. he keeps controlled, skilled, and absolutely decimates them in perfect little chunks. he can even smile back when he proudly carries his own stack and accepts the cord.

but when he tries to tie everything up, one hunk wriggles out and drops into snow. he sighs and slumps his head once more, but she’s still singing, and somehow even though she’s turned away and walking forward he can picture her turning her head and singing that last bit right at him, and now he knows it’s intentional, and he’s not going to ruin it. she is like him. and qrow likes her.

just for one damn night let him not ruin it.

he swallows hard as she steps out onto a slippery surface. but she is so sweet to spend time with him, sing for him, put up with him at all. he will try not to be afraid for her. he follows. he lifts his head and ignores the ice and finally takes in more than immediate surroundings. everything looks just like the picture, more or less. it has a solemn magnificence in the dusk, but he bet it’s looks absolutely breathtaking when the sunlight hits just right.

he looks gazes through a few more trees, “hey, that’s the cabin up ahead, huh?”

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Night had come. There was the last faded violet tones at the bottom of the sky between tree trunks and shadows, and then the day was finally asleep and the stars were making themselves known. Lifa walked with even, short steps on the slick ice, covered here and there with thin patches of snow blown across the surface by the wind. Luckily, the thick treeline kept the worst of it at bay. Lifa followed his eyes, as she steadily headed towards the middle of the ice and now that it was truly dark, she took a small lantern from her pack’s side and sparked it aflame to give them a small circle of amber light to travel by. “Sure is. It was just two and a half walls when I started at the academy. I cut some new logs and packed in some sod to make it a little homier…Sometimes I just come out here and stay the night. Then I climb back through my dorm window before daylight. Y’know, normal girl stuff.” She flashed him another crooked smile, strained and self deprecating. The lake didn’t take all that long to cross, but by the time they did, it was pitch black except for tiny pricks of stars and Lifa’s lantern. The night of a new moon gave very little light to be refracted by the ice crystals. She wants to get him to the cabin quickly, to a warm hearth and show him all the things she had brought to try to create a lovely night, to show him the otherworldly beauty she adored about her homeland. She wanted to have someone see why she was doing all of this. It was for no gesture of power or attempt to be noticed, no whimsical notion of a naive princess acted upon because no one could tell her no. Was it so hard to see she loved this world? And that was something to fight for? That was where her royalty, if such a thing could be defined, derived from? Not entitlement, but being honored with the chance to help that which she governed. No naïve princess am I, but you don’t even know that. Lifa took a chain from under her coat collar, produced a key and stopped at the cabin door to unlock it and let him inside. Every wall was covered in intricate wooden carvings, although there were empty patches or patterns still in the process of being finished. There was a bed of animal furs, some equipment to fish, hunt or cook, but otherwise it was quite simplistic. But best of all, there was a functional fireplace and chimney.

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qrow more or less scuffles across the ice, but it works. forever used to slipping up and catching himself up, he is. if he tries not to think about it too hard or care too much, his feet find themselves more naturally.

“you built it? …scratch that, ya snuck out to build it?” Lifa would only find the beadiest of little red rascal eyes with matching crookedness when she turned to look. (even besides the fact that her freckled face is even prettier in the lantern glow and star-studded snowlight).

“man, i got no idea what normal girl stuff really is, but tha’s what it should be, if ya ask me. i c’n pitch a tent pretty good, but we were never’n one spot long enough for anything like a real cabin.”

freedom. that’s what he’s here for. he doesn’t know any better, and doesn’t want much better either. there’s too much world to stay all cooped up or tied down. he loves the world too. more and more the notion of protecting it for true as a huntsman grows on him. and going home to the tribe seems so - small.

although four walls sounds pretty good right about now, for a bit, to warm up and refresh.

…and apparently be wowed by a whole new landscape that has nothing to do with land. a quick scan of the room takes in all the cozy furnishings. a bed covered in animal furs seems just a little too perfect and has his mind spiraling in far more pleasant directions than all the prior self-derision.

but ultimately all the little carvings on the door frame distract tactile desires and attention. fingers trace dips and ridges and grooves, eyes follow patterns. none of her drawings could have prepared him for this, not even the engineering ones had this much detail. connecting the two, he’s not terribly surprised, but still finds himself repeating with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “damn! you. built. this…? …in not even two years?”

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“Like I said, it was already partially there, probably used to be an ice fisher’s hut but it was abandoned for a bit. I just built over the old foundation, cut new logs and all.” Lifa brushed off the effort as if it wasn’t weeks of work, maybe a little flustered by his evident astonishment. Was it that impressive to him? The girl dropped her pack near the hearth, where a moderate stack of birch wood rested and set to work on getting a fire going. She knelt down close to the stack of tinder and kindling, taking the blade of her hatchet and striking the flint on the metal at a steady pace to shower sparks of it. It took a few tries, while he explored the images of stars, trees, elk and more she had created over her time at the academy. But the three largest were birds of different kinds. An eagle, an owl and a raven. The sparks caught and Lifa ducked her head down to blow gently on the curls of smoke. A flame sprung up and she sat back with a grin of pride, quickly feeding it before it ate through the starter. “Yes, Qrow, I built it.” She confirmed again, but with much more confidence. Maybe it was feeding her ego a bit. Lifa dragged her pack onto her lap and opened it, starting to set the contents on the floor. A tin of food, a bottle of something, a board game, a small cooking pot. “A small cabin is maybe a month of work with fair weather but how about to take off your shoes and get your toes warm again before I get into the logistics of it? And bring the furs over, we can get comfy while we wait.”

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he had no concept of time for such a thing. especially a thing filled with so much art. time passes slowly when he reaches the birds. big, beautiful ones, and regal looking. it seemed even art and atlesian legends favored ravens over crows. they’re still all three beautiful.

he hears the logs stack into place and the sharp burst of metal on flint. he knew how to start a fire, but just as well she handled it. he wouldn’t want to burn this lovely place down after Lifa worked so hard on it. when the flames reach a dull roar and Lifa’s sounding more pleased, he makes his way over.

“i knew you were cool,” he says for the second time that day, with a wink.

sweet stars a warm fire, yes!

his shoes are already kicked off by the time she says so. in short order, followed by socks, and pants and… once she’s set up her supplies, he’s stripped down to burgundy boxers, hung his clothes from the mantle to dry, and laid down on his back, basking like a cat - a lithe, sinewy cat with very taut and toned abs and legs - in the fire’s glow and warmth of the wood beneath him - dry and pulling away moisture from clammy skin.

“oh furs?” a gruff mutter considers it, “…okay, inna minute.”

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“You haven’t even begun to find out, pretty boy.” Lifa was occupied with opening the tin of food for them, full of shortbread cookies, small chopped pieces of some sort of smoked sausage, apple pieces dipped in caramel and a few other odds and ends like candied pecans and dried pieces of fruit. As she set the pot in place over the fire and uncorked the bottle with a pop! Lifa put a little packet of spices in with a golden liquid and left it to slowly warm. She turned back around to ask, “Do you like venis– ancestors above me!” He’s practically naked. How did he get so undressed so quickly? How did she not notice? Why couldn’t she stop staring? Her eyes, round as coins, were just wandering over the planes of his shoulders and collar bones, how the firelight pooled in shadows or ivory glows on his skin, turning him into something of an intricate oil painting. She kind of wondered if– No! You are not wondering anything! You are a sovereign and huntress! All at once, Lifa resurrected her melted brain and stood up, marched across to the bed and grabbed a reindeer skin. Without an ounce of grace, she tossed it over him. “You won’t warm up like that.” she said quickly, completely unaware that all of the freckles on her cheeks were almost invisible under how red they were.

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he’s blissfully letting the cold seep away from his bones, watching Lifa unpack more goodies than he thought could possibly fit in one tin. his mouth waters in a way it hasn’t since the best cook at the bandit camp had her rotation. this took some serious planning, which Lifa must have done all in one afternoon, because he’d only just picked a destination earlier in the day. no wonder she’s a team leader.

for all indecent thoughts which had crossed qrow’s mind on the way here, and indecent hopes still drifting in his head, the fact that baring so much skin could itself cross the lines of decency never even occurred to him. he had found not everyone in the kingdoms had the same openness he grew up with, but that’s why he left the boxers on! but then Lifa stares, and flushes, and he remembers his earlier considerations of how innocent she must be.

and all of a sudden he’s frowning from beneath a fur hide, decidedly colder from its spot in the cold air cabin than the heat coming from the hearth. not to mention the sight of beautiful blooming rosy cheeks having been stolen away and replaced with dead animal. momentarily.

“whaaat?” qrow digs his hands around until he finds an edge, and plunks his head out from beneath the cover, but respects her wishes of keeping the rest in place over his body. not an ounce of shame sits upon his features, but rather, quite a silly grin.

“never seen human skin before, Lifa? not even a communal bath or anythin’ back home?”

maybe people in colder climates weren’t so inclined to be naked to the elements all that often. well, he’s dug himself this deep. he might as well keep going. if he’s going to ruin things, at least he can start doing it fabulously. although, having traveled all the way out here now, she’s kinda stuck with him.

even more of his teeth start to show, “so. …am i still pretty?”

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Lifa groaned loudly and sat down by the fire, burying her face in her hands before dragging them down her cheeks and giving him a scathing look. Not truly hostile, just irritated that he was poking her buttons. “Baths? No. We have public saunas but I don’t participate. It would be improper for me and in fact, most of the time they’re restricted to men and women being separ– why am I even answering this question?” she tossed her hands in the air and set back to setting up the game board. It looked like a checker board, except more in a cross fashion, forming four avenues and there were a great deal many pieces. Smooth stones painted with a white goose on top and one painted with an amber fox. It was getting warmer with her layers on, so Lifa undid the clasps of her fur wrap and laid it aside, relieved with it gone. The fire was steadily heating the cabin’s interior and her sleeved tunic was plenty warm, considering it was such fine wool. Lifa toyed the end of her braid in her fingers with a pouty expression, her brows furrowed and jaw clenched. Her own form of bashfulness. “I am thinking of a word for you right now and it is not pretty. Do you know this game? she demanded the last question and held up the fox piece to show him.

Her entire right side was bathed in the fire light, now that it had begun to consume whole logs and her hair seemed to draw the light in and emanate it on its own, like the glow of a candle. The other side of her was shadowed, as though she were still standing on the ice.

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riling people up always made information slip. improper - for her specifically. qrow definitely tucks that little note away. she answers because he’s genuinely interested on top of being a smart ass, but Lifa seems set on changing the subject, so he lets her. he also knows better than to press too many buttons of someone who just laid out a bunch of delicious looking food.

now that he is dry and the air is warm, and they are both safe as it gets, and he can even relax a little - his stomach lets loose a loud growl beneath fur cover. but he dutifully tries to keep his attention on everything she’s setting out next, rather than the smells from the snacks, or what that word she’s thinking of might be, or the adorable expression he finally earns in reaction to his flirting - glowing in the firelight. teasing him in so many ways, this girl…

“uh…” he sits up, pulling arms loose from his hide blanket, and using them to tuck the rest into something of a tartan sash by sitting on ends or letting them drape over one shoulder. curious eyes glance over the board and pieces, and while he can find elements of many things he’s played in the past, the general combination doesn’t look familiar. a hint of anxiety spikes again.

“can’t say i do. t’be honest, looks like the kinda thing i wouldn’t be allowed near. me and, um, stuff with a lotta little pieces don’t really get along.”

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Lifa popped a piece of apple between her teeth and savored the tart and sweet on her tongue, as she settled down crosslegged and comfortable by the fire. As she chewed, she wiped a bit of melted caramel off her bottom lip and ran her tongue over her thumb, stopping to nibble on her nail in thought while she moved some of Qrow’s gear a little closer to the fire so the toes of his shoes would dry through. “You can’t be worse than me, I’ll flip the board if I get too upset about losing and spend all night angry I have to pick it all up again.” she smirked at him, although she was completely honest. She would do it. “So let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It’s an easy enough game, Qrow, I brought it from home to try to get my team mates to play it but, uh…anyway. One of us controls the birds, the other is the fox.” She moved a few bird pieces around the fox to demonstrate, “The goal is to trap the fox where it can’t escape or eat one of the birds. If there’s no space behind a bird, it can’t be eaten but if there is, the fox can jump over and gobble it up. If there’s not enough birds left to trap it, fox wins. I just thought it would be a fun way to pass the time while we wait for the show. I’ll play the fox?” Lifa rolled the game piece over her fingers smoothly, back and forth, like a coin or card. The last roll, she bounced it off her thumb and caught it in her palm deftly, waiting for his answer with an expression akin to hopefulness. A hope that he wouldn’t turn her down flat like her team did.

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waiting until someone else started on the food is about all the etiquette qrow could actually pull from what had been crammed in his head so far, so he’s grateful to be surrounded by a picnic of familiar finger foods. he shoves a whole sausage and a few pieces of the dried fruit into his mouth and manages to chew with his mouth closed as Lifa fusses with more tasty smelling things on the fire.

yet again, she helps distract and settle over-stimulated nerves in demonstrating her own brand of messy eating and managing to make burnt sugar spilling over somehow attractive, but maybe his head just runs away with him again. she admits to making a mess of the game, too, and that definitely must have resulted in a losing some pieces in the past. well, as long as none of this is too important to her…

she speaks with the same dismissive disappointment Summer had when trying to convince Raven to spar with her their first few months. team leaders have it hard, huh?

he had come here for adventure, not games, but with his clothes still drying, food to eat, and all that same spark of light in her eyes emphasized by the fire’s glow, he figures there are worse ways to kill time.

“sure. i’ll try a round.” less secrets of strategy need be kept with minor pastimes. he mutters aloud, “…so better for the birds to work in pairs.” a universal truth in his life.

focused red gaze moves from the board to her face, back to grinning and apparently emboldened by warmth and the idea that she seriously has no issue moving along in all these planned intricacies with him in little but a blanket, “so’s this mean i get t’call ya a fox now, since you said it first?”

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“Seems you’ve already caught on to one of the many lessons this game has to teach,” Lifa set her piece down on the board with a sharp clack, leaning forward with her chin in one palm and her brow furrowed in focus. They followed every position on the board, calculating routes of both evasion and attack. Oh yes, it has a great deal of hidden meaning…she didn’t catch on to the one he was insinuating or at least not to it’s true theme.

Lifa rolled her eyes, jumping her game piece over one of his and claiming the devoured bird for her side. “Red hair, red fox. I haven’t heard that one before.” Sarcasm, of course. She had heard all manner of nicknames and jokes about her vibrant locks and that didn’t even cover the silly superstitions her own people insisted it meant. Favored by the gods, born to shed blood, born to die young. Shit like that. But all in all, his veiled flirting was a hit and miss. “You can but I’ll be calling you Scare-Qrow if you do.”

The fire spat and she leaned over to look inside the pot, which was now generating a very enticing, mouth watering aroma. Thank gods, it’s ready. Lifa took the two cups she had pulled from her pack and lifted the hot handle with her gloved hand, pouring the drink into each like molten translucent gold. Hot spiced mead; the real taste of home. The first sip ran like slow, gentle fire down her throat and seemed to set her aglow from inside with its taste, hot honey tickling her mouth delightfully.

Lifa closed her eyes for a moment to savor it and all the memories with it. “You know, it’s traditional for my homelands huntsmen in training to play this game. It teaches team work and sacrifice. I mostly ended up getting the pieces chucked at my head by my brother or smacked with the board by my mentor for being a brat…It’s nice to play it again, though, so— thank you. You’re pretty nice to a girl you’ve known less than a day. Nicer than most people at this Academy.”

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any strategies specific to this game elude him, but he makes his own assessment of the board. he projects his own experiences on top of it, mixed with the training from school. he focuses on moving the front line of birds towards their rear partners while fanning out. pairs, then small groups so pairs could cover for each other, in as many directions as the number of pieces allowed.

“nah, just foxy,” he states plainly without even looking up from the board to impress flirtation or explain what is perhaps cultural connotation, he seeks only to clarify any lack of allusion to color, to diffuse insult. “an’ i’ve been called worse. heh,” now he looks up, amusement rounding and raising his cheeks.

he grew up with his own share of superstitions thrust upon him. but here Lifa takes a sign of bad luck and changes it to something a bit silly that hangs out in an open field and is meant to protect… “kinda like that one actually.”

he hears and smells the pot too, had been wondering what treat she had for him next as he downs a few more of the nibbles laid out. recognition of the scent almost finds him, but the thought that a pot likely held soup distracted from the truth. he takes the cup and it reminds him of the cider, and his mind inches ever so closer to an answer. ultimately, the first sip finally reveals it. a brand new spice mix hits the front and sides of his tongue, while the honey hits the back, and the alcohol burns in a slow, syrup motion down the back of his throat. mead!

sugar crystals melt and prickle along inner linings and he smiles even wider, recalling their conversation on the roof, “you remembered! damn… this puts my two tiny whiskey bottles t’shame. might’s’well be muddy rain water in comparison.” forget even pulling them from his pouch now. something from his own stash is all he could manage without buyer covers here in atlas. no need for lesser when a whole pot of mead between them would be more than enough for a good time.

he listens, sipping often at the cup. it’s way too hot, but equally way too delicious to care. it’s good to know playing games seems to go about the same way for most teachers and siblings. he moves another of his pieces, fingers lingering and rocking it in hesitant thought at her last words.

“yeah, well. thanks f’bringin’ me t’such a cool place.” qrow remembers himself and lets go before it cracks or pushes through the board, or something else stupid. his voice shrinks, “most people don’t ev’n want me around this long. an’… t’be honest i’m still gettin’ usedta nice bein’ a compliment.” he puffs up his chest, willing some manner of pride back through humor - in letting out derisive air through a crooked and scrunched expression, “though i guess i shouldn’t be su’prised t’hear that when y’live with alla these atlas stuffies. …what about your team? y’get along with them alright?”

he kinda figured all the teams worked it out to work together one way or another, but, he looks down at all these birds and one lone fox piece, and he wonders.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I thought you might,” His subtle bashfulness and smile drew her eye to his features again magnetically. He had a sharp wit, a cold edge but there was a softness there that made her feel like she was being shown something precious, like this secluded and protected place of her own. She became distracted watching his long fingers move across the board and in a moment, she realized he was rapidly approaching victory. Lifa tried to snap out of it by taking a drink but it didn’t do anything whatsoever to pull her out of the warm ease she’d found. Complacency was eroding at her competitiveness, which was a very new situation for her. Lifa looked up at him in a snap motion, her eyes flashing in the same manner an animal might whip their head around and perk their ears when alerted of something. She washed questions down with another drink and gestured to him with her cup, “Well, I’m not most people. I’ll have you know I’m enjoying my time with you. It’s straight up jovial in this creepy cabin in the woods.” Lone fox indeed. Lifa, in all her boldness and liberty taking ways, found that fluttering wisp of shyness again and wrapped herself in it like a gossamer curtain. She gazed around the carvings, pretending for a moment it was the walls of somewhere back home, walls of no kind like these in Atlas. “They are professional, if they absolutely have to be. But I’ll always be the mountain savage in their eyes. Simple. Barbaric. Always deserving less, me and all my people.” Lifa skipped her piece over one of Qrow’s, promptly claiming another avian life. “But it’s alright. They can reduce me in their eyes until they go blind with the effort…I won’t grant their scorn any governance over myself. I know my worth.” I know my worth. She repeated it to herself, even as she fought to believe it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

qrow feels it. he feels it all when he drops his guard like this. his mind engaged, throat tingling with alcohol, belly full, a pretty someone happy in his company, means he eases into uncommon happiness right with Lifa, she’s not wrong. short-lived. rare, so rare that it doesn’t surprise him at all when the sunny girl suddenly turns to shotgun fire and his eyes blast open too. his gaze flits around to follow, over both shoulders and behind him, those bangs she so liked to tease over flying in all directions, blanket bunching coming loose to fall lower on his frame. what had he done now?

he expects to see something in flames, a carving collapsing, the cauldron bubbling over, but nothing. nothing so far. no, his semblance didn’t spark it, something he said must have hit a nerve. another gulp of mead attempts to calm his own.

he doesn’t even look back to the board yet; still listening instead. the least he can do.

it doesn’t hurt how much she has a way with words when she’s upset, apparently. it almost sounds like she’s giving a speech from some high and mighty ledge.

…all her people? that seemed an odd way to phrase it. something more tucked away for later.

he knows the look of someone pulling themselves together by thin threads. qrow and Raven so practiced at the art they could practically weave a tapestry of false security between them. Lifa’s pride glows like gold from the stern set jaw of her face. all the wildest images of undressing her that still simmer in his head couldn’t match the layers which peel away and leave her bare right now.

bird pieces on the same side of the board as the fox fall back in tactical retreat to regroup. it may look cowardly, but qrow doesn’t like loosing so many pieces. a belief in minimizing casualties never gained him much favor in the tribe, but he can play this game his own way. meanwhile, qrow himself scooches closer to Lifa once finished with his move, lying a gentle hand on her closest knee.

“hey,” rugged voice itself shrugs. what can he possibly say to that? to someone he barely knows? “…if you’re a mountain savage in atlas, then i’m a forest one in vale.”

not how to compliment someone. not even close to the best expression of himself, finding words and courage to do so remains a weak point. a shallow attempt at cheer his best bid to offer.

“speakin’ of,” touch removes as quickly as placed. clothes most certainly dry by now, he slides himself back towards the fire and pulls his pants back on beneath the blanket. (and a button catches, and the inner lining of hide tears, because there it is now, but he’s just not going to mention it and make sure the frustrated growl he lets out sounds like it’s from the awkwardness of tugging trousers on while sitting on the floor), “…ahem. don’t i still owe ya a song?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

His small but meaningful efforts to reach her were noticed. His words draw a smile of a girl remembering that yes, there is someone here who likes her, who doesn’t look down his nose at her and wish her gone as quickly as possible. She’s seen. And what a terrifying strategy of war that was, sliding off pieces of armor and lowering her weapon baring hand to stand close to a fire that only burns when disrespected. His hand startles her smile. Lifa didn’t know how to interpret it, the gesture was so utterly audacious of him that she had to remind herself that it could be just barely defined as treason, if facts were stretched. All her life, she was raised on a pedestal whilst kneeling in pious servitude, having to always walk the line between an acolyte and an idol. But in a single gently red hot touch, he reminded her that none of those things were in this cabin now. This boy was all equal parts mysterious, smart mouthed and utterly tender. What a way to make her head foggy and her cheeks flush for a few moments when she realized her leg felt cold now that his palm was away and she wanted it back. Was her heart going to jump out and do a dance it was clearly gearing to do? Lifa’s lips split into her lopsided grin and she promptly made herself comfortable among their blankets, stretching out on her stomach and propping her chin in one hand to peer at him expectantly through her eyelashes, feet raised lazily in the air. A rather flattering view of certain…curves. “You most certainly do and I am all ears.” she declared, eager for him to keep his end of the bargain.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

good. great. fantastic. maybe he could complete this while outrunning his next slip up of semblance. he downs the last dregs of his drink and pushes it all to the back of his mind, pulling forward instead the memories of bonfire revelry he grew up with at least weekly.

even if qrow had any idea of the standard which Lifa carries in her head, he holds little affection for authority, and far less regard for its rules - demonstrated in no greater way than how he decides for himself that pants make him decent enough, and finally lets furs fall to move around freely.

anyway, for his people, putting too many barriers between one’s body and the flames carrying tribute to the sky is what’s nearly blasphemous.

he finds a sturdy wooden footstool and sets it before the hearth. usual seating would place him looking into the fire to watch a flickering dance and let it focus and guide his beat, but tonight a far hotter view demands his attention on the opposite side. he chooses to cross legs and sit between burning logs and a makeshift drum with his back to the glow. shadows shift along his skin, and likewise darkened eyes openly drag over Lifa’s form; one brow raises in appreciation of long, thick layers draping in more revealing ways, wildfire locks flowing loose around her shoulders, and posture so eager and attentive.

with a head toss to rustle hair in her direction for some hype of what’s about to come, he’ll count it success if he can half match the show she gives him just lying there.

the song demands something of a primal nature, and she makes it too easy for him to call forth.

with no accompaniment or other instruments available, he’ll have to make do with keeping it simple. open palms strike the edge of the stool to make sharp sounds. after that, one hand forms a fist to summon a richer, deeper sound from the center. then, both.

♫ ♫

pat, pat pat, pat

bam, bam, bam, bam, bam

bam, pat, bam, pat, bam, pat, bam, pat…

to keep up with the rhythm of drumming, his body begins to rock, throwing controlled energy into the force of each beat. qrow tightens his belly taut like a drum itself to let foreign lyrics follow in gruff, gutteral chants bouncing from deep in his chest to vibrate in his throat and release with huffed air and hisses. the closest to singing the fry of his voice lets him get.

qrow’s heard it enough times to repeat, though clueless of any translation.

Нэг л хун их л гунигтай Ижлээ хайн тэмүүлэв гэнэ Эргэн тойронд хэрэн хэсэж Хайртай хосоо олов гэнэ Оройтож олдсон тэр л хайранд Умбан наадан жаргав гэнэ Орчлон дэлхийг мартан дурлаж Олон хоногийг элээв гэнэ Үртэй болсноо ижилдээ дуулган Үүрд хамт байхаа амлав гэнэ Өсөж торнисон нуурандаа гэрлэж…

♫ ♫

[hannahchronism]

Now That’s What I Call Visual Character Development™  (pls full view)

I couldn’t stop thinking about that hair dye(ing) post I made and I couldn’t sleep so I was warming up with some sketches and.. then this happened. The focus was (obviously) on her hair but you can see some other changes as time moved and idk I just really like how this turned out??

Some (and by “some” I mean “a lot of”) thoughts & notes about the colors/styles under the cut!

1. This is (roughly) immediate post-escape, just her natural color but dull (and really it should be duller but..i love..bright colors) because she spent literally four years inside and didn’t exactly have good nutrition or a way to take of herself at all. It was probably kept around this length just to keep it from being intrusive (although she’s probably lucky they didn’t just shave it off tbh.)

2. The original Tech design, ladies and gentlemen. If you go find my dA (which like..pls don’t lmao) you can find evidence of my very early tablet days, and my very bad art of Tech with this hair. Speaking story-wise, this was Tech’s first steps into embracing that Killjoy Aesthetic, which happened about a month and a half after she hit the sand. It was when she was living with the traders -Keeper actually helped her dye it uwu- and so it was... sort of a right of passage? Her first hair dying was also right around when she picked up the name Magpie and it was all just very find-yourself-in-the-chaos kind of thing. This is also when she discovered makeup and had just no idea what to do with it. Lots of dark eyeliner and bright eye shadow happened in this phase. In copious amounts. (Also that sunburn, what a baby, she was a zone baby) This hair lasted for a good while until

3. The infamous, lasted-forever-beause-I-Kinda-forgot-I-did-it pink hair. It was actually an in-RP thing, where Tech was feeling restless and wanted to do something “crazy”  and well.. she sure did this. I don’t think I’d call it crazy, but she did it. While it was -obviously- impulsive I think it was kind of also a really neat thing because it sort of reflected a point of change for her (it wa actually roughly around the time I was really starting to RP with y’all instead of my old group -if you go find the post where she dyed it in the archive, you can see her introducing herself to Mouse on like the same day !) And after that it sort of entered limbo because I got so wrapped up in writing I low key forgot about it which leads to

4. The grown-out, faded pink. It was never a like, directly addressed thing, but I do know I intentionally grew her hair out here, and she probably didn’t keep re-doing the pink or dye over it, so it stands to reason she ended up with something like this which I think looks really cute. Hippie Tech. Again, it wasn’t so much of a totally intentional thing, but it’s neat because at this point she was kind of in a good gear of growth. She had a lot of support and was starting to strike out on her own. She made a lot of dumb mistakes but also she was learning from them. Starting to figure herself out, y’know? And all during this her hair was getting longer and showing her old (true) colors and.. I dunno, it’s just sort of a fun visual storytelling thing. And it probably stayed like this all the way up to until when I went evil and decided to dump her in reeducation.

5. The Re-Ed chop & dye, and the point where she lost those signature scars and..well, a good bit of her mind and a greater bit of all that growth. She was figuring herself out and they stripped it right out of her head and right off of her skin. I mean, speaks for itself, right?

6. the Muddy Green of Instability. This is a shade she went to..I wanna say about two, maybe three months after she got back out into the desert? I have a love/hate relationship with this hair. It’s really cool cause it’s a kind of callback/parallel to her first hair-escapade, where she found herself tossed into the chaos of desert life with so much confusion and newness and she just. was trying so hard to find her place in it. I hate it though because it’s not like, a choice choice of hers. It wasn’t about being bright or identifying herself it was just that she could not stand having the brown anymore. She dyed it literally the first color she could get her hands on, and I’m half convinced she only got ahold of it so easy because nobody else wanted it. It could arguably be the same brand/color she put in her hair the first time, too, but she was so impatient and out of it she really she dumped it on her head without prep, so it came out really muddled and dark and blegh.

7. Another fun parallel, she went pink again around the time she was working out all the ways her broken memories fit together. Like the first time, the pink was a time of growth (though, this time around, she did keep her hair on the shorter side.) It started to even back out and it didn’t look like the way BLI cut it but it wasn’t her old look either. Something both new and old as she tried to blend the trauma and the “old her” into something that felt right. This is also, as you might be able to see, when she got stupid drunk and let Viv peirce her nose.

8.Current (give or take a centimeter of roots) and she’s got it all pretty decently worked out, probably. In any case, she has her memory back, and she knows what she likes and who she loves, and that seems like a pretty solid foundation of an identity. She’ll figure the rest of it out eventually bit by bit (one silver flash drive at a time.)

[blaqqkat]

Honey, Honey

Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction

Read it on AO3 here

A/N: This fandom has eaten me whole. I am trash. Send help.

     It is no simple task for an artist to find their muse. The first time Nathanael had ever found his, he was fifteen and her eyes were so, so blue. Marinette was delicate and sugar-sweet, and he only ever wanted to shield her from the world. Of course, turning into a villain that so cruelly paralleled the heroic version of himself he’d crafted was the worst way to do so. He’d stopped drawing her after that. After all, how could you spend all of your time drawing someone you couldn’t bear to look at?

     It’s been two years since then, and Nath still struggles to find something that resonates with him quite the way Marinette once had. Not for lack of trying, of course! But no matter how many times he strolled around Paris with a sketchbook in hand, nothing inspired him. He was just waiting for that spark. That jolt of electricity, that-

     Nathanael didn’t even get time to process the flash of bold color in his peripheral before he was knocked to the ground. When he came to, he realized two things. The first thing he noticed when he looked up was that the city was in chaos. How did he not notice that before? The curse of being an artist, he supposed. He sort of had a one-track mind when it came to inspiration, and-

     The second thing Nathanael noticed was that he had a superheroine on top of him. The same one he’s seen all over the news, saving the world in that bug-themed suit of hers. And wow, she really was as beautiful as everyone says.

     “What,” she begins. “Are you doing? This whole block is supposed to be evacuated! It’s so typical for you to have your head in the clouds, Na- I mean, you naive artist.”

     As much as he would’ve liked to say that he was listening to her, all he could focus on was the way her mouth formed the words. Was his face getting hot? A quick brush of his palm to his cheek confirmed that, yes, it was. After a moment of analyzing his face with narrowed eyes, she clamored off of him and extended a hand. He stared at it for a moment before the gears in his brain began to move and he realized that she was offering to help him up. Nathanael put his hand in hers, blood boiling as she pulled him to his feet.

     “I would offer to get you to safety, but I don’t have time,” she said haughtily, cocking a hip. “I trust that you can find your own way?”

     “Yes,” Nathanael rushed to say. “I’ll be fine.”

     “And you promise not to get caught in the line of fire or snatched up by the akuma?”

     Her eyes were fierce, as if she was daring him to answer to the contrary. Something in him was a little frightened at her intensity, but the rest of him was… flattered? She was looking at him like his safety was vital. Like he’d better not dare put himself in harm’s way. Would this be a weird time to swoon?

     “I, uh, yes. I promise, ma’am.”

     She nodded and turned to rejoin the fight. At the last minute, however, she glanced back over her shoulder. Her serious demeanor melted into something almost playful as her eyes met his, and Nathanael felt something in his stomach twist and flutter.

     “You know,” she drawled, rolling her eyes and giving a cavalier flip her hair. “Most people just call me Queen Bee.”

     Nathanael doesn’t know how long he stands there after she flies away, jaw dropped and heart pounding. When he finally snaps out of it, he realizes two things. First is that he probably should take cover. Queen Bee really had been serious about him getting out of there, and he didn’t exactly feel like falling victim to the akuma of the week. But the second thing he realized was how tightly his fingers were clenching his sketchbook. Seeing her had lit up a part of himself that had been in the dark for so long. It was like he’d touched a live wire. Like he’d just received a defibrillator to the chest.

     Like he’d just been struck by lightning.

     Walking into class the next day felt like trying to move with a lead anchor wrapped around his ankle. Nathanael had spent the entire night drawing her. And he still couldn’t seem to stop himself. As soon as he sat at his desk and set his bag on the floor, he was already taking out his sketchbook to flesh out an outline he’d started after waking up. Nath just couldn’t seem to get her eyes right. They were big, but they didn’t look young. They were fierce, but they weren’t angry. They were sexy, but not flirtatious-

     “What are you drawing?”

     Nathanael sighed at the familiar voice without even bothering to look up.

     “Nothing, Chloe.”

     “What’s with the attitude?” she whined, coming closer. “I’m just curious! I never see you draw during class.”

     “And whose fault do you think that is?” he grumbled. Chloe huffed and hopped up to sit on his desk, but Nathanael only hissed and shielded his sketchbook from her prying eyes.

     “I don’t know what you’re implying, but if I did then I would say whoever you’re talking about is a changed person and might mildly regret that one time she showed your drawings of Marinette to everyone. But I really don’t know what you’re implying.”

     “Don’t you?” Nathanael asked flatly.

     “I really don’t,” Chloe insisted. “Now show me.”

     “No.”

     “The more you hide it, the more I want to know.”

     “It’s good to want things, Chloe.”

     “Nathanael, I’m not going to ask again.”

     “Good, because it would be annoying to say ‘no’ again.”

     “Just let me see what you’re drawing!” Chloe demanded, hopping off the desk and stomping her foot. She reached for the sketchbook, but Nathanael stood up to get it out of reach in time. Which, of course, only made her louder and more persistent.

      “Come on! I just want to see what’s so important that it’s got you drawing again-”

     “It’s not a big deal,” Nath defended. “Just let it go, Chloe.”

     “It’s probably some stupid girl again-”

     “She’s not stupid!”

     And suddenly the whole class was staring, and Chloe was gaping like a fish. Great. Nathanael sat back down and put a fist over his mouth, wishing for probably the millionth time in his short life that he could make himself invisible.

     “Who’s not stupid?” Alya asked with narrowed eyes, her gaze darting back and forth between Chloe and Nathanael.

     “Uh,” Nathanael stammered, face burning from the attention. “I, um-”

     “Frida Kahlo,” Chloe interrupted blithely. “I said that she was stupid for depicting herself as less attractive than she really was in her self portraits. Nathanael was just saying that she was intentionally doing it to depict her inner turmoil and deep-seeded issues with her low self-esteem.”

     “Huh,” Alya exhaled, obviously not expecting that answer. “That’s… interesting. He’s right, though. And anyone who’d call Frida Kahlo stupid is obviously overcompensating for their own lack of artistic creativity.”

     “Bite me, Césaire,” Chloe hissed.

     “The only one my girlfriend will be biting is me,” Nino joked, butting in with an easy smile. Alya whacked the back of his head but gave a girlish giggle as she did so.

     “You so bad,” she fake-hissed.

     Nathanael watched as Chloe gagged at the couple’s antics and refocused her eyes on him. He felt annoyed at the flood of gratitude that washed over him, seeing as the unwanted attention was Chloe’s fault in the first place.

     “I didn’t know you were so well-versed in Frida Kahlo,” Nathanael murmured, glancing up to catch Chloe staring intently at some fixed point in space before turning her attention to him.

     “I may not be good at making art, but I dominate in art history. Just like I do in my many other talents.”

     Nathanael rolled his eyes.

     “Color me impressed.”

     “Is that an art pun?”

     “Um, should it be?”

     “God, no,” Chloe breathed, leaning against his desk. “I’ve been spending more and more time with this coworker of mine who puns constantly. Honestly, I don’t know how his partner puts up with it.”

     “You have a job?” Nathanael asked, trying to imagine Chloe working a day in her life.

     “Not for money, obviously,” Chloe sniffed. “It’s just some volunteer work I do a couple times a week. Making the world a better place and all that.”

     “Somehow, I highly doubt that.”

     “Well, I definitely saved your ass just now.”

     “I guess you did,” Nathanael admitted. “Even though it was your fault-”

     “No need to thank me,”  Chloe interrupted, completely ignoring what Nath was about to say. “Showing me your drawings of the girl that’s got your panties in a twist will be thanks enough.”

     “You’re really not gonna let go of this, are you?”

     “Nope.”

     After all these years, Nathanael really should’ve known better than to try to beat Chloe Bourgeois in a glaring contest. But no more than one minute later he was handing over his sketchbook with eyes that stung and watered from the effort of matching Chloe’s unblinking rage. She gave a little chuckle that screamed of superiority as she flipped through his old sketches to find his new muse.

     “You’ve got me curious to see who she is,” she murmured, flipping through old drawings of Nath’s pets and recreations of famous portraits he had seen around the Louvre.

     “Curiosity killed the cat,” Nathanael sighed.

     “If only,” Chloe muttered cryptically. “I just want to see this mystery girl. Whoever she is, I bet she’s not as cool as…”

     Chloe trailed off, clearly having reached the pages with Nath’s drawings of Queen Bee. He watched, embarrassed, as she gently ran her fingers along the silhouette of the blonde superheroine mid-flight.

     “Me,” Chloe breathed, the uncertainty of her tone making it sound more like a question than her finally finishing her sentence.

     Nathanael watched as she flipped through the pages slowly, her eyes lingering over every detail. He couldn’t bear to see her expression as she found more and more drawings, nervously looking around the room for a distraction. Adrien Agreste had just come in, so maybe he could get Chloe’s attention? Honestly, anything that would get Chloe off his back before she started judging him would be great. He worried that he looked like a creepy, Queen Bee-obsessed fanboy. It was completely normal to fill ten pages (front and back) with drawings of the same person in a single night, right? He couldn’t help it. The end result had never quite looked right. They never did her justice. Anyone could look at the drawings and plainly see-

     “Is she really this pretty?”

     Chloe’s voice was quiet for once, as if she’d been speaking to herself. Still, Nathanael couldn’t help but feel a little indignant on Queen Bee’s behalf. Honestly, he felt borderline offended at the implication.

     “No,” he griped, reaching for the sketchbook only for Chloe to block him. “She’s much prettier. I’m too shitty an artist to capture just how beautiful she is.”

     Was Chloe Bourgeois blushing? His eyes must be deceiving him.

     “You’re not a shitty artist. These drawings are… amazing,” she gushed. Nathanael just about fell out of his seat. Was this the Twilight Zone? Had Nath wandered into an alternate dimension? Chloe noticed his stunned silence and cleared her throat.

     “For an amateur, that is,” Chloe quickly added.

     “Ah, thanks. I guess.”

     “I suppose it helps that you have an acceptable muse,” Chloe noted, finally handing back Nath’s sketchbook. “I heard Queen Bee is quite impressive.”

     “That’s an understatement,” Nathanael declared. “I actually met her yesterday.”

     “Oh really,” Chloe asked, seemingly disinterested as she glanced down at her nails. “What’s she like?”

     Nathanael answered with the first word that came to mind.

     “Bold. Like she’d take down anyone who gets in her way. And confident, like she knew she’d win.”

     “She probably would,” Chloe shrugged. “I heard she’s a badass.”

     “I believe it,” Nathanael sighed. “She’s so intense.”

     “Of course she is!” Chloe agreed. “I mean, she’s best friends with Ladybug, right?”

     “Excuse me,” Alya butted in. “I’m pretty sure Volpina is Ladybug’s favorite.”

     “That’s cute, babe,” Nino laughed. “But I think we all know that Ladybug and Jade Turtle are the two wisest. Which definitely makes them tighter than the rest of the squad.”

     “Are you guys insane?” Adrien hissed, turning in his seat to glare at the three of them. “Chat Noir is obviously Ladybug’s closest companion in the entire world! They’re yin and yang! Creation and destruction! Good luck and bad! Besides, the two of them were partners before all these other heroes showed up out of nowhere-”

     “What,” Chloe gasped, indignant. “I adore you, Adrikins, but how could you even-”

     “Dear God,” Marinette groaned, walking into class late (as per usual). “It is too early in the morning for this bickering.”

     “Good morning, Marinette,” Nathanael waved, hoping that she might be the one to break up all this talk of superheroes.

     “Salut, Nathanael,” she smiled. But as Marinette edged towards her seat, her eyes trailed over to Adrien (as they always did) and Nath knew it was a lost cause.

     “So, what exactly is the problem?”

     “Reason with these savages, Marinette,” Alya begged. “Ladybug’s favorite is obviously-”

     “Her entire team, because she loves them equally and only third graders pick favorite friends,” Marinette finished flatly, sitting down and pulling out her tablet.

     “But who do you think she’d save first if they were all stuck in a burning building?” Nino insisted.

     “The answer is obvious,” Marinette groused. “Queen Bee has wings, so she can fly out herself. Jade Turtle’s shell is pretty much indestructible, so he would just take cover. And he’d definitely shield Volpina while he was at it because they obviously have a thing going on-”

     “They so do not,” Alya interrupted defensively. “Volpina said in an interview that she had a boyfriend, and she definitely wouldn’t betray his trust to run off with Donatello-”

     “Jade Turtle is definitely Leonardo,” Nino defended. “But Alya is right. He wouldn’t cheat on the beautiful girlfriend I’m sure he has for some vixen-”

     “But you think Volpina’s cute, right?” Alya asked, looking strangely self-conscious. Nino sputtered.

     “Well, duh, but not as cute as you-”

     “Anyways,” Adrien interrupted. “What Marinette was getting at was that Chat is undoubtedly the one Ladybug would save from a fire, which makes him Ladybug’s dearest teammate. Meaning that Marinette is clearly the only one here with common sense. Case closed.”

     Marinette flushed.

     “I didn’t say that! You make it sound like Ladybug and Chat Noir are an item.”

     “I mean,” Adrien blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t they be?”

     “I, um, that is,” Marinette stammered. “Maybe they could be if she weren’t in love with someone else-”

     “What,” Adrien gasped, visibly upset. “Where did you hear that Ladybug was in love with someone?”

     “Well, I-”

     Nathanael stopped listening around then, glad that everyone was riled up enough to pay him no mind. He pulled his sketchbook out again and tried to capture the sultry sweep of Queen Bee’s eyelashes, frowning when her heavy lids made her look more tired than seductive. He erased and redrew, quickly getting lost in his work and forgetting the world around him. It was more convincing, this way, to pretend that he couldn’t feel Chloe’s eyes on him. It was easier ignore the fact that she kept darting her gaze back to him and his sketchbook with an interest that she’d never quite seemed to think he was worthy of before.

     But most of all, it was better that he keep head down and act like her unwavering attention didn’t have Nath’s heart ready to beat out of his chest.

     It was a few months later, when Queen Bee had saved him from danger for the third time that week alone, that she started to crack.

     “Now, what are you going to do next time there’s an akuma attack?” she asked shrilly.

     “Run away,” Nathanael droned blandly, the same rehearsed lie he’d been forced to give the last dozen times they’d had this conversation.

     “And what are you not going to do the next time there’s an akuma attack?”

     Nathanael blushed and muttered under his breath.

     “I’m sorry, what was that?”

     “I’m not gonna try to take reference photos of the akuma for my graphic novel,” he grumbled, cheeks burning.

     “And you’re actually going to keep your word next time,” Queen Bee insisted with narrowed eyes. “Right?”

     “Yes, ma’am.”

     “Be honest,” she demanded, definitely picking up on the nervous flit of Nathanael’s eyes as she crossed her arms.

     “Don’t you mean bee honest?”

     Nath watched as Queen Bee spun around to glare daggers at one of Paris’s favorite superheroes. He felt a little small as Chat Noir sauntered over, oozing confidence and charm. It struck him as odd, suddenly, when he realized that he’d never seen Queen Bee interacting with another member of her team outside of crime fighting. If the sudden stiffness of her posture and the clench of her jaw were indicators, Nath might be under the impression that not every superhero in Paris got along with the others as well as Ladybug and Chat Noir did.

     “If I hear one more pun from you today, Chat Noir, I will personally make sure that you wind up as puréed cat food before the week is through.”

     “Hey,” Chat said, throwing his hands up in defense with a good-natured grin. “I just wanted to let you know that Volpina and I took care of things. Bug is cleansing the akuma as we speak. But if you’re busy-”

     “I am, thank you very much. I have to make sure this civilian is safe-”

     “He looks safe to me,” Chat Noir frowned. “You safe, pal?”

     “Yeah, I’m safe,” Nath reassured, surprise flooding him when Bee turned to shoot him a look of betrayal.

     “Then come on, Bee. The press is wanting a conference with all five of us.”

     And then Nathanael saw something he thought he’d never see in his entire life. Queen Bee- graceful, sophisticated, polished- stamped her foot and had a tantrum. Like a small child told to pick up her toys.

     “I don’t wanna,” she whined, crossing her arms. “The press is stupid! They only ever focus on dumb old Hawkmoth, Volpina and Jade Turtle’s sexual tension, and you and LB wanting to kiss each other’s faces off-”

     “What,” Chat spluttered.

     “So I’m going to stay here with this civilian,” Bee pressed on. “Because he’s obviously shaken and in need of emotional support.”

     Nathanael started to protest but was quickly met with a sharp elbow to his side.

     “Yep,” he winced. “I’m holding back the tears as we speak.”

     “So if you could kindly buzz off,” Queen Bee seethed at Chat Noir. “It would be appreciated.”

     “I believe buzzing off would be your forte,” Chat snarked back.

     “Okay, that’s it-”

     “Oh!” Nathanael feigned, fed up with their bickering. “The crippling emotional trauma!”

     Bee looked at him liked he’d grown a second head before catching on. She feigned concern, pressing a comforting hand to Nath’s back and stepping in closer. She was so near that Nathanael could count her eyelashes if his overactive mind didn’t tend to lose track so easily. Thunder erupted in his chest. That definitely wasn’t the sound of his heart doing the Paso Doble against his ribcage. Nope. No siree.

     “I should get you somewhere quieter,” she played along. “As in somewhere where this loudmouth is not.”

     “Hey-”

     “Enjoy your boring press junket, Cat Boy!”

     And with that, Queen Bee scooped Nath up and flew off. In the back of his mind, Nath wondered when he got so comfortable with a girl smaller than he was carrying him princess style. It was likely around the time that he found himself getting personally cornered by an akuma every other week. Should he feel emasculated? Because all he felt was a honey-sweet warmth pooling in his veins as her ponytail brushed against his fingers where they gripped her shoulder and her perfume wafted between them. Whatever the scent was, it smelled nice. And expensive. Nathanael added ‘wears expensive perfume’ to the short list of things he knew about Queen Bee.

     “Thank you,” he murmured as they flew through the night. “For always saving me.”

     “It’s my job,” she muttered, not quite accepting the compliment as she usually did. “Someone has to make sure you don’t get squashed every time there’s an akuma, after all.”

     “Still,” Nath insisted. “I appreciate it. You’re… you’re amazing.”

     Nathanael about had a heart attack when they suddenly fell about ten feet out of the air before continuing on course. Startled, he looked over to see Bee grimacing.

     “Forget how to fly much?” he teased, boldened.

     “I will drop you,” she threatened.

     “But then you’ll lose your number one fan,” he laughed.

     “I’m pretty sure Sabrina Raincomprix holds that title,” she grumbled back.

     Nath wheezed in response. She was probably right on that one. When Alya’s LadyBlog fizzled out (Alya had suddenly become too busy during akuma battles to get any footage, for some reason), Sabrina had been inspired to start a blog of her own: QueenMeme. It was awful, really. The whole thing was a slew of fan memes depicting how wonderful Queen Bee is.

     “She worships you,” Nath managed to say between bouts of laughter.

     “Well, for good reason,” Bee snarked. “I’m the greatest superhero Paris has ever seen.”

     “You might be right,” he hummed in response.

     The next time her wings faltered, Nathanael just laughed.

     To say he was surprised when Queen Bee landed on the roof of his apartment complex would have been the most obscene understatement. It was disorienting, like having a dream where reality and fiction were so intertwined that he could make head or tails of neither. After all, this was his home but-

     “How did you know where I live?”

     Queen Bee had the sense to look embarrassed. Another wave of surprise washed over Nath as she looked down at her feet, kicking at the nonexistent dirt on the gravel rooftop. “Bashful” was a color he’d never seen painted on her before, and Nath’s head was reeling from all these new sides of Bee he was seeing tonight.

     “I, um,” she stammered, the way she nervously gripped her elbow making Nathanael’s head spin. “I was, you know, patrolling around here a couple weeks ago, and I saw you go inside. I was late, and you didn’t come out so I just assumed- I mean, unless you have a girlfriend or-”

     Queen Bee abruptly cut herself off with a groan and swiped her palms down her face. Nathanael watched in awe as she took a moment to recollect herself, his mouth gaping as he himself tried to formulate some sort of words. He was still reeling when Bee pieced herself together enough to send him a deadly serious look.

     “Do you live here or not?” she asked hotly, crossing her arms.

     “I, uh, yeah?”

     He didn’t mean to make his words sound like a question, but she seemed to find the answer satisfactory enough as she plowed on.

     “And what’s the deal with the whole girlfriend situation?” She demanded, expression fierce despite the deep crimson in her cheeks,

     “What?” Nathanael gaped, head spinning as she leaned in closer.

     “Do you have a girlfriend,” she grit out, repeating her words slowly. “Or not?”

     “Not,” he rushed to say. “I mean, no, I don’t.”

     Her eyes scanned his face, as if trying find a lie in his flushing cheeks or the nervous crease between his brows. And without fanfare or ceremony, she darted in for a kiss. It was brief, but he still had time to process the slick rub of her lipgloss and the warmth of her skin and the rubbery honeycomb texture of her gloved hand where it brushed his jaw. The smack of their lips pulling apart would’ve been deafeningly loud if his own heartbeat wasn’t frantic enough to cover the sound. She looked up at him after pulling away, those piercing eyes of hers not looking through him like usual, but into him? He wondered what she saw there. Could she see the jittery shake of his body? Or the way his skin was practically thrumming with electricity?

     “I’m glad you don’t have a girlfriend,” she finally murmured, voice low and secretive. “I would’ve stolen you from her anyways, but it’s a bother to deal with competition.”

     Nath let out a shaky breath, unsure of what to say next. Speechlessness was a problem he continually dealt with, and he was used to people getting frustrated with his silence. But not her. He didn’t want her to look down on him. Speak, he hissed at himself. Say something. Anything.

     Before he could work up his nerve, a loud beep chirped between them. Nathanael watched as disappointment flooded Bee’s face, and his heart clenched.

     “I have to go,” she sighed. “I’m about to de-transform.”

     “Oh,” he breathed, feeling like he’d missed some sort of opportunity just then. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

     She nodded and backed away, and the space between them suddenly felt cold. He watched, dazed, as she stepped onto the ledge and slipped him a final “goodnight” from over her shoulder before flying away. He tried making sense of what had just happened. Did a superhero really want to be his girlfriend? Every logical part of his brain told him it was impossible, but he couldn’t deny the fact that she’d kissed him. She’d kissed him! It took a while to snap out of his stupor, and a little while longer to realize that he had no way to enter his apartment building from the closed-off roof. Meaning he would have to go down the old, creaky fire escape to enter through the building’s front entrance. Great.

     As Nathanael went down, he thought about everything that had happened that night. Once again, his mind snagged on the details of The Kiss, and he bit his lip. Absentmindedly, Nath noted that now his own lips now tasted like cherries.

     It wasn’t until a week later, during a picnic at the park his classmates had thrown together to celebrate the end of the school year, that Nathanael had realized he was in deep shit. It was honestly one of the better afternoons he’d had in a long time. The weather was perfect, everyone was laughing and having a great time, and even Chloe seemed to be playing nice. But then Alya had to go and speak.

     “Attention fellow classmates,” she called out, pulling a champagne flute out of literally nowhere and tapping the rim with a piece of silverware. “I have an announcement!”

     The group quieted, Marinette and Nino rolling their eyes while others looked on expectantly. Alya cleared her throat dramatically before pulling out an honest to God speech to read from.

     “Today, we are all gathered here to celebrate our temporary release from the prison we all call ‘school’,” she began, grinning when the group cheered in agreement. “Today was meant to be a time of laughter! A time of peace! A time of trust! But, alas, it is difficult for me to bask in the glow of our friendship when I know there’s a traitor in our midst.”

     A niggling feeling pressed at the back of Nath’s mind as Rose and Mylene made sounds of confusion and Max whispered something to Kim. But Alya pressed on.

     “Someone here today has committed a most heinous crime in the past week. I caught them in the act without their knowing, and have given them ample time to confess their sin. But they have not come forward or even shown any signs of remorse! In fact-”

     “Alya,” Nino murmured, nudging her side. “Is there a point to this?”

     “Hold on, babe,” she hissed. “I’m getting to the good part.”

     Alya cleared her throat again before speaking.

     “In fact, this friend of ours has continued with business as usual, which leads me to believe that this crime isn’t their first offense! Exactly what is this crime, you may ask. Well, I’ll tell you!”

     Alya paused dramatically, looking around at everyone’s faces. Nathanael could’ve sworn her eyes snagged on him. Was it in his head? It might’ve been, because even Nino was starting to look nervous at this point.

     “Without telling me, superhero aficionado, someone has been having a heated affair with one of Paris’s finest! I only found out last week after catching this person in the arms of a superhero, sharing a late-night kiss on their rooftop.”

     Nathanael’s stomach dropped as his classmates broke out into gasps and accusations amongst themselves. He didn’t like having his private life for the world to see, and now-

     “What exactly are you trying to say, Alya,” Chloe hissed, bad mood emerging for the first time that day.

     Her eyes were narrowed and ferocious, daring Alya to finish her claim. Nath wondered what had her so defensive, and surprise shot through him like a bullet when her eyes darted to his face. The glance was quick enough to make him think he’d imagined it. And maybe he did? Maybe-

     “What I’m trying to say is that I’m about to expose one of our peers for what they are,” Alya cried out.

     This was it. Nathanael’s heart was pounding, and-

     “Tell me the nature of your secret rendevouz with Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

     Nathanael gaped as Marinette, now a blushing, stuttering mess, stammered out denials. Their classmates were scandalized, of course. Even Adrien Agreste was obviously flushed from the shock of the sweetest girl in their class having a torrid romance with a superhero after dark. He felt for Marinette, he really did. But Nath couldn’t deny his relief about not being the star of Alya’s accusations.

     It was while the class was distracted with the drama of Marinette’s love life (“It just happened, I swear!”) someone tugged Nath up by the arm and dragged him away from the group. He was too startled to do anything but follow his kidnapper, eyes wide at the swing of her blonde ponytail as she took him somewhere more secluded. Only when they were shrouded by trees did she turn back to look at him.

     “You got lucky,” she finally grumbled. “What are the odds that Marinette is also hooking up with a superhero?”

     “Also,” Nath choked. “What are you-”

     “I know, Nath,” Chloe grumbled. “About you and Bee. It’s a wonder that no one else does, honestly. She’s always saving you, and you draw her all the time-”

     “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” he whispered.

     “Of course not,” she hissed. “But this nonsense with Marinette made me realize something.”

     “And what is that?” he asked, brows furrowing.

     “It’s not safe for you to be dating a superhero. That idiot, Chat Noir, is going to get Marinette in trouble. A relationship with Queen Bee would just put you in danger.”

     And what kind of nerve did Chloe Bourgeois have telling Nathanael who he could or couldn’t date? Especially when all Bee had ever done was keep him safe! For the first time in ages, the heat in Nath’s cheeks wasn’t from embarrassment or lovestruck wonder.

     It was from rage.

     “I can do what I want,” Nathanael bit back defensively. “You’re not my boss, Chloe.”

     “I don’t care what you say,” Chloe growled back. “You’re not going to date Queen Bee!”

     “So what,” Nathanael spat, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re gonna break us up?”

     “What, are you dating now?” Chloe groused, crossing her arms and shooting him an unreadable expression.

     “I- Maybe? I don’t know,” Nath muttered, shrinking back a little. Chloe looked at him a long moment before stepping closer.

     “I don’t care either way,” Chloe grumbled, darting a glance at his mouth. “If you are, then I’ll just steal you away from her.”

     “You,” Nathanael spluttered. “What?”

     “You heard me,” she replied haughtily despite the pretty pink brushing her cheeks. “I don’t want you to like Queen Bee. I want you to like me.”

     And then that thing happened where Nathanael couldn’t speak. Because this was the part where he was supposed to tell Chloe that he wouldn’t fall for her in a thousand years. That he liked Queen Bee, and there was no way Chloe of all people could sway his affection. But instead he was left with goosebumps as her eyes languorously swept over his face.

     “I’m going to kiss you now,” she murmured, voice softer than he’d ever heard it before. “And you’d better kiss me back this time.”

     Nath’s head was such a mess that any attempts to think past ‘kiss me back’ were like trying to swim through a lake of molasses. He’d barely made any sense of her words at all before Chloe was grabbing his collar and pulling him down to meet her mouth.

     This kiss was not brief. It was slow and heated enough to have his bones melting at the joints. She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him in closer, and he followed mindlessly as he gripped her waist in turn. He felt the strangest buzzing where his chest and stomach and thighs pressed against hers, and no one ever told him kissing was quite like this. Who knew that Chloe Bourgeois had the power to make him come apart at the seams?

     When she finally pulled away to breathe, he almost chased her mouth for more. But this was Chloe Bourgeois. She was a bully in middle school. She was a rich brat. She was looking up at him with eyes gentler than he’d ever seen before and making him feel like the world was drenched in honey.

     “Prepare yourself,” she whispered before slipping away to rejoin the picnic.

     If Nath’s mind wasn’t a whirlwind, he might’ve been able to piece together the bits of déjà vu that swirled around his head. He might’ve picked up on how familiar the swing of blond hair on a retreating figure was or how strange it was that she, too, tasted like cherry lipgloss. But the only place the cyclone of his thoughts seemed to touch down on was the ache in his hand for a pencil and paper. And, of course, that he’d never noticed Chloe’s eyes were so, so blue.

A/N: Not gonna lie, this was HEAVILY inspired by @siderealsandman‘s The Perils of Fake-Dating a Superheroine. If you like this pairing and haven’t read it, please check it out because it’s 10000% better than this garbage.

[audreycritter]

You said I should ask and I am because all of a sudden I need Bruce, Dev, and Damian in the form of flash fic. Thank you dear. ❤️

mostly fluff for you, dawn, because i owe you :)

Scientific Study (AO3 Link)

Bruce Wayne came home from work too late to do anything other than head straight to the dining room. He found Alfred alone, putting a covered platter on the table and only two place settings arranged on the placemats.

“Where is everyone?” Bruce asked, meaning mostly Damian and Cass but also any of the nearly dozen people that were prone to showing up throughout the day and staying for dinner. He pulled his chair out and sat down.

Alfred served both of them before taking the other chair and answering with a question.

“Would you prefer the full report or the abbreviated version?”

“Abbreviated,” Bruce answered, wishing he’d taken the time to change out of his suit and tie.

“Busy,” Alfred said succinctly, with a straight face.

“Maybe less abbreviated,” Bruce acknowledged with a wry nod.

“The elder boys all had plans amongst themselves; Miss Cassandra is substitute teaching a dance class; Miss Stephanie is attending an evening lecture for extra credit. Master Damian is in the library with Kiran. They requested dinner on trays.”

“Hn,” Bruce said, chewing. He swallowed. “What are they working on?”

“I believe Master Damian’s freshman research project presentation is the focus of their efforts,” Alfred said. “Beyond that, you’d have to ask them.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. It was absolutely certain that Alfred both knew the topic of Damian’s project and was intentionally denying him the information. He sighed.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

“I thought a bottle of wine and joyriding were in order,” Alfred said calmly, sipping water.

“Take a fake ID if you do. I’d like to avoid a scandal,” Bruce said, stabbing a mouthful of salad with his fork.

“If you insist, Master Bruce,” Alfred said with a tone of resignation.

A few minutes later, Bruce stood.

“I’m going to go see what Damian is up to,” he announced. “I can take care of my plate, Al. Take the night off.”

“Very well,” Alfred nodded his head and settled back into his seat. “I won’t argue.”

Bruce stopped long enough in the kitchen to put his used dishes in the dishwasher and then he headed for the library. Damian had barely mentioned the presentation even though Bruce knew, or assumed, it had been taking a lot of his time and thought.

As a rule, school was not Damian’s favorite place, but when it came to visibility of any kind, the boy tended to be precise and thorough– he never wanted to look stupid or ill-prepared. Bruce himself couldn’t remember how much he’d cared about the yearly presentation, only that he had cared some. One of Gotham Academy’s methods for producing high-achieving students had been for decades now to require a formal, year-long research project for each year of high school and the presentation was the first pitch to get the approval of the teachers’ board.

Bruce was fairly certain his presentations were still tucked away in a box somewhere, kept no doubt by Alfred. The older man tended not to be exceptionally sentimental but carefully catalogued and saved anything deemed important.

As he approached the library, he could hear conversation muffled through the nearly-shut door and it took him a moment to place the language as Urdu. He knocked, lightly, and pushed the door open without waiting. Alfred the cat nudged past his ankles and out into the hall.

Damian was sitting on the floor with a sketch pad, surrounded by different drawing pencils and erasers. Titus and Malcolm were asleep on the couch, and Bruce frowned but didn’t tell them to get down.

“Hullo, mate,” Dev said cheerfully, from his spot on the rug across from Damian. He had a stack of brain scans on one side and thick bundles of stapled paper on the other, and was sitting cross-legged trimming pieces of colored paper. A trifold board was propped, open, against the desk.

“How’d you get roped into this?” Bruce asked Dev, standing next to Damian so he could peer down at the sketch blooming across the page under Damian’s rapidly moving charcoal pencil.

“Roped?” Dev sounded offended, but only mildly. “I was invited. I’m here as a professional adviser.”

Bruce looked at the square of pink cardstock Dev was cutting with orange kitchen scissors.

“Professional advisor,” Bruce repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“I am conducting a study on the psychophysiological benefits of pet ownership,” Damian said without looking up or pausing in his work. The shape emerging was the profile of a dog. “I asked Dr. Devabhaktuni to assist me.”

Bruce, for a moment, felt a pang of irrational jealousy. Damian hadn’t even told him what projects he had considered, much less asked for help, and he wondered if it was his own fault for making himself or appearing unavailable.

“Bloody hell, but your school is posh,” Dev said, half to Bruce and half to Damian, while turning a right angle with the scissors. “We’d a science fair when I was in secondary and I think I did something about sugar content in fizzy drinks.”

“That seems unnecessary,” Damian said, switching pencils. “The content is labeled.”

“Honestly, I didn’t care much. I just liked being at school the extra hours. And it was an excuse to talk my mum into buying me Fanta,” Dev said with a shrug.

Damian stopped and looked up at him.

“You liked school?”

“It was bloody better than being at home,” Dev said casually, as if it was an easy thing to say. Bruce had known him long enough to know that Dev often sounded nonchalant about things that meant a great deal to admit; he didn’t know if Damian was aware of this. Damian was good at reading bodies but often missed social tone.

Bruce knew what that felt like.

“I hate school,” Damian said, resuming his sketching. Bruce sat down on the floor with them and loosened his tie. He leaned back against the couch and scratched Titus behind the ears when the dog edged his head closer to Bruce’s.

“It’s a sodding good thing I didn’t,” Dev said, switching out pieces of paper for an uncut one. “I went for over twenty years. And now I’ve the skills to trim shapes.” He grinned at Bruce and handed him a stack of cardstock. “Backing squares. Can you manage helping?”

“Maybe. Let’s find out,” Bruce said, sitting up and taking the offered paper and extra pair of scissors.

“Did she buy you the Fanta?” Damian asked in the lull that followed, the scratch of pencil and the snip of scissors filling the quiet library.

“And five others. It was brilliant. I wish it’d worked more than once.”

“Father,” Damian said, looking directly at Bruce for the first time since Bruce had entered the room. Bruce glanced up from the square he was cutting freehand. “How was your day at work?”

“No, Damian.”

“That does not answer my inquiry about your day, which was a polite–”

“Work was fine. The answer is no,” Bruce said firmly, biting back a smile. For someone so intelligent, Damian was still glaringly obvious sometimes.

Damian frowned and looked down at his sketch.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You don’t have to. I know what you were thinking.”

“We have plenty of space,” Damian protested. “I take more than adequate care of Titus and Malcolm.”

“No,” Bruce said again.

“I had nothing to do with this bloody scheming,” Dev said with a note of alarm. “Just in case I was falling under suspicion.”

“It would be beneficial for research,” Damian insisted. A normal child might whine or beg, but Damian resumed sketching and took on an authoritative tone, as if he assumed the upper hand in the discussion.

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. He didn’t want this to turn into an argument but he also didn’t want Damian to feel unrestricted or without boundaries. He’d come a long way in the past few years but he still needed restraint.

“You could volunteer at the shelter,” Dev said, picking up the brain scan images and flipping through them. Bruce was not the kind of man to shoot off grateful looks but he hoped the slight nod he gave conveyed it enough.

“Tt,” Damian said.

Titus put his paw on the back of Bruce’s head and Bruce turned around and patted his belly. Damian sighed.

“I suppose that would be more beneficial to a greater number of animals,” he conceded.

“Call tomorrow,” Bruce said, turning back to the paper squares. He looked at the last one he’d cut. “I don’t think I’ve done this since Jay was in school.”

Years ago, that wouldn’t have been something he could bring himself to say. Even recognizing that made it feel like a difficult admission.

“What did Zombie Boy research, then?” Dev asked, as if actually curious. “He’s been sending me snarky doctor jokes for weeks now. I’d love to have some material to throw back at him.”

“Social studies project,” Bruce said. “He didn’t want to ask for help but he had a cold and kept falling asleep on the floor.”

“Weak,” Damian commented without much bitterness, more from habit Bruce thought than actual derision.

“Oi, there,” Dev said with a laugh. “Sodding big attitude from someone still small enough for children’s Tylenol.”

Bruce chuckled and reached out to tousle Damian’s hair. He half expected Damian to duck away, but he didn’t.

“Thank you both for your assistance,” Damian said stiffly, lifting the sketchpad to study the dog he’d drawn.

“It’s good,” Bruce said, looking at it with him. Damian turned quickly to look at him and there was a faint flush on his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said again, less stiffly but far more quietly.

Dev set a brain scan image next to Damian.

“C’mon then,” he said. “You sodding promised. My office walls are far too bare.”

“What if I need a break?” Damian asked, flipping the page in the sketchpad.

“I’m merciless and demanding,” Dev answered easily. Bruce snorted and Dev ignored him.

“What’s your rate for commissions?” Bruce asked seriously. He was pleased to see the tiny quirk of a smile tugging on Damian’s face.

“I don’t know if you can afford it,” Damian answered.

“Too bad,” Bruce sighed, an exaggerated noise.

“It’ll have to be a gift,” Damian said.

Bruce nodded.

“When you have time,” he said. “School first.”

“Tt,” Damian answered, sounding amused.

“He doesn’t speak for me, mate,” Dev said, stretching out on his back on the floor. “I don’t care about your education.”

“Tea?” Alfred asked, poking his head into the room.

“I thought I told you to take the night off,” Bruce replied, turning. Alfred was in khaki slacks and a tweed jacket and a tam instead of his usual suit.

“Tea is not work,” Alfred said. “And I’m off to pick up Miss Cassandra soon.”

“Damian and I will go,” Bruce said, straightening the stack of squares with a tap against his knee. “Stay and have tea with Dev.”

“You’re just full of making bloody decisions for everyone else, aren’t you?” Dev asked without lifting his head.

“Yes,” Bruce agreed. “Any objections?”

“None here,” Alfred said. “Kiran?”

“I will go,” Damian said to Bruce, “but only if I am suitably bribed to leave my work.”

“Milkshakes?” Bruce suggested.

“Dr. Devabhaktuni, I will finish your sketch tonight,” Damian said, lining up his pencils and sliding them into a wooden case.

“Fair enough, mate,” Dev said amiably. “Tea sounds lovely.”

Bruce stood and both dogs whined. He patted them once each and the put both pairs of scissors on the desk.

“Extra whipped cream,” Damian said, his tone broaching no argument.

“Of course,” Bruce said. “Let’s go.”

[medicalmechanica-blog1]

Safe By The Bell

History. History is forever doomed to repeat itself. I, by far, am no exception to this. Yet again, I manage to pull an all nighter in effort to get a project done that’s due the very next day, only to find that said project isn't due for another week. Always check your student email. If nothing else, it can save you a good night’s sleep.

Anyways, how about we talk about the project I did. First off, it is again a project for my Color Theory class. The objective of the piece is to create an expressive self portrait using warm and cool colors to represent dark and light. Like many of my projects, I foolheartedly jump straight in with no sketching o planning whatsoever. initially, I planned to draw myself underwater pounding on the glass plate that is the picture (with a nice crack effect). drawing myself out with pencil went perfectly. I had never drawn myself so well before. Once I was satisfied with the drawing portion, I proceeded to take it downstairs to paint it up.

Now, before I tell the next part of the story, I have to say that mixing paint to get a specific color is the most annoying and anger inducing problems. Like, it requires an entire skillset aside from painting. I digress. On with the chlorophyll!

This is where things really eff the s up. I couldn't get the colors I wanted to save my life. Almost in an instant I’ve ruined the entire piece. The color palette was reminiscent of the opening sequence to Safe By The Bell. Which, by the way, the 80′s was a godless wasteland for color theory (Literally, neon everything). A lot of amazing things came from the 80′s, but color trend was not one of them. So anyways, back to the piece of garbage art I did. There was no turning back for the project. So I did what any level headed artist would do and started making up excuses as to why I wouldn't have my project the next day. Then suddenly, I had a not so stupid idea. Regarding my rant to 80′s color, I decided to straight up own it. I was gonna work with what I got.

A few neon green squigglies and pink triangles later, it was starting to look like I intentionally made it like this. I made the outer frame an old television (with turny nobs) and I made it appear as though I was trapped in an episode of Safe By The Bell (A legitimate fear of mine). All there was left to do was to slap the shows title in the background and I was done. Then, I was off to class.

Shortly after getting there, I found out that the project wasn't due for another week. Since I know now that I have more time, I’m gonna start over. Perhaps actually put in more time and effort. Maybe even create a decent piece of art. Though, one thing is for certain. The piece I created will perish in a barn fire, so that no human eyes shall gaze upon it’s hideousness.