#does the craft fair event even have a tag yet-

[itzzaira]

Hey! This is TMNT: Children of the Sky Mikey and Leo from Cabin 16 with a survey: who's the most artistic member of your AU/iteration's family?

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

Mikey smiled brightly. None of his brothers were around right now- Michelangelo and Leo had been driving Raphael insane while Donnie and Raph slept. He had no idea where Donatello had gone-

And Mikey had been the first person to hear they would be holding a craft fair.

A.

Craft.

Fair.

He had only woken up a couple days ago and this was the absolute best thing he could wake up to!! Well, other than Leo being alive- that had been a tad bit nicer.

Right now, he was looking at this mini-version of himself and his brothers- so tiny!! So adorable! And they looked so cool!!! -and the box turtle couldn't help but notice that none of his counterparts had stickers. Ohhh he should make stickers during the fair and give them to all versions of himself! Because he was nice like that.

"Hey! We're taking a survey! Who's your most artistic family member?"

"Come on, there's gotta be other artistic Leo's right?"

Well. If the destruction Leo could cause in a kitchen counted, consider him the biggest artist of all. But alas.

Mikey hated to disappoint this tiny version of his brother, but not his fault Leo just didn't have it. He smiled sweetly, holding out his hand. "Well-"

-only for the limb to immediately cramp up, muscle freezing and spasming, his fingers getting stuck in that position and ow-

"Ow!" He hissed, immediately pulling his back to squeeze it with his (thankfully pain-free) other hand. He saw the concerned expressions on the other turtles, but smiled anyway. "I'm fine, this is fine-"

Was it?

This was new.

Granted, the mystic scars were new altogether, and they had ached, that was true. But the random pain as soon as he moved his hand was new.

He tried to flex his fingers- nope, fingers didn't respond.

He tried to move his arm- nuh-uh, hurt, ow ow ow-

He couldn't- his hand was stuck.

Slowly, the pain faded away. Mikey opened his eyes that he had apparently closed, then slowly, carefully, let go of his arm. It still tingled, but it didn't hurt anymore. That was... odd.

"Are you okay?" The other Mikey asked again, relaxing and smiling again once they saw the pain fading away- this time, however, the box turtle didn't smile. He looked confused.

Surely, if something was wrong with his hands, Donnie would have found it by now?

Like, okay, he thought, as he held his arm a bit closer to his face. He couldn't move his fingers still. The muscles were cramped, and it bothered him, and his hands were hard to use sometimes, that is true- but he was still the artist of the family! That was his thing! Even if his hands hurt, and they cramped up, and wouldn't... move...

No!

Okay, sure, he hadn't exactly drawn ever since he woke up from his coma, but talent doesn't just disappear!

Who needs hands to draw anyway?! Mikey didn't! He just struggled to hold stuff, dropped items all the time and couldn't touch anyone other then his brothers or else it hurt! That wouldn’t stop...

...

A look of horror appeared on his face as the realization sunk in.

You need working hands to make art.

Currently, Mikey's hands shook so much that he hadn't even been able to hold his own cup so he could have a drink. It had taken him three tries back home before he had been able to grab a spoon to eat ice cream, only to immediately drop it afterward. He didn't even want to imagine the chaos of holding paints would cause.

He... wouldn’t be able to draw anymore? The one thing he was good at? He wouldn’t be able to do anything anymore?!

As if failing to open the portal- twice- wasn't enough! He fails to open a portal, he had help from Donnie and Raph and still couldn't keep it open. He isn't smart, he's not quiet, he's definitely not the best ninja and most certainly wasn't the leader-

He cooked. He made art. That was the one thing he was good for.

Mikey's breath hitched. In cold horror, he stared at his bandaged hands.

His shaking, ugly, useless hands.

What good was he for if he couldn't make art?

Well. The answer was simple. He wasn't. Just lime how he couldn't protect Leo, or Raph, or Donnie- not to mention, his stupid hands caused this pain to his family.

His hands were the reason Michelangelo and Donatello had burnwounds.

His hands were the reason Leonardo cracked his shell open getting thrown against a wall.

His hands were the reason the Purple Dragons were even able to hurt them so bad.

His hands were the reason they lost Raph and caused him to go savage-

His hands were the reason Leo was lost.

His ears rang.

Ever since he was little 'But at least I can do art' he had told himself. 'I may not be smart, or strong, but I can cook. I can make art. That's my talent. No one else's. Mine.'

...But it wasn't his talent anymore, was it?

"Mikey?" He snapped out of it when the other Leo called his name- ohh the kids looked terrified. Crap. Oh no. "Are you okay?"

"Raph." He answered quickly, the haunted look on his face disappearing, trying to look happy again as he lowered his arms, unable to meet their gaze. "Uhm- not my Raph. Raphael. The angry box turtle with a crack in his carapace. He's the most artistic family member." Because Mikey sure as heck wasn't. Not anymore.

"Is something-"

"I gotta go." He didn't want to scare these kids any more than he already had, so Mikey smiled as brightly as he could manage, turned around, heart pounding as he tried to run- but stumbled instead, as fast as he could, away from there.

He shouldn't bring his stupid hands and ruin the craft fair.

@tmnt-fandom-family-reunion

[reconnect-re-union]

RE:Connect. RE:Live. RE:Union.

It’s been over a year since the events of Kingdom Hearts 3, and people are still recovering from the Keyblade War. In the shadows of Xehanort’s evil plans, the Worlds had shuddered in fear, but now they are preservering, healing.

People long thought dead have been reappearing, living and breathing just as before, so many reunions have been happening across the Universe. Yet even those who never died are returning to homes they lost to Darkness, forging new friendships, and meeting their recompleted loved ones. Every star shines as bright as before they fell.

Yet in the Light we leave, something sinister lurks. The shadows part, revealing a foe more powerful than Heartless, Nobodies, and Unversed alike. Creatures who can craft massive illusions, drain the life of Worlds, and give off more Light than Kingdom Hearts itself: The Holy.

Will you choose to press on against this Light, or fall victim to its scorching touch? Just how long will this fight go on? How far will the Holy’s Light reach?

For roleplayers 16 and up, RE:Union is a canon divergent roleplay server set after KH3 and most of RE:Mind. The events of Melody of Memories and anything relating to Quadratum are not considered canon, meaning Yozora and similar characters can not be applied for.

What does RE:Union offer?

✦ Playful roleplay and a tightly-knit community. Our roleplay is slower paced, but we’re still available for people who wanna rp more often!

✧ Allows Final Fantasy muses, but focuses heavily on Kingdom Hearts’ original plot and Disney Worlds.

✧ Final Fantasy muses must have Kingdom Hearts-style backstories, such as being from an original KH World or a Disney World

✦ Tupperbox (our preference) and Pluralkit, as well as a handful of other bots used for fun.

✧ New monsters to fight, all designed by members of our server!

✦ Personal “muse rooms” for you to leave drabbles, headcanons, and outfits of your current muses.

✧ D&D-inspired events held about every 5-6 weeks, with miniature events and activities in between. This includes a battle system with unique spells, weapons, and items!

✦ Characters we’re looking for:

✧ Organization members such as Luxord and Xigbar!

✦ Goofy

✧ Vidar

✦ Ansem The Wise

✧ Ansem, Seeker of Darkness

✦ Cast members of the first TWEWY game such as the Reapers

✧ Members of family Madrigal (Encanto, 2021)

✦ Characters from Coco (2017)

✧ Final Fantasy 16 Characters

✦ Zack Fair

✧ And more! Here's our character list! Message us or send an ask with your discord tag for a link to the server. We hope to see you there!

[wandyrlust-a]

AZRIEL + HIS SHADOWS

so to be fair, i've yet to dive too deep into the fan theories of what his shadows do because being in his tag gives me a lot of anxiety and generally makes me feel like shit, but i'm thinking about his shadows and what it is that they're exactly meant to do and how i can utilize them in threads. i'm thinking that for now, i'll use them for whatever the interaction requires. as of now, these are the only things i know i will maintain through all interactions until canon guides me otherwise.

he can communicate with his shadows mostly undetected by others.

in the event of meeting of another shadowsinger, their shadows can communicate with one another; distance is no object (plotting ideal). 

they are sentient and able to act of their own accord, but he is also capable of controlling them to suit what he sees as necessary. this ability was only honed after years of training.

while he can winnow, he does so physically through his shadows. this is an extension of their seemingly limitless reach and fae magic’s ability to vanish objects. 

SHADOW “SINGING” + LIGHTSINGERS 

there are a lot of different theories about both his shadows and what entirely lightsingers entail but on this blog, this is the lore that i will follow for the foreseeable future. seeing as i follow the lightsinger theory for my portrayal gwyn as well, i’ll eventually make a more thorough post about her lightsinger abilities another time. given the nature of this fandom, i want to be clear that my use of either’s set of abilities is not in any way ship-related. this is simply the version of their unique setups that i think works most functionally for the sake of both plot and personal character development. these headcanons are based on my own analysis of the text and opinion and i in no way insist that this is canon.

shadowsingers’ abilities are designed to counteract those of a lightsinger. 

shadow “singing” looks far different when in its full use than the usual wisps of shadow that follow him. when he “sings,” his shadows scatter in thick waves, first sprawling the floors and climbing the walls in a sheet of black before filling the volume of his chosen space. more than just blocking vision, his shadows are invasive, blocking out all of the senses. no sight, no sound, no voice to scream, no defenses. this allows azriel to control an environment, whether to subdue, take, or put down a mark. it can often send victims into a panic, and sometimes even leaves behind other temporary symptoms such as paranoia, anxiety, touch aversion, and more. he avoids “singing” or his “call” around those he doesn’t wish to possibly traumatize unless he absolutely has to. very few are used to or immune to the invasive aspects of the shadows. 

his “singing” is less of a song and more of a low whistle to call his shadows to their full-bodied forms. it’s in a very specific key and tone and over time he learned to omit the pitch so softly that those who didn’t know to look for it would never hear him do it, a skill he crafted to aid his work as a spy and assassin.

because much of what we know of the lightsingers suggests siren-esque lore, his shadows possess the ability to free a victim from a lightsinger’s song’s trance. his shadows can fill their senses just brief enough to save them from harm. 

his shadows are often able to sense a lightsinger not only as an instinct stemming from their biological history as natural enemies, but because lightsingers have a natural ability to locate pitch. if they can find the pitch of a shadowsinger’s call, they have the potential to wield their own shadows against them or at least away from their own harm. 

more to possibly be added later. 

[yetremains]

Mortal Kombat Verse?

Under the read more.

(Also includes mk2021 verse) (please forgive the messiness)

Base Mortal Kombat Verse (Mostly game and comic canon, includes Scorpions Revenge movie) tag: Warriors Spirit Never Fades || MK Verse

Set after the fall of the great evil and darkness, time restored and reset for this particular verse. Yang went along with it. While she had wished to be reset as well, fully willing to give up her life for the betterment of all, as so many others were- it didn’t take her soul with it. Instead her body and soul were pulled back along with the world, now that this particular future and timeline ceased too exist. Hearing whispers of memory being a strength, someone must remember, saying to keep a balance, because detached from time she was. It was an ethereal voice that had left Yang with many questions. Her soul remained intact as did her mind, and all the objects on her person. Leaving this woman in a new world and new era, living through the many ages of time and knowing certain things of future events, but nothing was ever accurate as everything changes in small ways.

During the years, Yang acquired a best friend in a Half-Edenian @sonxflight​ , someone who shared the same enemy. They had been ally’s against this horrid darkness and evil threatening the world, with the best friend becoming victorious. Not long after this she had picked up many other talents and skills, always focusing on bettering that inner power of hers of the light and dark. There have been some... Rather humorous out comes.

Some familiar faces of ally’s here and there. Has seen nightmares and horrid actions of others, while failing to entirely stop tragedies that are seemingly set in stone. Of course this means others she has met before are different, and more than likely do not know who she is, might never, while she knows who they are very well. But nothing is ever truly the same and everything is new.

Yang has made friendship and Ally’s with the Shirai Ryu, having already known their fighting style and commitments. She travels around a fair bit but always goes through the territory that is owned by this clan, returning often. A part of her wishing to try and rewrite time. Of course, she fails in this, fails in helping save them.

She has taken part in the Tournament of her own choice before, long ago.

There is still that dislike towards Gods, especially Elder Gods. Yang has had a bad history with gods and past interactions. But if you place one whole bald titan lady anywhere within the vicinity, Yang will not hesitate to go feral off the rails. Raiden and Fujin however are an acception, as they try their very best, even if there is still an odd tension. It takes time for her to get over that long term distaste, but these two boys at least get her friendship and can be grown off from there.

But time magic? Despises it.

This verse can be manipulated as needed. Much of the canon here is crafted from @kathexismania @sonxflight​ and @bastardsunlight​ input. Can be prone to change, while it is all very loose here specifically for this. Now also involves @sxvethelastdance​ because Liu is her son now. This is adopted rules.

One particular verse Yang has taken in, adopted, and has been training a revived Satoshi Hasashi from @kathexismania​ , with the end goal to free his Father from Quan Chi’s grasp and restore him too his true self. One way, or another. She has become very attached and quite fond of Satoshi, so very proud of that heart and how far he has come. She will kill for that boy.

There is one in particular with only @bastardsunlight​ in which Raiden quite literally yoinked Yang from her own timeline to take part in a tournament. This is loosey goosey and for the fun, but I sometimes will make references towards it.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mortal Kombat 2021 Movie (extremely headcanon and loose) tag: -Another Era Of War || MK2021 Verse 

This takes much from the base reference of the first MK verse, but twists it.

Yang was not born with her marking, but acquired it with the searing sensation one day to discover it on her shoulder blade. Fate had spoken through her actions of protecting others, by the end of a long battle.

Once she had taken part in the tournament, since then has had a target on her back. At one point Yang had a run in with Bi-Han some centuries ago, and it left her with a hand shape scar from frost bite, on her back shoulder, just over where her dragon marking is.

Considering the tournaments have been going sideways for a long time now, Yang has been trying to travel the world and help it. At one point had joined Special Forces. But after they had been wiped out and things hit the fan, Yang had yet again become a single force to go on her own way. Try and handle things from behind the scenes, which unfortunately did not work out. Everything had already spiraled out of control.

She has no love for outworld nor for the Lin Kuei, as they currently are. But the select few people that are not terrible have earned their pass from her ire. An entire world does not speak for the hearts of every person in it sometimes.

In one main AU part of this verse, Yang has acquired and used The Blade of Hanzo, thus binding her and Scorpion together. This is specifically plotted with @kathexismania​ and no other.

This is also open to adjusting or plotting as is needed.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Event! 彼邦幻想曲・宁芙角隅: Foreign Fantasia - Nymphic Cusps (Interesting Moment ③: Galleria Degli Uffizi) Translation

“Both Charlie and I wanted to know more about Florence's sunshine.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join my Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Event story tag will be #For Light and Memories

Charlie was surprisingly exhilarated beyond belief the night before we arrived at Florence.

His excitement never ceased even when the next day came to pass. We came to the Uffizi Gallery. The queue for entry stretched out of the gallery itself, yet the brilliant smile on his face never once faltered.

MC: Do you like Florence, Charlie?

Charlie: Yeah. The sun here's great.

MC: That's true. Basking in the sun really does wonders for your body and mind.

MC: It is only under such a bright sun that such beautiful literature and art could be born during the Renaissance period.

I stood outside the gallery, just a couple of steps away from those brilliant and magnificent artworks crafted with dedicated and intricate craftsmanship. Suddenly, I decided to put down all prior reservations I had about the matter, doing a huge leisurely stretch under the rays of the sun.

MC: Ah, this must be how art and freedom taste like.

Charlie: Mm-hm. My dear fiancée, you're just like an evergreen.

Seeing the confusion reflected within my eyes, Charlie's lips split into an even wider grin as his spirits soared higher.

Charlie: Weren't you trying to photosynthesize earlier?

I playfully shot him a weird look, jabbing his arm rather forcefully in mock anger.

MC: If I'm an evergreen, then what are you?

Charlie: I'm the sun of course! No one here can ever hope to compare to how dazzling I am.

Charlie: And what's more important is the fact that I'll become essential to your survival.

MC: No way! That's not fair at all! We need a healthy and equal relationship!

MC: I'm giving you another chance. Think it through!

Charlie: Let me see… Then I suppose I'll have to be safflower. Safflowers complement an evergreen plant better when placed side by side.

MC: Why are you the only beautiful flower out of us two?

Charlie: And who said that evergreens aren't beautiful?

Charlie: All you need is sunlight, water, and a place with air. Evergreens are a type of plant that will never be bound by rules.

Charlie: If something as lively and vibrant as an evergreen plant can't be considered beautiful, then what else can?

MC: Then, why don't you just join me as an evergreen plant yourself?

Charlie: It's personally much more meaningful if I can enrich your life even just a little, my fiancée.

Charlie: But I'm a little fragile, so do handle me with care, little evergreen.

Charlie pulled my head close to his, pulling me into a seemingly gentle embrace. His fine strands of grey hair gently tickled the sides of my ear.

I giggled, pulling his hand along…

MC: Let's photosynthesize! For health!

Charlie allowed me to pull his hand along as I made him stretch along with me: Once. Twice.

I looked up at him, realizing that his stray strands of hair were dappled by gold light as if it had been dyed by the very sunlight itself. The "evergreen" and the "safflower" danced in the wind in sync, basking in the innocent childishness of it all.

Staff: Hey, you two stretching over there! Your turn's up!

MC: Yike…

Charlie: Ahem.

Charlie and I both exchange looks with each other before quietly lowering our arms and walking into the gallery in silence.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Memories⊹ —————★❖

Previous: (Observation Diary ③: Fontana Di Trevi) Next: (Interesting Moment ④: Piazza San Marco)

[problems-of-immortality]

[🪀] what was your muse’s childhood like? how did their upbringing affect them? (for Sahren)

Oh wow, this will be a lengthy one, still one of my favorite questions for him, so thank you! I'm going to write this with a lot of detail so even people who haven't played can understand, as the lore is very extensive and convoluted and it is some chunky sections of that lore that shapes his upbringing and his entire personality. Also a fair amount of it takes up heavy content, so check the tags before reading to make sure you are comfortable reading. Sahren grew up in Dalish culture, essentially nomadic clans that live away from human settlements because of major cultural disagreements. Most of Thedas believes that mages should be locked away because of their power, and their ability to reach their minds across the Veil when they sleep makes them susceptible to being influenced or possessed by the denizens of the Fade. The entire world and all of it's cultures have some degree of fear of mages. Dwarves don't have them, but Qunari essentially enslave their mages, the Tevinter Imperium is run by mages that are too power hungry, and humans trap theirs in tower colleges. Dalish clans don't like interacting with humans for a multitude of reasons, but the main reasons are: Dalish clans consider mages to be a risk but also necessary to lead the clan as Keeper, the clan's diplomat, the leader, and the mage healer of the clan. They are the only group besides the Imperium to give mages freedom. But because they wander Thedas with no homeland, they have to avoid humans for long periods or else risk situations where humans under the Chantry deem them to be blasphemous to the Maker and try to convert them or kill them. The Tevinter Imperium still has a slave trade, and elves make up an overwhelming majority. The Dalish in the long forgotten past used to rule all of Thedas as a magical utopia with an advanced culture of people that never died and all were mages, but for mysterious reasons the humans came along, and the Dalish believe that the fall of this nation made them lose their immortal lifespans to become mortal, and then enslaved, which caused them to lose most of the knowledge of Arlathan. (The name of their nation) Different clans take different approaches to humans, but most are wary of them. Sahren's clan had bad experiences with the Tevinter Imperium because they lived much farther north, closer to the border with Tevinter. There were skirmishes with his clan twice in his life, and both he ended up losing a loved one, to. His mother was his clan's Keeper, Thalia, and his father Athras the head ranger. It was expected when Sahren was born that he'd become her First when he developed magic, and eventually succeed her. When he was four, she gave him a large book in which he would write all of his knowledge, but he passed the age where he would develop magic without so much as creating a spark. That same day came a kid his age that Sahren grew to love dearly, came into the clan after his own was destroyed. Feladara, with auburn hair and honey gold eyes. Feladara ended up developing magic instead. Sahren really tried not to be bitter. His mother let him study longer, even though only the keepers could really study all of the lore they had. But then tragedy happened- Some bandits came along while Thalia was out with just Sahren and Feladara at 10, gathering herbs with her. She convinced Feladara to run back to camp just as she heard them nearby, but Sahren refused to go.They tried to demand that Thalia tell them where the clan was camped, but she calmly tried to diffuse the situation and convince them to go elsewhere. They call Thalia a knife ear, so Sahren runs up and kicks one of them in the shin, and ends up becoming a hostage. His mother had a different opinion than the normal views on the denizens of the Fade, because she actually understood their nature, and was friends with a Spirit of Loyalty. So she fuses with the spirit and together they fight off the bandits, killing all of them to defend her clan and her child. When she does, she goes to hug Sahren, and because she secretly taught Sahren the ways of the spirits, he isn’t afraid. But then Feladara comes back with Sahren’s father, Athras. A more superstitious person than his wife, he immediately assumed she was a typical abomination, and thought she was going to kill Sahren, so he struck her through the heart from the back with an arrow.  Sahren never forgave him for that. After her death, Athras more aggressively tried to make Sahren learn how to be an archer instead, going down his path instead of his mother’s. A retired Keeper from another clan became the new Keeper for Clan Lavellan, and Feladara became her First.  So Sahren would skip his lessons to hang out in the Keeper’s aravel with Feladara, learning whatever Feladara was learning. The new Keeper enabled it for some time, but eventually Sahren’s father found out where he was going and forbade him from entering the Keeper’s aravel, grounding him to staying in camp for a week. It was then he noticed all the stares, and the whispers. “Abomination’s child”, “he’s going to end up like her even without magic”. None of the other kids wanted to hang out with him, and Feladara was too busy with lessons. He quickly found that the rest of the clan didn’t like him, and that ended up souring his opinion of most of them. It made him a really angry teenager- When the week ended, Sahren took to hiding in the woods outside the camp instead of sleeping in camp. He refused to bunk with anyone, instead sleeping in the trees. It led to quite a few falls at first, but then it became impossible to knock him out of a tree.  Feladara found him first, and then they began to hang out together at night, talking for hours about nothing and everything- magical theories and theories about the stories that remained of the Creators, the Forgotten Ones, and the Dread Wolf. In return, Sahren teaches Feladara how to use daggers. (The elven pantheon) Sahren picked up a lot of words from these exchanges that belonged to the old language of Arlathan. He laces them in Common often, like “Ma serannas” as thanks, “Ir abelas” as I’m sorry. Learning the meaning of family names: Feladara’s simply was the old name for the herbs they gather the most (elfroot), his own name meant “One who commands respect”. His father’s meant “Half in shadow”. He picks up many more words and names during the events of the game, and when he drinks from the Well of Sorrows ( Vir’abelasan ) he sometimes speaks completely in the old language because of the voices of the elven scholars who placed their knowledge in the Well. (There’s a person who created an entire lexicon on the language to fill in the gaps that the actual games left, I reference this and the game all the time) They end up falling in love over time. Eventually, when they both turn 18 and receive their vallaslin (tattoos on their faces, right of passage for Dalish elves. It means “blood writing”) Sahren and Feladara end up confessing their love to one another and marrying each other privately in the Dalish way, by exchanging hand crafted gifts and then tying each other’s wrists together with a ribbon. When Sahren told his father, there was an uproar. Sahren assumed it was because his father was homophobic, but in reality, Athras didn’t want him to marry a mage after what happened to his wife, worried the situation would repeat itself. About a year or so later, tragedy strikes yet again. This time, slavers attack the clan because they got too close to the Tevinter border for too long. Athras gives himself up to them after some fighting so they leave the rest of the clan alone. Sahren comes to the clan, smelling blood and ash. Feladara convinces him to save his father, but in the fighting when they catch up, Feladara dies in Sahren’s arms. Sahren becomes incredibly distant and unapproachable, always sleeping alone on the outskirts of camp whether he’s hunting or not, and begins to drink alcohol often to numb his feelings. The worst part: he gets drunk in trees and high places. He never falls from the trees, though- he considers them places of safety, away from other people who see how bitter he is and avoid him anyway. Over the course of the game he gradually mellows out, makes friends, drinks less. But the game just gives him the worst luck based on his choices, and the backstory I wrote myself for him gives him reason for those choices. So he’s surprisingly open about spirits, interested in learning new lore about his own culture from Solas, even becoming friends with him, and with nearly everyone else, even Cassandra and Cullen, who are very Andrastian in their faith.

He goes from being blamed for the explosion to being praised as the Herald of Andraste, sent by the Maker Himself to save Thedas. The worst part is, he doesn’t even believe in the Maker and hates the Andrastian faith, but no matter how often he forces himself into a Dalish figure and acts deliberately blasphemous while denying that he is the Herald people still praise him as Inquisitor and later on, ask him who should lead the Chantry. He absolutely loathes the role, and the way people look at him because of it. His inner circle is full of interesting, loyal people of all races and walks of life, and somehow, despite his prickly nature he ends up befriending them all, while successfully saving the world for a time. I’m going to cut this short before it turns into an entire biography, haha!

[queerchoicesblog]

An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that  premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapter: The Understudy

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

____________________

A couple of days later I go back to Melchiorri for another session as planned. He is inflexible that I allow my voice to rest at least one day before practising again not to damage it. As I observe the streets of Vienna passing by from my carriage, I wonder if the little fugitive will visit us today too and a tiny smile crosses my lips. I should be bothered by such unprofessionalism but surprisingly I enjoyed the interruption. A private comedic enteract. It also reminded me the maestro is human: I stole a glance of the domestic, family life people like me is generally unfamiliar with. I don't plan to marry anytime soon honestly if I can avoid it, despite what my Aunt claims. I owe her and my uncle, the wealthy side of my family, everything. She brought me away from the small town by the Alps I lived with Mom, Dad and Hans, my little brother in a wooden cottage by a stream. We weren't indigents, we owned a small typography in town that mainly served the local journal of the valley and well, the church crafting the prayer books you would find on the bench every day at mass. We weren't rich with either: you don't exactly became high socialite with so little. Hans is now running the typography as my father's eyes are not the ones he used to have since he got sick. I don't envy my poor brother; I am glad I got my way out of that life. I am eternally grateful to Auntie Helga for insisting to drag me to Graz and deciding to turn me into a star of the opera after hearing me perform a solo in the church choir during one of her - not so frequent, actually - visits.

Auntie built her fortune over a good marriage with a promising young lawyer who couldn't resist her charm and eventually allowed her to live in sober luxury and even be invited to court. But that seemed to be her sole aspiration in life: she left the small town and never looked back. I am an opera singer, I want more. My career comes first and I have yet to meet a worthy match honestly. And no, I don't want to be a puppet, a doll to a man who will eventually ask me to leave the stage and my beloved arias to look after a child or be a proper wife, whatever it means. So, no, thanks, I chuckle in my head while taking the hand the driver offer me to get off the carriage. When I knock at the door, I am considering that maybe Herr Giorgio is not that bad, even if I didn't like the way he addressed the maid and the poor naughty boy. Nor the lusty looks he throws me. The maid welcomes me with a smile and a little reverence. Good girl, probably she expects me to chastise her too. As if I had any intention to do so! She takes my fur and quickly disappear into the wardrobe room before walking back towardsme. I thank her for her zeal but I know the way to the music room, the maestro is surely waiting for me, I say. I start walking but what she says next makes me freeze, confused. "Actually, Miss...the master is not here today. I'm very sorry. His wife is waiting for you in the tea room". What? That...that must be a joke. The maestro hired to prepare me last minute disappears before the official rehearsals. I turn and throw a bad look at the poor maid, who doesn't deserve it in the least. She's just a messenger, her eyes beg before lowering them to her feet. She's right, my anger is all for Mister Melchiorri. What do I do now? "Whatever, lead the way then" I exclaim, following her. "I can't wait to hear what the fair lady has to say about this". My voice is cold, sardonic; the girl doesn't say a single word while we walk in the opposite direction than my usual route in the house. She's certainly too afraid to dare say a thing. When we finally arrive to the right room, she knocks politely at the door and steps in when a female voice comes from the inside. She bows her head and announces my presence before disappearing back down the corridor. She stops only to let the door open for me. I let out an annoyed sigh and enter. The room is significantly different from the maestro's studio. No instruments, only paintings at the walls and fresh flowers on the little tables around the room. The perfume is delicate and inebriating: are they orchids, I wonder? A neat wooden library holds the place of honour on the main wall, opposite the fireplace and framed by windows that fills the whole room by natural light, even if the sun doesn't shine today: it will probably rain soon. Letting my eyes wonder outside I spot green and a carousel: I didn't realise we were so close to a park! Unlike the music room, here even if the furniture, the velvet armchairs, the Persian rugs, every decor are certainly expensive, the atmosphere is surprisingly...cozy, an adjective I would have never thought of associated with Melchiorri's place. It's almost inviting, calming? "Miss Bauer, I am so incredibly sorry for the the latest developments and all the trouble they must bring on you...but please, take a seat! Franziska will be back soon with fresh tea". I turn to see a woman gesturing me to join her by the fireplace. Her German has a thick Italian accent which gives her "a bit of exotic" as they say at court. She doesn't wear a wig, her long raven hair are done up in an elaborate grateful chignon and two curly strands frame her visage. She reminds me one of those shepherdesses portrayed in bucolic frescos at the Emperor's Palace. Her dress is not in character though: a plain, cerulean dress which is not necessarily cheap but does nothing to enhance her figure. Poor taste probably: even money can do little about it sometimes. She must be in her early thirties or so I wager and thinner than most ladies I know in her standing...I wonder why Melchiorri chose her if he's so clearly fond of female curves. Maybe it's another arranged loveless marriage. I wouldn't be surprised. I oblige and thank her politely, forgetting my anger for a moment. It surprises me, it must be a reflex, a natural response the soothing silky voice of the lady. Like the feral beasts tamed by the gentle melody of Orpheus' song, I think trying to shake away such thought. I suddenly realise that I don't know her name. Melchiorri never talked about her. But I don't want to tell her: it's not a nice thing to say to a wife, right? As if reading my thoughts, she shakes her head slightly embarassed. "I forgot my manners, didn't I?" she sighs. "You must forgive me, Miss, I do not receive many visitors lately and I've never been introduced to famous opera singers...nor any of my husband's pupils. My name is Cecilia, Cecilia Melchiorri". I feel a pang of sadness for this lady excluded from the theatre world his husband works in. I don't get why she has to be cast out like that. I've met other illustrious wives at social gatherings around Vienna or at court. I offer her my hand, gesturing no apologies are needed, and repeat her name. "Cecilia...". Sadly, I completely butcher it: I studied Italian for the opera but my Austrian tongue is still incapable to recreate the sweet sounds that comes so natural to her. It must not be the first time because her lips curl in a quick understanding smile. "You can call me Lia, if it's easier for you. My family used to call me so". Lia...what a pretty little name. I smile, grateful. "I will then, if you don't mind...Lia. You can call me Constanze: it seems only fair". "As you wish, Miss Bauer!" she says before realising her mistake. We share an amused look, even if hers is a bit more bashful. In that moment, after another polite knock, Franziska returns with the tea and some butter biscuits. They're different from the ones Mister Melchiorri usually offers me in his studio. She's serving the tea when a familiar figure materialises on the threshold of the room at my peripheral. Lia is giving him the shoulders so she can't see him. I turn in his direction with a smirk. "I believe we've already met, right, Sir?" The two women turn at unison too and the kid childishly hides his face but doesn't move. After a moment he spies us through his fingers and retrieves his hands, smiling. Franziska puts the tray underneath her arm and tells Lia that she will bring him to his room, making the boy pout. He's quite the character. "Maybe he followed you because he just wants a biscuit" I say, my eyes wandering between them to check if I'm overstepping. "Maybe you're right...but only if he doesn't bother you" Melchiorri's wife concedes with a tired smile. I shake my head and take the decorated plate in my hands. "Would you like one?" I ask in Italian to her son, not sure if he speaks proper German. His face brightens up and he nods enthusiastically. We share a soft laugh, even the maid joins. He gets ready to speed across the room when he stops, considering. He searches his mother for approval. Lia nods, asking to behave like a good boy though. So he approaches slower than he wanted, with great effort to refrain himself, and grabs a biscuit from the plate. Before taking a generous bite, he mutters a quick thank you. "Mystery solved" I comment, placing the plate back on the table. "You must excuse him, Miss Ba- Constanze" Lia say, gently pulling him closer. "Nino is not a bad kid, just a bit of a rascal at times". "A rascal with a sweet tooth" Franziska adds and we share another laughter. "I'm so sorry he interrupted your private session the other day. Franziska had quite a fair share of work to do and I was indisposed in my room, I couldn't look after him as I usually do". I dismiss her apologies, taking a sip of tea. "But it was fun, wasn't it?" I wink at Nino who chuckles. "Yes and she sings very well, Ma" he says, turning to his mother. "Of course, I heard her too from my room" she smiles. "She's a promise of the opera, it's written on the newspapers". "Sing again?" the little boy begs, expectantly. His childish enthusiasm amuses me. "I cannot do those trills now, I need to warm up my voice first" I apologise, before winking. "Another time, I promise". Lia whispers something into his ear and he thanks me, concealing his disappointment. Crumbs are stuck on his lips and make the smile that follows a bit funnier than it was supposed to be. "Now, sweetheart, why don't you follow Franziska back to the kitchen?" She says, stroking his curls. "Take another biscuit and she will give you a glass of milk, just as you like it, huh?". She doesn't have to say it twice: while the maid gently places and arm around his shoulders, guiding him away, he takes not one but two biscuits in his hands. He throws me a conspiratorial look before chuckling. Then he turns towards Lia and stretches his neck to kiss her cheek. She caresses his face and tells him to be good with Franziska. When the two of them are out of the room, she meets my gaze again, shaking hear head. "Apologies, Miss...I sent Franziska to buy these for you this morning and he managed to put his eyes on them. He became obsessed". "Kids" I shrug, unbothered. I am pleasantly impressed that she had such a kind gesture towards me. I mean it could be a way to get on my good side because of the news she has to give me...but after all, this situation is not her fault. Her husband left her to deal with this and me all alone. She turns serious and sighs. "Anyway, have you heard of the flooding near Salzburg?". "What?". "Torrential rain lead to conspicuous floodings in the area surrounding Salzburg. I don't know if Giorgio mentioned it to you but he head there after your session for a family emergency....his brother lives there". "I'm afraid he didn't say a thing about his little journey" I say, trying my hardest not to look angered, even if I am: I would have rather be informed sooner of such details. By the look on her face I can tell she expected such an answer. "He surely thought he would be back in time today, he didn't mention staying for long. But during the night the weather deteriorated and the roads are pretty much impracticable, so to speak. We've just received a note saying he will be back as soon as travelling conditions are restored and the emergency solved. Probably a couple of days...maybe more? He must have sent you a similar one, you just missed it because you were on your way here already". "A couple of days? Maybe more?" I exclaim. That's not promising... "The rehearsals start in a week" I frown. "I still need to practise...". "You are free to do it here if you wish, Miss" she suggests, apologetic yet encouraging. "I am perfectly aware this is a hideous setback for you with such a tight schedule. You must believe me when I say I wish we never put you in this situation...if there's anything I can do, Miss, ask away. I'm not my husband but...". I consider her words for a moment. My mind runs wild to find a solution for this unexpected unfavourable circumstance. I could find another maestro maybe but how, within such a short notice and little time before official rehearsals begin? I could do it on my own but another sudden foolish idea crosses my mind. "Do you play the cello, Mrs. Lia?" I must have taken her by surprise by the look on her face. She tries to conceal it, refilling her cup. "Why, yes. My father was a musician, I took cello classes in my youth but I don't see how this-". "Excellent! Then you can take your husband's place until the he’s back" I exclaim, cutting her short. My words must come as a shock: she almost spits her tea. "Beg pardon, Miss?". "You will be my maestro, well understudy maestro for the time being" I smile, explaining. "You said yourself that you can play the cello, you can assist me as I practice". "But...but I don't have my husband expertise" she objects, at loss of words. "You heard me practicing with your husband, right? So you must know how it should sound. And that aside, you can even tell yourself if my performance is good or not: you have ears too, if I am not mistaken". She opens her mouth to say something, anything to make me change my mind and spare her such thing...but nothing comes. Her lips presses together for a moment before she places her cup back on the table. "Very well, then...if you think it would work" she smiles weakly. "Just be patient with me: I do not usually play opera arias".

[wherevermyway]

we’re professional. (1/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter one: sophisticated series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. word count: 4,807 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Minho brings up an interesting proposal while celebrating the second year of his professional arrangement with Changbin.

“I can’t accept this.” The young, blue-haired man at the opposite side of the table of a middle-aged brunette pushes an open envelope back across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept anymore.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirks, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not just cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowns, bringing his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watches the older man cautiously. He lets the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighs. “It’s sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?”

“No.” Minho’s expression quickly turns serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual.”

“Right.” Changbin cocks his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brings the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finishes off his drink. He sets the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolls his eyes up and frowns. “What’s all this for, then?” The young man rolls his wrist around, bringing his chin down to his right hand. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiles, then mimics Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he places his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He makes eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nods upward.

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tuts. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He takes in a quick breath, then flashes his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opens his mouth to speak, but quickly recedes his statement as a lanky waiter confidently struts over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blond waiter nods his head once with a polite smile before he makes his way back to whence he came.

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say own it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighs, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regains his composure and rests upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that. Please tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiles widely and softly shakes his head. “No, no, god, no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin.

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blond waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.”

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blond as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry, Mr. Bang — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watches the way Minho’s eyes flutter around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkles against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes paint shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There was no room for feelings.

Hyunjin sets the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffs as he wiggles his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turns a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.”

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin says, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spins on his heel and walks off to another table.

Minho grabs his champagne flute and flashes his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushes as he picks up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologize.” He tries to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him ‘love’, desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. “Anyway,” he lifts his head from his palm and stares directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your ‘arranged: in black’ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilts his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bites his bottom lip as he avoids laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee.

No. That was in the past.

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s soft voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it definitely was far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho was really a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, ‘emotionally unavailable’.

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing on to the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackles, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made either of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folds over, resting his head in his palms as he tries not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leans back into his chair as he looks up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago.”

Changbin rests his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watches Minho get lost in memories past. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonize, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points at the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowers his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waves his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he pauses, bringing a finger to his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbles a bit as he gingerly picks up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opens it, then pulls out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifts to confusion when he comes across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary. A letter? He pulls the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opens it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tuts, rifling through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucks his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then clears his throat. He tries to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocks Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh creeps up from his stomach as he reads on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your ‘arranged: in black’ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho flutters his lips as he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with Minho, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh.

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note.

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

Perhaps Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. Special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.”

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whines, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowns.

“Changbin,” Minho teases a bit as he mockingly whines in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over. Across my apartment , reading the words caused his hands to sweat, across my heart, made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin lied earlier. He knew exactly where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement.

We're professional. Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s. We are not real boyfriends. The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under. Business dynamic. This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world. Strictly professional.

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do what to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds.

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?”

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath. Shit. He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring at it, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Changbin sinks into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost feels like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.”

The younger man squints in disapproval. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffs a bit dramatically as he feigns irritation.

Changbin, however, seems plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolls around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowns up at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression falters as he cocks his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wants to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch. Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There’s a layer of hurt in his voice that he knows he can’t hide. He dips his chin into his chest and closes his eyes, desperate to make this all just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines between what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin's head to spin.

Minho doesn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments pass by in silence until the older man takes in a deep breath, then he wiggles his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting his face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demands, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette does as requested. He stares into Minho’s eyes and instantly softens.

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivers a bit, almost like he feels how uncomfortable Changbin is. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand is in Minho’s again, and the older man stares at the band with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritized what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the fa��ade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Our arrangement is for mutual gains. Minho’s voice was so loud.

We’re professional boyfriends. It was sour.

All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings.

Feelings?

That’s when it hit Changbin: he was falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way.

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was actually interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant possibility.

[thewritingstar]

When the Night is Still Young

Pairing: Brute x Princess 

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

notes: Did I write this because @sxnalien art and couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was? absolutely Plus this ship needs more love and I shall serve. Enjoy :)  

tag list: @shellielyzabeth @over-under-through1 (if you want to be on my tag list I have a post about that.)

---

The wind was light and fair as it rolled through Townsville. It was one of those nights that nothing happened. No monster attacks or a bank being robbed. Rare but peaceful. Unless you were a part of the Morebucks household. No every night was pure bliss as the richest girl in the city and probably the entire country, waltzed towards her room ready to turn in for the night.

Her glass of milk was set on her nightstand that was embezzled with pure gold and hefty sapphires as the handles. She was one of high class and taste so anything under $500 would not cut it. Even the mountain of pillows that laid on her king size bed had more worth than most of the salaries of the kids on the far side of town. Big, flashy, rich. Her taste couldn’t be matched.

She grabbed her novel and slipped into bed where the finest silk sheets of a deep purple hue laid. Even at age 24, she was just as many remembered. Spoiled, chunning, spoiled, rude, spoiled, hot, spoiled, manipulative and of course spoiled rotten.

But when Daddy Morebucks had more money than most, what else were you to expect? In fact her taste proved in every aspect of her life.The food she ate was organic and came from the best chefs around. The clothes were designer and handbags imported from overseas. Her jewels had rare value and she loved nothing more than to show off her money. Even the people she dated were a part of her social level.

She flipped the page of her book as her lamp, that came from Paris and was crafted from stained glass, gave a soft glow. It was quiet and the estate had turned in for the night. The only thing she heard was the soft tapping of the wind.

And then the shuffle of the balcony door lock.

“You’re late.” Princess said as another page was turned. A grumbled came from the window as it closed.

“You’re lucky I'm even here.”

The book was taken out of her hands and she looked up to see the pair of greens eyes. Black eyeliner was caked around them, bringing out the rich color that glowed under the soft light of the lamp.

“Still dressing like a street rat I suppose.” Princess smirked and a dark chuckle came from the other girl.

“You act like you don’t like the chains and spikes. Sugar Plum.” Brute winked as she flashed a grin that showcased her slightly sharpened canines.

Princess pressed her lips together as her cheeks puffed out into a pout knowing she was right. But nonetheless her eyes traveled down. For someone who only wore Louis Vuitton and Gucci, she found out that her soft spot was black crop tops, leather jackets and a spiked collar that made her shiver every time it was worn around Brute's neck.

“Maybe I do. Get over it.” Princess spat as Brute leaned until her nose bumped hers.

“You’re such a little brat ya know?” She said as she took her lips into a bruising kiss.

--

If you would have told Princess that she would one day end up underneath the notorious green powerpunk. She would have laughed and thrown a gold bar at your face. She had only dated men whose wallets were almost as big as hers and just as snotty. Yet not once did she ever feel something more than physical attraction, even then it was slim.

She wanted high class and someone who could stand their own next to her. No one had ever come close to it. The relationships would turn to dust in a matter of months and deep down she wanted to have someone there who appreciated her for more than money, she was human after all.

And that's when she met Brute. One of the galas she had attended was coming to the end and she had decided that the world had seen enough of her for the night. Since it was one of the smaller events, Princess took her own car. Sometimes the limos were too stuffy and she preferred to drive the night with the windows down and her own tune humming.

“Damn these heels.” She groaned as the elevator to the parking garage was now out of order. She pushed open the stairwell and wished she had her jetpack to soar her through the sky. The click of her black stilettos echoed as she climbed the stairs.

The top of the parking garage came into view as she opened the last door and clicked her phone to make sure that whoever didn’t fix that damn elevator would be fired or seriously hurt. The luxury convertible with her signature license plate was on the other side and sometimes she wondered why she did this to herself.

Huffing, she continued in her tall heels not noticing the door behind her opening. In those mere seconds of her pulling out her eyes, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She let out a yelp before throwing her elbow back and twisting the arm not caring about the snap that came with it. She turned before sending her foot in between the legs of the man who dared to touch her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She growled before shoving the tip of her heel down next to his face, missing him by a hair.

Her eyes glared down at the man now weeping on the ground. His hands were raised in a shudder as he tried to regain his breath from being thrown to the ground and kicked in the balls. Quickly she leaned down and took a picture of his id before tossing it at his face and spraying him with pepper spray for good measure.

She ignored his scream as she walked away and texted the picture to her personal body guards. “Fucking scum bags.”

Her head was now sprouting a headache and all she wanted to do was get home and be surrounded by her riches. Princess narrowed her eyes as she came closer to her car and noticed a figure leaning against it. Smoke blowing from their lips as the cigarette sat between their fingers.

“Unless you are going to pay for those scratches, beat it!” She spat and pointed her finger.

The cigarette was dropped to the ground with an immature flip and black combat boots came down on it like a bug. The light gave out as she looked up with a dark chuckle, the last of the smoke dissipating into the air and Princess felt the shiver in her spine as she noticed the sinister grin coming from the other woman.

“This little thing?” The woman, she assumed was around her age, trailed her finger along the hood. “I’ve seen better.”

The red head rolled her eyes and looked her up and down. “What do you want Brute?”

Brute tilted her head like a dog getting offered a walk. “Ahh so the queen knows who i am.” She pushed off the car and threw a hand in her pocket. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s not like you keep a low profile. Everyone knows who the Punks are.” She spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave.” She tried to take a step but Brute blocked her path.

“The night is still young Sugar Plum.” Brute raised her eyebrow and Princess suddenly felt so small against those green eyes.

“Why would I want to spend my valuable time with you?” She asked.

Brute chuckled and shrugged. “Not too sure babe. But I did just watch you kick and spray that poor sucker over there and now I'm intrigued.”

Maybe Princess didn’t notice the blush creeping up on her cheeks but she pushed all thoughts away and scoffed. “He’s a creep and I don’t have time for nonsense. Goodnight.” She pushed past and clicked her car door open.

“Yay know. I wish I were in town to see the old Princess.” Brute said and she paused.

“Old Princess?”

“Yep.” Brute popped the P. “The infamous Princess Morebucks. Doesn’t take shit from anyone and does what she wants. So sad that we are so young and yet you parade around like daddys little golden medal, making sure to please everyone with an image you don’t want to keep.”

“It’s called running a business.” Princess said quickly yet she hated that the other woman was right.

“No need to get defensive, I’m just saying that I thought you were much more wild. Afterall you were a super villain but maybe you’ve been humbled down to a spoiled brat whose only reckless behavior is staying up till one.” Brute smirked before turning on her heel. “See ya later Sugar Plum.”

Brute began to walk. The metal chain belt made a slight rattling as she inched closer and closer towards the stairwell. Princess stood as she looked at her steering wheel then back at the punk. Something inside of her wanted to just drive away, feel the freedom that she used to as a teenager.

She got into the car, seatbelt clashing loudly as if all sound had been turned off around her. Her hands gripped the wheel and her eyes glanced towards the sky where the moon was hardly up.

The engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking space making her way towards the exit.

“Get in.” She said and the punk turned around with a devious grin. A shutter went through her spine as the door opened and the seat filled in with Brute.

“Alright Sugar Plum, lets see that wild side.” And soon the parking lot was filled with dust as rubber burned through the city's streets.

--

You could hear the music blasting from the street as the pair walked up to the door.

“A club?” Brute asked yet she was impressed with the location.

It was located on the far side of town. The crime rate here had skyrocketed over the years and if you wanted to find a drug paradise, check between the cracks of the sidewalks.

Princess led her to the door. Her ID didn’t need to be checked as they passed the long line and were ushered in quickly. The dim lights only held a sea of bodies grinding against one another while cheap booze flowed in their veins.

The music was terrible and the smell might have been worse but she grabbed the punk's hand and led her to the dance floor without a care in the world. Their hips swayed and soon they had a drink in their hands.

The red head let the alcohol flood her system and soon the music wasn’t as bad as before. She kept her eyes focused on those dazzling greens. She hated the color beforehand. Thought that it was trashy unless it was a crisp hundred bill. But now even with the blazing light, she could see the flecks of the hue taking shape in her iris and wanted to explore it further.

“I never would have pegged you as a club person.” Brute said in her ear as the Princess pressed her back to her chest.

“It's the only place no one cares who you are.” She said as her hand made its way to Brutes cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

Maybe she let the world of her father's business consume her before her life had even started. Maybe Brute was right. She was Princess Motherfucking Morebucks. The same girl who used to build rockets and lasers just to destoy the puffs and now she was wasting what should be her reckless party years, doing things she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Brute's hands traveled down until she spun the red head around and kissed her again. Princess’s hands wandered to her neck as she tugged slightly at the spiked collar with a large metal loop.

“There's that wild side.” Brute said against her lips as she pulled her impossible closer while the music played. “I like it.”

Princess couldn’t tell what was driving her insane. The third shot of vodka or the way her lips felt like molten lava, a tingling sensation she had never had before but she was craving it like no other. All her past relationships came into her mind.

Man after man, not one could even bring Princess the satsiaction to even smile. They had all been the one thing she hated most, boring. Fake smiles, only there for her last name and to climb the ranks, that all she was. She was a bank vault that many wanted to access and she had begun to just give up the code, but not anymore. She didn’t want boring and she certainly wouldn’t be that.

Brute was far from it. Piercings and tattoos covered her arm, something her father would disaprove of greatly, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world as she just let the music play on.

--

Princess kissed her back, enjoying the way the metal lip pieces felt against her lips. It was electrifying and freeing as Brute kissed her neck. She had been captivated by the punk. The way she doted on her like no man had before. She originally thought she was only here for the money, a big fear she kept to herself but although Brute loved cash, she enjoyed the presence of the spoiled girl more.

“I got you something.” Brute whispered in her ear. A shock wave of pleasure jolted through Princess' heart as Brute reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “I know how much you love chain babes.”

Princess took the box and opened it. It was a silver chain necklace with a small crown charm.

“But I also know that it's not your thing, so I thought something that would remind you of your royal status would do.” She joked but Princess stared at the small necklace with wide eyes.

It was simple and small, yet she felt tears threaten to spill. Her entire life she had been showered with elegant gifts and priceless treasures. She was accustomed to receiving fine things, because it was expected. Sometimes it was underwhelming to constantly get things that never had an emotional value.

She took the necklace out of the wrapping and put it on. The cool metal graced her skin and she felt her cheeks heat up at the sweet gift. She looked up at Brute who had a soft expression, something she wore rarely.

Princess set the box aside and placed her hand against Brute’s cheek.

“It's not diamonds but it will do.” She playfully teased before kissing Brute.

She felt Brute groan against her lips and soon she was laying on top of her.

“You’re still spoiled as ever.” Brute glared as she ran her fingers through the curly ginger locks. “But I still like it.” She winked “Reminds me of when I first saw you beat up that dude.”

“That was two years ago.” Princess blew on her bangs.

Brutes hand lightly slapped her ass making the redhead bury her face in her neck. “Yeah but it was hot.”

Princess hummed. “Whatever. Thank you by the way.” She said the last part quickly.

“Ooooo did I just hear the queen thank me?” Brute laughed and her hands were then held above her head pressing into the sheets. She looked through hooded eyes up at the redhead pinning her from above.

“I’m not repeating myself.” Princess batted her eyelashes.  “Now, let's go for a ride.”

“Really? At two a.m?” Brute smirked.

Princess practically jumped off her bed before walking to her closet and changing quickly. She reappeared wearing a short black dress and her own pair of combat boots. 

Brute sat up with a smirk and gave a low whistle. 

“The nights still young babe.” She said before grabbing Brutes hands and leading out the door to her private garage. Soon her car roared to life and the windows were rolled down as the drove off into the night. 

--

I hope you enjoyed :) 

shout out to my lovely betas: Lisa, Aves and Cilla :) 

[daughterofluthien]

Fictober - Day 6 / Whumptober - Day 6

Prompt number: 6. “that was impressive” Fandom: Teen Wolf Rating: T Characters/Relationships: Alan Deaton and Scott McCall Word Count: 2865 Warnings/Tags: canon-typical violence, possession A/N: Deaton POV of the end of 3x19 “Letharia Vulpina,” with added episode tag

The plane landed after nightfall, and he knew he was running out of time.

It was ironic, really. The majority of the trip -- including entering a Yakuza base of operations under false pretenses -- had gone nearly as smoothly as he could’ve hoped. He had even managed to carry the sample vial of lichen through customs in his medical bag with very little fuss. 

The first sign of trouble was on the connecting flight out of Sacramento. According to the scheduled arrival time, they were only a half an hour away from their destination when the pilot announced over the intercom that an unexpected thunderstorm had formed, and they would be experiencing some turbulence. 

This turned out to be an understatement. 

When they did finally reach their destination, the pilot informed the passengers that they had not been cleared to land. This was due to the amount of lightning activity in the vicinity of the airport, and Deaton felt a sense of growing dread. The forces of nature often reacted in sympathy to intense foci of supernatural activity, and such events had been known to cause storms in the past. And when the supernatural activity in question was a pitched battle between ancient spirits known to harness electricity--

If the storm dissipated long enough for the plane to land, that might mean it was already too late.

Eventually, there was a sufficient break in the lightning strikes, and the plane landed without any serious incident. All departures had been delayed, however, as weather reports forecasted that the storm would only get worse before it got better. 

The storm was already severe, and Deaton drove back to Beacon Hills faster than was strictly safe in these conditions. 

If they followed the previously established pattern, then the Oni would’ve manifested as soon as the sun fully set, which meant they were already active. Of course, they weren’t technically a danger to anyone except the Nogitsune and its host, but if someone tried to interfere with their task, he knew they would show no mercy.

He also knew that Scott would almost certainly interfere. 

Even through the storm, he could hear the sound of a fight behind the clinic, so he parked in front, mentally running through the steps necessary to prepare an injectable suspension from the lichen. 

Intramuscular injection would be preferable, to get the solution inserted as close to the nervous system as possible, he decided. Keep the spirit from puppeteering its host by manipulating the electrical impulses controlling the musculature and brain. An aqueous vehicle would be best. Include a small amount of ethyl alcohol to break down the lichen, hopefully releasing the toxin into the body at a faster rate--

He entered the clinic and was immediately greeted by the sound of someone in pain. 

His blood ran cold. Apparently, his fears on the plane had not been unfounded after all.

It was only the sounds of pain and not the sounds of fighting, which indicated that the Oni hadn’t yet materialized inside the clinic. That meant that, with a little luck, they still had time. He gripped his medical bag tighter and hurried towards the back room, closing the gate behind him as he did so. From what Scott had told him, the Oni were eventually able to break a mountain ash barrier, but it took energy and time.

Tonight, time would be invaluable.

He turned around to see Scott, rain-soaked and in visible pain, fully impaled with what looked to be an ancient Japanese sword, though it was too dark to make out any further details.  Kira was attempting to pull it out, but in what he assumed was fear of hurting Scott further, she did not use the amount of strength required to cleanly remove it. Scott’s didn’t scream, but his face contorted in pain.

The sword remained firmly lodged in place. 

 Deaton was about to rush forward and assist, when Stiles -- or rather, the Nogitsune -- grabbed Kira by the wrist and threw her into the table with the sort of strength only possessed by supernatural beings. She slumped to the ground, unconscious. 

Dread settling deep in his gut, Deaton stepped back into the shadow of the doorway. Short of breaking the mountain ash barrier and letting the Oni in, the small sample of lichen that he carried in his kit and had traveled over 5,000 miles to find was the only possible hope of subduing the spirit that was inhabiting the teenager. 

And it wasn’t ready. 

Between the items in his kit and the supplies in his office -- mostly consisting of  overflow from the fully stocked exam room, but sufficient for his purposes -- he should be able to synthesize the mixture quickly. But it would still take time.

According to all the information that he could find, Nogitsune gained power and strength by leeching off of pain, fear, and other negative emotions. With the Oni bearing down on its location, Deaton knew the Nogitsune would be desperate for the power to match them. 

It wouldn’t kill Scott until it had devoured every last bit of fear and pain available for the taking. If he worked quickly, he would have time to prepare the solution.

It was a cold comfort. 

When the Nogitsune’s back was turned, he slipped into his office. He caught a glimpse of Scott’s face as he passed and saw the dread that he was feeling mirrored in Scott’s eyes. Deaton thought grimly that if the spirit was in fact looking to maximize horror and fear, terrorizing the young man while wearing the face of his best friend was certainly an effective method of doing it.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, according to the legends, the creature had existed for centuries. Perhaps even a millenia. It was only logical that, in all that time, it had learned to hone its craft.

Once inside his office, Deaton opened his kit on the desk and set to work as quickly as possible. He didn’t close the door, as everything counted on him remaining unnoticed. He didn’t dare do anything that would alert the Nogitsune to his presence before the solution was prepared.

The open door also meant that he could clearly hear the proceedings in the back room.

He emptied the sample jar of lichen into a mortar and pestle, and began to grind it into a fine powder. Or rather, paste, as the lichen was still fresh and held a fair amount of liquid. 

In the other room, the ancient chaos spirit spoke to Scott with a mockery of a best friend’s concern. “You okay?”

“Please don’t. Stop.” Scott’s reply was more accurately breathed rather than spoken, and Deaton’s heart broke. He had, of course, seen the young man terrified on numerous previous occasions -- but this was the first time he had ever heard him beg. 

He tipped the contents of the mortar back into the sample vial, and scraped out every last bit of lichen that he could. He recognized the inherent danger in using all of the material that he had, but this sort of thing had not yet been quantified by science. If he skimped during the first preparation and it wasn’t enough, he likely wouldn’t survive long enough to try again.

In the other room, Scott screamed.

Deaton’s hand tightened around the vial. He didn’t increase the speed at which he was making the solution, because the risk that he would make a noise that could be heard by the Nogitsune was too great. Because any error or misstep could get all three of the teenagers trapped in the adjacent room killed. 

He measured out the proper amount of distilled water in a graduated cylinder. Added it to the vial. Measured a smaller amount of ethyl alcohol.

The Nogitsune’s quiet, measured voice overlapped with the sounds of pain that started and stopped in short bursts. “Does it hurt? Hey, look at me.”

Deaton wanted to tune it out, but he was well aware that would be foolish. For one, it was important to know your enemy. Any details that the being let slip in a moment where it thought it had total control could be important. And second, as a medical practitioner, he had a duty to pay as close attention to any signs of Scott’s physical state as possible, in case the situation became so dire that he needed to intervene immediately.

He wasn’t sure what he would do if that moment came before the solution was prepared.

He added the ethyl alcohol, capped the vial, and shook it vigorously. The ground lichen swirled through the liquid, tinting it a light and cloudy green. 

Outside, the spirit continued it’s monologue. “A Nogitsune feeds off chaos, strife, and pain. This morning, you took it from Isaac, then you took it from Coach. And then from a dying deputy.”

Deaton closed his eyes. Selfishly, he found himself wishing that he had never taught Scott about that side of his abilities. Though, he supposed that the teenager inherently cared so much and so deeply for others, that he would have discovered it on his own, even without Deaton’s interference.

Scott McCall was only seventeen years old, and he had every right to be as selfish and self-centered as boys his age often were. Yet without fail, he always considered the well being of others above his own.

It was part of the reason that he rose to the status of True Alpha less than a year after being bitten.

It also made Deaton worry deeply about him, as Scott refused to worry about himself. 

He selected a needle -- large gauge, so there would be little chance of the particulate in the solution clogging at the entry point. Screwed it onto the tip of the syringe.

The Nogitsune’s voice deepened, finally revealing itself as the demon it truly was. “Now, give it to me.”

There were no longer sounds from Scott.

Deaton knew that if a werewolf took too much pain, their system could eventually be overwhelmed, sending them into shock and damaging them beyond the healing capabilities of the body. This could eventually lead to death. 

He did not know what would happen to the body if that pain was violently consumed by an ancient spirit of chaos. He imagined that it couldn’t be good. 

He was running out of time.

Deaton loaded the syringe.

“You really have to learn, Scott. You really have to learn not to trust a fox.”

He depressed the plunger slightly. Primed the needle.

“Y’know why? ‘Cause they’re tricksters.”

He tapped the syringe, dispersing any air bubbles.

“They’ll fool you.”

Done. 

“They’ll fool everyone.”

Deaton walked into the exam room and -- in one clean, practiced motion -- injected the contents of the syringe into Stiles’ neck. 

The Nogitsune’s control of its host was instantly severed, and Stiles crumpled to the ground.

Thankfully, Stiles didn’t immediately seize or have a visibly severe reaction. He was immobile on the ground, which was mildly concerning, as the fully human Stiles should not have been harmed by the lichen, but the others needed more immediate medical attention. Kira was still unconscious on the ground, and Scott--

Scott was braced against the exam table. Panting. Face pale. Fully impaled by what Deaton could see now was a wakizashi. He hadn’t spoken since Deaton had entered the room.

Deaton wasn’t sure if, in his current state, he was even capable of it.

Scott’s eyes were wide and panicked, as if he didn’t fully believe that Deaton was really there. Deaton met them with a grave look, because this wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Not for the first time, he wished that supernatural creatures didn’t metabolize anesthetic so quickly.

He braced a hand lightly on the teenager’s torso, careful to not place it too close to the wound, and with the other hand pulled the sword out as quickly and cleanly as he could manage. 

He was glad the sword was straight, rather than curved. He’d rather not cause any additional damage during the removal.

Scott still groaned loudly as the blade was yanked free. Deaton let the offending object clatter to the ground.

Unsurprisingly, the first thing Scott did was to ask after Stiles. 

Deaton wished that he had better news to give him -- while the fox inside of Scott’s best friend was currently incapacitated, he had no idea how to remove it or kill it. “Not yet.” He fixed the body on the floor with a look.

Scott appeared to have only started to process that information, when they were interrupted by a groan, and he looked over, startled. “Oh god, Kira!”

Nearly hidden behind the exam table, Kira had begun to stir. Scott started to bend down to check on her, but Deaton could see that he was in obvious pain, exhaling through gritted teeth. 

He placed a hand gently against Scott’s chest, halting the movement. “I wouldn’t do that just yet, if I were you. Those muscles are still healing, and we wouldn’t want to tear anything further.” He followed Scott’s gaze to the girl on the floor. “I’ve got her, don’t worry.”

After a brief moment, Scott nodded, and Deaton bent down to help. He checked her head for any bleeding or contusions, but she seemed fine. When Kira assured him that the only thing she felt was a little lightheaded, he helped her to a chair. 

If she had been fully human, he would’ve been worried about a concussion, but he suspected that the fox spirit inside her would prevent that sort of thing from happening. While he didn’t know if she had learned to consciously master her healing abilities yet, those sorts of things tended to happen a lot more automatically when the individual was incapacited. 

Kira’s gaze landed on the bloody sword on the ground, before glancing up and over at Scott. “So now what?”

Scott, for his part, was standing stock still, with his hand over the wound in his abdomen. He was staring at Stiles.

Kira persisted. “Scott?”

He shook his head. “I don’t-- I don’t know.”

Deaton gathered a few medical supplies, then returned to Scott, carefully lifting up his shirt to clean the wound and tape a bandage in place. He noted with satisfaction that the torn edges of the puncture had already begun to show signs of healing. While he didn’t look up from his work, he interjected anyways. “Now, the three of you need to get back to your homes and rest. You’ve had a very long night.”

He glanced up at Scott, who could still barely move following his injury, but he only furrowed his brow in confusion. “All three of us? Even Stiles?”

Deaton nodded. “The poison I injected in his system should give Stiles control of his body back, at least for a couple days.”

A little bit of hope returned to Scott’s eyes. “Long enough to buy us some time to fix this. To save him.”

“But what about the Oni?” This was from Kira, and she still sounded terrified. 

Deaton glanced over at her. “Well, they haven’t gotten in here yet. And if I’m right, the wolf lichen has surprised the spirit deeply enough that the Oni will no longer immediately register him as supernatural.” He looked back at Scott, because he knew the young Alpha had the same fears. “He’ll be safe.”

Scott released a breath, and at least a small amount of tension visibly left his body. “Thank you.”

Deaton smiled. “Anytime.”

In the end, after a matching bandage was placed over the exit wound on Scott’s back, it was decided that they would call Sheriff Stilinski to come pick up Stiles, as the older man was likely worried sick. Once Scott was healed enough to move, he and Kira would take the jeep to go back to their own homes. 

While Scott called the Sheriff, and Kira texted her parents to let them know she was okay, Deaton knelt down to check on Stiles, who still had not fully stirred. However, despite the trauma of an entity invading his body and mind, the boy’s pulse was strong, and his pupils were evenly dilated. That was not a guarantee of anything, of course, but all they could do now was wait and see when he woke up.

As he worked, Deaton spoke quietly to the spirit locked inside the teenager’s mind. “You know, I know you can hear me,” he said conversationally, “And I suppose you thought that was impressive, getting them all to jump to your every whim like that. The chaos and fear left in your wake. But you chose the wrong host.” 

He glanced over at Scott, who was still on the phone, tired but determined. “You chose his best friend. And he’s not going to stop until he figures out a way to remove you, permanently. And as for me, well, I’m generally not one to advocate for killing. I prefer to heal.”

Deaton thought about Scott’s screams of pain. The Nogitsune taunting him with the face and voice of his best friend. 

“For you, though? I’m willing to make an exception.”

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 24: The Identity

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

While saying a final farewell to the City of Shadows, Serafine's emotional turmoil leads her to reveal the final clue of a puzzle one hundred years in the making. It's time for Cadence to finally learn the truth... no matter the consequences.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They should start the next leg of their journey as soon as possible. But by the time Nadya and Adrian leave the awful wreckage of Gaius’ old room behind and find the others, she doesn’t think her body can physically manage another step.

Of course — throwing me over Jax’s shoulder would probably make the trip back to the surface more than a little faster, the reasonable part of her thinks; but reason is too tired to argue over the extremely prideful (and correct), but that will happen over my dead body.

They’ll stay just long enough to rest and recover; that’s the agreement. Long enough for Adrian to piece himself back together. Long enough for Nadya to find the remnants of herself among the straggling memories taking advantage of her exhaustion. And—though she won’t admit it aloud—long enough for Serafine to get a chance at a proper goodbye to everything she once loved… and all that she had to leave behind.

“It’s really beautiful down here… scary vampire hunter skeletons aside.” After all, everything beautiful in Nadya’s life comes with just a sprinkle of scary these days.

Serafine stands in the middle of the ballroom; surrounded by hollow shells of armor and the ashes of everyone she once cared about but still impossibly beautiful. Like all those years ago when they were breathing their last, the Knights decided to crawl out of that very spot. Like they knew she would return to see it one last time and made a path for her; a morbid procession.

One floor above them Adrian rests to regain his strength and heal his punctured palms. She had left Lily, Jax, and Cadence to their card game down in the kitchens to go find Serafine. Not that she has any idea why, exactly… Nadya just… felt like it was something she needed to do.

They are completely alone here.

Maybe that’s why Serafine feels the freedom to wistfully reminisce. “This is nothing more than a tattered husk of the splendor these halls once held.” She cranes her head up to the soot-stained ceiling and the iron-and-glass chandelier still miraculously overhead. “With no daylight to hinder us, the City of Shadow was never anything less than alive. In more than just the King’s Manor.”

She gestures towards one of the double-door entrances to the dancing hall. In the distance Nadya swears she can see walls of actual bone and skulls not unlike the catacombs so far above their heads. “There to the Northernmost caverns, lies a labyrinth once called the largest in the world. Endless puzzles and clues all come together to create a maze only solved by the exceedingly cunning or the desperately bored.”

“Which were you?”

That earns Nadya a bemused little smile. “A little bit of both. In the early decades, before the City grew, I devoted all my time and energies into her foundation. A good thirty years had passed before I went back up to the surface. Surprising even then how much the world could change in such a short time.”

“I wouldn’t call thirty years short…” But Nadya wasn’t here to debate finite things to an infinite woman. So she lets it go.

“So what about when it did grow? What was it like?”

“C’est manifique…” the lace-trimmed edges of Serafine’s sleeves billow slightly as she twirls with all the grace of a lifelong dancer, “I dare not speak it aloud for fear I would not do it justice. Parties lasting weeks, academic debates that stretched across years. After lifetimes cowering in barns, sleeping amid mass graves for fear of discovery; praying to the First that the sunrise would be once again met by sunset, and that it would not be our last… the freedom that came from demanding a home from a world that had forsaken us was… I have no words.”

Nadya believes that. Why else would she be crying so freely; laughing so tragically?

“But none of it held a candle to the night the City fell.” Serafine continues unbidden this time. Too lost in her own memories to even withdraw as Nadya awkwardly fumbles on the tips of her toes around the Knights’ remains; coming ever-closer.

“You said you were having a… a party, right?”

“To use such a crass word —”

“— that’s the word you used, though —”

“— only for lack of a better one. We risked everything for it, Nadya; everything. Secreted trips to the surface for finery and the things only the nobility could afford, but never appreciate. Not as we would. It was to be my crowning glory. The culmination of decades of devotion’s labor.”

Her words, poetic in their beauty, are only enhanced by the emotion with which she speaks them. Clasped hands clutched to her chest; like the very memory of it will be enough to defy the laws of nature and make her heart beat again. But with them comes a dawning understanding for Nadya — one that bridges the chasm between fond recollection and the tears that cling to the bottoms of her cheeks.

“The party that night… it was yours.”

The way the vampiress’ face falls makes Nadya’s heart break all the more. “It was my confession of undying love, you see. To Paris, to the City; to everyone who had found a home here as I did.”

“I’m… so sorry.” Because what else is there for her to say? What else is there for anyone to say when the tragedy of it happened such a long time ago but it’s only now that Serafine is given the chance to face it? It’s just not fair.

Empathy shines through warm honeyed eyes; no trace of the woman desperate for answers she had met in the library. Grief does funny things to people, though, so she won’t give Serafine anything less than her understanding for that. How cruel would she be if she did?

A smile tugs at the corners of Serafine’s lips. And it’s impossible to have a woman that pretty looking at you like that without feeling fifty shades of self-conscious. “What,” Nadya ducks her head, bashful; tucks her hair behind her ears, “what did I say?”

“Nothing worth such a shy face on such a lovely young lady.” She ghosts her fingertips feather-light under Nadya’s chin to bring her back away from their shoes. “I was just thinking of how Kamilah looked at the presentation.”

Nadya’s eyes widen. “Kamilah was there?” And Serafine nods.

“Indeed. As if I would host such an important event without finding opportunity to placate the King himself… and his Queen alongside.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.” She doesn’t have to like it, but it does either way. The thought sweeps Nadya’s eyes across the charred remains of upended tables and armor plates splattered with blood the color of rust. She doesn’t even know what she’s looking for — a ghost of a memory of her, maybe. Trying to follow the path her long sweeping dress must have trailed as she danced.

Another memory and Serafine’s laughter bubbles out yet again. “Oh how livid she was that I did not take her for the first waltz. She had made me promise, you know, earlier that evening, that I would. But I was the hostess… I had obligations.

“Still, there’s something to be said for holding up her end of our little deal. She wore the masque I gifted her all night.”

The mask.

Even if Serafine had decided to launch into a detailed description of the thing; Nadya wouldn’t need it. She knows exactly what it looked like; like one long strand of gossamer steel warped and needled together to frame her face in all its beauty. Any other mask would be made to hide someone away, but Kamilah’s was crafted so no one would ever question who it belonged to — or the importance of her.

But the vision of the Kamilah in the library was brief; it fades, she fades, into smoke on the air.

And all at once Nadya realizes that’s the second mask she’s seen since they came down here.

Eyes glassy and focused somewhere on the far wall, the smile starts to slide from Serafine’s face. Nadya has to squint her eyes to hope for even a glimpse in the darkness… but if her glasses aren’t failing her she’d swear the woman can’t look away from a large broadsword embedded high up in the stone wall.

High for someone like Nadya, anyway. Not for someone a few heads taller.

“Serafine?”

She doesn’t answer. She knows what she’s said — that she can’t take it back. Can’t risk saying anything more.

“Serafine.” This time Nadya isn’t asking.

The part of Nadya that knows what it felt like to see Rome fall without hesitation already knows the answer. She still finds herself asking it. No matter how pointless it is.

“Serafine… was Cadence h—”

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!”

Lily’s laugh, loud and boisterous, hacks through the tension between them like a rusty machete. Startles Nadya enough that she’s stumbling back, hand clutching her chest feeling her heart race for reasons she’s still a little foggy on. When she looks up, Serafine is largely unfazed; but instead of the sword in the (stone) wall, she’s whirled around to the intrusive sight that practically frolics through the farthest set of doors.

Ask Jax what he’s doing and he’ll have a thousand different excuses, all of them covering up the fact that he’s pretty much holding Adrian up with his shoulder. Cadence flanks Adrian’s other side, flicking a cautious glance their way every other moment or so like he’s ready and waiting in case the other vampire isn’t as recovered as he’s apparently led them to believe.

That leaves Lily taking up the front; leading them on like a punk Robin Hood and her Band of Merry Vamps. She spins on the heel of her boot as the ceiling arches up and vaults around the ballroom, neck craning all the way back until she’s very near falling over.

She doesn’t — thankfully. But she does mistake Nadya and Serafine’s startled reactions to their arrival as part of an ongoing joke.

“No but seriously, Nadi’, Cade was just telling us about some booze he taste-tested for Garrus, back down in New Orleans? Go on, tell it dude, tell it!” She smacks the back of her hand against Cadence’s chest in open encouragement. Unfortunately judging by the sheer embarrassment on his face it’s anything but.

“I told you twice now; without context it’s just a story that ends in me streaking all the way into the Mississippi.”

“That’s what makes the story!”

He rolls his eyes at her, then offers Nadya an apologetic smile. “I’m assuming I don’t have to excuse her behavior? Though I think she’s just as excited to get out and up top as the rest of us a—”

“What’s going on?”

Jax’s question, gruff and clipped, cuts through any shred of amusement left hanging. Narrowed eyes flit back and forth between Nadya and Serafine and if his reaction alone wasn’t enough to dial the discomfort up to eleven the way Adrian shifts to stand up a little straighter definitely does the trick.

“Did something happen?”

The vampiress opens her mouth and closes it just as quickly. Nadya can practically feel her biting her tongue. All traces of her wide-eyed dreams and heartfelt memories gone like they, too, were all an act.

Just like she had been acting back in the atrium.

Lily rubs her temples with a groan. “I swear to god — can’t things go right for, like, twenty-four hours? What fucked up this time?”

“I…”

The moment is waning fast — and taking Nadya’s confidence with it. One whole minute ago she had been so certain of something so important but now—now she wonders, now she considers all the possibilities. Coincidence? Poor word choice?

Something — anything — other than Serafine having some big bad secret that would wreck everything.

But the look on Cadence’s face… not now, not confused like the rest of them. But back at the Shadow Den; full of desperation. Or struggling to keep hold of his sanity in Katherine’s arms; fearful and small. And all Nadya can think about is how she would feel if someone she knew kept the truth from her. For no good reason at all.

“Cadence?”

He jerks to attention, not bothering to hide his surprise. “Yes Nadya?”

“I think…” swear on her life it looks like Serafine mouths “please, no” out of the corner of her eye, “I think you were here when the Knights stormed the City. I think I had that—that vision of you wearing a mask because you were here, in the ballroom; at Serafine’s party.

“I think Serafine knows who you really are.”

The tension ripples out around them. Thick enough to slice into neat little squares and stack up like bricks. She almost wishes she could; can’t shake the sinking feeling that some kind of guard or protection would be helpful right about now.

They move in synchronized silence. Cadence raises his chin; strong jaw taut in a show of confidence the wavering sea of confusion in his eyes betrays. Serafine does the opposite; casts her head away from him, from Nadya, from all of them in a manner almost ashamed.

No, not ashamed, not personally. This close and with all those walls she worked so hard to build up in such a short time starting to crumble at the foundations Nadya can feel the strength of it growing with every passing second.

She’s… ashamed of Nadya. Somehow.

“Serafine, is there truth to that?” Adrian speaks out of turn; shattering the fragile quiet. It’s not his time to speak, something whispers at the shell of Nadya’s ear, he knows what he is.

Like the ballroom itself waits on bated breath for Cadence to act; to do something, say something — anything that will pull the world around them back into orbit. It’s the only way they’ll survive.

But he doesn’t. To be fair Serafine doesn’t either; though it’s obvious even to someone as blind as Nadya without her glasses that she’s refusing to speak. And doesn’t that just say it all.

“Why won’t you look at him?”

The vampiress whips around, hair lashing at her face like a dark hailstorm. Eyes on Nadya definitely meant to instill fear and definitely halfway to getting the job done. Too bad Nadya’s a nervous talker. “I didn’t notice it at first… but besides the apartment and the atrium you don’t look at him. Why?”

“There’s still time to stop asking questions.”

“What’ll happen if I don’t?”

“Terrible — terrible things.”

And at the end of her not-so-thinly veiled threat, Adrian finds his limit.

“Tell me I’m not hearing this —” he’s already been through so much; the pleading in his voice one step shy of desperate, “— tell me I didn’t just hear you threaten Nadya.”

“It wasn’t a threat.”

“Sure sounded like it to me,” Lily mutters.

“It was a warning.”

Then she laughs. Bitter, rueful; familiar in a way Nadya’s still a little too unmoored by literally everything happening to place properly. She proves Nadya wrong by pushing the hair out of her face with a flat palm to meet Cadence with a level stare nothing short of venomous.

“Which one of us shall have the honor, then?”

Cadence’s lips purse, but he still says nothing. If his intention is to rile her up it’s definitely working… and then some.

“For a man with a reputation built on actions over words, you were always a mite chatty. I find it hard to believe centuries of old habits are so easily restrained.”

It was a revelation Nadya couldn’t have held in even if she tried; even if her life was on the line. But now, standing here, feeling the building rage in Serafine’s curling accent — she would give that same life to take it back. Because there’s no way this ends with a rousing debate and firm handshake.

And because… because maybe if she’d just kept her damn mouth shut they could have avoided this, here; and everything still yet to come.

Serafine steps back. Here’s a power in her space. All Nadya can think of is a cobra rearing back to flare its hood.

“Si c'est le jeu auquel vous souhaitez jouer, qu'il en soit ainsi… Monsieur D’or.”

Nadya’s struggling here, sans subtitles as she is, but she knows just enough about fancy perfumes to catch the name.

Mister Gold? What is this, a fairy tale spinoff series?

They all watch — a captive audience — as Serafine throws Cadence a malicious sneer. “Were I naive enough to call this coincidence, I would be better off for it. But we have been at this dance for too long, you and I. But you played your part well; well enough to fool even the Bloodkeeper. Your Benevolent God must be so proud.

“At first I thought you were playing the worst sort of game. Some ruse you thought to be clever — wearing the facade of a decent man when you and I know you are everything but. I hoped to bide my time here, to dissect your intentions from afar. You are not the only one who can play pretend.”

She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed; staining crimson along the seam of her lips. “But this… this is too much, even for you. You’ve never been one to let your depravities fall under a different name. No… you are too proud for that. You know it, as I know it. As I know you. The real you — the monster hidden under golden hair and gilded lies. How else was I to track you for as long as I did; to ensure I would get the vengeance I was owed?”

She pauses and waits for an answer. Something prideful of her own nature in the gleam of her eyes but the longer she waits the faster it fades. Cadence refuses to take her bait.

“Fine. Just tell me. Tell me how you did it.”

“How I did what?” asks Cadence warily. Nadya can’t understand why he isn’t rebutting these accusations. Why he isn’t as distraught as he had been in front of Valdas, or as angry as he had been in front of Isseya? She’s not exactly making light conversation.

Pleading ignorance only enrages her more. “How did you survive? I barely escaped that damned trench with my life! Hours I spent in the darkness, turning over every man dead and dying, and I could not find you. You died. You were turned to ash!”

He fixes her with a hard stare and a chin raised in defiance.

“Obviously not.”

His short answers are just enough to keep pushing her. Maybe that’s what he wants, Nadya thinks; after all — the more she talks the more she accuses; the more she fills in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

And only Serafine knows what it will look like when it is completed. For now.

Serafine wavers; his confidence (no matter how projected or pretend) forces her to step back once, twice until she stumbles over the rusted forgotten half of a crossbow.

Cadence only takes pity on her because he needs her to keep going.

“I woke up in a military hospital in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1918. I don’t know how or why I ended up there. I had no memory, no tags… no home. But very much alive. Whatever method you used to try and end my life, if that is truly what happened, didn’t stick.”

Maybe it didn’t stick, but there was definitely damage done. And Nadya sees it now clear as day.

Before she’s even half a step forward Lily’s hand grasps for her wrist; a familiar shackle. Nadya eases herself free without looking back. Can’t shake the feeling that if she looks away everything will shatter and be so much worse.

“Serafine…” She stands between them; powerful creatures fast enough to move no matter where she stands, strong enough to snap her like a twig for getting in their way. How the heck is it I always end up somewhere here-adjacent?

“How did you try to kill him?” But all that gets her is a dazed flutter of Serafine’s dark lashes; not an answer. So Nadya pushes.

“Did you try and kill him psychically?”

The answer rests there, written across her face plain as day.

“He needed to suffer; as I suffered, as we all suffered because of his selfish acts.”

Nadya nods slowly. “You made him remember your pain.”

Serafine bares gritted teeth at them. Nadya catches the hint of her fangs in the dim candlelight and fights against the shivers trying to roll down her spine.

“Non,” she protests, “I forced him to know it — to feel it for the first time! It was justice that he should die knowing the pain he brought down on his own kind!”

Another piece. “But something stopped you from finishing the job.”

There’s so much pain hovering in the air around them. Pain of the memories still echoing through her mind. Pain from Serafine in waves on a roiling sea. Pain from Cadence as he looks down at Nadya with an uncomfortable uncertainty. “How do you…?”

“She wanted you to remember. Instead, whatever happened… it —”

With closed eyes Cadence bows his head; he understands now.

“It made me forget.”

Maybe it would have been kinder never to know. But what’s done is done.

Lily clears her throat, hand half-raised. “Did I miss something before intermission or… am I the only one with zero clue on what’s happening right now?”

“Seven hundred years is a long time to live, isn’t it.”

Serafine drags herself back into focus. Out of the pain of the past to the here and now. To where Jax may not be accusing her with words, but his intentions scream a whole other story.

She nods once. “Longer than most of you could even begin to fathom.”

“‘Most of us?’” His eyebrows raise slightly. He shifts Adrian into a better angle against his side. “That’s rather specific of you.”

“There was once a time when the wrong words meant a swift death in halls such as these.”

“So why do I have a feeling you’re choosing the right ones?”

There’s a shift in her; the barest movement of her body and more the way her soul moves under her skin. One little shift and that’s all it takes for Nadya to see this version of Serafine for the third time. Three times too many, if anyone cares to ask.

Because the glower she faces at Jax is nothing less than every kind of anger — and then some. “What would you know? Dwelling in the gutters, hiding from your own kind. At least we had the dignity to hide from our enemies rather than make enemies of ourselves.”

‘Serafine…’ Adrian’s lips curl around her name but there’s no sound. No, sound would mean he has something to say, and he doesn’t. What is there to say at a sight like this?

But to everyone’s surprise Jax stands his ground. “But that’s not entirely true, is it?”

Nadya swallows the heart-sized lump in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that I did quite a bit of reading down here. My intention was to try and get as much background on this Order as possible. I’m not exactly the type to sit around and twiddle my thumbs up my ass, if you’ve noticed.

“Now don’t get me wrong — I hate Gaius as much as the next guy. But he did his due diligence when it came to war. I found a ledger. Page after page filled with detailed logs of recon. missions meant to track the movement of the Knights—or the Order, I don’t care—that all ended the same way. Randomly they made about as much sense as everything going on right here and now. But put them together and they started to look less like random hunts and more like a pursuit.”

Jax jerks his head aside to Cadence; his head still cast downward. “I’ve been good since we got here; not a gamble to pin me to. But I’d go all in and bet those pursuits, most of ‘em leading up to a couple of months before your big event, were all about finding one really dumb sonuvabitch.”

“The Dawnslayer…” Nadya whispers — quickly slapping her hand over her mouth like that will suck the words back in. But it won’t. It doesn’t.

“All of this —” Serafine steps back with arms spread wide and open; as though looking out to the death scattered around them will somehow detract from her fresh tears, “— was ruined! My City, my home, a careless casualty in a selfish war of pride and egos! He invited them here. Led them to our very gates! All for the thrill of battle and the glory it would bring him!

“And—ha—wouldn’t you believe it — he miscalculated the enemy’s numbers. Hundreds of Knights descended on us, more than I had ever seen together! Fledglings I had taken under my wing — friends I had known for hundreds of years — they were all ripped from me in a deluge of fire and wrath!

“I watched them burn, Adrian!” Bright red eyes blurry with tears, the emotions in her throat so thick she’s on the cusp of choking and that only makes Serafine scream all the louder. “They did not NEED to die! We lost everything! Our home! Our heritage! Our kingdom and city! Our blood seeped so far into the fucking ground and we never—never—recovered from it!

“He deserved to feel their pain — my pain! He deserved to suffer consequences for his actions!”

Adrian steadies himself with a shaky breath. Gently he eases away from Jax, holds still for fear of collapsing, but if one of them has to be strong… of course he’ll offer himself up.

“Killing him wouldn’t have done that, Serafine,” and Nadya almost chokes hearing that; knowing the different tune he’d been singing not long enough ago — seeing her Adrian again, “I know in the moment, maybe… it may have seemed like the answer. But —”

“Killing him wasn’t his punishment.” Her conviction throws him off kilter only briefly; that’s more than enough.

“I don’t understand…”

“I do.”

Even Serafine looks at Cadence in shock. There’s a newfound peace in his voice and acceptance clear in his eyes. Strides slow and measured, he passes Nadya right on by and closes the gap between himself and Serafine. She flinches when he gets too close; not unlike a wounded animal.

Palm turned up, he brushes away the long streaks of tears on her right cheek. “Men like that… there’s always a part of them that wants to die, I think. Their lives don’t really mean much to them. So you find what does; you find what they care about. And you hurt that instead. Right, Mademoiselle?”

At first she doesn’t answer. Instead she waits, and waits, and waits for the inevitable trap to bear down on her. When none comes… all she manages is a nod.

“That was the easy part. You already knew what he cared about. Just like you already knew exactly how to hurt them so deeply, so intensely they would never recover. You took him from them, right? Because it was only fair… and because you knew they would be too broken to continue on.”

Cadence pries off his glasses with his free hand and holds the frames with delicate care. With closed eyes he leans forward — down to her. Serafine sucks in a breath, feels the pressure of his palm cupping her face, and trembles when their foreheads meet.

“After all…” Seconds, minutes, maybe even years pass until, finally, his eyes open just barely. Enough to seek her out through lowered lashes and hold her gaze. To keep her there, practically cradled in his arms. Even as his hand slides down and presses an impossible weight against her throat.

“There is no Trinity without three.”

[theonceoverthinker]

Comfortable (Fair Game)

Summary: Things worked out in Atlas and Mantle, better than anyone could have reasonably expected them to. Who’d have thought? Now, the extended group sets out after saving one day to save the next one and the one after that. And with a moment’s peace in between those days, Qrow and Clover finally let themselves get comfortable. 

AO3        Fanfiction.net

A/N: So like the summary warns (While a background element of the fic itself), this fic is almost certainly an AU for the 0% likelihood that everything is going to work out perfectly in the Atlas/Mantle arc -- the communication tower will be back up, everyone will be warned about Salem and then protected, and then everyone will then go to inform the rest of the world.

Tagging @merilinlokk and @lady-branwen!

Seriously, this thing is so sappy. I can't believe it. I am grossed out by this abomination of cuteness! 

Enjoy.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Atlas has a gorgeous line of aircrafts. Aircrafts are behemoths of steel most every other place in Remnant, but in Atlas, where they are an indispensable part of life, something about them is simply different from those in the regions below. Perhaps it’s a reflection of Atlas’ gilded lives -- or at least formerly gilded lives.

Things are changing. So many things have changed already. Atlas and Mantle exist under new leadership, and now are readying themselves to aid in the fight against Salem. The communication’s tower is up and running. There’s a new Winter Maiden.

And now, just as life changes, their extended group must change as well. There are other regions to visit, to warn about Salem, and to assist in facing off against the Grimm that will haunt them in the wake of that knowledge. Much assistance will be required -- enough to warrant the strongest assets of the Atlesian military to join the extended fight beyond Atlas’ borders.

Despite their higher spirits, everyone’s a little mixed at the idea of leaving Atlas. For the Ace Ops, Atlas is not just a workplace...it’s home. For the kids, it was somewhere stable. Clover can only imagine how much they’ve missed having someplace like that to stay. From what Qrow tells him, constant travel has been something of a norm for them since they faced the Fall of Beacon.

But at least this time, their accommodations are more comfortable. The plane they’re taking is about as nice as Atlesian arcrafts come. It’s no four-star hotel, but it’s close. 

Clover’s happy to see that the kids seem content with the accommodations as they board it. 

He’s also happy to see his team content with the accommodations as they board it.

But mostly, so strongly to him that it’s almost embarrassing, he’s happy to see Qrow content with the accommodations as he boards it.

Clover makes sure he’s right by Qrow’s side to get his reaction up close, and Qrow’s smile -- as always -- does not disappoint. It’s as warm as a fireplace after a snowstorm and more beautiful than a hyacinth in bloom.

And fortunately for Clover, he’s been seeing it more and more frequently over the past few months they’ve spent together.

Clover’s always known he’s been blessed with a personality that could win just about anyone over, but experiencing Qrow warming up to him, opening up to him, enjoying his presence and their partnership...it’s been something so different than he ever expected.

He’s unashamed to admit that he loves it with all that he is.

They board the plane together, and Clover gestures to Qrow two unoccupied seats towards the center of the plane.

There’s been no secret made about the length of this flight. The trip from here to Vacuo is sixteen hours.

That’s sixteen hours they’ll be side-by-side, and while this plane is luxurious, that luxury comes at the cost of seats. There’s just barely enough for all of them, and the plane’s available seats are filling up fast. 

Committing to a spot now means committing to spending a whole day by the side of whoever one ended up next to.

Clover knows Qrow knows this.

And he still chose to sit next to Clover without an ounce of hesitation.

A smile crosses Clover’s face, and he’s undeniably thrilled.

However, there’s more to it than that, and funnily enough, that more would seem like less to the naked eye -- comfort.

Comfort, yes. That just about describes everything about them, and it might just be the part of this thing they have that Clover loves more than anything else.

While the armrest between them offers a generous amount of space, his and Qrow’s shoulders touch as they get settled into their seats. Still, neither of them blush, nor look away. No, the touch is casual -- it’s comfortable.

‘Comfortable’ -- oh, how Clover’s grown to love that word. 

As the plane takes off, Clover relaxes at the thought of the next sixteen comfortable hours they’ll share together.

()()()()()()()()()()

In the unlikely event Qrow was ever forced to spend the rest of his days aboard an airplane -- not exactly his ideal retirement plan, mind you, but at least it doesn’t involve being digested by a Grimm -- he can think of a lot worse people to choose to sit next to for all of those remaining years than Clover Ebi.

So when the prospect of a mere sixteen hour flight by his side approaches them, Qrow has no qualms accepting the invitation. 

As a matter of fact, a qualm is just about the last thing Qrow Branwen has with anything having to do with Clover Ebi.

Clover is comfortable -- yes, ‘comfortable’ is the best word to describe him. For as serious as he is when it comes to his job, he is also as carefree as Harbinger is sharp. A lesser mind would attribute that quality to his semblance and the cockiness that it may cause, but Qrow takes pride in being the exact opposite of a lesser mind. He knows that carefreeness Clover has is more than just the result of luck -- it’s who Clover is -- plain and simple. Qrow sees it in Clover’s eyes, his brow, and his smile, a smile that isn’t innocent, but informed, yet still optimistic, and that makes its successes that much more interesting to witness.

Qrow spends a lot of time looking at that smile, and even more time thinking about it. 

And now, he has that smile all to himself for sixteen hours.

Not to mention, if there’s one thing Atlas can be counted on, it’s that it has amazing planes. Their seats feel like they’re made of the very clouds they’re flying through, the craft is fully stocked with seemingly every snack under the sun as well as a nice variety of sodas, and they have screens to project their scrolls onto for a handsfree experience.

So not only will he have access to Clover’s smile, he and Clover will also be given plenty of good reasons TO smile.

It’s going to be a great flight.

()()()()()()()()()()

Clover swears that at some point, the plane flew up beyond the limits of the very sky itself and is now gliding straight across heaven.

Sure, that theory is rather hyperbolic, but with how nice of a time he’s having, he wouldn’t be surprised if it proved to be the case.

Rays of light amber shine inside the plane. Qrow, while not directly in its way, is bathed in it all the same. 

The sun makes everything about him pop -- as if he didn’t already do that well enough on his own. His smile is so much brighter, the speckles in his eyes are clearer, and his teeth almost sparkle in the light. Even the crumbs from the pretzels he ate earlier are illuminated, and Clover -- ever the neat freak his team well knows him to be -- finds too endearing for words.

The setting sun gives Clover little time to take it in, so he does fully under the guise of simple conversation.

He can be quite the clever devil when he wants to be.

That would probably be a bad thing if he didn’t care for the topic, but he does. Clover considers himself a caring guy, but Qrow manages to make even the most seemingly boring, annoying, or weird topics come alive. While Clover’s not at all into video games, if Qrow’s talking about them, suddenly, he doesn’t mind thinking about them for a half hour or so.

The past few hours have passed in a relaxed state of bliss. Conversations tend to flow between them as naturally as a river, and the long flight together hasn’t changed that. There’s plenty of moments of silence too, or just moments that pass where they do things on their own, but it never feels out of place. It’s just them...being who they are. 

Clover likes who they are.

It’s not long before the sun completely sets. The dark sky is contrasted by the warm lights from within the plane, and it feels as if they’re safely put in a nice, cozy cabin on a harsh winter’s night.

However, before long, that changes too.

Their arrival in Vacuo will be early. Everyone aboard the craft knows that, and as yawns start to surface after their early wake up to prepare for their initial departure, it starts to sink in that calling it a night sooner rather than later is in all of their best interests.

Clover can already see people settling in for some sleep. He gets a peek at his teammates, and he can just barely hold back a chuckle. 

Harriet’s lounging in her seat with her left arm spread out over the armrest and her eyes shut, with Vine holed up in the corner beside the window and his seatmate, halfway to slumber town himself. Marrow meanwhile has contorted himself so that his tail is curving over his body while Elm pushes his back against her own as to sleep more cozily.

Of all the descriptors Clover as ever used or considered using in regards to his team, the term ‘adorable’ has never once come to mind. However, those brief glances at his fellow fighters changes that perspective in an instant.

He has a sneaking suspicion that a certain group of kids from Beacon have a hand to play in the change. 

Honestly, the Ace Ops as a whole have become so much closer over the weeks that unorthodox group has been in their presence.

Those kids...and Qrow...who knew they would be what the world needed the most right about now?

And more importantly, who knows what they’ll do next? Clover believes that whatever it is will be something good, and he’s happy to be along for the ride.

Well, whatever the case, he does agree nonetheless that it’s just about time to turn it in for the night.

()()()()()()()()()()

Sixteen hours never seemed too big of a number for Qrow, and passing that time with Clover has made it seem even more paltry than that. 

Things are always easy like that for Qrow and Clover -- at least when they’re together, that is. Clover has this aura about him -- not a luck-based aura, but...a different kind of aura, separate from the pressures of semblances and more of a resemblance of his core personality. That aura makes the air feel just a bit sweeter and the urge to keep his guard up seem so much more distant than it should be.

Being around Clover...it makes Qrow just feel safe.

He knows it’s unwise. After all, they have a relic in their possession. It’s just a matter of time until a flying Grimm attacks them, or Hazel will show up on a hot air balloon or something or both at the same time, ready, willing, and able to blow them out of the sky.

Well, at least Tyrian’s not among their enemies’ numbers anymore.

Still, despite the danger that lurks behind each and every one of Remnant’s four corners, Clover’s sheer presence somehow wills his relaxation into existence. It’s nice having someone around like that, and it’s even nicer that that person is Clover.

Qrow’s never been much of a talker -- in truth, he’s not even that much of a talker with Clover -- but Clover and he are able to ebb and flow through the balance of conversation and alone time with such ease. There always seems to be something new for the two of them to discuss, and at the same time, they can exchange a comfortable silence with not a single bit of awkwardness, and no time has made that more apparent than today. 

Most of the conversation’s been surrounding Vacuo. Qrow wants Clover to know what he’s in for once they hit the harsh sands below it. Clover seems so assured that he can handle the rough climate, but he’s never been there before. Nonetheless, Clover’s confidence -- as it is often one to do -- leaves Qrow believing he can weather whatever Vacuo has in store for him.

...That said, is it bad that Qrow also wants to see the look on Clover’s face when he realizes they need to regularly traverse the desert on foot?

Probably, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a hilarious mental image to have dance around in his head.

Still, even if he has a hard time at first, Qrow knows Clover will get it in no time. 

And he looks forward to that smile of triumph when even the cruelest of wastelands falls prey to Clover Ebi’s relentless optimism.

The shattered moon is the only light the outside world provides them that remains in the wake of the deceased day. And just like that very outside world, it’s not long after the sun abandons it that the occupants of their aircraft abandon their overhead lights.

It makes sense. After all, they’re supposed to be landing early tomorrow, and they left Atlas Academy pretty early this morning just to make their flight. Everyone could use a little shut eye.

Some arrive sooner to that proverbial party than others.

Qrow hears Ruby and Nora snoring from both the front and back of the aircraft, respectively. 

He’s traveled with them for months, but it never ceases to amaze him just how loudly those two brats in particular seem to -- not even just sleep, but just do...everything.

Other snores -- less loud than his niece and her friend’s -- speckle the night with bits of sound, as the plane lets itself darken. 

He and Clover lock eyes just before turning to see their comrades as they fall to the lull of sleep. 

Diagonal from their seats, they spot something that almost makes Qrow’s heart skip a beat.

‘Cute’ really isn’t Qrow’s scene. He may hang around with people considered to be cute by both others and admittedly himself, but Qrow doesn’t go looking for cute things, nor pay them any more attention than anything else that only mildly interests him with few exceptions.

But seeing Yang and Blake, cuddling up against each other with a shared blanket that continues melding forms that are already bound by touched foreheads, yeah, that’s cute. 

Nah, not cute. Downright ‘precious’ would be the better way to describe the sight before him. 

Clover seems to think so too. He can feel the tension in Clover’s forearm release from up against him, but also not pull back.

Qrow can’t even blame him. He’s halfway tempted to take a picture and send it to Ruby because he knows she’d kill him if she found out he held something like this back from her.

But he doesn’t. This is Yang and Blake’s moment, not theirs, even if it is cute.

They’re good kids. They deserve some happiness like that.

He and Clover take a final look at the lovebirds before turning back to each other, softly smiling. 

Clover hums his agreement to their silent conversation in a relaxed, yet still jovial tone. 

Then...Clover does something unexpected. He leans down briefly, rifling around the bottom of his seat. Moments later, he surfaces, but with a dark blue plush, cylindrical bundle in his hands. The name of the aircraft is embroidered onto the cloth exterior. 

Well, it wouldn’t be an airplane ride without a complimentary blanket, now would it?

Clover pops open a button and holds the blanket between them, his offer obvious despite that offer being given no voice.

There’s a hidden implication to the gesture, especially given what they just saw between his niece and Blake.

A sudden case of convenient amnesia overtakes Qrow -- or rather, Qrow takes on -- regarding the fact that he has also been provided with his own blanket, one that rests right beside where Clover found his, and that he’d be able to access just as easily as Clover was.

Oops. How silly of him.

Qrow, with a shrug and a chuckle nods his acceptance. 

Without a word needing to be exchanged between them, Clover and Qrow spread the blanket over themselves and get comfortable. 

Clover positively radiates warmth. It would make for a sweltering scenario if the shared body heat was balmy rather than cozy.

Qrow and Clover are sharing a blanket.

No, Qrow is not completely beside himself with a delight he never thought it was possible for him to house.

...That’s the veneer he aims to put on, at least.

In truth though, for as happy as he is with the arrangement, it’s not enough to hitch his breath, nor make his heartbeat race. Things may have been like that at some point between them, but right now, Qrow can’t remember -- he doesn’t want to.

What they have now, it’s comfortable -- literally, at this second, just as much as it is figuratively -- and Qrow wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As the final minutes of their day slink by, they watch something on each of their TV’s. Still, Qrow isn’t paying attention to anything except how nice this all feels and just how alluring the prospect of a nap is right now. He suspects Clover feels the same. Their eyelids begin to grow heavy, and that weight only gets increases more and more by the second. Hardly ten minutes pass after the blanket is spread before Clover and Qrow quietly fall asleep.

()()()()()()()()()()

Yang’s uncle, whether he’ll ever admit it or not -- something Yang thinks is about as likely as Salem deciding to sprout confetti all across Remnant instead of Grimm -- is too cute for words.

She’s seen plenty of instances of his cuteness throughout her childhood -- mostly through funny faces and even funnier stories made to entertain while simultaneously distracting her and Ruby. In her adolescence, instances were less prevalent, coming out only through the occasional glimpse of awkwardness, goofiness, or unashamed bouts of affection.

But any absence of signs that she’s ever experienced in her life of her uncle Qrow’s cuteness are more than made up for by the sheer sight of Qrow cuddling underneath a blanket with Clover Ebi.

It’s an adorable sight to wake up to -- not quite as adorable as the sleeping Blake that first greets Yang’s eyes when she wakes from their nap, but still more than enough to make her smile nonetheless. 

Yang doesn’t stay awake for long. At times like this, Blake’s presence soothes her like nothing else, and the pull of sleep is a mighty one to ward off under such circumstances. However, upon prying her eyes away from Blake to stretch, she gets to see a bit of her uncle’s snuggly nap, and it does a good job holding its own in the battle of cuteness.

All is calm, but all the same, while the nightmares that Yang knows make her uncle Qrow reel in his sleep are clearly not present, Qrow’s head ends up shifting all the same, eventually leaning onto Clover’s shoulder where it at last is calmed. And Clover’s head, taken off its balance, gently sandwiches Qrow’s head into the crook of his neck. Yang sees Qrow’s left arm slip towards the bottom of the small of Clover’s back, and Clover’s hand is visible through the indent it makes, falling to Qrow’s right thigh, practically on his waist. Both sport easy smiles.

Despite the fact that there are so many fights left unresolved and so many monsters that will likely soon come for all of them, Cover and Qrow both look as though they’ve never been as safe as they are whilst held in each other’s arms.

And in the entire time Yang’s known both of them, they’ve never looked this comfortable before. 

Well, perhaps she’s wrong about that. Everything about them is comfortable from the outside looking in, and has been since the day they were first partnered up. It’s something that goes beyond their complementary semblances, too. Actually, yeah -- if Yang were to put it into words, she’d say that they just fit so...comfortably together. There’s no better way to describe them than that, but all the same, it’s the right word for them.

Yang’s not a betting girl, but she’ll say that if Qrow or Clover were each allowed to pick a single moment could be made to last forever, there’s a good chance at least one of them would pick this one.

She’s happy for them. Clover’s a good guy -- cool-headed, but cocky, spunky, but earnest, and strong willed, but not incapable of change to help the world improve. Yang likes him and as a plus, he and Qrow fight well together. 

They’re good men. They deserve some happiness like that.

And speaking of some due happiness, a slight stir from Blake settles Yang back into their prior pose, and moments later, she falls asleep again.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Clover’s woken up in aircrafts before. 

If he had to call one thing about them his favorite, it would be the pale sunset that shine through the windows. Just like the sunset from the previous day, it creates a gorgeous glow over the plane’s occupants that makes for a wonderful way to start the day.

And with both that sunset and Qrow Branwen by his side, Clover wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be the best day ever.

As if he and Qrow didn’t match each other perfectly enough already, they wake up at practically the same time, too. Less than a minute after Clover eyes open, Qrow’s eyes meet his gaze. It’s so serene -- Clover feels as though he could meet it forever. 

In a move that honestly surprises Clover, Qrow doesn’t do anything to move away from him. They’re so close -- there’s no way that hasn’t resonated with Qrow the same way it has for Clover.

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t even rush to create the small excuse for distance they had prior to their rest either. The touch lingers in the warmth of the blanket and their shared body heat. 

No one else is awake yet. Neither he nor Qrow are looking around, but he gets the sense that they can both just feel it.

A certain moment from the night before rings a bell, of two people nestled under a blanket together, holding each other tightly.

It’s just them -- resting together, resting comfortably.

Clover’s pretty sure there’s not one tangible thing in all of Remnant or beyond that he wants more.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Qrow hasn’t slept as well as he has over the past few hours in a long, long time. His usual bout of nightmares let him be, and because of that, not once did his consciousness stir out of its state of slumber all evening.

It’s a good feeling -- it’s a really good feeling.

He has to strain himself to will the strength needed to open his eyes into existence -- a Herculean task that he feels should grant him a round of applause for its completion.

And when he does, he’s rewarded for his efforts by one hell of a sight. 

Clover’s eyes have always stuck out to Qrow as bold -- then again, so do his own -- but two inches at most from his face, despite their singular color, they’re as vibrant as a rainbow.

Neither of them speak, as if their proximity to each other leaves them speechless.

But no -- this isn’t them being speechless. Qrow knows what that’s like, but he can tell that if he ever gains a desire to end this, he could whenever he wants to.

And he doesn’t.

Instead, tender smiles are exchanged, acting in place of any verbal language as a wish for a good morning.

Verbal or not, the wish feels well granted right about now. 

They’re both so close together right now, with much of their bodies already pressed against the other about as snugly as the situation can allow.

With that thought, another slams into him, one that should leave him agape and shocked, but doesn’t.

So Qrow let’s the thought exist, entertaining it like silly putty in his hands.

If they were so inclined to kiss, such a thing would be almost too easy to pass up right now.

And neither of them are running away. They’ve both fought their demons -- emotional and literal -- and won.

Some easiness is definitely called for.

So Qrow leans in, and Clover follows him as if their minds and thoughts were one.

It’s little more than a shift for them as their lips touch for the first time.

The kiss between them feels...weightless. Yeah, that’s how Qrow would best put it. With that weightlessness comes a sense of finally and fully letting go. It’s a letting go of his inhibitions, a letting go of his guard, and a letting go of anything that he hasn’t already readily offered Clover.

There’s not much of the latter...but that’s what makes the kiss as good as it is.

Qrow’s hand moves from the small of Clover’s back up to the space between his shoulders. Clover’s moves from Qrow’s thigh around the corner of his form, fully ensnaring his waist. 

It’s a quiet kiss, at least to the outside world. But between them, a fondness in the form of a question that had been upfront about its presence, but never ultimately asked is at last not only asked, but answered. That answer turns out to be better than Qrow could’ve ever imagined.

They breathe each other in more and more for every moment the kiss goes on, and that leaves them both with a lot of the other’s scents dancing through their noses.

The kiss comes to an end as a flight attendant passes by, offering them coffee. Even as they softly break apart though to tell them their drink preferences, one of each of their hands find their way to the other’s. 

Another kiss is not exchanged that morning, but those hands stay casually bound until the plane lands in a small mushroom cloud of sand. 

Vacuo is for certain going to be a challenge for the group, one that will not be gentle with its trials and tribulations as the weather, Grimm, and Salem’s goons alike put their patience, strength, and sanity through the absolute tightest wringer.

However, Qrow’s not worried, or at least not as worried as he would be alone. As long as Clover stands beside him, no matter the pain that may follow, a part of him will always be allowed to be comfortable.

[mythicvls]

          WHAT’S CRACK’A’LACKIN Y'ALL ?!?!  my name’s sun  AND  i  live in the cst time zone. ( T E X A S  BBY 🤠 )  i hope ya’ll are all having a good day, afternoon, night !! whatever time it may be where you are out there in the WORLD. sorry i’m a bit late but i’m super excited to get this show on a roll. <3333  . i suck at intros, so pls bear with me.,  buuuuut !! i’ll be introducing, brianna and leo . one is your crazy inventor who works in the forge, and the other is your uptight hero who is obsessed with doing everything by the book. if you wanna know more about them, check out what’s below !!  like this and i’ll go to your messages to spam u with love. THANKS  . 

♡    ——    MEET  BRIANNA   !!

[  PARK CHAEYOUNG, SHE/HER, CISFEMALE  ]  —  [  BRIANNA  BANG  ]  is a child of  [ HEPHAESTUS ]  with the power of  [  TECHNOKINESIS & ENHANCED CRAFTING  ] .  they were born in  [ 1997 ]  and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2013 ] .  with the change, they  [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ]  the  [ TECHNOLOGY ]  role which makes sense since they’re usually  [ CREATING NEW GADGETS & GETTING OTHERS TO TEST THEM OUT ]

(  ABOUT PAGE  )

its ya girl , brianna bora bang !! aka bree !! daughter of hephaestus and one of the smiths who works in the forge .

growing up, bree’s childhood was relatively calm and uneventful. she was raised by her single-mother, who worked as a mechanic and though they didn’t have much , her mom still managed to get by , supporting them both the best she could. :’))

tbh, bree didn’t think a lot about her family’s financial situation when she was little. though, with that said,  she was a bit of a pain. 

not because she asked for, or constantly wanted material things, but rather, from a young age she had a knack for taking stuff apart and trying to put them back together again. fascinated by figuring out how certain devices worked. 

that habit eventually turned into bree taking things around the house, and makings ‘ improvements’ or crafting something completely new with the different parts she’d collected from items lying about.

 her mother living pay check to paycheck , was certainly in awe of brianna’s talents, but the young girl’s creative outlet definitely caused  some strESS !!

as one can imagine, she got in a lot of trouble as a kid. having a bit of a mischievous streak coupled along with her curious and imaginative tendencies. her mom wasn’t too happy when she came home to find the vacuum deconstructed , with brianna claiming there was a certain component she needed for the jet pack she was planning on creating

throughout her life, bree was always gathering attention, whether is was due to her odd personality, or the things she was creating. however she was especially attracting people’s attention when it came to the science fairs she enjoyed participating in while she’d been in elementary and middle school --- bringing something completely unexpected to ANNIHILATE ( as she would say )  the competition. 

but, brianna created so much buzz, it wasn’t uncommon for her to end up in local news papers as a young ‘genuis’. 

one time, even recruits from MIT came to check out to see what all the talk had been about. 

 when expressing their interest in her, her mother politely declined their offers. thinking bree may have been too young to consider making decisions like that at the time.

 [ yet, because of the news circulating bree, nl had been another group to approach her mom, along with hephaestus in hopes to provide brianna a safe haven from the potential threat of monsters (etc.), though her mother also refused that offer at the time ]

SO basically, bree just vibed through her early years creating a bit of mischief and making cool stuff with her handy dandy tool box ( or more like her mom’s tool box lmfao) 

she went about every day life as a regular kid, completely unaware of her relation to hephaestus until she neared the age of sixteen.

as she got a bit older, her mother fell in love with a pretty well-off guy who worked as an developmental engineer for the united states milt.. they got married and brianna then had a new step father in her life. despite him being much more strict with her. more than what her mom had ever been , they all got along pretty well. more than anything , bree was jus happy for her mom. 

and, it was a plus that they weren’t struggling as much as they originally had been thanks to his financial help.

however, due to an unfortunate turn of events , and a christmas tree having caught fire; their house burnt down. her mom and her stepfather were rescued by the fire department. unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for bree. watching the house engulfed in flames, they worried frantically about their daughter who’d still been trapped inside. but when bree had escaped through the fire by herself , uninjured and not suffering any burns whats so ever. her step-father , along with the fire fighters that had come to help , were hELLA FREAKED OUT. 

her step-dad was straight up like, i don’t fuk w demons.

and it was after the incident that her mother finally revealed the truth to bree about her biological father, and eventually gave her the option of going to nemean lion. which was information brianna’s mom had for quite some time, but had chosen to keep it to herself , simply cause she wasn’t 100% comfortable with bree leaving her so young.  

THANK GOODNESS THEY NEVER EXPERIENCED A MONSTER ATTACK.

though with what had happened, and her step father’s reaction, bree and her mother came to the agreement that it was probably best if she left for nl. 

she eventually moved in after a couple months of trying to make things work at home ( a compromise she made with her mom ). it didn’t work out sadly, and as soon as she turned sixteen, brianna became an official resident at the hotel.  having stayed at nemean until now !!

when she first got to nl she pretty much just embraced the change. throwing herself into training and what not, trying to figure out where her place was , all that teenage stuff. ‘tryina find urself uwu’ . 

AND she did go on missions quite a bit before the change happened !! having enjoyed tagging along to make some extra money, but her obvious calling was always at the forge. 

brianna now and before, has always had a reputation for walking around nl trying to convince people to give her latest weapons or gadgets a go !!

before the change happened at nl, bree was sorta all over the place. (  A MESS !! )  but her goals have become more focused thanks to entering the technology track. so once again, she embraced change with open arms. 

she’s totally digging the improvement that nemean lion has made.

after graduating from her track relatively fast; working on stuff  is what she mainly does nowadays. 

she’s most often found at the forge. cause when she gets an idea, she’s gotta get it done. she has no chill.

yeah, brianna is smart. but on the highkey, she’s only really knowledgeable in her field of expertise. 

SO, SHE DOES HAVE THAT CHAOTIC STUPID ENERGY COURSING THROUGH HER VEINS. if you ask her to do something dumb, she more then likely is gonna be down / say yes. skdjlfsjd

though bree isn’t necessarily materialistic, she is kinda obsessed with money, and making money. $$$$🤑🤑 part of it has to do with not having  had much growing up, and she wants that security YA KNO. but also , she doesn’t feel totally comfortable asking her mom/step-dad for money. so she out here making her own!!

 money is a big motivator for her.

overall, brianna is a brash, outgoing, oddball who is incredibly determined and hardworking. 

cause she’s always tryina get that promo, she can come off a bit opportunistic, selfish, and conceited when it comes to her inventions. typically she means well, she’s just a bit on the crazy side. 

 she has those mad scientist vibes.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS !!

first friend brianna made at nl ( someone who was around in 2013 ) 

people she often trained with / went on missions with before the change happened

friends she’s known for a while here at nemean lion

loyal customers who commission weapons ( etc.) from her regularly. cause she likes you, she’s always down to give you a good deal.

double trouble --- just two chaotic souls, come together to do fun shenanigans. 

other people who work at the forge with her

brianna’s go to guinea pigs !! basically she goes to ya’ll when she comes up with a spicey new gadget, weapon, invention, knowing ya’ll are almost always game to get your hands on what she’s got for you.

impulse control --- pretty self explanatory, this person just settles her down. probably a mom friend who keeps her from doing dumb impulsive things.

people she just bothers bc she’s got a cool idea for you, but maybe you’re just like nah.

this person has been on the end of one of brianna’s failed inventions that didn’t turn out so hot. so now you REFUSE to try anything for her again.

people in the ambassador track she is constantly trying to get seen with her gadgets for that promo. she really wants to sell her inventions / sell her patents to big companies. $$

exes !! maybe there was DRAMA, or maybe it was a super chill split. if you wanna snatch this up, we can really do whatever ur vibin’.

enemies

frenemies

a mentor when she first arrived at nl ( someone who was around in 2013 ) they really helped her have an easier time adjusting to everything when she moved in at sixteen.

♡    ——    MEET  LEO  !!

[ KIM DOYOUNG, HE/HIM, CISMALE ]  —  [ LEO PARK ]  is a child of  [ ATHENA ]  with the power of  [ ENHANCED OBSERVING  &  ENHANCED STRATEGY ] .  they were born in  [ 1996 ]  and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2011 ] .  with the change, they  [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM  ]  the  [ HERO ]  role which makes sense since they’re usually  [ TRAINING or READING IN THE LIBRARY  ]  

(  ABOUT PAGE )

the son of athena, and a graduate from the hero track !!

honestly, leo’s life before nl was pretty boring.

 he grew up in a super small town and was raised by his grandparents after his dad pretty much bailed .

leo was an incredibly bright kid. he learned to read as well as write at a crazy young age, but because he was brought up by his grandparents his taste pretty much reflected his upbringing.  he likes super old music, movies. etc. and he’ prefers considerably less exciting pass times such as  reading books or playing games like chess. he always goes for a walk super early in the morning too which is something he picked up from his grandpa.

leo’s grandparents took care him when he was very little, but as leo grew older he found himself returning the favor and  instead helping his grandparents as they themselves aged over the years.

no one in his household was aware of leo’s ties to his biological mother athena. mainly cause his father never explained anything before he left the family to be on their own. 

leo’s life dramatically changed after he experienced a monster attack when he’d been fifteen years old. 

basically some demigods from nemean lion saved the day and thankfully nothing terrible happened. but leo’s identity as a demigod was finally exposed  to himself and to his family.

 he had a really hard time saying goodbye, as he worried how his grandma and grandpa were gonna do without him. however, he feared putting them in danger above all else. 

he was then taken to nl, where he spent his time up until now.

after he was rescued, leo couldn’t help but look up to the others who regularly went on missions and hunted monsters. naturally, he worked hard with the aspiration to be like them. 

 a lot of that also had to do with why he picked the hero track when the change had come about at nl.

if it wasn’t for moving, leo would have never realized his supernatural abilities. and it was through persistence and intense training that he was able to develop his powers over time, as well as pretty fast.

he has always been incredibly dedicated and disciplined. 

tbh he kinda has those old man vibes, even when he first arrived at fifteen.

 he takes missions and everything a little too seriously. 

he doesn’t really know how to have fun either. so when he is on hero duty, he is super STUBBORN about doing everything by the book. trying not to get too crazy and always wanting to make sure extra precaution is taken. 

he’s not about them risk. he really wants to ensure that there’s little to no damage that will be done if he can help it.

comes off grumpy most of the time, but it’s like 95% bc he kinda just sucks when it comes to people.

 social interaction is not his thing which is why he could have NEVER gone into the ambassador track lmfao.

LEO IS A RULE FOLLOWER, NOT A BREAKER. 

though he’s diligent, responsible and honest, he can also be EXTREMELY gullible, too straightforward, and at times, come off  as nagging or bossy.

overall, he just wants justice, and to ensure things are done right. but he’s not the best communicator, so instead of being diplomatic about it, a lot of the time he’s just like, ‘i’m right, you’re wrong’dkjsldjf

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS !!

people leo has known or been friends with for a while

other demigods who he used to train with or currently trains with regularly

( friendly ?? ) competition --- likely another hero who has graduated from the hero track

someone currently training in the hero track who has asked to shadow leo ( BONUS POINTS IF THEY ARE CHAOTIC AND LEO IS DESPERATELY TRYING TO WRANGLE THEM IN FROM THEIR WILD WAYS, ESPECIALLY WHILE THEY ARE OUT DOING HERO TINGZ )

the demigods who saved leo when he was fifteen ( someone who was around nl in 2011 / before )

unexpected duo----no one would have thought these two would be super close. after all, they are polar opposites, but this person gets leo to come out of his shell 

leo is super uptight, and because of that, this person enjoys messing with him. 

another person that frequents library just as much as him

maybe leo lowkey has beef with someone because every time he wants to check out a book, the mysterious person ‘insert muses name’ always has checked it out before him. one day when he’s talking about it, he finds out it’s YOU!!!!!!! how it plays out is up to whatever u’re feelin. but turns out they have the same taste in books. 

other people that are also uptight like leo and that’s why they get along so well

enemies---for whatever reason the two don’t mix

someone leo has an unrequited crush on , bc he’s lame

[raeloganthesonic06fangirl]

Can you talk more about your Little Jacky au please?

You can find a fair amount of the Little Jacky posts here (um, via desktop tag system, mobile tagging is broken as all heck), but anyway, it’s high time for some fresh stuff.

For those out of the loop, the Little Jacky AU (or “Lil Jacky AU”, depending on what I didn’t forget to type), is essentially an AU prompt in which the AU is “DWD AU where everything is the same, except QuackerJack is now a 10 year old Duckling instead of a 40ish year old Duck". QuackerJack’s episodes and stories  and dynamics are now adjusted to reflect the fact there there is a child version of him in his place, therefore certain situations are altered or omitted because, well... he’s a kiddo now, lol.

Little Jacky, as we’ve been able to collectively decide, remains relatively the same as his older canon counterpart, except he’s now a ward of the state and resides (for the most part) at the St. Canard Orphanage/Children’s Home, and goes to the same school as Honker and Gosalyn, albeit in a grade above them. Not much is known about why exactly Lil Jacky resides at the children’s home, but it’s speculated that some event at the toy factory may be to blame, as Jacky doesn’t like to give much details to begin with, and said event may be linked to his disdain for electronic games and his hyperfixation on simpler classic toys. 

Much like most children, Lil Jacky has a taste for excitement and has been known to pull well meaning pranks in a desperate attempt to entertain other children in hopes of befriending them. Unfortunately, this has earned him a reputation for being a bit of a troublemaker, and it probably doesn’t help that he’s particularly fond of setting off cherry bombs when things get too quiet around there.

Being a child, Lil Jacky’s goofiness and antics is suspected to be a form of “any attention is good attention” attitude, as the poor boy tends to be neglected by his peers due to his odd tendencies often clashing with the crowd mood. He talks too much, he’s loud, he might even get into a tussle with the other children if he’s not liking the direction a game is going. The teachers suspect that he might be simply bored in class, as he’s usually the first one done with an assignment, so signs point to him being somewhat of a prodigy in potential. They have long since stopped confiscating his more innocuous playthings he stashes in his satchel and locker, as he seems to focus better when fidgeting with one of his toys.

Somewhere along the line, he met the Fearsome, and Negaduck reluctantly let the kid become a sort of Honorary Member/Tagalong Mascot due to Megavolt, Bushroot and Liquidator having a soft spot for this rambunctious youngster. Lil Jacky hasn’t exactly participated in anything damaging to the city, but he does like to provide smokescreen cover for the Fearsome with his cherry bombs, and usually serves as a distraction. Because of St. Canard’s broken system, Lil Jacky always seems to avoid much reprimanding for his occasional delinquency, but it’s suspected that Darkwing doesn’t intervene in the kid’s associations because the Fearsome is consistently kind to Lil Jacky (although Negaduck seems aloof to the concept, he has yet to visibly snap at the child), and the only current known source of consistent relations he has right now. In fact, Lil Jacky has repeatedly snuck out of the children’s home to hang out with the Fearsome in their down time. 

Despite his association with some of St. Canard’s most infamous, Lil Jacky is a good boy in terms of nature. He just wants to have a friend, really, to share all his cool stuff he builds and crafts. Maybe if someone gave him constructive criticism, there’d be less explosions involved. 

Also, I’d like to imagine that he’d sound like he was voiced by Debi Derryberry, so like... think something to the effect of Jimmy Neutron, Zatch Bell and Nergal Jr. 

[callioope]

Good Things in 2019

@theputterer and @the-strongest-stars tagged me in the awesome annual end-of-year Good Things meme! I’ve done this in 2018 & 2017 and always think it’s a fun exercise of both reflection and looking forward.

Oh boy, though, my first thought was, what even happened in 2019? (Looking at a calendar helped! It reminded me of a few things I forgot)

It’s been a Rough Year, friends. Between OCD and basically travelling almost every weekend in the latter half of 2019, I am very much ready for a new year and hopefully a new slate.

But this is about the positives!

Personal

Played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons! I am now officially in two campaigns. This year, I endeavored to recruit more women to play, including the wonderful @allatariel. I play both my beloved cleric, Maritsa (who I’ve been playing her years now) and my new character, Noara, a ranger elf with a red panda familiar (yeah, my DM let me do that for funsies, so I could get an animal sidekick but also still try out the Horizon Walker subclass). 

Speaking of red pandas, I accomplished my LIFE GOAL of meeting a red panda face-to-face. I got to feed Harriet at the Cincinnati Zoo for 30 minutes. She was adorable. 

Completed all my dental work and had a clean bill of dental health two cleanings in a row! 

Attended DC’s Around the World Embassy Day event, always fun

Attended Star Wars night at a local library, where I got to participate in a short demo/lesson on how to fence with a lightsaber!

Attended 50th Anniversary Celebration of Apollo 11 / landing on the moon (dude they projected the rocket on the Washington Monument and it looked so cool)

Returned to the NY Ren Faire and upgraded my ren faire garb

Celebrated at THREE friends’ weddings and got to catch up with old friends I hadn’t seen in awhile

Ate ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s Factory in Vermont

Went to NYCC for the third year in a row. Got to wear 2 costumes this year: a 1920s flapper interpretation of an occamy and my Endor!Leia costume (repeat of 2017). Learned the True Pain of sewing. Created feather shawl for my occamy costume. Learned the True Pain of crafting.

Celebrated one year anniversary with hubbie down where we got married: visited the museum we got married in and actually got a chance to enjoy the exhibits, went to our favorite brunch place down there, got to check out Fleet Week and tour an aircraft carrier and uh... I think it was a missile cruiser? 

Went up to PSU for a women’s hockey game for sister’s birthday (made embarrassing HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign for the cameras); also it was an absolutely wonderful fall drive on the way up there

Got to see The Rise of Skywalker in IMAX at the Smithsonian Air & Space Center with the awesome @allatariel! (thank goodness we had each other to get through that movie lol) also got to reuse my Endor!Leia costume. I did my own braids for the first time ever! (usually my talented sister does them) They looked like braids done by a n00b, but I didn’t care because they were passable and I did them myself and that was a Big Thing for Perfectionist Me (to not just... say screw it and undo it and just. give up. but to just let them be as is)

Worked hard at therapy and self care

Got a Sleep Number bed and holy shit let me tell you. i can actually sleep now.

OH! I almost forgot!!! Started playing Assassin’s Creed! I’ve only ever really played the LEGO Star Wars and Harry Potter video games so like. This was big for me. 

Writing

Finally finished Learning Curve. TBH I was a bit shocked that this was in fact the only fic I published in 2019. What a travesty.

However! I have been writing

@allatariel & I sat down, overanalyzed You’ve Got Mail, and drafted up the outline for my in-universe AU, something I’ve been dreaming of starting for years. Have about 4300 words so far.

Just under the wire, I did manage to start my NatGeo AU, which I’ve been dreaming of since my honeymoon in Nov 2018

Started editing/revising my original young adult fantasy novel

Poked a little at my epic fantasy pirate travel novel idea

Books

I read exactly one book, Among the Red Stars, which I enjoyed. It’s about women fighter pilots in Russia in WW2. Inspired by real people.

Music

Saw Panic at the Disco! in concert. I went along with my sister. Not like a huge fan, but they put on a pretty fun show!

Saw Waitress on Broadway!! OH MY GOD. And Sara Bareilles was starring in it. Amazing. I freaking love her music (”How does she know / what a heart sounds like?” gahhh). She was so good, and the show was so good. I literally cried all the way through it just because I was so happy to be there, but also because of the content. Man.

Saw Sara Bareilles again, in concert, in Philly. I love her so much.

Television

Finished Critical Role Campaign 1! Oh man, what a ride. Gosh, I love that show. I really need to catch up in C2 now. I’ve started it but I’m only on episode 26 or 27.

I’m not sure whether I finished The Clone Wars in 2018 or 2019. I think it was early 2019. This show was amazing and this was the character development that Anakin Skywalker needed. I love Ahsoka Tano. I cannot wait for the last season.  

Finished Rebels!!! AGAIN, what a ride!!! I still love Ahsoka Tano. I also love Hera Syndulla and Sabine Wren. Sabine’s Darksaber arc was fantastic.

The Mandalorian OMG BABY YODA!!! Yes, I have succumbed to the adorableness of Baby Yoda. Most adorable SW character forever. But also just an enjoyable story in general. This, this is how you craft a story. still NOT over the darksaber omg. 

The Good Place is continuing to be good. Not as crazy about season 4, but I’m so glad they decided to limit the seasons.

Got my sister to watch Rebels!! And then even a few episodes of The Clone Wars!!! Mwahaha >) 

Finally got around to watching The Great British Bake Off, what a sweet show!

OMG I ALMOST FORGOT Anne With an E!!! Gosh what a wonderful wholesome delightful show. No I haven’t watched S3 yet because I am Lawful Good to a fault and just patiently waiting for it to come on Netflix

Film

So, I woefully neglected to mention The Aeronauts in this post about my favorite movies in the 2010s and that was a Mistake. Because I really enjoyed this one

But otherwise probably check out that list. Because I don’t go to the movies that often, actually, and anything I really loved from 2019 is most definitely listed there.

Did I meet my 2019 Goals?

Writing: Fandom

Finish Learning Curve YES

...and How to Lose a Spy in 10 Days Uh, no, not so much

Begin and complete the in-canon universe You’ve Got Mail AU YES, it is begun but no it is not complete

Try to knock out a few other projects on my 30+ SW ideas Umm, I did start / poke at a few things in addition to the YGM and NatGeo AUs, but nothing really “knocked out”

Try my hand at creating more visual fan works (like moodboards/photosets, step 1, learn proper terminology) ahahahah, no. 

Writing: Original

Query more agents for my completed original novel YIKES, No. But I wasn’t anticipating that I’d decide to heavily edit/revise my manuscript.

Actually get around to deciding which idea I want to work on next and work on it Yeah, sure, I decided. How nice of past!Liz to make this goal so reachable as “deciding” lol

Reading

Be more supportive in helping my friend run Book Club so that it can actually meet more regularly HA, oops. Book Club died, but kind of in favor of being able to start a second D&D campaign. At least that’s the trade off I’m looking at. I had some OCD-related glasses issues this year that inhibited reading a lot.

Try to read at least one book for myself outside of Book Club lol WELL the one book I read this year was not part of Book Club sooo

Goals for 2020

Writing

I’m not going to make this a completion goal, but instead...

...I’d like to just focus on creating a regular writing schedule/habit. Whatever the project, I just want to make sure I carve out significant time each week just to write. I don’t want to set a specific goal like “x hours a week” for now, but I want to make sure that I am writing each week.

To achieve that (because what are goals without maps):

If the words don’t immediately jump onto the page, then I’m going to try outlining or summarizing. I’m going to let go of overthinking how sentences are phrased, and just pretend I’m describing the story idea to a friend.

That blank page is staring at me and I’m just going to fill it with words no matter what I might think of them!

And I’m going to let everything else expand from there. And see how that works.

Edit my original manuscript

Query more agents re: original manuscript

Look into the idea of perhaps forming or joining a writer’s group for original writing oh gosh that is so scary

Other

Get back into reading

Develop a routine for working out

Eat healthier

Continue focusing on therapy goals

Get around to watching: Black Sails, Mad Max: Fury Road, Arrival

Get better at responding to things in general

Tagging: @allatariel, @magalis, @mythologicalmango, @skitzofreak, @threadsketchier, @brynnmclean, @ruby-red-inky-blue, @siachti and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!

Happy New Year y’all!

[queerchoicesblog]

The Birth of Cherubino (1/2)

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that  premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapter: The Understudy, An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

_________________________

So it's decided: two understudies will bring this Cherubino to life. It will have do, I guess. I am surprised by her reaction when we set foot in her husband's studio. The place is the same: velvet armchairs, oil paintings immortalising gorgeous Italian landscapes at the walls, the finely decorated cello at the very centre of the room. Yet the atmosphere is completely different in a way I couldn't foresee. While I head towards my usual spot at the side of the cello, Lia looks...I'd say afraid to walk in: when she eventually decides herself, she does it almost tiptoeing and looking around as if someone might appear anytime and scold her. Usher her away as a naughty child not allowed to be there.

I ask her if she's fine and she shivers looking at me. Her face relaxes in a quick smile and she takes seat at the instrument, muttering a reassurance. I understand that this is "the Maestro's kingdom" but I am surprised that she hardly ever set foot here or so it seems...she mentioned being well versed in music and I don't see any other cello in the house. Unless they have others hidden somewhere behind the closed doors, that is. I don't have it that she might be...banned from the studio! But maybe, seeing how unsure she suddenly looks here... I suggest she familiarises herself with the instrument and most importantly the aria while I warm up my voice in a corner. I think she's grateful of me giving her space and taking the lead. She obliges with a quick smile. Once I am done, I approach her again and check in on her. "I- I think I get this, the melody is not too complicated...and it's not all about music, you'll do most of the work". She briefly meets my eyes then she fixes hers on the music sheets, brows furrowed in concentration. "Whenever you're ready, Miss-". "Constanze" I correct her. We share a quick smile and it looks like she relaxes a little. "Constanze" she repeats in her foreign accent. The way she pronounces it make it sound sweeter, new. I find myself lost in my own thoughts for a moment: it's almost like the sound she crafted created a...new version of me. As if this Constanze bears little resemblance to the one her husband sees, trains and takes any occasion to touch. Funny thought, I smile to myself as I ask her to start playing. I take a deep breath and turns towards her as the ever familiar notes of Cherubino's first aria echo in the studio. I look at her for a moment. A pale fleeting ray of sun caresses her dark hair - as dark as the night - while her face twists in concentration. Eyes on the sheet not to miss a note, her fingers move with unexpected grace over the keyboard. I think back of how her husband plays, with confidence and swagger as if he was taming the instrument to his will, to his creative energy and musical mastery. In case the poor instrument could still doubt who the master was. Lia doesn't play like this. Her fingers touch the keyboard with a gentleness I have hardly ever seen in musicians...maybe only Herr Mozart came close when he played a Serenade to his wife at a party. Lia doesn't play the cello, she...strokes it as if it was a dear friend. Or a revered lover. My train of thoughts almost makes me miss my cue. I notice just in time! "I don't know anymore what I am or what I'm doing Now I'm burning, now I'm made of ice Every woman makes me change color Every woman makes my heart pounding" And then...no words come out of my mouth anymore. I know what follows, God I've been singing this aria night and day in my head for days! But the lines get stuck in my throat and a sudden, violent warmth burn my cheeks. I have to lean to the cello for support. My heart is racing, cutting off my breath. The music stops abruptly: Lia must have noticed because she's standing too now. "Oh Constanze, are you unwell?". "I-I'm just..." I start but I don't really know what to say. What's happening to me? Her lips curl into a concerned expression. "This way, take a seat". She gently leads me towards one of the velvet armchairs by the window. Her touch is soft, just enough to sustain me but it sends shivers down my spine. The same happens as our fingers accidentally brush when she hands me a glass of water. I thank her and try to dismiss my sudden failure. It's nothing, I say: maybe I'm a bit tired, the pressure of the upcoming rehearsals kicking in... "You're pushing yourself too hard, Constanze" she comments, smiling weakly. "I suppose getting the jitters before a performance is normal for you opera singers. But you should take care of your health all the same". "You- you're probably right" I nod, my voice still uncertain. Am I losing it out of the blue? It can't be happening...the rehearsals are just round the corner and I'm the understudy, not to mention a goddamn professional! "No no, don't panic now! I'm sure you'll be alright again in no time...here, take deep breaths: in and out, in and out". I look back at her: can she read my mind or am I that pathetically obvious? The thought makes me instantly nervous: there is a reason why I keep people at distance. Women are blamed and despised for their frailty by both men and other members of the fair sex: I abhor and fear the moment someone might catch a glimpse of it in me. What will they think of me then? I search Lia's eyes bracing myself for the worst: pity, disappointment, paternalism...but I find none. Only patient expectancy, genuine concern. No judgement nor well-hidden amusement. So I find myself mimicking her breathing in and out until I actually calm down a little. She invites me to take another sip of water before regarding me pensively. "I am ready to go back to work" I say in the most convincing tone...that sadly doesn't seem to fool her. She flashes me a quick smile and stands in a swift move, walking back to the cello to recover the music sheets. "Actually, I was thinking you could use a break for the day. The news of the departure of Giorgio so close to rehearsals clearly upset you and I can't blame you for that" she comments, joining me once again. "Why don't you come back tomorrow for practicing? A good night rest might do you good and hopefully by then we will have news of Giorgio". She frames her offer with a gentle smile that fails to calm my pounding heart. I take another sip of water to conceal my state. "If you think it's the best course of action..." I sigh, lowering my eyes. "Let's give it a try, Miss Constanze, what do you say?". When I raise my eyes to meet hers, she's no longer looking at me surprisingly. Her gaze is on the music sheets, she's skimming them with a certain curiosity. She almost startles me when she speaks. "So tell me, who is this Cherubino?" she inquires. "He falls in love with every woman or so he says: is he a...how can I say? Don Juan?". "Oh no" I chuckle, more nervously than first intended. "He's just...confused, I think". "Confused?". "Yes, he can't explain what is happening inside him when he's around women, he's distressed...overwhelmed by the whirl of feelings. Something he has never experienced before, I wager". It takes me a moment to process my own words: it's the first time someone asks me to speak of Cherubino. On my own terms. I have only been asked to sing his lines, give him my voice, never my mind and heart. "A love's victim, then" she suggests, pondering. "But not a tragic one". "If you will". "Are his affections reciprocated?". "Yes. Not all maybe. It's hard to tell" I consider, concentrating on what I know of the plot. "Is it?" she flashes a smile, half-amused but pensive. "Well, you may be right. It's not always an easy reading. And tell me, is his love true?". I try to find an answer but I can find none. "I don't know" I shrug. "Oh? How come?" Lia seems genuinely surprised by my words. "He seems to fall in love with every woman in sight...is it what you'd call love?" I try to articulate. "And anyway he never falls for the right one, apparently". She keeps quiet for a moment, considering my answer. Then she shakes her head, half smiling. "It's so typical, right? Falling for those who aren't meant for us.. Who hasn't endured such sweet torture at least once in their life?". "Why, I haven't, Mrs.". When her eyes falls on me, I am almost embarrassed of my blunt comment. I have never felt that way before, I am known for my outspokenness and witty retorts but now they're useless and...out of place. I open my mouth to make it a bit gentler but Mrs. Melchiorri anticipates me. "Consider yourself lucky, then, Miss Constanze. Many cannot say the same...not even your charming Cherubino, apparently". A nostalgic smile lingers on her lips as she adds: "But allow me to say that sometimes unfavourable circumstances don't mean lack of true heart's affection. They only makes it bittersweet, causing a little ache of the heart. I don't know if it can be the case of your character". Her words linger in the air for a moment before she shakes her hand and ushers them away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. "But look at me, wasting your time with matters like these" she flashes me an apologetic smile, standing. "I will see you tomorrow, then?". I wanted to reassure her she isn't wasting my time at all but words get stuck into my throat and she is already calling Franziska. I take my leave mirroring her smile. The turmoil that took hold of me in the music room keeps raging inside my chest on the ride back to my apartment and through the night. What is this? When my maid spots me, she fails to suppress a gasp: do you feel alright, Madam?, she asks. Should she call the doctor? I didn't realise I looked that bad but no, no doctor. I order a light dinner in my room: maybe Lia is right, some rest will do me good. Maybe I was right, I am just tired and stressed by the upcoming rehearsal. However, nothing seems to help to soothe my anguish. I keep playing with my spoon as the soup gets cold, my mind lost somewhere else, away from my room. Cherubino's lines haunt me: "The very mention of love, of delight, Disturbs me, changes me, and Speaking of love, forces on me A desire I cannot restraint!" Never once I've felt that way in my life, troubled and flustered by such a casual topic of conversation like I was in the company of Mrs. Melchiorri. I don't understand. Yet, when I lie in my bed and eventually surrendered to slumber, a vision forms. I remember hearing once that dreams tell the deepest, hidden wishes of our souls, the ones sometimes we don't dare to speak aloud or admit to ourselves. I have never had reason to trust - or doubt, for the matter - the theory until tonight. When night comes and my eyes close, embracing the darkness, I am transported back in Melchiorri's music room. I hear music: Lia is playing and I am sitting with her at the cello, a quiet companion following every move, every note, adoring. Lia's hands stroke the keyboard with a tenderness and a reverence that ignite a longing inside me. It spreads like a fire, tormenting. When the music comes to an end, I can no longer restraint myself. I take her hands into mine and guide them away from the keyboard to my face. They're soft and cold over my burning cheeks.