#i plan on coming back on a later date and doing proper inking/cleaning up and color

[dedisgone]

damn.

me? posing ANOTHER reference? oh, id never

[bucky (the deer hybrid down at the bottom) belongs to my lovely wife /p @scrumptowne]

[buglife]

Ghost and Tiso? Maybe about how they became friends?

Depictions of injuries and some sad stuff ahead, but this the longest request to date! Apologies my eyes are bad lol.

Tiso didn’t know what to think when he first laid eyes on the little knight, sitting alone on the sole bench in Dirtmouth. They were one of the strangest beings he had ever saw, with their big white helmet-like head, their weird little nubby body, and the fact they had a nail. How could something this tiny hold a nail? It had to be someone’s lost grub, he was sure of it. There was no way this little squib wasn’t about to be ambushed by some angry parent, furious that they were carrying an actual nail. He waited a moment and looked around, but nobody came.

He supposed someone would come sooner or later, he had a mission after all. He had wandered the wastes since he came of age with just himself and his shield searching for some sort of purpose in life. Sure, he had over time, became a rather competent warrior, but he failed to find challenges that would actually test his mettle. Then, he heard tales of a lost Kingdom where many bugs have gone and never returned. Said Kingdom was rumored to have an arena where one could compete for glory. Tiso had already bested many arenas and moved on, ever searching. If there wasn’t an arena than he could at least look around and recount what he saw.

Maybe here, he’ll find himself, and find a measure of happiness.

His shield felt heavy as he sighed and looked at the well. The Elderbug, kind as could be, had warned him of the dangers below. Bugs sometimes lost their minds, trapped in a dreaming world where they couldn’t remember anything but a bright, burning light. Bugs died from the claws of the infected, most no more than empty husks driven by a malevolent will. The thought horrified Tiso, he had never heard of such a thing. The dead walking? Still, the old bug was serious as he let his old gaze drift around the nearly empty town.

Tiso was inclined to believe him.

So there he was, ready to take the plunge down below and took one last look at the grub sitting on the bench. He happened to catch their eyes, and the little grub straitened up a little. He was surprised to see them leap off and stride toward him quickly, waving their arms.

“What do you want, Squib.” Tiso had no mood to deal with any little kids.

He watched them move their hands out from under their cloak, their tiny paws and equally tiny claws making a flurry of movements. They then stared at him expectantly.

“Uhhh...the fuck was that?” He had no clue what the little grub was doing with their hands. They deflated a little and then brightened, reaching into themselves with a hand and suddenly, they had a little book and a pen.

“...what...did you, did you just reach inside yourself!?” Tiso boggled, the hell was this? What the hell was this kid?

He watched in stunned silence as the little being ignored him to start scribbling quickly, turning over the book once done to display their writing.

“Hello, please be careful down there. It’s dangerous.”

“Ppfft. Nothing dangerous for the likes of me.” Tiso couldn’t help but grin. Aw, how precious, they were worried about him. “I’m a seasoned warrior, I faced a lot and I am sure I can handle myself.”

The being frowned, at least, Tiso thought they did. They tilted their mask in a way to convey some measure of unhappiness and then started writing again. They turned over the book with a flourish once done, the ink smeared a bit in their haste to write it.

“I am also a warrior and there are things down there that can kill you without hesitation. I’ve seen corpses of better armed and armored warriors scattered below. All thought the same that you did. Please be careful.”

Of course Tiso ignored most of the writing to focus on the first part. “Oh, a warrior you say, you know how to use that nail you have there?”

They nodded, shoulders tense as they again, pointed to the part about the dead bodies. Then tapped it.

“Obviously they weren’t as good as me then.”, he huffed. “Say, if you do fancy yourself a warrior, I hear there’s a place for us, an arena of sorts. Maybe we’ll meet up there, and you can show me what you know.” He held up his shield, the metal glinting in the lights of the lumafly lanterns. “That is, if your parents let you, Squib.”

The grub sighed with their whole body, and wrote back to reply.

“I am not a kid. I’m probably older than you.”

Tiso couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. “Okay, okay, whatever you say. You got a name, little Squib?”

The being rubbed their face for a moment and wrote back. “My name is Ghost. You?”

“Heh, you’re speaking to Tiso! Remember that name, it’ll probably be famous.” He preened a little, slightly disappointing to find that the little Ghost was just staring at him. Once again they presented their scribbles.

“Or I’ll remember it to put on your grave marker.”

Bummer, kid. Tiso at first thought the squib was mocking him. He opened his mouth to call them a little shit, but he took a second look at them. They looked tired and weary. They looked like someone used to hearing bad news. Inside, he felt a little guilty at this. Clearly this thing...Ghost...was genuinely worried about his safety and he went and spit it back in their faces. It seems that foot-in-mouth disease is a reoccurring issue with him.

He sighed. “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but I promise that I know what I’m doing. If things are too bad, I know when to cut my losses and run, alright?”

Ghost brightened up at that and nodded. Tiso snickered to lighten the mood, reaching down to pat them between the horns (something they radiated a scowl at, but said nothing about).

“No worries, if anything, I do wanna see what you can do sometime!”

And with that, Tiso jumped down the well.

---

Well, Tiso should have listened to the little Ghost. Because he had to fight every inch of the way to reach this one stag station. He had learned the name of this wretched section, ‘the Forgotten Crossroads’, and he wished it could be forgotten. He had barely landed on the stonework below when an infected bug lunged out of the darkness, hissing. He had swiftly decapitated it, getting some orange gunk all over his shield. He had wanted to clean it off then and there, but the buzzing sound of vengeflies made him rethink his plan. The feral Tiktiks and Crawlids didn’t give him much trouble, except the time he stepped on one by accident and their spikes hurt like hell. The vengeflies were bastards like usual, screeching as they tried to dive bomb him.

And oh, the aspids. The fucking aspids. How he hated them. He felt so much satisfaction every-time he threw his shield and popped their horrible little glowing abdomens. The only problem was the orange that splashed out burned any exposed bit of chitin he had. Never before, had he been glad to own his armor. He would be extremely happy if he drove those little bastards to extinction. The husks though, were very horrible. Not in a fighting way, in there they were stupid in that they only knew how to run straight at him. He could take their heads off at a distance, shield returning to him with a flash of soul. In the end, he pitied them. They were once bugs, like him, but something had changed, and they became infected. He had been happy to find a hot spring that he could scrub himself and his equipment clean. He didn’t know if he even could be infected, but he decided to err on the side of caution. The orange...goo...he couldn’t call it proper hemolymph, didn’t seem to cause him trouble for now. But still, better safe than sorry. He made camp there for the night, but not only because he didn’t want to get out of the water.

He had braved the crossroads again the next day, ducking under aspids and slaughtering husks until he found the relative safety of the stag station. He sighed and sat on the bench, leaning backwards to rest a spell.

Then came the sound of rumbling. He was instantly alert, shield at the ready and his eyes trained to the tunnel. He expected many things to come out of that tunnel, but he didn’t expect to see little Ghost so soon. The stag they are riding slid to a stop, bending down to let the little warrior off. The stag spoke to him, Tiso didn’t catch what exactly, and watched the warrior wave goodbye as the stag took off down the tunnel again.

They turned and saw him and seemed just as surprised. They bounced a bit in delight and rushed over, waving.

“Hello to you too, little warrior. See? I’m perfectly fine.” Tiso gestured to himself with a grin. “Though I will admit, those aspids suck.”

Ghost nodded rapidly in agreement, going as far as to draw their nail and stomp a little. Tiso laughed.

“No worry, If you’re going up I have thinned their numbers a bit. Seems like having a big gross abdomen makes it easy for someone to cut you down. It’s the perfect target! You can’t miss!”

Again Ghost nodded in agreement. Remembering that he couldn’t understand those weird hand sign things, they took out their journal and pen once more. It was once of those fancy ones that held the ink on the insides but still needed refilling from time to time. They hopped up on the bench to join him, there was plenty of room after all.

“So,” Tiso began, “What have you been up to?”

“I’m trying to figure out a way past the fungal wastes.” They wrote. Tiso could easily look over their shoulder so they didn’t have to keep turning their book around.

“Fungal wastes?”

Ghost chirped, which absolutely did not make Tiso jump a little. They were just, so quiet. They were obviously mute but he didn’t expect them to make sounds. Tiso hid his reaction and watched as they fucking reached inside themselves again and pulled out a map. They opened it up, showing an incomplete map, each section in a different colored ink. Tiso whistled, impressed.

“You did that all on your own?”

They shook their head and wrote out. “Cornifer sells basic maps. I find all the hidden stuff.” They gestured to the various lines on the paper. Some of the ink was newer than others, which meant they back tracked and found new places. They even did little doodles of interesting things they saw. The sheer amount of drawn spikes and thorns make him question just how much fun he’s going to have traversing some of this kingdom.

“That’s still hella impressive for such a little grub.” He teased. He was arrogant, but he could recognize talent. “Maybe if being a warrior doesn’t work out, you could be a map maker in the future.”

Ghost just held their map for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. It looked like they wanted to write something, but passed it up to put on a more cheerful demeanor. “It’s nice you think I’m that good.” They wrote.

“Heh, I can recognize talent. By the way, since you’ve been all over the place, have you figured out where this arena is?”

“I hear that it’s called the ‘Colosseum of Fool’s. It’s somewhere near the City of Tears, I think.” They make sure Tiso read what they wrote before drawing a line with a claw from the stag station where they sit to somewhere east. They had a place marked ‘Crystal Peak’ and ‘Resting Grounds’, so it was probably near those places.

“Thanks, Squib. You probably saved me a lot of walking.”

Ghost innocently pointed to the stag station’s bell.

Tiso shook his head. “Oh no no no, true warriors don’t convenience themselves like that! True warriors make it to where they go on their own efforts alone.”

He was so full of shit and he could tell that Ghost knew. He honestly didn’t’ want to be in any dark, tight spaces. He couldn’t help thinking of the colony he grew up in. How dark and how crowded it was. You couldn’t find a moments peace to yourself and cave ins could happen at any time. How close the walls were to each other. How you never knew when the ground would rumble and stones would start to fall. No sir, he won’t take the stag way.

Ghost gave them the ‘whatever you say’ look before they rolled their map back up and tucked it away again.

“Where the fuck are you putting all that?” Tiso exclaimed as Ghost also put away their book and pen. They only shrugged in response and then gleefully bounced away with a wave goodbye. He heard the patter of little feet, and then the shriek of a vengefly, only to hear the sharp slice of a nail and the silence after.

Hrm...perhaps this was a warrior after all?

Tiso leaned back, determined to rest a little more before continuing his journey. With how big this place is, he wasn’t sure he’d see the little warrior again, and something about that statement saddened him.

---

Tiso had no idea there’d be an entire lake this big in Hallownest. Sure, water in caves was common, it’s how the caves were made after all, but this was something else. He sat on the sand, a campfire crackling softly as a tiktik roasted on a stick. All around him were fossils of shells, creatures long since gone and lost to time. One made for a nice seat and he wondered a bit to whom it may have belonged to. Some water snail, maybe. The water was clean and clear enough that he could take a dip to rinse off the grim of travel and found it most refreshing.

It had taken him a couple days to make his way here. Some paths were blocked off, either to cave ins or rusted closed, so he had to improvise. Moving through the Resting Grounds was eerie. It was full of graves, yeah, but once you fight empty husks for a while, tombstones start loosing their spookiness. There he had run into another stag station and swiftly turned back around. He took another pathway he didn’t try and ended up here, at this lake.

He thought of all the empty houses along the way. He poked inside to take a look here and there and only took things that he needed. The dead weren’t going to use them, he was sure no spirit would begrudge him for taking a few spices or a blanket. It did make for useful places to rest, as he could just shut the doors and windows to keep out husks. But still, he couldn’t help but feel like a trespasser in this dead kingdom.

He mused on this as he poked at the roasting tiktik. It’ll be done soon and then he can eat and continue his journey. A warrior needs their energy after all.

He poked up his antenna as he heard a distant noise over the crackling of the fire. He turned and looked over the lake, watching a white dot in the distance grow steadily closer. Water kicked up around bent air currents as the figure flew just above the surface. When close enough, he spotted the horns.

Oh, it was them. Small world, huh?

Little Ghost seemed to spot him as well. As soon as they reached the beach, they cut off whatever power they were using to run straight at him. They were all waves and ‘smiles’, tilting their head up to look at him in obvious glee.

“Hello, Squib!” Tiso grinned, he wouldn’t admit it but he was glad to see the little bug. “Still in one piece I see?”

They nodded and gestured to himself.

“Yeah, told you I’d be fine!” He took a moment to poke at the tiktik again and caught a flash of light on metal. Little Ghost had drawn their nail and was holding it out for Tiso to see. Oh, it seems like they got a new one, or they fixed up their old one. The other was dull, and this one had a soft pale light to it. Nothing fancy so far, but he could tell it was sharper.

“Nice.” He was impressed. “But I’m a shield guy. I don’t know much about nails other than that you shouldn’t get stabbed by them.”

The little bug ‘laughed’, huffing air in amusement as the reached over and pointed at his shield. They looked at it, and then back at him, titling their head.

“Sure, you can look, but be careful, because it can do this.” He attached his shield to his arm and squeezed his hand just so. There was a click, and the sides of the shield unfolded into blades, a perfect circle of pain. Ghost vibrated in response, the dark eyes within their mask shining brightly in the light of the fire. Tiso grinned and flexed again, withdrawing the blades to make a normal shield again. “And that, is how I deal with aspids. It can also come back when I throw it.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to Ghost. Weren’t they going to fight sooner or later? If so it would be best to hold his cards close to his chest and keep his surprises as surprises. But there was just...something about this bug that made him want to talk about the things he knows. They were paying rapt attention, eyes scanning all the details made in the shield. Bugs that only wielded shields were not very common, he had found, so maybe they just never seen something like the one he has before. Maybe he wanted to be the one to cause the air of wonder and awe in someone else.

Maybe he just wanted a bit of attention that didn’t result in getting bruises.

Ghost touched the shield gently with a paw, feeling the metal a little before they withdrew, satisfied. They nodded their approval and sat down, looking up at him expectantly.

“Oh? What’s this? Do you want tales of how I used this shield?” A giddy happy feeling welled up in his chest as Ghost nodded rapidly. They moved their hands, signing a word he didn’t’ know how to understand. He could figure it either meant ‘thank you’ or ‘please’, either way they were polite. They shuffled and got comfortable and watched Tiso as he began to talk.

Tiso talked for so long that he forgot all about his tiktik.

–

Tiso sat on the bench, the roar of the crowd above him shaking loose the dust on the ceiling. It fell around him in motes of light reflected from the fires in the pit. There were other warriors there too, waiting their turn to engage in the carnage above. So this was the Colosseum of Fools. A crowded arena where a corpse sat as the seat of honor, empty gaze watching as the combatants did their damndest to kill each other. Geo was rapidly exchanged between hands as fighters either won, yielded, or died. Most died, but so it was in the way of the arena. He had taken time to watch to get a scope of what he was dealing with and concluded that the bugs in this kingdom were fucking insane. He was not used to this style of games, but he supposed he’d have to learn. He met the little fool chained up and dangling from the ceiling. He paid his fee and waited for his turn in the pit. There was a shriek above, and something big slamming into the ground. He imagined that he could expect to fight more beasts than warriors.

What he was not expecting, was little Ghost to jump down into the pit.

“Hey, you made it!” Tiso couldn’t help but exclaim as Ghost ran over to climb on the bench as well. “This is the place for us, I can feel it. There’s finally a challenge for me here.”

Ghost nodded, and in a flash held their journal and pen. “Are you doing the trials?”

He snorted, “Of course I am, and you?”

“Not yet, just exploring.”

“Hey what, are you afraid of being paired against me?” Tiso tugged his hood a little, smoothing down his antenna to try and stifle the intense smell of infected hemolymph. For a moment, he felt a flash of relief at Ghost’s prior statement. He didn’t quite believe that this bug was an adult, but they seemed to be a good sort. Did they really need to do this, taint their soul with battle just for the glory of it? For a bug like Tiso, he was okay with it. He was okay with it ever since he found himself alone with only a shield to protect him and bad memories to keep him company. He had to get tough, but did this little being who asked him for stories really need to get tough?

They shook their head as their shoulders shook with mirth. “No, I have things I have to do. I’ll fight you later and I’ll make you the one scared.” Their shoulders kept shaking, so Tiso assumed this was all said in jest.

“Bold words from a little shit.” Tiso was interested in seeing just what they can do, but later in a spar. Away from a place like this. This wasn’t a place for them.

They nearly rolled over, chirping in laughter and getting strange looks from the other waiting combatants.

Tiso rounded on them. “Mind your fucking business.” He snarled, and the combatants averted their gaze to go back to polishing their weapons. Good.

Ghost took a few deep breaths to calm themselves down. “You don’t have to be mean.”

“Sometimes you gottah be mean.” Tiso countered. “If they tried to throw you out or something, I would have cut off any limb that touched you.”

Woah, where did that thought come from?

Ghost looked at Tiso for a moment, really looking at him. Tiso felt like those eyes could see into his very soul and he suppressed a shudder. Ghost looked back to their book and wrote again.

“Why?”

Tiso gulped, time to bullshit and fast. “Well, because we were practically destined to battle each other. Hell, we keep running into each other in this dead fucking kingdom. What are the odds of that? What are the odds of both of us, meeting multiple times, and then meeting up here? It’s destiny!”

They tilted their head.

“If we are going to have a proper spar, none of us can get hurt before then. We have to be at 100%, right? So I won’t let anyone lay a claw on you until then.” There, nailed it.

They nodded and tapped their pen against the bottom of their mask in thought. They took a while to write, in which Tiso glanced around to make sure the other combatants weren’t about to get bored and try to pick a fight. Finally, they tapped his arm and showed him what they wrote.

“I understand. That means you have to promise to be okay until then.” They gestured above as more dust shook loose and rained down in a shower of gray. The crowd roared again, along with the sounds of something big screaming.  

“Sure, I can do that. If I break my promise I’ll give you five thousand geo.” This was a prop bet for sure. He didn’t have that kinda money yet, he’d have to earn it in the arena. But he was confident in his abilities, he would be fine and he’d be able to take off time to have a proper spar with his little companion friend buddy fellow warrior.

They nodded and held out their hand, which he took and shook. Gods, they had such little paws. “Good doing business with ya, Squib.”

They did their odd version of ‘smiling’ again. “I got to go, gonna try and go up more.”

“Good luck with that.” Tiso watched them put away their book, and with a hop, skip, and a jump, vanished up the pit. He had time now, to sit and sort out his feelings. He had that weird ‘big brother’ urge, and it wasn’t because they were so small. Nah, this person listened to him and liked him. He figured he can try and do the same.

---

Tiso was in a world of hurt, agony seeped into the broken crack in his chest. Hemolymph kept flooding his lungs and dripping out the corners of his mandibles. There was a fog around him in his mind, his barely open eyes blurry and seeing only smudges of green and blue. Flecks of white occasionally crossed his eyes before vanishing again. He had long since given up on trying to move, each pull of muscle only made the hemolymph flow faster. He struggled to recall what was happening as the pain moved in and out, like it was happening to someone else.

Breathe in. Breath out. Breathe in. Breath out.

The only thing he can do was just lay there and breathe wetly. Each breath he had to mentally will and it took up all other functions for now. He had no mental power to spare on anything else, so when a bigger fleck of white took up his vision and didn’t leave, he had no clue what to make of it. What the hell? He took a breath, momentary forgetting too when he pondered the white. A cough tore into his chest and he could feel the broken edges of chitin rubbing together. Something was touching him. Something was trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t spare the thought.

Breathe in. Breath out. Breathe in. Breath out.

The white vanished suddenly and Tiso found himself unable to bring himself to care or wonder about it. He had to keep breathing. Something deep and hot within himself had refused to give up. He had something to do that was very important and he couldn’t miss it. He wouldn’t. The weight of his shield was his only current comfort. Just as suddenly, the white appeared again, with a flash of red and gray. He peered at the smudges as distant sounds tickled his antenna. Was he underwater? Why couldn’t he understand them? A flash of pain and suddenly his world twisted. Colors spun around and around and it made it hard to concentrate on breathing. More sounds. More pain.

Breathe in. Breath out.

Breathe in. Brea-

It seemed like only a second and he was consumed in fire. A burning ache spread over himself as he saw only darkness. The darkness and a shriek as round orange pustules throbbed and vibrated. The sickening sound of hot fluids spilling and the nasty pop as pustules burst in a shower of gore. He was there. He had his shield, as a giant thing of teeth and screams jumped into the arena. He could barely raise his shield and then there was so much pain.

Trapped. Trapped like the fallen tunnels as the air got stale and lungs burned. Instead of the cries of the dying there was the roar of a crowd.

Take my breath, his sister had said. A little tiny thing with a tiny heart. A stone had hit her. The cave was too crowded and there wasn’t enough air. She was dying. Tiso couldn’t move the stone or she’d die faster.

Take my breath, she said. Then she breathed no more.

She always wanted to be a warrior.

She wanted to help people.

She never got to grow up.

You wasted her breath, the mawlurk shrieked as it fell toward him. You wasted it. You wasted it to die like a Fool!

Then was falling and falling and falling and falling an-

He felt cool hand in his, so tiny and small. They held on tight and Tiso stopped falling.

---

Tiso cracked his eyes open, still blurry and still in pain. He felt odd. The pain was there, but a large portion seemed locked away, just barely felt on the surface. He felt a hand in his, and with a colossal effort he managed to tilt his head to the side.

He was in some hut, on a bed, and holding his hand was the little Ghost. They must have felt the movement, because their head snapped around and looked on his eyes. A rapid flash of emotions, anger, grief, relief, joy, and others he didn’t have the ability to process, cycled through their very being. His hand was gripped with both paws now and a dribble of black welled up in their eyes to drip down their mask. Tiso wanted to say something, but it was taking a bit to remember how to do so. A large shadow fell over him, and he instinctively turned his head up to look.

Standing over him was an enormous beetle with a nail the size of Tiso himself. They looked down disappointingly at him.

“You must be Tiso, eh?”

He could only nod in response.

“You have to be the luckiest bastard in this whole dead kingdom.” The beetle moved over to a table, clinking glasses together and pouring some liquid. “You landed in just the right spot for Ghost to find you and close enough for me to come get you.”

He returned and handed a glass of water to Tiso, waiting for him to grip it before letting go. “I am Nailmaster Oro and you are here because my pupil insisted. You are going to be bed ridden for a while. Be glad I am more patient than my brothers, because after a whole week of putting you back together, I’m going to be glad when you leave.”

Tiso gratefully took the water and sucked it down, letting the liquid cool his dry throat. Once hydrated, he looked down to the ocean of bandages covering his front and one of his arms. His shield lay tilted against the bed, in arms reach. A whole week was gone, just like that. Oro must have felt the questions in his mind, because be continued to talk.

“You nearly got crushed to death, you goddamn idiot.” Oro tutted, looking over the bandages with the bedside manor of a primal aspid. “The Colosseum of Fools is just that, a collection of fools looking to die for no good reason.”

Tiso opened his mandibles to retort but only managed a wheeze. His lungs felt particularly awful and Ghost patted their hand in sympathy. Ghost let go just long enough to run over to Oro, tugging on his cloak. Once Oro bent down, Ghost gently embraced as much as he could, which wasn’t a lot. He saw Oro sigh with the tiniest glimpse of affection, before roughly patting them on the head. He glanced back to Tiso, and scowled when he realized that the ant saw the whole thing. Ghost stepped back to return to Tiso, taking his hand again.

“You’ll be okay after a bit of healing and time in the hot springs.” Oro went to squat by the fire, stirring something that smelled wonderful in a pot. “But I hope you found what was so damn important up in the coliseum.

Yes, Tiso thought to himself, I did find something. He looked at Ghost in a new light, and smiled as best as he could. They couldn’t replace her, but maybe, he could learn to not be a colossal fuck up. Maybe in that way, he can be okay with himself.

Ghost patted Tiso again for a bit and then reached in their ‘whatever’ space to pull out a pre-written piece of paper. Seeing what was written on it made Tiso almost want to take back everything he had just thought.

“You owe me 5000 geo.”

[getitinbusan]

10 years with Jungkook

California

You met Jeon Jeongguk in the summer of 2012. Two kids brought together by a calling to California and a chance at making it big. Best friends from the start, what happens when only one of you becomes successful? Do you ever forget your first love? 

Childhood friends to lovers, angst and smut.

Words:  4600

Warnings: 18 plus smut. Oral F, Sex MF, Swearing. Pretty Mild for me. This is a previously posted fic that has been updated and reworked.

It was a rare rainy August day in California. The heavy drops created a sad melody on the window as you put the dishes away. Tired and lonely, the feeling in your gut kept nagging at you, maybe it was time to give up. 

The savings account was drained, there were no jobs to be found and  this was the second month of falling short on rent. Surely it would only be a matter of time before your roommates would stop exchanging house cleaning for money. 

Hanging the threadbare towel over its hook you stood in the kitchen, your mood mirroring the dim light of the afternoon. Feeling frusterated and stupid, it had taken you way longer than it should have to realize that in LA, you were nothing. Not pretty enough, rich enough, skinny enough or talented enough to ever make it big. So this is how the great Califonia chapter of your life would end, not by choice but necessity. 

Gathering up the mail that was strewn across the countertop, you shuffled through it sorting its priority. Junk mail, bills, personal…one in particular standing out. Your heart began pounding as you took in the details.

The penmanship was nice, black ink on an unassuming envelope. But it was the stamp that caught your attention. It was sent from Korea.

Flipping it in your hand you examined the torn top. The letter, having been read, was cradled back safely inside. Addressed to your roommate a frown crept onto your face. Why wouldn’t he write to you?

It was a ridiculously hopeful notion but you widened the envelope and inhaled trying to find a trace of his fragrance, something, anything to trigger a happy memory. Cool California nights were the best excuse. How many times had you borrowed his sweaters just to have his smell on you?

You missed him. It had been a year and a half and you couldn't help but once again ponder the nagging question that always crept back. If you hadn't forced him to break the rules would he still be a part of your life? 

It was too tempting to resist, your fingers pinched the paper inside of the envelope and pulled it free. 

I’m feeling low, I don’t know who I am, only who I’m supposed to be.

What would life be like if I had stayed in California? We could all be roommates, hanging out and having fun, going to the beach on weekends.

Does she even think about me?

It sounds greedy that with how much I have right now, it’s not enough. I would give anything to wake up in bed beside her everyday. I want more than anything to be able to talk to her about these things but I can’t. I’ve made the mistake of trading her for fame and now I’m destined to keep her at an arm’s length so she’ll never know the price I paid.

How does she even see me? As an Idol? As the boy who abandoned her? Has she forgotten the good days we spent together?

I’ve been wrestling with myself, whoever that is. I wish I could be the teenage boy from that long ago summer again. I wrote this song thinking about it…

~When I see you smile in the screen

You’re good at everything

You’re just perfect

Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me?

Do you know who I am?

Or how do I look now?

You don’t like me like that

I want to be your decalcomania~

I’m afraid I may not get back for a while, please write. Your friendship and thoughts of her are the only things that are keeping me tethered to some semblance of reality.

JK

Clutching the letter to your chest, your mind took you back to that day. 

"Decalcomania, the art or process of transferring pictures and designs. Making a copy of the original on a different medium"  

Reading the description on the wall you’d both stood laughing at the piece's strange name, Decalcomania. The gallery visit felt like lifetimes ago but you still remembered clearly. You remembered, not because the piece had struck you as particularly special but because that's where you had decided that Jeongguk's laugh was the best sound you'd ever heard.  

California had lured you into its promise when you turned 14. Having been accepted to an  intensive dance program at The Movement Lifestyle Studio you packed up and headed West for the summer. 

It was July and it was hot, the dancers stepping off the bus one at a time took their places in the studio.

Looking around there were so many older kids, you were probably one of the youngest. Calling out names they put you into groups, it appeared to be by age so you made your way across the unfamiliar wooden floor to the tiny gathering of teens in the darkened corner.

Shy introductions were made as one more member was ushered over to where you had congregated. “This is Jeongguk.” 

He had the cutest smile and barely spoke english but his eyes twinkled like the constellations. Immediately drawn to each other you became fast friends.

Absolutely exhausted by the end of the first few days he quietly knocked at your door.

He was homesick and lonely, used to being surrounded by his six members, he couldn’t sleep well without someone beside him. You let him crawl into bed with you, you were 14 and it was innocent. 

Inseparable, days and nights were spent side by side, the others began referring to you as the twins. It was the best summer of your life but like every boy meets girl summer story, it had to come to a close. Promising through tears to keep in touch and stay friends you went your separate ways. 

Jeongguk would send silly videos of his practice sessions, goofing around with the other members.  He’d facetime and text but he always loved to send handwritten letters.

They lived in a box under your bed and contained stories of how hard he was working to become an idol. He always signed off with, "I miss you,” and a few lines of lyrics he’d written.

You didn’t know then how important they would become, the only tangible piece of him you could still hold on to.  

Whenever he came back to America you did everything you could to see him. You always found a way to get to the small tour stops whenever they came through. 2015 was the first, then KCon in 2016, but 2017, it was different.

Facetiming you with the news that they were bringing the Wings tour to NY, Chicago and Anaheim, he asked if you’d be part of the dance crew. How could you turn down two weeks with Jungkook the hottest new K-pop Idol? They were getting bigger, more popular and their lives were changing rapidly.

He had strict rules, girls were completely off limits. No talking, no hugging, no smiling at one another, any little thing could be easily misconstrued by the fans. Everything had to be done in secret. Jungkook would sneak you into his hotel room where you would spend your nights together catching up. The boys would bring you in food and cover for him while you both stayed locked away out of sight.

While happy to be with him, you could tell there was an underlying sadness he was holding on to.

"I wish I could go and explore the city with you like we used to," his voice trailed off.

You were laying in each other’s arms cuddling on his bed.  Leaning over he kissed the top of your head.

"All I really want is to take you on a proper date."

You snuggled closer into his side as he exhaled deeply, releasing his secret. 

"I’ve been waiting so long to become someone, a man worthy of your affection. Now I’m stuck. I have everything I wanted and I’m not allowed to share it with you."

His arms gripped you tighter.

"I’m sorry, this is a terrible confession. I don’t expect you to love me back, not under these circumstances, I just need you to know, you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved and there won’t be anybody else, ever." 

Every bit of his confession, every moment of that last night in the hotel room had stuck with you to this day. The words of a 19 year old boy whose life had become bigger than the feelings of two people.

He'd left in the morning without knowing. You were a coward, too afraid to tell him you loved him too.  

LA became your home right after they left Anaheim. Focused on your dancing, if you became good enough, maybe you could join the tour with him. 

A letter with a big bouquet of flowers arrived a few weeks later. 

"Congratulations on your new house in LA!

I hope that all of you are getting along as roommates, it’s hard living with others sometimes.

Last night I dreamt that I was there with you and all of our friends. We were having a party on the beach and we sat together watching the sunset.

Do you remember after practice when we would skateboard as fast as we could to the ocean so we wouldn’t miss the colors?

Maybe one day my toes can feel the sand there again.

I miss you, I miss me… the me I am when I get to be with you.

We're coming back in October for a few days and I’m hoping I can see you, I’m lonely already.   

Jeongguk

~Won’t you please stay in dreams

I can hear the sea from far away

Across the dream, over the bush

Go there where it becomes clear

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria

When I’m with you, I’m in utopia~

By the time The AMAs came, the plan had been finalized. You would steal Jungkook away so that you could take him on your first real date.

Having enlisted Namjoon to help, he was your inside man. The boys, happy to help finally get you together, would cover for his whereabouts with management. The day before the awards they were only scheduled for styling, as long as he wasn’t late for the press rounds the next afternoon your plan could work.

It was Namjoon’s job to get him out of the building. Telling him to follow his lead, Joon convinced the managers that Jungkook must have eaten something bad for lunch. Claiming to not feel well, he was whisked away to meet you at the hotel’s back receiving door. 

Sitting in the shiny red rented convertible you tossed him a pair of sunglasses. What you wouldn’t give now to see that smile again.

Barely giving him time to get in you’d sped away heading straight for In And Out Burger.

"Kookie, I hope you’re ready for the best day of your life! We’re going to eat until we explode, drink and party at the beach and then, instead of returning you to your fancy 5 star hotel you’re staying the night in my crappy little house with a tiny uncomfortable bed!!"

He laughed, that perfect laugh. It was so pure and honest, thinking about it now made you sad. Was that the last moment he'd gotten to be his true self? Jeongguk the man not Jungkook the personna? 

Knowing you only had one day to give him everything, one day to show him you loved him, you tried to make the best of it.

Picking up the food Jungkook held onto the red and white bags in the passenger seat, sneaking his hand in to steal fries when he thought you weren’t looking. If you weren’t sure you were in love with him before you you certainly were now.

Pulling up beside the tree on the beach he was stunned, "Ahhh Jagi, I can’t believe you brought me here."

Happy that it meant as much to him as it did to you, you both sat on the branch and ate. Two blocks from the old studio this used to be your escape. Every break you’d make your way to the tree for some time alone, together. 

With the burgers done he turned to you and smiled. It felt like he wanted to say something, but stupidly, you'd cut him short leading him back towards the car.

Making your way through your checklist you brought him back to where you'd first met. The Movement studios students were starstruck when he walked in. After insisting that he teach some choreography, he reluctantly led the class.

Your eyes were glued to him as he moved in front of the mirrors, no longer that awkward teenager but a full grown man mesmerizing you with his every move.

Getting back to the car he stopped you before you reached for the handle. Putting his arms around you he pulled you in close. But again, you resisted him. 

"You stink Jungkook, our next stop is the ocean."

You remember pulling away. How stupid you were, you should have held on to him longer. Reaching into the back seat you revealed a pair of swim shorts and a towel. He looked disappointed that you kept interrupting his attempts at intimacy. It broke your heart but you had a plan and limited time to execute it. 

The Ocean was chilly but the wind was warm, he came out of the change room with the shorts on but still wearing his shirt.

"Kookie, this isn’t Korea, you don’t have to be so modest here. Plus, you should grab some sun, you may not believe it but when your skin is sunkissed," you grinned, "you look really sexy."

He raised his eyebrows and quickly removed the shirt at your request.

Running into the water you splashed and played and he took great pleasure in picking you up and throwing you as far as he could.

The sun was getting ready to set and you wanted to dry off before the cooler air set in.

Leading him back to the shore you both laid down on the towel. He put his arm around you and you cuddled into his side.

"My god Guk, look at your abs!"

He blushed like crazy as you traced the muscles on his stomach.

"Stop, it tickles," he giggled.

But you didn’t, you kept tickling him until he held you so tight you couldn’t move. He had you pinned, flipping you on your back he shook his wet hair flinging water droplets all over you. Pleased with himself he leaned in closer to you, his eyes asking for permission to kiss you. As the gap between you got narrower you could hear his name being shouted and footsteps running closer. He flopped onto his back and sighed as your roommates and friends piled on top of him.

Eating, drinking and catching up with everyone you watched each other from across the bonfire. Moving from person to person he slowly made his way back to your side.

"Welcome back." Running your hand through the back of his hair, it was now or never. 

Pulling him closer your lips finally met in the way they were destined, soft, slow and full of love. His hands instinctively moved to cup your face as the world stopped around you.

"I love you," you whispered.

Nose to nose he smiled at you and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

It didn’t last long, his phone started going off incessantly. The managers knew, you’d been careless, photos and videos of him from the studio had been posted online.

"I’m so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble."

His eyes turned hungry as he grabbed your hand.

"You promised I wouldn’t be going back to my hotel tonight, let’s get out of here."

If he was going to get in trouble anyway, why stop now?  

The drive back to your place was quiet, adrenaline and hormones flowing like electricity through you both. The time for smiling was over as the seriousness of the situation lingered in the air between you.

It wasn’t just being in trouble or being caught, but the fact that you both knew what was going to happen when you stepped into your bedroom. One act that would change everything between you, it held the power to change the dynamic of your relationship forever.

Leading him to your room you closed the door and stood staring at him as he sat on your bed. He raked his fingers through his hair before he spoke.

"I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be able to make love to you. BUT I also know that when I leave I’m not going to get to see you again for a very long time." His head hung low. "Management is going to do everything possible to keep us apart and that won’t be fair to you. I think that maybe we should just let our happy memories of today be enough, I don’t want you to regret anything. " 

Walking closer you stood between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"The only thing I'll regret is never getting to experience all of you. I can’t live not knowing how it feels to be totally yours even if it's only for one night."

He rested his head against your chest, "You’ll always be mine."

His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt and his fingers ran over the soft skin of your stomach. Undoing the button of your jeans he slowly slid them down your legs and you stepped out of them. 

Standing up he lifted the thin fabric of your shirt over your head and you stood before him waiting as he took his off too. Unclasping your bra he sighed as he looked at you taking in your shape, his fingertips hovering over your hard nipples.

"I’ve never done this before," he confessed.

"Me either," you whispered. "I've only ever wanted it to be you."

More relaxed he let his mouth start exploring your body. You were goosebumps and shivers beneath him as his tongue found it’s home between your legs.

He was soft and careful, placing his lips over your clit sucking it in delicately until your moans couldn’t be contained any longer. You could feel his eyes burning into you as he watched in awe as his finger slid inside you.

"It feels good Kookie, please…"

You could feel his mouth stopping to smile before he picked up speed. Moving your hips to eagerly meet his mouth you were unravelling quickly.

"The way you taste is better than anything I had imagined."

Devouring you in sessions between his words of adoration you came hard on his tongue. 

"I'm really regretting running you all over town today when we could have just been here...doing that.. " You were out of breath. 

"I was worried that I wouldn't be any good." He grinned at you pleased with himself. 

Moving up to where your head lay on the pillow he pushed the dampened hair off your face, "Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

He placed his forehead against yours.

"I just want you. I need you to know I'm yours, forever. 

Rolling a condom on he moved slowly to line himself up with your entrance.

"Tell me if you need me to stop okay?"

He pushed carefully, slowly stretching you around him. Watching intently for discomfort he froze when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

"Shit, I’m so sorry, let’s stop, I didn’t mean to hurt you." He was apologetic as he thumbed away the tears.

"No," you delicately kissed his lips. "I’m okay… I’m just so happy, so overwhelmed with how much I’m feeling right now."

He smiled down at you, pressing his body closer he gave another push until he was fully inside. Your bodies fell into a beautifully choreographed rhythm until Jungkook was so lost in pleasure he began to move at his own pace. Quicker and deeper he moved until he finally spilled into the condom. 

Laying together in euphoria you kissed, and kissed, and kissed until you finally found sleep while wrapped around one other.

Every few hours he’d wake you up. His hands running over your body checking to make sure you weren't just a dream. You’d made love each time, everytime better than the last.

It was 9 am when he caressed you awake once more.

"I have to leave soon. I don’t want to." He spoke in whispers nestled into your neck. "Please tell me to stay."

Your heart broke at his words. "If I ask you to stay, I’m selfish, you’ll always wonder if you made the right decision." The tears came, knowing you had to do what was right. "If I tell you to go, your dreams come true… ” your voice trailed off.

"And I’ll always wonder if I made the right decision,” he finished. 

Your phone started ringing and you knew time was up.

It was Joon, "I’m outside. Sorry, I held them off as long as I could. I told them that I’d come get him so you could at least have time to say goodbye."

Your tears fell out in heavy ugly sobs, "Okay, five minutes… and Joon… thanks, I know you’re probably in trouble too."

Hanging up you turned back, Jungkook was already out of bed with his clothes thrown on. He stood with open arms bravely waiting. 

"Thank you for yesterday I'll never forget it."

Laying your head against his chest you took a moment to listen to his heartbeat. You could hear him sniffle and knew he was crying too.

You flashed back remembering that night long ago when he came to you homesick, holding you so he could sleep while he tried to hide his tears. There was a knock at the door and Namjoon’s voice broke through the moment.

"We’ve got to go Jungkook."

Stepping away you’d left his shirt soaked in tears, handing him his sweater he pushed it back towards you. "You keep it."

He kissed you one last time before opening the door to reveal Namjoon's weary face. His Hyung put his arm around his shoulder and led him to the car.

Turning one last time he looked back, his eyes were filled with tears as he gave a small wave before getting in the back of the big black sedan. 

For months you pretended that management was the only thing keeping you apart.

You held on to that silly notion until May when they were coming for the Billboard awards. For weeks leading up you waited for a message, a secret meeting arrangement, but you got nothing. His image was all over the TV and his voice echoed through your empty heart. Then, just like that, it was over and he was gone again. 

Now, here you stood in your kitchen, his letter bringing him to the forefront of your mind and opening old wounds.

He was just as sad as you but what could you do? 

Picking up a pen you began writing… 

I shouldn’t have done it but I read it in your letter

You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better

I wanted to reach out but I never said a thing

You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are

And honey, you don’t ever have to act cooler than you think you should

You’re brighter than the brightest stars

You’re scared to win, scared to lose

I’ve heard the war was over if you really choose

The one in and around you

You hate the heat, you got the blues

You’re changing like the weather, oh, that’s so like you

I’ll pick you up

I’ll catch you on the flipside

If you come back to California

We’ll do whatever you want, travel wherever, how far

We’ll hit up all the old places

We’ll have a party, we can dance till dawn… 

Y/N

October came again and a chill was in the air, the smell of the ocean hit your nose and you stopped to take it in.

Bundled in Jungkook’s hoodie you threw your bag over your shoulder and began your walk to work. You'd gotten lucky, Movement had hired you just as you were about to give up and leave California. Filled with hope and excitement a new intensive program was scheduled to start today and you were going to meet the future superstars of the dance world. 

Memories flooded your mind as you made your way through the familiar neighborhood. It still hurt, but things were beginning to feel happy again. Writing the letter had given you closure, he knew how you felt and beyond that there was nothing else you could do.

Opening the heavy door to the studio you caught a familiar reflection moving in the mirror.  Chalk marker in hand he was writing something, It couldn’t be?

Hearing the door click back into place he turned to face you.

"Hi."

He walked towards you slowly. Unsure of what your reaction would be, he approached with caution.

"Hi."

You were breathless, in the months of not seeing him he’d only grown more handsome.

"I can’t change what happened… and for the rest of my life I’ll be sorry for all of the time we missed."

He was getting closer.

"But I can’t take another day not knowing if I can fix this… somehow…"

He reached for your hand but you pulled it away. His head fell in disappointment.

"Jungkook, I can’t listen to this… look at me."

Reaching for his chin you pulled his head up until he was facing you again.

"I refuse to listen to you apologize for something that is out of your control. Your life was decided before you met me and I am nothing but grateful that I got to appear in some part of your story."

He tilted his head and pressed a small kiss into the hand that was still holding his chin.

"God I’ve missed you." He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

"How long are you here? I’ve got to teach class.. It’s the first day but I’d love it if we could catch up?"

He laughed at you and your knees buckled at the sound of his happiness.

Taking his chance he pressed his lips to yours and you could feel the smile forming on his face.

"I’m your private lesson Jagi, I’ve booked you for the next two weeks."

Taking a step back you had to ask, "How Jungkook? What will you be giving up?"

Pulling you back to his embrace he began to dance with you.

"There is no more giving up, on anything. Our contracts were over and I only had one thing I wouldn’t negotiate on, that’s you." 

He guided you to look at the mirror.

"I wrote you something."

~Please call my name one more time

I’m standing under the frozen light, 

but I’ll walk step by step towards you

Still with you ~

"I promise I’ll never let you go again."

[echo-bleu]

carve our names with fire

Clary gave Alec a wedding gift before losing her memories and her runes. Alec does with it what he does best: change the world to right an injustice (and become a BAMF immortal warlock along the way).

Alec & Clary Brotp with a side of Immortal Husbands, Angst and Fluff and Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Betaed by Bsgoddess (SorryTheUsernamesTaken). Takes off after Alec and Magnus announced their wedding, but the show happened over 3-ish years and the wedding is about a week after they come back from Edom, not the next day (because Timeline). The last part was loosely inspired by prompts on the Malec Discord Server, though it grew more world-building than I expected.

Read on AO3.

“You two will make amazing husbands.”

Alec looks up from his paperwork, realizing that he’s been unconsciously twirling his ring while reading. He didn’t hear Clary come into his office, but she’s leaning against the door frame, a small smile on her face.

They haven’t had time to talk properly since the announcement of Alec and Magnus’ wedding, with Jonathan wreaking havoc all over the world. But Jonathan is dead now, thanks to Clary.

“Thank you,” he grins at her sincerely. “I know it’s a little rushed, but with everything that’s happened, we decided we didn’t want to wait for the next catastrophe. At this pace, we’ll never find time to plan a proper wedding.”

“That’s fair,” Clary snorts. “We never seem to get a break.”

They’re still reeling from the deaths of several hundred Shadowhunters, just days ago. Alec has done his best to go to as many Rites of Mourning as he could, especially for people he knew, but even he couldn’t make it to every one of them. After being surrounded by so much grief, he’s more than ready for a slice of happiness. Magnus is in a frenzy preparing everything for the wedding tomorrow, and Alec can’t wait.

“I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful,” Clary continues, walking into the office fully. She closes the door behind her, and Alec frowns. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” Alec gestures for her to sit on the couch, while he stands up and comes around his desk. He sits down beside her. “What is it?”

Clary looks down at her lap, biting her lip, and Alec feels dread pooling his stomach. She’s so uncharacteristically quiet that it can only mean bad news.

“I haven’t told anyone else yet,” she starts. “I don’t want to ask you to keep it a secret, but I can’t carry it on my own anymore.”

Alec places a hesitant hand on her arm. They rarely touch, but it seems appropriate. “Clary, what’s wrong?”

“I saw my mom the other day,” Clary breathes out.

Alec stares in shock. He lets go of Clary’s arm and glances down at his hand, the same hand that once ripped Jocelyn Fairchild’s heart out of her chest. Even now, almost two years later, he doesn’t feel clean of that. He can still feel the blood, see her face in his nightmares, Clary’s face accusing him. He has plenty of newer traumas to dream about, and it’s started to fade, but it’s not gone.

“What?” he croaks out. Is Clary having the same nightmares? Is she seeing things? It doesn’t match the way she said it, with that intense conviction in her eyes.

Clary’s eyes widen like she just realized how that sounded. “Not like… She was a...ghost, maybe? I don’t know. She felt real. She said she was sent by the Angels to give me a message.”

“A message,” Alec repeats slowly.

“I know how it sounds, but I think that’s the truth,” Clary says. “Because what she told me would happen...it’s started.”

“Clary, I don’t understand.”

She closes her eyes, her face screwed up in anguish. “She said that my rune ability was against the wish of the Angels and that if I kept using it, they’d take it away. They’d take everything away. Everything that makes me a Shadowhunter.”

Alec blinks for a moment, trying to make sense of it. “When was that?” he asks.

“The day after we got back from Edom.”

“You used a rune to kill Jonathan,” Alec breathes.

Clary looks up at his face then and nods minutely. She rolls up her sleeve, showing off unmarred skin where Alec saw a Silent Brother draw the angelic rune just a year ago. “It’s already started,” she murmurs. “They’re fading. One by one.”

“So you’re being...deruned? No,” Alec realizes. It’s different. Deruning is a Nephilim punishment, a human one. It strips them of their runes, but not of their identity, of their blood. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“I think…” Clary hesitates, tears falling down her cheeks. “I think when it’s over, I’m going to be mundane. Fully. Without the Sight, and any memories of the Shadow World.”

“Fuck, Clary,” Alec mutters. “There must be something we can do—”

“I don’t think we can go against the Angels’ wish, Alec.”

Alec closes his eyes, his mind desperately running through possibilities and scenarios. He doesn’t see a solution. She’s right, the Angels’ wish is untouchable, they all know that. There’s no army to fight, no law to circumvent, no obstacle to overcome.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and feels the knot in his throat grow until it’s nearly choking him. He’s not ready to lose another friend, not now. And Jace… Fuck. Jace will be devastated. Izzy, too. None of them can take another disaster.

He takes in Clary’s red and puffy eyes, the way she’s looking at him like a lifeline. She’s become a friend, over the years. They didn’t start that way, but they’ve grown close. She’s the person closest to Alec outside of his family and Magnus. He blinks back tears.

“You’ll still be alive,” he murmurs. “But—”

“I’ll forget you. All of this,” she gestures around them. “Everything. I’m scared, Alec.”

Alec holds out his hand, and she grips it tightly in hers. He covers them with his other hand. “How long?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I only have two runes left, so not long. Tomorrow, maybe the day after.”

Alec closes his eyes. She might not even make it to the wedding. “Fuck,” he repeats.

“I don’t want to forget,” Clary murmurs, sobbing.

“It’s going to be okay,” Alec says softly. Neither of them believes it.

At least she’ll be okay, most likely. If she forgets everything, loses her angel blood, she’ll be just another mundane. She’ll be safe. Alec tries hard to hang onto that and not on the pain to come.

Because if he even lets himself imagine it, he’ll crumble.

“Why tell me first?” he asks.

Clary hesitates, biting her lip. Her sobs have receded, though tears are still running down her cheeks. She sniffles. “You’re in charge of the Institute, so you need to know. For, you know, patrols and stuff. I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise.”

Alec swallows, touched by her foresight. It’s hard to remember sometimes that she’s the same girl who once trampled on every rule without care. She still doesn’t follow orders blindly, but she’s come to care about the Institute and its Shadowhunters like they’re her family.

And in a few days, none of that growth will matter anymore. She’ll be gone. Alec wants to retch at the injustice of it all. She’s come so far, and this punishment is truly unfair.

But then, why should the Angels be fairer than the Nephilim? Alec once sat in this same office waiting for his sister to be convicted of treason and deruned. He watched his mother be stripped of her runes and her identity. Clary herself was sentenced to death for bringing Jace back to life.

They both know all too well that life isn’t fair.

“There’s another reason,” Clary says after a moment of silence. “I wanted to give you something. It’s a wedding gift, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold on until then, so I wanted to give it to you now.”

She pulls back her hands and takes a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Alec carefully unfolds it, expecting some kind of drawing, but what jumps out at him is a rune, carefully inked onto the thick paper. One he doesn’t recognize.

“I can still create runes, even if I don’t dare activate them,” Clary explains. “It will work, I know it.”

“What is it?” Alec asks. It has similar elements to the Alliance rune, Clary’s most beautiful invention to date, but it’s also different, rounder, and more complex.

“I didn’t give it a name,” Clary says. “You can name it if you want. Or keep it to yourself and never use it. It’s your choice.”

“You’re rambling,” Alec says, almost amused despite the gravity of the moment.

“Sorry. It works kind of like the Alliance rune, but it requires a strong emotional bond. There are elements of the Wedding rune and the Parabatai rune in it.”

Alec tilts his head, and he can recognize it now, the familiar runes almost intertwined with each other.

“Shared between two people,” Clary says slowly, “it should bind souls and bodies together. You’d share blood, powers, emotions. And it’s permanent.”

Alec’s eyes widen as he takes in the implications of that. “Sharing powers…”

“Yes. If you do it with Magnus, you should be able to share his eternal youth.”

“Clary, this is—” Alec breathes, unable to formulate his overwhelming gratitude. “It’s an incredible gift.”

Clary swallows. “I wanted you to have it before—” she gestures vaguely. “I didn’t talk about it earlier because I wasn’t sure I could make a rune that powerful, but I know this one will work.”

Alec closes his eyes briefly to clear them of tears and pulls her into a hug. She melts into his chest, sobbing. “I want you to know that I’m incredibly grateful for everything you did for us,” he says over her shoulder. “We owe you so much.”

“Even if I didn’t obey the rules?” she hiccups. “I caused you a lot of trouble.”

“But you saved us over and over too,” Alec says. “You brought Jace back to life. You’re the reason we got Magnus back. You’ve been through so much in the past few years, but you’re still here coming up with the most incredible gift for my wedding, even when you’re running out of time…”

“I can’t tell Jace and Izzy,” Clary sobs into his shoulder. “Izzy just asked me to be her parabatai. And Jace… I can’t say goodbye. It’s too hard.”

Alec hugs her tighter. “It’s okay. I’ll tell them for you if you want. Anything you need.”

“I love them. I love you. I love you all so much. To think that I won’t remember anything…”

Alec runs a hand through her hair, gently. “We’ll make sure that you’re alright. And… I’ll keep looking. Maybe there’s something we can do to make the Angels let you come back. If not, maybe we can figure out how to bring you back ourselves. I won’t give up.”

“Thank you,” Clary murmurs. “Take care of Jace for me. He’ll need you.”

“I will. I promise.”

They hold each other until Clary’s sobs subside, and she’s able to compose herself. Alec keeps a tight grip on his own emotions, even though they threaten to spill over. He’s long learned to compartmentalize, and he can’t afford to break down in the middle of a workday. But before he goes back home to Magnus that night, he takes out the folded sheet of paper again and studies it until his sight goes blurry and he has tears running down his cheeks. He goes to the roof with his bow, working his anger into the arrows he sends out in the sky, and he runs to Magnus’ loft without a speed run, his lungs burning.

When Magnus asks him what’s wrong, he can only shake his head and hug him tight.

 *

 He’s dancing with Magnus when Clary leaves. He’s tried to keep an eye on her most of the night, once the ceremony was done, but he misses her running out and only realizes she’s gone when Jace starts to look for her.

The party is coming to an end. Alec excuses himself to Magnus for a while and he tracks Clary down, two blocks away, where he finds her looking around her in confusion.

“Who are you?” she asks when he calls her name. “Don’t come any closer!”

Alec sighs, the knot in his throat threatening to explode, and he raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t mean any harm,” he says. “You just seemed lost.”

“I’m—” She looks around again, frantically. “I don’t know where I am.”

“I’ll call you a cab, okay?” Alec offers. He falters, realizing that Clary doesn’t have a home to go to anymore. Jocelyn’s dead, and Clary will have to suffer the loss of her mother all over again. “Is there anyone you can call? A friend?”

“Yeah,” Clary says. She pats her dress. “I’ve...I think I lost my phone.”

“I’ll lend you mine,” Alec says. “I’m Alec, by the way.”

“Clary.”

Alec forces the pain away and attempts a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

 *

 “I told you you’d make amazing husbands.”

Alec looks up from his paperwork in surprise, and he’s overtaken by a strong sense of deja-vu. It isn’t the same office or even the same city, but the way Clary is leaning against the door frame reminds him exactly of the day before she left. She seems aware of the parallel, grinning at him conspiratorially.

“You did,” he smiles. “Welcome back, Clary.”

She looks different, and yet the same. Her skin is free of runes, and she has a new haircut that makes her look older, but there’s the same light in her eyes. It’s been a year. A year of Jace moping around the Institute, his pain a constant tug on the parabatai bond. A year of missing her, more than Alec never thought he would.

“Thank you.”

Jace called Alec just hours after Clary recognized him at her show, three weeks ago, but Alec hasn’t been able to join them in New York yet. She regained her memories quickly, in only a few days, once it started. Jace and Izzy have been keeping him updated.

“So that’s where it went,” Clary says, staring at the large abstract painting on the wall. “I thought it was you and Magnus, but I wasn’t sure. It’s hard to reconcile those memories together.”

Alec looks up at it, at the signature that looks suspiciously like a rune in the shape of a C and F in the bottom right corner. “It was us,” he confirms. They’ve been to every single one of her school’s shows, buying multiple paintings while having to pretend they didn’t know her. “We have more of them at home. Magnus felt it was a way to keep you with us. He’s missed you a lot.”

“I know,” Clary says. “We had lunch a couple of days ago. He didn’t tell you?”

Alec laughs. “He did. He recounted every minute of it. He was excited.”

Clary tilts her head playfully. “Is he the only one who missed me?”

“I’m pretty sure Jace thought of you once or twice. Izzy, too,” Alec smirks. “Of course we all missed you. Come here,” he stands up and opens his arms.

She bounces up to him and hugs him tight around the middle, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Alec laughs and leans into the embrace. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

“I’d say I’ve missed you too, but—” Clary shrugs, pulling away to look up at him. “I felt like something was missing, the whole time. And ugh, I didn’t remember you were so tall.”

Alec raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t remember me at all,” he deadpans. “More seriously, I meant to come to see you, but things have been hectic over here.”

“I heard you made Inquisitor. That’s amazing, Alec!”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, very recent,” Alec blushes. He still hasn’t learned to take a compliment, but his promotion is something he can take pride in. It’s an incredible testimony of how far the Clave has come in just a couple of years. Not so long ago, a Shadowhunter who chose to marry a Downworlder would have been cast out or at least kept carefully out of any politically significant position. And now he’s here, barely turned twenty-five, in the second highest Clave office. “Magnus is the High Warlock of Alicante now,” he adds. Because of that, the Clave asking his husband to help Downworlders move back into Idris after centuries of fleeing the Shadowhunters’ increasing restrictions, is something Alec will never not be proud of.

“You haven’t changed,” Clary observes, smiling. “I was worried you’d turned into a high and mighty prick, now that you’re such a big name.”

Alec rolls his eyes and snorts. “I’m not Jace,” he reminds her. “Come on, let’s sit down. Do you have some time? I can take my lunch break, there’s a restaurant around the corner.”

“Sure,” Clary nods. “I have an appointment with the Silent Brothers to determine if my body’s ready to take runes again, but I came early to see you.”

“Great. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

 *

 “Did you use it? The rune?” Clary leans in over her dessert in curiosity. They’ve been catching up for the past hour in a booth at the back of the restaurant, and it almost feels like they saw each other yesterday, for how comfortable and easy it is to get back into their banter. Alec has missed this.

He leans back in his seat, his stomach full. “Yeah,” he says, placing a hand over his heart where the rune is located. “We exchanged them two months ago.”

“Does it work?” Clary asks with a spark in her eyes.

Alec turns his hand palm up over the table and focuses. It doesn’t come easily to him, not yet. He’s been training with Magnus, but magic is much harder than it looks, so they’ve been focusing on controlling his random outbursts whenever he’s stressed more than developing his active magic.

Blue strands of light encircle his hand briefly, leaving in their wake a yellow rose. He hands it to Clary, who gives him a wide smile and turns it in her hands to observe it. “Wow!” she exclaims. “Yer a wizard, Alec.”

Alec bites on his finger to contain his laughter. He’s learned far too many mundane cultural references through osmosis with Simon and weekly movie nights at the loft, while Clary was gone.

“We had my blood and magic analyzed by the researchers at the Spiral Labyrinth, and they say I’m immortal too,” he says. “Or more exactly, tied to Magnus’ immortality. But since he’s tied to my life force too, it makes us functionally invincible. Someone would have to kill us both at the same time for it to stick.”

“That’s amazing,” Clary breathes. “More than I even thought of when I made the rune.”

“We have a lot to thank you for,” Alec reaches out to pat her hand. “More than you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“This rune allowed us to make huge strides in magical theory, and specifically angelic magic. It’s part of the reason why I’ve been so busy because I’m also working with our researchers on several projects.” Alec pauses, realizing he’s getting ahead of himself and Clary can’t follow. “Okay, so when you gave me the rune, I told Magnus about it right after our wedding. He was blown away that you would give us such a gift, by the way. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you himself.”

Clary smiles. “He’ll have plenty of time for that, now that I’m back for good,” she says.

Alec nods. “Since you said it was permanent, we took our time to make the decision. Immortality is not something to be taken lightly. For me, it wasn’t even really a question, but Magnus wanted me to be sure that it was what I wanted.”

“That makes sense,” Clary nods.

“We also wanted to make sure that the rune would work the way you said it did, that it wouldn’t have any…unforeseen side effects.”

Clary frowns. “I never had a problem with my runes.”

“Honestly, Clary, you used them mostly in emergencies, with no regard for safety. Maybe it was warranted then, but this time we weren’t willing to gamble both of your lives on it. Especially when it came to using a rune on a warlock.”

“Of course,” Clary says sheepishly. “Ugh, I was rather impulsive, wasn’t I?”

“You could say that,” Alec grumbles, remembering all the times her hasty decisions landed him in hot water with his parents or the Clave. “Anyway, we researched the hell out of it. Every text we could find on rune creations, on the wedding rune and its variations, we even looked into warlock archives that hadn’t been opened for centuries. And that’s how I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“How you created runes. And why the Angels hated it.”

 *

 “This is what we’re working on,” Alec says, letting Clary into the lab. “It’s all confidential, but since you’re the one who started it all, I figured you deserve to know. And I’m the one who decides who is read in on it anyway.”

Clary looks around in wonder. The room has some of the equipment she’d expect in a lab and some she doesn’t recognize, but what attracts her gaze is the large corkboard in the middle, covered with sheets of paper.

On each of them is a rune. A rune she’s never seen before.

“They’re all new runes?” she asks.

“Yes,” Alec answers, leaning his back against the wall. “What clued me in was how you used elements of several existing runes to create a new one. I copied down every rune from the Gray Book and all of your runes and I started looking for patterns. We’ve always known that some basic elemental runes existed, but not that they could be combined. It took me a few months, but I came up with this.” He points at a rune at the top left of the board, which Clary can see is based on the Deflect rune, with two additional strikes going through it.

“Of course you would,” she mutters. “That’s some kind of armor rune, isn’t it?”

Alec smiles. “As it turns out, everyone can create runes, at least in theory. It’s very hard and requires a strong theoretical background unless you’re named Clary Fairchild and you have additional angel blood. Or maybe just an amazing instinct, I don’t know. Yes, this one imitates armored plates around your body. It’s more effective at stopping blows than the regular Deflect rune, but it doesn’t stop people from tracking you.”

“That’s amazing,” Clary says.

“As soon as I saw it work, I told Magnus and we worked on it together. It’s the biggest discovery about angelic magic that we’ve made in centuries.”

“Why did no one find it before?”

Alec pushes away from the wall to face her fully. “Soon after I used this rune for the first time, I started experiencing the same thing you did: push back from the Angels. Even drawing normal runes became harder. We got scared that I might be deruned like you were, so Magnus and I decided to go ahead with your rune, bind ourselves together. If I had magic, the Angels couldn’t take away my Sight or my memories.”

“That sounds like a plan me or Jace would have come up with, not you,” Clary quips.

“Yeah, well, things were evolving quickly. I could barely hold a stele at that point,” Alec says, frowning.

Clary blinks. “Wow, the Angels really were angry.”

“The bond fixed it. I’m out of reach now, they can’t do anything to me. And now that I knew what I was looking for, I found accounts of other people to whom it happened, who lost their Nephilim blood because of this. You have to read between the lines because it became taboo to even talk about it, but it looks like the Angels don’t want us to have this ability. Jonathan Shadowhunter probably had it, he had more pure Angel blood than you and he’s the one who created all the original runes, but since then, no Shadowhunter has been able to create new runes. Until you.”

“But I got punished for it,” Clary says, wringing her hands. Her memories of the last few days before she was stripped of her runes don’t feel fresh like the events happened yesterday, but they also don’t feel like they’re a year old. She can still see her mother’s ghost, or whatever it was, telling her what would happen if she kept using new runes.

It’s been a year, but without her memories, she hasn’t had a chance to process all the trauma, all the emotions.

“Yeah,” Alec sighs. “You certainly didn’t deserve it, but you were.”

Clary shakes her head, trying to get rid of the darker thoughts. “Obviously you didn’t stop there,” she says, gesturing at the board. “So what did you do?”

“Well, since my warlock blood protects me, I started thinking about who else might be protected. I reached out to Helen Blackthorn, you remember her?”

“Oh, she’s half-Seelie, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She and her brother. They were both willing to try working with us, especially since Magnus and I were fairly sure we could stop the process if we were wrong and the Angels were able to harm them. As it turns out, they did fine. So I found more Shadowhunters with Downworlder blood. At this point, we have eight people creating new runes, including me.”

“That’s incredible,” Clary says. She looks closer at the runes on the board. She can instinctively tell their purpose, which is proof that her ability hasn’t gone away. Alec lets her observe them for a while in silence, and she thinks she can discern a pattern in there like the runes have a signature. “That’s yours,” she points at a rune in the middle of the board, once she’s fairly sure she’s understanding her instincts right. “And this one.”

“You’re right,” Alec says, sounding impressed.

“You have a...tell,” Clary smirks, looking at him over her shoulder. “They feel distinctively you. I can probably find Magnus’ too, but I’d need a place to start since I’ve never seen him draw a rune.”

“Here,” Alec points to one on the right side of the board. “Can you tell because of your rune ability, or because you’re an artist?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” Clary shrugs. “I’m not sure. I should have known this was Magnus’,” she laughs when she looks at the rune. The flourish and artistic strokes look exactly like something Magnus would go for.

“We definitely need you in our group,” Alec mutters, jotting down a note on a pad on the desk beside him.

“I don’t know,” Clary says, taking a step back away from the board. “I don’t want to tempt fate. I don’t think I could stand to lose my memories again.”

“No, of course,” Alec says. “But I don’t think it would happen.”

“Why?”

“Magnus’ theory is that if enough Shadowhunters start creating runes, the Angels will just have to accept it since they can’t cast us out. Since our wedding, there are more and more mixed Nephilim and Downworlder couples, so there will probably be a whole generation of people with mixed blood. They’ll be able to create runes.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Clary asks.

“I don’t think it was a coincidence that the Angels chose to give you your memories back now. The breakthroughs that we’ve made aren’t going away. I think it’s their way of telling us that they won’t fight us anymore.”

Clary blinks at him, trying to process that idea. She remembers asking Maryse, at the wedding, if the Angels could forgive. The picture of the Angels that Alec paints is cold and calculating, matching with what Clary saw of Raziel — and to some extent, even Ithuriel. What if she wasn’t forgiven, but instead simply reinstated in her rightful place? What if Alec managed the unthinkable, and made the Angels themselves change their minds?

“Is that possible? I mean — wow.”

“Why not?” Alec shrugs.

Clary has a sudden flashback of the Alec she first met, over four years ago, who was terrified of coming out and upsetting the order of things, who was killing himself trying to meet his parents’ expectations. The man standing in front of her now has grown so much, just like Clary has, that they’re barely recognizable. To hear him talking so casually about changing the world-changing immutable laws such as those of the Angels?

But then, they’ve changed so much already, haven’t they? They participated in the destruction of Edom. They defeated the Mother of Demons. They explored and even created whole new sections of magic. Alec and Magnus’ marriage and their careers changed the laws of the Clave and opened the way for so much more.

They’ve already changed the world. So why not a little more, indeed?

Clary jumps at Alec’s neck, making him grunt in surprise. “This is amazing,” she says. “You’re amazing. And I’m so glad I’m back.”

“Me too,” Alec laughs, resting his chin on the top of her head. “Welcome home, Clary.”

[soranihimawari]

West Coast kind of Love

 Summary: There were certain things you know off the top of your head. One, the fact that popcorn and M&Ms should not be sold separately at the local movies is a crime; two, every other Monday of the month, the neighborhood film club would host dollar monster movies (where one of your neighbors in your apartment complex would frequently attend); and three, you might have to pinch yourself when he asks you to take a photo with you as a proof of “how things are going abroad” to his friend in Argentina...

Word count: 4.685K

Taglist: @m0nstergeneration20xx 📷 (google docs proof reader), @oitoorus​, @tkags & her ⛅ (anon fam) , @oikawalovely [open still]

“Do what you love and the rest will follow”-proverb

--September XX--Thursday, 23:13 (11:23pm)

“Oh come on Yukihira,” you knocked on the closed bathroom door of your apartment.”You know I called dibs to the bathroom after we ditched those jerks at the dancehall.”

Every month you and your roommate took turns in choosing public places to go out for a night on the town. With midterms coming up for what would be the junior year of your undergrad studies, your roommate decided giving a double date a try. Unfortunately for her, those jerks were thinking of doing the deed way too early for either of your liking. You decide that spilling your peach Bellini on your friend’s outfit during the middle of the date was the perfect excuse to end the night early. More often than not, you mostly came along these dates with her as an enforcer. You two might be as different as night and day (yukihira studies medicine all hours of the day whereas your focus was the visual arts). Tonight was just one of those nights where you being there was beneficial.

“Ugh, fine,” she said opening the door revealing her freshly brushed grin. “I can’t believe you had the gall to ruin that outfit y/n.”

“Hey, whatever helps you throw it out like you did your ex then I was doing the Lord’s work for you, Yuks.” You rolled your eyes at her when she stuck out her tongue when you slithered into the ivory tiled washroom. This earned a laugh from the other member of your household.

“But because this was a bad date and I didn’t think things through this time again, that means I get to set you up on a blind date.” Her singsong voice reached your ears as you turned on the faucet to drown out her mocking tone. You paused for a brief moment while waiting for the make up remover serium to bubble up on your face before wiping it off effectively.

“With who?” you asked after you patted your skin dry post-makeup removal ritual complete. Your hair was undone from the hair elastic you pulled out of your inherited islander curls.

“I don’t know. Hmm...Maybe the guy in unit 23C? He’s awfully cute,” Yukihira mused as you leaned in her doorway. Her brows wiggled in delight when she noticed how you stared at your neighbor on move in day during your freshman move in day three years prior.

“Iwazumi? You can’t be serious,” you said. Your voice betrayed you because your eyes shined like the gods of furtune finally found their way to you.

“Do you want to or not? He’s focused, witty, determined; I have my physiology study group with him tomorrow. Why don’t you come with, best friend of mine?”

You really hated when she pulled the puppy eyes on you, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to refuse (not by a long shot).

“Ask him if he prefers coffee or tea.”

A few days later, you came home from your department’s masters class with your portfolio sling over your shoulder. Your hands were covered in literal ink stains from your latest mural macro-micro project.

“Hey, Yukihira! Have you seen where I kept my lacquer thinner?” You raise your voice slightly as you kick off your shoes by the entrance hallway. It was only then you realize there were a couple of other pairs of shoes that did not belong to either of you. That’s when you remembered your friend’s warning about her study group coming over. All color drained from your face when you rounded the corner to your living room area converted into a mini lecture hall. You clear your throat to announce your presence which went unnoticed (with the exception of your roommate). Without even looking at the board, you chose to mess with the med students’ practice case.

“And I’m telling you this is a bilateral cut to the optic nerve, Josefina.”

“The microabraisons on the left thoracic cavity allowed the victim to bleed out on the table due to the elevated use of blood thinners, ” your voice quiets the pre-med students and you smile in a nonchalant manner. You have read this problem with Yukihira so many times prior at the start of the semester that you were able to recall the prognosis off the top of you head. Being friends with a pre-med major does have its redeeming qualities although you were seen mostly honing your crafts in the art department and this was just the prime time of their study week. 

“Oh! You’re back early,” Yukihira says in a warm tone. She stands at the end of the table in between you Her eyes glazed over as if to communicate that you were about to be formally introduced. You bite your tongue prior to allowing your roommate to clap her hands together as she went naming every member starting with the person on her left who was the aforementioned Josefina. When she had come full circle, her voice trailed off with a small apologetic smile.

“Aaaand this here is my roommate, y/n. To answer your question about the lacquer thinner, I put the bottle on your desk when it arrived last time,” Yukihira made sure to watch everyone’s response. She was more interested in seeing how the third member of her study group (the aforementioned neighbor in 23C) would react. His minuscule smirk was doubly noted, prompting you to fill the few seconds of silence with your own voice. After a brief trip down memory lane, spear headed by your best friend as they took a break from studying for a moment, Yukihira explained after years of being friends you learned about the medical cases for exams via osmosis. You were an unofficial member of the study group since the medical arts building was located near the visual arts department offices on campus. You chose to not let them be pushed back any further especially since their content exam was coming up later that month, so you bid them good luck.

“Don’t mind me,” your brass tone conveyed an even temper at the time. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to head to my room. You guys aren’t the only ones with an exam this week.” You raised your portfolio canister so they could see the poster sized dyed cylinder. Reams of paper filled with sketches made from ink and graphite poked through under the flourescent lights of the kitchen dining room table. The med students along with Yukihira waved and said it was lovely to meet your acquaintance.

With that you made a beeline route to your room, opened the door, and promptly shut the door. You dropped your portfolio canister next to your desk, turned up the volume of the lo-fi radio station playlist on your sound system, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a muffled shriek to expel the remaining bits of embarrassment your friend threw you in. You were good at smaller group studies, but to be fair, given the fact that your friend was a social butterfly, you mostly seemed to rub off the “talented-artsy, yet focused,” type of woman. That night you cleaned up your outline for your stencil art piece of a fox and a hound for your take on minimalism class which had its peer critique at the end of the week.

You didn’t physically speak to Yukihira for the rest of the week. With both of you burning the midnight oil within the last few days before the exam, you noticed that the number of study group being held in your apartment had become the norm every other day (causing you focus more on a certain individual). Funny thing was he was also doing the same thing...

『from Yukihira: how many times do i have to apologize? You know I didn’t plan on having an emergency study session with iwazumi. He just showed up & wanted to chat. Besides the TA & professor chose to move up the exam date...』

『from y/n: you should of told me earlier before I came home. You know I forgive you... only if you buy me the latest ice cream along with the new Jun Ito novel. I’ll be out there in a minute till make some coffee for us.』

『from Yukihira: Mmkay & thanks. Coffee sounds good right about now anyways.』

--October XX-- Friday, 15:55 (3:55p.m.)

The weekend came through soon enough and on a Friday afternoon with no where to go, you were chilling at the comfort of your own living room. You were quick to thank the test gods for the exam being moved up once you had a proper conversation with Yukihira that morning. She mentioned she was going be out all day making sure she was able to finesse her study guide with her fellow medical study group. Since it was the end of the week, Josefina opted to have a free for all study day at the book store for those who wanted to go over last minute things according to the note yukihira left on your door that morning.

At the time of the day, you were expecting to be alone, curled up with your favorite cup of English Earl Grey Tea and a Lovecraft radio program you downloaded via the student Spotify network. Your phone vibrated and pinged with a notification from the bookstore where Yukihira placed the order for your horror novel to arrive sooner than the estimated timeframe. Because life finds it funny to pull another prank on your clown assery with your little cynical attitude, you were startled when the formal knocker was used.

“Shit!” you said when you clutched your heart as you placed your cup of tea down on the coffee table. As your put two fingers on your neck’s pulse point, you waited a few minutes for your heart rate to calm back down; you stood up and began to make your way down the hallway. Lo and behold, you were greeted by a casually dressed man who was clutching your new novel in his sunkissed hands. 

It takes your brain a few synapses to register that it was Iwazumi who has been taking a liking to coming over for extra study hours with your roommate, but if anyone asked him to reply honestly, he wanted to know more about you. The human body has more than 240 bones, yet the more frequent his visits become, the more he felt himself become accustomed to befriending you both. There were instances where you joined them at the kitchen table glancing at their open notebooks and case studies; you often made tea or coffee depending on the hour of the day. On the days you had come home from the art department, Yukihira was quick to notice how Iwazumi’s usually tense face seemed to visibly relax when you came to prepare your favorite snack (m&ms and buttered popcorn). Your friend was quick to relay a text to his phone, which caused her study partner at the table to become more flustered than he already was. 

Regardless of the various near misses over the next couple of weeks between you and Iwazumi (sometimes it was Yukihira’s fault other times, it was coincidental juxtopostional humour: it has happened twice on Iwazumi’s side when his friends back home noticed he was not at his usual place. [Yukihira called for a mini-study break] However, that didn’t stop you from asking him if he preferred sugar or honey for his tea & all hell broke loose (Hanamaki & Mattsun were cheering him on while Oikawa.exe has dropped the call).

All this back and forth for the past five weeks caused this moment to occur:

“I-Iwa-chan?” your voice went up several octaves before clearing your throat with a cough. “If you’re looking for Yukihira, she’s actually not here at the moment...” 

“To the scientist there is the joy in pursuing truth which nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth.”

The audio from your radio program was keeping you company. The disembodied voice coming from the main sound system you helped set up when you first moved into the building with Yukihira quoted Lovecraft as the program continued to serve in the role of filling the silence between you and Iwazumi. The gods really did that, didn’t they? your thoughts were running away with you again, chasing a reality that would be yours--or so you think. 

During that thought hurricane you conjured up, you decided to pause the train of thought for a few minutes. You released your hold on your front door knob as you pulled the door a little wider in order for you to lean against the frame of the front door. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun (on your days off, you were typically clad in tapered mint green pants and a spare white button down blouse due to laundry day), but it was enough to see the usual semi-talkative and stoic demi-god of a neighbor wear such an embarrassed expression. You pretended to not hear the barely audible, “woah,” that escaped his mouth prior to him holding up the book to you. 

“Did the mail carrier drop it off to your box again?” you ask taking the book in your hands. “Sorry about that. You can come in if you want.” 

You were quick to notice that something caught your arm in an attempt to stop you from walking. When you chose to not try to pry yourself away from Iwazumi’s hold, he took it as a sign to bend himself to your ear and say the following in a powerfully low tone: “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t looking for her?” 

“Yes,” you say in a timid manner, yet it was paired with a curt nod. You both had the tenacity to swat away any lingering negative thoughts.

Iwazumi took this moment to turn you around to face him by the arm he held you with. His smile disappeared when he let your arm go and instead moved his hand to hold yours with his opposite hand, he pulled the door shut behind him. You were probably too proud to admit this aloud, nonetheless, you liked the way Iwazumi’s firm grip felt in your hand; his were rough and calloused as much as yours were from years of honing your independent crafts. You gave him a kind smile before your neighbor decided to take advantage of the fact that the other person in your apartment wasn’t home; you squeezed his hand slightly and he let your hand go. 

You placed the Jun Ito novel on the kitchen counter motioning for Iwazumi to meet you there. Your kettle was still warm, however you made a cheeky joke to your newly acquired friend. (Perhaps this was Yukihira’s plan, you think). You reached into the dishwasher and was about to pour him a cup of tea, yet you couldn’t help but make a small joke at his expense for holding your hand so intently. 

“For the record, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could have done so earlier,” you mention stifling a laugh, pouring the steaming water into the mug. Iwazumi mumbled something about how he liked the way your hand fit, yet you chose to throw caution to the wind and quickly planted short kiss on his cheek when you extended the cup toward him after placing the tea strainer in it. 

With one hand on yours and the other was wrapped around the ceramic mug,. Your kindness was always something Iwazumi found alluring. You might not have been in the same course of study as him or Yukinira, yet you were good finding the beauty in the mundane. A few of your pieces of work were hung around the apartment and from his line of sight, your dedication to your craft was something to be admired.With every sip he took a sip to deflect from the way his thoughts were heading into uncharted territories; OIkawa, Mattsun, and even Makki were the ones more verbose on love & conquest during the days of their you:

“You’re always over at your neighbors’ place, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased. 

“I wonder what his reason is,” Makki muses. “Mattsun thinks it’s a girl. Typical.”

Makki also noticed one of your sophomore symposium art pieces hanging behind the place where Iwazumi was sitting at the time of their weekly video call. Your avant-garde view of  viewing the world was enough to set the sky amethyst hues. California does have it’s moments of striking beauty and somehow Iwazumi found it hard to keep to a straight face around his friends. His expression was usually hardened or bold, but today you sat across from him at the beginning of the call, reading up on the use of gold leaf detail work for your art restoration classes. Across the myriad of scattered medical books and various notes that were pertaining to another medical case were a tell that their friend was clearly not alone. You glance up at him quietly, a minute smile formed between you two; you write on a spare piece of paper the word, “friends” to which he nodded. 

“Aww, is our little ace growing soft on us?” Oikawa’s whining was something you often heard Yukihira describe after nights like these.(She usually hung out in your room as you were placing the final touches of your latest art assignment. This month was dedicated to historic downtown with a twist of horror: modern mania & the ruiner of man. Right now, you didn’t mind the shared space of the dining room while Yukihira was out on a grocery run at the time the call was initiated.)

“Shut your mouth Shittykawa,” Iwazumi barks. His dark eyes hardened like stone and that was when Makki let out a wicked grin. 

“I owe Mattsun 500 yen,” Makki chuckled. 

“Holy shit,” Oikawa’s eyes bounced between his best friends and let out a low whistle. “if this woman is capable of such an amazing feat, ask her if she has a friend [for me].”

Iwazumi ended the call right then and there. He didn’t expect his heart to be beating so irratically when you walked room in your house attire for a moment to make yourself a cup of the same Earl Grey Tea. The hazy lights emitting from your room blended effortlessly with the flourescent ones in the kitchen; each beam clung to your body in such away Iwazumi was glad neither of his friends witnessed the moment he fell in love with California and all that came with it. 

This afternoon was a different story as you liked the way Iwazumi allowed his natural blush to bubble to the surface of his cheeks and you could swear you saw a fraction of the high school volleyball ace shine through. The sunlight danced around the stainless steel details of the kitchen where you shared secrets, recipes, and drinks with your best friend. His free hand chose to move away from the counter finding its resting place under your chin. The cup of tea Iwazumi held earlier was placed next to the stove on the coaster by the sink. 

You steady your breathing right before you felt Iwazumi’s breath on your cupid’s bow; his lips pressed against yours gingerly as though he felt his brain light up and catch a fire he needed to not run away from; everything he wanted to know about you was answered as soon as your hands cup his face. I think I like this, your conscience is egging you on to pursue his touch for a while longer. It was a silent acknowledgement of the other’s presence in the present moment. 

“Hm,” you hear him hum in mutual amusement when you return his kiss. The pads of his fingers trace the highest points of your face teasingly. He wanted answers to the questions your lips asked. When you two separate for a moment, you realize you might have been too forward, but when you move your hands away from his face only to hug him in a loose embrace, you couldn’t help the next words from posing a question.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” your coquettish tone made Iwazumi’s answer very apparent as you suddenly took into account the last couple of weeks and the way both of you came to enjoy each other’s company during study group hours at either your place as the primary location or the cafe down the road from the apartment complex. (Iwazumi’s frequent visits weren’t for tutoring necessarily, about a majority of the time it was to see you as an added bonus). 

Iwazumi did not have to be told twice; he enveloped you in his strong arms, he hoisted you up from under your knees and placed you a top the counter with gentle assertive force. Your legs wrapped around his fit waist as you gripped his biceps for leverage prior to letting the old ace prove his strength by placing you on top of the graphite counter like a doll. 

“Comfortable?” Iwazumi’s expression was more seductive than profound.

“Very,” you reply as you unwind your legs from his body. “Where were we?”

Your hands wrapped around his neck before pulling him close to you again. A smug smile cut across both of your faces for a brief moment until your lips hovered over his for the second time. This time, you let him kiss you the way you knew he had been meaning to since he showed up at your door less than fifteen minutes prior book in hand. When Iwazumi kissed you at the current moment, the world crumbled and fell away; it was somehow comforting in a way that words would not compare to. His actions listened to the way you were setting the pace with the same tenacity as he showed you. The scent of his sandalwood conditioner mixed well with your ocean scented dry shampoo. 

Your eyes were still closed when you felt your hands card through his ever-present spiky hair. His right hand rested below your ear, using the pad of his thumb and forefinger to caress your cheek and jawline again. You feel him smile against your own lips when you nipped the corner of his mouth playfully. You break apart long enough for your partner in the kitchen to began to sneakily undoing your top two buttons of your blouse to press his lips against your exposed skin. You let out a whimper in the heat of the moment the second his lips began to leave a trail of reverberating echoes in the simplest of ways securing his hold on your soul that very day.

“Beautiful girl,” Iwazumi murmurs as his eyes met yours when he was done having his fun. His voice was cautious, but when his arms began to hover over your own, you felt your heart rate speed up right as he told you this: “Tell me, what other sounds can you make for me?” 

“Is that a challenge?” you retort, your hands disappearing under his hoodie to feel the fabric of his undershirt. Your hand stopped roaming atop of his chest; he was liking this. You could tell by the way he was taunting you with his smirk. “Because I was wondering the same thing. Do you want me to remove my hand?”

“No.”

Your hands could have been made of branding tools and Iwazumi wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. He chuckled at your question before you brought him down to your level and your lips met again. The sound he made upon impact was as though you broke him yet healed him at the same time; time was on your side for this one and you proved he wasn’t the only monster in the kitchen. There was a hunger there behind every kiss you let him have; you were smiling in the between long enough to feel his heart beat faster through the fabric of his undershirt.

Your hands automatically removed themselves from his shirt and were found holding on to the aglet of the drawstrings from the hoodie he was wearing. Iwazumi kissed your fingers before proceeding with posing a question to you.

“Just so we’re clear,” your voice was bold and daring. It was one of the many things he liked about you both in and out of campus grounds. The small details was what Iwazumi liked the most and the subtle tells of how you, Yukihira, and even the other members of the study group didn’t make him feel so alone like when he first arrived to California to study.

“Whatever this is between you and I, does it mean we’re...together?” 

You make a sign in the air with your palms up and point between you and him. Iwazumi clears his throat as he taps his lips to tease you and that was when he saw it: a younger version of you covered in sidewalk chalk in your neighborhood (much the same as you saw reflections of the former ace/vice captain).

“If you’ll let me take you to the Monster Movie marathon on Monday,” he answered when he linked his right hand digits with your left and you capture his lips again on your own volition. Your ears perked up at this, you drop the string you played with and patted his chest with a light rapt. 

“Eager to make me your girlfriend aren’t you?” You laugh and Iwazumi furrowed his brows, but you silence his worries in one swift and simple move: you kiss him with the intent of either being his salvation or his torment, either way Iwazumi was not complaining. The girl who loves to read about Lovecraftian monsters and the boy who was a monster chaser shared a love as unique as themselves: like a secret they each wanted to keep  behind closed doors.

His only vice was the fact that his social call was coming to an end and every ounce of his well being was fighting to stay here with you. You back down for a moment only to showcase your best attempt at a flattering smile to match his own. Iwazumi would never let you know this at the time, but seeing that smile on your face made his list of top three things he found most precious in the world. This wasn’t a crush anymore was the proper conclusion you both concluded. 

“Meet at your place at 7:30,” you suggest. Iwazumi released your hand from his to step back as you hopped down from the kitchen counter you made a seat of. 

“I’ll see you then ‘Ms. Lovecraft’.” The nickname he bestowed upon you was one that made the butterflies come back in a flurry; this was the start of something special, but you didn’t know it at this point in time that the name will be used to describe your affinity for Iwazumi’s unyielding devotion to you (the seeds were planted in both of your hearts and the two of you waited for them to bloom).

Iwazumi made his way back toward the hallway and faced your apartment’s front door again. You refastened both buttons he undid prior to reaching for the door knob. 

“For what it’s worth,” your not-so-innocent tone in your voice begins to come through. His darkened eyes observe you undo your top knot and shook your shoulder-length hair to reveal the fullness of your wavy locks. You place your hand on his wrist and the other was on the door knob. He stopped you from opening the door with a softened glance; pressing his lips lightly on your brow bone. 

“I really like it when you come over Iwazumi. Thank you for dropping off the book.” You tap your fingers thoughtfully on your lips as a silent form of thanking him for the other part outside of the tangible order.

“Hajime, y/n,” he whispers his given name in your ear in order to get one last rile out of you before kissing your temple, and you could swear you could hear your heart beat in your ears. “Call me that from now on, ok?”

“Ok,” you swiftly reply. “Only if you continue to call me Lovecraft, haha.”

Iwazumi takes his leave when he thinksof how the next time he sees you, it’ll be filled with magic, mayhem, and the movie playing in his heart was one he would like to share with you for as long as it takes.

You rush to your room to retrieve your cell phone and immediately text Yukihira who was in the middle of her break between classes:

『from y/n: i have a date on monday night. the book came btw. thanks yukihira』

『from Yukihira: iwazumi asked you to go out with him, didn’t he? have fun and remember to not do anything i wouldn’t do. ;) 』

『from y/n: of course. and even if we did, i wouldn’t even hear the end of it from you. you’d might have an easier time talking to iwazumi than me, let’s be honest.』

『from Yukihira: (n˘v˘•)¬ oh you know me so well. see you later tonight.』

—November XX, 14:43 (2:43pm): 

First dates & a glimpse into their social medias (ft. Iwazumi, Babs (y/n), & Yukihira)

Iwazumi credit

Suffice to say that Mondays became your favorite day after this kiss...😌

Bonus:

Instagram posts from our UCIrvine trio ft. Iwazumi, Yukihira, & Y/N-san

[cherryrogers]

bittersweet {3}

pairing: boxer!bucky x rogers!reader

warnings: swearing, things get a bit saucy oop, mostly fluff.

synopsis: The world of boxing wasn’t something you knew much about, but after a certain boxer with blue eyes and an irresistible charm wove his way into your heart, you soon learned that it went far deeper than red gloves and gold medals — you thought that the boxer happening to be your brother’s best friend was bad enough, but darker affairs had only yet to come to light.

a/n: so i was gonna completely leave this until i finished FFY, but this chapter has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for ages and it was bugging me lmao,,, but after this part things are gonna get interesting :)) please enjoy, and any feedback is appreciated!

Series Masterlist

There was something different about Bucky after his match, Steve noticed it slowly but surely. Usually, the guy would get a high for a couple of days after his win, and then he’d be too focused on training for the next match to even crack a smile.

However, it’d been two weeks since his match. Two weeks since he won, and Steve was beginning to get suspicious at how long Bucky’s high had been strung out.

The blond eyed his friend questioningly from the mat on the gym floor across from his, watching as he’d complete a set of bicep curls, take a sip of water, smirk as he checked his phone, tapped away at the screen, and repeated that exact routine again. Training wasn’t a game to Bucky — nothing could ever normally cause him a distraction, but there was something that kept drawing him to his phone, and Steve was curious to know what.

That’s when something popped into Steve’s mind; something he’d completely forgotten about.

“Hey, Buck. I forgot to ask last week — how was your date after the match?”

Of course it was the date, right? His friend must’ve really taken a liking to the girl he went out with.

Bucky kept his gaze locked in front of him, pulling the heavy weights towards and away from his chest. “Good.”

“Just good?” Steve pressed, laying against the mat and beginning a set of sit-ups. “You haven’t stopped checkin’ your phone since you got in here.”

The boxer knew his date was better than good, but he wasn’t sure how much he should tell Steve. He was his best friend, Bucky was supposed to tell him everything about the date - he didn’t waste any time persuading Steve to tell him about Peggy when they first started dating.

“I like her, Steve,” He stated. “When we went out after the match, it didn’t feel like a first date with her -- it felt like I’d known her forever.”

It was true. Bucky had been out with his fair share of women, and not once had he felt so comfortable around someone so fast than with you.

“That’s good, Buck,” Steve nodded, smiling genuinely at his best friend. “I’m glad things are goin’ well. It’s about time you found a girl who can put up with your ass.”

Bucky let out a laugh at the joke, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest. Of course he felt bad about persuing you, especially while Steve was completely unaware of it. If he thought you were just another pretty girl, he probably wouldn’t have dragged you into the locker room on the first day you’d met him. But you weren’t just another pretty girl; you were the pretty girl. The pretty girl whose eyes twinkled when you laughed and whose smile could light up a whole boxing stadium.

Maybe you and him were doomed from the start, and you were just waiting for Steve to inevitably find out and disown the both of you. But Bucky didn’t want to think like that. He wouldn’t know where you and him were heading if he didn’t at least try. Bucky wanted to give whatever you and him had a shot, what was so wrong about that?

After finishing his final set, Bucky placed the weights back on the rack, grinning to himself as he saw his phone screen light up again. He’d just asked you if you were free any time soon. It was hard to meet up without Steve knowing, as you assumed he’d get suspicious if the both of you were constantly going out at the same time.

How about you come over to mine later today? I get off work at 5?

Bucky’s breath hitched. He hadn’t been to your apartment before, obviously since you’d only been talking for nearly three weeks, but still.

Sure, sounds good.

Awesome! See you then, James.

See you later, gorgeous.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a smile on your face for so long, Buck.” The blond in front of him joked, earning himself the middle finger from Bucky.

The teasing grin was soon wiped from Steve’s mouth when a figure approached the weight rack, grabbing two weights and placing himself on a mat next to him and Bucky.

Feeling Steve’s eyes piercing into his skull, the man sighed heavily. “Are you gonna be mad at me forever, Steve?”

Lifting himself up from the blue mat, the blond only hardened his look. “What do you think, Quill?”

Picking up his water bottle, Steve mumbled something about ‘going to take a shower’ before heading to the exit of the gym.

“Jesus, what’d you do to piss him off?” Bucky took a seat on the nearest bench before taking a large gulp of his water.

Peter shook his head and chuckled, beginning his own set of bicep curls. “I go to college with his sister, (Y/N), and he found out that I made out with her at a party last year.”

Luckily, Peter was too focused on the strain in his muscles to notice how Bucky’s hand clenched around his water bottle. That wasn’t an image he needed in his mind.

“I mean, I didn’t even know she was his sister. Honestly, even if I did, I probably would’ve still-”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” The boxer warned, causing Peter to furrow his brows. “Just cause Steve ain’t here, doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass for talking about his sister like that.”

Bucky would’ve said that even if you and him weren’t secretly a thing, but he didn’t exactly like that fact the Peter was talking about the girl he liked like that either.

Peter sighed. “Damn, you and Rogers seriously need to chill out. It was once when we were both wasted — doesn’t mean I can’t still be friends with her.”

“Well, it’s your funeral if he catches you near her again.”

Bucky always knew how protective Steve was of you. Even after leaving high school, he still thought of you as his baby sister who needed to be hidden from the outside world. Of course, Steve was aware of when you’d sneak around with boys and out to parties when you were sixteen — he didn’t think you were a little girl who knew nothing about the world around her. But if there was any way he could protect you from getting your heart broken, he’d go to lengths to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

That included keeping you away from dumb, party-animal college boys like Peter Quill. And perhaps that also included older, charming, cocky boxers like Bucky Barnes.

Not that he was ever planning on breaking your heart.

While there was a small part of his mind that thought Steve maybe wouldn’t kill him if he found out about him and you, Bucky soon came to the conclusion that Peter’s funeral wouldn’t be the only one happening if the boxer wasn’t careful.

And that was something Bucky was really hoping to avoid.

* * *

A pleasant smile graced your lips as your eyes landed on the clock on the far side of the room. 4:55pm.

Bucky would be showing up at your place in just over an hour, and you were excited.

Things had been going good between the two of you. You texted back and forth most days, met him after his training sessions at the gym, let him pick you up from college despite trying to tell him you were perfectly capable of getting the bus back. It was still pretty casual, but not in ‘friends with benefits’ way, more in a ‘we like each other and we make out a lot but we’re not anything serious yet’ way.

Steve also hadn’t caught on that you were seeing anyone yet, and you wanted to keep it that way. While everything was well with you and Bucky, you didn’t want your brother to freak out about something which might not even last. Even if he didn’t know it was Bucky you were seeing, he’d definitely be eager to find out. He was still your stupidly protective big brother — he’d only want the reassurance that you were being treated right, which you couldn’t blame him for. You’d never had a proper boyfriend before, but you’d surely had your fair share of experiences with shitty guys who were far from what Steve approved of for you.

Bucky was different, though. If he wasn’t his best friend, you’d actually be confident in thinking that Steve would approve of him. Maybe one day. Maybe he’d be able to understand.

“Is there a reason that you’re grinning from ear to ear?” Your boss stepped out of his office, raising his brow at you.

“That’s for me to know, Sam, and for you to not know.” You pushed yourself away from the desk, standing from your chair.

The man scoffed, crossing his inked arms over his chest. “Hm, alright. Turn over the sign on your way out, will you?”

“Will do, boss.”

“You got someone pickin’ you up? It’s startin’ to get dark out pretty early this time of year.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that you’d just get the bus like always, but the ringing of the bell at the door and a sudden voice breaking the silence interrupted you.

“She sure does.” The redhead that had just entered responded for you, walking up to your desk and leaning her elbows on the light wood. Your brows knitted together in surprise.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” You asked her, picking up your handbag from under the desk and slinging the strap over your shoulder.

“Picking you up?” She answered, as if you were supposed to be aware that she was going to show up randomly. “You’re having your boyfriend over tonight, right? It’ll take too long for you to get home on the bus, and I know for a fact that your apartment needs cleaned up. Plus, you’ll wanna get ready, paint your nails, put on a little makeup—”

“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend,” You confirmed, more to Sam than to Natasha, who only liked to tease. “Second of all, you know me way too well, it’s kinda freaky. And thirdly, thanks for saying all of that in front of Sam, because now I’m never gonna hear the end of it from him.”

Sam scoffed. “I’m a grown ass man, (Y/N). I’m not gonna tease you about havin’ a special someone in your life... but you should get outta here. Wouldn’t wanna keep your boyfriend waiting.”

Making your way around the desk to your friend, you rolled your eyes at your childish boss. Who allowed him to have his own business? “You know, if you weren’t the one giving me my rent money every month, I’d be calling you a pretty mean name for that comment right now.”

“Alright, alright,” The man held up his hands in defence. “But seriously, I’m closing up once you leave, so you should hurry it up.”

With a playful glare, you motioned for Natasha to follow you out of the shop, making sure to turn over the sign on the door. “Thanks, Sam. I’m feeling really appreciated as an employee right now.”

“I’m glad; see you tomorrow, (Y/N).”

“Unfortunately so, Samuel.”

Natasha chuckled once the door clicked shut, walking you over to her car. “I really think you have the most laid back boss in New York. If I told Fury I wanted to call him a mean name, I’d only get a death stare and probably an extra pile of work to do.”

You smiled at the girl’s words. Sam and you had known each other for years, way before he opened up his tattoo shop. Him and Steve used to be friends in high school, but sort of drifted apart when Steve got more into boxing and Sam wanted to focus on his shop. He had told your brother about opening up the shop a year prior, and how he was looking for someone to work at the desk, and as a freshman in college who was in desperate need of cash, you thought you’d be perfect for the job. Since then, you worked there whenever you weren’t in class on weekdays.

Of course, he was your boss, but you didn’t see him as some big, scary authority figure. He was Sam, the dude that used to play video games with your brother in the basement for hours on end. In a way, he was like your second older brother. Not that you needed another big brother, Steve had the protectiveness and stubbornness of about three brothers combined.

“So,” Natasha smirked, climbing into the car at the same time as you. “You have to tell me more about this dude, (Y/N). Did you say he was a boxer? As in a boxer at your brother’s gym?”

Nodding reluctantly, you tugged your seatbelt over your body. You weren’t sure whether it was a good idea to tell Natasha that it was in fact your brother’s best friend you were having over that night. She was friends with Steve, not as close to him as she was to you, but you were sure she’d think it was a bad idea for you to be hiding this from him.

Maybe it’d better to keep Bucky a secret for now.

“Yes, he goes to the gym. Steve knows him, he just doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing him.”

“(Y/N)...” The woman shook her head, beginning to pull the car out of the parking space. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to hide this from Steve?”

“I’m not hiding anything, Nat. It’s only been just under a month since we started seeing each other. He doesn’t need to know anything yet.”

Natasha eyed you cautiously. It didn’t seem right to her that you were completely against telling your brother about the new guy you’d been seeing. Sure, he was protective, but he wasn’t an utter asshole. You and Steve were all each other had for a while; it just seemed odd that you weren’t yet planning on telling him anything, even if the guy went to his gym.

Despite wanting to question you further, the redhead decided to stop for the time being, giving you the pleasure of a stress-free car ride back to your apartment. When you were ready, she was sure you’d tell her more about your mysterious new man.

After dropping you off outside your building, you blew an appreciative kiss to your friend before essentially skipping into the lobby, thinking about how you’d finally be able to see Bucky again properly after the quick meet-ups and short phone calls you’d dealt with all week.

While you and him weren’t serious yet, you always got a warm feeling when you knew you were going to see him. Being around him was just nice, to put it simply. Nice was good.

Since you weren’t going out, you decided to keep your look natural for the night. A light layer of makeup topped off with your signature cherry lip-gloss was applied to your face after you took a quick shower, and soon enough, you were ready to see your man.

Well, he wasn’t technically your man, but the thought of him taking other girls into the locker room at the boxing gym and making out with them wasn’t so appealing to you.

The apartment wasn’t a complete mess, yet you still practically zoomed around the place picking up odd items of clothes and putting away textbooks you’d left in the kitchen. After spending so much of your free time with Bucky, it was becoming to difficult to find time to just sit down and study. Between him hanging out with Steve at the gym and you hanging out with Steve on the weekends and you trying to find the time between work and classes to hang out with Bucky without Steve getting suspicious? You really needed to make a timetable or something.

When a sudden knock sounded against the front door, you felt your heart pang with excitement, and after rushing to open the front door and seeing Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, your heart completely melted.

As always, he looked like a three course meal. Screw that, a five course meal. Hair neatly tucked behind his ears, dark jeans covering his toned thighs, a boyish smirk sat on his lips. A large bouquet of classic red roses were enclasped in his hand, and your eyes were immediately drawn towards them.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He greeted you, his eyes wondering up and down your figure. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but like he was taking in your appearance, which he was. How could he not when you always looked so pretty?

“Hi, James,” You smiled, eyes flicking between his face and the roses in his hand. “That’s a lot of roses you’ve got there.”

The man let out a laugh. “I hope you like ‘em, cause they’re all yours.”

You took the flowers from his grasp slowly, tracing your eyes over every petal on every rose, trying to ignore the way your stomach was doing flips at the gesture. You leaned up, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, James. They’re beautiful.”

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.” Bucky winked as you pulled away, and you were sure that your face was probably as hot as the cinnamon-scented tea lights you’d lit around the place.

A flattered smile set on your lips. “Did you come up with that line on the way here?”

“Came up with it just now, actually.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Does that mean I’m allowed inside now?”

“I guess so.” You chuckled, stepping aside so Bucky could walk through the doorway. As you closed the door behind him, his eyes wandered around the area.

It was a pretty small place; the only rooms being your bedroom, the bathroom and the conjoined kitchen and living room. It’s not like you needed anything bigger, though. Not when the majority of your time in the apartment was spent watching Netflix and writing assignments way too close to their deadlines. Natasha stayed over every now and then, making herself at home on the couch or sleeping next to you in your bed if you’d had a night in with a bit too much alcohol. Bucky was the first guy you’d ever taken to your apartment, though. You didn’t like the idea of bringing guys you’d likely never see again into a place you thought of as your safe space, but Bucky wasn’t one of those guys.

“So, you live here by yourself?” He asked, his head turning to you as you placed the bouquet of roses gently on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I moved here a little while after graduating high school. It’s a lot closer to campus than where I used to live with Steve,” You explained, opening the fridge and picking out a cool bottle of red wine before grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. “Do you want a drink?”

Bucky made his way over to where you were stood at the kitchen counter, already pouring out the wine before he could answer the question. The man thanked you as you slid a glass across the counter to him, bringing the drink to his lips for a small sip. “God, I don’t think I can even remember the last time I had a drink.”

“Seriously?” You raised your brow, tapping your nails against your own glass.

“I spend more time in that damn gym than at my own house,” Bucky let out a laugh, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever get tired of hearing. “Doesn’t leave a lot of time to sit down and have a drink. I’ve never been much of a drinker, anyway. It’s nice every once in a while, though — with the right company.”

A smirk had unsurprisingly made its way back into his lips, and you shook your head at him. “And what company is that? Women you’ve made out with at the gym?”

He scoffed. “I’ve told you, (Y/N); you’re the only girl that’s ever happened with.”

“It’s okay, James,” You mirrored his teasing expression. “I believe you, and I’m honoured, truly. I mean, being the only girl that James Barnes has made out with in the sweaty guy’s locker room...”

“You say that as if it wasn’t the best makeout of your life.”

“Best makeout of my life?” You almost choked on your wine. Well, that wasn’t exactly untrue. That man was one good kisser, but you wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing that from you. “I don’t know about that one.”

“Well, I can’t imagine your one with Peter Quill was any better.” Though he murmured the words into his glass, Bucky could tell you’d heard him by the way your eyes widened in surprise.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the defeated expression on your face. “Oh, god. How do you even know about that?”

“Gossip travels fast at the gym, babydoll.” He shrugged with a smug grin, earning himself an eye roll from you.

“And why are a group of grown men at the gym discussing my personal life? Aren’t you guys meant to be, I don’t know, working out?” You asked playfully, pushing yourself away from the counter and making your way over to the couch, Bucky following you without a second thought.

You plopped yourself in the corner of your couch, crossing your legs underneath you as Bucky sat on the other side, placing his glass on the glass coffee table. “It’s your brother that’s makin’ a big deal out of the whole thing. Can’t even be in the same room as Quill without shooting daggers at the guy.”

“I didn’t think he’d be that pissed off about it,” You shook your head with a chuckle. “Peter’s harmless, everyone knows that. I know that Steve’s only protective because he cares, but losing his shit over Peter Quill? Come on.”

Bucky let a laugh slip through his lips. “I can’t imagine how he’s acted with your actual boyfriends, never mind just a guy you’ve made out with.”

Your gaze dropped to you skirt at the man’s statement, fingers playing with the hem of the material. “Well, I guess I’m lucky that I’ve never had one.”

Nervously flicking your eyes up to the man in front of you, your brows furrowed at his surprised expression. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

“Is that weird to you?”

“No, not weird,” Bucky shook his head, shuffling a little closer to you on the couch so that your knees were touching. “Just surprising, since you’re, well... you.”

Your quirked a brow, a smirk forming on your glossy lips, indicating for Bucky to carry on talking.

Catching onto what you were hinting at, Bucky rolled his eyes, but gave you what you wanted. “Well, you’re smart, beautiful, good at carnival games...”

“Ah, yes,” You chuckled. “The quality that makes or breaks a woman. I mean, I am pretty good at carnival games.”

“Not as good as me, though,” He winked, earning himself a playful glare and a nudge to the knee. “But seriously, has no guy ever been lucky enough to call you theirs?”

The phrasing of the question brought heat to your cheeks, but you tried your best to act nonchalant. “I’ve went out with guys from time to time, but never been with them long enough to be, well, dating them. They’ve all been frat boys, though. Each one of them as immature and self-centred as the other. I made a vow to myself after the last one that I’d stop going for college guys. And well... I met you.”

A satisfied grin formed on Bucky’s lips as one of his hands picked up yours, causing your heart rate to pick up. “I’ll admit, you did get pretty lucky with that one.”

“Never mind; I take that back. You’re probably more self-centred than the frat boys,” You squeezed the hand holding yours, as Bucky shot you another eye roll. “I can’t lie, though. I was kinda surprised that you weren’t already spoken for when we met.”

“Like I said, I’m at the gym training more than anywhere else. I don’t have a lot of time on my hands to go out and meet people.”

“Well,” You took your bottom lip between your teeth, untucking your legs from under yourself and shuffling forward to lay them over the boxer’s lap. “That’s where you met me, James. Who said you couldn’t meet a girl at the gym?”

One of his hands went to your exposed calf, gently running his fingers along the soft skin there. “I guess luck was just really on my side that day, gorgeous.”

A quiet hum sounded from your mouth as you leaned in, unable to resist his perfect lips any longer. Both of your arms snakes around his neck as you felt him immediately kiss back, the bittersweet taste of wine evident on his tongue. The hand on your calf was slowly trailing up to reach your thigh as the other gripped your waist tightly. His touch was scarily addictive; every time your lips met his, it was like electricity shooting through your veins, the adrenaline making you only crave more of him.

You forced yourself to pull away for a couple of seconds, allowing you to kneel on the couch before swinging a leg over his clothed thighs to straddle him. His hands instinctively fell to your waist again, pulling your body to press against his as gentle kisses dotted along your jaw. A whimper fell from your swollen lips as Bucky’s mouth latched onto a sensitive spot on your neck, sucking a deep purple mark onto the skin before softly kissing the delicate area.

There was a gentle tug on the hem of your top, making you pull back slightly. Bucky’s voice was deeper than before as he spoke. “You wanna take this off, beautiful?”

Fuck it, you thought to yourself, reaching for the bottom of the cotton and pulling it up and off your body. The boxer’s eyes ran across your exposed chest, your lacy pink bra not leaving much to the imagination. He continued his line of kisses from the crook of your neck across your collarbone, savouring the taste of your skin and your moans of pleasure as he left another pretty mark on your body.

It was just so easy with Bucky. You could laugh with him and talk to him about anything without difficulty, and that would easily flow into a heated makeout session with you straddling his lap or being pressed against the wall. Nothing felt forced or unnatural, everything was just how the two of you wanted it to be. That had been the first time you’d taken your shirt off in front of him, and you’d never gone further than making out in the three weeks you’d been seeing each other. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go any further, because boy, did the thought alone make heat rush to your face. It just didn’t feel like the right time yet, which was fine. As long as everything stayed swell between you and Bucky, you’d happily wait until that time eventually came.

The two of you stayed like that for twenty minutes, hungrily locking lips and running your hands over each other’s bodies until you were both panting for breath. It was you who suggested stopping for the time being, and Bucky agreed, knowing that continuing would only make the two of you crave more, which you weren’t yet ready to carry out. After finding your discarded top from the floor and pulling it back over your torso, you positioned yourself again so that your legs were thrown over his thighs, head resting on his shoulder as his hand fell to your hip. You turned the television on, some old movie playing quietly in the background as you started up another conversation with Bucky about God knows what for another hour or so, only getting up to refill your glasses wine before quickly sitting comfortably against Bucky again and falling right back into conversation.

Laughter occasionally filled the room when Bucky uttered a sarcastic comment, and when you replied with just as much sarcasm as him. The conversation remained completely uninterrupted, until your eyes caught a glimpse of the dark sky scattered with stars through the window. As much as you wanted to stay curled up against Bucky forever, the boxer had training to do early the next morning, and he didn’t want to risk a questioning from Steve if he showed up late to the gym.

After reluctantly swinging your legs off the edge of the couch and downing the remainder of wine in your glass, you were soon seeing Bucky out of your apartment.

He stood in your doorway just as he had done when he’d first arrived, and it amazed you how quickly the night had flown by. It seemed like only minutes prior that the man was handing you a gorgeous bouquet of roses and asking if he was allowed inside.

There was a different look in his eyes, though. The nerves that were evident in his slightly widened eyes were long gone, replaced by a fond, affectionate glint that made your heart swell as he looked down at you.

“Thanks for tonight, babydoll,” Bucky smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair begin your ear, exposing the dark mark he’d left on your neck and letting his eyes linger on it for a few short moments. “We should do this more often.”

“Make out and drink wine? That’s something I could get used to,” You rested your hands on his chest, biting back the grin that threatened to spread from ear to ear. You leaned up to press a final kiss to his cheek, but were satisfied to feel Bucky’s lips on yours instead when he lightly tilted your chin to the side.

The kiss was long, neither of you wanting to be the one to pull away. You just couldn’t get enough of him; his touch, his lips, his sweet pet names and teasing comments. How the hell someone so perfect happened to walk into your life, you weren’t sure.

If Bucky was a stranger to Steve, he might’ve been the only guy that you weren’t afraid of your brother not approving of. Sure, he’d get the stupid lecture and the cold shoulder in the beginning, but you were positive that he’d think that Bucky was good for you. Things unfortunately were that simple, though. Because Bucky was Steve’s best friend, and the two of you were sneaking around behind his back. It bothered you, and it bothered Bucky too. However, things were still relatively new, even when you felt like Bucky was a guy you never wanted to let slip through your fingers, your brother wouldn’t be able to understand that just yet.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from the longing kiss and gently shoved at Bucky’s chest. “If we stand here any longer, there’s no way you’re gonna be up for training tomorrow. Get yourself home, James.”

The boxer sighed, trailing his fingers down your arm to your hand, giving it a final squeeze before stepping out into the hallway. “Drop by the gym some time soon?”

You crinkled your brows. “I would, but what about Ste-”

“Steve doesn’t train on Thursdays.” Bucky reassured you quickly, making a smile crawl onto your lips.

“Thursdays... I’ll see what I can do.” You didn’t have classes on Thursdays, and you only worked the morning shift at the tattoo shop that day, so you knew you’d have time to see Bucky at the gym — you just liked to see the stupid grin on the boxer’s face when you teased him. “Now, seriously; go home. And be safe.”

“I’m always safe, (Y/N).” He affirmed with one last wink before he finally began to walk away from your apartment, and you slowly shut the front door, leaning your back against it once you heard the click of the lock.

Fuck, he was just so perfect. Everything was perfect with him, and if everything stayed that way, then maybe breaking the news to Steve wouldn’t be so far from perfect too.

However, it was probably foolish of you to get so wrapped up in how smooth things with Bucky were going. It was unfortunately never going to last, the ease of it all.

Unknowingly to you, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

* * *

Series Taglist:

@littledarlinhavefaithinme

[nikhilgraphic]

I'm a Procreate Illustrator: Here Are the 7 Tools I Can't Live Without

It wouldn’t be an irony to mention that Procreate has changed my life. Before the times of the double-finger undo, with ink-stained hands i might frustrate discard sheet upon sheet of paper, feeling like i used to be wasting both precious paper and time, learn graphic designing the most essential for company just find the best institutions which have provided the best graphic designing course in Delhi service and join them get started.

Or I’d carefully lay out twenty wet-paint illustrations on the ground , hoping a gust of wind from the balcony wouldn’t flip them over and stain my floor.

Then there was the scanning. Oh, the scanning, which I loathed.

Enter the iPad into my life, and with it, the Procreate app. i used to be amazed at how quickly I could create my illustrations, with such realistic-looking brushes! And once I added the proper screen protector (more thereon later), the experience felt just like the real McCoy . the method was quick, clean, and portable! My workflow was such a lot more efficient, and projects took half the time. i used to be hooked.

After a couple of years of trial and error, I’m here to share with you my seven tried and trusted tools that I simply can’t live without.

1. The proper Pencils

If you’re anything like me, you start any project with a sketch. And though you'll easily sketch with, say, a Procreate ballpoint pen- wouldn’t you agree there’s something perfect a few scratchy 2B? While I’m hooked in to the 6B pencil that comes with the default Procreate app, I’ve purchased quite few pencil brush sets, and consistently add my favorites to a Procreate brush set I’ve fondly named “Shelly’s Toolbox”. What makes an honest pencil in my opinion, you ask? For a pencil brush to tick all of the boxes on behalf of me , it's to reply well to the Apple Pencil’s tilt, has got to have good smudge-ability (that’s a word, right?), and be just grainy enough. i do know it once I see it.

2. Paper-like Screen Protector

The first thing i like to recommend people buy once they treat themselves to an iPad, is that the PaperLike Screen Protector. It’s a matte screen protector with an ever-so-slight texture that does exactly what its name suggests: it perfectly mimics that slight resistance you get from drawing on real paper. So if you’ve been sliding around on your glass screen and can’t understand why you only can’t seem to regulate your linework such as you can in your sketchbook, this is often the merchandise for you. It’s on the pricier side with an almost $40 tag , but the pack includes two screen protectors. I’ve found them to be super durable and straightforward to wash . In short, I’m never going back.

3. Paper Textures

One of the most important compliments anyone can give me is to say that my digital illustrations don’t look digital. There’s nothing wrong with digital art that does appear as if it’s been created on a computer, except for my particular drawing style, i really like that I can sometimes trick people into thinking my work is all analog. My most up-to-date discovery, one which I find brings my drawings from good to great, is digital paper textures. i prefer them subtle, but the proper paper texture just makes a bit more tangible.

Check out my quick illustration above, shown with and without a digital texture. You can find these during a huge range of textures and colours (kraft paper, anyone?). you'll find that applying certain blending modes creates the simplest effect – Multiply blending mode works best on behalf of me . fiddle and see which is that the best fit your illustration style. the proper combination of blending modes and textures can make your art come to life. Find a set that most accurately fits your style, like this Magic Paper for Procreate or these Paper Texture Brushes.

4. Portable Battery

In a perfect world, my iPad would have endless battery life and that i could spend all day under a tree drawing away. Alas, that it not the case. Always faster than i would like it to, my battery drained when running Procreate and that i was left with no choice but to get a cute little portable charger. Just charge it fully, and toss it into your bag- you’ll thank me later.

5. Beautiful Art Brushes

I’ve mentioned pencil brushes, and people are wonderful for sketching. except for my work, I often wish to achieve a textured paint-and-colored pencil search for the ultimate colored versions. Procreate brushes are engineered in such how that they believe a source file (imagine the form that defines the comb ’s tip) and a grain file (imagine the feel upon which you’d apply the brush strokes). When a brush is made well, those two elements-along with another really important settings- can create pure magic on your screen.

6. Texture Brushes

So much depth are often added to illustrations by layering some stippling, hatching, and shading to your work. In the spirit of saving time, I’ve also rounded up a couple of wonderful texture brushes that do this work for you! fiddle with a bunch of various brushes and see which works best together with your illustration style.

7. Procreate Grids

As a children’s book illustrator, I often pair my illustrations with lettering, oftentimes within the sort of a book cover. i will be able to often scour Pinterest for hours trying to find fun and artistic text layouts to inspire me. With the assistance of a handy grid guide, you'll create balanced, eye-catching lettering. Just use the stamp brushes to plan your lettering, and voila! Beautiful lettering designs in seconds!

I used a Grid Builder to fiddle with lettering layouts for a book cover sketch. And there you've got it. I’ve shared my Procreate tools with you, and hope you’ll love them the maximum amount as I do. Please share a number of your Procreate must-haves with me below! Shelly Las lo may be a children’s book illustrator living in Israel. She is represented by Christmas pudding Illustration Agency. She has worked with some wonderful clients including Penguin Random House, Osborne Publishing UK, and bravado Magazine. you'll find more of her work here and here.

[weavingthetapestry]

Plague Projects, 1568: George Bannatyne and His Books

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley” seems like a phrase which really sums up this past month, and also says something about my altered plans for this blog this year. After all, with the 700th anniversary of the Declaration of Arbroath coming up, I had hoped that the next time I’d be posting, it would be about nation-defining fourteenth century documents, not sixteenth century cultural treasures. Indeed, I should probably apologise to those of you particularly interested in earlier periods for publishing what I believe is my fourth or fifth lengthy sixteenth century post in a row- and it IS horrendously lengthy. But as many of us will be keeping to our homes for the foreseeable future, it seemed apt instead to consider taking a leaf out of George Bannatyne’s book. 

In autumn and winter 1568, plague once again raged in Edinburgh. Confined to the family home “in tyme of pest, / Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest”, 22-year old George Bannatyne whiled away the hours compiling a massive collection of Old Scots poetry. His book, containing works from such famous names as Chaucer, Dunbar, Henryson, Lindsay and others, is now known as the Bannatyne MS (or, to give it its less snappy title, Adv. MS. 1.1.6). It is widely acknowledged as one of the most significant books in the history of Old Scots literature, preserving some of the very best works of the age for later generations. So, since I have the time and the ink (metaphorically at least), I thought it might be a good opportunity to explore the history of this vital manuscript, the life of its author, and the circumstances in which it was created. 

George Bannatyne was neither the son of a great noble nor some powerful churchman, but he did come from a reasonably well-off family with an important network of acquaintances. Thanks to the survival of a ‘Memoriall Buik’ which he began compiling around 1582, we are able to trace some of his background with more ease than might otherwise be the case. In it, we find that George was the son of James Bannatyne of the Kirktoun of Newtyle (born 1512) and Katherine Taillefeir (or Telfer or any number of variant spellings; she seems to have been born c.1523). James Bannatyne belonged to the legal profession and played a not insignificant role in public life, acting as a Writer to the Signet and Deputy Justice Clerk among other things. He also had mercantile interests and, despite originally hailing from Angus (a region he would maintain links with for the rest of his life), he was admitted as a burgess and guild brother of Edinburgh in 1538. It may have been around the same time that he married Katherine, who appears to have hailed from a prominent Edinburgh merchant family herself, and their first child, Laurence, was born in September 1539. The couple would go onto have twenty-three children between 1539 and 1565, of whom eleven were still alive at the time of their mother’s death in 1570, and eight were still living in their father’s house, “unput to proffeit”.

George was the seventh child, born on 22nd December 1545, and his memorial book notes that his uncles, George Taillefeir and William Fisher* acted as his godfathers, and Mavis Fisher as his godmother. Not much is known about his early life, but he does appear to have attended the University of St Andrews for a time, being incorporated at St Mary’s College in 1558 (aged about twelve) and listed as ‘baccalaurei’ in 1561. Unlike some of his brothers, however, there isn’t much evidence that he followed his father into the legal profession and we can ascertain little about his early career (beyond the basic details) before the age of forty.

(Bannatyne house near Newtyle, Angus. This property was purchased by George’s father James Bannatyne and the house built by Thomas Bannatyne in the late sixteenth century. Despite their Angus roots however, the family’s main business was in Edinburgh. Not my picture.)

The year 1568, when he was 22 years of age, would later serve as a major landmark in the young George Bannatyne’s life. Indeed, it was to be an eventful year for the kingdom of Scotland as a whole. In May, the deposed queen Mary I had escaped from captivity in the Kinross-shire castle of Lochleven, and soon raised an army to challenge the men who governed Scotland in the name of her infant son James VI. Defeated by the forces of her half-brother, the Earl of Moray, at the Battle of Langside, she then fled across the border to England, seeking the help of their cousin Elizabeth I. With the plight of the ex-Queen of Scots now an international incident, the affair would rumble on throughout the autumn and winter of 1568 and the publication of the notorious Casket Letters did nothing to diminish the scandal. Back in Scotland, meanwhile, the events of 1568 precipitated a major civil war between the supporters of the exiled Mary and the ‘King’s Men’ who fought in the name of her son. Even in August, Edinburgh had a scare when it was rumoured that the lords of ”the south and north and west countries” might attack before the next parliament, and as a result the burgh’s defences were reinforced. 

And then, just to make things worse, that same autumn a vicious bout of plague broke out in the merry town. The Diurnal of Occurrents claims that ‘the pest’ was initially brought to Edinburgh by a merchant named James Dalgleish on 8th September 1568. Whether or not this very precise account can be taken at face value, by the end of the month the situation was so concerning that, on 26th September, the Regent Moray wrote to the burgh council from Tantallon, requesting that the election of new magistrates be delayed. This was due to concern for “the publict ordour to be observit anent the plaige”, and in case the new officials, “throw laik of experience may omyt the maist necessar thingis that in sa strait ane tyme ar requisit to be done”. On 13th October the burgh council made further proclamations that nobody was to pass to the Burgh Muir (where the sick were quarantined in huts) without an official escort, and, a couple of days later, officers were appointed to clean the victims’ houses and take charge of burying the dead. Meanwhile it was ordained:

“that how sone any maner of persoun fallis seik within this burgh, in quhatsumeuir kynde of seiknes that ever it be, the awneris of the hous inclose thame selffis and cum nocht furth of thair houssis, nowther suffer ony to resort to thame unto the tyme thai aduertice the baillie of the quarter and ordour be taiken be him, under the pane of deid.”

[“that as soon as any manner of person falls sick within this burgh, whatever kind of sickness it may be, the owners of the house should enclose themselves and not come forth of their houses, nor suffer anyone to resort to them, until such time as they inform the baillie of the quarter and order is taken by him, under pain of death.”]

Plague was hardly unknown in the capital and a particularly serious outbreak had ravaged much of Britain, including Edinburgh, as recently as 1563. The burgh was therefore used to the strict measures which had to be taken (even though this didn’t stop the unfortunate William Smith and his wife Black Meg from breaking the rules, an offence for which they paid dearly). Nevertheless the periodic recurrence of the the disease struck terror into the hearts of the people, and with good reason, since the 1568 outbreak alone is estimated to have decimated a fifth of Edinburgh’s population. There were major economic consequences too, not least because of the stoppage of trade, and the Diurnal of Occurrents claims that, due to the outbreak in the burghs of Edinburgh, Leith, and Canongate, there were severe shortages in the country over the course of the following year. Little wonder then that the earliest known medical treatise to be printed in Scotland- “Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest” by the Aberdonian physician Gilbert Skene- rolled off the press in this year. 

[read more under cut]

(Edinburgh in the late 16th and early 17th century, according to the ‘Civitates Orbis Terrarum’. Not my picture.)

This was the wider context in which George Bannatyne compiled his famous manuscript, in the last three months of the year (according to his own explicit). But the entire MS runs to almost 800 pages and shows signs of careful organisation and so some modern commentators have naturally raised doubts about the claim that such a large project was completed in only three months, no matter how much Bannatyne may have been climbing the walls during a time of isolation. We also have to account for the 54 pages which make up the so-called Draft or Duplicate MS- draft pages which do not form part of the main Bannatyne MS but have been tacked onto the front of the surviving copy. This draft MS, currently made up of at least two gatherings, may have been larger at some point, as leaves which seem to have been part of the Draft are to be found slotted in at various points of the Bannatyne MS proper (the two MS use different styles of page number, and it may be possible to identify some of the Draft MS leaves from their Roman foliation). 

Meanwhile it was observed by J.T.T. Brown back in 1903 that one of the dates written into the manuscript as ‘1568′, on folio 290v., had originally been 1565, the last number having been altered at a later stage. Subsequently it was noticed that the year written as ‘1568′ on folio 298r. had initially been 1566, and it has been argued that the altered dates, as well as the obvious effort involved in organising and transcribing such a tome, suggest that the Bannatyne MS was the result of a much longer period of compilation than its author claimed. Not every commentator has been convinced by this- William, A. Ringler, for one, argued in 1980 that it was not impossible for George Bannatyne to have completed the work in three months, pointing out that he would only have had to spend about three hours a day on his project, and characterising the altered dates as mere slips of the pen. However most of the recent writers I’ve consulted seem to acknowledge that the MS was probably compiled in several stage, with the book only taking its final form in December 1568 after some months- possibly years- of intermittent work. The exact process of compilation is a matter of great interest to those attempting to establish a political and social context for the work. For example, Alastair A. MacDonald, asking the pertinent question of why Bannatyne might have wished to conceal an earlier start date (and assuming that the 1565 date was not a mistake), has argued that the Bannatyne MS could be seen as a Marian anthology. He has characterised it as a book which grew out of a collection of love poems associated with the poets of Mary I’s court (especially Alexander Scott), the nature of which had to be discreetly altered when the political winds changed. Whatever the case, the precise dating of the Bannatyne MS. and the manner in which it was compiled raises some fascinating possibilities and will probably continue to stimulate debate in the future.** 

(A reproduction of a page from George Bannatyne’s ‘Memoriall Buik’. Not my picture, digitisation by internet archive)

The Bannatyne manuscript itself is an impressive piece of work and Evelyn S. Newlyn is certainly justified in describing its author as, “neither a mere collector nor a passive scribe”. On top of copying out around 400 poems and other literary works (some of them quite lengthy), it is clear that George Bannatyne put thought into the organisation of the MS and its overarching purpose and literary nature. The results of his endeavours hugely impressed some later readers, not least Sir Walter Scott, but modern scholars have rightly cautioned against viewing the MS as the product solely of one young man’s ‘genius’. Bannatyne’s broad social and family networks were likely crucial to the success of his project. Several other members of his immediate family had literary and scholarly interests- his father James and possibly also his brother Thomas owned (and in the latter case compiled) notable legal collections, while a copy of the “Regiam Majestatam” owned by George’s grandfather John Bannatyne has poems copied into its pages. George’s father James was probably also the figure of that name who was referred to in Robert Sempill’s “Defence of Crissel Sandelandis” in the line, “Auld James Bannatyne wes anis a  man of skill”, and another lawyer Bannatyne, Patrick, appears elsewhere in the poem. On his mother’s side, George seems to have been related to Laurence Taillefeir, treasurer of Dunkeld, and proud owner of printed copies of Pleny and Seneca, who was also godfather to George’s eldest brother Laurence Bannatyne in 1539. Serving as the other godfather on that occasion was Henry Balnaves of Halhill, then a senator of the College of Justice, and perhaps already holding the strong Protestant views which would shape much of his career; he may be the ‘Balnevis’ listed as the author of a poem in the Bannatyne MS (“O Gallandis all, I cry and call”). 

These details regarding the godparents of the numerous Bannatyne siblings may be found in George’s “Memoriall Buik” and among the other family acquaintances listed there we also find John Bellenden of Auchnoule and his father Master Thomas Bellenden. Bellenden of Auchnoule was justice clerk (and James Bannatyne served under him for a time as deputy) but even more interest are their connections as nephew and brother respectively to John Bellenden, archdeacon of Moray. That John Bellenden was a poet at the court of James V and translator of the prose Scots version of Hector Boece’s ‘Historia Gentis Scotorum’, and the close social (and perhaps family) relationship between the Bellendens and Bannatynes may explain the prominent position given to his work in the Bannatyne MS. Meanwhile, if Balnaves of Halhill and others provided the Bannatynes with Protestant connections, there were also members of the Catholic clergy to match them, such as George Clapperton, provost of Trinity Collegiate Church, and a member of the Chapel Royal at the same time as the poet Alexander Scott (who features prominently among the love poets featured in the MS). The court connections of the above men may have proved a major asset to George Bannatyne during the compilation of his MS, although it may be going too far to describe the book, as some writers have, as a direct record of Stewart court culture. The Bannatynes also had connections to Henry Foulis of Colinton and his father James, the notable neo-Latin poet, as well as to the poet William Stewart through the Foulis family (it is also worth noting that George Bannatyne’s daughter would later marry Henry Foulis’ grandson). 

From documentary sources other than the memorial book, scholars have further traced the Bannatynes’ links to notable figures in Edinburgh’s printing trade, including King’s printer Thomas Davidson (who undertook work for the government in James Bannatyne’s company), and one of the city’s first printers Walter Chepman (both Walter and James were public notaries who witnessed some of the same transactions, and it might have been Chepman’s widow who stood godmother to George’s brother Thomas). The Bannatyne family’s connections to these notable individuals- and indeed many others whose histories we unfortunately don’t have space to trace- formed a hugely important social network of prominent lawyers, clergy, lairds, merchants, and courtiers, which must have proved immensely useful to George Bannatyne when he was gathering pieces for his MS.

(The arms of the Bannatynes of Corehouse in the Bannatyne MS, set beneath part of the story of Cokelbie’s Sow. Not my picture, property of N.L.S.)

The manuscript itself reflects this background and, although Bannatyne complained that he had to draw on sources preserved in “copeis awld, mankit, and mutillait”, he also seems to have used printed sources. Equally the high number of poems that Bannatyne was able to pull together does seem to indicate that the situation wasn’t always so dire and, as Sebestian Verweij points out:

“Bannatyne’s access to enormous numbers of manuscript and print exemplars is the best available testament to the extremely rich literary and scribal cultures in the Scottish capital.”

The list of authors whose works appear in the MS is a long one, but the most important should be singled out, if only to further demonstrate the scale of the work. The works of some of Scotland’s greatest writers before Burns are included, including pieces by William Dunbar (including the “The Thistle and Rose”, “The Golden Targe”, “The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, “The Lament for the Makars”, and many more); Robert Henryson (especially worth noting are his “Morall Fabillis” and the apposite  “Ane Prayer for the Pest”); Gavin Douglas (including several prologues from his “Eneados”), and Sir David Lindsay (of particular interest is an abbreviated early copy of his play “Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis”). As already mentioned the works of John Bellenden, Alexander Scott and William Stewart are well represented, while other authors include Richard Holland, John Rowll, Robert Sempill, and Richard Maitland of Lethington (who also compiled major literary collections contemporary to the Bannatyne MS). “The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour”, is also named ias the author of eight poems in the MS, though seven of these are inaccurately attributed (the other is the ‘Song of Troilus’ from “Troilus and Criseyde”). George Bannatyne seems to have included several poems of his own composition in his MS, although Theo van Heijnsbergen has suggested that two of the poems attributed to a Bannatyne which appear “more competent” than the others, might have been written by one of George’s family members instead. Numerous anonymous poems feature in the MS (and some have been given authors in annotations made by later hands), including some well-known titles such as “The Friars of Berwick, “Christ’s Kirk on the Green”, “Kynd Kittock”, and “Cokelbie’s Sow”. Bannatyne’s collection thus opens a window onto an impressive body of late mediaeval and sixteenth century Scots literature- and his achievement is all the more impressive in that around half of the 400 poems included in the MS are not known from any other source and would otherwise have been lost to us. 

Bannatyne also put a good deal of thought into the construction of the MS, beyond simply copying out as many poems as he could find. The main part of the book is divided into five parts: firstly, poems about “Godis gloir and ouir saluation” and other Christian religious subjects; secondly, poems with serious moral or philosophical content; thirdly, ‘mirry’ and comic works (some verging on bawdy), including political and social satire; fourth supposedly poems about love, but also including works criticising love and poems against the evils of both men and women (but mostly women); and lastly tales that have some kind of allegorical significance, from Robert Henryson’s animal fables to dream allegories like “The Golden Targe”. This level of editorial awareness has been said to demonstrate Bannatyne’s care and attention in compiling the MS. But some of his editing choices have been less popular with modern scholars, not least his discreet censorship of some the more obviously Catholic aspects of the pre-Reformation poetry, to suit contemporary political circumstances. His decision to include a hefty number of overtly misogynistic poems at a late stage in the compilation of the MS has also been seen as indicative of both the wider political context and also his own personal views. Most interesting though is the evidence that Bannatyne modernised- or perhaps a more exact term would be ‘anglicised- much of the spelling in the poems he transcribed, giving them a more ‘neutral’ language that might have been meant to render the work more accessible to readers of his own day in both Scotland and England. Despite these (sometimes quite major) alterations to the texts of some of the most famous works of Old Scots literature, Bannatyne’s versions of the poems of Dunbar, Henryson, and others have often been used as the basis of modern scholarly editions even sometimes when better alternatives might have been available. Regardless of accuracy, a lot of energy was clearly spent on the organisation and editing of the MS, and many authors have argued that Bannatyne intended that the book should be printed and published. As Alastair A. MacDonald wrote:

“It nonetheless remains that the only credible explanation for the care lavished on the MS and in particular for the concern with the formal appearance of the collection, is that Bannatyne had indeed entertained the hope of seeing the volume in print. It was doubtless with this purpose in mind that he made all the subtle accommodations to Protestant feelings which have been detected in manuscript.”

There is some debate over this however and others have suggested that the work could instead have been intended for circulation in manuscript form among Bannatyne’s social network. Whatever the case the result of George Bannatyne’s labours is a very impressive collection of great significance for the history of Scottish literature- and certainly worth the three months or more he is supposed to have spent working on it.

On 22nd December 1568- George Bannatyne’s 23rd birthday- the burgh council of Edinburgh noted with some relief that it finally seemed as if “God of his mercye and gudnes hes metigait the raige of the pest within this toun”. So the officers who had been appointed to keep the regulations enacted during the time of the plaque were discharged. Unfortunately, their relief was somewhat premature: the disease would return by late spring 1569 and continued to menace the city for much of the year. We have little further indication of how the Bannatyne family coped during this difficult time, but we do know that our protagonist survived and would live to a good age. Strangely though, other than his memorial book (which he began compiling around 1582), we have no evidence of any further literary activity on George Bannatyne’s part. Instead we must follow the rest of his career in his role as a prominent merchant active in family life. 

(The grave of George Foulis of Ravelston and Janet Bannatyne in Greyfriars Kirkyard. Picture from wikimedia commons.)

Until the death of James Bannatyne in 1583, aged 71, George was closely associated with his father’s activities. He was granted his first piece of property- a tenement in Leith- in 1572, and acquired others over the years. He also developed his career as a merchant (though we do not know what he dealt in) and was admitted to the merchants guild of Edinburgh in 1587, being described as a “merchand burgess of Edinburgh” the following year. Some time before this he had married Isobel Mawchan, the widow of an Edinburgh baillie, and the couple would go on to have three children- Janet, who was born on 3rd May 1587 (sharing her birthday with her late grandfather James), James who died aged eight in 1597, and a stillborn daughter. George was also stepfather to two children from his wife’s first marriage, Edward (b.1571) and Isobel Nisbet. George’s only surviving child Janet Bannatyne later married George Foulis, laird of Ravelston near Colinton (both now suburbs of Edinburgh) and later Master of the King’s Mint in Scotland- their gravestone can still be seen in Greyfriars kirkyard. Isobel Mawchan died in 1603, and her husband wrote of her that she “levit ane godly, honorable, and vertewis lyf all hir dayis. Scho wes ane wyis, honest, and trew matrone.” In his twilight years, George Bannatyne appears to have spent some time residing with his daughter and son-in-law at Dreghorn. We do not know the exact date of his death, although it has been determined that he must have died before December 1608. The last entry in his memorial book is for 24th August 1606, when he recorded another visitation of the plague:

“George Foulis, Jonet Bannatyne, his spous, my dochter, and I, George Bannatyne, thair fader, being dwelland in Dreghorne, besyde Colingtoun, the nureise infectit in the pest, being upoun ane Sounday and the secound day of the change of the mone, and Sanct Bartilmo his day; and scho deceissit upoun the Tysday nixt thaireftir, the 26 day of the same moneth. And efter ane clenging na forder truble come to our houshold, blissit be the Almichty God, off his Majesteis miracouluse and mercifull deliuerance.”

[“George Fowlis, Janet Bannatyne, his spouse [and] my daughter, and I, George Bannatyne, their father, being then resident in Dreghorn, beside Colinton, the nurse [was] infected of the plague, being upon a Sunday and the second day of the change of the moon, and St Bartholomew’s Day; and she died upon the Tuesday next thereafter, the 26th day of the same month. And after one cleansing no further trouble came to our household, blessed be the Almighty God, of his Majesty’s miraculous and merciful deliverance.”]

George Bannatyne’s two books survived their author, and both passed into the hands of his Foulis descendants. The Bannatyne MS remained in the hands of that family until 1712 (and several members of the family signed their names on the spare leaves of the book) and was donated to the Advocates Library in 1772. Over the centuries several notable figures have come into contact with the MS, not least Thomas Percy, Bishop of Dromore (author of ‘Reliques of Ancient English Poetry’) and Allan Ramsay (who used some of the contents in his ‘Evergreen’ anthology of 1724). Both men (Ramsay certainly) appear to have left their own marks on the MS, as have several anonymous hands, some of them adding extra poems on spare leaves. By the early nineteenth century, the fame of George Bannatyne’s compilation had secured for its author an eminent place in the eyes of Scotland’s literati, and the Bannatyne Club, which was founded in 1823 by Walter Scott and others to print works of Scottish historical and literary interest, was named for George. Strangely, though, at the time of the Club’s foundation, not much was known about George Bannatyne himself. It wasn’t until a few years later, when his “Memoriall Buik” was rediscovered among the papers of his descendant Sir James Foulis of Woodhall and published under the auspices of the Bannatyne Club in 1829, that historians were able to trace the story of Bannatyne and his manuscripts in any depth. The first printing of the Bannatyne MS in its entirety came quite late, with the Hunterian Club’s edition of 1896, but there have been other printings since, and the MS has lost none of its fascination for historians and literary scholars. For all its idiosyncrasies, the Bannatyne MS remains, along with the contemporary Maitland MSS, one of the most valuable literary compilations in Scotland’s history. Without the efforts of George Bannatyne and his circle of friends and family during those uncertain plague-ridden months in 1568, our knowledge of the state of literature in Britain during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries would be much darker.

“Heir endis this buik, writtin in tyme of pest, 

Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest

Into the thre last monethis of the year,

Frome oure Redimaris birth, to knaw it heir,

Ane thowsand is, fyve hundreth, threscoir awcht;

Off this purpoiss namair it neiddis be tawcht,

Swa till conclude, God grant ws all gude end,

And eftir deth eternall lyfe ws send.”

National Library of Scotland Digitisation

Hunterian Club Edition (x) (x) (x) (x)

Scottish Texts Society Edition

 ‘Memorials of George Bannatyne’ (includes extracts from the Memorial Book)

Notes and References:

* The actual word used for William Fisher is ‘eme’, in contrast to the word ‘uncle’ which is used for George Taillefeir. I may have to do some more digging to establish the exact relationship, but as ‘eme’ usually (though not always) meant uncle I had to go with that for now.

** Without wanting to bore the reader TOO much (and I am aware of how long the above post is) I also wanted to raise a question of my own about where the MS. might have been written in the hopes that someone might be able to help. This question may be the result of a gap in my reading but try as I might I can find no textual reference to the MS. having been compiled in a ‘country retreat’, as the N.L.S., Evelyn S. Newlyn, and others state. All I can find is William Tod Ritchie’s comment that a ‘local tradition’ in Angus claims that the book was written in the north-eastern turret of Bannatyne House, Newtyle. This property was obtained by George’s father James in 1562, but it’s not clear that the tower in question was actually in existence in 1568. Otherwise I’ve not been able to find a source for the statement that Bannatyne left Edinburgh for the country during the plague of 1568, though certainly this was something which those inhabitants of medieval and early modern towns who had the means did do (as in Boccacio’s ‘Decameron’). This did occur in Edinburgh in 1568/9 as well, as evidenced by a letter which the Bishop of Orkney sent to his brother-in-law Sir Archibald Napier of Merchiston (father of the famous mathematician John Napier) in the same year. In it he recommends that due to Merchiston’s proximity to the Burgh Muir where plague victims were then quarantined, Napier should send his children north or west of the city into the southern Highlands:

“for, be the nummer of seik folk that gais out of the toun, the muir is abill to be ouirspred, and it can not be bot throw the nearness of your place, and the indigence of thame that ar put out, thai sall continewallie repair aboutte your roume, and throu thair conversatioun, infect sum of your servandis, quhairby thai sall precipitat yourself and your children in maist extreme danger; and as I se ye hef foirsene the same for the young folk, quhais bluid is in maist perrell to be infectit first, and therefoir purpois to send thame away to Menteith quhair I wald wiss at God that ye war yourself, without offence of authoritie, or of your band, sua that your housss gat na skaith. Bot yit, Schir, thair is ane midway quhilk ye suld not omit, quhilk is to withdraw you fra that syid of the toun to sum houss upon the north syid of the samin, quairof ye may hef  in borrowing quhen ye sall hef to do, to wit, the Gray-cruik, Innerlethis self, Weirdle, or sic uther placis as ye culd chose within ane myle; quhairinto I wald suppois ye wald be in les danger than in Merchanstoun; and close up your houssis, your grangeis, your barnis and all, and suffer na man cum therin, quhll it plesit God to put ane stay to this grete plage, and in the mean tyme, maid you to live upoun your penny, or on sic thing as comis to you out of the Lennos or Menteith; quhilk, gif ye do not, I se ye will ruine yourself”

In the absence of any evidence of the Bannatynes taking such measures, I would argue that it might still be possible that the MS was written in Edinburgh (in which case one has to wonder if Bannatyne ever witnessed a tenement’s inhabitants singing that popular hit ‘Ane Ballat Maid off the Tyme the Chefe put the Sunne schyne on Leith”). In any case, whether it was written in Angus or Edinburgh or somewhere else entirely, Bannatyne himself testifies that they were unable to go about their business as usual and so he may have found himself stuck in the house with parents, servants, and at least seven siblings- it is unclear whether this was conducive to his work on the manuscript!

Selected References:

- Obviously I consulted all three versions of the MS linked to above, as well as “Memorials of George Bannatyne”, printed by the Bannatyne Club (for the Memorial Book) and also linked above. 

- “Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1528-1557″, edited by J.D. Marwick

- “Memoirs of John Napier of Merchistoun”, by Mark Napier

- “An Urban History of the Plague: Socio-Economic, Political and Medical Impacts in a Scottish Community, 1500-1650″, by Karen Jillings

- “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Sixteenth Century Poetical Miscellany”, J.T.T. Brown, in the Scottish Historical Review (link)

- “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Marian Anthology”, A.A. MacDonald in the Innes Review

- “The Literary Culture of Early Modern Scotland”, Sebastian Verweij

- “The Interaction Between Literature and History in Queen Mary’s Edinburgh: The Bannatyne Manuscript and its Prosopographical Context”, by Theo van Heijnsbergen in “The Renaissance in Scotland: Studies in Literature, Religion, History, and Culture Offered to John Durkan”, edited by A.A. MacDonald, Michael Lynch, and Ian B. Cowan.

“The Wryttar to the Reidaris: Editing Practices and Politics in the Bannatyne Manuscript”, by Evelyn S. Newlyn

[likeamattoutofhell-archive]

LIKE A BAT OUTTA HELL, I’LL BE GONE WHEN THE MORNING COMES...

Matty Kincaid, confidential-style. AKA a proper detailed character bio.

START ME UP NAME, USUALLY: Matty NAME, ON THE PAPERWORK: Matthew Carter Kincaid NAME, WHEN HE’S LYING: Matty Kerrigan, Mark, other things starting with M and K

BORN: 8 December, 1954 IN: Bremerhaven, (then West) Germany TO: Carter Kincaid and Patricia Kincaid (formerly O’Brien)

DIED: 8 December, 1987 IN: New York City, U.S.A. OFFICIAL CAUSE OF DEATH: Unknown - missing, presumed dead given quantity of blood at the scene. Foul play suspected. Legally declared dead in absentia in 1990.

TO LOOK AT YOU FACE: Luke Arnold HEIGHT: 5’7”, plus hair BUILD: On the slighter side - doesn’t look especially well, these days. Stringy. EYES: Blue HAIR: Dark brown, curly. Face kept clean-shaven, generally. Blood in your beard is a bad fuckin’ time. DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Definitely his hair, which, to this day, is maintained in a full-on, past-the-shoulders-length shag. His smile’s pretty spectacular - rock-star grade, right - but especially memorable if you see him fangs-out; he’s recently aged into a second set of fangs (first bicuspids, top and bottom, in addition to canines). Double the piercing damage. Roll for initiative. PIERCINGS: One per ear, on the lobes. Did it himself in high school, in the bathroom at home, because that seemed more likely to upset his parents. Hasn’t worn anything in them for a while, though. INK: A few pieces of mostly spontaneous flash, and a couple other things. Most were for the experience - usually shared with bandmates - more than any kind of planned artistic endeavor.

SCHOOL’S OUT EDUCATION: Attended multiple public schools in West Germany, Texas, Georgia, Colorado, and Florida. Almost completed two semesters at UCLA. Almost. Dropped out to take the band on the road. Did play the MC in the university’s production of Cabaret, though, before he left. Nailed it. Rave reviews. Counts for something, right?

STUFF, THINGS

English might be his first language, but German is a very, very close second. He picked up a few bits of small talk in other languages along the way, but never wound up fluent or thoroughly conversational in anything. Just a couple nice phrases for the fans, right.

Matty had to teach himself to play piano, or at least to play music on piano, by ear; he only learned the more technical aspects of the instrument later, but can transpose pretty freely.

He figured out enough about tailoring to do little adjustments to his own clothes, as a kid fighting for ways to look like himself. Sure, he can’t do anything too fancy, but Matty knows how to make something off the thrift shop rack look sharp. For a given, very eighties-attuned idea of sharp. 

SUPERNATURAL STUFF, THINGS

When it comes to supernatural knowledge, Matty knows a bit about a few things. But his awareness is generally broader than it is deep, and packed with misconceptions - mostly based on bad experience and his general terror of supernatural nonsense. He genuinely buys into the worst beliefs about vampires, for instance, which is part of why he has such a heckin’ hard time functioning.

He’s obviously most familiar with vampires, including some subspecies; not all, by a long shot. After that, his useful and accurate knowledge slides sharply, from most to least: hunters, zombies, werewolves, spellcasters, ghosts, mediums, the most common fae (like spriggans, or nymphs). Informed by whoever he’s snitching for, he tends to know the key points - giveaways, major strengths, vital weaknesses. But, of course, this is all filtered through instructions from hunters, so. Super skewed. 

As playable species go, he’s heard of (but knows nothing real about, and doesn’t necessarily believe in) banshees, empaths, and aura readers. Sounds fake, you know? 

He’s got no idea bugbears, mara, the rarer fae types, furies, or pretty much any non-werewolf shapeshifters even exist. Matty also doesn’t know that, uh, phoenixes are people too. Which is why the ash problem isn’t really a problem. Yet.

WHO ARE YOU (WHO, WHO) STARS: Sagittarius BEST: Passionate, creative, charming, affectionate WORST: Defensive, conflicted, fearful, self-loathing

NEED YOU TONIGHT WHAT’S HE INTO, ANYWAY: TLDR version, you took a perfectly good pan and gave him homoerotic anxiety. “You” being a prejudiced time, a rigid home with rigid ideas about what a boy was supposed to be and desire, and an entertainment industry that had its own expectations - some liberating, some their own kind of cage - as to what made a leading man in a wild American rock band.

Not TLDR version, Matty’s pansexual, but given the environment he grew up in, and the strange mixture of possibilities and pressures of the life he led, attraction to masculine figures has been a difficult thing for him to navigate. He’s had a lot of fun with women, publicly and privately, but his encounters with men were secretive, and limited. (Doesn’t count if it’s an orgy, right?) Matty spent most of his life feeling that his reputation, his image, was something collectively owned - if he fucked up, it would hurt the band, and that he couldn’t stand the thought of.

RELATIONSHIPS: Many, historically, anyway. Matty was the pretty boy frontman of a band that made it big, and he certainly dated like it - there were models, actresses, socialites, whatever.

YEAH, BUT NOW: Nada. Matty hasn’t had a genuine friend since he died, nevermind any kind of intimacy.

METAL HEALTH GENERALLY: An unstable combination of uneven blood supply, a great deal of substance abuse, and poorly dealt with vampirism.

PHYSICALLY: He’s dead, Jim. Pretty good, considering that. DETAILS: Before he got souped up on vampire juice, Matty was pretty terribly near-sighted, and wore glasses for it - offstage, at least. Now, of course, it’s not an issue. Kinda fucks with his painting, though. He’s not sure this is an improvement.

PSYCHOLOGICALLY: Well, still dead. Pretty not good, considering that. DETAILS: Back in the day, Matty was actually seeing a psychiatrist pretty regularly, and had been since his mid-twenties. They had plenty to talk about, but anxiety was a recurring theme. By the time of his death, these appointments were more a matter of “maintenance” than anything else; he was doing genuinely well. But, you know. Unlife… found a way.

TYPES & TROPES Addled Addict Artistic Stimulation Beautiful Singing Voice Friendly Neighborhood Vampire Horror Hunger I Hate You, Vampire Dad Metal Scream The Rock Star Sex, Drugs, and Rock n’ Roll Starving Artist Warm Blood Bags Are Everywhere

DID IT FOR THE MEMES “Um, Matty, could you read Number Twenty Three for the class?” “No, I cannot. What up, I’m Matty, I’m almost sixty-seven, and I never fuckin’ learned how to read!”

“When life gives you vampirism!”

“Adam!”

“I’m working on my coke addiction. My - my diet coke addiction. Aha.”

“So I’m sitting there, with human blood on my titties…”

“Is that a police? I’m calling the weed!”

“You’re NOT my SIRE!”

“Two bros, chillin’ in a hot tub, five feet apart cuz they’re not gay.”

“AH! Stop, I could’ve dropped my bloodbag…”

[flippyspoon]

hello girlyy 💞 i was hoping you could help me i’m trying to expand my mind & all that during quarantine, could you give me some of your fav book recs? thanks ;))

OK. Well, these are probably tragically obvious but oh well lol:

The Raven Cycle by Stiefvater: Blue has spent the majority of her sixteen years being told that if she kisses her true love, he will die. When Blue meets Gansey’s spirit on the corpse road she knows there is only one reason why - either he is her true love or she has killed him. Determined to find out the truth, Blue becomes involved with the Raven Boys, four boys from the local private school (lead by Gansey) who are on a quest to discover Glendower - a lost ancient Welsh King who is buried somewhere along the Virginia ley line. Whoever finds him will be granted a supernatural favour. -That summary does not do it justice. Trust me. if you haven’t read it yet.

The Captive Prince series by C.S. Pacat: Damen is a warrior hero to his people, and the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos, but when his half brother seizes power, Damen is captured, stripped of his identity, and sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a pleasure slave.Beautiful, manipulative and deadly, his new master Prince Laurent epitomizes the worst of the court at Vere. But in the lethal political web of the Veretian court, nothing is as it seems, and when Damen finds himself caught up in a play for the throne, he must work together with Laurent to survive and save his country.For Damen, there is just one rule: never, ever reveal his true identity. Because the one man Damen needs is the one man who has more reason to hate him than anyone else… 

-Some people have trouble getting through the first book because everything in book 1 is sort of reframed in book 2 but in 1 you’re very much like…this dude is so evil how…It’s kind of genius how everything later turns upside down.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon:

  A young escape artist and budding magician named Joe Kavalier arrives on the doorstep of his cousin, Sammy Clay. While the long shadow of Hitler falls across Europe, America is happily in thrall to the Golden Age of comic books, and in a distant corner of Brooklyn, Sammy is looking for a way to cash in on the craze. He finds the ideal partner in the aloof, artistically gifted Joe, and together they embark on an adventure that takes them deep into the heart of Manhattan, and the heart of old-fashioned American ambition. From the shared fears, dreams, and desires of two teenage boys, they spin comic book tales of the heroic, fascist-fighting Escapist and the beautiful, mysterious Luna Moth, otherworldly mistress of the night. Climbing from the streets of Brooklyn to the top of the Empire State Building, Joe and Sammy carve out lives, and careers, as vivid as cyan and magenta ink.

-It’s been a long time, I’m due for a reread. But this is probably one of my favorite books. Especially great if you’re at all interested in comics history which I’m not especially and it’s still one of my favorite books.

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro - This is Kazuo Ishiguro’s profoundly compelling portrait of Stevens, the perfect butler, and of his fading, insular world in post-World War II England. Stevens, at the end of three decades of service at Darlington Hall, spending a day on a country drive, embarks as well on a journey through the past in an effort to reassure himself that he has served humanity by serving the “great gentleman,” Lord Darlington. But lurking in his memory are doubts about the true nature of Lord Darlington’s “greatness,” and much graver doubts about the nature of his own life.

-This is in my top 3 of all time.

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang - Stella Lane thinks math is the only thing that unites the universe. She comes up with algorithms to predict customer purchases—a job that has given her more money than she knows what to do with, and way less experience in the dating department than the average thirty-year-old.It doesn’t help that Stella has Asperger’s and French kissing reminds her of a shark getting its teeth cleaned by pilot fish. Her conclusion: she needs lots of practice—with a professional. Which is why she hires escort Michael Phan. The Vietnamese and Swedish stunner can’t afford to turn down Stella’s offer, and agrees to help her check off all the boxes on her lesson plan—from foreplay to more-than-missionary position…Before long, Stella not only learns to appreciate his kisses, but crave all of the other things he’s making her feel. Their no-nonsense partnership starts making a strange kind of sense. And the pattern that emerges will convince Stella that love is the best kind of logic…

-A romance so good I was once trying to read it while in line for rides at Disney Land lol.

A Room with a View - E.M. Forster - A charming tale of the battle between bourgeois repression and radical romanticism, E. M. Forster’s third novel has long been the most popular of his early works. A young girl, Lucy Honeychurch, and her chaperon—products of proper Edwardian England—visit a tempestuous, passionate Italy. Their “room with a view” allows them to look into a world far different from their own, a world unconcerned with convention, unfettered by social rituals, and unafraid of emotion. Soon Lucy finds herself bound to an obviously “unsuitable” man, the melancholic George Emerson, whose improper advances she dare not publicize. Back home, her friend and mentor Charlotte Bartlett and her mother, try to manipulate her into marriage with the more “appropriate” but smotheringly dull Cecil Vyse, whose surname suggests the imprisoning effect he would have on Lucy’s spirit.

-One of my books since I don’t know…8th grade or something.

Hope this helps!

[dragontamingvance]

mother knows best? | mcvance

TITLE: Mother Knows Best DATED: April 6th, 2019 INCLUDED: Emmeline Vance ( @dragontamingvance ) & Marcel McKinnon (@marcelxmckinnon​ ) (ft. Adira McKinnon) TRIGGERS: Kidnapping, violence and mention of abuse. SYNOPSIS: A familiar person resurfaces to remind Marcel that he’s not as in control of his life as he’d like to be. 

EMMELINE: Another evening out was always nice especially considering things had been going off without a hitch for the past few weeks. They’d made plans to meet at his flat and Emmeline was her usual self, out the door with time to spare. She couldn’t handle being late and her mind anything other than five minutes early had might as well be late. Apparating carefully outside an alleyway where she knew that she wouldn’t be seen by any prying muggle eyes, she was able to make her way into the building and in the direction of the flat quick. To be fair she should have seen it coming, things had been going well, probably too well. And when that happened something seemed to always catch up to them.

It had been a blow to the back of the head with something hard, a personal touch considering magic was an option in their world. From there everything was a mixture of darkness, a nasty headache, and noises that she couldn’t quite make out but she was certain that she'd been taken through a portkey. Her surroundings smelled different, like a mixture of dust, dried ink and old parchment. As hard as she tried there was no matching it to a place that she knew. Bindings seemed to be keeping her from moving her hands and feet, quickly realizing that getting up wasn’t an option. But what she could hear clear enough through the ringing in her ears of her mind focusing back into reality was the sound of her phone ringing some yards away from where she sat. For there she could hear a female voice she couldn't place, answering the call with an all too cheery tone that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. ADIRA MCKINNON: Adira had been planning this meticulously with a trained eye that knew what to look for. Her children were careless, they fell into routines that she thought they would have realized was dangerous right now. If they wouldn’t take her calls then she’d get their attention another way, there was no lack of people that they cared about. The phone ringing was expected, plucking it off the Vance girl before they’d taken a portkey to a bookshop she had frequented with Marcel. Now it was closed and abandoned but it was a place she could count on him remembering. “Hello darling, I’m pleased to see that your phone is still working after all.” MARCEL: Marcel almost couldn't believe how nice everything had been the past few weeks. While there had been the bombings, it wasn't anything they couldn't handle and he was dealing with the idiots at work, but his personal life had actually be on an upward spiral. Things with Emmeline had still been going and he found himself to be more and more infatuated with the girl that he had snogged in a closet only a couple months earlier. He had actually be running a little late, but he figured he should be there in time to meet her at the door. Approaching his flat, there was this feeling of disappointment when he didn't see here there, but maybe she had been running late as well. Entering the flat, Marcel took the extra time he had to change his clothes and clean up a bit before she arrived.

The auror had waited, an half hour... Then an hour. Next thing he knew, his fingers were on his phone, dialing Emmeline. While he tired not to be someone who was over worried, he was a bit on the cautious side. He just wanted to make sure she was at least okay. With everything that had been happening lately, you honestly couldn't be too careful. Sitting at his table, Marcel waited to hear the phone ring, but he wasn't expecting the voice that was on the other end. "Mother?" He questioned, checking the number before feeling it finally click a second later. "Where is she? I swear to Merlin if you did anything to her..." His voice trailed off as the red started to flash and grew angry to the point of not being able to speak. The idea of Emmeline being hurt because of his family was almost unbearable, but he couldn't over react until he knew where she was and knew if she was okay. EMMELINE: Red flags were going off at the way the woman spoke to the person who called her, leading her to believe that this wasn't about her at all. There wasn't time to worry about that just yet as Emmeline focused on removing the binds that were around her wrist. She was certain that they were of the magical sort and that meant if she could focus enough that she could get her hands out of them with some help from wandless magic. She wasn't a professional at it by any means but perhaps with a little luck, she could do enough to get her hands out of the binds. From there things would fall into place, she could get the blind off of her eyes and figure out just who she was dealing with. Doing her best to keep from making her movements evident she moved against them, fingers moving to fold up as she felt the sparks flying against her wrists letting her know that she had to be doing something right.

ADIRA MCKINNON: Adira could hear the rage that swelled up on the other side of the phone line causing her to realize that her decision had been surprisingly accurate. "I think we both know that threats aren't the way to get what you want. Especially considering you have nothing to offer." She moved from where she stood walking for a moment as she considered her next words carefully needing them to hit the right nerve to prove the point that she was making. "Well you see, your mother was feeling ignored and I could only think of one way to get you to hear me." She noticed the movements out of the corner of her eyes turning and walking closer. "She's fine but I'm more than happy to prove that to you." At that Adira held the phone away from her ear towards where the girl was bound, aiming her wand at one of the legs before sending a stinging jinx causing an involuntary scream in pain to come from Emmeline's mouth. The phone was brought back to her ear quickly, "See? Everyone is fine." MARCEL: “That never stopped you, now did it?” Marcel could remember every moment that his mother tried to use Marlene against him. He could remember the pain that she cause, just because she felt like it was the right decision. He sighed, now growing annoyed as he tried to think of where she could’ve taken Emmeline. Marcel had pretty much written off his mother when she decided to leave their family, not caring much happened to her at that point. However, now she was starting to go too far. He wasn’t a child and wasn’t going to just let her get away with all of this anymore. “There is a reason we aren’t talking to you anymore. You left our family, so why would you even want to talk to us? You don’t want to be a part of this family anymore, so why are you even trying?”

He was quiet for a moment, brain racing through every idea he could come up with. Unfortunately, he wasn’t coming up with anything useful. His thoughts had been completely changed when he suddenly heard Emmeline screaming, a scream of his own coming out. “NO!” He yelled, knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. It was in that moment that he realized she had him. Even after all these years, all the things he had done and seen, she still had this control over him. She was still willing to hurt someone he cared about, just to get him to pay attention to her. “What do you want?” The words were pushed through gritted teeth when he spoke. He hated the idea of her getting what she wanted, but he hated the idea of Emmeline getting hurt even more. EMMELINE: She could have cursed or she could have fired but she didn’t. Instead, she willed her mouth closed as quickly as it had opened, not wanting to give the satisfaction of the cries of her pain. Emmeline felt like every nerve under ending on the skin of her leg was a flame. She could focus on anything but the pain that came from the spell used. Her attempts to try and break from the bindings were halted as she instead realized that sitting would be better. She didn’t want to know who was on the other side of her mask with their cruel intentions. She kept her hands stilled and instead focused on keeping her eyes closed against the cloth as if she could will the time to pass fast and things to be over.

ADIRA MCKINNON: She was meticulous in her planning down to the detail of where she would be. There was never a move made that didn’t account to Adira’s grand plan. “I think that you know as well as I do that your father and sister could aspire to the type of family that we could have together.” She allowed a moment of silence for that to settle in as she debated the correct way to answer her son. “I want you by my side.  On the right side defending the dark lord as the proper pure blood son would do. All you need to do is agree to standby by me and everything can be over. I can tell you where I am.” It was a simple request that she was more than aware would cause an internal debate in Marcel but that his side that wanted to protect the people that he cared for would win. MARCEL: Marcel felt like the weakest he had in years. When he finally decided that he was going to support his father and sister over his mother, that he was going to fight with the Order, he felt like he finally had the chance to get away from his mother. Away from all the pain and trouble she cause. She had always wanted him to be the perfect little soldier, willing to do anything she said. Willing to follow anyone she told him to, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt the people he cared about to protect some sort of pureblood agenda. "I know that they made the right choice fighting for the side they chose. They actually stick together and protect one another, not resort to abuse in order to get what they want." There was no sense in covering up what she did to him, how she treated him for so many years. Marcel hadn't told anyone about it, not even Marlene, mostly because it wasn't going to be something he'd ever do.

Hearing the request, Marcel felt that twist in his stomach that he did they day she left. He hated her, more than anyone knew, but he felt a need to protect the people around him. Protect those that he cared about, but he couldn't do this. He'd much rather die that support someone like the Dark Lord. "Tell me where you are." His voice stayed calm, not giving away what he was trying to do. "I know you well enough to know that you aren't going to let her go that easily. I want to see her." Marcel told her, keep his tone strong. Even if he felt himself on the verge of wanting to break at this point, he wasn't going to. He told himself a long time ago he wasn't going to let her do this to him. Not ever again. ADIRA MCKINNON: Adira wasn’t a fool, she had after all been the one to raise her son and teach him everything she knew. She could tell from his perfectly composed voice that he had a plan that likely matched her own. For that reason a smile crossed her lips as she contemplated her next move, “You can’t really think me foolish enough to tell you where I am and stay in the vicinity?” It may have been poised as a question but it was rhetorical. There wasn’t a part of her that would stay and give her son the advantage he wanted., Instead she prepared herself knowing as soon as she told him where they were that he would be in his way and she would need to be gone. “I took her to a place you and I frequented when you were younger. A place now closed and empty. We spent many days in this shop. It was the one place where you and I could truly connect.” It was the place that she had a son who listened to her and not someone who rebelled against her every command.

“The next time I call, there’s better be an answer. No one died today because I allowed them to live. I may not be as calm the next time. Remember that, son.” As she finished the conversation the red button on the screen was hit tossing the phone to the girls feet. A simple stunning spell sent to ensure Emmeline would be unconscious when her son arrived. Adira left the scene with a pop of apparition surely leaving just as Marcel was appearing on the scene. She knew that he was quick but he want quick enough. MARCEL: Marcel just wanted to get Emmeline back safely. If anything came out of this whole conversation, it had to be her getting back to her life. Even when he was younger and didn’t know much about what a moment like this could really do to him, he still fought to keep his sister okay. Fought to make sure she didn’t have to worry about anything, no matter what he had to go through. “It’s probably for the best that you aren’t.” He told her, knowing that he might not be able to control himself if he saw her. As her words came out, memories flashed in his head of the times they went to that book shop. One that was only for them. Moments when she was actually a mother, but it was ended when her final words came through and the phone called ended.

Marcel knew that he would never be able to follow his mother’s footsteps, which meant that he only had one choice. A choice he didn’t want to make, but he didn’t have to worry about it right now. What he needed to do now was get Emmeline. Pop out of his apartment, he landed right inside of the book shop. The abandoned shelves made him nervous, his eyes moving over everything as he became prepared for whatever might come. That was when he finally spotted Emmeline and quick feet made their way to her. A proper spell broke the binds on her before he tucked on arm under her knees and wrapped the other against her. As he lifted her into his arms, he got a good look and could see that nothing to serious had happened, this time. “Im sorry...” His words quiet before popping out of the shop and taking Emmeline to Mungos. EMMELINE: Heavy brown eyes fluttered open, the sounds around her were muffled and the smells were far too clean. A hand came up to rub the fuzzy feeling from her eyes and realized that a drip was placed in the top of her hand. There was no pain but everything felt foreign and uncomfortable. The noises were people bustling in the corridor, blinking furiously as she recognized that she was in a room in Mungo’s her breathing suddenly felt more difficult as she tried to push herself up from the bed. “No, no, take a breath. Slow down.” She heard turning to spot the Healer who’d been in the room unnoticed. “I wouldn’t try moving just yet. Try and give yourself time to get your bearings.” His voice warning as he moved forward to lend a hand to Emmeline.

Sitting up was good, it was a start, preparing to ask for a drink but as she spotted her phone she leaned forward to grab it, scrolling through text messages trying to put things together. Pulling the events of the last few hours together slowly but surely, she could remember bits and pieces of what had happened, someone had knocked her over the head when she’d gone to see Marcel at his flat. She’d never made it in the door, she could remember being blindfolded and a voice that she couldn't pinpoint. There had been an excruciating pain in her leg and for that reason alone Emmeline moved to throw the blanket off ensuring that everything was where it was supposed to be. A hand came to rest on her forehead, clearly processing what was going on, her eyes now able to take in more of her surroundings, spotting one figure outside she’d been hoping to see. MARCEL: When Marcel has handed Emmeline to the Orderlies, he had asked if he could stay with her. Claiming it was official Auror duties and he needed to watch her. While he didn’t explain to them all of the situation, he was able to spin it enough that they let him stay outside of her room, which was all he could handle. Realizing that his mother might be coming back, he had a choice to make. Either he could do as she wanted and actually turn, or he could go back to how he was doing things. Keeping people at arms length and not letting them get close to him. It wasn’t until tonight that he realized just how close to her he had become. Every time his eyes tried to close, he saw her sitting there and could hear her screams again. He wanted to be selfish and keep her with him, but he couldn’t. Adira was relentless and would keep trying until she got what she wanted, which at this point was an obedient Marcel.

The whole time they were in Mungos, he never actually stepped into her room. He didn’t even turn to look back at him. Seeing her laying that hospital bed would only confirm to him that she had gotten mixed up in this. He knew he was likely being irrational about it somehow being his fault, but it made sense to him to keep his distance from here on out. Marlene and his father were easy to protect. But Emmeline was new. She was something he wasn’t prepared for, which was something his mother had noticed. She had been watching him and knew that Emmeline was his weak link. His thoughts were stopped as he heard rustling happening behind him. She was awake and moving apparently. Trained eyes stayed focused on the wall in front of him. She didn’t deserve this in her life. As much as he wanted her, he didn’t want her in this. EMMELINE: “He’s been out there all night, hasn’t left the chair.” The person assured with a nod of his head towards Marcel, as if he could read her thoughts. “You’ll be able to go home tomorrow more than likely, we’ve just got to get you up and moving.” Eyes looking over the chart in his hand before eyes lit up and glancing back up, “Oh, and of course the baby is fine from what we can tell.” Her closed mouth was now ajar, head tilted to the side as she looked him suddenly aware that she’d begun shaking her head.”I’m not--” She started before her mouth closed eyes widening more if that was possible, as she looked over the Orderly, finding herself incapable of forming words. “--pregnant?” The certainty in her voice no more as realized that what he was saying as indeed true. The Orderly watched her, the smile on his face no more as he could tell that Emmeline hadn’t been aware of the information that she’d just received. “Uh, I’d have to say that you are. The spell confirmed it."

The words were muffled as he spoke, she found herself staring at him for a moment before looking back down at her flat stomach, wondering just what was going on underneath the surface. The reality being that a little person was developing that was half she and half Marcel, the thought causing her to suddenly feel just a little more reliant on the bed that she laid in. Eyes looking back up to the Orderly still stumped, “A baby?” Her mouth was ajar again and the Healer gave a nod. “A baby, indeed." A hand coming to rest on her shoulder looking her in the eyes with a smile, “Congratulations Ms. Vance.” Emmeline heard him say as she watched the man walk out of the room. MARCEL: Marcel could hear the orderly speak and felt his cheeks heat just the slightest. While he felt like he couldn’t go inside, couldn’t face what happened to her, he wanted to watch over her until he heard she was okay. He had to at least know that she was okay. The night had been filled with people coming in and out, watching her and making sure she was okay. However, when he heard the orderly say she was going to be okay, Marcel made the split decision to get up and leave the spot he had been sitting in. He didn’t want to hear anymore because it was just going to make him feel worse about the pain she had already been in. His feet were quiet as he moved, pulling his phone out before dialing a number who would know this situation.

Marcel was already outside when the other side of the phone was answered. He felt like a child running to his father, but he didn’t know what to do right now. “She took her...” His voice broke as he spoke and Marcel pulled himself into an alley, getting away from people and taking a breath. “Mum took Emmeline and used her against me. It’s happening again. She wants me to join her.” There was nothing but a sigh from the other side before the words Marcel was hoping not to hear. “You know what you have to do, Marcel.” The words only confirmed that his initial reaction had been correct. They knew his mother would come back and her first stop would be Emmeline. “Come to the manor. We’ll get a plan together so we’re prepared for next time.” His father told him before hanging up. Marcel's arm fell a bit as he looked back to Mungos. That night was supposed to be so good, but ended up in turmoil. Making sure there wasn’t anyone who could see him, Marcel took popped to the manor, knowing this was going to be a long few days. EMMELINE: Just like that, the healer was gone off to tend to whatever he needed to next and she was left to process the bomb that he had left in her lap. She’d never had pictured herself with a child, or at least not at this time in her already fragile life. She was still young and there was so much going on with the war, proof of that narrowed down to now with her in sitting in a bed in Mungos. Oh Godric, she’d been kidnapped and already put the life of the baby in danger. How could she protect someone so helpless when she couldn’t even protect herself? Emmeline was spiraling and knew that she needed to find something to lean on. Or someone.

Her eyes moved to look into the corridor for any help and to let him know what was going on. It was then she realized that Marcel was gone. He had left her without so much as coming in to check on her. Emmeline’s wheels turning, unable to stop herself from wondering what had just happened. To her knowledge, nothing had changed… unless he has heard. He had heard she was pregnant and left? Had he left her? Her bottom lip was trembling before she could stop it unsure where the sudden rush of emotion was coming from. She felt much more vulnerable now than she had ever before aware of just how much things had changed. How much things were going to change sooner than she knew. There was no time for this, she had to pull herself together.

[flightofaqrow]

‘getting to know you’ game

qrow x Lifa Hakon [incomplete]

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

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

just for one damn night let him not ruin it.

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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“Damned right I’m cool!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ready to go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“………”

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

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

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

it really couldn’t get more embarrassing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

just for one damn night let him not ruin it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sweet stars a warm fire, yes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♫ ♫

pat, pat pat, pat

bam, bam, bam, bam, bam

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

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

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

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

♫ ♫

[getitinbusan]

Jungkook's first love. Angst and smut, inspired by the song California.

It was a rare rainy August day in California. The heavy drops created a sad melody on the window as you put the dishes away. Tired and lonely, the feeling in your gut kept nagging at you, maybe it was time to give up. 

It was the second month of not making rent and it was only a matter of time before your roommates would stop exchanging house cleaning duties for money. 

Standing in the kitchen feeling stupid, It had taken you way longer than it should have to realize in LA you were nothing. Not pretty enough, rich enough, skinny enough or talented enough.

Gathering up the mail that was strewn across the countertop, you shuffled through to sort priority. Junk mail, bills, personal… one standing out in particular. The penmanship was nice, black ink, unassuming envelope, but it was the stamp that caught your attention, it was sent from Korea.

The top had already been torn, the letter having been read, was cradled back safely inside. Addressed to your roommate a frown crept onto your face, why wouldn’t he write to you?

It was a ridiculously  hopeful notion but you widened the envelope and inhaled trying to find his fragrance, something, anything to trigger a happy memory. How many times had you borrowed his sweater just to have his smell on your skin? Cool California nights were the best excuse to wrap yourself in his scent.

You missed him, it had been a year and a half since he’d last come around.

It was too tempting to resist, your fingers pinched the paper inside of the envelope and pulled it free. 

I’m feeling low, I don’t know who I am, only who I’m supposed to be.

What would life be like if I had stayed in California? We could all be roommates, hanging out and having fun, going to the beach on weekends.

Does she even think about me?

It sounds greedy that with how much I have right now, it’s not enough. I would give anything to wake up in bed beside her everyday. I want more than anything to be able to talk to her about these things but I can’t. I've made the mistake of trading her for fame and now I’m destined to keep her at an arm’s length so she’ll never know the price I paid.

How does she even see me now?  Just an Idol? Has she forgotten the days we spent together?

I’ve been wrestling with myself, whoever that is. I wish I could be the teenage boy from that long ago summer again. I wrote this song thinking about it…

~When I see you smile in the screen

You’re good at everything

You’re just perfect

Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me?

Do you know who I am?

Or how do I look now?

You don’t like me like that

I want to be your decalcomania~

I’m afraid I may not get back for a while, please write. Your friendship and thoughts of Y/N are the only things that are keeping me tethered to some semblance of reality.

JK

Clutching the letter to your chest, your mind took you back to that day. 

“Decalcomania, the art or process of transferring pictures and designs. Making a copy of the original on a different medium"  

You’d both laughed at the strange name, reading the description of the art on the museum wall during your visit so long ago.  

California had lured you into its promise when you turned 14. Having been accepted to an  intensive dance program at The Movement Lifestyle Studio you packed up and headed West for the summer. 

It was July and it was hot, the dancers stepping off the bus one at a time took their places in the studio.

Looking around there were so many older kids, you were probably one of the youngest. Calling out names they put you into groups, it appeared to be by age so you made your way to the tiny gathering of four.

Shy introductions were made as one more member was ushered over to where you had congregated. "This is Jungkook.” 

He had the cutest smile and barely spoke english but his eyes twinkled like the constellations. Immediately drawn to each other you became fast friends.

Absolutely exhausted at the end of the first few days he’d knocked at your door.

He was homesick and lonely, used to being surrounded by his six members, he couldn’t sleep well without someone beside him. You let him crawl into bed with you, you were 14 and it was innocent. 

Inseparable, days and nights were spent side by side, the others began referring to you as the twins. It was the best summer of your life but like every boy meets girl summer story, it had to come to a close. Promising through tears to keep in touch and stay friends you went your separate ways. 

Jungkook would send silly videos of his practice sessions, goofing around with the other members.  He’d facetime and text but he always loved to send handwritten letters.

They lived in a box under your bed and contained stories of how hard he was working to become an idol. He always signed off with, "I miss you" and a few lines of lyrics he’d written.

You didn’t know then how important they would become, the only tangible piece of him you could still hold on to.  

Whenever he came back to America you did everything you could to see him. You went to the small tour stops when they came through in 2015, KCon in 2016, but 2017 was different.

Facetiming you with the news that they were bringing the Wings tour to NY, Chicago and Anaheim, he asked if you’d be part of the dance crew. How could you turn down two weeks with Jungkook? They were getting bigger, more popular and their lives were changing rapidly.

Jungkook would sneak you into his hotel room so you could spend your nights catching up. He had strict rules. Girls were not allowed and even though it was just friendship, it could be easily misconstrued by the fans. Everything had to be done in secret. The boys would bring in food and cover for him while you both stayed locked away out of sight.

While happy to be with him, you could tell there was an underlying sadness he was holding on to.

“I wish I could go and explore the city with you like we used to,” his voice trailed off.

You were laying in each other’s arms cuddling on his bed.  Leaning over he kissed the top of your head.

“All I really want is  to take you on a proper date."

Your head moved on his chest as he inhaled deeply.

"I’ve been waiting so long to become someone, to become a man worthy of your affection. Now I’m stuck, I have everything and I’m not allowed to share it with you.”

His arms gripped you tighter, “I’m sorry, this is a terrible confession. I don’t expect you to love me back, not under these circumstances, I just need you to know, you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved and there won’t be anybody else, ever." 

You remembered every word of his confession, every moment of that last night in the hotel room. The words of a 19 year old boy whose life had become bigger than the feelings of two people.

He left in the morning without knowing. You were too afraid to tell him, you loved him too.  

LA became home right after the they left Anaheim. Focused on dancing, if you became good enough maybe you could join the tour with him. 

A letter with a big bouquet of flowers arrived a few weeks later. 

"Congratulations on your new house in LA!

I hope that all of you are getting along as roommates, it’s hard living with others sometimes.

Last night I dreamt that I was there with you and all our friends, we were having a party on the beach and we sat together and watched the sunset.

Remember after practice we would skateboard as fast as we could to the ocean so we wouldn’t miss the colors?

Maybe one day my toes can feel the sand there again.

I miss you, I miss me… the me I am when I get to be with you.

We are coming back in November for a few days and I’m hoping I can see you, I’m lonely already.   

Jeongguk

~Won’t you please stay in dreams

I can hear the sea from far away

Across the dream, over the bush

Go there where it becomes clear

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria

When I’m with you, I’m in utopia~

When The AMAs came, all of your friends in LA were involved with the production. Your roommates helped organize the coup to steal Jungkook away so you could take him on a real date.

Having enlisted Namjoon to help, the boys would cover for his whereabouts. The day before the awards they were only scheduled for styling, as long as he wasn’t late for the press rounds the next afternoon your plan could work.

It was Namjoon’s job to get him out of the building. Telling him to follow his lead, Joon convinced the managers that Jungkook must have eaten something bad for lunch. Claiming to not feel well, he was whisked away to meet you at the hotel's back receiving door. 

Sitting in the shiny red rented convertible you tossed him a pair of sunglasses. What you wouldn’t give now to see that smile again.

Barely giving him time to get in you’d sped away heading straight for In And Out Burger.

"Kookie, I hope you're ready for the best day of your life! We’re going to eat until we explode, drink and party at the beach and then, instead of returning you to your fancy 5 star hotel you’re staying the night in my crappy little house with a tiny uncomfortable bed!!” 

He laughed, so pure and happy, thinking about it now made you sad. Was that the last time he got to be his true self, Jeongguk the man not Jungkook the personna? 

Knowing you only had one day to give him everything, one day to show him you loved him, you tried to make the best of it.

Picking up the food Jungkook held onto the red and white bags in the passenger seat, sneaking his hand in to steal fries when he thought you weren’t looking. If you weren’t sure you were in love with him before you you certainly were now.

Pulling up beside the tree on the beach he was stunned, “Ahhh Jagi, I can’t believe you brought me here.”

Happy that it meant as much to him as it did to you, you both sat on the branch and ate. Two blocks from the old studio this used to be your escape. Every break you’d make your way to the tree for time alone, together. 

With the burgers done he turned to you and smiled. It felt like he wanted to say something, cutting him short you pulled him up and back towards the car.

Making your way to the Movement studio the students were starstruck when he walked in. After insisting that he teach some choreography, he reluctantly led the class.

Your eyes were glued to him as he moved in front of the mirrors, no longer that awkward teenager but a full grown man mesmerizing you with every move.

Getting back to the car he stopped you before you reached for the handle. Putting his arms around you he pulled you in close, “You stink Jungkook, I think our next stop is the ocean.”

You remember pulling away, how stupid you were, you should have held on to him longer. Reaching into the back seat you revealed a pair of swim shorts and a towel. He looked disappointed that you kept interrupting his attempts at intimacy, but you had a plan and limited time to execute it. 

The Ocean was cold but the wind was warm, he came out of the change room with the shorts on but was still wearing his shirt.

“Kookie, this isn’t Korea, you don’t have to be so modest here. Plus, you should grab some sun, you may not believe it but when your skin is sunkissed… you look really good.” 

He raised his eyebrows and quickly removed the shirt at your request.

Running into the water you splashed and played and he took great pleasure in picking you up and throwing you as far as he could.

The sun was getting ready to set and you wanted to dry off before the cooler air set in.

Leading him out of the water you both laid down on the towel. He put his arm around you under your neck and you cuddled into his side.

“My god Guk, look at your abs!”

He blushed like crazy as you traced the muscles on his stomach.

“Stop, it tickles,” he giggled.

But you didn’t, you kept tickling him until he held you so tight you couldn’t move. He had you pinned, flipping you on your back he shook his wet hair flinging water droplets all over you. Pleased with himself he leaned in closer to you, his eyes asking for permission to kiss you. As the gap between you got narrower you could hear his name being shouted and footsteps running closer. He flopped onto his back and sighed as your roommates and friends piled on top of him.

Eating, drinking and catching up with everyone you watched each other from across the bonfire. Moving from person to person he slowly made his way back to your side.

“Welcome back,” running your hand through the back of his hair, it was now or never. 

Pulling him closer your lips finally met in the way they were destined, soft, slow and full of love. His hands instinctively moved to cup your face as the world stopped around you.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Nose to nose he smiled at you and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

It didn’t last long, his phone started going off incessantly. The managers knew, you'd been careless, photos and videos of him from the studio had been posted online.

“I’m so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble.”

His eyes turned hungry as he grabbed your hand.

“Let’s get out of here, you promised I wouldn’t be going back to my hotel tonight.”

If he was going to get in trouble anyway, why stop now?  

The drive back to your place was quiet,  adrenaline and hormones flowing like electricity through you both. The time for smiling was over as the seriousness of the situation hung in the air.

It wasn’t just being in trouble or being caught, but the fact that you both knew what was going to happen when you stepped into your bedroom. One act that would change everything between you, holding the power to change the dynamic of your relationship forever.

Leading him to your room you closed the door and stood staring at him as he sat on your bed. He raked his fingers through his hair before he spoke, “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be able to make love to you. BUT I also know that when I leave I’m not going to get to see you again for a very long time. Management is going to do everything to keep us apart and that won’t be fair to you. I think that maybe we should just let our happy memories of today be enough, I don’t want you to get hurt." 

Walking closer you stood between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"The only way I can be hurt is if I never get to experience all of you. I can’t live not knowing how it feels to be totally yours if only for the night.”

He rested his head against your chest, “You’ll always be mine.”

His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt and his fingers ran over the soft skin of your stomach. Undoing the button of your jeans he slowly slid them down your legs and you stepped out of them. 

Standing up he lifted the thin fabric of your shirt over your head and you stood before him waiting as he took his off too. Unclasping your bra he sighed as he looked at you taking in your shape, his fingertips hovering over your hard nipples.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confessed.

“Me either,” you whispered, “So, I guess the bar's pretty low.”

His giggles cut the tension before he pulled you on top of him onto the bed. More relaxed he let his mouth start exploring your body. You were goosebumps and shivers beneath him as his tongue found it’s home between your legs.

He was soft and careful, placing his lips over your clit sucking it in delicately until your moans couldn’t be contained any longer. You could feel his eyes burning into you as he watched in awe as his finger slid inside you.

“It feels good Kookie, please…”

He sighed as his mouth picked up speed and another finger slid in. Moving your hips to meet his mouth you were unravelling quickly.

“The way you taste is better than anything I had imagined.”

Devouring your clit in sessions  between his words you came hard on his tongue.

“I made you so wet,” he said, impressed with himself.

Moving up to where your head lay on the pillow he pushed the dampened hair off your face, “Are you ok? Do you need anything?”

He placed his forehead against yours.

“Just you Kookie, I love you so much… I want you so badly.”

Moving slowly he lined himself up with your wet entrance.

“Tell me if you need me to stop okay?”

He pushed slowly and you could feel yourself stretching around him. He watched your face and froze when he saw the tear roll out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m so sorry, let’s stop, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He thumbed away the tear.

“No, baby… I’m okay… I’m just so happy, so overwhelmed with how much I’m feeling right now.”

He smiled down at you, pressing his body closer as he gave another push until he was fully inside. Your bodies fell into a beautifully choreographed rhythm until Jungkook was so lost in pleasure he began to move at his own pace. Quicker and deeper he moved until he finally spilled into the condom. 

You kissed, and kissed, and kissed until you fell asleep wrapped around each other.

Every few hours he’d wake you up, checking to make sure it wasn’t a dream, you'd made love each time, everytime better than the last.

It was 9 am when he caressed you awake once more.

“I have to leave soon. I don’t want to,” he spoke nestled into your neck just under your ear, “Please tell me to stay.”

Your heart broke at his words, “If I ask you to stay, I’m selfish, you’ll always wonder if you made the right decision. If I tell you to go, your dreams come true… ” your voice trailed off...

“And I’ll always wonder if I made the right decision,” he finished. 

Your phone started ringing and you knew time was up.

It was Joon, “I’m outside, sorry, I held them off as long as I could. I told them I’d come get him so you could at least have time to say goodbye.”

Your tears fell out in heavy ugly sobs, “Okay, five minutes… and Joon… thanks, I know you’re probably in trouble too.”

Hanging up you turned back, Jungkook was already out of bed with his clothes thrown on. He stood with open arms waiting, 

"Thank you for yesterday.“

Laying your head against his chest you took a moment to listen to his heartbeat. You could hear him sniffle, and knew he was crying.

You flashed back remembering that night long ago when he came to you homesick, holding you so he could sleep while he tried to hide his tears. There was a knock at the door and Namjoon’s voice broke through the moment.

"We’ve got to go Jungkook.”

Stepping away you’d left his shirt soaked in tears, handing him his sweater he pushed it back towards you, “You keep it.”

He kissed you one last time and turned the handle opening it to reveal Namjoon. His Hyung put his arm around his shoulder and led him to the car.

Turning one more time his eyes were filled with tears and he gave a small wave before getting in the back of the big black sedan. 

For months you pretended that management was the only thing keeping you apart.

You held onto your silly notions until May when they were coming for the Billboard awards. For weeks leading up you waited for a message, a secret meeting arrangement, but you got nothing. His image was all over the TV and his voice echoed through you empty heart and then he was gone again. 

Now, here you stood in your kitchen, his letter bringing him to the forefront of your mind,  opening old wounds.

He was just as sad as you but what could you do? Picking up a pen you began writing… 

I shouldn’t have done it but I read it in your letter

You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better

I wanted to reach out but I never said a thing

You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are

And honey, you don’t ever have to act cooler than you think you should

You’re brighter than the brightest stars

You’re scared to win, scared to lose

I’ve heard the war was over if you really choose

The one in and around you

You hate the heat, you got the blues

You’re changing like the weather, oh, that’s so like you

I’ll pick you up

I’ll catch you on the flipside

If you come back to California

We’ll do whatever you want, travel wherever, how far

We’ll hit up all the old places

We’ll have a party, we can dance till dawn… 

Y/N

October came and a chill was in the air, the smell of winter hit your nose and you stopped to take it in.

Bundled in Jungkook’s hoodie you threw your bag over your shoulder and began your walk to work. Movement had hired you on for a new intensive program and today you were going to meet your students.

So many memories flooded your mind as you made your way through the familiar neighborhood. It still hurt but things were beginning to feel happy again. Writing the letter had given you closure, he knew how you felt and beyond that there was nothing else you could do.

Opening the heavy door to the studio you caught a familiar reflection moving in the mirror writing something on the glass, It couldn’t be?

Hearing the door click back into place he turned to face you,

“Hi.”

He walked towards you slowly, unsure of what your reaction would be, he approached with caution.

“Hi.”

You were breathless, in the months of not seeing him he’d grown more handsome.

“I can’t change what happened… and for the rest of my life I’ll be sorry for all of the time we missed.”

He was getting closer.

“But I can’t take another day not knowing if I can fix this… somehow…”

He reached for your hand but you pulled it away. His head fell in disappointment.

“Jungkook, I can’t listen to this… look at me.”

Reaching for his chin you pulled his head up until he was facing you again.

“I refuse to listen to you apologize for something that was out of your control. Your life was decided before you met me and I can only be grateful that I got to appear in some part of your story.”

He tilted his head and pressed a small kiss into the hand that was still holding his chin.

“God I’ve missed you” he said as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

“How long are you here? I’ve got to teach class.. It’s my first day but I’d love it if we could catch up?”

He laughed at you and your knees buckled at the sound of his happiness.

Taking his chance he pressed his lips to yours and you could feel the smile forming on his face.

“I’m your private lesson Jagi, I’ve booked you for the next two weeks”

Taking a step back you had to ask, “How Jungkook? What will you be giving up?”

Pulling you back to his embrace he began to dance with you.

“There is no more giving up… on anything. Our contracts were over and I only had one thing I wouldn’t negotiate on…that’s you." 

Holding you tightly he moved you to look at the mirror.

"I wrote you something”

Please call my name one more time

I’m standing under the frozen light, 

but I’ll walk step by step towards you

Still with you

“Y/N, I promise I’ll never let you go again"

[nyaarr]

Anahardt week - A love story in seven days. Day 1: “Sugar”

Day 2: “Date Night”

Day 3: “Games”

Day 4: “Ink”

Day 5: “A Moment of Peace and Quiet”

(The next day)

“This place is amazing,” Brigitte looked up and around, mouth hanging open, and Ana smiled a bit. She hated shopping malls. She hated them with passion -- full with entitled noisy people buying things they did not need. “There’s virtually everything. How--”

She spin around while people sneered at them. It was not a posh place, far from it, but their clothes were not exactly new--or clean. Instead of wearing the patch, Ana was hiding her eye with a sticky bandage and walked arm-in-arm with Reinhardt. They had found him a pair of old rectangle-shaped glasses to help conceal the scar on his face and a baggy sweater. Torb was also covering his arms and had equipped a mechanical hand. They looked like a strange, dysfunctional family--exactly what they were.

“Still not sure this is a good idea, Ana,” the engineer snorted, hands on his pockets. “It’s likely we’re persons of interest around the globe.”

“We need to buy provisions,” she put one of her silver locks in place in front of her face. “No delivery for people like us, and Jesse is not going to come after us every time we are starving in the mountains.”

“Also, better us than Winston,” Brigitte said without really paying them much attention. “I can’t believe there shops this big. Look at all those aisles with mountain gear--I could live there, dear me.”

“What I don’t understand is where are we going to get the money to buy anything.”

“Leave that to me,” Ana bit her lower lip. “And, Reinhardt?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her with a mixture of worry and fear, which was exactly what she was expecting. She crossed her right foot in front of his left, making him stumble and land with all his weight on his bad leg--which gave way on him straight away. No push needed, no additional kick.

Shit. That was not what she was planne--

He hit the ground on his knees and she winced at the heartfelt, pained, real curse. Was his knee this bad, nowadays? Sure, it ached after them trekking up and down the snowed mountain with the elk, but later on he had seemed fine.

Ah, well, she better made it count, then.

“Oh my god! “I’ll get help!” She cried out loudly, and rushed away, mixing among the passer-byes until she found a hiding place.

From a column flanked by palm trees, Ana saw a handful of people getting close to them, trying to help the poor old man --Ah, it felt bad to steal from good-hearted people, she pursed her mouth, yet she approached them from the back. It was easy to snatch several wallets, her fingers as nimble as they were when she was traveling alone. But pick-pocketing was an art she had learned long ago, much before she joined Overwatch--and it had put food on her mouth more times she could count already.

Once the bounty was secure in her pockets, Ana made her way towards her friends and knelt by Reinhardt’s side.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered on his ear, running her free hand over his silver hair. He frowned at her, more hurt than in anger, and yelped when Brigitte stretched his leg the way Ana had taught her (and half the base) to do it. “I’ll make it better. Just a little longer.”

“Ah, my wallet’s gone!” Someone cried out, and several others suddenly echoed their outrage around them.  

Torbjörn was livid, throwing Ana daggers through his eyes, and Brigitte looked at the agitated people without understanding what was going on.

Security was soon over them asking questions and showing off their rifles and shiny badges, and they were not convinced it was not a con until they saw the scar running all the length of Reinhardt’s knee--just as Ana predicted.

“Shaming a soldier of the crisis!” Torb growled, finger-pointing at the guards. “There’s no respect nowadays, not an inch! How do you dare, I should give you all a beating right now, bloody--”

A couple of the guards helped Reinhardt up, not without a good measure of huffing and panting. There were still a lot of people looking at them, but the affected by the thieving were already marching with security to put a denounce. They just need to hold the charade a bit longer, and it would all be good and done.

“We can bring a wheelch--”

“NEVER,” the german roared as they made their way towards a bench, limping badly. Whether he was in more pain than she expected or he was playing along, Ana did not know, but she grabbed him by the waist, hooking her fingers on his trousers.

He let himself fall on to the bench and Ana fumbled on her pockets for a moment, then stabbed the side of his thigh with one of her rifle’s darts.

“Easy,” she murmured as he yelped and writhed away. She always had a couple of darts on her, just in case. After all she had lived through, there was no such thing as being over-prepared.  “Stop squirming. Are you ten, now?”

“You can be such an arsehole sometimes,” he groaned, hands squeezing the borders of the bench as she rubbed the biotic liquid towards the knee. It was somewhat swollen, she noticed, but it was too soon to be due to the fall. Knowing him, it was likely that he been eking out the prosthetic joint for too many years-- which would explain why Torb was after him at the Pyrenees’ cabin. “What was that, anyway?”

“A biotic dart for my rifle. I had to stab you to release the contents.”

Reinhardt did not seem to grasp his mind around the science of a rifle shooting biotic rounds, but he did not ask. That gave Torb the opportunity to complain he was waiting for.

“I totally hate you, Ana,” he rubbed his frown and sat on the ground without any ceremony, glaring at them, at her, and at the world in general.

“I know. Glad to sacrifice my honor to keep you all feed and clothed,” she almost smiled, eyebrow raised. “Brigitte, come here, darling.”

Her almond eyes grew wide when she saw the pile of notes on her hand.

“Oh, boy,” she took it and stashed it on her pockets. “That was sick,” she cackled, sitting down by her side. “I wish I had thought of something like this when we were on the road…”

Reinhardt glared at her with an animosity unheard of in him, and Ana patted him on the arm.

“Please go now and buy us some clothes,” from her pocket, she produced a piece of paper. “Ideas and sizing, here. We’ll buy some food for today, then wait at the van. Hurry up, before they look into the security footage.”

Torb paled even further, if that was possible, and she winked at him. Ana loved the grumpy man to pieces, but she loved even more messing with him. Brigitte took the paper and read it, nodding every now and then.

“Come papa, let’s go to the mountain clothes’ store first!”

Once they were gone, Ana took one of Reinhardt’s hand in hers and squeezed it. He was looking at the ground, crossed, and she caressed him with her thumbs. Unfortunately, they did not have much time to be fooling around.

“You recovered enough for a little stroll to the van?” She asked softly, eyebrows raised. “I can always give you another shot.”

“I’m fine,” he grumped under his breath, looked at her from the corner of his eye, then pursed his mouth. “But you know I don’t like when the end justify the means. What would be next? Killing a city’s worth of population to end Talon?”

“I think that’s exaggerating a bit.”

“Is it? Where do you put the line?” He took his hand away and crossed his arms. “Do you think Brigitte and myself had any money while we were traveling? You think we didn’t go hungry--that the van didn’t break down?”

Ana made a face. Of course he was more bothered about manipulating people and stealing from them than about anything she could have done to him personally.

“Overwatch existed to make the world a better place,” he continued. “Not to abuse others with our power.”

She looked down for a moment, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“Let me remind you that you’re talking to a sniper. I live to take advantage of situations and turn them for the greater good,” she said. “But I’ve always admired your integrity.”

“So, you think I’m an idiot,” he snorted. “Nothing new.”

“My idiot, though.”

He pursed his mouth, unconvinced. It was not the first time they discussed similar events--Reinhardt had always been very vocal every time he had disagreed with Jack’s or Gabriel’s orders. Even the UN’s orders. Maybe that was part of the reason why they decided to retire him despite everyone's protests. In the end, he let go a long and disapproving breath.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m sorry for involving you in my scheming.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am somewhat sorry,” she rubbed his knee softly. “The plan was to make you fall on your side. I didn’t imagine your leg would give up that quickly, but I should have known you would not take proper care of yourself.”

“You maim me and it is my fault?” He gasped, baffled. “And what’s worse, you main me and I don’t even get a kiss to make it better,” he rose his chin with a pout. Oh. OH. Sixty something years and his grandiloquent speech thrown to the bin in an instant.

Ana had not decided if to laugh or to smack him on the head when she spotted security coming around, looking for someone. She wound her braid around her neck and covered her head with the hoodie. Then, she got up and between Reinhardt’s legs and hugged him for dear life, kissing his head as her eye scanned around from the safety of the hood.

“This is also good,” his voice came muffled from her chest. His large hands grabbed her back, and he sighed. “I can die here. Happily.”

“Hush!”

She stroke his back and his neck and if he was comforting him. Security spared a glance at them and Ana put on a sad stance as she patted the german softly -- the same german that was grinning like the big idiot he was pressed against her breasts.

It was a moment. A perfect moment, even if she did not appreciate anyone invading her private parts. His hands always held her in such an enthusiastic way that it felt like they were going to melt together. She treasured that feeling of need, of warmth belonging after years of starving herself of his touch.

The security officers and their rifles walked past them and forward, and Ana ran her hands through his neck down to his jaw to end cupping his face. He was adorable with his glasses crooked and little tufts of hair falling over his forehead. Not to say about the nice shade of pink on his cheeks.

Which was ridiculous, because his boisterous self had slept with half the globe and never had shown any sort of shyness about his conquests or any mention of sex --unless she was involved. She had loved it since the first day she learned she could make him blush.

“So, mmm… your leg is all better know, isn’t it? Maybe I should have done this instead of using one of my rounds,” she chuckled, scratching his beard softly.

He let go a hearty laugh, the first one she heard since she came back to him, and squeezed his face back in.

Next time we will met with someone from the past...

Day 6: Travel

[snarkyowl]

Project SCP [1] Everything’s Alright

The introduction to a world of pain and chaos. Welcome to Project SCP.

Mark remembers very few things from the night his life changed, and he did things he’d never have seen himself doing as a child . When he was young, he dreamed of going to the stars. Space had been his goal from the time he could understand what having a goal was, and something he’d always wanted to be able to say was, “Yeah, I’ve been to space.” Now, though, those dreams seemed unobtainable.

One thing he remembered from that night was the anger. Hot and boiling, it tore through his mind like a force of nature and left nothing of the real Mark behind. Then again, as time passed he wondered if there even was a real Mark anymore. Had it all been an illusion? False niceties made up to please the masses?

Mark had a lot of time to think these days, too much time should you bother to ask. Routines were easy to carry out, and a lot of it didn’t matter when you knew death was only months away. Months to live, and he didn’t even get to say goodbye to his friends or family.

No, people on death row didn’t generally get to say goodbye here.

Settled as he was, back against the wall and eyes locked on the metal bars keeping him trapped like an animal in a zoo, he had all the time in the world to think. It drove him to the brink of madness some days, other days he just slept through it all. Slept until, of course, the guards came in to collect him for meals or outings. He wished they’d stop, just let him rot in this cell because he was going to die anyways.

He didn’t see the point of keeping him alive when the date was already set. Why not just let him starve to death and save everyone the time. Despite his suggestions of as much, all he got was scolding or sympathetic looks. He learned to keep quiet about it because he wasn’t ever going to get what he wanted.

Funny to think he went from wanting space to wanting death.

The accident had been so fast, and it had been an accident no matter how it looked on the cameras. He swore up and down he didn’t remember grabbing a bottle and- No. No, it had been an accident, and now he was going to die because of that accident. Man, life must really hate him.

Then, one day, his schedule is changed.

He’s half asleep when they come in, a small group of them. Idly, his brain compares them to a gaggle of geese though he’s not sure why. They don’t look like geese, but he still snorts over it anyways. That earns him an eyebrow raise, but he just stares blankly in return.

He doesn’t get names, he’s only told he’s been taken off death row. He feels he’s heard of these situations before, they free you from one death only to threaten you with another should you not do as they say. He’s right with his prediction, they explain rather calmly that he’ll be put back where he was unless he promises his life over to them.

Seeing as his life so far has grown boring, he agrees to work with the people with empty eyes and dark expressions. Scary or not, he feels any life is going to be better than rotting away in a cell someone only to be put down like an animal later.

It’s his first day and he already regrets his decision. The building reeks of suspicious activity and death, and he knows immediately that signing his life for this was a mistake. He should have just accepted his death and moved on, but no. He just had to take the “fun” route. Lotta fun this was.

The facility is shady as fuck, for starters. Then there’s the fact that death is constantly hanging over his shoulder, and he knows now why they take people off death row for this. People who have been expecting death won’t fear it as much as people who haven’t had the date of their death laid out for them in black and white ink.

Secondly, everything he does is facilitated and watched over. He can’t even take a piss without feeling eyes on his back, and it’s unnerving as hell. As one of the lower ranking individuals, his life was less than fun.

Oh, did he mention his fellow class D personnel were a bunch of awful people. He’d killed someone on accident, most of them haven’t. Most of them end up dead anyway, and Mark is beginning to feel he’s going to die too. Which, yeah it sucks, but that’s okay. Not like he has much to live for anymore anyways.

Sometimes he wonders if his family thinks he’s dead, if they’ve mourned. Maybe the foundation even sent them a false body to bury, how kind. Then again, he can’t remember if you get a proper burial after being on death row. Either way, he wonders if they have a hunch he’s still kicking.

He hopes, sometimes, that they do. Other days he wants them to believe wholeheartedly that he’s long since died. It’d be easier on them thinking he’s dead rather than somehow finding out he’s alive and working in some facility where he has to deal with odd beings.

He meets a man with vibrantly blue hair one day after being experimented on with some weird knife. The pain was indescribable, the best word he could conjure up in his mind was “overwhelming.”

The man was apparently the janitor, and they ran into each other not long after the experiment. Blue hair seemed surprised to see him, and Mark felt the surprise was warranted. He was mostly sure he was supposed to be dead.

“Hey man! How’re you feeling?” “My arm uh-” “Yeah, you bled a lot dude! No worries though, old janitor Ethan got it cleaned up.” The younger man grins, and Mark wonders if he’s even sane.

No one here is completely sane, so he decides that’s not really important.

“So… Ethan?” “Yep! Ethan Nestor, resident janitor.”

“You seem… Chipper.” “I just found out something great- gotta tell my friend Tyler.” “Tyler? As in scary lunch lady Tyler?” “Hey, that’s the one!” Ethan laughs, and Mark smiles a bit.

Ethan’s cute, and maybe all the wires in his head aren’t connected to the right thing- he’s still better company than anyone else Mark has met here.

“So, Mark right?” “How did-” “Don’t worry about it. How’d you end up here?” Ethan asks, and Mark suddenly feels as though he’s been cornered by a hungry lion.

“There was an accident-” “Oh?” “Yes.” “Accident? You sure?” Mark frowns at that, narrowing his eyes and Ethan lifts his hands in surrender.

“Just saying, some people say that ‘cause they think I’ll be worried about being friends with a murderer. I have no qualms.” He smiles, eyes oddly friendly.

“Yeah, accident.” Mark sighs, and Ethan nods his head sympathetically.

The two part ways after that, but Ethan mentions to tell Tyler they’re friends now. Mark doesn’t know him past his name and bright smiles, but decides that friends sounds… Nice. As he heads in for lunch, the room quiets briefly before the talk swarms up again. Shaking his head to himself, Mark heads over to the lunch line.

As comes face to face with stone-faced Tyler, he grins easily like he’s done since arriving. Tyler regards him coolly as usual, but Mark knows that it’s not because he’s mad. Not really. “So Ethan said I might be permitted to an extra something if I was nice?” He jokes, and he watches Tyler’s eyebrows raise.

“You know Ethan?” “Yeah, met him properly today. Weird kid, huh?” Tyler snorts, and Mark’s glad to know he does have a sense of humor.

“That’s being nice about it, yeah. He’s a bit much sometimes but that’s okay, he’s got good heart for someone who used to deal drugs.” “Drug dealer, huh? What were you up to before this?” “Organized crime.” Tyler shrugs, looking at Mark curiously.

“You’ve changed since you first got here.” He notes, and Mark lets out a bitter laugh.

“How can you not change in this place?” Mark asks incredulously, and Tyler barks out a quick laugh.

“Guess you’re right. Here, can’t afford to give out much extra today but you look like you could use it.” Tyler states, passing Mark another apple.

Mark’s grin feels more sincere this time, and he nods his head gratefully.

“Thanks man, see you later.” “See you, Mark.” Tyler’s voice even sounds a bit… Kinder.

Life here is still shit, but at least Mark has some friends now.

He’s settled down with Ethan and Tyler one day, sharing news back and forth. He’s long since learned the two share gossip like a bunch of highschool girls, but he also knows why. They plan to escape, and while they haven’t promised he’ll come with them if they succeed he still helps them.

“So, I heard Dr. Nelson and Dr. Patrick had another argument over something today.” Ethan states, leaning forward with a grin.

“Dr. Nelson?” Mark asks, and while he knows realistically it probably won’t be who he thinks he still asks because-

“Doctor Amy Nelson. She got here, what, seven years ago?” Tyler asks, head turning to Ethan for confirmation.

“Yeah! Seven. She’s the second longest lasting doctor here.” Ethan chirps, looking at Mark with a grin.

“Dr. Schneeplestein has been here for a whopping fifteen years!” He exclaims, and Mark grunts.

Well damn, someone must like their job.

“Doctor Patrick’s only been here for, what, four?” “Five, Ty. Four was last year.” “Right, right. So he’s been here about as long as the director.” Tyler nods, shifting back and glancing at the time.

“Ah shit. I gotta go guys, see you later.” He huffs, standing and ruffling both Mark and Ethan’s hair.

They both react their own ways, Ethan by laughing and Mark faking distress over the now messy state of his hair. As Tyler heads off, Ethan and Mark end up following his example and heading off back to work.

Mark can’t get over the fact his high school crush is here. His high school crush probably knows he killed someone.

Fuck.

She ends up seeking him out, and that surprises him so much he doesn’t hear half of what she says. When he zones back in she’s laughing over it, shaking her head in affectionate exasperation.

“I was trying to give you my email to contact me, you ready to listen?” She teases, and Mark lets out an embarrassed laugh. “Well I might be, but maybe not.” He shrugs, and she rolls her eyes at him. After they exchange that information, they spend a little while getting caught up. Amy explains about the more recent SCPs that have thrown all of them from a loop, as well as her constant fighting with a doctor Matthew Patrick. She says his name with affection, and it doesn’t take Mark long to decipher her annoyance with the other man is something akin to a sibling rivalry. It’s cute.

Amy promises to keep in contact as she heads off to continue her work, and Mark’s chest feels a little lighter. Amy remembered him, and Amy (knowing full and well what he’d done, who he was now) still wanted to be his friend.

With a small smile on his lips, Mark decides life may end soon for him, but at least he can enjoy what’s left.

[conorpmaynard]

Skull & Halo // Jack Maynard

Word Count- 1250

Request-

Hey! could you do an imagine where you're a tattoo artist and jack comes in for a tattoo and he flirts with you through the entire process and he asks you on a date?? Also could you tag me in it?? xx

A/n- this was so fun to write! and i’m back :)

~~

You were standing in the back of the tattoo shop with your coworker Ashley.

“-and then he left. I got even more pissed off at him at that,” she rambled one.

You were only half paying attention to the fake red head next to you. Your eyes were trained on the book in front of you.

“Y/n! Are you even listening?”

You were about to answer her when the bell at the front door chimed, signaling someone had entered the parlor. You closed your book, and walked through the opening to the front of the shop.

There were two blonde men; one covered with tattoos and the other with a few small ones.

The blonde with the sleeve was looking at the book full of options as the other, more attractive one, was leaning on the counter talking to the receptionist.

“Alright,” said AJ. “Abe,” he motioned towards the guy with two full sleeves, “You can go with Y/n. And Jack with Ash.”

You smiled at Abe, but he just leaned over to the boy you assumed was Jack. Jack rolled his eyes and said, “Can I please go with Y/n?”

AJ chuckled, “Sure.”

You were slightly offended that Abe didn't want you tattooing him, but it's not like he's the first to do that.

You lead Jack to a chair and starting gathering your materials.

“So, Jack, what are ya getting today?” You asked, focusing on the ink rather than his gorgeous blue eyes.

“I was thinking of a skull,” he explained. “Right here.”

Your eyes followed his pointer finger that was pointing at his left forearm.

You two sat in a comfortable silence as you gathered your materials.

You began to wipe of his arm, “So,” you started.

“So?”

“I gotta ask, sorry.”

“Continue.” He raised an eyebrow at you, his beautiful blue orbs staring at you.

“Why didn't Abe want me tattooing him?”

Jack looked over at Abe, you was currently getting his chest shaved.

He sighed, “He assumed you didn't have practice because you have no tattoos.”

You looked over at Ashley, her entire right arm was covered, along with another tattoo here and there on her body.

You had been tattooing two years longer than she, but Ashley is always getting new additions. You enjoyed making them rather than getting them.

“I would like to add that I don't think that,” he smiled at you. “I'm sure you make badass tattoos.”

You stood up and grabbed a pair of gloves, “Who’s to say I don't have tattoos?”

He gave you a curious look.

You smirked, grabbing the gun.

“Please elaborate,” he flashed you that gorgeous smirk. If he kept it up, you might actually die.

“I have a few…” you said. “You just can't see them.”

He scoffed, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Smooth,” you giggled, causing him to laugh too.

“But seriously, what tattoos do you have?”

You pressed the needle to his skin. He didn't even notice, all of his attention was on your eyes.

“I have four,” you said simply.

“And what are they?” He continued.

“I have a sock on my ankle,” you said as he leaned over the edge of the chair to look. “It represents freedom. You probably don't get the reference.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“Of course I do. I'm not an uncultured bloke ya know?” He laughed. “What else?”

Your focus stayed on his arm, “I have a star on my shoulder. My sister has one identical to it.”

He looked at you, motioning for you to continue.

“And I have a quote on my hip.” You added.

“That's only three,” he said, and your breath caught in your throat.

Jack noticed your muscles tense and the guilt started to rise. You grip on the gun tightened as your focus remained on his half-finished tattoo.

“Look, Y/n, I'm sorry.” He sighed. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to tell me.”

“No it's alright. Uh,” you grabbed the gun and started to shade part of his tattoo. “It's my mom’s last heartbeat. It's on my other ankle.”

Jack was mentally slapping himself. How could he be so bloody stupid? He should've quit while ahead.

“Listen, Y/n,” he started.

“No seriously Jack. It's okay.” You gave him a small smile.

“Tell me about yours,” you added.

And he did.

He told you about the cross on his back.

And the God has a plan on his rib cage.

And the odd symbol on his right wrist which he admitted to getting while drunk and ‘I honestly have no idea what the fuck it is’. He found out about a week later that it’s the Egyptian symbol for life.

And how he got his birthday in Roman numerals.

“Alright,” you said, adding the final touch. “Here it is!”

He looked at it and frowned. Your heart sunk. It wasn't what he wanted. You had just ruined someone's life.

“What's wrong?” You hesitated.

“Uh, nothing.” He shook his head. “I just feel like it's missing something.”

You frowned as well.

“Okay, well let’s think,” you spun around in your chair and Jack laughed.

“What?” You smiled.

“You're cute, that's all,” he said, cheeks getting red.

“Oh thanks,” you were flustered. “So, why'd you get the skull?”

“To remind me that death is inevitable, and that I should go on tons of adventures so I don't regret anything.”

You pondered, thinking of the perfect thing to add.

Suddenly it hit you, and you smirked at him.

“Do you trust me?” You asked.

“What do you mean?” He asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“Do you trust me enough to add something?”

“Well what is it?”

“It's a surprise,” you smiled.

He hesitated, “I swear to god if it's a dick, I'm going to sue you.”

You chuckled, “I wouldn't do that.”

He sighed, “Okay. Just make it look nice.”

You scoffed and grabbed the gun once again.

~~

After about fifteen minutes you revealed your addition.

It was a halo.

“Oh my god I love it,” he smiled. “How'd you think of it?”

“It's to remind you that there's always someone with you on the journeys to take,” you smiled. “You're never alone.”

He smiled once again.

After you gave him the speech on keeping it clean, you walked him to the front.

You rung up his total at the register, “I'm not charging you for the halo.”

“What?” He said. “Why not?”

“Because it was my idea. Not yours,” you smiled, handing him his receipt.

Abe was standing by the door waiting for Jack.

“Thanks again,” he smiled. He turned and followed his friend outside. You watched him through the faint glass window as he walked down the sidewalk and out of view.

You turned and sighed as you began to pick up your station.

Never going to see him again. Should've asked for his number you idiot.

You thought to yourself as you disposed of the used needle.

The door chimed.

“Would he it be possible if I could get your number?” You heard the familiar accent.

You turned and saw Jack standing at the counter.

You smiled.

“Is really like to take you on a proper date.”

“Proper? Are you saying what we had today was a date?” You asked.

“It is if you want it to be,” he smirked.

You wrote down your number and handed it to him.

He gave you a toothy smile and left the tattoo parlor once again.