#he would def be a baritone. for sure.

[lenglengflames]

assuming the timeline of tcgf takes place in the zhou dynasty and beyond, xie lian would’ve been educated in the six arts (bc the six arts was established in the zhou dynasty.)

the six arts include (also addressed in mdzs, iirc): rites, music, archery, calligraphy, chariotry and mathematics.

we already known xie lian excels in calligraphy, and given feng xin's dexterity with his bow, it probably isn't too hard of a stretch to say that xie lian also received training in archery even if he heavily favours the sword. i believe rites refer to taoist rituals, because the six arts stemmed from confucianism. (confucianism ≠ taoism, but both follow the tao (道).) anyway, xie lian is a taoist priest/ cultivation is a concept stemmed from taoism, so he'd naturally be competent in the rites of taoism. we'll assume he's decently skilled in chariotry and mathematics.

so that just leaves music.

here's the thing: the guqin was almost exclusively played scholars, generals, nobility, etc, by men of rank, prestige and privilege.

xie lian is royalty so there's a high chance he could play the guqin, and who else in the mxtx universe is also incredibly adept at playing it? lan wangji.

xie lian x lan wangji guqin duets with hua cheng and wei wuxian as their audience. (or consider, wei wuxian joins in with chenqing and hua cheng has an internal breakdown in an attempt to read the scores they're using.)

[spookypete-94]

Nightmare's Wasteland

Chapter 2- Wrath

SimonGhostRileyxFem!Reader

Small series. Reader is a female character in a dystopian world where the ability to conceive is limited to a small percentage of people. Reader is of that percentage and is assigned to Simon to provide a child to a declining population. She learns how live with him and survive, while he learns about her life prior before being delivered to hell. Def a darker read, MDNI.

CW for language. Reader learns more about the man she's been assigned to.

Time.

Time it seemed to be all you had. At first you thought your new Master, Mr. Riley, was allowing you to settle in before attempting the task both of you had been given. However, any time you had tried to approach him about your fertile window he brushed you off or left, shutting and locking himself in his office. It was a puzzle to you. This world seems to fit and benefit a man’s needs and wants… but Mr. Riley had shown no interest in it what was assigned to him.

Duty.

This job was all that was asked of you in this new world. The only thing to keep you alive was to provide a baby and keep the birth rate on the rise before moving on the next household. Failure to achieve such a goal put you at risk. This was your first attempt, worried if you failed you would be shipped off to work in the mines a death sentence you have heard.

Anger.

Frustration started to linger in your mind, building anxiety and stress. This man would hardly talk to you, let alone even look in your direction some days. Honestly, it made you feel that you didn’t know which was worse. To be a plaything in man’s society, or not even acknowledged in Mr. Riley’s. Did he not understand the risk it placed on you and himself failing this requirement? How selfish of him… Both of your lives at risk, all because he will not have anything to do with you.

The first night in your new “home” left you confused. His interaction of his strong hands holding you in place while he examined the back of your neck. How could it be so different? Why was he treating you so different now?

With having so much time, days seemed to blur together. Trying your hardest to find tasks alongside Kate, you helped her run the house. Cooking homemade meals, the cleaning and washing. It had built a bond between you two that’s for sure. Speaking of your old lives, finding common ground, in this cold, dark, new world you had made a friend. Feeling like the cause gave you purpose kept your mind off your current problem, that is until dark came and you went to your room spending it alone with that little voice inside your head. What was wrong with you?

Maybe it was that thought that had drove you to his office, the one were the doors were always locked and barricaded shut to you. The bravery had made you stride to his office leaving you once you stood in front of the doors. The color of them was a dark red, walnut? Cherry? Gold embellishments detailed it like most of the house. Mr. Riley’s baritone voice is what brought you back to.

“Doors open.”

Of course, leave it to him to know you were standing outside his door like a creep.

Searching for the brazenness attitude that had brought you here once more, you opened that door hand on the gold handle hoping your voice would not fault you otherwise.

Drawing your cloak further and stepping in, shutting the door behind you. He hadn’t even bothered to look up, wouldn’t even acknowledge you. Placing both your hands together, interlocking your fingers, standing firmly in place you remained quiet. You were going to make him acknowledge you.

Time. More time gone. Ten minutes?? Before he looked up at you. A few seconds longer before he finally spoke again.

“Can I help you?” It seemed even when he tried to be quiet, his voice was still loud.

“Did I do something to you?”

“Wha’?” He asked from the bluntness of your question.

“Did I do something to you? Is there something wrong with me?”

Scoff. All he can do is scoff at your question, fingers pinching up between his eyes at the top of his nose.

“You can’t even look at me.” Your voice firm, unrelenting. “There have been two fertile windows come and gone. Two months in your home, and you won’t even acknowledge me or my job here.”

Your proud courageous self was knocked down at the knees, not prepared quite yet for his response.

“You think this is easy for me? That I want this?” His finger tapped down at his desk.

“You think I want to live this too?” You finally countered. “If I fail to do my duty, I’m sent off somewhere else. God knows where…”

“Duty.” His tone sardonic, mean in nature. “Don’t think anyone understands the full meaning of that word.” He glanced back down at his desk taking the papers he had been working on pulling them back closer to glance at the, again.

“Did they beat you?”

Even if he refused to look up at you again, you were able to see the change in his body language. Was like he went stiff, hands clenching the paper closer.

“Did they berate you? Tell you there was only one purpose in your life? Did you get to live in the past life before?”

Finally brown coals looked up at you. They only fueled your rage’s fire, an inferno burning you both.

“I know what it was like before. I want more then anything to be someone again instead of someone’s whore. But if I fail to do my duty, then I run the risk of being sent to the mines or strung up from being insubordinate.”

He’s quiet once more, eyes squeezed shut before leaning back into his chair and staring at the ceiling. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

This time it was your turn to be confused.

“What?” You had fired back so many questions you forgot about one of the initial ones you had asked, the one that had brought you here.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you.” This time his voice quieter in tone, trying his best to seem gentle. Clicking his pen once before standing up and sighing.

“Then what is it?”

“A lot wrong with me.” Walking around to the front of his desk leaning against the front of it, fully presenting himself to you.

You remained silent in hopes of him speaking more, which he did, flipping the pen around in his fingers.

“I might have not been beat, or abused in this new world, but the last one was not easy for me. Don’t speak to be about hardships because I have been through my fair shares and caused it for many as well.” The statement started off calm, but the ending had a threatening undertone to it.

“You can’t just treat me like a ghost in this house.”

A statement he snorted at, finding it ironic.

“Something funny to you?” You sneered back to him.

“Go back to your room.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go back to your room.” His voiced boomed to you. “We’re done here.”

He was banishing you away like you were an unruly toddler.

“No.” You were planning on holding your ground.

“No?”

In two long steps he was standing over you, anger now burning in his coal eyes, glaring down at you. His large mass now looming over you, casting him in his dark shadow.

Oh, fuck.

“Going to intimidate me now? That’s alright, I’m used to that too.” Your mouth could shut the fuck up at any time now.

“You can think that this is only hard for you, or that you deserve better. Whatever you need to tell yourself, but I have no plans in adding to the population in this country. The world doesn’t deserve another one of me runnin’ around in it.”

“We don’t get a say.”

“I will face that battle when we get there.”

“Do you want them to send me away? Is that what it is?”

“No.” He groaned rolling his eyes, hands in his messy hair pushing it back. “Why are you so frustrating? Can’t you listen?”

“I’m frustrating?? You haven’t even spoke to me since the first night. Won’t tell me anything just have me as a shut in living in your home.” You exasperated to him. “If I fail this, they will send me away, punish me. Lie if you must, tell them you can’t stand me and have them reassign me.”

“Tha’ what you want?” His question dark, ominous sounding.

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head adamantly, “but I can’t live here with knowing there are repercussions coming because you fail to act.” You spat at him.

“Please… just go to your room.” He sighed at his wits end, the end of his rope near.

Shaking your head, you sighed, tears brimming your eyes and stepped through the door. The urge to slam it was strong, but this wasn’t your home. The anger you had felt bubbling to the top its well wanting to overflow and spill, but a lady had to keep it together.

Quietly, you sped down the hallway, slipping into you room. Sleep evaded you for awhile until your eyes hurt so much from crying you had to close them to feel relief. The burn in them almost soothing once closed.

Surprise had struck you though at breakfast the next morning when you found Mr. Riley's chair pressed up near the end of the long table you sat at. Sitting yourself down in it, he was not long to follow bringing two cups in to fill with tea to have with your meal.

"We do this, we do it my way." Voice low, still worried he will set you off from last nights turmoil. You nodded, thankful for at least something.

Previous

Next

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

taglist:

@motheroffae

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can….can I request a little stampede Wolfwood x reader where the reader has a nightmare he left her for…whatever reason and she wakes up scared and sad and she wishes him to stay and he says “Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” And it’s just tooth rotting fluff!

If that’s ok! If not that’s totally fine too! Thank youuuu!

You found yourself stood within a void of sorts. There was no doors, no windows, no furniture of the sort, just a pitch black space where all you could hear was your breath, your heartbeat and your voice call out to a tall figure that eerily resembled…

“Nicholas?”

He didn’t seem to hear you and even if he did, he actively chose to ignore you for some reason as you were forced to watch his form walk away from you and further into the dark abyss that surrounded you.

“Nicholas!” You tried again but to no avail, Nicholas just kept walking further and further away from you alongside your echo as it tracked down an assumably never ending hallway or tunnel. “Nicholas, at least tell me where you’re going!” You cried, trying your best to follow after him only to find that you couldn’t move; not even a muscle. It was almost like you were stuck in place from your feet all the way up to your upper body.

Anxiety and fear shot through your body as your breath hitched in your throat, eyes trained on your unmoving feet before lifting them to where Nicholas was only to see that he wasn’t there anymore. You became frantic now, eyes searching every aspect of the dark room for the suited male with the blackout shades and cross machine gun strapped to his back; Only to be greeted with darkness staring back at you.

“Nicholas! Where are you, don’t leave me please!”

“NICHOLAS!”

You shot up in bed with a gasp and tears blurring your vision, which in turn disrupted Nicholas from his slumber. “What’s wrong sweetheart,” his raspy, baritone voice soothes you only slightly as his strong arms encased you, softly pulling you into his bare chest, “you look a little frightened.” Nicholas then bowed his head so he could he see your face better, only for his heart to shatter a little at how you were clenching your eyes shut and how tightly you were grasping at his arms. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know.” You whimpered, burying yourself deeper into his chest, resting your ear against his chest so you could not only feel that he was still here with you, but to also hear that he was here with you in that moment and -you’d hope- for many more in the future. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid I-“ “nothing you could say would ever make me think it’s stupid.” Nicholas cuts you off firmly, planting soft comforting kisses to your head and down your tense shoulders before pulling away to face you once more with tender eyes. “Do you feel confident enough to tell me what happened?”

“I was in a pitch black room,” you started, swallowing thickly as you opened your eyes to see his looking deeply into you as though he could see your soul through your irises, “you were there but you were walking away from me and try as hard as I did, you couldn’t hear me. You kept walking further and further away from me to the point I tried to follow after you but…I was stuck. I-,” you but back a sob, “I couldn’t move Nicholas. By the time I looked up in hopes of seeing you, you were gone and I was alone. The worst thing was…I didn’t know what I did wrong.” You finished with more tears brining your eyes from recounting your nightmare.

Nicholas tightened his grip on you when he felt you beginning to cry, clenching his jaw tightly at the fact that he couldn’t do much against a nightmare then he could against a physical threat. It pained him greatly. Sure he could make a fool out of himself by punching the air in order to see you smile, which he loved more then anything, but this nightmare had obviously taken a toll on you that being goofy would only be a tone def response.

“Then tell me to stay,” he says as you stared at him, “tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” He finished, brining his forehead to yours, gently rubbing his nose against your own. “I won’t let you down like I did in your nightmare. I wouldn’t dare leave you alone as without you, I’m lost. So fucking lost.” Nicholas admits.

A warmth blossomed within your chest at his confession and a small smile began to grow on your lips as you then allowed yourself to let go of his arms in order to cusp his jawline, running your thumbs across the stubble there. “Nicholas d. Wolfwood, will you stay with me?” You asked and a smile graced Nicholas’ face as he responded without much hesitation. “Forever and always, my guiding star.”

[javipispunk]

Clumsy Fingers

Wrong number Joel x f!reader

Warnings: none really, strong language, fluff, researching a person on the internet if that counts

A/N: decided i needed a little Joel fluff after reading lots of angst lately. was thinking of maybe doing a part two but lmk!

Summary: what happens when a girl gives Joel the wrong number after the bar

Word Count: 1K

You were getting a phone call from an unknown number. Austin area code. You lived in Boston and were like 900% sure you didn’t know anyone from Austin. So assuming it was a spam call you didn’t answer. What you weren’t expecting however was a voicemail. Spam callers didn’t leave voicemails. So you decided to listen to it.

The first thing you heard was an unsure “uhhh”. So def not a spam call. Spam callers didn’t say uh, you were pretty sure they read off scripts if they weren’t actual robots. And then the sweet baritone voice started talking.

“Hey Helena, It’s uh Joel from uh the bar last night. You gave me your number. I ain’t too keen on texting so uh I gave you a call. Call me back if you uh want. Okay. Uh bye.”

You couldn’t help but laugh and feel bad for the guy. This Helena chick obviously did not give him the right number. And now you had to break it to this poor sweet nervous man that you in fact were yourself and not Helena. It wasn’t really any of your business to get involved but you felt for the guy. No fun putting yourself out there waiting for a call that will never come. So you called him.

He answered after one ring.

“Hello?”

“Oh! Hi Joel, I think you said your name was. I’m not the Helena girl you tried calling.”

“You’re not?” He sounded so defeated.

“No.”

“Then the fuck you calling for?” Not hard to make him angry huh. Now you were regretting not just ignoring the call.

“My bad that I wanted to let you know that you got played, bud. Common courtesy. Guess they don’t do that in Austin.” Then you froze. You should not have said you knew he was in Austin. This man was gonna think you were crazy.

“How do you know I’m in Austin?” Now he sounded nervous again. You could faintly hear construction noises in the background.

“Area code. I’m not crazy ya know. Just on the weekends, and Monday through Friday maybe if I feel like it. But you know phones got a feature where it tells you where the person is calling from”

“Oh.” And then he chuckled. Faintly but enough for you to hear it and smile.

“Anyways, best of luck on the rest of your endeavors Joel.” There was something about him you couldn’t place that made you want to keep talking to him. Maybe it was the adrenaline of talking to a stranger. Or maybe it was his honeyed southern voice. There was no reason to continue this conversation. But you had the insatiable need to make him laugh again.

Before he could say bye and hang up you quickly added, “I’ll make sure to give a random guy your number next time, continue the chain of breaking bad news to people.” You added a small laugh to let him know you were joking.

“Sounds good sweetheart.” He said after another little chuckle. You were addicted to that noise and you’d only heard it twice.

“Bye Joel.”

“Goodbye.”

What the fuck was that conversation. That was not what you were expecting. You wanted to onow if he was as sexy as his voice. And the construction noises in the background? He must be strong and have callused hands. Would it be psycho to look up all the construction and contracting companies in Austin? What if you looked up his phone number? That wouldn’t be creepy. It’s not like you’ve never looked up a phone number before.

So you typed it in and the first result was for Miller Contracting. You clicked on the link. After scouring the website you found his name. Joel Miller. But other than that no pictures. What a let down. But now you knew his last name and could see if he had a facebook or something. Okay that was going too far. You had to take a deep breath. This man didn’t even know your name. You did not need to be researching him. You kinda wanted to call him again and tell him your name and where you were from. It was only fair, right?

You didn’t need to dwell on it anymore because he was calling you again. Yes, you had already saved him as a contact but he didn’t need to know that.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hi?”

“Hi.” You chuckled.

“Is this the woman from before?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I must have hit the wrong thing. Clumsy thumbs. Was trying to call someone else.” Well that was kind of a let down. But it was now or never to tell him your name.

“That's okay! I uh realized I never told you my name.”

“What's your name then darlin’?”

You told him your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He said.

“You don't even know what I look like.” You let out a breathy laugh.

“I don’t need to. A man just knows these things.” You were swooning. But it was your time to flirt back if you wanted to keep talking to him. Nothing was stopping him so nothing was going to stop you.

“Well Joel. I bet you’re very handsome. A woman just knows these things.”

He let out one of his little laughs. What a beautiful sound. You both say in silence for a moment. Not sure what to say to each other while also making it blatantly obvious that neither of you wanted to hang up.

“Well uh I guess you should probably call that person you were gonna call. But I wouldn’t mind if your thumbs were clumsy again.” Oh my that sounded so sexual in such a weird way. You hoped he knew what you meant.

“Course darlin’.” You could practically hear his smile. You wondered if he was blushing. “I don’t gotta be the only one that don’t know how to use their phone ya know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You were smiling like such an idiot. This random man with his stupidly attractive voice wanted you to call him back. You knew you would. Probably later that night in all honesty.

You bid your goodbyes. You were sad the phone call was over but overjoyed there would be more to come.

[francis-writes]

You could write some fluff about old Disney villains (like Master Forte, Claude Frollo, etc).

A/N: I hope you will enjoy it - I didn't write fluff in a long time and I'm not sure if I did it properly

Judge Claude Frollo He loves to spoil you. As a minister of justice, he's really wealthy but before meeting you, he he had nothing to spend these money on. Now Frollo treats you like a royalty and he gives you whatever you want. At the beggining of your relationship he keeps this cold and austere manner but when you finally get close to each other, he becomes more and more affectionate towards you. Claude still avoids showing his feelings in public (he needs to keep his reputation as a public oficial)  but in his private chambers he loves to cuddle with you. That man is touch starved and he simply melts under your touch. He's a little spoon and he usually falls asleep when you wrap your arms around him. He just feels so peaceful and relaxed. Sometimes you ask him to read for you. Listening to his deep baritone voice is pure pleasure, especially when he reads while you two lay in bed, you rest your head on his chest and he puts his arm around you.

Maestro Forte His love language is music. Maestro often composes songs for you (in your opinion they are rather depressive but that's just what he thinks is romantic). In general, most of the time you spend together, he just plays your favourite melodies for you (if you want something happy, he may complain a bit but he will play it for you and enjoy the smile on your face) He tends to be jealous, especially about prince Adam or Belle. Maestro doesn't like when you spend too much time with them. He prefers to be alone with you. It's both because he wants your undivided attention and because he's afraid you will leave him for someone younger and more handsome. Forte enjoys having long conversation with you, on any topic. He loves spending time with you by the fireplace and listening about your day.

Jafar Something fluffy about him, hmmm.... the main reason of his plotting is of course Jafar's hunger for power, but his second motivation - that he won't tell you about - is you. He wants to make you royalty, to give you all the treasures in the world and he wants to hear that your proud of him. Adding to that, he def has a praise kink (but lets keep the nsfw headcanons for another time). Jafar pretends that he doesn't care about anybody's opinion but he really loves to hear when you Jafar teaches you sorcery. It's a very nice gesture, especially that he wouldn't decide to share his knowledge with any other person. He doesn't share his secrets just as he doesn't share his power - but Jafar thinks you're worry of learning some impressing spells and rituals. It may be a trifle but I can't stop thinking about this one scene when Iago takes out portrait of him and Jafar and well, I think you two also have a portrait together (you and Jafar, not you and Iago... but whatever you please). He likes to look at it when you can't meet - even though it rarely happens. Actually you spend most of the time together because you work as Jafar's accomplice assistant which is probably better job than being a servant in palace (at least in physical matters; mentally it can be exhausting)

hey, if you enjoy my work, maybe you would like to support me on ko-fi? Only if you can afford this. It would mean a lot to me<3 link is in the pinned post

[abraxosissilly]

Throne of Glass Characters and the Instruments I Think They'd Play. This is kinda a weird thing, but it's been running through my mind for a while now so I have decided to post my opinions. Aelin: Well she canonically plays the piano so yk... Dorian: I feel like it'd be some weird royal thing to learn violin or piano, idk Chaol: Well, originally I thought he might play the trombone, but I saw a Chaorian headcanon where he plays the violin for Dorian, but he seems more like a cello kind of guy Rowan: I feel like all the members of the cadre would play some type of saxophone, and I was gonna put Rowan on tenor, but it kinda fits Lorcan better in my mind so he's getting alto Lorcan: Well I kinda spoiled this one but Lorcan gives tenor vibes, the baritone is a bit too big for him ig, but like it could also work? they both fit Gavriel: Probably bari, I was gonna give him soprano, but bari didn't really fit Fenrys, and I also realized that the low instruments kinda bring everything together, and that seems to be his role in the cadre. Fenrys: I literally don't know that much about this man, (Almost done Empire of Storms) But with his teleportation, soprano fits him best? *Side Note: As I'm only on EoS, and I'm bad I'll both forget characters, and leave out ones I don't know about lmfao

Manon: I really wasn't sure what to give Manon, and was thinking maybe trumpet (She has similar vibes to my trumpet player friend ig) but then I remembered guitars exist, so yea, probably electric guitar, and can probably play bass Elide: You can probably guess, she'd play the flute or another "softer" instrument, well YOU'RE WRONG She plays the drums and she can play with Manon bc they're gay and married sorry not sorry Aedion: When making this I never thought this far, but probably a brass instrument. My mind goes to euphonium, trumpet, or trombone, but electric bass could also work Lysandra: as a courtier, she would probably know an instrument, probably flute, violin, or piano, but IMO she would be a BANGER harp player. Maybe she can be a multi-instrumentalist Evangeline: I feel like Lysandra would teach her the instruments she knows, but would def let her choose what she wanted to play Nesryn: I feel like Nysryn would like classical instruments, but I could see her definitely playing acoustic guitar/classical lute. *I really wanted to add Yrene, but other than The Assassin's Blade, I know nothing about her Maybe she'd play the lyre? Like ancient Greek vibes or smth BONUS: Fleetfoot & Abraxos can play every instrument

[twisted-broth]

My Hero Students Marching Band AU

Leaders

Band director: All Might! all might lives being involved with students and being the band director allows him to interact closely with the largest group in UA. he’s not super strict but he still strives for perfection

Drill writer: Aizawa! hizashi pressured him into helping out with the band so he chose to do the part of it that would require the bare minimum while still being a part. he still comes to games of course!

Guard instructor: Yamada! he has so much energy and he needs to channel that into constant exercise by creating his perfect choreography. super close with all the guard kids they know so much about him

Drum Majors: Iida and Yaoyorozu! as the class leaders it’s only natural that they both ended up as drum majors. they’re both great at conveying instructions and still caring about the people they’re leading

Pit

Marimba: Monoma! monoma needs to be the center of attention so of course he would gravitate towards the instrument that is literally in the center of the field. also thinks he’s better than everyone because he doesn’t have to march

Synthesizer: Tokoyami! the synth just sounds so dark and edgy it fits tokoyami perfectly. (he also can’t play anything besides percussion because of his beak lol awkward)

Bells: Nejire! she loves the pretty sound they make and she cannot remember drill for the life of her so it’s probably best that she stay still

Sound effects: Mina! she loves the bass drum so much. all night has to constantly tell her to calm down cuse she is banging the shit out of that thing

Guard

Color guard: Aoyama and Shoji! Aoyama, like monoma, loves to be the center of attention so of course he’s the one swinging around something colorful and most likely shiny. as for shoji, he was just built for color guard. man can spin like three rifles at once mic loves him

Battery

Bass drum: Mirio and Ojiro! ojiro likes being able to use his tail as a mallet that’s really the only reason he became a bass drum. mirio thinks that the drums make such a big impact on the show and that’s why he likes them so much

Snare drum: Bakugou and Kirishima! they both think that the drums are very manly and prefer to make more noise rather than louder noise. bakugou is def the section leader and his duts are so loud it’s pretty obnoxious

Brass

Baritone: Jirou! she prefers the more subtle notes that really bring the show together

Mellophone: Midoriya! in all honesty, he found the smallest section and joined them. he’s always encouraging his teammates and says that they’re still important even if they’re small

Trumpet: Kaminari! were you really expecting anything else? kaminari found the most annoying and loud instrument in the band and played the shit out of it

Trombone: Sato! idk i just feel like with his lips and build this man just really has the power to blow some air into that thing

Tuba: Sero! kind of like kaminari sero really just wanted to find the instrument that would get on bakugous nerves the most

Woodwinds

Flute: Tamaki, Koda and Todoroki! these are our quiet boys so they tend to go for the quiet instruments. they all have the delicate necessities to play the gentle instrument

Sax: Hagakure and Mineta! they both just think it looks cool

Clarinet: Tsuyu! she knew she wanted to be a woodwind but in no world would she be in the same section as mineta and i’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to play the flute with her tongue

[miscellaneous-bnha]

Naga Aizawa AU

As requested by 🍄 anon.

Unfortunately, this is not a part of the Untitled AU (I’m sticking to calling it that even though I named it), but I’m really glad that I had a chance to write about Naga Aizawa anyway. 🍄 anon is my savior.

—————————

THIS CONTENT CONTAINS OVIPOSITION, BREEDING, AND ONE (1) TIRED SNAKE MAN. DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ. ALSO, IT’S A LONG ONE.

- Aizawa as a Naga in general would be interesting.

- I can def see him sleeping all curled up in sun spots through the day, only really moving when he wants to.

- But then he becomes much more active at night, on the prowl for prey and potential threats to his territory.

- Unusual seeing how cold it can get at night, but effective for him seeing as he blended quite well into the dark with his midnight tail and markings.

- Regardless, as far as he’s concerned, nobody really has the guts to challenge him at this point.

- At least, that was until he met you.

- The scared little mouse that had lost their way into his territory.

- You had heard rumors of half snake people living in these parts, and you really weren’t trying to stray away from the path

- But it was like something in the forest itself was calling out to you.

- According to local legend, the voice of the forest would lead you to your soulmate so long as they were in the forest at the same time as you

- But as you were trembling under the gaze of the Naga before you, the legends felt like cruel, whispery lies to give you false hope

- Now was hardly the time to worry about that, however, considering he looked quite upset to have been interrupted.

- Before you could scramble back to your feet, he was upon you, coiled around you without actually touching you, making you feel trapped and small.

- “Hmmm....” the baritone of his voice sent a chill through you, half with fear and half with mild arousal. You cursed your ape brain silently, squeezing your body tighter.

- “What is a little mouse like you...” he finally touches you, tipping your head to look up at him with a finger under your chin, “.. doing so far away from the path. Hmm?”

- Your lips only tremble as you try to speak, but he presses a finger to your lips to keep you from attempting to speak anyway.

- “No matter... you’re quite lost now aren’t you?” you can only nod, refusing to tear your eyes away.

- You already know that you would never be able to react in time, but your instincts still tell you to keep your eyes locked on him.

- “I figured as much. Unfortunately for you—“ he points up to the darkening sky, “— the sun is going down, and you wouldn’t make it back to town at this rate even if you tried.”

- You swallowed hard, knowing he was right. Maybe the universe really is playing a cruel joke on you.

- He chuckles, running his hand through your hair and ruffling it.

- “Relax, you’re gonna be okay. Human isn’t my first, second, or third choice in food. I’ll bring you to my den to stay the night and lead you back to the trail tomorrow.”

- You squint hard, nose scrunching with doubt.

- “No need for such a sour face, little mouse. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it by now.” He winks, “Besides, people get lost all the time; the people of town already know who I am by this point.”

- You furrow your brows, but you suppose he was right. If he really did want to cause harm, you wouldn’t be here pondering the legitimacy of his words. It also made sense about how the village seemed to know of supernatural creatures such as Nagas in extreme detail.

- You figured that— worst case scenario— you were dead either way, and your best bet would be to go with the Naga for now.

- He watches you climb to your feet, shuffling a bit. “... That would be really great, thank you.”

- He smirks and blows a slight laugh out through his nose, unraveling his tail as he moves to lead the way. “Th’ name’s Shouta Aizawa, and who might you be?”

——————————

- You wake up the following morning to the sound of crashing thunder and heavy rain pouring outside his den.

- You rub your eyes blearily, bits and pieces of the night before slowly coming back to you.

- You remember following Aizawa to his den, keeping good on his promise not to eat you as you slept.

- The conversation as he led you through the darkening woods was really quite insightful; what kind of (snake?)person he is, what he does in the area. The kinds of goods he trades with the village nearby.

- You were shocked to learn that the forest doesn’t only serve as home for Nagas, but harpies, sirens, and elemental spirits too. “And those are just a few of the people I know.”

- Though he pretended to be annoyed with talking about his blond haired harpy and the pale-blue haired water spirit friends, the shine in his eye gave him away; he definitely cares a whole lot more than his demeanor suggests.

- It was endearing.

-But that was then and this is now, and “the now” meant you would be stuck in Aizawa’s den for a lot longer than originally intended.

- “It’s no problem,” he’d said once he caught sight of your worried face, “we have more than enough supplies to last us a good long while. Comfortably, if I might add.”

- At that point, you were worried less about supplies and more about the fact that you didn’t want to intrude. “If only I hadn’t wandered off the path...”

- “Hey now, no need to start thinking like that now. You never meant to get lost, and this sudden downpour certainly isn’t your fault—“ the glare he suddenly shot outside made you curious, “— so don't worry about it, yeah?”

- Except, by the fourth week of non-stop rain, it was safe to say you were concerned.

- Sure, it did lighten up to a measly drizzle here and there, but the muddy ground was too unstable to try and traverse without risk. The chances of causing a landslide was too great.

- So it was with a guilty— mostly because of your silent cheers with each rainy day you woke up to— heart you shared yet another cup of tea, lounging back within Aizawa’s coils.

- The two of you had grown particularly close in your time staying here. Though you were originally concerned about the state of your clothing, it turned out that Aizawa had quite the collection in case of situations like these

- So alas, the two of you spent the day chatting away as usual.

- He has been in the middle of telling a particularly interesting story when you suddenly found yourself zoning out at the slight stubble on his sharp jawline

- You supposed it really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, seeing the ‘nature’ of his species, but you were surprised to see someone so inactive also be so amazingly fit at the same time.

- You don’t know when he had stopped talking, or when the two of you had started falling into each other’s gaze

- But you definitely felt the moment when your lips pressed against his. Starting as shy little pecks until he started to press deeper, coils shifting as he brought you closer to him

- Hands setting your drinks aside, you wrap your arms around his neck as he traps you between a comfortable crook in his tail and his body, his hands resting on your hips

- Your head starts to grow clouded the longer you kiss him, a slight tang similar to citrus but as sweet as candy hits your tongue and suddenly he’s pulling back

- His eyes are blown wide, but you can see the struggle on his features as he catches his breath

- “Shit..” he presses his face into your neck, “I shouldn’t have lost control like that... are you alright?”

- You’re confused by his statement. Surely, he was asking if you were okay with him kissing you, but somehow you knew that wasn’t really what he was asking

- Your thoughts start to wander a little as you start to feel a low burn settle deep in your belly, and you’re almost amused by the idea that Nagas do— in fact— have aphrodisiac properties in their venom

- You can almost tell the exact moment when your eyes become completely glossed over, wet with desire and clouded with need.

- “Fuck... I’m sorry. I should have been more aware. I’ll get some water to help flush out my venom-“ he pauses when he notices the unhappy furrow in your brow.

- “Do... do you not like me like that?” You blurt out before you can stop to think about it.

- he hesitates and you close your eyes, disappointment charging through you, but suddenly they’re open again when he coils around you tighter, chest crushing against your own as he presses his face into the side of your head

- “Of course I do... but I didn’t want it to go this way. I shouldn’t have stayed so close while in my rut like this.”

- “Your rut?”

- he nods solemnly, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair

- “It started some time about a week ago... when I first realized that I’m attracted to you... emotionally and physically.” He presses his nose to your temple and inhales deeply “But I’ve been tryna keep quiet about it... wanted to give you the choice to go if y’wanted.”

- You can hear his words start to slur together. “Y’can stay if y’want... but if y’don’t go now, I won’t be lettin’ ya go. At least not without me.”

- You’re already nodding before you can even think about it.

- “Of course I want to stay... if you’ll have me.”

- There’s a deep rumble reminiscent of a growl in his chest

- “Of course I’ll have you. There’s no one else I’d rather have, little one.”

- You felt a strong shudder run down the length of your spine, but you weren’t given much time to dwell on it before his lips were devouring yours once more, the tangy sweet taste of his venom coming back tenfold.

- The haze of arousal consuming you, however, would have been just as powerful without it.

- The passage of time became non-existent the further you fell into his heat, the more you felt your body give in until you could barely bring yourself to do anything but lay back in his coils

- You felt like you were floating in his arms, giving yourself away completely to his wants and whims, the sultry sound of his voice carrying you through the haze.

- A part of you felt like you should have been more embarrassed; it’s only been about a month since you’ve met this man in a forest you’ve never been to before on an island you don’t even live on, but the thought floated away before you could get a grasp on it.

- “What’s wrong, little mouse?” His nose was buried in your hair, chest puffing with every deep breath he took.

- You shake your head sluggishly, body growing ever warmer as you attempt to pull the baggy sweater off your body. His calloused but gentle hands brushing your middle as he helps you pull it up and off

- The anticipation of what would be coming buzzed under your skin like electricity, but your inability to move very much hindered your movements to try and get him to move faster.

- Sensing your impatience, he merely chuckled before pressing yet another heavy kiss to your lips, the taste of the aphrodisiac thick on his tongue, filling your senses once again.

- You felt your eyes drift shut, your head tipping back as you let out a deep, satisfied sigh, wet lips pressing against the side of your throat, his stubble scraping against you gently. You could barely process the feeling of his teeth grazing against your shoulder before a finger slowly pushed into your hole, curling into that perfect little spot that had stars flashing behind your eyelids.

- The noises you were making sounded muffled to your own ears, heaving breaths silenced by the sound of his low hums and wet lips sucking at your skin. Low words of praise left his lips in abundance, as if keeping them in would be like trying to stop a flood with a lone pebble

- You felt yourself drifting along with the pleasure again, arms stretching above your head as he slowly added two more fingers, mouth pressed close to your ear as he murmured all the things he wanted to do.

- “Gonna fill you up… ruin you completely for any other person.”

- “Gonna make you so full and heavy.”

- “Gotta stretch this tight little hole open... don’t wanna hurt you with my cocks.”

- Your eyes cracked open at the sound of that. Cocks? As in more than one?

- You unconsciously tense at that, causing him to pull his fingers from you as he used both hands to stroke your sides, hushing you softly.

- “s’okay baby… m’not gonna hurt ya. Promise.” He grabs one of your hands, pressing kisses to your fingers before pressing it to his chest, encouraging you to slide it down at your own pace until you reach the spot where his human torso meets his snake half.

- You will yourself to bring your eyes to look down to where he guides your hand, your breath catching when you see two painfully hard cocks, both flushed so pink it could almost be red. The heads of both flaring a bit before tapering into a rounded point, the slit at the top of both weeping with precum with every throb.

- You feel your stomach flip with excitement and nerves all the same as he wraps your hand around the lower one, fingers barely touching. You can feel his eyes watching your expression as you slowly process what it is you’re seeing, the arousal pooling heavier into your stomach as you moan softly in anticipation.

- You feel his lips press to your cheek, more whispered promises of being gentle reaching your ears as his hand goes back to work, stretching you dutifully as you sink further into him.

- You don’t know how long he had kept at it, occasionally stopping the motion of his hand to let a thick rope of spit and venom drip down to your hole, but you squirm and whine when he withdraws again. Before you can open your mouth to complain, you feel both heads press against you, and you don’t have much time to even unconsciously clench before he’s slowly pushing in with a loud groan.

- You’re disappointed that you’re missing the way his jaw probably dropped open from the tight, hot pressure of your entrance squeezing around him as he slowly spears you open, but you can’t help the way your head tips back and your eyes clench tightly.

- He braces his arms on his tail next to head as he bottoms out, growling deep in his chest as he grinds deep, bringing his face down to yours as he captures your lips in yet another deep kiss. He grinds his hips slowly, breathing heavily through his nose when he suddenly grabs your hips, groaning loudly when you feel something heavy spread you before it suddenly felt like it dropped into your lower belly.

- He pulled away with sharp hiss, a soft “fuck” leaving his lips before you felt the sensation again, only the stretch was bigger this time. You feel yourself shudder and moan as you realize he was pushing his eggs into you, your face growing hot. His forehead pressed against yours as he struggled to keep his hips from moving, cut off gasps leaving him with every egg until he had no more left to give.

- “Twenty, huh…? Shit, you look so pretty all swollen like this…” you feel his hands caressing your belly now, his hips rocking gently. You work the energy to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back down as his pace grows a little more rough, hips snapping into yours with a loud clap as he uses his hands to move your hips.

- You lose focus on his words the longer he fucks into your pliant body, growling and moaning low once he starts to get closer and closer to his own orgasm. With a loud cry, you pull his hips into yours with your legs just as your orgasm rips through you, sending him over the edge. Hot, thick spurts of his fertile spunk fills you as he pins your hips to his, eyes rolled back as he growls and grunts and hisses, a powerful shiver running through him as you both slowly come down from your highs.

- Between the sedative properties of his venom and the exhaustion from having your body filled so well, you barely register the feeling of a cool cloth running over your body as you drift into sleep.

- “yeah,” you grin lazily “I’m definitely not going anywhere.”

[moonchildsaurora]

Running in Circles

✤ guard captain!Mingi x thief!reader  ✤ genre: Guard AU // smidge of fluff, (semi)enemies-to-friends. (feat. Yunho) ✤ t/w: sfw, none - except very brief mentions of some fighting, rated PG ✤ count: 3k ✤ [ part 3 ] of Lacuna miniseries

a/n - huge apologies for keeping Captain Song in for a so long but alas, he’s finally freeeeee. I really need to pick up the pace with continuing on with this mini series 😅 this idea sorta played out better in my head than out in words - I’m not 100% happy with this, it’s defs not my best but I shall practise writing more Mingi fics in the future! This is also probably the tamest of the lot in terms of cry-level. Just preparing you guys with an easy read before the shitstorm that awaits in the next member on the list one shot hahahahahahaha. @hereisleo​ & @barsformars​ hope you both enjoy this for ya man 😉 I couldn’t bring myself to hurt this giant teddybear too much in writing. Also everyone, let’s welcome back a familiar face within this one shot :P

In all of his years of being a royal palace guard of Aethevintis, nothing would cause his body to seize up with tension instantly and hasten the greys that threaten to come through his still youthful auburn tresses than when he was requested at the interrogation chamber.

Heavy steps echoed off the dark granite stone floors, the sharp clinking from an array of medals that hung proudly to signify his prestige were in sync with his tense pace. Song Mingi had no problem exercising command and authority when it was needed, in fact, he prided himself in doing so.

He was good at his job, and he knew that.

Otherwise the title of Captain wouldn’t had been bestowed upon him that four winters ago. The real struggle was when his confidence in being assertive was mistaken for the ability to intimidate, broad body physique to further fuel that common misconception. And so Mingi often found himself sat in that bleak chamber with some poor unfortunate soul, who had been frightened into admitting nothing more than petty crimes.

He’d argue such tactics were unnecessary. Running his hand frustratingly through his hair for the umpteenth time, Mingi mentally braced himself for whatever...or rather whoever awaited for his arrival.

Rounding the corner, his brows arched up with surprise upon seeing the King standing in front of the chamber doors. The troubled look that replaced the King’s usual ebullient features prompted Mingi to straighten his posture immediately; this was sure to be a serious matter.  “Good afternoon Sire…”

Yunho turned towards the rich baritone voice of the Guard Captain and rigid shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sight of one of his most trusted.    

“Captain Song,” Yunho nodded in acknowledgement, “Although I’m not sure if it’s entirely good at all.”

Mingi’s forehead creased but remained silent to allow the King to further elaborate about his plight.

“The Queen’s aquamarine diamond parure has been stolen, and I suspect a selection of other jewels too. Those I care not for as much as the diamond parure…it’s got high sentimental value as it was passed down within the family from my great-great-grandmother.”

“That certainly isn’t good at all. Has the perpetrator been caught yet, Sire?”

“As luck would have it, yes actually. And I’ve been told that you would be the perfect person to know how to handle this….situation,” at saying this Yunho fully turned to face Mingi. The falchion in his belt’s scabbard felt heavy and a million and one thoughts were running through his mind at once.

“Mingi…”  

Mingi could see the sincerity in Yunho’s eyes and the hesitation in spilling out the words that needed to be said.

“I hope you know that in any other circumstances, I would not be requesting you to deal with such matters that you have immense dislike for. I apologise for putting you in such a position. This…certain individual has crossed paths with you before and I’m hoping with that familiarity you may be able to coax them to reveal where the diamond parrure is. How you do so, I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”

Oh.

Well that wasn’t what Mingi was expecting to hear. A certain individual he’s familiar with?

He straightened his back and gave a determined nod of his head, “I shall do my best Sire. That room may be the bane of my existence but this matter is clearly of importance to you, let us hope the thief can be convinced to comply.”

“You have my utmost gratitude Mingi,” Yunho said, reaching his hand up to give Mingi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before making his way out of the grim dungeon hallway.

Mingi waited till the King was out of sight before turning to face the chamber. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his heart and pushed open the doors with slight force.  

“Well, well if it isn’t my favourite Captain of the guards. Come to keep me company for the evening?”

If he wasn’t already sweating before, he sure was now. That oh-so coquettish voice he’s grown to recognise almost immediately, fell on his ears.

You sent a cheshire grin to the tall figure, legs propped up on the worn-out wooden table and hands idly fiddling with the heavy brass shackles around your wrists. This certainly wasn’t the first time your paths had crossed but it was the first for you both to meet in a more dire setting.

Mingi feared for the implications of your capture.

Not just a mere thief of the streets but being the leader of Dusk Talons, the Royal Crown surely won’t pass up a chance to make an example of a core individual from the renowned thief guild.    

“You ought to close your mouth, otherwise the flies will get in.”

One of the guards closer to you brought his fist down on the table, a mere tactic meant to frighten you. However, all it got out of you was the bored glance you sent to the guard who started berating you for talking back to Captain Song.

Mingi let out a sigh, “That’s enough. I can take it from here, you all are dismissed.” The command was given to the other guards in the room as he settled into the chair across from you. They left without a fuss and silence encompassed the room, though not for long.

“Would you please be a dear and help with this?” you asked, chains jangling as you held out your cuffed wrists towards Mingi.

“It would seem that’s not needed at all,” a ghost of a smile gracing his lips, “your handy work got the job done for you.”

“You’re no fun.”

Not admitting out loud, you were slightly impressed that the guard captain didn’t let your lock-picking slip by him. The shackles dropped on to the table and you made a show of stretching your arms out, body arching lithely off the chair. Your loose tunic rode up just shy of showing skin, causing Mingi to avert his eyes out of respect.

That widened your grin.

Mingi let out an awkward cough, any pre-planned script he had for questioning was abandoned. You weren’t entirely a stranger to him nor were you an acquaintance – if the laws even allowed for that. But Mingi didn’t feel right about making you go through the same interrogation protocol as previous criminals had to. You weren’t like them.  

“I can’t tell if you thrive off the riskiest raids or that you don’t fear anything nor anyone. Going after Her Majesty’s diamond parure? Of all things!”

An airy chuckle left you, “If I didn’t know better…you sound awfully worried for me, Captain.”

“Shouldn’t you be at least more careful? What would become of your family if something were to really happen to you?”

The grin on your face disappeared immediately.

Mingi continued when he didn’t hear a response, “I’ve seen you…giving food and gold back to those in the Lower Wrean. I know some of the funds for the city’s orphanages are provided by your guild. And that one time…the only reason why you led the attack on our eastern outpost was to rescue a few of your own and relocate some of the nomad camps away from potential crossfire. You don’t abandon family, right?”

These were the things that convinced Mingi, you weren’t really all bad. Questionable choices? Sure. Morals? A little grey. Although underneath the layers, your intentions have always stemmed from a compassionate heart.  

“What’s to the rich if they lose a few here and there? They have far more than enough, so to us, they’re top of the list of contributors.”

Mingi remembered you telling him that when he had first caught you escaping from one of the noble’s house. Your guild only ever stole from the rich and it was a bonus if the corrupted was targeted too. Mingi, who then was still under the command of the previous captain, hesitated to pursue. For his moral compass went spiralling. Being bound to carry out his royal duty or close a blind eye because he empathised with what you stood for.  

Empathy.

Nothing more than a weak link, according to his captain. There was little room for that, just as grey had no place among Aethevintis’ black-or-white justice system.

Hence, a thief was still a thief at the end of the day. Even for a good cause, by definition you were on the opposing side.

You continued to observe Mingi in silence, with a neutral expression, as you let his words sink in. Captain Song was much different than his predecessors. An unspoken level of mutual respect had developed between you both somewhere along the way of your encounters. The way he led with his heart rather than blind authority was admirable.

“We do what we must to get by. My family…as you so kindly put it…are capable of adapting to whatever circumstances are thrown their way. Risk is an inevitable norm for us.”

At least, you could appreciate Mingi looking at you without that faux sympathy.

“And I’ve lived doing what I do best…that is to survive. Being careful only gets you so far but being smart, well, you could go just about anywhere with that.”  

With a rather loud yawn you broke the tension in the dim room. The grin reappeared back on your face and you slinked backwards on the chair. Mingi was contemplating on whether switching back to the original subject of this…talk…would be a good idea or not. He needed a starting basis, a hint of sorts from you in order to give direction where he’d be searching for the missing parure.  

Betting on the fact that you don’t wholly despise him, Mingi tried his luck. “Now I do have a job to complete, and I’m sure we both would rather spend our time elsewhere other than down here…”  

“Aww, I thought we were having a good time getting to know each other better. Don’t get to do that as much on the streets now, do we?”

“What have you done with Her Majesty’s parure?” asked Mingi, keeping his tone levelled.

“You sure are set on that huh? What’s in it for you if you successfully retrieve the jewels?”

Tilting your head, eyes sparking a challenge. Only to be met with determination glinting off Mingi’s own pair of dark chocolate brown orbs.

“Nothing more than the satisfaction of returning a precious family heirloom back to my King. It’s of great importance and sentiment to him.”

You wished you could find fault in his resolution. Yet again, Mingi was nothing but honest in answering you.  

Surely, you could play a little nicer this time, right?

“Hmm, I’ll think about it. I’m feeling rather parched as well…any chance I could get some fresh water?”

Sensing you weren’t going to give in anytime soon, Mingi drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Standing up he offered, “And I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat?”

“You’re offering?”

“This is an interrogation chamber, not a torture one.”

Mingi left to gather the necessities. Head filled with too many conflicting thoughts, that he missed the growing grin on your lips and the space where the dungeon keys previously sat on his belt.  

“THE PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!”

“FIRE IN THE COURTYARD!”

It was havoc.  

The thunderous sound of fireworks broke through the tranquil evening. Catching everyone by surprise and confusion arose as to why bursts of colourful sparks were going off within the palace grounds. When some of the flag banners and trees caught fire from the stray sparks, it caused a flurry of panic.

And to make matters worse – the guards had lost you.

Mingi finished over-seeing the last batch of palace staff into the safe area. “All palace guards are to stay by the doors to the throne room and west wing! No one is to leave or enter until my unit and I have done a final sweep of the grounds, “ he ordered.

Part of the team was put in charge of getting the fires under control. He deduced the fireworks were set off as an intended distraction and, a successful one at that too. Mingi’s priority was now to prevent you from escaping.

He heard the commotion and shouting before, “CAPTAIN! THE SOUTHWEST WALLS!”

You held your own and by the time Mingi had reached your location, the guards who were stationed there were knocked out cold on the ground. A minor cut bled slightly from your left cheek and you looked a little more roughed up than when Mingi had last seen you.

“Here I was thinking this would be a clean goodbye…” you said, securing the rope around your waist that Mingi noticed was tied to the stone merlons. He also saw a couple of dark-coloured pouches with you that weren’t present on your attire during the interrogation.

Three guesses as to what filled those pouches.

You followed his eyes to where they were fixated on, “Ah yes, amongst thieves it’s the number one rule to not hide our spoils on ourselves…lest we get caught.”

A series of sharp whistles was heard. The signal that your guild had completed their tasks and was awaiting to reunite with their leader down below at the meeting point. You blew three consecutive similar whistles back in response.

“Wait!”

You paused with one foot up on the stone edge. Turning back to look, you saw Mingi’s hand hover slightly over his falchion.

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

‘No. But I will ask once more, where is the diamond parure? I know the cold season approaches and you’ll need all the resources you can get. Those gold and other jewels you’ve got there should be sufficient enough. So please….”

Having already made your decision the moment you slammed the doors to the chamber out, simultaneously breaking the noses of the unsuspecting guards, you knew what you had to do. But that didn’t prevent you from adding a little dramatic flair.

After all, you want to stay memorable in Captain Song’s books.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”

Your voice dripping with light sweetness, eyes locked on his as you made your way right up to him. Your hand darted out to grab his falchion and on reflex, Mingi intercepted – large calloused warm hand latching around your wrist.

“But maybe that’s what makes so different from the others…” You flipped his hand so it faced palm up, and placed a familiar cobalt blue pouch on it. “You’re a good man, Captain Song. Thinking with your heart doesn’t make you weak…this world needs more of that, more of people like you.”

You watched his shoulders fall with relief and the look he had in his eyes change into something you couldn’t quite discern. Mingi nestled the pouch carefully towards his body, the delicate clinking confirmed its fragile contents within. And he didn’t feel the need to look inside for confirmation; he trusted you.

“If we were to meet in another lifetime, I hope we’d be on better terms then. Preferably one leaning closer to friends.”

A genuine smile crept up from the corners of your lips upon hearing Mingi’s words.

“That sounds rather nice, actually.”

You could definitely use a friend like Mingi in your second lifetime, should fate ever be so kind to give you another shot.

“CAPTAIN!”  

The clamouring of guards and blades being drawn drew closer and you could hear the running of feet up the stairs.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave. And I am so sorry for doing this but…”

And you physically winced when you sent a knee to his gut, causing Mingi to collapse and gasp for air.

“…Captain Song wouldn’t go down without a fight and this makes it look less like you just let a scummy thief off the hook.”

Mingi waved his other gloved hand, “I…understand – you ought to hurry…” he managed to cough out the words.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

With that, Mingi watched you leap over the wall’s edge just as back-up from his unit arrived. Not only did you leave him with the Queen’s jewels and potentially a bruise or two, you also left him with a new sense of comfort.

Two worlds apart. Two unlikely individuals who were both willing to cross the bridge that’s been built to fill the gap, to meet in the middle.

Yeah, this was a change he could get used to.

“Thank you Captain Song!” cheered the orphans, watching with admiration at how effortlessly Mingi climbed the tree to recover their kite that got stuck in the tall branches.

He soon found his legs to be attacked with hugs from several pairs of petite arms.  

Mingi returned the affections with gentle head pats and a, “Be careful not to run too fast and watch where you’re going!”  

The townspeople greeted him as he patrolled his rounds. Even scoring a ruby red freshly-picked apple from one of the vendors. Today would be a breeze. Golden rays of the sun shone down warmly and the morning air was still crisp. Mingi was already planning to finish his shift early and go see if he could convince Yunho to sneak away from royal duties for a round of archery out by the fields.

“STOP! THIEF!”

Just like that, his trail of thoughts were cut short. Mingi snapped his attention towards the direction where the yelling came from. Jogging over to where the crowd had gathered, he was nearly bowled over by a fleeting figure.  

Upon making eye contact for that split second, he could recognise your mirthful eyes from anywhere.

Your eyes crinkled with delight and being bold as to send a wink his way. But your feet never stopped sprinting and within seconds, Mingi had lost you among the sea of townspeople who still went about their business on the street.    

“THEY WENT THAT WAY!”

Mingi looked back to see some of his unit tailing after a few hooded figures who disappeared into the maze of alleyways. Your guild sure knew the layout of the town inside out.

A sigh escaped him. So much for finishing up early for the day.

But if it was a chase you wanted, then it would be a chase you’ll get. Being the respectful gentleman that he was, he’d let you have a head start of course.

Maybe one day, when he’s old and cranky, worn out to his bones – he’d stop running in circles after you.

Luckily for you both, today wasn’t that day.

[hello-yue-here]

hii, i just wanted to say i love your headcanon of tenor zuko, it works so well! 💞💞

i was wondering whether you also had an idea of which other members of atla would sing and how they would?

thanks so much, liv! 💞💞

OH U BET UR SWEET ASS I DO

aaaaAAAAHHH theatre kid mode: activate

aang: ummm the best singer EVER like bro is an airbender: hes got FANTASTIC breathe support. his directors always wanna cast him as the lead because hes also a triple threat (remember his dancing w katara??? remember how well he played pippinpaddleopsicopolis (i def spelled that wrong oops) manz can sing dance and act hes a star) BUT he always auditions for the comedic side kid characters because those are the ones he wants and no one else is funny enough to play them. it works out well since they have tenor king zuko to be the male lead.

katara: strongest belt you have ever heard in your LIFE. can riff like no other. but the thing is shes an alto so she never gets the parts she deserves because in my experience directors always favor the sopranos. however she is the BEST dancer no matter what cast she is in so she always gets these BEAUTIFUL solo dances and people flip out over them.

sokka: he thinks hes a tenor so he always tries to sing the high stuff (and he can! he does have the range and can hit the notes but he doesnt realize its straining his voice a little bit) so when he gets casted in a baritone role and fucking KILLS IT everyones like holy shit hes amazing. like katara hes got a pretty powerful belt but again if he tries to go too high hes gonna strain his voice. despite not being able to belt too too too high like tenor king zuko, his mix voice is very good and his falsetto is fucking amazing (jersey boys sokka from my yuekka senario last week anyone?)

toph: see you THINK shed be an alto but NOPE. she is a classically trained soprano because of her parents and her classical voice is fucking beautiful. never a dry eye when this girl sings. coukd easily be christine in phantom if she wanted. despite this due to her short height and small frame she is always cast as the little boy characters that are too big of roles to cast random little kids and too high for the other men. example: she was james in james and the giant peach and she was FANTASTIC.

zuko: tenor king.

suki: OUR LEADING LADY. started out as a mezzo soprano w a strong belt and evolved into a true soprano who can actually sing on pitch (no offense to my soprano friends out there. its just. in my hs. EVERY girl thoight they were a soprano. in reality we had two true sopranos. out of like 40 girls who thought they were sopranos. it was a nightmare.) zuko and suki are almost always paired up for the romantic leads in the shows and become besties because of it. very very good dancer as well. back to her voice. im thinking veryyyyy eva noblezada mixed with laura osnes.

azula: soprano queen azula for the same reasons zuko is a tenor king. however: due to the fact that she cannot act or dance for SHIT takes away from her singing talents. its okay tho! she still gets every female lead because no one else can sing like her. the director just makes sure to have everyone dance around her in big numbers and chooses shows where the acting isnt too hard. her school and zukos school are rivals and during hs musical award season it gets HEATED.

mai: alto queen. alto queen. alto queen. who is always playing the female villains and loving every minute of it? mai. her voice is low and haunting and very beautiful to listen to. it gives you shivers and goosebumps because how can her range go that low??? alto queen what more can i say. her raspiness is just *chefs kiss* the cherry on top.

ty lee: dancer first. girl cannot sing for her LIFE. literally so bad she cannot carry a tune at all. but her dancing and actor save her so she always gets the funny girl roles that dont require much ir any singing at all. she always tries her best tho! and by senior year of high school her voice is actually barely tolerable instead of downright painful to listen to. her dancing is on par with kataras and they always make ty lee do the show stopping acrobating tricks even if the show doesnt have that kind of vibe. shes just so energetic onstage that people go crazy for her tricks.

yue: soprano legend. her voice is literally a disney princess voice. she would get all the female leads but she gets stage fright and prefers being in the ensambke anyways. but seriously if you listen to this girls soft voice you will get tears. think denee benton and sierra boggess.

jet: TENOR PRINCE. always either zukos understudy or his best friend character. there have been multiple times when jet suited a role better than zuko wcting and dancing wise but they still have them to zuko because yk. tenor king zuko. favorite role by far was when he was judas in jesus christ superstar and zuko was jesus (jet stole the show in this one which is why its his favorite. he managed to steal the show even when zuko sang gethsemane. the ONLY reason im choosing this show for this hc is because tenor king zuko would fuckin KILL gethsemane and jet has major judas vibes. also judas is hot in this show WHOOPS)

thank you so much for this ask jingyi i had so much fun making this (it took me 25 minutes WHAT THE FUCK time cannot be real) i miss being in musicals i cant wait to do another one

🥰🥰🥰

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x reader chap. 1

*Author’s note*

Well it took awhile from the last update (plus things have been happening in my personal life like losing yet ANOTHER kitty cat this year) but I finally came around and deliver to you guys the first chapter of my new Hallowqueen series. Now keep in mind it’s mostly in 2nd PERSON POV which means as the reader it’s basically gender neutral, so be patient with me as I try to make sure to keep my pronouns in order. Also I hope you all watch the video I have linked in the story, I def. LOVED it when I first found it years ago and this guy can really sing and bring a gender-bend Disney character to life, so if you’ve never heard of him, check out his page you won’t regret it :)

Now not really any warnings per-say except rude bosses, seductive gestures, 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@queensdivas​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@dancingcoolcat​

@queendeakyy​

@kinole009x​

@klausidiot​

@geek-and-proud​

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 1,

First day on the Job

*April 11th, 1926*

First day on the job.  Well it’s really an internship but you were looking forward to it.  Working for the New York Times was an opportunity for any writer.  Your dream was to one day publish the next great American novel, as a child you’ve always been whisked away by the words and tales of dragons, sea-baring pirates, and worlds unlike the one you lived in.

It amazed you how one writer can just take you away on a journey and help distract you from the stresses of the world.  And here is where your journey began in hopes of accomplishing that dream.

You had first heard about the internship for the NY Times in the papers in an advertisement.  The call asked for a 300 word sample of your writing as well as any previous writing experiences you’ve had in the past.

In school you’ve been part of the school newspaper and helped write up advertisements for after school events.  So after submitting your sample as well as a resume, about 2 months later you finally got a letter from the NY times wanting to do an interview.

Long story short, the interview went great and now you’ve got the internship.  You now stood before the doors that would start your future in the world of writing. Tugging the strap of your suitcase over your shoulder, you take a deep breath in before exhaling and entered inside.

Already swarms of people flooded the first floor of the building, their voices echoing off the large room.  The repeated sounds of phones ringing piercing the room as secretaries at their desks were answering them.

It felt like a dream to you for you to actually think that you were now working in one of the top Newspapers brands in all of America.

“You there!” a voice called out.  You turned and saw a young man in a brown suit. “Why are you just standing there!? We are running a newspaper here, not a charity tour.”

“Sorry, I’m….my name is (y/n) (l/n). I’m the new intern to Mr. Grayson.”

“Ohh right. He’s been expecting you. You’re late by the way.”

“Late? But I’m right on……”

“One rule about working under Mr. Grayson, he expects his interns and anyone on his team to arrive before he does. Which is 6am on the dot. And it is now,” he looks down at his watch, “8:45. That’s a good start.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t tole. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t. I’m Harry Wormwood, Vice President of the New York Times.”

“Oh Mr. Wormwood it’s an honor to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just get up to your post and start your internship.”

“Yes sir.” You said solemnly.  Wow he was rude.  To think you have a VP like him that acts like that around new people, especially interns.  But he was right, you had to get up to meet with your head of office and get right to work with whatever he needed help on.

You adjusted your bag once more before heading straight to the elevator and went up to the 13th floor.  After a bit of a ride and getting some more people in the elevator with you, you finally arrive to your floor.

People, like down in the first floor, were swarming the room, typewriters were tapping away as men were at their desks typing away their stories and articles for the paper.  Or as they like to call it ‘putting the paper to bed’.  You walk forward towards a middle aged man with ginger colored hair and ask him.

“Excuse me, do you know where Mr. Grayson’s office is at?”

“In the back, straight down the hall, last door. It’ll have his name plagued on the door in gold.” He said without looking you in the eye.

“Great, thank you.” you followed his instructions but when you got to his door, there was sounds of a commotion going on.  Well when you say that you mean the sound of someone yelling and belittling someone, then yes.

“YOU GODDAMN SONS OF BITCHES!!! If we can get a picture of Joan Crawford in lingerie, then we can surely get a hold of this damn jazz club!” you peek inside and inside you see four men surrounding a desk.

And right there at his desk with a cigar between his teeth was your new boss, Mr. Richard Grayson.  He was a middle aged man around his late 40’s possible even early 50’s. He was a fairly tall man with greying short hair, a small mustache across his lip.

But what really made him well known was the way he carried himself.  He was always described as a man who carried himself like a drill sergeant (that could be because he was one during the Great War).  A true, Bronx accent that carried out demands for miles and miles on end.

“Sir, we have tried everything we could to get a hold of an interview inside but not even our best interviewers could get pass security.” Said a blonde haired man in a blue suit.

“Our photographer Eddie has been on it for weeks and the owners have threatened a lawsuit against him because he’s been taking pictures of the club without consent.”

“Aww what are they shy?” Mr. Grayson mocked out. “Then let them sue us then, get rich on their own standards! That’s what made this country stand the way it is!”

“Maybe we should just forget about it.” Said a brown haired man.

“I have been on this case for years. Ever since these mysterious owners built their club at the start of the decade and has remained popular I want to know just what the secret to their success.”

“Sir the only thing we have is that the owners come from England and that they prefer a specific crowd of people.” Answered a young man around your age who had black hair.

“Yeah right they do.” Mr. Greyson muttered sarcastically. That’s when he suddenly turned towards you. “You!” he pointed at you.  You’re startled by his loud, strong voice as you quickly come inside his office.

“Sorry sir I-I-I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I really should’ve knocked.”

“You’re the new intern right?” he ignored your apology and went straight to the question at hand.

“Y-Yes sir.”

“Excellent. I want you to go to this night club and get an exclusive interview with the owners, bartender, musicians, I don’t care who. Just find someone to talk to and ask them about their Jazz club.”

“Sir you can’t give it to them. This is a big responsibility, not to mention too much for a fresh intern to take over.” Said the man in the brown suit that you saw first speak to Mr. Grayson.

“Shut it Mack! You remember what I had you do the first day you were late working for me. What better way to get started than by throwing fresh meat to the wolves.”

Can you say you regret working here yet? No too early? Okay then.

“So what do you say kid, will you do it?” before you could even answer, your boss continues, “Of course you’ll do it. Now then. Take this camera, your notepad, and come up with a clever story to get inside. Good luck kid!” he tosses you a camera and notepad before escorting you out of his office and shutting the door behind you.

Okay……what the fuck just happened? It all happened so fast you almost couldn’t even believe it.  And what jazz club did he want you to check out again?

Later that night (after getting the information from some of your new team members) you now stood before the building you were supposed to go undercover for.

In a bright neon sign at the side of the building was the name BEWITCHED JAZZ.  Now you have heard of this club before and remember it getting fairly good praise from the public and has a good swarm of people.  Hell even some of the biggest names in Hollywood have been seen going into that club.

But there was always an air of mystery about it.  Like Mr. Grayson said, security is always tight. First of all security actually gives you a pat down before entering inside.  Any traces of photography or recording equipment is immediately destroyed (yes you heard, destroyed).

Thinking it’d be best, you decide to leave the camera in your car and just wait it out.  Cause that seems to be the problem that most of Mr. Greyson’s reporters don’t seem to get, they just think barging on in will get them access.  A good reporter always plans ahead and blends in with the crowd, observes then goes in for the kill.

You stand in the line and for about an hour you stand there waiting to get inside until finally it’s your turn to go up.

“Next.” A very tall and muscular man speaks out as he unhooks the rope allowing you to come forward. “Pardon but I’m gonna need to do a pat down.”

“Go ahead.” As he carefully and precisely starts the pat down, you can’t help but feel intimidated, hell his whole hand goes halfway down your leg and covers your entire back.  He was a pretty intimidating man to look at, and you hope he doesn’t snap you like a toothpick.

“Now you don’t have any weapons or outside drinks that I’m not aware of?” he asks in that deep, deep baritone voice of his.

“No sir.” You answer.

“Show me some identification.” You pull out your wallet and give him your ID.  He looks down at it before looking towards you skeptically.

Swallowing nervously, the giant just looks at you with a skeptical look before finally giving you back your ID.

“Go right on in.” what? Oh god you couldn’t believe you could actually go in.  You take your ID and put it back inside your wallet and thank the guard before stepping inside.

It was a fairly big place, about 3000 sq. ft. A decent size of the typical jazz clubs in NYC.  It looked like any ordinary jazz club, firefly lights hanging from the ceiling, the lights lowered to a slight shadow, tables surrounding everywhere, including each side of the catwalk.

A grand stage was at the very center of the building with a band playing an upbeat jazz score.  Waiters and bartenders tending to each customer.  Some people were dancing to the music while most were sitting down talking to one another.

“Wow.” You softly muttered.

“It’s alright but we make do.” A voice suddenly spoke up. You jump back startled but you stop as you stare at the man before you.

He was unlike any other man you’ve seen in your entire life. He was fairly tall and lean, but not unhealthily skinny, just lean.  His eyes were almost a hypnotic blue and he had fairly sharp features, particularly his nose and even his profile.

It was like looking at an angel.  But what really struck your attention was the curly hair he had.  It reminded you of that one scientist from like the medieval ages or something, what was his name again uhh—Neutron? New—Newton! Isaac Newton that’s the guy.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No it’s—it’s fine. I’m just…..I was just admiring the place. I’ve…..never really been to a jazz club before.”

“Well, I hope we here at the BEWITCHED can help fill your desires. Oh manners, I’m Brian. Head Bartender.” Head bartender? That’s new.

“What’s a head bartender?”

“Basically I run the bar and train all the other bartenders so that every drink is made to perfection. Now come, sit and let me prepare you something.” He does a gentle gesture towards the bar with his arm and you go to sit at an empty cushioned barstool.  Wow this was really cushioned, it kinda reminded you of sofa material. Now so soft that you sink into it but not hard enough to where it’s uncomfortable.

Brian goes around the bar and stands before you and asks with a warm smile and says with that soft voice of his that you can somehow hear over the music.

“Now what can I get for you?”

“Actually I’m…..don’t really know my drinks that well, what’s your most popular one?”

“Well the most popular drink on our menu is French 75. A pretty basic cocktail made with gin, champagne and lemon. I think the main reason why people like it so much is they think it’s actually from France but in truth it really isn’t.” he teases the last part of his statement which makes you softly laugh. “There’s also the Bees Knees, also called our ‘bathtub gin’. Mainly from our pianist player. But that’s basically gin, fresh lemon juice and honey. To give it that sweet yet tart flavor.”

“I think I’ll go with the Bee’s Knees then.” He gave a snap of his fingers.

“Coming right up.” He pulls out a small circular bowl wine glass and with graceful precision he starts whipping up the drink.  Shaking the cocktail up in a perfect blend, pouring out the right amount of gin and juice into the concoction.  Before finally topping it off with some honey and stirred it up.

Then with a grace and delicate pour, he pours the Bee’s Knees, which comes out in a beautiful, clear sunset orange color into the glass before topping it off with two flower decoration toppings.

“Here you are.” He said as he picked it up delicately from the stem of the glass and handed it over to you.  You set down a dollar and took a small sip of it.

And as soon as your tastebuds were washed over with the drink, it was like you had died and gone to heaven.

“Oh my god! This is sooo good!”

“I’m glad you like it. That’s actually one of the owner’s preferred cocktails of choice. Can’t get enough of it.”

“I can see why. And he certainly has good taste.”

“She does. Actually.” Wait did he just say.  I quickly looked up at him and I stammered.

“Wait—you mean this……”

“It’s a partnership. Both she and her husband own the place. She makes most of the decisions since she knows the business world better than any of us. While he takes care of the finances, she’s always been lousy when it comes to the math. Don’t tell her I said that though.”

“My lips are sealed.” You say as you take another sip of your drink.

The curtains then close and a spotlight came on at the center of the curtain.  That’s when you suddenly hear all the ladies in the room beginning to scream bloody murder. God never have you heard so many women scream before nor have you seen them try to get up to the stage so quickly in your life.

“Here they go again.” Brian says as he starts cleaning out a beer glass.

“What?” you ask.

“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday night when my mate preforms, the ladies all go crazy at the chance of getting to him.”

“Mate? You mean you guys are…..” you ask curiously.

“Oh no nothing like that. Where we come from mate means best friend. But even though I don’t condone his constant flirtatious behavior, he’s gotten me out of more scraps than I care to imagine.”

Peeking through the velvet blue curtain was an arm.  The red glittering sequin pattern delicately bounced off the spotlight and soon a hypnotic, soft yet raspy voice began to sing. When the curtains opened up and a soft jazz tune began playing, on stage stood a very, very, very, very handsome man.

When you say handsome, you really mean handsome.  This man looked like he was carved from the god with his ruffled up blonde hair, his piercing blue eyes that unlike Brian’s which were soft and inviting, this guy had hypnotic eyes that just draw you in and could kill you.

He wore a bright sequin cherry red tail suit which was unbuttoned pretty much all the way down, exposing his upper body to the ladies.  His neck decorated with 3 necklaces.  One of which went practically down to where his abs were, the other hung right at the center of his chest and was in the shape of some sort of snail shell or some other type of seashell.  The last one was more of a choker but was decored with beautiful diamonds like a crown of sorts.

He strut across the stage with grace and purpose as he continued to sing with a lustful, hypnotic tone that just made you go numb and melt in your seat.  And your eyes refusing to look away from this handsome creature before you.

*Male singer*

I got plenty money in 1922 You let other rich men make a fool of you Why don't you do right like some other gals do?         

He kneels down in front of the stage in front of a beautiful young woman.  She had long, wavy blonde hair and she looked up at this man with lust in her eyes.  He placed a dollar bill between her teeth and closed her mouth as he walked down the steps of the stage.

        He then walked over towards a woman with short raven hair.  She was fairly lean and had almost an aristocratic air about her.  He stood in front of her and took her hand in his.  He leaned towards her hand almost wanting to kiss the back of it, but his lips teased her hand and you could see her slightly shiver past her authorative demeanor.

With a cunning grin, he then stripped his tailcoat off his back leaving the undercoat which exposed his bare arms, the hint of black ocean waves tattoos decorated around his biceps.

You couldn’t speak at this point as you felt our heart racing rapidly, almost as if it were about to pop right out of your chest. The man soon turned his eyes right on you.  His piercing eyes staring deep into your soul.

Slowly walking towards you, he circles around you like a wolf circling it’s prey.  His hand gently grazes up your arm and you feel a bolt of electricity run up your spine, and it didn’t help when his hot breath gently sung in your ear.

Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you

You're sittin' down wonderin' what it's all about If you ain't got no money they will put you out Why don't you do right like some other gals do? Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you

Now if you had prepared twenty years ago You wouldn't be wanderin' now from door to door Why don't you do right like some other gals do?          You didn’t know why but you were willing to let this god-like siren just devour you. But when you turned your attention back to him, you saw that he was now looking towards you left at the upper floors.

        There at the top of the red carpet stairs stood a fairly beautiful woman. Her hair was a beautiful long ginger color and she wore a similar sparkling dark cherry red dress.  She held in her hand a silver dollar.

        He slowly walked up towards the mysterious woman that stood by the stairs and the two stared each other down.  She gave him the dollar but before she took her hand away, he took it in his and stared up at her like she was an angel (which you’ll admit, she did kinda look like one).

Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you

Let’s get out of here, I got some money for you Why don't you do right, like some other gals, do?

As he did a falsetto for the final note, he grazed the woman’s hand before doing his seductive walk back towards the stage. He turned back towards the audience and gave a flirtatious wink before the curtains closed on him.

The ladies all screamed as the lights came back up and you felt the spell the man had somehow placed on you slowly fade away.  Right now if you had to describe how you were feeling it’s be like running a marathon and had just swam across the entire Pacific ocean twice.

“Hope he didn’t scare you too bad honey.” A soft, Southern accent spoke.  You turned around and there stood the woman that the blonde singer had tried to seduce with his voice.  But she didn’t seem affected like all the other women were.

“I-I ju……he was……” she lowly chuckled.

“He has that effect on all the ladies. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Brian dear, get this dear a glass of water.”

“Right away my lady.” Brian said as he prepared you a glass of water.  She takes a seat beside you and continues.

“He may act all macho and seductive. But trust me, his bark is worse than his bite.” She spoke in that honey-like voice of hers that had a slight raspy to it, but it didn’t change the softness to her motherly tone.

“Who—who was he?” you ask her.

“He only gives out his name to those he truly trusts. So most of the ladies here call him the blonde Siren.”

“The blonde Siren?”

“Now I hope I’m not being intrusive but I haven’t seen you in this club before, have I?”

“No. This—is my first time actually.”

“Really? For business or pleasure?” she said as she leaned her chin against fist, looking at you with red eyes? Wait she had red eyes? And not like the kind of red that comes from being tired or when you get pink eye.  They were literally red eyes, blood red to be exact.  Not wanting her to see that you were stuck in thought you came up with a good excuse.

“I’ve just heard about this place from some friends and—wanted to see for myself.” She looked at me skeptically at first but a soft grin spread across her face.

“Well we try our best. We also want to make sure that first timers are treated fairly and respectfully. That’s the one law here at BEWITCHED.”

“Well I’m fairly happy. The drinks are amazing and the music is phenomenal.”

“I’m glad.” She then hummed out a chuckle. “Silly me, I almost forgot, you can call me Serafina. I’m the owner of this fine establishment.” Your eyes widened.

This young and beautiful woman owned this entire place?! But she couldn’t be older than her mid 20’s.  And the fact that she was a woman running this club, that’s completely unheard of.  A woman owning such a booming business.

Of course there wasn’t any jealously on your part.  In fact you were amazed that such a young woman could run a business like this and be so successful.

“Brian told me that a woman owned this place. But—pardon me for saying this but you’re…….”

“Too young to run a big business?” she said with a quirked brow. Thinking you had offended her you tried to defend your statement but all that came out were stutters of embarrassment. “Relax honey. I get that a lot. Why do you think we’re so secretive? A young woman running a big business. Oh the scandal of it all!” the two of you laugh.

The big clock along the ceiling soon chimed out midnight. Whoa it’s already that late.

“I should get going. If I’m late for work again my boss will kick me to the curb for sure. And on my second day no less.”

“You sure you’re sober enough to drive honey?” Serafina asked you.  You give her a nod.

“Yeah. I only really had one drink and that water sobered me up a lot. Thank you so much Brian, Serafina.”

“Anytime sweetie. Hope to see you again soon.” Serafina says with a warm smile.  You grab your wallet and pay the rest of your tab to Brian before finally walking out of the club.

*3rd Person POV*

Once they were gone, Brian turned to her and said.

“It was them.”

“Just as Freddie prophesized.” Serafina dropped her fake accent and spoke with her normal British tone.

“So it is time then?” another British male voice spoke up. The High elf and the ginger haired witch turned and soon walking towards them was John Deacon himself.

His once long hair was now cut down to a short tuff of brown hair. He wore a clean-cut black tailcoat suit. Serafina extended her hand and the two lovers joined hands with each other.

“Yes my love.”

“Honestly I hoped this day would never come.”

“But it must John. You know this. You have seen what will happen if they don’t help us.” Brian warned him.

“I’m not sure if we can even trust them.” Coming around the bar to pour himself a drink was Roger. “They’re human. And humans have been poking around in our business for centuries. Especially their reporters. We already run the risk of exposing ourselves to the human realm.” He took a shot of his beer.

‘Now, now my darlings we mustn’t quarrel.’ A soft, serpent voice spoke in their heads. ‘The humans are our least concern right now. What matters now is getting our key to help us finally put an end to the dark Wizards once and for all.’

“Yes Freddie.” All four of them softly chorused out.

[lostinfantasies38]

14 Days of DA Lover’s - Day 10 Surprise Kiss

@scharoux @14daysofdalovers

Pairing: Cullen/Alistair

Locus Amoenus

[def Latin - “pleasant place,” usually a charming field or a walled garden]

Strolling the quiet fortress in the evening was a favored pastime. He noticed many things that others might overlook. Dorian and Varric discussing history in the library. Cassandra and Josephine swapping romance novels with excited giggles.  Lels and Vivienne plotting on the mage’s terrace or maybe discussing their mutual love of fashion, but since they spoke in Orlesian, he wasn’t sure which it was. Since teaming up with the Inquisitor, Alistair began to see the various companions as family and the castle his home. Surprising, indeed, since the last time he lived in a castle it had certainly not felt homey.

Of course, his feelings had absolutely nothing to do with the enigmatic Commander who also lived and breathed and, Maker’s breath, prowled the halls like a caged lion. Alistair sighed heavily. He’d pined for Cullen since he was old enough to realize his brotherly affection for him wasn’t quite so… brotherly.

Leliana was right… again. Damn that maddening woman! He should have spoken to Cullen about things face-to-face before he left. Then, he wouldn’t have spent 16 days, 9 hours, and 27 minutes stressing about his reaction. If he had simply told him, instead of leaving a furtive note and running away, he could have spent the time away either celebrating…or more likely, patching up his battered heart away from prying eyes. Now, he had to walk blindly into a mess of his own making - well, he would if he hadn’t been avoiding every opportunity to speak to him over the last two days.

Andraste’s flaming sword!

Entering the garden, Alistair found it blissfully empty and quickly located his favorite spot at the far end of the cultivated square. Closing his eyes, he leaned against a column hidden by riotous purple blooms and tried to muster the courage to do what he needed to do. Everyone is at dinner and I’m sulking behind the wisteria, hiding from my problems - like usual.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The rich baritone startled him and he wrapped his arms around the cool marble in shock. Swallowing hard, his hazel eyes landed on the man casually leaning on the wall across from him, noting the twinkle in his amber eyes, and his surprising lack of armor.

His attire was the same as his own, except his tunic was red instead of cream, and Alistair’s lips twitched.  Of course, he would wear red – it was practically his signature color. Not that he was complaining, because the shade definitely suited him and without his mantle Alistair could appreciate how Cullen’s muscular legs filled out his breeches.

Clearing his throat, Alistair stammered. “Cullen… I, ah… shit. I’m really sorry about the letter… and everything. I shouldn’t have just thrown it in your lap and disappeared like I did. I –“

Cullen’s warm chuckle interrupted his rambling. “I hope you aren’t sorry about the letter, because I’m not.”

Alistair sucked in a ragged breath as his lips curled into that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk that made him weak in the knees. Producing a red rose from behind his back, he twirled it with careless finesse. He nearly collapsed; his heart pounding so hard he thought it would surely burst. A strangled wheeze tumbled from his mouth without his permission, rudely exposing his absolute astonishment to the man who never had so much as a single hair out of place.

In three quick strides, Cullen stood before him, one hand cupping his face with a tenderness that Alistair dreamed of for almost twenty years. Cullen’s gaze flicked to his lips and closed the two inches that separated them, scattering all rational thought from his mind as he allowed himself to be swept away, fantasy at last made real.

Full lips moved against his own, the scar surprisingly smooth, and Alistair swore he could hear Andraste singing. When they deepened the kiss, brandy and mint danced on his tongue, setting his blood aflame. The moans ripped jointly from their lungs proved he was not alone in this maelstrom of emotion. The arm hooked around his waist might well have been steel, holding him captive as their sweet kiss rapidly gave way to something more primal, insistent, demanding. He needed more; he needed all of Cullen, everything he thought he could never have, yet hoped for since his youth.

Separating with a gasp as his brain asserted the need for oxygen, Alistair stared at Cullen in awe. The blond was just as dazed, swallowing hard before he rasped, “Is that answer enough for you?”

Alistair blinked in residual astonishment while scrambling for a response. “W-why...did you never say anything?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced in embarrassment. “I’m sure for the same reason you didn’t. I was… afraid that I would lose your friendship and… I –“

“Would rather have that than nothing, at all.” Alistair finished and they smiled shyly at one another. “When did you know?”

The blond cleared his throat, features pinking slightly with his admission. “Ahh, when you poured that bucket of dish water over my head and instead of making me angry, it made me laugh. Surprised the hell out of you, if I recall.”

Alistair snorted. “Surprised the hell out of all of us, actually, but Maker’s breath, Cullen! I’d already been in love with you for a year at that point!” Recognizing the enormity of his words, Alistair clammed up and stepped aside to flee. Yet Cullen always anticipated when he would retreat and snagged his arm to return him to his original position.

His eyes shone like polished bronze in the fading light of the garden and Alistair was lost in them. Cullen’s breathing increased along with his and he hoped, he prayed, that he had not stuck his foot so far in his mouth that he couldn’t dig his way out, if needed. A strong arm snaked around his back, deliberately pulling him closer until they were intimately flush. Uncertain what he should do with his arms, he settled for wrapping them around the blond which must have been the correct choice as the other man visibly relaxed in his hold.

Alistair was the taller of the two, but in this moment, he felt small and vulnerable. Cullen also seemed unsure, but certainly more confident than Alistair after his slip. Brushing a hand across Alistair’s cheek, Cullen whispered hoarsely, “I love you, too, Alistair. I have for… far too long without being able to tell you. I-I want this… you… us. If… you’ll have me, that is. I know that I am not… whole anymore.”

“Don’t say that!” Alistair’s wide eyes pleaded, gripping him firmly, mimicking the tightness in his chest. “No one can ever understand what you’ve been through, Cullen, not even me. But you are not broken. You are a survivor and I have so much damned respect for you. Giving up lyrium? Leaving the Templars? Commanding an army?” Alistair thumbed his stubbled jaw. “You’re an inspiration.”

Cullen scoffed softly, glancing at the ground as color flared up his neck and face. Alistair smiled and lifted his chin, stating adamantly, “Yes, Cullen, you are. You’re an inspiration to me.” Tears briefly welled in his golden gaze, but he blinked them away with a small quirk of his lips, relaxing in his gentle hold.

Alistair glanced at the rose in Cullen’s other hand. “Is that the one I gave you,” he whispered reverently, melting at the tenderness with which Cullen cradled the bloom in his large hand, a fond smile decorating his face as he admired the flower.

Cullen nodded slowly as though lost in thought, his thumb delicately rubbing the velvety petals. “I… ahem… asked Dorian to enchant it – preserve it, so it won’t die.”

Alistair rocked on his heels in shock. After a heartbeat, he gasped breathlessly, “You told Dorian?”

His brow furrowed with uncertainty, fear beginning to swirl in his amber eyes. “Yes… only because I needed his help. Should I not have? I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

In response, Alistair captured his lover’s mouth again, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss. A few moments later, he rested his forehead to Cullen’s, choking back tears when he spoke. “Of course, I don’t mind, you chivalrous knight! You told someone about me… us.”

Cullen cupped the nape of Alistair’s neck, affectionately circling his soft skin with battle-worn fingers, the clouds of anxiety now banished in favor of understanding. “Of course I told someone. You’re not a dirty little secret, Alistair. I love you. I am in love with you and I have been for half my life. I never expected you to feel the same way, but I am not ashamed of you or us… as a couple.”

Alistair’s tongue was thick with emotion when he replied, “I love you, too. I’m in love with you, Cullen.” Brushing their lips lightly together, he then pressed a chaste kiss against the scar he loved, but knew made Cullen self-conscious. The blond’s breath caught at the action – so much said in that one touch. A lifetime of kisses and acceptance in one and neither of them ever felt so full.

“Come with me,” Alistair whispered, afraid to speak any louder and potentially break the spell in the quiet garden. Cullen nodded mutely, eyes suspiciously bright as he clung to Alistair’s hand, gingerly holding the enchanted rose as they stole up the stairs to the battlements and Cullen’s tower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flower symbolism:

Red Rose: the lover’s rose

Wisteria: this vine has multiple meanings, but I used it in this scene for this particular one “serious devotion, whether it’s to a cause or another person”

[likethetailofacomet]

I Wasted You- Part 1

A/N: Ya’ll... I promise I am a Drake fan. I promise that hasn’t changed. No matter what this might look like. Anywho. Introducing Lady Cassandra Aberdeen and the mess that she found herself in. I had to create a new MC because I certainly couldn’t put Claire through this in any AU, and even Riley is too close to my heart to put through the wringer in this manner. So...sorry, Cass, you’ve been nominated. This entire storyline can be blamed completely on the song of the same name by Flora Cash (who have been utterly destroying me lately) This will be a two part “one shot” (because i cannot condense my wordiness. sorry, i tried.) 

Pairings: Liam x MC (Cassie Aberdeen), Drake x MC (Cassie Aberdeen) 

Warnings: ANGST, sexual abuse, and i def dropped at least one F bomb. 

Word Count: 3,602

Tunes: I Wasted You, Flora Cash

Cassie couldn’t get into her hotel room quickly enough. Tears she was determined not to cry stung harshly in the corners of her eyes, biting painfully like the winter winds off the water, like the raw, harsh cold of December in New York- and it was May. She fumbled with the card key, cursing to herself as she took a shuddering breath, one hand running through her hair. The light blinked green and she heard the mechanical whir of the lock as it clicked open. Shaking, she pushed the door, entering the room and closed it behind her, sliding down it into a puddle on the cool tile. She let the tears spill freely, landing in splotches on the smoke colored gown that she couldn’t wait to donate to charity; the dress she broke Drake’s heart in, the dress her own heart turned to ice in, the dress she wore on the day she no longer knew herself...on the one day she always imagined would be one of the happiest of her life.

A low, keening sound came from the very back of her throat as she struggled to gasp for air between sobs. The tears were streaming down her face now, taking her mascara with them in rivulets down her cheeks which had flushed red. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly and her head rested back against the door, lolled slightly to one side. She had no energy to keep herself in an upright position, and soon found herself lying on the floor, the beaded fabric of her gown pooled around her, wrinkled and wet. She was thankful that Liam had gone back to his own room after kissing her goodnight, a bright smile in his warm eyes, excited electricity buzzing through him; thankful that he wouldn’t have to see her like this, destroyed for having destroyed his best friend.

How did this happen? How did I let this happen?

She’d asked herself those questions so often throughout the season that she’d lost count. She’d asked herself those questions so often throughout that very evening that she contemplated, several times, running through the city streets, heels in hand, and heading straight for her apartment, closing the door and pulling the bolts on it all. On Cordonia and Liam and Drake. On her feelings and regrets. On the expectations that the Beaumonts had hefted upon her. But she wasn’t kidding herself into thinking that a locked door could keep out the heartache, the utter devastation and the feelings of guilt for having caused it. It hadn’t worked here, in the hotel with the heavy, mechanically locked, thick, bullet proof door, so it surely wouldn’t work at home or anywhere else.  

The tears had finally run out, but they hadn’t taken the pain or guilt with them, and she laid there, cheek against the soft plush carpet, until the sky outside her window changed colors. She watched the stars blink out and the neons turn off as the black night softened, early yellow light filling the cloudless sky as the sun rose on a new day. She wished she could rise as a new person; one that hadn’t ruined everything by falling for two men.

How did this happen?

She hadn’t meant for it to. She hadn’t felt anything at all for Drake when she decided to take Max up on his offer to join the Cordonian social season. She’d spent the night before deep in conversation with Liam, laughing and smiling and taking him to her secret spot. She’d felt an instant connection with him and knew right away that he was far more than his crown; that he saw her as far more than a waitress. She’d danced the night away with Liam at the Masquerade Ball, she’d had eyes only for him at the races, and they’d found time alone whenever possible, learning each other in ways that polite tea conversation couldn’t reveal. She was cautiously falling for the crown prince, and thrilled about it, because she could tell, despite the constant presence of ladies far better suited to be queen than she, that he was cautiously falling for her too. But then the court had gone to Lythikos, and her cautious plans had been haphazardly dashed when she followed Drake out into the snow.

How did I let this happen?

He’d treated her like a piece of furniture; like he could take her or leave her, like he expected her to be gone soon, so why bother to get to know her? And for the most part, aside from a slight pang of disappointment in his lack of interest in her- after all, she was likely Liam’s top choice and as such wanted his best friend to like her- she was fine with the distance that there was between them. What she wasn’t fine with, was allowing him to wander out into the frigid ice fields of Lythikos at night, alone, without a coat. She could live with him not wanting anything to do with her. She couldn’t live with him freezing to death because Olivia had been cruel.

She’d found him in a clearing, bare armed and shivering, though he’d never admit to how cold he was, gazing up at the sky full of stars.  The look on his face had stopped her in her tracks; eyes shining with more emotion than she’d seen from him over the past few weeks, his mouth hanging slightly open as a heavy sigh slipped out, lines etched into his forehead. She watched the way his back and shoulders rose and fell as he took a few breaths, and as she did she felt his pain enter her chest. She had no idea what it was, only that she felt it, too, and suddenly she wasn’t okay with the distance between them. Suddenly she needed to close it, needed to be there for him. She’d stepped up beside him, boots crunching quietly in the crust of snow that permanently covered the ground, and wrapped her cold, raw, red fingers around his large rough hand. She gave a light squeeze and felt all of the tension in his body fade at that small gesture. When he’d turned his dark eyes from the sky to her face, she knew she was in trouble.

They’d walked back to the chateau with their hands still twined under the guise of safety, but Cassie could feel the danger of the situation- of being so close to him. By the time they reached the estate her hands were just as raw, but every inch of her was on fire and from the look of him, he felt the flames too. He’d bid her goodnight, and for the first time he’d called her by her name. “G’night, Cassie.” Two simple little words. But she heard so much more, felt that he had more that he wanted to say, and found herself wishing that he had said it all. “Goodnight, Drake, sweet dreams,” she’d said back. He’d blinked slowly, closing his eyes on the word “sweet”, and she got the feeling that she’d be running though his mind while he slept. She found herself wishing that if they both dreamt of each other, they could be together in their dreams. She found herself wondering what that meant- her dreams had been dominated by images of Liam- his hands caressing her skin, his lips moving against hers, the deep, rich tone of his voice, his dark eyes boring into her and melting her from the inside out. She tried to fall asleep that night thinking of the time she’d spent skating with Liam, thinking of his smile and the baritone of his laugh and the way they caused a flutter in her chest.  She tried.

I should have stopped this. I shouldn’t have let him…

The King and Queen had started to notice that Liam was spending a disproportionate amount of time with “Lady” Cassandra Aberdeen- New York City waitress and heir to nothing, and insisted that he put his desires aside to spend time with the other ladies. Cassie understood, especially after Liam’s genuine apology, after the sincere way he’d looked into her eyes as he said “Believe me, Lady Cassie, yours is the only attention I crave.” He’d pulled her hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss to the top of her knuckles before flipping her hand palm side up to leave another kiss there. He’d bent her fingers over her palm, as if to keep the kiss from flying away, and those two tender, chaste expressions of affection had sent a rush through her body as though he’d fully ravished her. “I believe you, my Prince,” she’d responded, batting her lashes dreamily, a low, husky tone to her voice. She did believe him. She knew that if he could have it his way, he’d have chosen her and called off the remainder of the season, swept her into his arms and into their own happily ever after.

But Liam didn’t make the rules, and neither did Cassie. She understood, but she didn’t like the way it felt, seeing Liam with the other women, seeing him laying the same types of kisses on their hands. They’re not the same, she’d tell herself, look at his eyes, he doesn’t look at them like he looks at you. Seeing him dance with the other ladies, sweeping them across the floor. Look at his hands, how he’s barely holding them, not like he holds you, like he’s afraid to let you go. Seeing him laugh at things the other suitors said. The smile doesn’t reach his heart, you can tell, just look at him. Cassie had never been a jealous person, and she wasn’t about to start in on jealousy now. But no matter how much she tried to talk herself down, she felt that gnawing, uneasy feeling every time she had to watch him with Kiara or Penelope or Olivia or Madeline or even Hana. It was at Applewood Manor, at the apple festival, when Drake took notice that she wasn’t coping as well as she wanted everyone to believe.

“What’s the matter, Aberdeen, thought you of all people would be enjoying this,” he gestured vaguely around at the flags and booths, the clear blue sky and the festival goers milling about. He brought a glass of cider to his lips and took a swig, soft leather eyes narrowed at her over the rim of the glass. When Cassie looked up at him to answer, his demeanor changed, dropping the sarcasm and the teasing at the way the season was visibly wearing on her. He put his free hand on her back, between her shoulders, pressing lightly. “Hey, Aberdeen…you okay?” His eyebrows came together in concern, his lips in a tight line. Cassie shook her head and tried to tell him it was nothing, that she was enjoying herself, but she saw Drake follow her gaze to where Liam was strolling towards the orchard with Kiara. “Hey, how about we go get up to some trouble?” he tilted his head towards where Maxwell was readying to bob for apples, but Cassie wondered what other types of trouble he had in mind. She knew what kind of trouble she’d thought about getting into with Drake, despite how she’d tried not to. Given the option of watching Liam with the other suitors all day, or trying to forget feeling like she’d been forgotten, she’d gone with Drake. What a mistake.

It would have been enough, spending the day with him, listening to him tell her about his favorite parts of the festival. It would have been more than enough, seeing the way his eyes lit up when he smiled- a thing so rare she had begun to wonder if he knew how- or feeling his shoulder brush hers as they squeezed past a crowd of people gathered around to watch the crowning of the Apple Queen. It would have been enough to hear him say, “I’m glad you had a good time, Aberdeen,” when he walked her back to the estate as the sun sank and the sky turned purple. It all would all have been enough and too much at once. But two things happened that night to further compound the situation that she found herself in: Liam had to rush into emergency trade meetings that lasted from the end of the festival, well into the evening, meaning that she had spent absolutely no time with him at all. She knew that that’s how it would be when they were married, when she was Queen- knew that their schedules and duties would conflict and sometimes keep them apart. She wasn’t naïve, she didn’t think they’d be able to just ride off into the sunset and spend every waking moment in one another’s arms. But the simple fact that once the season was through they’d at least be allowed to spend what time they did have free together. They’d at least be allowed to hold hands without raising any red flags, to share a kiss without causing a scandal. It wasn’t even the waiting for the engagement and the marriage; it was wanting to be with him, and him wanting to be with her, but not being allowed to. It was being alone while he was with all of them. But she wasn’t alone. Not really.

I shouldn’t have let him…

The second event that had changed everything would continue to stick with her for the rest of her life; one that would cause her skin to crawl, one that would make her check the locks on every door, one that would make her look behind the curtains and under the bed and in the closet before getting undressed for years to come. Tariq. In her room. Advancing on her nearly naked form with lust in his eyes and a Cheshire cat grin on his half drunken face. She’d tried to tell him to leave, she’d tried to cover up and push him away, but it was as though she were speaking another language, as though he couldn’t hear her…as though he could hear her but didn’t care. As he wrapped his arms around her, the fabric of his suit jacket scratching at her bare back uncomfortably, he closed his eyes and leaned it to kiss her. Heart pounding in her throat and limbs shaking, she knew she had to scream before his lips covered hers, silencing her cries. She took as big a breath as she could and let out a blood curdling sound just as Tariq’s wet lips crashed to hers. She felt violently ill as he smothered her, crushing her to his body despite how she struggled to push herself away from him. He was stronger than he looked, especially fueled by lust and cider, and Cassie was 120 lbs. soaking wet and never the strongest to begin with. Seconds ticked by as his hands roved her body, gripping, grasping, fingerprints digging into her soft flesh, and she felt tears slipping past her eyelids, she felt her cries die on her tongue as it tried to evade his. She sobbed against his mouth as her mind raced fearfully with what would happen next.

And then the door flew open, the frame cracked with the force, and Drake was there in two strides. One hand clasped around Tariq’s shoulder, pulling him off of Cassie, the other hand balled into a fist and drawn back before it came down like a hammer on Tariq’s face. Cassie stumbled free and clutched the bedpost, wide eyed and breathless as she watched Tariq tackle Drake to the ground, getting a few punches of his own in before Drake delivered the final blow that brought the drunken letch to his senses. He looked from Drake’s enraged expression, his eyes nearly black, his top lip curled, to Cassie, fearfully cowering away from him. Shaking his head, he fled the room, mumbling to himself about the American sending him mixed signals, mumbling about how this wasn’t his fault. As soon as he was gone, Drake was by her side, hands held tentatively up in front of him, the anger in his eyes changing immediately to hurt at the way she looked. “Cass…” he croaked, “Cass, are you…” he shook his head, closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Did he hurt you?”

He looked like he was in pain and not just from the fight. He looked like he was having trouble breathing, and not just from the bruised ribs. She couldn’t answer, not with words. Instead, she flung her small body at him, curling around him and holding tight, as though he could keep her from disintegrating after what just happened. He winced, and she couldn’t tell if it was from his injuries or from her body wrapped around his, from the close proximity that they both knew was better to avoid. After a few beats she felt his arms come around her, felt his whispered words against her hair. “It’s okay, Aberdeen, I got you…I got you…” She cried into his shirt until she felt her breath even out and her heartbeat slow.

She’d asked him to stay for a while. She’d insisted that he let her take care of him, ice his wounds and clean the cut under his eye. It seemed innocent enough; Liam’s best friend coming to her aid in his absence, protecting her, comforting her. It seemed only natural that she’d want to make sure he wasn’t hurt, that she’d want to repay him with kindness. But they both knew that’s not all that was happening, and neither could walk away. Neither wanted to.  

I shouldn’t have let him stay…

He’d been the one to break the silence, after she’d done what she could for him. “I should go, Aberdeen…you should…” he swallowed and looked away. “You should call Liam. Tell him what happened…I’m sure he’d want to know that you’re safe…” Cassie couldn’t help the way she felt: that if Liam was concerned about her safety, he wouldn’t have left her on her own all day, wouldn’t have left her to Drake. She immediately cringed at those thoughts, knowing full and well that Liam was in love with her, and that he was sure to be devastated, sure to be wracked with misplaced guilt once he heard what had happened. Reluctantly she nodded, agreeing with him.

“Okay,” she said softly. He nodded, finishing with the buttons of his shirt and turning towards the door. “Drake!” she called out, not quite sure why. He stopped and pivoted slowly back toward her, his coffee colored eyes burdened with how desperately he wanted to stay, to hold her through the night- he had his own feelings about the way Liam hadn’t spent any time with Cassie all day, felt like his friend was wasting his time with Cassie. He knew it was duty. Protocol. What was expected of him. But he also knew that if he were in Liam’s shoes he wouldn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. “Thank you…” she managed, though her words were barely audible.

“Aberdeen…” he sighed. “I’d never let anything happen to you… not if I could help it…I…I couldn’t live with myself if I knew you were hurt.” He paused, a pained expression crossing his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if you’re with Liam…I…I…” he sighed again, dropping his shoulders. “I know you’re with Liam. I know that.” His breathing quickened and her eyes flicked to the way his chest was heaving. “But I care about you too, Cassie. More than I should.” He crossed the room in nothing flat and slid his hand behind her neck, looking deep into her eyes, searching them.

She felt the dam break as she showed him what he was looking for. Without hesitation, and before she could stop herself, she closed her eyes and closed the distance. Her soft lips met his, moving together as a wave crested and crashed throughout her body. By the way Drake was responding, fingers curling around her neck, breath hitching, body following his hips as he matched himself up with her, she could tell that he was riding the wave, too. When they finally broke apart he rested his face against hers, eyelids closed tightly. “Aberdeen…” he breathed her name and as he did she saw flashes of what could have been throughout the season had they not both tried to ignore one another. Twirling across the floor at the masquerade ball. Smiling in the sunshine at the races. Skin sliding against skin as they learned each other’s bodies, confessions and secrets as they learned each other’s souls. Suddenly she was full of regret, of longing, of the feeling of wasted time. Before she could arrange her thoughts into anything coherent, she felt him slip away, heard the door open and shut before she opened her eyes, and he was gone.

How did I let this happen?

Five minutes later, Liam was in her room, apologizing, soothing, kissing, cradling. Drake had called him and told him what happened with Tariq, told him that Cassie needed him. “Cassie,” Liam’s voice held so much pain, so much hurt at what she’d just been through. “Cassie, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here…so sorry, my love…” she felt his tears against her cheek, his exhales against her neck as he rocked her and she held tightly to him, thinking about how sorry she was, too.

I shouldn’t have let this happen…

tagging:  @ooo-barff-ooo  @sleepwalkingelite @zaffrenotes @brightpinkpeppercorn @jovialyouthmusic @mind-reader1 @endlessly-searching-for-you @notoriouscs @endlesstaylormckenzie @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @drakewalkerrosenberg @akrenich @nekkidmolerat @indiacater @thequeenofcronuts @the-everlasting-dream @the-whiskeywife @roonarific @stopforamoment @mkatschoicesblog @mfackenthal @drakewalkerisreal @drakesensworld @gibbles82 @gardeningourmet @iplaydrake @rainbowsinthestorm @carabeth @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

[juunshua]

Same love I'm still into never from broduce but prefer hands on me. Idk what to think about woojin's raps. Sometimes they fit into the song, sometimes the instrumental or lyrics makes it seems like it was haphazardly written to give the dancer oriented members something to vocalize. Energetic remains the only w1 song i can listen to without getting bored. No matter how much I'm into yoon jisung, jaehwan, or minhyun I can't seem to listen to their eps without my mind wandering elsewhere (1/).

If youre looking for a good tropical I would suggest Hollands Im afraid. He isnt the best singer but the songs arrangement and production is stellar. I know it's from last year but kards Hola Hola, even if i prefer ohnana, is also a stand out. Whats funny is that your criticisms of tropical house is exactly what I have been hearing other people say about oh my, how it's low energy and not engaging, esp for svt. It definitely took me a couple of listens to appreciate its place on the mini. (2/)Tbh exos Kokobop is the closest kpop has come to producing dancehall rather than tropical, even if the chorus is so much musically interesting than the verses. Hello texture! Idk about semina i feel like it falls flat but that may be because I was expecting something similar to their produce audition. I was really into chunghas debut song but her nasality turned me off so much. Please mh give her something lower so that she can sing well and have interesting choreo bc she has the talent (3/)I guess Im less harsh on songs released in summer because theyre supposed to be light and airy, hence the myriad of comebacks/debuts experienced/about to experience. (Hyorin and triple h has my heart though.) It's a lot of misses for me too so don't feel bad about not enjoying the majority. I guess thats the good thing about saturation. Sorry if this part feels disjointed from the previous messages as tumblr seems to be in the habit of eating transitional ones as seen in previous threads. (4)

omg jisung was my 1-pick from ep 1 i was so happy to see him make the final lineup laksdjf broduce was actually one of the reasons i got into svt. i got tired of poor vocals and i remembered that svt has boo? who is pretty darn good at singing? so i went to listen to him after listening to the mansae performances and ladjkf somehow i ended up where i am today. but hmm really? actually someone i know said something similar ahaha. i wouldnt know about rap flow or lyrics or anything, but he remains the only person in w1 that id consider a rapper. the rest of the ‘rappers’ are baritones and are rappers for the sole reason that they are baritones. not everyone could have pulled off ‘d i double f e r e n t’ ksjdfl like idk. i personally enjoy his execution of raps ahaha like in light, he raps the word ‘벅차올라’ in a way thats really reflective of the imagery of the word itself? to me he really brought that word to life and laskdjf i think thats the only reason i gave light a second try but to each their own^^. ahaha i think ive gotten used to most of w1s title track though (at least they dont have a tropical house title track). some of their none title tracks though are good! wannabe, even if the lyrics are a bit cringy, musically i really like! it was composed by the same people who wrote air for infinite and twinkle for lovelyz, both songs i adoreim afraid? hmm for me personally the chorus was kinda overwhelming i wasnt the biggest fan of that instrument (it kinda hurt my ear actually). i feel like the verses had something going for them but then the chorus hit and i just kinda idk lakdjf. also kard i know i tried listening to their music but really couldnt get into it. i think i prefer oh nana as well after listening to both songs but still not something thatd end up in my music library.hmm really? tropical house i think in general with the instruments as a genre really isnt my thing so idk if im really criticizing tropical house as much as im stating why i personally am not a fan of it? the genre as a whole really turns me off and ahaha im a simple person if a song isnt tropical house i will honestly give it more listens and more tries to get into it. gfriends sunny summer is gradually getting stuck in my head as summer ends for instance ahaha i might be jamming to it come december ahaha. all of w1s title tracks are another example. there are times though where ive gone back to a trop house song and ended up realllllyy liking it. actually thats literally the case with all trop house songs that i like ahah aksdjf but yeah its really hard to get it to me on first impression i think idk what it is about the genre but its not my thing. ahaha im not a professional musician at all so idk but i thought the drum line was pretty neat in oh my? some of the vocal melodic lines were super pretty to listen to. and with a lot of svt songs too, like the verses in oh my were not the same copy and paste sort of thing. it could have been low energy and not engaging, to me it really felt like the summer afternoon heat that kind of vibe, but still i think i could get some musical things from it? or smth idk what is dancehall? and ahaha semina actually reminded me of their produce audition a lot alkjsdf and hmm yeah it did fall a bit flat but hey its not trop house ahaha i think i was super excited about hearing that sort of genre again after such a long time the last people i can think of who were close to that genre was mamamoo back in like 2014/2015. semina does get catchy after u listen to it after a couple of times? or at least thats the way i felt it was to me personally (or maybe nayoung hypnotized me with whatever magic she usually does on me). chungha? nasally?? the only song i liked that she released was why dont you know but i didnt know she had a nasal voice? at least an obvious one at that? i think she has her nasal moments but ? has she gotten progressively more nasal after debut? i know she has a suPER heady mix is that whats clouding my hearing ahaha. oh actually now that i think about it, her voice always used to remind me of some mix between sica and taeyeon ahaha so i think i just got used to her voice and her nasality over the years. but honestly i dont think her nasality is that consistent? i think she should work on bringing her chest into her mix first ahaha thats her biggest problem as of rn for me. and tbh i dont mind her voice and her tone too much! but there are def songs where i just wished the singer was a stronger vocalist so then id enjoy the song akdjf bc thats happened where i like the song but the singer just kinda detracts from it so i think i get where ur coming from...ahh i feel u in her debut song i was so disappointed by the rap alsdkjf i was like ‘wow this could have been a neat dance break for her’ but nah we got a rap ahaha. shes a soprano though so idk if she should sing any lower as much as she should start challenging her technique with the range she sings in.hmm yeah i think as pop music progresses in general, for me its just going to be a majority of misses ahaha personally speaking from a personal enjoyment standpoint. im sure a lot of the songs i dont like have a lot of musical credibility to them (ie triple h and hyorin lksdjfl rip like i dont even know what music i like these days from kpop groups minus svt honestly. select songs will stand out to me sure but nothing as consistent as svt. my go to girl groups also released trop house this summer i was so sad :((( )

[iphoenixrising]

No Home for Dead Birds: What’s in a Name?

Shout-out to Arkaedia and @poison-basil for helping with the naming conventions. Seriously. The struggle was REAL. I don’t want to kill the surprise, but @yangmallow was the one that gave me the last name ;)

**

**Rachel**

She very easily puts the mug down and lifts a hand to the back of Tim’s neck, her skin cool and smooth, her smile the ghost of fond.

“Muninn?” He asks, muffled where his head is buried on his arms because damn the island is just the perfect height for him to plop down on a stool and maybe take a nap. But, he wants the answer. He wants the answer from them all.

Why that name?

(Maybe so he can finally pick another?)

And turns his head enough for a fresh breath of air and to sleepily regard her as she slides on the stool next to him with her own caffeine and the smallest of smiles he can’t remember ever seeing on her face before.

“Because I am accustomed to being Raven,” she sighs a little sadly without losing that smile, and Tim makes a mental note to do some digging, find out where she was during his time out. “And Odin kept ravens Huguinn and Muninn as his Memory. I like this idea perhaps. To be the keeper of memory.”

She sips at her tea, watching him with calm, cool, and collected.

“I like it for you,” he leans up enough to grip the mug in front of him with both hands. “I like the idea, so we’re def going to go with it.”

She hums a little, “I am glad. This...choice is freeing in a way, Tim. More so than I anticipated when he informed the Justice League of our parting.”

She has his full attention and uses it strategically, “it had been coming for some time, I think. Everyone, all of us, had been growing out of their control for quite some time. Gar and I, well, we have been operating on our own outside the team for years. You are aware of this.”

He nods gently back at her, one foot idly swinging off the rung of the stool, and yes, he knew. All of them had their own baddies, their own pet projects, their own ghosts and demons.

Just like him.

What kept them together? They all knew when it was time to come back.

(And that’s what he’s doing now, isn’t he?)

Raven… Muninn gives him a sharper edge to that smile like she knows exactly what he’s thinking— and couldn’t agree more.

“It’s good,” she sips at her mug, eyes soft while he’s still bleary and unfocused, “that you have decided to join back with us.”

With a yawn, he scrubs the grit out of his eyes, “I know...I wasn’t okay for a while, but I was still moving, you know? I was getting to the part where it was all fine.”

She hums lightly, reading into his bullshit without a hitch, “like all Robins, Tim, you could have continued alone. However, unlike the others, I believe you have a potential for more,” and her graceful hand gestures around the comfortable commons room, her dark gaze coming back to rest on him pointedly.

And if he laughs a little at her blatant humanity showing through, shoving a hand through his hair with eyes only slightly wet, well, that’s just going to be a little secret between them.

**Conner**

“Belenus?”

The clone smiles at him, hands dangling between the knees of his torn jeans. It’s just them in this new reality, and those blue, blue eyes have picked up a new trick, trying to look past the surface to find something…

(The truth)

Once upon a time, his bullshit tech could throw the clone off when needed. Anymore, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be the case.

At the top of their HQ, Conner isn’t floating above the lip of the roof, stays firmly rooted beside Tim, so close their thighs could almost be touching.

“It’s—”

“Yeah. Sun God reference, but—” he shrugs, but the leftovers still Superboy are there in the tightness of his forearms (“Robin, why does Superman seem to...hate me? Have I done something against regulations?” “That’s...that’s not it, Superboy, really.” But at the time, he’d already seen how disappointing and degrading it was to the clone, to know he wasn’t wanted by his biological donor. Some things? He gets.)

“You know Clark is an asshole, Con. Don’t feel like you need to do anything.” Like give Superman the fucking satisfaction.

“When we left the Tower for good, after we found out with the Justice League did, what they’ve been doing for a while, I spent some time out in the world, like I never have before. I…” and Conner sighs, his expression changes, smooths out like the days when he’d first come alive. The blank, expressionless face was a default when he didn't’ understand something or when he felt he needed to hide.

And before his best friend says a word, tries to spit out some acceptable explanation he might have already crafted for the rest of the team rather than the truth, Tim’s hand on his wrist stops it.

(Because he’s known Conner from Day 1, and there’s no need for him to get defensive about his choice. There’s no need for him to explain one of the turning points in his life was the time he’d been badly injured and Superman had snagged his clone up in the blink of an eye and flown them both directly to the sun in hopes it would have the same healing effect. It was the first time Clark showed concern and care, it was the first time Conner had felt like he wasn’t just some abomination. The name Kon-El, the addition in the Book of the House of El came not long after it, but still. By the time they’d met him in Ma’s house on his way out, it was so far too little, too late that all he could do was this, this name.)

And Tim gets it. Really, he does. The second Bruce handed him the tunic with the R, it was the same intense rush. The first time Batman called him Robin. “Believe it or not, I understand, man. I’m completely on board. Belenus it is.”

And those eyes come back to him, absolutely familiar in every way that he has to consciously catch himself from putting a hand to the back of Con’s neck to give a familiar squeeze, from a familiar pull for the clone to let himself list into Tim’s body..

“Heh. Thanks, T. You don’t know how much that means.”

And well, considering Con is holding on to the flash drive with all the files on Project 13 from CADMUS, of which he brought out after Clark snubbed him time and time again, thumb rubbing across the thing like a security blanket, Tim can absolutely guess.

He doesn’t put that hand on the back of Conner’s neck, but he does grip the wrist tighter to just hold on.

**Garfield**

Usually it’s him hanging upside down playing electrician. Nice to see Gar pulling it out like a boss.

“Saturn?”

“Titan of time, man,” the older superhero replies from half-inside the ceiling tiles. “Do you even know how long I’ve been at this game, T?”

He laughs a little and goes back to the motherboard in his lap, getting it ready for Gar to install. “I might have heard once or twice." He doesn’t need to say the only other of them in the game since he was eight was... (Dick) that guy; both of them are already aware of the metaphorical elephant in the room. Still, Tim appreciates the consideration since, well, Gar used to worship the ground Dick walked on. It’s nice to know the shape-shifter still welcomed him back regardless.

"Rach told me it was, um, you that lead the charge against the Justice League.”

There’s a shift, a random surge of energy, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end (because, you know, meta powers), and the low pop is just a random chimpanzee hanging upside down from the ceiling tiles by the tail. He grins because seeing a monkey smirk is never not going to be entertaining.

But Gar can work better and have this little convo, Timbo, because, man, why not just talk about it.

“So, look, T,” and Gar’s deeper baritone coming out of the monkey gets his attention, “I’m in my late twenties no matter how bangin’ I look. Rach is in her, I don’t know, hundreds or something, Cassie is nineteen, Bart is who knows how old, and Con is like six or something. Anyway, the point is— we don’t need someone to task us. Especially with whatevs is their deal. B-man’s little assignments? The League’s second-hitters? Nah, thanks for not lookin’ out. Then, for the JL to tell us who we can fight with? Who we can trust? The days when they could do that are long over. I was pretty sure we had that understanding when Dick had to lay it out that we?” the monkey pauses to wave his hands in emphasis, “are autonomous. Sure, we wanna take on that fight, why not? But that was supposed to be our call, dude. We got to make the team decisions, so the crap they pulled with you? Nah, bro, not happening anymore.”

Tim goes back to the motherboard in his hands, staring down at it, taking in the justifications.

“But the fact they did it to you?” Gar goes on with a sneer as he splices two wires together, using his feet to tape and hands to connect, “that’s total bullshit. Like, straw that broke the camel’s back, ‘kay?”

Tim blinks at the monkey owlishly because, well, he really didn’t think he was Gar’s fave Robin.

“Okay,” he replies softly, looking up at the green-eyed monkey.

“Don’t get it twisted, dude. All the mentors screw up. Ollie and Roy, Clark and Con, Diana and Donna, hell, Bats and Dick. We’re human,” and Gar wags a brow as his hairy arms give a helpless motion, “or some form of it. People fuck up. But ousting you without even talking to us first? Just letting us think it was your call all along? Nope, not schway. Not schway At. All.”

With his throat oddly clogged, he zaps the motherboard one last time with his own brand of tech magic and stands to hand it up.

“I...I could understand why Dick wanted Dami to step up with the Titans,” and even saying that makes his chest go cold. “Robin has always had a place on the team. I mean...it fucking sucked, but I still got it, Gar. The way of things, you know? Robin is part of the team.”

A green brow arches, “oh? You mean all those years of Discowing leading the call was any different than you as Red Robin?”

And that moment in front of the Justice League when he’d made the same damn argument passes by, making him avert his gaze as the monkey slides the motherboard home. The connects are super easy, man. Not even any trouble.

In a swift, smooth move, the monkey jumps and twists, turning into the human as he lands it, and faces the former Robin with brows drawn and a frown marring his features.

“T-man. Dude. You know how close I am with Dick. None of that is a newsflash. He’s always going to be one of my closest bros. Years of being on a team and just being in this life together takes bonding to a whole new level. But, I’m not blind to the fact the guy can be super impulsive and seriously dramatic. All you Bats are, inherit it from the Big Guy,” Gar makes both pointer fingers cowl ears behind his head in reference. “But that time? He was wrong, Tim. I don’t know the down an’ dirty, and you don’t need to lay it out for me, but I know he seriously messed up with you all the way around.”

But it hits Tim in a belated wave, makes him stare at Gar and blink. Of all the people he thought would side with Dick (because he was strong enough to win the cowl, so of course it was his opinion on who should wear the tunic that really fucking mattered, right? Not the goddamned kid that was already in it), he was sure Gar would be right on that side of the equation.

(And he is very, very carefully not going to think about the straight-out end of their relationship—no word and no warning. Because that? Had no place in the here and now.)

The shape shifter is easy when he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders, subtly steering them to the main doors. He ignored the furious wiping of the face and only vaguely acknowledges the husky, watery, “thanks, man. Seriously,” without being offended.

Instead, Gar just gives a little, “de nada. We’re going to do what we do best, and that, my friend, is kick ass and take names.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees with a small grin, “we do have a knack for kicking ass, right?”

“Totes,” and Gar leads him back to the Communal Floor where at least someone would be lounging around after a rigorous morning testing the lower floors. Something tells Gar a board game night will most def be on the roster.

**Cassie**

She’s cozied up in the window seat, watching the rain. The sweatshirt is an old one of Con's, big enough that her hands barely peep through the end of the sleeves, but the healing scabs on her bruised and battered knuckles make him duck his head with a smile. It's an easy thing to put the kettle on by muscle memory and hunt around in cabinets until he finds the right one.

(It's a simple, fat glass jar she'd found in one of the markets in the French Quarter. Terribly perfect for the purpose.)

It smells like spices when he opens it, the teas all neatly arranged.

The jasmine is light at it steeps, and for once he foregoes coffee to have a mug himself.

He's still in the new CEO skin, and the proposal today went far better than he could have imagined. His new line of products were going to start in R&D, then out for testing. The possibilities of growth in the next five years alone could put them higher in the Fortune 500 ratings.

Too bad for Bruce. He might have made a half-way decent CEO for Wayne Enterprises.

Crazy thing that.

But Cassie starts gently from her thoughts when he holds the mug down and fits himself across from her in the window seat, room for them both to look out at the rain and the throngs of people dancing in it.

"Ceres. I like it."

The comment is mild and unassuming, but she lays her forehead against the glass and rolls her eyes at what's becoming his usual, careful intrusions. It’s still just so…strange, seeing him like this, so subdued and grown-up from the Robin she knew, from the Tim she briefly dated when their lives were crumbling under their feet…and there was really nowhere else to go but down.

"I do too," she admits candidly, holding the mug in both palms, "I needed...something different. Wonder Girl was like a noose around my neck sometimes, you know? I'm not like Diana or even Donna."

With a quirk of his mouth, he sips at his own mug because they’ve had this conversation before. Third Robin. You know, the one not chosen, so yeah, Cassie, he gets it.

“Their powers were innate things, Tim. A part of them. When I asked Zeus for his blessing and he gave me these abilities, I thought I would feel different, be different, and… I’m not. I can’t keep doing the same thing over and over without thinking about something better. It’s not enough for me to keep fighting the same engineered plots, to put the bad guys in jail, and wake-up to do the same thing over and over and over again. There...there has to be a better way. There has to be something more than just…this.”

He smiles, reaches out and wraps one hand around his dainty ankle, his thumb moving absently over the bone while he listens.

She sighs, staring out into the mid-day, sinking deeper in the seat, “I always thought I’d be Wonder Girl until I needed to take a break from the life. But, I don’t want to stop. There’s so much more to do. Just not…in their way.”

Ceres is such a fitting name he thinks absently while he sips and rubs.

“You weren’t using all your potential,” he leads gently, laying his head back. “You had to adhere to Amazonian standards. It’s not who you are.”

“Exactly! I mean, I was wearing the uniform for long enough, Tim. I’d taken my ass-chewings, fought the good fight, I put in my time, and where did it get me? No where. And you’re right. I’m not Amazonian, so they were never really going to trust me anyway.”

His fingers sink into her ankle, grounding her from old regrets.

But Cassie sighs and sips on her tea, “it’s hilarious how we’re all like that a little, isn’t it?”

He hums and uses a thumb to rub into the arch of her foot like how he used to when it was weekends and sometimes other bad guy gatherings, making her sigh when the muscles and tendons are worked out under firm circles.

“I was the Robin that wasn’t chosen,” he starts out slowly, setting his tea aside to work with both hands. “Con was the clone in a family of last survivors of Krypton, Bart is the speedster out of line with the rest of the current Flash family, Rach is literally the only good guy in a family full of bad guys, Gar can’t go anwhere because his meta powers were the result of an accident, and you,” he glances up at her, rubbing a tender spot, “are not an Amazon. You don’t want to fight because of war. You want to fight for people.”

She huffs against the window in relief and her other foot wiggles into his lap for similar attention, “that sums it up, I think. But, it’s one of the things that keeps us together.”

“Agreed,” both thumbs work out her instep, strained from a day of wearing heels, “as much as working alone is kind of my thing at times, even considering current circumstances, I...missed you guys. It’s great to come back in a way.”

Cassie turns from the window finally and a grin slides across her face, lighting up her eyes with mirth. “Ah! Did we finally get you, Mister Detective?”

“I said I was going to stay weeks ago!”

“When you stop planning contingencies, then I’ll believe that,” and sticks her tongue out at him.

When he laughs back at her, it’s something genuine. “I’m only planning contingencies to get the team out of the building if it gets compromised, thank-you very much.”

And a few intentional strokes against the bottom of her foot has Cassie howling with laughter and beginning to helplessly flail, but Tim is completely unrepentant.

“Tim, you suck!”

The black eye he’s going to be sporting for the next few days is unequivocally worth it.

**Bart Allen**

“Vakaris. That? Sounds totally bad ass.”

Bart Allen shifts, braces his feet to pull himself out from under the husk of their old Super-Cycle and grin up at the suited CEO with motor oil still on his face.

“God of the Wind, dude. How mode is that shit?”

And even if it’s strange to be standing here, looking down a little at his former lover and still bestie, the old affections are still there, right under his skin in the muscles and sinew.

“I’d say you’ve got it about right,” Tim replies, letting his suit jacket fall down his arms. He’s already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to take a look at the remains of their old bike. The alien AI long gone, they’re left with the usual human tech to work with.

He takes the side across from B and starts pulling out bolts and burnt-out parts, letting the movement be soothing and automatic, something he doesn’t even really have to think about.

“I know what you want to ask, T,” Bart starts softly from around the bike, “you can. Ask, I mean.”

But the question is if he really wants those answers.

“You’ve made sure the future is on a better course, what you set out to do when you came here in the beginning,” and the words get husky, Tim clearing his throat so he can be as neutral as possible. “Are you planning to... go back?”

Where he can’t see around the bike, Bart slowly lowers the wrench, braces it on his prosthetic knee. There was so much there, everything about Max and Jay and Barry and Wally. The twins and the potential disaster if he did go back to the future to stay.

(And one day, when he could talk about it without breaking down, without wanting to gnaw himself into pieces. Eventually...he’d give them the deets. All the whys behind his reasons for staying in the past. Not the Flashpoint, but all the fucking backlash Barry forgot to mention.)

“I’m not going anywhere, dude. Not back to the future anyway. It’s...better if I stay here.”

And, well, it’s Tim. He can venture a guess on the possibilities behind that statements. Really, meeting their former future selves was an eye-opening experience on what kind of bad shit could go down in the next ten years. Maybe choosing a different path was the only way to divert it, but who really knew how much of that changed? And how much had Bart seen on his journey back to the past again?

(Never using a gun again. Never.)

“Call me an asshole here, but I’m glad.” Is what comes out of his mouth instead, something stupidly soft in his old come here and let me hold you kind of way.

The pause across the bike from him, the lack of noise or movement makes his heart beat just a little faster, just a hitch—

And Bart is leaning around the tire on his hands and knees, coming far enough around to put their faces a foot apart, his eyes are dark amber, warm and inviting.

Uh-oh. (That looks makes him a little breathless, makes his heart skip just once)

“Ditto, former Boy Wonder,” and for a moment Tim just blinks and stares because if he didn’t know better (he does), by the way those eyes flicker down to his mouth, he would think Bart might—

But a slow, knowing grin just slides over the mouth he can’t help but stare at before Bart pulls back slowly and disappears back around the other side.

“Hand me the 3/18th while you’re there.”

“...yeah, here.”

“Ah! Don’t throw it! What’s wrong with you?”

“You have super speed. Are you really telling me you couldn’t have caught that?”

“…you’re an asshole, T.”

“I also answer to wise ass, in case you were wondering.”

“Filing it away as we speak, Fearless Leader.”

The light-hearted bickering eases down the pressure in his belly from that almost-could-have-been, and Tim gives the status update on the office he’s established in the Business District and temp back office hideout for just in case. Luckily, they’re in a city with enough random bolt holes for safe houses that he’s pretty much got the city and perspective surrounding area mapped out. And if they head up to the Communal Floor later, covered in grease smears and standing closer while the elevator moves, it’s just another indication how close to normal things are becoming.

How close to ready they are to finally move again.

**

The Team

“So this is an all-or-nothing kind of session?”

Tim leans back against the console in their newly completed Control Room, crosses his ankles, and regards his waiting team. “I’m saying it would probably be smart to test the system at seventy percent. Make sure it can take what we dish out.”

Bart perks up because statements like that mean playtime and everyone usually gets right on board that train. He and Cassie exchange a grin while she cracks her knuckles with enthusiasm.

"I've put it through the standard paces already," and nope, he can't help the smile cutting across his face, "but a real world battering will help in making adjustments."

Con’s arms are crossed over his chest, blue eyes bright with anticipation, “We’re down. Let’s try to break some stuff.”

“It’s sooo about time,” Gar fills in with a righteous fist pump.

“Well, why not split into two teams. Belenus and Saturn,” and each perk at the (new) names rolling off his tongue like it had been a part of them since the beginning, “team one. Vakaris and Muninn, team two. Ceres plays air support.”

Then he gets a few raised eyebrows, “join us and it can be three and three,” Con points out.

“I need to monitor the system. Besides, I can see what kind of kick-ass new moves everyone is bringing to the table.”

And it’s a good enough argument because the rest of them can’t find a flaw in his logic. “But,” he placates with a hand in the air, “I’m going out every night this week to patrol the city. All of you get to go so we can do some research on the hidey-holes and bust some criminal heads.”

Bart’s mouth doesn’t drop open, but it’s an almost thing. “You are going to let us patrol with you?” Because they’d never gotten that from Robin—any of them. The big fights, the team gatherings, never a step into the realm of the Bat. For Tim, especially; patrolling the streets is his own cathartic need to do the down-and-dirty work (where he’d been for the last year since the original Batman had come back).

Tim nods, his expression amused, “if we’re serious about doing it...differently this time, then it’s a good idea to get different techniques laid out. You know, like stealth. Not every fight is going to be super-powered bad guys, so sometimes we’re going to need to be on the down-low rather than destroying buildings. Sometimes it’s going to be in places where you can’t expose yourself, and nothing is going to teach you stealth like staying in the shadows of one of the busiest cities in the US.”

Now Con is wondering if he should go with a mask this time instead of bare face. Just another thing to figure out before their night on the town.

“All the more reason to set the machine to record the session and join us,” Rachel points out while subtly adjusting her winged cape, a little something old and something new. “So we may begin working with you, and you may observe our...kick-ass new moves up close.”

The grins and guffaws from all around make him laugh out loud and give in, “all right, all right, I’m in.” A few keystrokes and the system is set.

Even if they’re all mostly in workout clothes, pieces of suits that might someday be, it still feels like a triangle of power when he’s standing with them, staring down a hell of a lot of guns and holograms of baddies, bo right behind his left ankle, ready for the right moment to move. It’s like he never really left.

“All right, dude.” Bart is working out his hammies, holding one leg behind him, “before we get this shit started, give up the name.”

Gar’s eyes light up, “so true, V. Fearless Leader has the roster. So what’s it gonna be?”

He grins a little, pulls the bo up to stretch his shoulders out just a bit for this little sitch. The anticipation is right on his bare heels, the power breathing down his neck from the metas at his back.

“For the time being,” he watches the laser cannons minutely adjust, the room powering on, “I’m going by Erebus,” the God of Darkness. “Maybe I’ll try something else for the other side.”

“That? Is pretty kick ass.” Con muses, eyeing the line of guns and probable owfuck around them.

“Glad you’re with it,” is his reply as the bo slides down his shoulders, goes right back behind his ankle, and he straight-arms it, eyes narrowing when the machinery begins to rotate.

That familiar stance echoes, reverberates, and the metas behind him take point, facing out for whatever might come their way.

It’s the new one that replaces the old name still on the back of his tongue; it’s a new call out to gather and defend, the new name that makes them tense with time to fight. When the red of the laser sites blips over the lot of them, he sinks just a little to balance on the balls of his feet, “Varangians. Strike!”

They’re off and moving before the first shot erupts.

And it's better than the first time because back then they hadn't worked with each other, known one another, trusted. So many integral things weren't there yet. So, this?

Is everything rolled up and hand-fucking-delivered.

Because they do break the system.

And it's the best power-down he's ever been in.

**

The Child

“Ah, there, there, precious one,” the deep voice coos.

The child in the bassinette calms, her eyes a stunning blue-violet just like her other father, picks out the silhouette in the shadows. Her whimpers ease into happy, gurgling sounds.

“My sweet is ready to play,” and he reaches down to lift her with unerring care, to pull her against the green robes she will one day inherit.

His beautiful, perfect heir.

Her noises follow them down the fire-lit corridors, past training rooms, through a busily working command center coordinating efforts around the globe.

“And one day,” he continues to her as they enter the throne room where her caretakers wait and his seconds have updates on their progression, “all of this will be at your disposal. And no one will be able to stop you, yes, my little Robin? One day, you shall rule the world.”

[danieldrylie]

David Foster Wallace, Falling On Black Days, And The Beauty Of Anachronism

Every New Year, like clockwork—pun intended—our Facebook feeds, newspages, Twitters, and Instagrams are flooded with “People We Lost” articles. Usually, I would click through, thinking, “Oh, I liked that movie/song/photo.” Everybody dies, though, and I wouldn’t think too much else of it.

This year is different.

In the beginning of The End of the Tour, David Lipsky (played by Jesse Eisenberg) receives a phone call from his editor, informing him that David Foster Wallace had died. Lipsky finds the old tapes of his interviews with him during the publicity tour for Infinite Jest, and listens to them, reminiscing on his time with the writer.

In May, a familiar face popped up on my newsfeed. It was unlike the time Bob Dylan did, when I had a moment of panic, fearing he was dead (thankfully, he only won a Nobel Prize). The face I saw was too young. He wasn’t supposed to die yet, and I assumed he must have won an award or released an album. Like Lipsky, my stomach dropped through the floor.

Chris Cornell died. He was 52.

Although they weren’t the most famous band out of Seattle in the late 80s and early 90s, Soundgarden was the first grunge band to sign with a major label. They seemed poised to break out of the local scene, and they did, although Nirvana beat them to the punch. They had it all: a guitarist with a distinct style, who would incorporate elements of Indian music into their sound, much like The Beatles, the Stones, or Zeppelin before them, except with the added authenticity of actually being of Indian heritage. They had a skilled drummer and bassist.

And, they had a singer with a unique voice. He could almost be compared to Axl Rose, except without the whiny, piercing, almost Disney witch vocal quality. Chris Cornell had a haunting baritone you could feel in your bones, and transitioned seamlessly between octaves, often making me give up trying to sing along while I drove to work.

Soundgarden wasn’t typified by social activism like a band that came to the scene later, Pearl Jam. They weren’t the blind rage and angst of Nirvana. Though they could be very heavy when they wanted, they weren’t the groovy, thrashy grunge of Alice in Chains. They were honest, skilled musicians, and their style was comparable to early Black Sabbath. They wrote endlessly creative music, with existential, often brutal lyrics about depression, God, addiction, and finding a place in the world.

Those were the qualities that drew me in when I first started listening to Soundgarden, about twenty years too late. The lyrics resonated, and the instrumentation kept me interested. Chris sang about things that I had felt myself. Their music became a model for processing suffering with art. In fact, my first short story was named after the Soundgarden song, The Day I Tried To Live.

It surprised me how upset I was by the news of his death. Although I was a big fan, they weren’t the only band I listened to regularly, and I was too old to have any sort of Beatle-manic level of obsession with any musician. Sure, I was sad when Prince and David Bowie passed. But, many of my favorite artists were dead already.

Chris was different. He killed himself. I couldn’t get past that. Anyone who listened to his music knew he struggled with depression and addiction. Is there is something about art that attracts hurting people? That seemed to be true of grunge music. It was unexpected, still. He appeared to have beat his demons. It looked like he was on the other side. Just a few hours before he died, he was performing on stage, smiling. He looked happy.

Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley, Scott Weiland, and now Chris Cornell. They were the leaders of a movement that rejected the excesses of bands that came before. They were more Velvet Underground than Def Leppard, and their authenticity endeared them to young people in the early 90s who were equally as annoyed with big hair, spandex, and tacky songs about sex.

They died in unglamorous ways: above the garage with a shotgun, malnourished and anemic in a locked apartment, overdosed in a bus, and suffocated in a bathroom. Despite the fact that some may want to turn them into something almost mythological, their deaths were not poetic.

There are children who miss them, families who eat with an empty chair at the table, and empty notebooks that will never be filled with their words. Still, people romanticize it, like addiction and suicide were terms of the devil’s deal, as if Cobain would have never been great without taking a shotgun to that room in 1994. Their deaths are tragic, and terrifying, and some have the impression that turning suffering into art cemented their fates, like they needed it to create anything remarkable.

It is much the same with David Foster Wallace. Even with all the brilliance in his writing, it is impossible to ignore the haunting descriptions of depression and isolation. The End of the Tour communicates this well, portraying him living in a house with only his dogs and piles of his own books filling the guest bedroom.

You don’t meet any of his friends in his town. His friends from college are scattered around the country, and even there, you can see a divide between Wallace and them. At one point, he and Lipsky get into an argument, and Lipsky accuses him of trying desperately to come off as normal, and not a genius, as if he fears being himself completely would drive people away.

Those conversations are part of what makes the movie so good. Maybe, if I was a better person, I would have only taken that away. But, there was one thing that kept bothering me, and it had nothing to do with the story, or so I thought.

It may have been a result of the project’s budget. It bothered me, despite how much I adore the film. Multiple times throughout the movie, there are discrepancies in the background. They would be walking through a parking lot, and I could see cars in the background that were produced fifteen years after the events portrayed, making it difficult to believe I was watching two men in the mid-90s.

It broke the illusion. I would remember that I wasn’t watching David Foster Wallace and David Lipsky argue outside of an airport, but Jesse Eisenberg and Jason Segel pretending to argue outside of an airport.

However, as I reflect on this year, I see it now as an artistic element, intentional or not. The new cars in the background whisper into my ear, “This isn’t real. He is gone.” That is the beauty of it, in a dark way. Those anachronisms are a reminder that something has changed irreversibly. It can’t actually be Wallace on screen there. He is dead.

That is how it will always be, whether is is the moment when you see through a hologram of Tupac at Coachella, or you are reminded that it is only an actor with a bandana, or you listen to a cover of Black Hole Sun and realize it will always feel a little out of place without Chris singing it. The inconsistencies destroy the mythology, leaving the reality of loss in the forefront. There is nothing poetic there, only something missing.

The end of the movie has a dreamlike presence. Lipsky is reading at a bookstore, like he was before he left to interview David Foster Wallace, and it cuts in and out of him with Wallace, but the only sounds are his own words about the man, and a rising score in the background. Everything is foggy, ethereal in a way, like the light reflecting through the windows and diffused in the haze is memory itself, becoming brighter, but less clear at the same time.

We see Wallace dancing, smiling, happy. Lipsky cries while he reads and thinks of his friend. That is the tragedy. We are never really alone, even in our darkest moments. But, those moments can push us away from the people who care about us, and eclipse all the wonderful things in life.

Wallace will never write again, and Cornell will never sing again. The anachronism in The End of the Tour is a reminder to everyone who ever hurt and created that—while beauty may be extracted from pain—losing the fight against that pain is not art, but the loss of art.

Chris Cornell was not a great songwriter simply because of his struggles. He was a great songwriter who turned his struggles into art. David Foster Wallace was not a great writer because he was depressed. He was a great writer who turned his depression, fear, joy, and desires into some of the most incredible writing of the last 100 years, and—in a period of extreme darkness—lost the light and joy that can be found in spite of and out of pain.