#on the cusp of it but mostly autumn

[finnickodaiir]

I actually think Evermore is more of an autumn album than winter...

[justices-blade]

☆ did someone say anniversary munday

from neffi!! thank you :D

celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

repost, don't reblog. only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

happy anniversary, TOA! here's to many more years spent together.

name: leo

pronouns: he/him

birthday: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

where are you from? what is your time zone? the states, but im in europe now and i aint plannin to leave, baybey. CEST!

how long is your roleplay experience? uhhh 13 years of which 11 were on tumblr. the passage of time is horrifying

how were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? deviantart sonic oc self inserts. dont say anything

how were you introduced to TOA? im an avid skimmer of the tellius tag on tumblr and saw toa crop up a few times in the past but the concept of fodlan as a setting fundamentally scared me for a good while because it was the only fe game i wasnt even remotely familiar with. then one winter holiday in 2022 i saw neffis leonardo crop up in the tag and i was like lmfao it would be fucking hilarious if i started writing edward again right and then i blacked out for the next 12 hours and suddenly im here.

do you have any pets? nope. i do want a rat a spider or a snake though. maybe a toad even

what is your favorite time of year and why? autumn... its the cusp of summer and autum weather rn actually and im freaking thriving

what is your IRL occupation? graphic design student (help)

some interests and things you like/enjoy? gaming and writing are the no-brainers, but i also love dnd, drawing and making cosplay. despite being easily scared i also really like horror. also frogs are eternal i love frogs forever and ever

what non-fire emblem games do you play? currently it's mostly warframe, elden ring and arknights with some enstars on the side HAHA maybe xiv'll suck me back in soon < his ass still hasnt played dawntrail

favorite pokemon type & pokemon: favorite type is ghost, but the charcadet line has RICOCHETED to the top of my favorite pokemon list over spiritombs throne LMFAO

tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! i once wrote a poem based off of haurchefant greystone of ffxiv fame for korean school because i could not fucking think of anything else and i won a fucking award (minor) for a competition i didnt even know i was getting myself into????

i also inject frogs into any art assignments that i really dont want to do so i find the motivation to do them lmfao

how did you get into fire emblem? smash bros brawl baybey. i watched my friend play awakening for a bit but i only owned a wii (region locked. american. we were in europe) so i crawled to my dad all sopping wet and pathetic to ask if he could pretty please buy me por while he was on a business trip to i think LA. he brought back rd instead.

what fire emblem games have you played? hilariously exactly the same amount as last time (sorry) (gba, tellius, 3ds, engage)

first & favorite fire emblem games: radiant dawn all the way babyyyy

list your 5 favorite fire emblem characters across the series! chad leonardo edward limstella micaiah. yep

who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? can be any context and reason! leonardo showed his pretty face on the screen when i was 14 and it was over for me

any fire emblem crushes? 😳leonardo showed his pretty face on the screen when i was 14 and it was over for me.

jokes aside im not sure i do crushes but if we're talking about current i think pandreo applies

if you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first s support? who would you s support nowadays? - awakening: stahl or miriel - fates: hinata... or beruka - three houses: jeritza probably i am going to be so real - engage: pandreo.

favorite fire emblem class? are thieves meant to be a gimmick/utility class. yes. do i care? BOY OH BOY. rogue my beloved... (also i inevitably end up doting on at least one archer and anima mage)

if you were a fire emblem character, what would be your class and stats? would you be playable? weirdly magic-heavy thief i think. playable only if he likes your vibes. probably have to recruit him like cath. i'm not even that good i'm best used for meteor/bolting/bersesrk etc bait

if you were a three houses character, what would be your affiliation? golden deer!

if you were an officers academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? boon in faith+axe, bane in riding+heavy armor, hidden talent in authority. no it does not mean i want to be in charge. but alas im reasonably good at it.

if you were an engage character, which nation would you originate from? i thought on elusia for a while but honestly i think its firene for me. i will never say no to citrus.

how do you pronounce TOA? 🤔toe-ah...

current TOA muses: edward, chad, denning

past TOA muses? its just been these three so far baybey

who was your first TOA muse? if you no longer have them, can you see yourself picking them up again? [gripping edward really hard as i hold him out towards the camera] this boy has lived in my brain rent fucking free for 11 years he is a vital part of my deciding whether i get fries with my burger order atp

do you believe you have a type of character you gravitate towards writing? reiterating this from the last time i filled this out: little guys and pensive freaks. i also fundamentally like characters who experience internal conflict of interests between their morality and their loyalty/duty/other social trappings. its tasty!

do you have characters or types of characters you don’t think you can handle writing, but wish you could? i love digging deep into lore and piecing it together even if its not immediately evident and a bit fragmented (its the soulsborne enjoyer in me). BUT if i need to do this for a main or major character with a bajillion dialogue and context clues strewn across three playthroughs of a game and i could easily overlook things i would be a little too scared of getting soemthing wrong. "oh x loves orange juice" "WRONG x said as a one off in the middle of this heavy story segment that he hates orange juice and prefers strawberry milk actually" i would fucking die. i would die

what kind of scenes, situations etc do you believe you enjoy writing the most? UNRELIABLE NARRATION. shit you look at and go "hm that aint whats going on rn at all". love that shit. i try to not overuse it but i love when it becomes more evident midway through a scene. good stuff. i also love writing impulsive stupid responses and vividly descriptive scenes, but also i love writing affection and devotion in general, even if exceptionally gooey and cavity-inducing, even if ill-advised and misplaced. there's so much more i can add here but i love writing i love writing with people i love writing with y'all. love and peace.

and violence. i used to be scared of fight scenes but now i love thinking in those milliseconds between the violence. flurries and slurries of blood. can i rip more shit apart pretty please

do you have any scenario in mind for your muse(s) that gets you thinking “man i hope i get to write this one day”? [stuffs my fist in my mouth and screams]

incredibly loosely speaking. i want edward to realise he's been a bit fucked up actually and have to sit in that thought instead of shrugging past it as usual. i want chad to sit with someone and just connect with them so they don't feel as alone (yes this has happened i just love when this happens). i want denning to forcibly feel an emotion, and whether they get better or worse from it might depend entirely on their company.

favorite TOA-related memories? sorry that i keep bringing up edwards 37.5 damage astra during the final fight of apollyon ouranos i just can't stop thinking about it. that's so much fucking damage. that said i loved banding together against the impossible and FUCKING WINNING

present or past tense? uhhh present < just had to go back to check

normal size text, small text, no preference? normal size is a bit easier for me to read, but i have no real preference

got any potential muse delusions to share? 😉 either you know my delusions or you don't . at any rate i don't think my rosters going to move anytime soon

[jeannereames]

Based on the tactics vs strategy component of your most recent ask (on how ATG should or should not be depicted on TV)—do you think, if he hadn’t died so soon and lived a little longer, he might’ve been able to improve his strategic mindset? I think that’s how Philip became good at it, right? After experiencing some failures. I think perhaps that’s one of the tragedies of Philip not being around longer—he might’ve been able to show his son how to handle mistakes and move on from them.

Oh, I think Alexander was definitely improving as a strategist. He was never bad, he just wasn’t Philip… who was exceptional. But Philip had to learn very early, just to survive. I doubt the man had much of a childhood.

A quick review of Philip’s early life, for those reading who may not already know. We think he may have been sent to the Illyrian court of Bardylis at some point in his childhood; for how long is unclear. (If I ever get around to a Philip novel, that’s where I’m starting it, too.) Then he must have come home, only to be sent down to Thebes as a hostage when he was in his early teens. He returned to Macedonia once Perdikkas was no longer a minor himself and could kill his erstwhile regent. Some years later, Perdikkas made him archon of a canton (maybe Amphaxitis?), probably when he was c.18-20 years of age, where he had his own little militia to train. Perdikkas was dead on a battlefield, fighting Illyria, before Philip was 24.

So, he came to the throne a bit later than Alexander but suffered a MUCH more uncertain childhood. It makes Alexander’s look like the “poor little rich boy,” tbh. This is why I respect Philip so much. No, I don’t think he was “greater than Alexander” (as per Richard Gabriel), but I do think he earned his place as, per Diodoros, “the greatest of the kings of Europe.”

I will also add that I suspect Philip benefited a lot from his mother Eurydike’s advice, as did his brother Perdikkas. There was a woman to be in awe of! I also think it’s why Philip was so damn determined to see that Alexander got a “proper” education. Yes, it owed the influence of Thebes’ upper-crust circles…but also residue from his own “school of hard knocks” upbringing.

It also explains why he was a master chess player. He’d had to be, just to stay alive.

Alexander learned quickly, but he didn’t have to exercise it quite as young; Daddy was there to take care of things. Mostly masterfully (outside his private life). Then Philip got himself killed, and Alexander was on his own at just 20. No surprise if he made mistakes, but being king already, they were on full display for posterity in a way Philip’s weren’t. (In fact, we know almost nothing of Philip’s childhood, as evinced by the brevity of my summary above.)

To my mind, one of the tragedies for both men was Philip’s sudden death. While it’s possible they might have clashed even more as Alexander aged, their friction may also have eased. Alexander was right on the cusp of that age when teenaged boys transform back into somewhat sane human beings. Ha. My own seemed to change virtually overnight between about 22 and 23. Philip had been dead two years by then, and Alexander invaded Persia at 22.

Many years ago, I wrote an alternate history short story for Gene Borza’s birthday, wherein Philip died at Chaironeia, and Alexander was taken captive, then had to escape and re-do everything Daddy had done. It was fun to imagine what might have happened, in part to underscore how singular/important Chaironeia was for not only Philip, but Alexander too.

Yet an equally interesting “What if?” would be that Philip wasn’t assassinated in 336 and did invade Persia that autumn. But let’s say he didn’t survive “Granikos” or “Issos” (or whatever those would have been for him*), while Alexander did. What might that have looked like, giving Alexander another 2-3 years under Philip, only becoming king himself around the same age his father had? (23-24?)

I love alternate history scenarios when well-done. (Maybe why I’m a big fan of Melissa Scott’s A Choice of Destinies.)

So in short, yes, I agree that it was a tragedy that Philip didn’t live at least a few years more. And somebody needs to write that alternate history. Then send me the link. Ha.

——

* I think, if it HAD been Philip at the head of the army, Darius would have taken him much more seriously, probably moving up the timeframe of a serious clash (such as Issos). I suspect Philip, like Alexander, would plan to take the Asia Minor coast the same way, to cut off the navy. Darius might have come after him with a bigger army somewhere in Asia Minor. But I also think Asia Minor would have gone over to Philip more easily, as he was proven material and that area had already rebelled against Artaxerxes only about a decade or so prior.

[its-ysa-babe]

Hey babes, I’m Ysa, pronouns she/her, 21 yo Aqua/Pisces cusp (literally don’t know my t.o.b.) I’m a hyperfemme poly lesbian looking for other femmes to be… good friends with 🤩

I’m a kinky switch through and through, my limits are fluids (oh shit wait, I’m a squirter 🫣) but that’s pretty much it. I will post ab dark kinks from time to time, just warning you… ;)

I’m hot n bothered almost 24/7 so if I’m online I’m most likely hornyposting, feel free to send me asks and chats that are sft or nsft, I’m very chatty and love to listen and have good convos!

I don’t give nudes and am not open to meets irl, mostly because I’m a somewhat relevant model in the west coast entertainment sphere and I wanna stay… well as anonymous as I can yk. But my PFP is my simself (she’s deadass me except with uninked skin and no pores), might post cute edits of her if anyone would like, also it’s dorky but I love making sims in my spare time so if anyone wants to give my sim a girly to have a brat autumn with then you can always send me reference pictures n I’ll try to make you into her sim gf lolll anyway: ciao babes!

My blog is trans/gnc and 420 friendly, femme transbians and femmbies I love you and I’ll love you even more if you’re a pothead ⋆✴︎˚⋆🚬

[bee-dot-exe]

Hey, it's my first and absolutely not last, QSMP fic. I had the idea for three settings, and all of them made my stomach hurt, but I didn't want to choose, so voila. Apologies for the inevitable heartbreak.

You're Beautiful, But You're Not Quite Her

710 words

Angst. Nothing bad. Just Wilbur missing our girl.

I: Garden

The leaves rustled softly in the trees above, some held onto the branches with the last bit of strength they possessed, some already fallen on the ground below, all on the cusp of changing shades, an array of soft green and mustard yellow and umber brown.

The lake nearby ran gently and splashed against the shoreline, the fine lavender sand becoming a pulp like texture in places.

The kaleidoscope of autumn crunched beneath my boots as I neared my destination. The garden I intended to build with her. A tunnel of mostly sage green supported by mauve tree trunks. The ground was covered in flora, lilacs and roses and dandelions to name a few.

I found a spot that was bare, save for the olive grass, and sat with my back against the grape wood and my legs crossed.

I reached a hand to the entrance edge beside me, brushing some stray leaves off the surface of a block of black concrete, and rested it there for a moment, hoping I was making some sort of connection with my girl, wherever she was.

I positioned myself, put the guitar I brought from inside onto my lap, and began to play.

II: Lullaby

The moon shone down on the world, giving an almost powder blue tint to the areas not illuminated by the soft clementine hue of nearby torches, in place to ward off possible threats. I kicked the leaves in front of me gently, more as a way to stave off boredom as I walked than to create a path, but I wasn't going to complain that both were being done.

El cielo de las tortugas.

A large area that was technically underground but wasn't entirely blocked off, made up by dirt and cobblestone and moss, with a wooden gate at the entrance. Dozens of turtles with varying patterned shells roamed, some finding refuge in the foliage, some stayed in the open, curious of my presence. I maneuvered around the ones that were in my path or trying to get under my footing as I walked to a just wide enough hole in the ground.

The opening lead to a separate room, not as grand as where the turtles found solace above, but comfortable enough, made of sandstone. All that resided in it was a torch and a drawing on the wall of a tiny white egg wearing a maroon beanie with a peach background.

My sun, moon, and stars. Mi niña. My Tallulah.

From the painting, or perhaps behind it, was a melody. It was short, but played on an endless loop. There were no lyrics, just the gentle strum of acoustic guitar. It was what I played when she was lost shortly after our first meeting.

The ground wasn't the most comfortable, tiny bits of dirt and sand fell as the earth shifted above, but I stayed anyway. I didn't have any kind of bedding, but I laid down anyway. I felt tears forming in the corners of my eyes and creating tiny trails on my face, but let the christened lullaby take me to a dreamless sleep anyway.

III: Amipola

There was almost more sign than room visible around me.

You're my favorite superhero. I have a lot of love to offer. Please never forget me, I'll wait for you, always.

I picked up my guitar from the cushion beside me, the springs in the sunny yellow couch creaking softly as I shifted my weight, and played. Maybe I was only filling the silence, the empty space. Maybe she was listening. A wooden chest sat on the floor in front of me.

An amipola for every day you've been gone.

Bits of emerald and burgundy were practically bursting between the container and lid. There were well over a hundred. I got up from the couch, took a couple of the flowers, and very gently climbed the ladder to her bedroom.

I placed a sturdy black chest in the room's center, and put in the poppies, a photo of the two of us, a piece of paper containing the chords to our song, and some blank signs for her to let us know she heard us. So she knows I'm back home. That I waited too.

[jonismitchell]

I’m happy to see you loving up evermore. I mostly agree with your ranking (I almost never agree with people’s rankings.) Those top five songs though. Just incredible.

i had such a desire to do a full relisten and i'm glad i did because wow! perfect autumn/winter cusp album! and i'm glad you agree with my ranking... it's incredible how much tis the damn season has jumped in my view :)

[avaguenotion]

2022-2023 report.

This starts in January of 2022 right at the end of my time in Alexandria whilst living with my mom. Things weren't going too great - the previous year was insane too ( Jan 6th 2021 ) - I was having legal problems as well as major issues with my mental health and medication. January 2022 on the cusp of the new year and the launch of the James Webb mom was like "you're out of here, I can't handle you, off with dad" and so that's what I did. Except things weren't as calm here either. I was exhibiting major manic symptoms and even not taking my medication as prescribed. I was mostly obsessed with the production of a written work and film known as " The Pillars of Autumn." That obsession grew into aggression and with me locking myself into my room until dad called the police and ...... well we know what happened. Feb 28th 2023 is when the medication journey took a major turn because now I was required to take a forceful injection known as invega! for brevity i'm just going to list out the medications I've been on in the last few months starting with Invega - Invega injection was first - Abilify at around 15mg i think - Latuda at 100, 60, 40, 20.... there have been numerous others but those were the main antipsychotics and the switch from 40mg of latuda to 20mg while nice led to manic symptoms again and ultimately me back on - zyprexa which i really do not like. so here we were on abilify again and it's August 2023. I think I'm starting to sleep more smoothly.

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

268 of 2023

Created by brelee

you spend a lot of time listening to music bagels are your favorite breakfast food you have a lot of trouble with your ears you drink a lot of coffee you don't know how to whistle you got your drivers license in your 20s you are in your 20s you are unemployed you love animals you are very passionate about cats turtles are your favorite you are disabled you suffer from multiple mental disorders you have many pets you have orange/red hair you have blue eyes you exercise daily you like to dance potatoes are your favorite food broccoli is probably your favorite vegetable watermelon is your favorite fruit you have trouble with your self image you are large in size you are short you love wearing oversized clothing you enjoy thrift shopping you don't enjoy shopping in general though your name starts with a b you were named after someone in your family you are from the usa your favorite colors are blue and green you're agnostic or something like that.. you're queer you're asexual you never wear makeup you enjoy chocolate over any kind of candy you wish you could travel more you're gen z / millennial cusp taurus is your zodiac sign may is your birth month you're married you nap whenever you can you have interest in creepy stuff halloween is your favorite autumn is your favorite time of year you don't really have a best friend you stay to yourself and are introverted you're not close with your parents you can't swim you don't need glasses you want tattoos you have no piercings or tattoos you don't take many selfies you like to stay up late you go on walks frequently you always find mystery bruises on your legs you own a lot of stuffed animals nail biting is your worst habit you wish you could play an instrument you spend most of your time with your pets or partner you try to follow political issues as much as possible you are not a fan of musicals you do not drink alcohol you vape you do not smoke cigarettes though you have an older sibling you love mexican food you're lactose intolerant you do not like close minded individuals you get restless easily you have been abused you have ptsd from something most people wouldn't believe you have had bad experiences with religion you crave sugar frequently you try to be as kind as possible you think violence does solve some things you do not trust law enforcement at all you fall somewhere on the left politically you do not like wearing dresses femininity is something you've always struggled with (well, not really applicable) you don't like to label yourself much you're intuitive you enjoy when it gets darker sooner you're bad for hoarding things your bedroom stays messy you have been bullied you have been a bully people scare you so you'd rather be alone mundane things cause you a lot of anxiety you've been called weird a lot you are in therapy you see a doctor quite frequently there is always something wrong with your health you enjoy cold weather you love bundling up in cozy clothes you are very ticklish you love rock music you listen to most genres you don't watch many tv shows there are a lot of famous movies you've never seen you do not enjoy partying you're decent at cooking you have a short attention span you're neurodivergent memories tend to get the best of you you're mostly kind but can tend to get grumpy real fast you enjoy studying science you would love to work with animals you feel out of place most of the time you need to drink more water you are afraid of some silly things you're a terrible liar you're good at keeping secrets you hate surprises you don't enjoy your birthday at all you wish you read more you dropped out of school you don't think you're that smart you're very protective over who you love you come off as rude to people you're very quiet you don't like PDA you think sex is overrated you think life is beautiful but so stressful you always find something to be thankful for you struggle with being positive you have attempted suicide you suffer from suicidal thoughts (in the past) anxiety is your biggest obstacle you have a hard time trusting people you take a lot of pain killers pms gets you down for awhile you feel like no one is proud of you you have only been to 5< concerts you are very stubborn you want to be a storm chaser you own a lot of flannels you wear leggings most of the time you prefer android you are unsure of who you really are you dye your hair unnatural colors you get sad for no reason sometimes you can be nosy you are still a virgin you grew up in a rural area you enjoy small town life you're vegetarian/vegan you love playing games on your phone you spend way too much time on your phone you have no human children and no plans on having them you use facebook quite often you spend too much time on bzoink you love creating surveys you enjoy taking them too you wish you were more creative

[lovinglystar]

[ID: a fairy character wearing a dress of autumn leaves, her eyes are closed her hair is short, and her ears are long. She has on a shiny black corset around her waist and a belt with a bag for money, a bunny plush with a long tail and a missing eye, and a roll of duct tape. Only the dress, corset, bunny, bag, and tape have any color, the rest is white. /end ID]

I've started making a (possibly DND?) character her name is Beat and she can create things with "duct tape" she invented herself. She can do anything with it that is within reason irl. Clothes, boats, hammocks, repairs, all appropriately sizedof course as she is a fairie.

She has a fundamental misunderstanding of the world around her and only really pays half attention to any given subject, meaning she will say off the cusp things that often don't really make sense filled with things that are half or almost correct, or sound correct if you have no idea what she's talking about, but if you do it sounds completely baffling. She has incredible ingenuity, coming up with plans that could theoretically work but they take polishing from those around her.

She wears goggles because she almost never flies but when she does she uses them to keep the wind off her face due to sensory issues. She also wears them to help her think when she's "inventing" or planning.

When in combat she simply takes out her club and starts beating her opponent with it usually going for the head first.

I based her body somewhat off my own, mostly the hips and waist, (I wish I had those tits tho) and she allievates my elf ear dysphoria ahdjfkskdkfkgktktkh

[the-writing-mobster]

| @fransweek | Valentine's Day 2022 ~ 💋 | Excerpt from one of my unpublished AU Fics, Two Weeks Notice |

Word Count: 1,360

Chapter 7 Excerpt:

---

The food in business class was real. No longer stuck sating her hunger with packing peanuts, she was now privy to a porcelain plate of seared Ahi Tuna over a sesame salad, a plate of bruschetta between them.

Every so often, she would shoot Sans a scrupulative look, take a bite, and then shoot him another as if she was doing something illegal and he would somehow be the arbitrator of her downfall.

Finally, she let it spill. “I know this is a no-no question but… I can’t anymore. How much do you get paid?” He glanced back at her and scoffed at the question.

“We’re looking at around eighty-kay a year, that was before the promotion, but don’t let the number fool ya. It mostly goes to pay for my brother’s dreams.” Frisk stared wide-eyed at him.

“What? How? I’m only getting paid sixty a year, that’s such bullshit.” Sans shot her a bewildered look before growling under his breath.

“Our boss is an asshole.”

Frisk scoffed and nodded along. “Believe me, Buster, you don’t have to tell me that. I live it everyday.” She glared out the window, watched as the clouds swirled below them. The sensation of Sans’s eyes on her made the hairs of her neck stand up, a shiver tingle down her spine. She was reminded of what Claude had said about Sans. That he’d gone guns blazing into his office on her behalf… It had honestly been the thing that had quietly convinced her to accept his offer.

“Claude said you talked to him on my behalf…” she murmured. Sans nodded slowly and continued eating with a nonchalant shrug.

“Don’t make it a big deal.” She rolled her eyes, fighting to stifle the small smile that crept on her lips.

“He asked if it was because we were together. Typical.” Sans smirked as she continued to talk and he eyed her.

“What did you say?”

“Well, I figured since you got to call me your girlfriend for your friends, certainly I could lay my own claim for my boss to stop… harassing me.” Sans’s smirk melted into a softer smile and he nodded slowly.

“A much nobler lie,” he grunted. She winked at him before turning her attention back to her lunch.

A much nobler lie indeed. She still didn't understand why he'd done that. Lied about her like that, but she supposed it wasn't the worst thing a man had done to her. At least it was kind of funny… if you squinted.

She glanced up at him, those eye sockets now impossibly half lidded, as if he were on the cusp of falling asleep… but the gaze of his eyelights lingered on her.

She wiped her mouth and took a sip of her water. She didn't know if she could bear his blurry stare any longer, or the silence that enveloped it.

“So… if I'm going to pretend to be your girlfriend, I should know some basics about you and… surprisingly, even after two years of coffee, I don't even know your favorite color! How about we start there?”

Sans's soft grin grew a bit wider at her words and he shifted in his seat. “Hm… I think, maybe… brown.”

She quirked a brow at him. Brown? Bit of an unorthodox answer… That's like saying your favorite holiday is Thanksgiving… “Why?” she asked.

He smirked, his gaze flickering down her face before meeting her eyes. “Chocolate, puppies, coffee, chestnuts, autumn, coziness… need I go on?”

Frisk nodded along slowly. “Gotcha… So what's next, is your favorite holiday Thanksgiving? Your favorite day, Monday?”

He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “My favorite holiday is my birthday. For obvious reasons.”

She snorted with laughter and covered her mouth in embarrassment. “No! Really! What is your favorite holiday? I have to know now.”

Sans narrowed his eyes playfully and tilted his head. “Well now I'm embarrassed to say…”

“Is it like, one of those weird vague federal holidays? Like Labor Day or something?” she asked through a snicker.

Sans chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Fuck man, what am I supposed to say? New Years? I don't really celebrate holidays.”

Frisk studied him. That wasn't altogether unfathomable. She couldn't really imagine him celebrating anything.

“Don't celebrate holidays? Well… what are we gonna tell them about Valentine's day?”

He scoffed with a playful laugh and shook his head at her. A quiet blush dusted his face and he eyed her before snickering and shaking his head again to dispel any thought he might have had.

Frisk pursed her lip at the look and rolled her eyes. “Anything but that…” she murmured.

He cackled and took another bite of his food. “I didn't say shit, get your head outta the gutter, sweetheart.”

She leaned over the table and batted at his chest and he laughed, before throwing his straw at her. She fell back and swatted it away with a gasp. “Oh, you child!” she whispered at him.

“Why the fuck we talkin' about me for? What's your favorite holiday?”

Her smile faded ever so slightly before she cleared her throat and glanced up at him with a coy twinkle in her eyes. “My birthday…” she teased.

They both broke down into a fit of giggles and Sans rolled his eyes in over exaggerated exasperation. “These double standards…”

He eyed her once more and once again, Frisk felt pinned by his gaze. He had a way of making her feel like he was reading her like a script and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“What's your favorite band?” he asked. Frisk's eyes lit up and she smiled.

“Oh! Good one. Mine is this French alternative band from the eighties called Indochine. They're so good, and I think they're still together,” she exclaimed. He chuckled softly.

“You know… back when I was in highschool my friends and I were in a band. Pretty sure that was the last time I had that much fun. I mean, then there was college but that was more like drinking and partying and figuring out how to deal with a bad hangover while also drowning during finals, you know?”

She giggled along to his joke and nodded. “Yeah I get it… so, a band? What kind of music did you play? Was it like House of Pain or—”

“—Oh no, think more Cage the Elephants and Red Hot Chili Peppers had a baby and then you'd get us. We called ourselves Brothers Grimm because I'm a reaper and… well everyone had voted that I was the coolest motherfucker in there by virtue of my handsome good looks alone—” he cut himself off with a laugh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She joined his laughter.

“Are these the same friends you lied about me to?” she asked. He groaned and rubbed his face before shaking his head.

“Nah… well, Nick, yes. Nick is my best friend, I'd die for him, seriously… but besides him, I grew apart from everyone else in college. It happens…” He trailed off before eyeing her and grunting in his amusement. “So… am I just never gonna hear the end of the whole lying about you thing?”

She scoffed in wry amusement at him, before her smirk melted into something smug. “Nope. Never. Even after our tragic breakup after this wedding is over you'll still never hear the end of it.”

Sans grinned, his eyes sparking at the words. “Careful, sweetheart… you might actually fall in love with me, and this year long fake relationship might turn into a two year long fake relationship,” he said with a wink.

She blushed and sat back, trying to hide the way he so easily made her flustered. “I guess that all depends, doesn't it?”

“Well I didn't hear a no.”

They shared a playful look, his challenging smirk teasing her from his place across the table. She prayed to whatever deity would listen not to allow her to blush any darker than he'd already made her.

She opened her mouth to say no, really stick it to him… but the word could not physically leave her lips.

.

.

.

[irvingbruhxiatel]

Brax and benny for the character ask game :)

Alright people, buckle up…

✫ - Unpopular headcanon I have about them

Brax: He raised the rest of the Doctor’s children, with Romana’s help, after The Doctor had to escape with Susan because of the Burn Edict. The kids call them mom and dad; sadly The Doctor’s children passed away during the first skirmishes of the Time War. This one is very personal, and niche to myself only tbh.

Benny: Her and Brax have matching ‘Best’ ‘Friends’ tattoos that they got during a drunken night out. They keep saying they’ll have them removed but secretly they love them. Benny is a drag king in her spare time, she has a double act with Brax who is a drag queen.

⇈ - A dream I had about them

Brax: I was in this large art studio, painting something… can’t remember what exactly. He walked in at one point and sat on one of the reading nooks in the windows to read his book. I incorporated him into the painting. Very fluffy dream tbh, woke up feeling stupidly smitten that day *self bonk*

Benny: I always have dreams of being Benny’s co-worker at The Collection, but where she is part of the Archaeology Department I’m part of the Art History department. We hang out to work together and go out drinking.

➷ - A potential fanfiction idea I have considered writing about with them involved

Brax: Richardson!Brax has his timeline collided with a Pike!Brax (my fancast of a fem!Brax is Rosamund Pike). Since they are both little time dwellers who can’t stay in their own timeline it was bound to happen eventually. They’re both stuck with each other and have to help the other find their way back.

Benny: Benny and an archaeologist girlfriend she had for years while she was on the run and pretending to be a professor herself. Eventually they part ways because there is more to the lover than we know/she lets on.

✎ - A drawing I have of them

Oldies but goldies.

Brax:

Benny: I made this one for @summer-field when I got my iPad and was messing around with drawing programs.

♨ - What food I associate them with

Brax: Expensive steak dinners and charcuterie boards, wine and Draconian brandy. Fresh pastries.

Benny: Waffles, trail mix, dark chocolate. Grain bowls.

☄ - What type of weather and season I associate them with

Brax: Rainy days on the cusp of the change between Autumn and Winter. Snowy midwinter days to stay inside.

Benny: Windy Autumn days when the air is cold and the leaves are falling. Fresh spring days, to go outside and read with the blooming flowers.

☻ - How they make me feel

Brax: Validated. I relate too much to him, on a deep, personal and almost spiritual level. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself more in a character than in him. It’s actually because of Brax that I have been inspired to leave my career in law and politics behind. I'm starting my second degree in August; this time around in Art History, my true passion since I’ve been a kid. So this way I can eventually open up my own gallery/collection, or work as a curator in an art museum. Not to get narcissistic here, but he also makes me feel very smitten.

Benny: Warm and fuzzy. She brings an overwhelming sense of “I must protect her” and “I want to be her best friend” into my life. She is the scholar, adventurer and badass I’ve always wanted to be. If I live my life a little more fearlessly it’s because of asking myself ‘WWBD?’ and then do the exact opposite because Benny would probably just try to drink the problem away.

╬ - What I think their moral alignment is

Brax: Depends on the Brax tbh, but I mostly place him in Lawful Evil and Chaotic Good.

Benny: Lawful Good or Neutral Good. Chaotic Stupid as well.

Send me a character!

[bleachbleachbleach]

Fic: Away, Away

This was written for Day 13 of @hitsuhina-week! If you prefer, you can also read this on AO3. Which is my preference, because Tumblr keeps eating my spacing whether I use Rich Text or HTML so it looks absurd on here. >.>

Aftermath / Going on a Trip Together Hinamori Momo + Hitsugaya Toushirou Pre-Series

--

This will be the last time. 

(Whisper it, so he won't hear.)

--

Every spring, Junrinan finds its way to the western mountains. (The souls of Rukongai wander.) There is no grand procession: They disperse across the vast range, often alone and sometimes in twos. They are always careful not to cause disruption, because while one soul in a forest full of spirits generally isn't worth the effort, seven is a meal.

They are three. 

Soon, they will be two. Hinamori can't stop whispering her new name, hi na mo ri. It's early to be out here, but the snows were mild this year and new growth is already peeking from beneath the thick, rich leaf rot. She feels an affinity with this year's tender saplings, a feeling that grows hotter with every whispered repetition of her name. Her grandmother had given it to her, showed her how to write it. She'd studied her name harder than she had the exam.

Hinamori has an acceptance letter. In April, she is leaving. 

Hinamori nearly walks straight into a nettle spirit--the hair-eating kind--draped across the game path plain as day.

"Do you wanna be bald?" Toushirou grouses as he yanks her back just in time. "I guess it fits. You're acting like a blind old man." 

Hinamori blinks, brushes imagined hair from her face. It's the fifth time she's tried to walk straight through a spirit in as many days. 

"Studying is bad for your eyes," says Toushirou. He doesn't care for moony Hinamori. Momo had paid a lot more attention to what was in front of her. But she's Hinamori now. At least, that's the only name she'll write, dragging her thin stick through the dirt outside the house. So that's what he calls her.

Toushirou squeezes through a bumble of pot-bellied mushroom spirits and Hinamori follows him, stepping carefully into his tracks.

"You'll need to keep reading even when I'm not around. It'll go if you don't practice," she says.

Toushirou makes a noncommittal sound.

"I'll send you letters full of kanji and quiz you on them when I visit." I'll learn how to write them pretty, she promises, just like Baachan does.

"Will you write me back?" she asks.

"Probably not."

This hurts her. But Toushirou plans to go the rest of his life without writing a single thing. It's not personal.

"Why would I need to tell you what happens in Junrinan?" he says. "You already know."

--

And if I forget?

--

Life in Junrinan doesn't change. That's what Toushirou was promised. The winters are quiet and slow, and in spring they go to the mountains. Summers are for farming, and autumns for harvest. Then winters are quiet and slow again.

Spring passes with bracken and angelica in hand. It is counted in the spirals of ferns as their number grows in the baskets. Some are dried; some are steeped. Mostly, they are sold. Many of the men in Junrinan spend springtime waking before dawn to sprint to the mountain, forage the lowlands, and return to the village for evening revelries, but Toushirou and Hinamori and their grandmother have always spent the whole of the season between the trees. The mountains prefer it when you stay. 

This will be true no matter how long Hinamori is gone.

April 12th through July 20th, then our first break, she says, scratching numbers in the dirt. But Junrinan doesn't have dates the way the Academy does. She draws the way the trees will change. The change happens in a long straight line, and beyond July 20th there is an emptiness rather than a repetition. How do you draw an unwritten future?

Hinamori writes her name again.

--

In the spring, everything is full: Toushirou enjoys the wet green of it, the late snows and vernal flooding. The water flows down from the mountains ice cold and the forests are loud and thick with spirits.

The spirits have no names that are written and no faces that have ever stayed the same, unremembered but immemorial. They are loud. Most of them respect the borders of his body. They brush against his legs with thick wet fur or scrape his cheek with leathery wings. They coil around his throat, treating him like a tree or rock. Some of them are trees and rocks. They are the mountains and forest, just like the wandering souls of Junrinan. They all belong here, more or less.

Toushirou can see most of them. When the blurry ones pass through you, it's feverishly unpleasant for the split-second it happens and then is nothing at all. The blurry ones, Toushirou figures, aren't actually in this forest. They are like shadows at sunset, cast long and far from their bodies. Their true bodies roam a different world entirely.

That's what Hinamori wants to do. 

Hinamori used to clamor for shinigami stories any time one of them passed through town. She'd been told one time that all travelers carried stories and now expected it.

The shinigami never expected her. Unless commerce was involved they didn't tend to acknowledge souls, or even look at them. So they always seemed surprised by Hinamori, like it hadn't occurred to them that they'd meet a real, full person out here. Which is fair enough, Toushirou grudgingly allows--there are plenty of souls in Junrinan so old and staid they cannot move, nor speak. (Don't touch them. It's unlucky.)

We don't talk about those.

The shinigami talk story: The story of black dye. The story of a tall bathhouse. The story of grilled meat on sticks. The story of the time they saw a noble. The story of a big fish. The story of a bigger fish. The story of the bullet train. The story of my sister, who isn't very interesting but is the only thing that comes to mind right now sorry. The story of 19th seats should be paid more. The story of the soul who wanted a story. 

Almost none of the stories are about death.

"Little girls shouldn't go into those mountains," one shinigami once said, which is as close as a story ever came to it. "Nasty stuff in there. They're called Hollows, you know. Real bad guys."

The shinigami patted the sword at his hip. He'd just told Hinamori a story about the third son of a lesser noble whom everyone loved and thought deserved better than the shadows of his elder brothers. And how preposterous is it, really, that he should have to prove himself when his brothers never did? Pushed out here into the boonies, seeking honor and fame. He really feels for the guy. Don't you? Don't you?

"You seem to know a lot about 'this guy,'" Toushirou offered.

"I'm a master storyteller," said the shinigami.

I've killed a Hollow before, you know, boasted the master storyteller. He'd led a unit of twelve men into those mountains out there, which were so quiet you could hear your own heart beating. When you can hear your terror--that's when you're on the cusp of valor. His eyes lit up. I was the one who cut the mask, he said.

Twelve is obviously far too many (seven is a meal), and those mountains have never been quiet. Toushirou didn't think he'd really been.

In the spring, though, there's a dark scar where once there'd been a copse of trees. Shattered branches and burned ground. His grandmother says it smells like Hollow. 

"They see things differently," his grandmother half-explains, of the shinigami and their Hollows and the silence of their mountains. Of course this would seem a different place to them.

"They're idiots," says Toushirou, though suddenly he's not sure. The scar is hair-raising, and his stomach roils. Maybe they really shouldn't be out in the woods.

"The shinigami know more than you," says Hinamori, taking his hand in hers. She grips it tightly, reassuring, or maybe annoyed. Both. She has a lot of school spirit for someone who hasn't even been yet.

But she doesn't let go of his hand, even after they've returned to the cover of the live trees, kitsune fire nestled in the brambles at their feet.

Toushirou makes the mistake of noticing a spirit that tends to linger just out of sight. It feeds on your instinct to look, and it grows higher and higher the more you crane your neck, so sure you'll be able to sneak a glimpse of it. By the time you realize the trick, you've always been had. It's very annoying.

--

This will be the last time.

(Scream it.)

--

"It's so dark out here," says Hinamori, in spite of the kitsune and all the rest. Lots of spirits glow. She is still holding his hand.

Toushirou thinks of the small lamp Hinamori had bought to study by, the wild shadows it cast on the interior walls and the way it had made all hours bright. He thinks of all the hours she hadn't slept. All because some shinigami had told her a story about a school. 

Anything would seem dark by comparison. He can't remember the last time she hadn't had her lamp on when he went to bed.

Hinamori is going to snap the bones in his hand. He yelps. Tears prick in his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

She doesn't let go, and then she doesn't let go.

"It's so quiet," she says faintly. Her free hand wavers over her heart protectively.

It's so dark. It's so quiet. Quiet enough to hear your terror.

Except it's not. It's not dark.

It's not quiet.

The forest is full, air thick with chirrups and buzzing, screeching, hooting, chittering. Bodies clack and bones shudder. Reeds whistle and something large makes a whomping, resonating tone. Foxfire hisses as it makes sparks, throws phosphorous motes that dance high above. A heartbeat glow marches up the ridged spine of a lizard spirit. The forest is as it has always been.

Toushirou's eyes widen. 

"You can't hear them anymore."

To Hinamori, it is all darkness and silence. 

She sinks to the ground, burying her head in her knees as though to hide from the quiet. From the black. She drops his hand.

"Momo--"

She shakes her head. She opens her hands to the sky like she's waiting for a bird to land. For a split second, a small warm flame billows from her palms. 

Then the entire forest catches.

The thought had been innocent enough--to be her own light in the darkness, conquer her fear. But the forest only hears the conquering. It's the kitsune who don't take kindly to Hinamori's light. Their fire screeches up and outward and then all the spirits are in frenzy. A meal! scream some; and others, a threat! A danger to be expunged. A strange thing not of this forest, these mountains.

Outsider! the world around them hisses. Away.

away, away

Hinamori screams as the flames leap forward--the claws, the vines, the terrors and all in between. She throws herself in front of Toushirou. 

Toushirou can't find his voice at all. The wide whites of his eyes feel the propulsive gust of the forest coming down on them. On Hinamori. No! he can't shout, cold fear coiling over his frozen legs and pricking at his shoulder blades. Something serpentine rushes past him and he's on the ground. His head smacks hard against a writhing tree root and he tastes bile, feels nothing. 

Hears everything.

away

When he wakes, snow is falling, wet and sloppy. Kitsune are nibbling at the singed edges of a hanafuda. Hinamori is in her grandmother's arms. She's crying.

--

Before Hinamori started studying, with her bright lamp and her long nights and her feverish poetry scratched into the ground, before the hunger came, she'd woken one morning to a futon streaked with her blood. Her grandmother said that this was womanhood.

"The tea will stop the bleeding," she assured a tearful Hinamori as they scrubbed at her futon, pinking the waters. Toushirou beat at the stain with his feet, splashing everywhere.

"You don't have to touch it," Hinamori had said quietly, her eyes fixed on the water. "It's my mess."

"Baachan said I have to help," Toushirou objected. "Besides, am I supposed to just sit here and watch you bleed?"

--

Just one last time.

--

Hinamori isn't hurt, but she is in pain. The forest doesn't want her anymore. (She is leaving.)

"The forest sees them differently," his grandmother says, the other half of her earlier explanation. "Them," meaning shinigami. "Them," meaning Hinamori, now.

Shinigami see and are seen differently. They belong differently. Toushirou had only ever distinguished them by their black clothes, and sometimes their attitude. But his grandmother talks about reiryoku, about reiatsu, about the realms the shinigami travel through and the spirits they are blind to. The spirits that belong to different worlds than theirs, even when they're side by side. Some worlds are bound to one another, tied by fate and duty; others are repelled.

As Hinamori's reiatsu blossomed with her womanhood, slowly folding outward past her skin, beyond her body, her worlds were chosen for her. Like the bleeding, there's a tea to help this, too, but it's not the same. 

There is no going back.

"What're you looking at," Toushirou scowls at her. He's not sure what to do with her pain. There's nothing he can do for her pain. But she's looking at him differently, a little less like Hinamori and a little more like the rest of Junrinan does, and that scares him.

She asks him if he'd felt anything. Something cold.

She's asked him before. Every day since the incident, she's asked him.

His answer is always the same. No. Just fear.

He should be helping his grandmother. They're here in the forest for a reason, and that hasn't changed; they have foraging to do. But he doesn't want to leave Hinamori alone. 

"Don't be afraid of it, Shiro-chan," says Hinamori. Hinamori, who's now afraid of the dark.

Hinamori, who is leaving.

--

She doesn't have a choice. When her power comes into her she knows there is only one place she can go. It's a place she has always wanted to go. (She has always wanted to go places.) But now she has to.

She smiles. 

If she is going to go, she's going to fly. She will love, and yearn, and cry. She will give all of herself to the future before her, even when it means that precious things can be only memory. If there is something Hinamori leaves in him when she goes, it's flight. 

Someday, Toushirou will remember to remember that.

--

"Will you write me?" she asks.

--

--

(You will be written.)

--

She returns for the summer, then is gone again. Winter, then gone again. But she doesn't come home for the spring. They'll be going to the realm of the living. They will fight Hollows, just like the Gotei 13. She explains the meaning and stroke order of the characters, go tei,  though she doesn't explain what the Gotei 13 actually is. That part must already seem obvious to her. Shinigami stuff. That's all Toushirou will ever need to know. Seems pretentious.

When Junrinan returns to the mountains this year, Toushirou and his grandmother stay behind. "It's dangerous," she says. She squeezes his shoulders.

It's dangerous now. 

There is no going back.

Junrinan may not change, but life does, and by the second summer, Hinamori has mostly forgotten the shapes of the forest spirits. Toushirou is forgetting them, too. 

The difference is, Hinamori has found replacements. She talks about incantations and sword stances, friendships and histories. She has been to the realm of the living. It's only been a year, and already they have nothing in common but their memories, ever-receding. 

Sometimes she wakes up screaming. She doesn't say why.

--

Toushirou dreams of a chill ripping through him. He dreams of a place where there are no mountains as far as the eye can see.

--

He wakes to Hinamori.

[vermilionwinds]

Character Summary - Remeraux

alias/nicknames. Rem, the Crimson Corsair (briefly)

gender. cis female

age. On the cusp of 31

zodiac. Virgo

abilities + talents. Marauder, sailor, war veteran, resistance tactics, Red Magic (sort of), knot-tying, singing, fiddle playing

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Devout follower of Llymlaen, but considering the worship of her is mostly sailing superstitions, she doesn't spend much time in services. Lights a candle and makes offerings when she needs guidance, though.

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, conversational Hingan, conversational Bozjan

family. Birth Mother (Celestine, deceased), Birth Father (Pierrent, deceased), Sister (Rosamonde), Adopted Mother (Danifa Nadasch), Adopted misc parents (Xavier Folchambres, Athilda Glass) (Many others, deceased)

friends. Severine Sauvageot, Breandan Ducaille, Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose, Tohkta Qestir, Jeanne Castelle

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / blue

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (violet)

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 6'8

scars. Many. Lascerations, bullet wounds, burn scars, scattered all across her torso, arms and legs. A thin line of a scar across her right cheekbone. A purple-tinted knot of scar tissue on her left-side, roughly the size of her fist.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

RUNAWAY- Half-alive

Sarah - Derina Harvey Band

Another Town, Another Train - ABBA

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 8

You’re going to be offended when I tell you I’m still not done. How did this happen? How did this end chapter get so long that I have to break it in half and I still have not finished it? 

Oh right, I wrote myself into a corner and had to get myself out of it in the most outlandish way possible. Yeah that checks out.

For now please enjoy chapter 8 of what is now a 9-chapter story. Because I have no self control.

Day 8: Free Day for @taiqrowweek

Rating:  T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 6.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: Hang...

~

Qrow was thirty-two when it finally happened.

He was working out of Mantle on the cusp of winter. The bustling, compact metropolis had become a bit of a mainstay for him over the years, thanks to his connections with the Omega Alliance. The political party had formed half a decade ago, heralded by none other than Robyn Hill. The movement was quickly becoming a worldwide spectacle, with more factions forming in every major city of the four kingdoms almost every week. With the main branch strategically close to Atlas though, it had become a media-struggle to both stay in the spotlight and to silence the oppressed.

It was just the kind of thing that might turn the tides for omega rights once and for all.

However, for Qrow, the Alliance had become a bit of a safe haven. The group had welcomed him in with open arms and encouraged him to continue his work, with the stipulation the Alliance would be endorsing the rebranding efforts in their press conferences and rallies. In turn, he was given a ‘secret nesting spot’ no matter where he seemed to travel to and a donation fund that kept him so well off, Tai stopped trying to measure his waistline with his eyes whenever he came to visit. All the while, his anonymity was kept intact and his clientele full.

It seemed like an eternity since he’d been able to live so comfortably.

Which led him to where he was that fateful day. The Greenleaf Inn was a well-sized, three-star hotel that always conveniently had its mini-suite open whenever he was around. The bed alone was worth its weight in lien, but the mini-bar fridge and spa tub made him feel like he was a king. The extra space also allowed for more pleasant accommodations for his clients.

That day, he was working with a young journalist by the name of Forest. He was a chatterer and a bit of a political enthusiast, his support for the Alliance borderline fanatic. Most of their time was spent discussing current events.

“Vacuo’s press conference is all in an uproar. Pride leader Kali can’t even get a word in edgewise; no one’s listening to her. It’s all looking pretty bad – then her Alpha gets to his feet. He’s like a monster of a man – wider than a truck and tall as a house. Everyone shuts up when he clears his throat and says his mate has something to say. Then he just sits down and lets her talk. Sienna reported that Kali turned into a real lioness and took charge!” Forest mimicked the swiping of claws. “It was spectacular! But of course, the headlines are all about what Ghira did and Kali’s performance is just a side note. It’s always about the alphas – uh, no offense.”

Well maybe discussing was too strong a term. “None taken.” Qrow replied offhandedly from the floor, more concerned with getting the arch of the fox’s face just right where it curled over the shin bone. He wasn’t even sure Forest heard him anyways.

“Suppose the end result is what matters though. Vacuo was the last agenda we needed to be on. Now we’re ensured the UFK really starts discussing omega affairs this winter. And I think-”

He never did find out what Forest thought – because a rapping on the door cut him off. Qrow turned off his pen, wary as he got to his feet. It wasn’t typical he got visitors out of the blue.

Then a voice shouted from the other side. “Harbinger, hurry up!”

“May?” Forest sat upright.

Qrow was already across the room in two strides, throwing open the door. The blue-haired omega was in a state, her scent bleeding panic as she cut right to the chase, “You need to get out of here! The police are in the lobby, looking for you!”

“What?!” He barked, heart rate skyrocketing. “But how?”

May pushed him back, hurrying inside. “Don’t know. Joanna’s trying to stall, but we only got a few minutes at most before this place is crawling. What do you need? Forest, you too, get up!”

The reporter seemed to snap out of his daze, jumping to his feet. “Why don’t we just hide in another room?”

“That might work for you, but not him. They’re gonna raze this place from the ground up.”

“Then hide him. I’m going down the stairwell.” Qrow insisted, having already thrown his kit back together and snapping the case closed. He got to his feet, pulling his scroll from his pocket. “Here. Destroy it.”

She looked from the device to him, uncertain. “But I can help-”

“No.” He barely withheld the growl. “You’re a lead member of Atlas’ branch. They see you helping me and the kingdom’s gonna run with the bad press. You don’t need that, especially not with the UFK assembly so close.”

For one long terrible moment, he was certain she was going to keep arguing. But any bluster was blown out with a heavy sigh and a helpless, “Good luck.”

He was going to need it.

~

“Shit.” Qrow cursed as he caught a gander of the lobby floor from the little window in the stairwell door. The place was crawling. He could already see a pair of officers at the elevator doors. There was almost definitely one at every exit point as well.

He backed up, trying to think. There was no way he was getting out undetected and the moment they started questioning him or asking for identification, he was going to be in trouble. He thought about reconsidering Forest’s idea – but even if they played a game of Scooby Doo chase with the cops, it wasn’t going to be long before they caught sight of him. He couldn’t just go up to his room and wait for the inevitable either.

He was trapped. His only hope was if he spontaneously learned how to fly.

Unless… He tilted his head up, looking at the flights of stairs. Which went all the way up to the roof.

The buildings weren’t that far apart.

It was crazy. But, it might be his only chance.

Qrow shoved his tattoo kit underneath the last stairwell, pushing it in the corner until the black case was hidden in the shadows. It would be too heavy to take with him. He’d just have to hope no one would be able to find it in the meantime. Appeased, he rushed up the stairs, trying to take several at a time. He was about halfway up the third when he heard the first-floor door open. He froze.

“You really think he’ll come down this way?” A voice, high and reedy, floated up from below.

The other voice was gruff and masculine. “You heard the chief, Viola. She wants all exits covered.”

“Just seems excessive Taylor. All of us for a guy not even hurting anyone.”

“Rookie, I’ll give you some advice: the judgment calls are for the courts. We just need to do our jobs. And yours right now is to get to that top floor in case our perp makes a break for the roof, capeesh?”

She sighed. “Got it.”

The first footfall hit the steps.

Qrow thought about it for half a second – and then he bolted.

Surprise was on his side, because it took the officers a precious few seconds to understand before their shouts rang up and they started chasing after him. He could hear Taylor fumbling with a radio, calling for backup. By that point, Qrow was bypassing the second floor and heading toward the third.

“Stop! Police!” Viola’s voice cracked on the yell.

He felt kind of bad, scaring the newbie. Had he had any breath left, he might have shouted back an apology. As it were, all his focus went onto the stairs in front of him, trying his best not to fall as he climbed five… six… seven… eight-

Bam!

The roof access door swung open and hit the brick. He paused long enough to scope his options –apartment complex to the left, half a story lower, flat rooftop; warehouse to the right, higher, guardrail fencing on the perimeter – before he made a decision and skirted left. The ground underneath him was slippery from rainfall that had frosted over with late autumn’s crisper temperatures, so he struggled for traction, preparing to jump.

“Don’t do it!” Viola yelled just as he did it.

For a moment, as he leapt over ten feet through the air, nothing below but a sharp drop to the alleyway, he felt weightless and free.  He really was flying.

And then realty was rushing up to meet him as his feet hit the opposite roof, slipped on the ice, and slipped again when his hands weren’t enough to catch him. The impact, mostly taken on his right side, was jarring and left him a little breathless and aching. Still, he was able to stand a few moments after, turning back to look at the officers staring down at him across the gap.

“Ha! Better luck next time turkeys!” Qrow saluted them before he strut towards the roof hatch. Now all he had to do was-

Wait.

Why was everything spinning?

The distant sound of cars was fading, and as he lifted his hand to his face, he watched it double before his eyes.

Shit. He was gonna-

The ground rushed up to meet him a second time, having just enough consciousness left to land on his back.

He watched the sky above him until the last star blinked out.

~

She’d been staring at him for the past five minutes.

He could just barely see her above the pages of the newspaper he was pretending to read. He figured she would eventually go and pester her dad, just one room over and making quite a racket in the kitchen as Tai no doubt overdid it in trying to be the perfect host (and would only try harder if Qrow told him it was no big deal). But the longer he tried to wait her out, the more it became obvious his niece had a mission and he was part of it.

Eventually he folded – both the newspaper and his resolve – and turned to her, trying not to be appear as intimated by a mere child as he actually kind of was, “Something wrong?”

Yang lifted her chin up high, stomped her way over from the staircase to his little corner of the couch, and slammed a box of markers down on the coffee table. “Make me pretty.”

“Huh?”

“Like daddy.” She said with great exasperation. She climbed up beside him and with the lack of shame only children could have pulled off the shirt of her PJs and turned so her back could face him. “I want to be pretty too.”

Understanding slowly dawned on him. “Shouldn’t we ask your dad first?”

“I did, he said it was fine.” She hadn’t but Tai thought it was too adorable to be mad about it.

“Alright then.” Qrow turned, pulling a blue marker from the box. But when he turned back to face her, the pen was now black and Yang was two years older. “What do you want this time firecracker?”

“A motorcycle!” She shouted, bouncing excitedly.

He laughed, draping her long hair over her shoulder. “A motorcycle? Now what would a girl like you want that for?”

“I’ma get one when I’m older. Daddy said! I can get a real motorcycle when I turn eighteen.” She told him.

He uncapped the marker. “And that’s what you want, huh?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “He said I could get a real tattoo too, as long as I think really hard about it since this one won’t come off in the bath.”

Qrow started to outline the wheels. “That’s right. You want to make sure it’s something you want forever.”

“Once I decide, you’ll do it for me, right?”

The words halted him momentarily, overcome by the sudden fondness filling his heart. “’Course I will.”  

“You swear?” Yang turned her head, trying to look serious but only managing to look adorably pouty. “Even if they pop out your eyes?”

The snort of surprise burst out of him. “It’s scratch out your eyes – and yes, even then.” And just so she could know that he meant it, he crossed an X over his heart.

“Good.”

He pressed the marker back to her skin, moving onto the bike’s frame, when Tai called out to him, “Qrow, look!”

He rose his head, looking out across the yard to see the omega holding a square, plywood board between his hands. As he gave the nod, Yang didn’t hesitate to bust her fist right through it.

“Looking good!” Qrow called back, before turning back to Ruby. Draped over his lap so she could reach her toys, she was making little action noises with her mouth as she crushed Bastinda underneath Zwei’s massive paws. He was just adding the color to the fur of the corgi version on her back.

A sharp movement had Bastinda flying down the porch steps and a stripe of white going all over her back. Luckily, six-year-olds weren’t picky.

“Bye, bye mean witch.” Ruby waved before she started taking her wolf on a walk along his side. “Uncle Qrow, who’s your favorite?”

He wrinkled his nose, trying not to think of the shoddy reboot that was slowly destroying the integrity of the original. Still, he answered honestly, “Rosette.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she was the big hero.” He explained. “I wanted to be just like her growing up.”

Her eyes lit up. “And now you are her, right?”

He quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Daddy told me that’s why you’re gone so long, ‘cause you’re out making the world a better place.” Another stripe went down her back. She blinked curiously. “Why’d your face go all red?”

“Ah, nevermind that! Hey, you know what this needs?” He looked away, grabbing at the pink marker.

It was the same color his cheeks had been by the time he was turning back around, no longer outside but sitting up in Ruby’s room, consoling the sniffling ten-year-old the only way he knew how.

As he added to the growing chain of roses growing along her shoulder blades, he said, “Don’t let them get to you kid.”

“But it’s not fair! I’m way faster at running bases than Cardin, but they made me sit on the bench the whole time! I didn’t even get to play.” She swiped angrily at her eyes.

If Qrow listened real hard, he could hear Tai’s voice rising from downstairs. The phone call didn’t seem to be going well. “You’re right, it’s not fair at all. Do you know why your teacher did that?”

“Because,” Ruby buried her face in her pillow, the rest coming out muffled, “I’m going to be an omega and omegas don’t do great things.”

He was glad she couldn’t see his scowl. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t.” He capped the marker, setting it aside before shifting on his knees, brushing back her hair with his fingers. “Because I’ve met omegas from all over the world, and so many of them are doing great things every single day. Dangerous things even, all so that they can make things more fair for everyone. They’re some of the bravest people I know.”

She rose her head. “Really?”

“Really. But you know what the big secret is?” He lent back, tapping his scent gland. “It doesn’t matter what’s here.” He tapped his head. “It matters what’s in here. As long as you put your mind to it and work hard at it, then there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Ruby considered this, asking, “You’re not just saying that?”

“Hey now, take it from the alpha who can draw. I know my stuff kiddo.”

It earned him one of the few things she seemed to share with her dad – a bright, beautiful smile. But as she went to a respond, a knocking on the door drew his attention.

Qrow blinked blearily at the cell doors where the guard was banging his nightstick against the metal. “Branwen, up! You got a visitor.”

Gingerly, he pulled himself up, his healing ribs screaming in protest at the movement. It took several moments longer before he could actually stand and shuffle his way out the door, following the guard down the hall. He kept his head down, not wanting to meet eyes with any of the other prisoners.

Since he was injured, he was being kept in the protective custody side of the prison. It had its bonuses – he didn’t have to share a cell or run through the motions the general population side did. He also didn’t have to cuff up when they let him out of his cell, mostly because they couldn’t get them on around the sling. The downside was the PC side of the jail was also where the most violent criminals were kept. There was one inmate in particular who-

“Oh little bird, you’ve come fluttering my way yet again.” Tyrian jeered.

-particularly got on his nerves. Qrow didn’t look up, but that didn’t stop the fierce growl from leaving his throat. The serial killer only cackled at his display.

If this was what it was like in here, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d survive once he was reassigned into GP. A whole room full of alphas, all of them constantly competing for dominance, was a disaster waiting to happen. Not for the first time since he’d arrived, did he start wishing he’d presented differently. He’d have better chances in an omega-beta prison.

So preoccupied he was by his anxious thoughts, he’d forgotten entirely why he was out of bed in the first place until he was walking into the visitor’s area. The section was marked by a row of doors, each one leading into a small room that had nothing more than a few chairs and a wooden counter separated in half by bulletproof plexiglass. There was a metal, slated ring in it to allow the two parties to talk.

The guard unlocked the rightmost room, saying, “You’ve got one hour,” before swinging open the door.

Seeing a familiar face, even if it was only Clover Ebi’s, filled him with so much joy he could have cried.

The soldier was all smiles for him, though the cursory look over he gave him left a twist of worry at the corner of his eyes. “Hey Qrow. I’m so relieved to see you. You look… rough.”

“What gave that implication? The fractured wrist or the three broken ribs?” He replied tightly, delicately sitting down. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know my name either.”

“’Fraid everyone does at this point. You’re all over the news.”

He grimaced. “Internationally?”

“If I said no, would it make you feel better?”

“Not if I know you’re lying.” Gods, Tai was probably having a heart attack right now. And the girls… he wondered if they even fully understood what was going on. He raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

Clover’s expression was one of sympathy. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Now that I’ve found you, we can get you a good lawyer, rather than the pro bono one they appointed you to. Robyn’s already running rallies in the streets of every kingdom and donation rings to hire the best in the business. And Fiona’s calling about a dozen firms a day. She’s already got-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Qrow cut him off, disoriented. “Slow down trigger. I get I’m not in a great position, but isn’t that a bit excessive for a small end criminal court case? And anyways, it’s not like I’m going to trial tomorrow.”

His flippancy only seemed to make the omega more agitated as he lent back, running a hand over his face. “Oh shit. They didn’t assign you a counsel, did they?”

“I’m not that depressed.”

“A legal counsel Qrow!” He scoffed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, now he was so off-track he wasn’t even sure he boarded the train. “Am I… missing something?”

With a deep breath, Clover schooled his features, resting his arms along the tabletop to lean forward. “Qrow, your crime is being considered as a global offense. They’re expediating your case through the process so you can be tried at the UFK.”

Realty cracked and shattered around him.

“W-What?!” He squawked, panic setting in immediately. “Are you fucking serious?!” When the other could only offer him a solemn nod, Qrow withdrew, dropping his head onto the table and curling his one good arm around his face, as if it would be enough to shield him from the future. “Oh Gods. Oh fuck.”

He was screwed. Utterly and royally.

The UFK, or United Four Kingdoms, assembly was a yearly session of the kingdom’s four heads of state and their councils. Mostly it was a peace gathering, a way to discuss the improvements or needs of each kingdom and provide support or discuss any eco-social changes that may need addressing. It was why the Alliance had been so prominent in recent months; so that the four heads might talk about potential alternations to omega rights. A discussion that had not been gaining enough, if any, traction in the past few years. That was why Robyn had organized the ‘Prides’ – a central team in each kingdom whose sole job was to attend the national press conferences and make a loud enough roar that the council would have to take notice. Each one had done a fantastic job, and the news channels had been bustling with stories about how this year’s session would absolutely have to focus on the matter of omega equality.

And in one fell swoop, Qrow had ruined that.

Trials weren’t unheard of at the UFK, but they were extremely rare. In the eighty years the assembly had been convening, there’d only been three prior cases that had gone to court there and each one had had a huge impact on universal laws. If he was tried and convicted, there was no telling what impact his case would have.

A tapping on the glass made him look up tentatively.

Clover’s jaw was set with determination. “It’s okay, Qrow. We’re here to help you.”

“No!” He sat up, gritting his teeth around the pain it caused him. “None of you should get involved! I can’t drag you down with me.”

“Qrow, think for a minute – do you really believe your arrest was just a coincidence?”

That drew him up short. “I…”

“Face it, you’re not exactly impossible to locate. Someone’s probably known where you were for a while and they were just waiting for the perfect moment to bring you in.” He indicated the air around them. “And this is it. The absence of counsel, the lack of prep time, keeping your whereabouts classified. It all adds up. They’re trying to turn you into a scapegoat.”

It was hard logic to beat. Qrow wasn’t exactly uninformed on just how messed up the legal system could be – and the more involved he’d gotten with his work, the deeper the rabbit hole just seemed to go. But to have it be twisted onto him in such a way, like he was merely everyone else’s plaything, made him feel violated.

He wondered how his mother would have felt, seeing him like this.

“So now what?” Qrow finally asked.

“Now, we fight back.” Clover replied assuredly. “Your case could be a gamechanger for omegas everywhere. We aren’t just going to lie down and watch it happen.”

He snorted. “So you’re turning the scapegoat into a martyr.”

“No.” The soldier declined, then added with a quirk of his lips, “We’re turning you into our harbinger.”

It took Qrow a moment to get it. Then he laughed.

A harbinger of change. There might just be some hope left after all.

~

Three days later, he met his defense attorneys.

Pietro was a kindly, wheelchair-bound beta with thirty years of experience. The minute the man started talking, it was obvious he knew his stuff as he lined out what to expect for the court process and what laws that may entangle them from certain kingdoms they might have to prepare for. Things Qrow hadn’t even considered, like operating a business out of a building with only a residential grade fire system – a law the more wildfire prone Mistral took very seriously.

His understudy was named Rhodes. Also a beta, as all lawyers were, the man had only a few years on Qrow himself, but he had a sharp wit and passionate aspiration for justice. He spent most of the time keeping a detailed note log on the things being said, explaining it would help them decide on the best strategy to use when they were in front of the UFK.

“The most difficult thing we have to contend with is time.” Rhodes affirmed. “Unlike most high-profile cases handled in the courts, the kingdoms aren’t going to allow the hearing to go beyond a single day so it doesn’t interfere with the other agendas they have to get too. That means limited evidence presentation and witness testimonies. We’ve got about eight hours to prove you’re an innocent man, which means every second in that room is going to count.”

Qrow swallowed hard. “What about the jury? They on a time limit too?”

“No. The jury are the councils.” Pietro explained. “The members of each kingdom’s council board will give their verdict, and it’s the majority vote of each council that decides their verdict. As long as you get a unanimous majority, you’ll be given your verdict. So, our focus will need to be on swaying each kingdom individually.”

Yeah. No pressure.

Rhodes tapped the end of his pen on the desk between them. “As you can see, it’s a bit of a balancing act. Ideally, our witness testimonies need to come from all over. If you can get us even just a moderate list of people from each kingdom you believe would be willing to speak for you then we can scope out the best choice from each one.”

“Perhaps.” The elder beta intoned, rubbing his chin. “Though Vale may not need any pushing. Our focus should truly lie in targeting the kingdom’s core values.”

“We also need to make sure to address the issues with improper due process.”

“A fine point.”

“I hope you both know I’m barely keeping up with this.” Qrow admitted.

Pietro smiled forgivingly. “Don’t worry your head about it, my boy. Just focus on giving us everything we can possibly work with to keep you out of jail. Do you have any family or friends who might speak on your credibility of character?”

There was only one person that came to mind – and there was no way he would even dare suggest Tai to spill his whole story for millions to hear.

“No.” He replied shortly.

“Not even-”

“Really. No. My old man’s a deadbeat. I haven’t seen my sister in over a decade. And unless these things come with a séance, my mom ain’t gonna have much to say either.” He lent back, shrugging his good shoulder. “As for friends, I haven’t exactly been living stably to form many close relationships. ‘Fraid I won’t be much use on that list either – never kept a detailed record to keep my clients safe. But, I know someone who just might be able to rally up a few.”

Pietro nodded. “Then let’s start there.”

Thankfully, that was the last time they asked him about family.

~

One day short of a week later, he was visited by someone other than his attorneys.

This time, the sight of a familiar face did actually make him cry, even if Tai immediately laid into him.

“You jumped off a roof?! What in the Gods’ Realms were you thinking? You could have died!” Tai smacked his hand on the table for emphasis. He wasn’t even sitting, too agitated to. Had the glass not been separating them, he was pretty sure he would have been in for the ear pinching of his life. “Are you okay, or did the fall knock out what little brain cells you have left?!”

Yet, the omega’s worry was so strong, Qrow could scent it through the little holes in the metal ringlet. It was familiar and more comforting then even a single second locked up in this awful place could even marginally hope to feel like. So, he broke down harder.

Tai sighed and gave up, dropping his forehead against the glass. Qrow struggled to reign himself in, but the days had been too long, too awful and too terrifying to stop the broken dam. The most he managed to get out was a wobbly, “m’sorry.” As he curled himself over the desk.

They hovered there, in silence.

Then, for the second time in his life, Tai purred at him, “I‘m here. You’re okay.”

It was like being draped in an extra soft blanket or pulled into an exceptionally warm hug, something he felt from the inside out. The shakes started to fade and the tears slowed to a drizzle, and then even that went away.

When he lifted his head, Qrow could almost pretend the outburst hadn’t happened at all. “Sorry, meds I’m on just make me emotional.”

“Sure they do.” Tai let him lie, finally taking his seat with the heavy gracelessness of someone who just got off an overnight flight.

While there were at least a dozen questions he wanted to ask, the most prominent came forward first: “Where are the girls?”

“In the waiting room. Ruby got scared. Somehow she got it in her head you’d be crippled.” He gave him a disdainful look, “Can’t imagine why she’d think that.”

He hid his grimace behind a smile, “Shoulda just told her birds my age can fly.”

It was the wrong thing to say as Tai scowled. “Don’t joke! Seriously, I can’t believe how idiotic that was. You’re lucky that little stunt only resulted in a few injuries.”

“Well, I ain’t feeling very lucky.” He snapped back. “Seriously what did you want me to do?”

The omega threw up his hands. “Not try to kill yourself! Do you know how terrified I was?! And then I couldn’t find you no matter how many jails and hospitals I called and I thought-!” His shoulder dropped. “I don’t know what I thought.”

But Qrow knew. He knew exactly what kind of worst-case scenarios must have played through his head when suddenly Qrow was all over the headlines after he tried to escape police arrest and was transported to a nearby care facility for his injuries, only to then disappear completely, the system deliberately hiding him to secure him for the big case. It wasn’t until he’d started meeting with Pietro and Rhodes that he’d learnt just how many infringements of his rights there’d already been. He wasn’t even supposed to be in a prison without being tried first. They were trying to work it into his case.

“If it weren’t for Robyn I never would of even of found you.”

Qrow’s confusion spiked. “Wait, how do you know her?”

“I don’t. She called me off your scroll.” So much for destroying it. “Once she got me in the loop, I took the first flight over I could.”

He didn’t know whether to feel thankful, or violated.

Wait.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Robyn was the one he’d directed his attorney team too. “She didn’t tell you anything else, did she? About the trial?”

“She just told me you were going in for it soon and that you could use some support.” Tai replied. “They aren’t really letting anyone in to see you if they can’t show that they’re family. I had to bring Yang’s birth certificate just to get in here.”

(Qrow might have cited Clover – if he wasn’t fairly certain the man could get himself into anywhere on badges and charisma alone.)

Still, relief swept through him. By whatever graces of the Gods there were, it sounded like Robyn had played him straight on this one. She must have figured out why he’d chosen not to disclose that information himself – and of that he could be grateful. He’d rather spend a hundred years in jail then let any of his family take the stand.

Now he just had to make sure Tai didn’t screw the pooch instead.

“Just be careful with that little tidbit. If the press gets a whiff of it, they’ll be all over you.” He warned.

If anything, Tai seemed insulted. “I’m not afraid of some headliners. I can handle it.”

“Can the girls?” The statement drew the omega up short. Qrow felt bad, playing that card, but it wasn’t like reporters had a moral compass. “Just being realistic. This case isn’t exactly coasting quietly under the table, and the last thing I want is my family being dragged into it all ‘cause of my mistakes.”

“They’re not mistakes.”

“Renegade behavior then.”

“You-!” Tai sighed, running a hand down his face frustratedly. “Stop that. You’re not a joke, you know?”

It was Qrow’s turn to draw up short, heart catching in his throat.

Tai barreled on, unconcerned with his organ transplant. “I’m proud of what you do. More than that, I believe in what you do. You make a difference, every day, even if it seems small. You wouldn’t have risked so much, if you didn’t think that yourself. So will you please try to trust in that, so you can tell those judges where to shove it?”

Still stuck in limbo, his heart pressed insistently against his voice box, willing him to say those accursed three words that desperately wanted to burst out. Instead, all he managed was a wheeze of laughter, and a quiet, “I will.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Tai got to his feet. “I’m going to go get the girls, okay?”

“Okay.” He watched him head for the door, calling just as he opened it. “And Tai?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you.”

For supporting me.

For being here with me.

For always knowing just what I need to hear.

He couldn’t decide on what was most important to say, so it all got stuck just like before.

Tai smiled like he’d heard them all regardless. “Anytime.”

~

“Are you ready, my boy?”

Qrow looked away from the airship window, where the Amity Tower was looming, to Pietro’s kind smile. It did little to calm the storm in his stomach. “Pretty sure no one’s ever ‘ready’ for this. My whole life’s about to be decided by a bunch of rich assholes who’ve probably never used the word ‘struggle’ in their lives.”

“Then I suppose it’s up to you to define it for them.”

He scoffed, falling back against the glass. “Hate to tell you this wheels, but English was my worst class.”

That at least earned him a hearty laugh. “You know there’s a saying among us lawyers: You don’t cry until it’s all over. So for now, keep your chin up and fight hard.”

Would be an easier fight if it didn’t feel like he was armed with only a pocketknife going against a trove of machine guns. Still, he couldn’t deny the weight of that sentiment. Especially knowing there was so much more to this fight than just what would happen to him.

Momentarily, as he shut his eyes, he could see Ruby. Coming home with tears streaming down her face after being told she wasn’t good enough to play baseball like the other kids. What if her fears were realized and she did present omega? What if she didn’t and, beyond all expectation, Yang did instead? What if one day, someone decided to throw either one of them into a reformatory and he wasn’t there to overwrite the wrongs?

The idea made him sick inside.

He rose up, facing Pietro once more. “Alright then, let’s do this.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Qrow tried to hold onto that feeling of confidence as long as he could as he continued to watch Amity Tower draw near. Like a beacon welcoming travelers to its side, the building stood alone on the seaside of the most northern part of Sanus. It wasn’t really a tower – it was more akin to a concert hall in size and shape. But it got its name from the spire that shot up in the middle of the roof. The decorative piece was meant to mimic the communication towers that each kingdom built to allow for scroll communication across the nations. A display that proclaimed this place would always be a venue in which the kingdoms could speak freely to one another.

As they began their descent towards the airstrip, he finally noticed the crowd. Circling Amity like a school of sharks were dozens upon dozens of people. They were spilling out along the grand front steps and thickly congested across the massive lawn area to the point barely a patch of green could be seen.

“What in all realms is going on?” Qrow breathed. He’d expected a few news reporters, sure. But nothing like this.

Before he could answer, Pietro’s scroll began to ring. He was quick to answer it. “Ah Rhodes, got here safely then? How are the witnesses doing?”

“Everyone is settled and prepared.” He replied assuredly. “Heard you guys were touching down, so I figured I’d warn you about the protest group.”

“Group?” Qrow echoed. “That’s an army. What are they even protesting?”

“Your arrest.”

His head snapped around; eyes wide.

Rhodes continued, unaware, “They’re all omegas or omega supporters from every nation in Remnant. They’ve been gathering here for days.”

“Incredible.” Pietro declared, adjusting his spectacles. “In all my years, I’ve never seen something quite like this.”

The rest of the conversation faded to background noise as he turned back towards the window, something unexplainable but good lifting him. Somewhere inside of him, he knew they weren’t really here for him, but what he represented. He was a loose cog in the machine, a shift from the system, a shield against the onslaught of endless ammo. Or, as Clover had jokingly coined, their harbinger of change.

Yet it didn’t stop him from feeling overwhelmed with support as the doors to the airship opened and the roar of cheers started up. It was a massive, thunderous noise that shook him to his very core then solidified there like an unbreakable diamond, giving him strength he hadn’t had just minutes ago.

Even as he was led out in cuffs, barred between two officers, he found himself walking tall. Like land making way for a river, the crowd parted for them. Some were carrying signs that said things like ‘Justice for Qrow’ and ‘Branwen can win’. There was even a really ridiculous one that said ‘Uncage our bird!’, complete with an illustration of a crow in a birdcage.

They made him smile, as did the few encouragements that he managed to pick out from rumble of hollers trying to reach him.

“You got this!”

“We’re here with you!”

“Your story’s not over yet!”

He carried it all the way up the stairs and through the entrance. Yet, as the large ornate double doors swung closed behind him, it muffled most of the noise.

Silenced once more.

[sweetsmellosuccess]

Sundance 2021: Day 5

Films: 4 Best Film of the Day(s): Judas and the Black Messiah

Prisoners of the Ghostland: For years now, Nicolas Cage has found projects that allow him  —  at this point, encourage him  —  to indulge his innermost acting Id. Never particularly one for thespian discipline before (with a few notable exceptions), he’s been freed of these petty restraints in favor of further and further unhinged “performances” that consist of his hyperbolic, twisted up line-readings and little more. For this film, he’s teamed up with Japanese gonzo auteur Sion Sono in a bizarre, cultural mash-up that includes western, samurai, comic book noir, and sci-fi all colliding together in a tedious heap. Playing largely without rules does allow for an exploration of creative impulses, but without narrative drive, or stakes of any real kind (beyond Cage’s character’s testicles  —  don’t ask), the film drowns itself in nonsensical, self-conscious oddities, with everyone seemingly taking the direction to “act weird!” until it all bleeds together. Even Cage’s various Cagisms (“Tes-ti-CAAAAL!”) get lost to the cacophony. Be careful what you wish for, Nic.

Cusp: The specific physical details change and evolve a bit, but much of the thrust of the American coming-of-age doc remains as fixed as a mountain range. Parker Hill and Isabel Bethencourt’s film, about a trio of teen friends growing up in small-town Texas over the course of a long summer, hits many of the usual sorts of points: With not much else to do, the kids amuse themselves with endless smoking, boozing, and drugging (and, this being Texas, an alarming amount of playing with firearms), get into and out of relationships they think might be love before they aren’t, and disagree vehemently with their parents, and the choices they’ve made in their lives. Still, Autumn, Brittney, and Aaloni each have their own burdens to carry  —  Autumn and Brittney are both abuse survivors, Aaloni’s father seems callous and harsh to all of his children to the point that they all hate him  —  and the intimacy with which Hill and Bethencourt’s camera captures their struggles and experiences is refreshingly candid, especially in the day of the endless social media montage. The young women are caught somewhere between child and adult, but unavoidably hurtling forward, an understanding we are all forced into accepting, but hasn’t yet hit them. “I’m sixteen,” one of them says near the end, “I have forever to go.”

Night of the Kings: On the evening of a blood-red moon at the MACA prison deep in the heart of the jungle in the Ivory Coast, a new, young inmate (Bakary Koné), having just been named “Roman” by the reigning Dangoro, Blackbeard (Steve Tientcheu), is forced to tell a story to the rest of the inmates as an entertainment. As soon as he has finished, he’s been warned, he will be put to death. Ivory Coast director Philippe Lacote, who grew up in the city of Abidjan, where Roman’s story takes place, has created a sort of recrafting of Arabian Nights, with Roman as its Scheherazade. The thing is, as Roman begins to stammer out his story, attempting to elongate it as much as possible in order to stay alive, the inmates make it a fully interactive affair, jumping in to demonstrate the action Roman describes, breaking into songs glorifying the characters he creates, and responding favorably or unfavorably to every detail as he lays it out to them. In this way, Roman’s halting, confusing story  —  which changes time frames, and details as Roman rethinks them  —  becomes a collective experience of the entire prison, even as Lass (Abdoul Karim Konaté), a rival to the ailing Blackbeard, plans his overthrow. Ironically, Roman’s story might not rise up to the mythic elements he keeps trying to interject, but the film’s story  —  with its colorful cast of descriptive-name characters (Half-Mad, Razor Blade, Sexy, Petrol), magic realism components, and multilayered intrigue, plays like its own sort of myth.

Judas and the Black Messiah: It’s maybe one person out of 100 who would actually act in the best interest of everybody else instead of themselves. Which means there are about 99 who would look out for themselves, if push came to shove. Shaka King’s shattering film about Fred Hampton (Daniel Kaluuya), the charismatic chairman of the Chicago sect of the Black Panther party in the late ‘60s, and William O’Neal (Lakeith Stanfield), the man who would betray him to the FBI, is a testament to this most egregious human principle  —  memorialized, as the film’s title strongly asserts, in the Bible  —  and one of the confounding bedrocks of human civilization. Hampton was a young man when he became the chairman of his chapter, and his successes immediately grabbed the attention of J. Edgar Hoover (here played by Martin Sheen), who was obsessed with the idea that the Civil Rights movement had inlaid ties with the communists. Putting pressure on his Chicago office to diffuse Hampton, agent Roy Mitchell (Jesse Plemons) brings in O’Neal, recently busted for impersonating a Fed, and offers him a chance at his freedom, but at the cost of playing snitch on “Chairman Fred.” King, who co-wrote the screenplay, boils to story down to its essence without getting needlessly choked in the details. We see Hampton’s savvy, and his ability to connect with people of any creed or color  —  easily, the most frightening element of his program to the FBI was the so-called “Rainbow Coalition” that banded together the Panthers with black street gangs, but also Puerto Rican groups, and, shockingly, all-white coalitions, all untied under the rubric of being poor and abused by Chicago’s notoriously corrupt and racist police department —  but also, his absolute belief in keeping political power in the hands of the people, not the government. King’s film features absolutely blazing performances from its two male leads, in addition to a strong turn by Dominique Fishback, as Hampton’s wife, Deborah Johnson, and a strong, driving narrative focus that keeps the line taut, even if you know exactly what’s coming. King manages to portray Hampton in purely human terms, grounded in the reality of the struggle, and avoids needlessly deifying him in the process. It’s true, O’Neal, though the primary protagonist, remains more unexplored  —  this isn’t The Killing of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford, exactly  —  but Stanfield gives enough breadth to the performance to keep the film properly balanced. It’s shatteringly good.

Sundance goes mostly virtual for this year’s edition, sparing filmgoers the altitude, long waits, standing lines, and panicked eating binges  —  but also, these things and more that make the festival so damn endearing. In any event, Sundance via living room is still a hell of a lot better than no Sundance. A daily report.

[eopederson]

South Lawn of the White House, Washington, DC, Summer 1972.


This autumn I will have had close association with the Washington, DC area for a half century. Beginning with this posting and continuing for awhile, each morning I am going to post a scene in the city taken in my early years of residence.


In the early 1970s Washington was, to quote John F. Kennedy, “a city of southern efficiency and northern charm.” Good restaurants were few and far between, and “culture” was mostly imported from elsewhere or enjoyed there thanks to the Metroliners to New York. In fairness, the visual arts were strong with painters like Kenneth Noland, Morris Louis and others forming what came to be called the Washington Color School, and Arena Stage was a theatrical force. Large projects were underway - the Metro subway system, expansion of the Smithsonian facilities, and the Kennedy Center among others. The city was on the cusp of becoming a major metropolis and not just a sleepy backwater where politicians hid out.


In some ways the ominous feeling of 1970, the year I moved to DC, was eerily similar to that in 2020, though the present crisis is larger in scope than the “long national nightmare” under Richard Milhouse - “tricky dickie” - Nixon. The Watergate break-in was still almost two years away (it had occurred just before the picture above was taken), but tricky dickie’s contempt for the Constitution and the laws of the land were already evident. A constitutional crisis was brewing, and the Viet Nam War was consuming lives and wealth at an accelerating pace. The city of the 1970s was an exciting, and sometimes an uncomfortable, place to be. It was also very different in appearance and atmosphere from the city, the metropolitan area, today.