#(she’s a Face dancer! i have more drawings of her somewhere from last summer)

[daxwormzz]

DUNE OC drawings I’ve made recently MASTERPOST of SORTS

#Eumenides oc #(he’s a spice pirate :)) #Turi oc #(she’s a Face dancer! i have more drawings of her somewhere from last summer) #ex-guild navigator oc (name pending) #one of many partners-in-crime Eumenides has at his disposal #Dune ocs #dune by frank herbert #my art lol

[hoodwinkd1]

the stars that shine Ch 2

Ch 1 here.

Chapter 2: woke up to find that summer gone

Evangeline sat at the dark cherry desk in her bedroom, staring down at the piece of parchment which seemed to be staring right back at her. She had picked up a pen almost half an hour ago and had successfully written one line.

Dear Lys,

“Damn this!” Tossing the pen to the side, she stood and began pacing around the bed. Normally, her letters back to Caraverre were pages and pages of stories, filled with every minute detail and every silly joke that Lysandra and Aedion might enjoy. Tonight, she could barely get her thoughts in order enough to discuss what she’d eaten for dinner two hours ago.

Evangeline knew exactly who to blame for this conundrum. Hollin Havilliard.

Her first two weeks in Rifthold were amazing. Ever the social butterfly and lacking peer friendships back in Terrasen, Evangeline absolutely loved getting to know the other students in her lessons.

“You should come shopping with us next week,” Regina suggested, her smile genuine. As the third eldest daughter of the Callot family, the largest noble support of Adarlan’s fashion industry, Regina would certainly have good taste. “Anya and I are looking for springtime outfits.”

The other girl had jumped in then. “How long will you be staying? My parents always plan a trip to the country house right after the Spring Solstice and I can bring a few friends.”

So yes, Evangeline had no problem making friends. She was downright delightful and ready to try anything, go on any adventure.

Her lessons were equally wonderful. Part of the reason she came to Rifthold was to expand her education, filling in gaps that Darrow had no expertise in, and she enjoyed the challenge immensely.

Point being, she should have plenty to write home about. The shopping trip, the mathematics concept she finally mastered, even the amazing duck stew she tried two nights ago.

Unfortunately, the fond memory of her duck stew faded when she remembered what had immediately followed.

Dear Lys,

I had the most awkward night of my life. I’m relatively confident I’ve made my first enemy and I may never go back to the ballet after this traumatizing experience.

No, she couldn’t possibly send that. Aedion would charge into the palace and demand revenge at the mere thought of anyone disliking Evangeline, if he didn’t laugh himself to death trying to imagine the concept first.

Her popularity aside, she was still in disbelief. Hollin had approached her first, offering to escort her to the royal box at the Rifthold Theater for a travelling dance troupe that evening. Evangeline accepted (delightfully and more than ready for an adventure). She even dug through her closet for the stunning cerulean gown Aelin had gifted for her fourteenth birthday.

And then the prince proceeded to ignore her. All night.

“Who goes two entire hours without speaking one word?” Evangeline grumbled, moving towards her closet to grab a nightgown. The letter could wait until tomorrow. “Why bother inviting me in the first place?”

Whatever. She would be just fine with her new friends, who’s families also owned boxes at the theater.

----

“It’s been two days.” Dorian dropped into the chair next to Hollin. “Two whole days, and I haven’t heard a word from either of you. Quite rude, if you ask me, considering it was my idea to take her to the ballet.”

Hollin kept his eyes on the book in front of him. “Some people think it’s rude to speak in a library. And yet, here we are.”

The king sighed, as if his little brother’s social life was as draining as running a nation. “At least tell me if you enjoyed yourself. Or if you think Eva enjoyed herself.”

“The dancers were talented.” Hollin turned a page. “I can’t speak for someone else’s opinion.”

Dorian huffed. “I meant, did you enjoy spending time with her?”

Hollin shut the book with a bit more force than needed. “Do you have nothing better to do than force me to go on dates with your friends’ wards? I’m working on something here.”

“It wasn’t meant to be a date!” Dorian protested. “Just...Evangeline is so delightful. And friendly. I thought she could, you know, be a friend?” His words trailed off at the end.

He heard the unspoken words. Hollin was not delightful and not friendly. Dorian probably hoped this picture-perfect girl could change him, mold him into a better prince.

“She has friends. And I have work to do.” He looked pointedly at the book strewn across his lap.

Dorian, finally, took the hint. “Fine. Enjoy your suspicious research.” He stood up, fixing his tunic. “I expect to see you at the merchant’s council dinner tomorrow night.”

Hollin waved him off. “See you then.” He’d been searching for some excuse to get out of that event, some way to avoid all the grouchy, greedy men that tried to grab the king’s attention.

Maybe if he fell off a horse, he could avoid politics for a few days.

----

The two months passed quite quickly. Evangeline was expected home in time for Aedion’s birthday celebration, so she took the last day in Rifthold to search for a gift. He might grumble about her spending money on him, letting his annoyance over aging take over his usual good mood, but Eva knew he would secretly cherish something special.

Anya had offered to join her, commandeering her family’s carriage for the trip. The two of them, along with Regina, had become inseparable during Evangeline’s stay.

She had never had friendships that were entirely her own before, outside of her family’s vast and unyielding legacy. Spending the day shopping tasted like freedom and youth.

“Where are we heading first?” Anya asked, shifting her long skirt to make room for Evangeline to sit on the bench next to her. “What does one even buy for the most infamous General in the world?”

So maybe she never could fully escape that legacy. Evangeline chose to ignore the honorific. “Aedion? He can be quite the sentimental type. I was imagining some sort of calendar he could use; one that I’d add drawings and photos and secret notes to. Something useful, but still personalized.”

“Oh, thank the Gods. I was terrified you would drag me to some boring weapons shop.” Anya fanned herself in mock horror. “Minsky’s has the best stationery.”

Once they arrived, Evangeline lost herself in the rows of parchment. She adored the smell of the shop, somewhere between a library and perfumery, thanks to the variety of candles that lined the walls.

She wandered for a while, enjoying the feel of books, journals, scrolls, and other trinkets underneath her fingertips. Anya struck up a conversation with Minsky, the elderly owner who apparently had very strong opinions about what time of day one should light lavender candles.

Evangeline stopped in front of the rack she’d been looking for, eyeing the different color choices. Each calendar looked sturdy and durable, perfect for Aedion’s regular travels, but only a few had carrier cases. She selected the emerald one, to match Lysandra’s eyes.

“Oh that’s lovely!” Anya beamed as Evangeline joined them at the counter. “Very practical.”

Minksy nodded solemnly as they checked the price. “Smart child, finding a way to stay organized.”

“It’s actually a gift,” Evangeline corrected. “Would you have any wrapping supplies?”

They pulled out a few choices of paper, and the girls left the shop with the package securely tucked under Evangeline’s arm.

Anya opened the door of the carriage to let her enter first. “Do we have any other errands - Gods!” Her question was cut off with a curse. “Galen, you scared the life out of me.”

Evangeline found herself face first with Anya’s older brother. He shot her an apologetic look.

“I spotted the carriage and didn’t fancy a walk back to the house,” he explained, musing at his dark locks with one hand. “Any change you two lovely ladies want to go out for lunch?”

“You are unbelievably annoying,” Anya sighed. She moved to sit next to him, glancing at Evangeline. “What do you think? One last meal before you go?”

Galen turned to face her as well. “Leaving so soon?”

Evangeline hadn’t had many interactions with the older boy. Galen had danced with her at one of their parents’ parties, and had teased her a couple times when she joined them for dinner. But all of a sudden, Evangeline found herself wishing for some more time in Rifthold for an entirely new reason.

“I have to return to Caraverre tomorrow,” she informed him. “It’s my....it’s Aedion’s birthday.” Explaining their relationship was difficult enough, and easily avoided since everyone knew exactly who he was.

“Pity,” Galen replied. “But that just means I have to treat you to the best sandwiches Rifthold has to offer before you go.”

Anya groaned. “He always drags us to this tiny little place, when there are plenty of nice restaurants around.”

“A tiny little place sounds perfect,” Evangeline reassured. The carriage jolted forward, carrying them away from the main streets.

An hour later, she wasn’t lying in the slightest when she praised her meal. The sandwiches were really quite good. And the twinkle in Galen’s eyes when she stole one of his chips was even better.

“Oh goodness,” Anya interrupted as they stepped outside into the twilight hour. “I left my pouch at the table. Be right back.” She strode back into the restaurant, leaving Galen and Evangeline alone by the doorway.

Galen leaned against the stone. “Do you have plans to return to Adarlan?”

“Not in the next half-year,” Evangeline admitted. Her thumb rubbed the edge of her pointer finger, a nervous tick despite her calm tone. Was there meaning behind his question? “I’m due to spend two months with one of my mentors in Arran after some time at home.”

“Pity.” He offered her a light smile. She prayed to the former Gods to keep her face from turning pink. “Next time you come around, I’ll have to move faster. Ask you on a date at the beginning of your stay, instead of the end.”

Evangeline couldn’t hold back a wide grin. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

---

Hollin threw himself onto his bed, head spinning a bit from the wine he snuck during dinner. Evangeline was leaving tomorrow, a fact that wouldn’t affect his life much since Dorian had stopped forcing a friendship between them.

Maybe the wine was a mistake. The prince didn’t like alcohol much, knew he was far too young to start drinking, but insomnia had plagued him for weeks now. Hollin tried so many home remedies, from herbal teas to meditation, before attempting to drink himself to sleep that night.

It wasn’t working.

He still couldn’t force his mind to relax. Ideas for new experiments and inventions swirled around, mixed with memories of his most recent failures that stabbed him with self-doubt. Then came the childhood memories, the horror of being raised by the devil without noticing and the shame of past cruelties keeping him far from relaxation.

Hollin groaned into his pillow. He wanted someone to talk to. It was such a simple solution, one that most people would find easy. Dorian had even hired a specialist, a healer who worked with minds as well as bodies, for palace staff who needed help after a traumatizing war. Hollin had paced by their office more times than he could count, never entering.

Somehow, he fell asleep before sunrise. A sharp knock at the door yanked him out of restless dreams.

“Hollin?” He recognized Herina’s voice, one of his personal servants who was years past using formalities. Changing a baby's diaper gave one that privilege. “I have your schedule for the day.”

Hollin stood up, blindly feeling for the robe hanging next to his dresser. “Come in, thank you.”

She pushed the door open, pulling a cart of food behind her. “I didn’t see you eat nearly enough at dinner last night, certainly not enough to be stealing drinks of wine like you did.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it quickly. “I - thank you,” he said again, too tired to form a better sentence.

Herina left the cart by the entrance and walked further into the chamber. “You have a couple lessons scheduled, one before lunch and one in the evening. Light day.”

“Not too terrible.” Hollin took the parchment from her. “Herina..” He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Could you - do you know how to add things to my schedule?” he asked.

She nodded. “Of course. What grabbed your interest?”

He pushed past his discomfort at the idea. If he didn’t sleep well after, that would be the end of it. “Training. Physical, that is. I’d like to learn how to fight.”

Herina eyed him warily, no doubt taking in the lanky and awkward features that haunted most fourteen year old boys. “You know the king would never expect you to fight. He knows that isn’t where your interests lie.”

“I know.” Gods, he was blushing now. “It’s for myself, just a new hobby.”

Thankfully she moved on. “Well, alright then. Don’t be late today.”

With a final meaningful look at the breakfast, she left. Hollin thought about ignoring the food and falling immediately back to sleep, but his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. He would need the calories if he planned to actually follow through with his new training idea.

If getting knocked on his ass for two hours a day didn’t help him fall asleep, then nothing would,

#tog #throne of glass #fanfic #sjm #evangeline vuolo #hollin havilliard #dorian #dorian havilliard

[wishingforatypewriter]

Earning Credentials

Summary: In which Baatar isn’t sure if he’s Kuvira’s boyfriend, but plays the role anyway (pre-empire, but post-Zaofu).

Baatar had spent some time in Ba Sing Se when he was eighteen, though after what he’d seen during the campaign, it felt like a lifetime ago. He’d accompanied his father while he gave a series of lectures at the university’s architecture department, and then stayed behind for a summer term, studying under some of the world’s leading engineering scholars. 

He didn’t remember much of the visit outside of work and endless hours holed up in the library. There had been a few nights out with his classmates, and a date or two with a dance student from the Northern Water Tribe he’d entertained to try—albeit unsuccessfully—and stop pining after his childhood crush. But it was mostly just work. 

After they stabilized the city, he’d been lucky enough to find two of his former classmates, who’d become prominent civil engineers after completing their studies. He now sat alongside them in The Jasmine Dragon—which was among the first wave of establishments back up and running—sharing his plans for the reconstruction of the city. 

One of them, a woman named Li Na who’d grown up in the upper ring, studied the drawings with a pensive frown. “I love the updated rail system,” she said. “The manual lines were so last century. But what happened to the rings? I only see plans for restoring the outer wall.” 

“Kuvira hates the rings,” he said, recalling the sharp words she’d exchanged with the few remaining ministers in the city after she started moving the displaced lower ring residents into vacant houses in the middle ring. “Their maintenance is a drain on the public works funds and they perpetuate inequality. Any Earth Kingdom citizen should be able to move through the city freely.”

“Right on, man,” said Qi from Omashu, who he’d probably convince to join their budding corps of engineers in a month or so. “Your girlfriend has some pretty cool ideas.”

Baatar felt his ears heating up, and willed the embarrassment not to show on his face. He had made out with Kuvira a few times before they left Zaofu, and once or twice very early in the campaign, but he wasn’t quite sure that really gave him boyfriend credentials. He cleared his throat, shuffling the papers laid out on the table. “Actually, we’re really just childhood friends—”

“So she’s single, then?” Qi raised his eyebrows curiously. “I might have to—”

“No.” Baatar said this too quickly and with far too much venom for anyone at the table to miss the fact that he was steeped in likely unrequited love for her. 

Li Na giggled behind her hand and Baatar wanted to evaporate like the steam wafting out of his cup. “Figure your life out, Baatar,” she said. “But let me know when you’re ready to get started. My parents are squandering the family fortune running up hotel bills in Republic City.” 

Before he left the store, Baatar bought an extra oolong tea and a sweet custard bun to go, just in case she hadn’t eaten. He then got in his satomobile—one of the armored dark green jeeps he and Varrick designed for the campaign—and drove down to the lower ring. The chaos in the poorer districts had largely dissipated as Kuvira’s justice fell over the city with the winter frost, but he knew she had every intention of leaving the slums better than she found them. 

He spotted Kuvira at the center of the relief stations, giving orders to the food distribution teams and directing refugees towards the medical tents. She moved with grace and precision, as though the endless work to do and decisions to be made were all part of an elaborate dance performance. 

Baatar stood and watched her for a while, a smile growing on his face when she bent down to clean and bandage a cut on a little girl’s ankle because all the medics were occupied. After she was done, the girl wrapped her arms around Kuvira’s neck and stayed that way until she handed her off to Bolin. Despite the rougher elements of her personality, she’d always had a way with children. Wing and Wei adored her from the first—or they had. Until. 

When there was finally a lull in the onslaught of people in need of her attention, Baatar approached her. Kuvira’s hair was unbound and hung loose down her back—more likely than not to protect her ears from the winter wind—and a few snowflakes were tangled in her long tresses and dark eyelashes. She regarded him with a subtly pleased look that sent his thoughts scattering like a sheaf of papers in an airbender training session. 

He handed her the cup of tea and paper to-go bag without preamble, and her expression broadened into a full-on smile. “How did you know I skipped breakfast?”

Baatar adjusted his glasses, hoping she assumed his red face was only because of the chill. “Just probability. As a rule, you take terrible care of yourself when you’re occupied with something.” 

She’d gotten this way after she was first promoted to captain of the Zaofu guard and when she became a principal dancer in his mother’s company, but now her propensity for overwork had reached new heights. 

Kuvira glared at him. “The state of the Earth Kingdom—”

“Cannot be changed in the time it takes to eat something, and we both know it.”

The glare persisted, but she chose not to argue further. She fished the custard bun out of the bag and took a bite. 

“What did your school friends say?” she asked after a moment, her voice laced with a hint of teasing most people wouldn’t be able to detect. 

“They think it’s possible, and they’re willing to help,” he told her. “We should be able to begin work on the new roads within the week.”

Kuvira nodded. “Good. We need Ba Sing Se running normally again so it can support displaced populations from elsewhere in the northeastern region. My scouts have reported that things have gotten bad with the petty warlords who’ve taken over the mountain towns.” 

Baatar could tell from the set of her jaw that she’d be unable to ignore it. Since coming to Ba Sing Se and seeing the people left most vulnerable by the power vacuum, she’d become obsessively focused on the mission. “You’re sending a team?”

“I’m leading it.”

He supposed he should have assumed that, but had still dared to hope otherwise. “When will you leave?”

“Soon,” she said. “Tomorrow, with any luck. I’m meeting with the security force at noon to discuss the logistics. We should have the plan finalized in a few hours.” 

Baatar glanced at his pocket watch, noting that it was almost a quarter to twelve. “So you were going to skip lunch too?”

“Unimportant,” she said with a dismissive wave, pulling the olive green trench jacket tighter around her as the wind picked up.  

“Untrue,” he retorted. “Do you want a ride back up to the base?” 

“Everyone else has to walk,” she stated, drawing upon her hard-won wisdom in the realm of charismatic authority. 

“Can I walk with you, then?”

“I’m sure you have something more productive that you could be doing with your time,” she said with a pointed look and a half-hidden smile. “But alright.” 

Somewhere between the relief station and the base, Kuvira’s hand ended up in his, and Baatar couldn’t for the life of him tell which of them had started it. 

#baavira #kuvira #baatar jr #legend of korra #lok

[torestoreamends]

Just the way you look tonight – a Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic

1.7k words, G rated

Scorpius will never forget watching his parents dance to his mum’s favourite song. So one night, when he catches his dad dancing alone, he asks if he can join in.

Inspired by this gorgeous art by @scorpiusdraco.

Read the fic on AO3

*

The record crackles into life and vibrant music croons through the ballroom. Scorpius immediately drops the toy he’s playing with and looks up. Music can only mean one thing – his parents are going to dance, and there’s nothing he loves more than watching them dance.

He watches enrapt as his mother waltzes across the room on her own, her skirt flaring out, hair flying. A broad grin stretches across her face and she closes her eyes. Lost in her own little world for a moment.

In the corner, his father is still reclining in his big, carved wooden throne. Although he hasn’t moved, Scorpius can see his gaze is completely focused on Astoria. The corners of his lips twitch up into a soft, soppy little smile. His fingers tap the arm of the chair in time to the music, the emerald facets of his rings glittering in the candlelight.

Halfway across the room, Astoria opens her eyes. She never stops dancing, but she fixes her eyes on Draco and stretches a hand out towards him.

“Come and dance with me, dear.”

Draco’s smile widens and he settles himself deeper into his chair. “But I’m quite content just watching you.”

Astoria switches her gaze to Scorpius. “Do you think Daddy should dance with me? Is he being lazy?”

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, yes! Dance, Daddy, dance!”

Draco sighs, but Scorpius can see that he’s only pretending to hesitate. “It’s been a very long day, and...”

Astoria twirls over, and takes his hand. “And... this is my favourite song. Come on.”

“Fine, but only because it’s your favourite.”

He lets her pull him to his feet and Scorpius applauds very briefly before clasping his hands together and falling silent to watch.

Draco settles a hand on Astoria’s waist, and she beams as she alights her hand gently on his shoulder. They turn their bodies in towards one another, resting their foreheads together.

The rest of the world might as well not matter to them. They’re gazing into each other’s eyes, and it’s the most amazing thing Scorpius has ever seen. Better than any book he’s ever read, or any picture he’s examined. So much love. Intense, focused, beautiful. Just knowing something like that exists in the world makes him feel safer and warmer.

He melts against the wall and hugs himself as he watches them. Feet moving in perfect rhythmic precision. Fingers twined together. At one point, Draco twirls Astoria round and dips her. She tightens her grip on his shoulder, but he lifts her smoothly back to her feet and starts to sing along to the music as they move off again.

His voice is deep, breathless from the dancing and a little off key, but Astoria doesn’t seem to care as she blushes and giggles.

“With each word your tenderness grows, Tearing my fear apart, And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, Touches my foolish heart...”

Scorpius gazes at his parents with stars in his eyes and a heart of molten gold, and he knows he’s going to remember this moment – this night, this song – forever.

*

Scorpius sneaks down the stairs, footsteps feather light, breath held, making for the door down to the kitchen. It’s almost midnight, which means it’s snack time. His dad doesn’t seem to be around, so mission Pepper Imp is a go.

As he tiptoes towards the ballroom, however, a record crackles into life that makes him stop in his tracks.

Some day, when I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow, Just thinking of you, And the way you look tonight.

The door is open and golden light spills out into the hall. Scorpius had been planning to run straight past, but now he’s frozen in the doorway, staring.

His dad has a glass of wine in his hand and is dancing on his own. He holds his arms outstretched as if he’s waiting for someone to waltz into them, and he hums softly along with the music. As he dances and sings, he rotates on the spot. Scorpius knows he should move, that he’s not supposed to be out of bed and he’s definitely not supposed to be witnessing this, but he’s transfixed.

So when his dad turns to face him, he’s stuck on the spot, and all he can do is swallows give a cheerful little wave.

“Um... h-hi, Dad!”

Draco drops his arms and takes a sip of his wine. He never blushes, but there’s a hint of colour on his cheeks all of a sudden.

“I thought you were in bed.”

Scorpius gestures over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “I needed a snack.”

“I see.”

They look at each other, at an awkward stalemate. Scorpius knows he should leave his dad to it and go and get his Imps, but he can’t. He’s tethered in place by the song that’s wound its way through his heart and into his memories.

“This was Mum’s favourite song.” He steps cautiously into the room. “You used to dance to it together.”

Draco hesitates, then sets his wine glass down on the wooden seat of the throne he used to in. “I thought you might have been too young to remember that.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No. No, I remember! You would dip her and make her laugh. And you were so... so in love.” He looks down at his hands, heart wilting. This is too dangerous a topic for midnight on a Tuesday, even if it is the Christmas holidays.

“Yes,” Draco says simply.

For a moment, Scorpius thinks that’s all he’s going to get, and he starts planning his escape to the kitchen. He might be needing more than just Pepper Imps to cope with this.

But then Draco draws in a breath and twists one of his rings round his finger. “She was a beautiful dancer, wasn’t she?”

Scorpius looks up and nods eagerly. “She was. You both were. I...” He dares another step into the room. “Dad? C-can I, um... can I dance? With you? Would you mind?”

His dad blinks at him. “You want to dance?”

Scorpius nods. “Yes please. If it’s alright...” He trails off as the music finishes, leaving behind crackling silence and the uplifting memory of a love song.

His dad walks away, over to the record player. Scorpius watches his retreating back, pin straight and impenetrable. It feels like a dismissal.

“Never mind,” he murmurs, stepping back. “It’s not important. I should probably go back to bed anyway. Sorry I interrupted.”

He turns to flee, straight back up the stairs to the safety of his room, but before he can move an inch further, the music hums back into life. The bright beat and brassy chords ring out through the ballroom as Draco turns on his heel with a swoosh of his robes and holds his hand out to Scorpius.

“I hope you can keep up.”

Scorpius doesn’t grin. He’s so surprised that his emotions haven’t caught up. While his brain knows his dad is offering him a dance, the pieces of his heart are still scattered somewhere out in the dark hallway.

His feet carry him across the room and he takes his dad’s hand.

“You’re an old man,” he hears himself say, “of course I can keep up.”

“We’ll see.”

And then he’s flying. His dad spins him round so fast that he’s not sure if he’s dancing or falling. The room is a kaleidoscope blur of light. A bubble of laughter carries over the music and he thinks it belongs to him.

When the spinning stops he clings to his dad for dear life so he doesn’t fall, and his dad grins at him. At some point Scorpius’s heart catches up, beating in time to the music, soaring with every step across the ballroom floor.

It’s been so long since they last danced that he’s amazed he can still remember the steps, but they’re there. His feet find their mark, his shoulders relax, he stops gripping his dad’s hand, and when he remembers to stop panicking and look up, he finds his dad beaming at him.

It’s the sort of bright, fond smile that Scorpius always assumed was reserved for Astoria, but here it is, directed at him. He’s briefly dazzled by it, like he’s looked right at the sun on a summer day. What it means, he has no idea. But it makes him feel...

It makes him feel like he did as a child, watching his parents dance. Safe and warm. Full up inside. Like his heart is a rich pool of molten gold.

His dad squeezes his hand and sings along with the music, in his pitchy, imprecise voice.

“Lovely... Never ever change, Keep that breathless charm, Won’t you please arrange it, Cause I love you, Just the way you look tonight.”

Scorpius can’t say why, but the fact that it’s such a mess, off key and rough around the edges, makes it better. Maybe because it’s his dad, and it’s real, and raw, and means something.

He clings to the dying moments of the song like he clung to the memory of his parents dancing. When the last note fades, he hesitates to let go of his dad, and his dad must feel the same, because all of a sudden Scorpius finds himself wrapped up in an enormous, tight hug.

“I love you,” Draco murmurs. “I hope you know that.”

Scorpius thinks of his dad beaming at him as they danced, and he finally understands. It’s overwhelming and amazing and he thinks his heart might burst from it. He buries his face in his dad’s chest and nods.

“Love you too,” he mumbles.

This time he can practically feel his dad smiling. His grip tightens around Scorpius and a contented sigh resonates through him. He ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of Scorpius’s head, as Scorpius closes his eyes and focuses on storing this memory forever too. Two matching snap shots of love. Side by side and connected by a dance, and a song that was once his mother’s favourite.

#Scorpius Malfoy #Draco Malfoy #Astoria Malfoy #Drastoria #Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Cursed Child #Cursed Child Fic #HPCC Fic #Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic #Malfoy family feels #My writing #Keep The Secrets #honestly this idea is the most painful thing I've seen in ages #I love it

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part seven)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: PHEW things are getting good. The usual disclaimer: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but not the exact same health conditions she has, so I apologize if I get anything wrong.

Warnings: language? just once lol

Word count: 2k

Kellie and Shawn didn’t talk to each other for two full weeks. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part; Shawn continued texting her and calling her and trying to connect with her, but Kellie thought it was better to just make a clean break. It would be better in the long run for both of them.

Shawn had gotten Mackenzie’s number at some point during the summer (something Mackenzie had been way too excited about at the time), and he was using it now. Each evening, Mackenzie would show Kellie the latest texts.

Can you tell Kellie to call me?

Has Kellie said anything to you?

Ask Kellie what I did wrong.

“That boy’s in loooooove,” Mackenzie said, delighted, at first. But she got a little more exasperated as the days dragged by and the summer started to wane. “Kellie, this is just cruel,” she finally said. “Why won’t you date him? Because you think he’ll be scared away if he sees your health issues up close?”

Kellie shrugged uncomfortably and looked away.

“You could at least tell him that instead of just leaving him hanging. See what he says,” Mackenzie said, pursing her lips disapprovingly. But Kellie just shrugged again.

Shawn wasn’t the only one who was suffering. Stress affected chronic migraines, making them worse, and Kellie got so sick during those two weeks she almost forgot about Shawn altogether. The second week, she was only able to go to work one day; the other four days, she was at home in the darkness, lying in bed and periodically running to the bathroom to throw up.

 She’d gotten used to texting Shawn when she felt bad. But that wasn’t an option anymore. At least, that’s what Kellie kept telling herself.

 “I can’t do this,” she sobbed on the phone to her mom one Friday night. “I’m going to lose my jobs.”

 “Slow down,” her mom said. Kellie’s family lived an hour away, more north of Atlanta, so Kellie’s mom could no longer help take care of her when she flared up. Mackenzie had brought home groceries that day and Shelby had gotten Kellie’s prescriptions for her, but they were out with friends now. And Kellie didn’t want to burden them any further, anyway. She’d been upfront with them about her health issues when they decided to all move in together, but they weren’t obligated to babysit her.

 “But I am,” Kellie said. She wiped at her eyes. “Going to lose my jobs, I mean. I can’t work, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything.”

 “Is this at all related to Shawn?” her mom asked. “You haven’t mentioned him lately.”

 Kellie sighed. She’d told her mom (who had never heard of Shawn) about the music video, of course, and had vaguely said that she was staying in touch with Shawn and liked him a lot. But that was all her mother knew.

 “I mean, we haven’t talked in a couple of weeks. But it’s not a big deal.” That second part was a lie. “I’m way more worried about how I can pay rent. I can only call out of work sick so many times.” That, unfortunately, was the truth.

 But somehow, she woke up the next morning feeling better. She was able to keep breakfast down; her migraine was almost completely gone. Kellie rested all day Saturday anyway, to get her energy back up, and went into the dance studio Sunday.

 When she got home, exhausted but feeling a little happier after a few hours of teaching a lyrical workshop, she started pulling ingredients for a smoothie out of the cabinets. Someone knocked on the door, and she wiped her hands and went to get it; Mackenzie and Shelby were both at work, and she didn’t think they were expecting anybody.

 The door swung open and Shawn was standing there.

 Kellie’s first thought was that she looked awful, sweaty and tired with her hair in a messy bun (not the cute kind, but the actually-messy kind). Her second thought, which she said out loud, was, “Mackenzie.”

 Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked a little. “I like Mackenzie,” he said conversationally.

 “Well, she’s not here,” Kellie snapped, moving to shut the door. She didn’t know if she would have actually closed it in his face, but before it was halfway shut, he had reached out to stop her.

 “Can I come in?” he said, his face serious now. Reluctantly, Kellie nodded.

 Thankfully, the apartment was relatively clean at the moment. Their squishy couch was covered in pink pillows and the kitchen island held a stack of books and a pair of pointe shoes; out the window, you could see the hanging plants Shelby had installed on the balcony, green leaves swinging in the breeze.

 “Cute,” Shawn said, looking around. He slung his backpack to the ground and turned and looked at her, leaning against the counter. “Hi,” he said, his eyes going soft.

 “I’m sorry,” Kellie blurted out. But before she could get anything else out, the door opened again and Mackenzie came flying in.

 “Shit, he’s already here? I thought I was going to get home first,” she exclaimed, breathless. “I was going to prepare you—” She looked at Kellie apologetically.

 “I should have known you would do something like this,” Kellie said with a heavy sigh, glaring at her. Secretly, something inside her had lit up at the sight of Shawn’s face—but she didn’t really want him here, because now she had to face the reality of all her complicated, messy emotions and the things those emotions had made her do.

 “Sorry,” Mackenzie said, not sounding sorry at all. She held up her hand for Shawn to give her a high five.

 “Nice to finally meet you,” he said, sounding amused.

 “Go fix all of your problems,” Mackenzie said. She waved her hands at them in a shoo-ing motion.

 Kellie frowned at her. “Life is not a rom-com. It’s not always that easy.”

 Mackenzie shrugged, patted Shawn on the back, and disappeared into her bedroom with one last bright smile over her shoulder.

 There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Shawn said, “Are you feeling okay today? Do you wanna—go somewhere and talk?”

 “Yeah,” Kellie said shyly, figuring there was no way around it now. “I guess so.”

 She slid her feet into flip-flops and they went down to the parking lot of her apartment complex. On the sidewalk, Shawn rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and said, “Uh, so I might not have totally thought this through. I caught an Uber from the airport and they didn’t stay. Do you… feel well enough to drive?”

 She did giggle then, a real one, and Shawn smiled, obviously encouraged.

 “I guess so,” she said, and she was fishing out her keys when Shawn stopped her with a hand on her arm.

 “Really?” he asked seriously. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to say that. And I have a little self-interest here, too, since I’ll be in the car…”

 It was so different from what others said. If Kellie was starting a migraine or getting over one, she didn’t feel as if she could drive safely because of the pain and disorientation the migraines caused. Her friends didn’t always understand that. With Shawn, though, it was like he truly understood what her disability and her life were like—or at least, he was really trying. For the first time, Kellie felt like this might actually work.

 “Yeah,” she said softly, and nodded.

 She drove them to a park ten minutes away, trying not to be embarrassed about her dirty old Toyota, most of the drive spent in silence except for a few questions from Shawn about places they were passing. When they got to the park, they sat down on a picnic bench overlooking the baseball fields where teams were beginning to warm up for a late afternoon game; Shawn sat on the opposite side of the bench from Kellie and twisted the rings on his fingers.

 “So,” he said after a moment. “I want you to talk to me. Really talk to me. Mackenzie told me—some—”

 “Probably too much,” Kellie said with a rueful smile. Her voice sounded hoarse and strange and she cleared her throat. Her stomach was feeling fluttery, but for once that had nothing to do with Celiac.

 “But I want to hear it from you,” he finished. He stopped fidgeting and set his hands flat on the table, looking straight at her. His gaze was a little frantic and a little wistful, but there was a certain steadiness to it, too. “Please.”

 Above them, the wind blew through the leaves; from down the hill came faint yelling and the clang of a baseball hitting a composite bat.

 “Okay,” Kellie said slowly. She licked her lips and looked down at the rough wooden table, then looked back up, latching onto the steadiness in his eyes. “I just—okay. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I do want to; I want to so badly. But I feel like I can’t. Because…”

 And she went on, describing how she felt as if it was unfair to the other person to try to be in a relationship, because she was constantly canceling plans and resting in bed and too busy caring for herself to think about anybody else. She talked about how she was scared to be with somebody because she thought, even if they said they didn’t care, they would see the real her—Celiac and chronic migraines included—when they started dating, realize everything that entailed, and wouldn’t stay. She explained how her life was unpredictable and how sometimes her physical problems affected her mental health and how she was so used to being alone in her pain she just didn’t know what it would look like to have someone by her side.

 When she finished, Shawn was silent for a moment. Kellie swallowed and wished she’d brought along a bottle of water for her dry throat.

 “You know the thing you left out in all that?” Shawn said softly. Kellie shook her head.

 “I love you,” Shawn said frankly. Kellie stared at him, mute, feeling her eyebrows draw together in something like shock or maybe disbelief.

 “Or, I think I would,” he added, “if I had the chance. And I think love makes all that other stuff not matter. I think, I mean I know, you can’t help that you have health problems, and I think everyone is afraid for someone to see the real them. But I think the real you is what someone should want in a real relationship. And I think… I mean, I know… if you give me a chance, I won’t leave. I’ll stay.”

 Kellie felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and turned away slightly, bringing a hand to her face.

 “Are you upset?” Shawn asked, his voice full of concern. An entire baseball team was walking by them, metal cleats crunching on the sidewalk, but Shawn never took his eyes off of her.

 “No,” she choked out. “I’m happy. I—no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. But I’m still scared.”

 He reached out and gently pried her hand away from her face, taking it in his own.

 “Do you think I’m not scared?” he said, laughing a little, almost incredulous. “Kell, I’m scared too. I’m scared for you to discover the real me. I’m scared my anxiety will get bad again and I’ll shut everyone out. I’m scared of what it might be like to have a relationship that’s inevitably going to be very public. I’m scared because you’re really pretty and I don’t want to say something stupid and sound dumb.”

 Kellie laughed through the tears that were now dropping on her face. She brought her other hand up to wipe them away and cover her eyes, but he captured that one too, not letting her hide.

 “But I think,” he said, low, “we can’t let fear dictate our lives.”

 There was a long moment of silence while all the things they’d said hung in the air.

 “Okay,” Kellie whispered finally, and Shawn looked at her steadily.

 “Okay?” he repeated, and she nodded. He smiled. And then she asked, “Do you have a tissue?”

Taglist: @rosiemercy@ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @evibesss @tnhmblive (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfic #chronically ill #chronic illness

[cryysiswritesthings]

A Summer of Lifetimes | Week 1: Festival/Tanabata

Fandom: Inuyasha Rating: PG Warning: N/A Prompt: Festival/Tanabata 

Festival/Tanabata | Heat Wave | Fireworks | First Kiss | Star Gazing | Hugs from Behind | Free Week - Destiny | Free Week - Reunion

Find it on: Tumblr | AO3

Collections: Sparks Fly in July Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #inuyasha #a summer of lifetimes #sparks fly in july #kogkag event 2020 #prompt: festival/tanabata #prompt: festival

The bright sun illuminated the colors of tents and stalls, the smells of cooked meat and fried dough wafting in the air. The laughter and calls of the Parisian people were backed by chords of music from anyone with an instrument. Merchants shouted their wares to passerby, and entertainers donned costumes of every shape and size. Paris's Festival of Fools was in full swing.

Wrinkling his nose, Kouga tried to blink the sweat from his eyes. Right now, the only perk of being Captain of the Guard was not having to stand on his feet playing crowd control. No, instead he got to sit on the back of his horse playing bodyguard to a corrupt Minister. That the men were giving him sympathetic looks when they had the more grueling work only made things worse.

But he tried not to let it distract him. He may dislike the bastard he'd been assigned to, but no one would ever say he wasn't dedicated to the job. 20 years of fighting in crusades and wars proved that well enough.

There had been peasant shows throughout the day on the makeshift stage, and an announcement of a performance by one of Paris's best dancers at the day’s end. Considering the crowd and what he’d seen so far, he wasn't exactly optimistic.

A flash of pink and bright green gleamed in the corner of his eye, and he automatically turned his head to follow the distracting colors. When he got a good look at who was wearing them, his eyes almost bugged out of his head.

Long black hair curled and framed a heart shaped face, bright cinnamon eyes standing out against olive-toned skin. The green fabric clung enticingly over her slim frame, its pink accents drawing the eye to every voluptuous curve.

It was the street dancer from yesterday.

His hands tightened on the reigns, body pulled like a magnet towards the woman hiding among the crowd. But his horse had other ideas, shaking his head against the tugging direction of his master.

Kouga blinked, coming back to himself. What the hell was that? He'd never reacted to a woman that way. It didn't matter how beautiful and enchanting she was. He was on duty.

But it didn't stop him from following her every move with his eyes.

A line of entertainers moved in front of her, blocking his vision. He scowled automatically, but an errant cough pulled him to attention.

Naraku was staring right at him. And if looks could kill, he'd already be dead.

Clearing his throat, he bowed his head to his superior. The Minister's glacial expression shifted from him, and Kouga risked a glance back to where he'd seen her.

Damn. She was gone.

Shaking his head, he forced himself to concentrate. While he didn't expect any kind of attack at a peasant festival, it didn't mean he could let himself be distracted. 

Now if only he could get the image of her out of his head.

~

It was getting late in the day, and the festival was finally coming to an end.

He was unendingly glad--much more of this, and he’d have probably gone insane. Not the festival itself, as for all his non participation it had actually looked like fun. No, he was tired of sitting on his horse in the damnable, unforgiving sun.

And he hadn’t seen his street dancer again since, dammit.

He kept his disappointment internal. It was probably for the best. Whatever it was about her, there was no doubt she’d been a distraction. The Minister hadn’t looked at him since first noticing his straying attention, so who knew what that bastard thought of the situation.

The cleared stage brought with it a chorus of relieved sighs. The soldiers were feeling it too. There was just the single dance left, being held in the Minister’s honor. It’s completion would signal the end of the festival. After that, they could all go home.

He could already picture it. First thing he was doing when they got back to the Palace was taking a long, hot bath. Clean up, wipe off all the sweat. Body odor encased in metal did not make a good combination.

Who Kouga assumed to be showrunner took the stage, hands sweeping in dramatic gestures. A new kind of music started up, something subtle enough to warm a man’s blood. Drums pounded, great gongs of sound. His heart jumped in his throat, restricting his air. Something crashed, the firing of a cannons in the distance--

Son of a bitch!

There was a flash of brilliant light, and in a colorful burst of smoke the showrunner vanished and his dancer appeared.

Just like that, the rest of the world fell away.

The hallucination that had begun to form drifted from his mind the longer he watched her. Battle cries and explosions faded from his ears, his heart slowing to a normal rhythm.

Sheer pink ribbon flickered through the air, forming circles around her as she spun. Her dance was liquid motion, drawing the eye with every dip and twirl. She was a vision, perfection personified. He couldn’t turn away from her even if he tried.

Kouga exhaled and sucked in a shuddering breath. That had never happened to him before.

Not the sudden onslaught of nightmares coming to life around him. No, that had happened to him over the years often enough. It was the shock of being drawn back to reality. Of not waking screaming from night terrors and scaring the shit out of the other soldiers. Of not being forcefully restrained when the illusions didn’t let him see friend from foe. Of not coming to at the end of a battle, surrounded by bodies from both sides and covered in blood.

She had no idea what she’d just done for him. What she’d saved not just him, but the innocent bystanders around him from. How the hell had she done it? What about her had pulled him back?

He needed to talk to her, but he couldn’t look for her after the festival. He’d have to wait until tonight or tomorrow. He wanted her name, if she’d be willing to tell it to him. He wanted to know everything he could about her. Maybe work up the courage to ask her to have dinner.

The exclamations going up around him when she bowed to the Minister told him it was the end of her performance. Cheers, applause, whistles, everything the crowd could manage. Gold pieces flew through the air to the stage, landing at her bare feet. His horse shook its head, nervous at the small objects flying so close to his ears. Kouga patted his neck, whispering reassurances in his ear.

When he looked up, workers had taken her place on stage to collect the thrown coins. She had disappeared. 

Naraku glanced significantly towards his Captain, forcing Kouga to straighten in his saddle and clear his expression. The last thing he needed was the Minister to start looking at him in any kind of suspicious manner. The threat of what he’d done to the last Captain of the Guard was enough to have him sleeping with one eye open.

Shouted orders pushed the soldiers into action, driving them toward the Minister and his carriage. As the peasants started clearing the area, Kouga spotted the assumed showrunner speaking to someone off to the side. Before he had the chance to change his mind, Kouga motioned one of the guards to direct him over.

The black haired male looked mildly surprised at the approaching guard, but answered the unusual summons. Kouga took the chance to clear his throat, fighting back a sudden bout of nerves.

“How can I help you, Captain?” The other male didn’t seem disturbed at having been called over. If anything, he looked deceptively passive. But now wasn’t the time for Kouga to worry about that. He only had a few minutes at most to spare.

“The dancer,” he started slowly, glancing back towards the stage. “Does she... “ Dammit, how the hell was he supposed to ask these questions of a complete stranger?

The showrunner only barely suppressed a frown. “She does not give private dances if that is your inquiry, sir. She is not a whore.”

“I would never imply such a thing about her character!” Kouga snarled, hands tightening on the reigns. “I only wondered if she spent time somewhere nearby. I… I wanted to introduce myself.”

Surprised, his eyes lost their hard edge. “Might I ask why, Captain? Beautiful as she may be, men of your… caliber,” he seemed to choose his words carefully, “hardly give attention to our people unless they want something.” Dark blue eyes slid to the Minister, but quickly returned.

Kouga followed his gaze, but chose not to comment. “I mean her no harm. As I said, I only wish to introduce myself to her. To talk, if she’s willing too.”

The showrunner looked thoughtful. After a long moment, he spoke. “I will inform her of your desire for an introduction. If she is willing, then in three days time you’ll find her selling wares at the alley next to the bakers. If not,” and here his dark eyes went hard, “then I suggest you give up. We are very protective of our friends, you see. Especially one such as her.”

Taking the warning for what it was, Kouga bowed his head in acknowledgment. “You have my thanks. Forgive my abrupt departure, but I have duties to attend. Excuse me.”

Miroku watched the Captain trot over to the Parisian Minister, dark eyes following him until the entourage left the courtyard. He and the others had heard of a Captain being called back from the wars in order to serve at the Palace of Justice. If he had been anything like that one, Miroku would have denied all knowledge of knowing the girl. But this one seemed genuine enough.

Off to the side, a heart shaped face also watched the retreating soldiers. She’d been hard pressed to hear the men’s conversation over the crowd, but what she caught intrigued her. There was no way for her not to notice the Captain’s reaction to her as she’d danced, but to request a meeting? It wasn’t unheard of, but still unusual.

Knowing Miroku, he’d have given the man some excuse to give her time to escape the city. It wouldn’t be the first time someone of rank had taken an interest in one of their people. Those few days of notice gave them time to gather their belongings and vanish into the night. If she was smart, she would do the same.

Still though… she couldn’t forget the look in his eye when he’d seen her on stage. He’d looked… captivated. Like he’d never seen someone like her before. Like… like she’d given him hope when he’d long forgotten it.

No one had ever looked at her that way before.

Decided, Kagome returned to her tent to dress back into her street clothes. The Palace of Justice was easy enough to find, crawling with soldiers or otherwise. 

It would be dangerous, and she’d get in trouble in more ways than one if she got caught. But she wanted to meet him. She wanted to understand.

To see if maybe… she could recreate that look in his eyes.

#kogkag #inuyasha #a summer of lifetimes #sparks fly in july #kogkag event 2020 #prompt: festival/tanabata #prompt: festival

[melyaliz]

Canary 8

Canary Masterlist  

Fandom: Marvel / MCU

Summary: All I had meant to do was make a friend smile, guess that’s not even ok anymore. 

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Notes: This was going to be something different and then it turned into this. Like so different that I even had cover art that totally didn’t fit. 

Loki and Canary wanted this I guess. 

💛PLEASE: Like, Comment, and/or Reblog 💛

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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

“So this is it”

“This is it!?! This isn’t just it... this is the AVENGERS!” 

“Yeah, ok it’s pretty great isn’t it?” 

“More like pure amazing.” 

“Well don’t act all fangirly, we do have a reputation around here.” 

“Aye Aye captain.” 

“And leave that captain stuff for the boy in blue.” 

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

Ok so I’m not going to lie, I mean at this point I feel like we have all gotten close. We have seen some real shit together and well…

When I first met Steve Rogers I was smitten. 

But like if we are all being really honest with ourselves… who isn’t? 

Have you seen that man? Those abs? Those baby blue eyes?

That ass? 

And let me tell you, all that stuff is EVEN MORE gorgeous up close and personal. 

Plus he was just so nice to me when I first came. Back then, when I was so nervous and young. My powers had just become basically viral thanks to some kids who were quick on the draw with their phones. (But that’s a story for another day) My whole world had been shifted from the small-town girl to an Avenger. During those days I didn’t feel like I fit in here or there.

But Steve took the time to help me feel right at home. Making time ask me every day how I was settling in and taking the time to lean my interests and finding ways to bring them to the base. 

He was also the one who pushed Wanda and I to hang out and now we are basically best friends. 

Every morning I would look forward to our breakfasts together where we would talk about our past lives. How we were adjusting to the changes we had gone through and ways to cope. I would always feel my heart skip a beat when he would be waiting for me to train during the day. 

Those first days were so awkward because every single touch would set my body on fire. 

Then slowly, as the days stretched into months my flames started to dull into embers. 

Somewhere along the line my infatuation with him slowly faded into adoration and then a friendship. 

When that happens, though, I’m not quite sure. Feels recent but I can’t be for sure. It was as if one day Steve turned from the most beautiful man I had ever seen into just... a man. 

---------

“So how is the music Sam has been forcing… I mean letting you borrow?” the Canary asked as she helped Steve unload the new equipment Tony had brought back. More fun trinkets for him to tinker with in his evil lair. 

Which he, of course, had dumped on Steve to unload, claiming to be too busy at the moment. 

“Good but there is something about those big bands that I miss.”

“Ohhh back in my day” 

Steve laughed at her playful tone, “There is something about just a good song that makes you want to dance to it.”

“Were you a good dancer back in the day?” 

Steve shrugged thinking back to the days when he could barely get a woman to look at him. When Bucky would basically force him on millions of dates with uninterested women. But as the night wore on, and the music would play he would always find that one wallflower who would be swayed by herself and take her across the floor. 

“My mom taught me a few moves and Bucky and I use to go dancing all the time.” 

“You know I took swing back in the day too.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, some woman from our school decided to teach it over a summer as a way to keep wayward teens from getting into trouble.” 

Steve burst out laughing at her tone, making it the perfect pitch to sound like some slightly uptight busy body. “You never told me that.”

Canary shrugged as the last box was put into place. It felt like a lifetime ago. Her mother giving her a dress and dance shoes. The other girls and boys standing in line trying to follow the movements. That was before her powers had shown up. 

Before she was the canary. 

“Well, may I have this dance?”

“There’s no music.”

“Well, I know a place that does.”

“Then you’re on.” then true inspiration struck, “Actually,” the wheels turning in her brain, a plan. A way to give back to the man who had given her so much when she had first come here, “Let’s say six in the gym.”

“Ok, can I ask why?” 

She let out a sort giggle shaking her head as she skipped toward the door, “Nope!” 

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

Sam grumbled the whole time. Tony didn’t even show up. But Vision was game and Wanda was always happy to help. 

After all, Steve always did whatever he could to fit into our time, why couldn’t we try and fit into his? 

Plus I needed a distraction from a certain green-eyed (not so) God.

And that look on Steve’s face when he walked in was a nice bonus. It was as if his whole body light up at the sight of the balloons, lights and the music blasting from the speakers with a little help from your’s truly. 

“Spotify is a magical thing,” I told him taking his hand dragging him into the room. “They had a whole playlist of top 40’s songs.” 

“Can I have this first dance?” Steve asked 

“Of course” 

An hour later and I was breathless swinging around the room. The music flying around matching the bright lights, sharp horns and deep drums with clean voices. My fingers buzzed with the sounds as flowed around me as I danced. The rest of the team enjoying themselves just as much. 

I’m sure the liquor Tony brought helped. (Yeah, he ended up showing up a while after Steve. Not one to miss out on any fun.) 

“Oh now I LOVE this one,” Steve said as another tune came on grabbing my hand swinging me around. Sam tipped his glass.

“This brother sure can sing” 

It took all my willpower to make the music swallow my laughs as Steve moved me around the room. It helped he was so strong, being able to pick me up and spin me around, it almost felt like I was flying. 

My feet hit the ground in time with the music pulling close and then spinning out.

And hitting something.

“Mind if I cut in?” 

The music seemed to wash down around me, cold like ice water dripping with sing like poison. Those green eyes looked down at me like a snake about to strike a mouse. 

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

They were so loud Loki wasn’t surprised they hadn’t woken up hell itself. Screaming and yelling while the music blasted from the gym. The sight that greeted him was no different.

The loud music filled the room as the team of dorks stood around drinking and talking. The Witch and robot were swaying comfortably while the soldier moved in time around the room with his partner.

Loki’s Canary.

A huge smile on the young woman’s face as she looked up at Mr. America. Eyes shining and bright as the music seemed to follow them. Spun around in rhythm as if she was controlling it, maybe she was.  

He had never seen her this way. 

She was glowing. 

And it made his sick.

Standing in the doorway he waited, bided his time. Waiting for that opening, that moment when he could pounce on his prey. 

The song swelled up and then came crashing down, the beautiful horns making their last trumpets as the chorus was sung. Spinning around them as Justice Man and his partner moved across the dance floor.

Loki was a snake in the grass, moving so smoothly and deliberately he went undetected until his sound mistress was colliding with his chest. 

The look of shock she gave him was so beautiful he allowed himself a small smile. She (almost) always had a way of reacting just how he planned. 

“Mind if I cut in.” 

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

Of course, the song changed to a slow one. 

Of flipping course. 

Steve shot me a concerned look, making sure I was ok with the turn of events. 

It was like all my walls came flying up so fast I almost didn’t see them happening. They knew they knew how uncomfortable I was and had come rushing to my defense. 

“Don’t” Loki’s voice was gentle but firm. Razors cutting into me as his eyes roamed me. 

“Don’t what?”

“You know what,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. The walls, how did he always know? His hands were cold angst my warm ones as he intertwined them lead me to the center of the room. It was a good thing my face was already flushed because being this close while Billie Holiday crooned about love was adding a layer to my already confusion emotions that I didn’t want to have to justify at the moment. 

Couldn’t I just have one day of peace? 

“I’m honestly surprised you know how to do the waltz” change the subject, focus on anything but his large hand on my back. 

“I know many things” his voice was thick and deep, like chocolate. Bittersweet in my ears as he leaned in just a bit closer. “I am after all, much older than anyone else in this room.” 

“I just can’t see you in a 40’s club.” 

“I would never lower myself to be with mortals, but I do happen to be a collector of the arts.” 

“Well, then what drew you to these mere mortals today?” 

“Like I said, I’m a collector of the arts.” Maybe it was the tone in which he said it, of the way his tongue flicked out for a moment over his lower lip, or how his eyes seemed to wash over me but I suddenly felt very… naked. 

And I was very aware of everyone around me. 

“I’m not a piece of art.” my words were strong and blunt. No more games, no more veiled innuendos. I’m tired. 

His eyes narrowed at my tone as I tugged at his hand. “What? You can spend hours dancing with boy bland there but when someone with real class…”

“I set this up for Steve thank you very much.” 

I could feel the anger boiling around me, the music seemed to fade away into silence, just the two of us locked in a staring contest. “And I don’t appreciate you talking about him like that. He’s my friend.” 

“Is he now? Is that all he is.”

How dare he… I could feel my face lighting up hot. Memoires of me crushing on Steve for weeks. Thinking about ways to be around him, just be in his beautiful presence. That past me was just so pathetic and even the thought that somehow Loki seemed to be able to see that sent me into a whole new furry. Fight or flight. 

I mean he couldn’t really see it but… It felt like he could. 

“This sort of dancing will never get you what you want.” he said leaning forward his face only inches from him, “the kind of dancing you need soft and slow, somewhere alone.” 

I wanted to blast him across the room.  I wanted to run. I wanted to… I wanted to…

“Why do you care?” my heart was racing so fast I could barely hear my own words as I spoke them.  I could barely hear anything but that pounding of my heart in my ears. 

Gently his hand reached up brushing away a few strands of my hair out of my face, letting them get tangled in his long fingers “Because you’re mine.” 

My hand grabbed his pulling it away, “I’m no ones.” 

-GET TAGGED!- 

Tagging: @royslittleharper  @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @daisyboobear @nilthanious  @jason-redhood @hello-i-lovespiderman-blr @ocelysium @pinkwitch21 @tomhncharliep

Loki: @wayward-hell

Canary: @baybay123455 @rizanendoza808 @dragonrosegardens @6-daughter-of-a-witch-6 @califorina-grown @2s0uls @oh-no-a-whovian @it-jinxed-us @pixiehex1985

#Loki #Loki fanfic #loki x reader #Loki x You #Loki x oc #Loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #Marvel #Marvel x oc #Marvel x reader #Marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #MCU x oc #MCU fanfic #my writing #my story #canary

[artificialqueens]

paris in the rain (when i'm with you) (Branjie) - ohhthereuare

AN: Rainy days and comfy clothes. Brooke and Vanessa just being happy and soft.

Inspired by the song “Paris In The Rain” by Lauv which became my official branjie song

This is me getting emotional over B looking soft in her comfy clothes and the fact that V liked the tweet when I sent her this song and said it made me think about branjie. If there’s any possibility that she listened to it and thought about them as well then I am a dead woman Here’s the link, listen to it and feel the vibe https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZELmUooBlY Leave a comment, cry with me if you’d like because these two dumbasses literally own my dumb, drunk heart now Jenna I’m dedicating this thing to you bc you make me so happy and I can’t wait to actually cry and yell into your face in person

AO3

The rain was tapping gently against the windows of the van as the contestants were halfway to the studio for yet another day of stressful challenges. The clouded sky cast a grey glow onto the city, everything seemed to be a little bit more mellow and sleepier than usual. Even the queens were not as chatty, be it stress, unresolved drama or the weather. Vanessa and Brooke occupied their usual spot at the very end of the van, limbs impossibly tangled so no one could really tell when one ended and the other one began. The taller queen had her arms wrapped around Vanessa from the back and was looking out of the window, absently drawing circles with her thumb on her boyfriend’s small palm and placing soft kisses to her temple from time to time. Neither said a word, listening to the comforting murmur of conversation around them and each other’s calm breathing. Vanessa felt so warm and safe, tucked in the crook of Brooke Lynn’s neck, she would have easily said no to the whole show for the day if it meant being able to spend a few more private moments with her man. Especially since Brooke was wearing Vanjie’s favorite outfit- the white hoodie, that always smelled like aired out cigarettes smoke, Brooke’s cologne and a laundry detergent, and her worn-out grey beanie. As lovely as seeing her in tight-fitting pieces was, all put together and so gorgeous it took Vanessa’s breath away sometimes, she liked her best like this. She knew now it was mostly a dancer thing for Brooke, staying slightly uncomfortable and always professional on stage, only to change into comfortable and loose clothing as soon as she was done. She was always so soft like that, all grey and white cotton, sleeves a little too long so she held them in place with her fingers, too much material to show off her toned body but just enough to keep her warm and relaxed. It somehow made Vanessa feel like she knew and understood her better, who she really was as a person behind all the makeup and perfect composure. It made her love her even more. 

“You’ve been staring, boo.”

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, for the past ten minutes. You’re not as sneaky as you’d like to believe.”

“Maybe I’m just admiring the view” Vanessa shifted a little to place a small kiss to the spot where Brooke’s jawline dipped towards her neck. She stopped for a moment to press her nose closer, relishing in the smell of her boyfriend being the strongest there. A sweet blooming feeling spilled like hot ginger tea down from her chest and into her bones. She could melt right then and there. “Especially since the view’s all mine to admire.”

A slight pink blush painted Brooke’s cheeks like a summer sunset and she smiled before she reached her hand to adjust her beanie. Vanessa beat her to it, pulling the grey material down her face to cover her eyes. Brooke’s lips briefly parted in surprise and Vanessa captured them in a kiss. She tasted like menthol cigarettes, maple syrup that she had for breakfast with her pancakes, and toothpaste.

“As soon as this shit’s over, and we send both of your asses packing, we’re getting you a room!” A’keria shouted from the front of the van. Shuga and Nina laughed but they were both smiling kindly, excited for their friends’ happiness, even if it was making them nauseous at times.

Maybe on another day they would have shouted something back, a joke or a bit of harmless shade, but today they didn’t care about anybody’s opinions. Vanessa snuggled in closer, her back pressed against the taller queen’s chest, shielded safely by her arms. She noticed absentmindedly how well Brooke’s look went with the weather; looking like rain on the concrete, sipping on coffee with whipped cream, listening to chill indie music, feeling so at peace and like the raindrops separated you from the rest of the world. Vanessa could swear being with Brooke was like sitting in their own bubble with everything else soaking in an icy spring drizzle. Or maybe these feelings were turning her into a sappy piece of ass. Not like she cared much to be honest.

The blurry streets behind the window changed into a well-known by now parking lot. The rain showed no signs of stopping. Brooke sighed heavily, her mouth right next to the shorter queen’s ear so the puff of breath sent chills down the other one’s spine.

“I wish we could just stay like this” One last kiss on the cheek, lingering this time, leaving a ghost of a touch, a squeeze to their intertwined fingers, before she started untangling herself to get up “Too bad I have a crown to win.”

“Oh hoe, feeling confident today, aren’t we, Miss Brooke?” Vanessa laughed, her voice changing from quiet, low and relaxed to her regular rough self. She missed the feel of Brooke’s body instantly but the warmth where they had been touching remained. They started getting out of the van and into the unforgiving weather, Brooke walking first but reaching her hand behind her for Vanjie to grab. It was not much but it was somehow enough.

 Brooke was already on her second cigarette in the span of ten minutes, hanging by the balcony’s doors and listening rather than watching the ongoing rain put Los Angeles to sleep. They had an hour left before the PAs made their round around the building making sure all the queens were respectfully in their own beds, like children during summer camp. Vanessa walked into the room silently without knocking, her flip-flops slapping wetly and bare chest pulling Brooke’s attention for a second. She made her way to Brooke’s bed and grabbed the white hoodie that was thrown into a bundle of other clothes before putting in on. The sleeves were way too long but she didn’t bother with rolling them up, instead letting them hang over her wrists and reaching the tips of her fingers. The overall length was too much on her tiny body as well, ending somewhere mid-thigh. She looked exhausted, moves too slow for her usual frantic energy, back hunched and eyelids heavy. Brooke thought she had never looked more beautiful.

The Canadian queen finished her cigarette, putting it down in a small glass of water she kept outside and joined Vanessa on the bed. She left the balcony doors ajar so they could still hear the raindrops swishing calmingly outside.

“I like you in my clothes, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was a teasing note in Vanessa’s voice, a promising growl that would normally ignite a fire in both of their bodies if they weren’t this tired.

“Yeah but I like you in everything so…”

They both snickered at how lame that sounded, but neither cared. Brooke was glad she had someone like Vanjie, someone who didn’t make her worry whether she said the right thing or not. She could be herself in her presence and after so many hours of anxiety, keeping yourself in check and watching your every move, it felt like more rewarding than anything she could win. Vanessa laid on her back and Brooke was there beside her propped on her elbow. After a moment she started tracing light patterns over Vanessa’s arms, shoulders, jawline, lips, nose, and closed eyelids. She watched her fluttering, dark eyelashes and how her lips parted with a huff when Brooke brushed her finger against the shell of her ear.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, Papi. The PAs will have to kick your ass out of my bed if they find you here like this.“ 

“Mmm, yeah, whatever. Now shut up and cuddle me, bitch.”

Brooke laughed but obliged, wrapping herself all over Vanessa’s sleepy frame, arm thrown across her stomach and legs tangled together. She smelled like her own shower gel and Brooke’s hoodie, which was strangely arousing. The shorter queen turned her head and placed a messy, off-center kiss somewhere to the corner of Brooke’s lips. It still amazed her how just simply being with Vanessa made her so happy. It didn’t really matter what they did nor where they were as long as they were together.

“I think it’s time for you to go, you know.” Her heart squeezed painfully when she said it and she hoped Vanessa could hear that in her voice. There was nothing she wanted more than for them to stay like this forever. Maybe only a crown and scepter at their feet would be a nice bonus.

Vanessa sighed heavily before she opened her eyes and rolled onto her side. Brooke only had a moment to register the new fire shining in her eyes before Vanjie put her hand on the taller queen’s jawline and pulled her in for a goodbye kiss. This time her lips were already parted and hungrily possessive, making Brooke keep up with their pace, her fingers tingling with the sudden urge to explore and touch. Their quickened breaths and quiet whimpers mixed up with the sound of raindrops falling outside.

“Miss ya already.”

“You’re literally still in my bed.” Brooke huffed out a laugh but all she wanted to do was to get back to whatever was just happening between them.

“So?”

Vanessa sat up on the bed, still wearing the hoodie and apparently leaving with no intention of giving it back now, took Brooke’s hand for the last time and brushed her lips against the other queen’s knuckles lovingly. The look of pure love in her eyes was almost too much for Brooke to handle. She hoped her own eyes conveyed the same emotion for Vanessa to see before either one of them dared to put it into words.

“Sweet dreams, boo.”

“See you in the morning.”

They never wished for the clouds to clear out and for the sun to rise faster.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #fluff #ohhthereuare #submission

[sunevial]

The Pianist

Commissioned by @zephyrus-gryphon (or more accurately, my way of thanking him for donating to my glasses fund)

A bit of a thought experiment, this piece follows the character from Death Parade, the Pianist. What might she been have like in life?

---

The lights dimmed, bathing the concert hall in gentle shadows until there was only a single white spotlight shining down on the stage. Space filling chatter fell to nothing more than the barest of whispers as eyes turned towards the main attraction of the night. There were no dancers in colorful costumes, no actors ready to belt out emotional lines, just a simple grand piano and a woman in black. She raised her arms, slow enough that it seemed they were breathing deep, and placed her fingers onto the keys.

 Light burst from the stage, grabbing audience members by the ear and demanding that they pay attention for just this short burst of time. It flowed, it swayed, it rose and it fell, it pushed them to the edge of their seats and flung them back until they were helpless to do anything except ride out the storm. If there was magic in this world, this was it, and they were getting perhaps their only chance to see it done by a master.

Perhaps it was lifetimes later when the spell broke; perhaps it was only minutes. The hall was left in stunned silence as the woman stood and gave a polite bow. Only then did everyone leap to their feet, applause breaking their stupor and reminding everyone that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

Among the commotion, a young girl remained with her eyes on the stage, drinking in the sight of the woman in black and the instrument at her side. She closed her eyes, desperately searching in her mind for a place to remember the song by so that she would never lose this experience, this memory. Music had found its way into her life, and she could never go back down the path she had started down. 

With wide eyes filled with wonder and resolve, the little girl tore her eyes away from a dream made manifest and tugged on her mother’s skirt. 

“Mom, I want to do that too.”

Her mother blinked a number of time, face softening with each one as she realized the determination in her daughter’s words. 

“It’s going to be a lot of work, you know. It’s going to take a long time. It’s going to be hard.”

The little girl simply nodded.

“That’s okay. I can do it.”

---

“Beside the bone fractures and the torn muscle tissue, not to mention you have a severe concussion and I still have no idea how you managed to survive a broken neck, there’s probably going to be quite a bit of nerve damage in your hands.”

The words jumbled together after that, meaningless strings of phrases that meant nothing and would mean nothing. Unable to so much as move her head, her eyes flickered without purpose between the harsh white walls and the harsher hospital lights. All manner of monitors for her breathing and her heart rate and who knows what else beeped in steady patterns, the sound maddening in its ever repeating loop. There were so many wires in and around her body that she was honestly surprised the doctors hadn’t replaced all of her organs with gears and cogs.

She was supposed to be grateful. She was supposed to count her blessings that she was so much as breathing after the car had rolled over five times, the same accident that left her mother paralyzed from the neck down and made her baby brother lose an arm. She was supposed to feel lucky that she would make a nearly full recovery except for some problems with fine motor control.

Piano was all placing fingertips to delicate keys, light touches or hard slams for different styles and genres and time periods, stretching wide for octaves or pinching them tight for smaller intervals, the quick dancing movements of jazz piano or the flowing runs of classical music, all turning precision technique into art. 

Straining her eyes, the girl’s eyes fell on the black hands of a nearby clock. Seven thirty at night. She was supposed to be practicing an accompanist piece for her friend’s senior recital in a month. She was supposed to be hammering away at jazz charts for her band’s performance next week. She was supposed to be memorizing one of Mozart’s piano concertos for her college auditions.

She was supposed to begin learning the song that made her heart sing and fill the world with light and wonder.

The doctor kept rattling off her recovery plan, reading off lists of medicines she needed to take and the exercises she was supposed to do once everything had healed.

The girl said nothing. Shock had dried her tears.

---

Her daily walks to class forced her to pass the music school. At the very least, the practice rooms inside had soundproof walls.

Shrugging her backpack higher up onto her shoulders, the young woman put her head down and picked up the pace as fast as her legs would allow. Vines and moss held the old bricks and yellowing windows together, trailing up towards the small belltower. A small garden sat under the windowsills, white flowers clinging to the last bit of summer’s warmth. It was a refuge for stressed arts students, lost English majors, and environmentalists needing a quiet place to light up and let their minds wander.

Four weeks, and she hadn’t stepped a single foot closer to the building than necessary.

The accident had forced her to pull all of her college applications, spending an unintentional gap year remembering how to sit up and wiggle her toes, bend over and crawl and take her first steps once again, brush her teeth and brush her hair, get dressed and use a knife and fork again. Each day had been an opportunity to give up hope entirely. Each day, she made the choice to try again. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was simply trying to spite the world.

Whatever it was, the first time she walked around the block alone nearly made her cry. 

It had been enough to send her applications in once again.

Not everything had returned. Shoe laces were hard to get right without a helping hand or a half hour of slow, painstaking work. After one too many balls were thrown in frustration, she switched to slip ons. Her handwriting was barely serviceable as chicken scratch, much less something that could be reliably used to take down notes for later. Thankfully, the professors didn’t mind being recorded that much. As for piano, well, there was nothing wrong with a career in education. Teaching the next generation was a noble pursuit, one that would end up doing good in the world.

Not that she had even tried going back, instead jumping at the chance to offload her piano paraphernalia to a neighbor. She shoved sheet music into every box she could find, tore her room apart until she was sure that not a single practice book remained, even offered her standup piano for far less money than it was worth. Trophies were stripped off the wall. Ribbons found a dark corner of the attic. In less than a week, all signs of the offending instrument were gone.

There would only be disappointment if she tried.

She had resolved to keep moving forward, even if something got left behind.

A window flew open, black shutters banging against the sides of the building and carrying the forlorn striking of a piano’s keys. The song tugged at the corners of her memory, winding around her like a siren’s call as images of a darkened stage came to life.

Eyes fixed to the ground, she plugged her ears and walked away.

---

“You know, I wish I had picked up an instrument as a kid.”

The woman looked up from her reading, raising an eyebrow at the other mother waiting in the dance hall. Colorful crayon drawings and messy coloring book pages covered up every inch of wallspace, turning every surface that wasn’t a mirror into a haphazard mess of color with patches of white paper strewn between. Little children bounded across the dance floor, feet moving somewhat in time with slow, steady beats of the man at a beat up piano.

She couldn’t help but tap her foot in time.

“Never learned?” the woman asked, eyes searching for her daughter amongst the sea of black leotards and bunned hair.

“Well, I played violin for maybe a year. Parents didn’t push it, and I thought it was dumb and boring, so I didn’t even bother trying” the mother said with a slight laugh, her gaze far off and filled with a longing sorrow. “But that doesn’t count. I don’t remember a thing. Can’t read music, couldn’t tell you what the strings mean or what one piece is from another. Now I’m just kicking myself because man, wouldn’t that be a cool skill to have.”

“You know, it’s never too late to learn.”

The mother laughed. “Says the teacher.”

She returned with a slight smirk, eyes flickering across the hall and trying to land anywhere else but the upright instrument. With each pass over, it was harder to tear her gaze away. “You know, I actually used to be pretty good at that when I was a kid,” she said, pointing a finger across the way. “Got a lot of awards for it, went to a couple of championships. Really could’ve gone somewhere big with it.”

“So why’d you give it up?” 

“Car crash.”

Words died on the mother’s lips, only nodding in simple understanding as the simple beats faded to a close and a cluster of children ran across the room to waiting parents. There was no spell that had been broken, no masterful revelation of the arts for either the adults or the children.

And yet, her foot continued tapping.

Noticing her daughter more engaged with a gaggle of friends, the woman rose from her seat and crossed the floor, each footstep following the rhythm that had been playing all throughout the class. As a solo instrument, a steady beat was the hardest thing for any piano player to learn. There was no one to follow, no one to lead, just the speed the player wanted to take and the instrument.

She could keep time. The hardest step was already done.

With trembling fingers, she placed her hands on the keys, remembering the feel of a familiar chord, one she still remembered despite just wanting to move on and forget. But how could she forget something so utterly real and raw. One breath in, one breath out, and she struck them down.

The piano was horribly out of tune.

But the sound still rang true. 

---

“Mom, come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“Let me just finish this up,” the woman said, fingers lightly dancing across the piano keys and filling the space with sound. The coffee shop was bathed in sunset’s glow, casting deep shadows on the faces of people buried in their readings and writings. Each table had a small vase of white flowers picked from the garden outside. Paintings from local artisans lined the walls, a motley assortment of picturesque landscapes, blurred street corners, and thought provoking portraits. 

She came every Saturday at two, setting out a small tip jar on the antique piano and playing a number of tunes she had practiced throughout the week. They were never perfect nor polished nor something that would be worth paying money at a fancy venue, but it was good enough for the sleep deprived patrons of a small cafe. The owners were understanding, the people were polite, and she always came away with something by the time night fell.

As it turned out, grading papers for ten years had been almost better physical therapy than what the doctors prescribed. The finesse and grace of her youth was long gone, but she remembered where to place her hands and how to read inbetween the black notes splashed across sheet music. Speed and technical ability would come with time. 

Time, patience, and a lot of practice books.

As her fingers danced to a gentle halt, the song faded into the evening until there was nothing left but the grinding of coffee beans and the occasional muffled cough. Some of the regulars looked up, giving polite claps and nods and finally checking the clock only to realize it was far later than anyone had thought to give attention. Others remained absorbed in their work, eyes focused on piles of papers or personal sketchbooks. 

But even their ears twitched.

The woman stood up, gathering the music back into her satchel and pulling the lid back over the keys. With a gentle smile on her face, she shoved a handful of dollar bills and coins into her pockets and wove through the small mess of coffee tables. Her daughter was waiting outside, arms crossed placidly over a leather jacket.

“That sounded good” she said, flashing a smile and stretching out her arms. “Really good. When’s your concert debut?”

She laughed. “Oh please, I’ve got a long way to go before that happens.”

The two started down the road home, a familiar and gentle tune being hummed along by both mother and daughter alike.

Her daughter knew it as a bedtime lullaby.

---

Low heels clicked on the wooden floor, piercing the nearly silent hall with every step. The audience was hidden behind a curtain of shadow, the occasional face of an old friend or one of the many students she taught over the years just barely illuminated by the stage lights. They stared at a simple white backdrop, at an old woman in her best dress and hair done up nice, at a grand piano set in the middle of the stage.

With every step, the woman saw a new face in the crowd. Her daughter, now grown and setting off on her own path in life, sitting proudly in the front row with a gaggle of grandchildren. Her old colleagues from the school, gathered together and whispering about the after party and if there would be enough cookies and lemonade for everyone. Her folk band, waiting in the wings for their turn to join her on the stage. Students from nearly every class she had ever taught, each presenting her with a new stack of music at the end of the year. The baristas from the coffee shop, collectively deciding that the cafe could afford to take a day off if their Saturday entertainment couldn’t be there. The women from her church group, each having begged for nearly ten years straight before she gave in and took a place in the Sunday band.

The faces went on for what seemed like miles.

Every seat had an expectant face. Watching.

Waiting for something to happen.

She took a seat at the piano, hands gracefully running over black wood almost shining under the lights. Her music was already in place: classical, jazz, folk tunes, renditions of popular songs, a couple of pieces she had crafted over the years.

And before them all, a piece she needed no paper for.

She raised her arms with grace and beauty.

Magic sprung forth.

---

The lights were white. Her dress was black. 

A woman sat at the piano, playing a song that she knew must be played in remembrance of the woman currently resting in the casket. The line of mourners moved with the slowness only the dead can command, winding its way through the pews and far out the door. Besides the ever present swaying and building music, there were only the sounds of choked tears and low confessions.

And still, the woman played on.

“What’s that song?” a boy asked, respectfully taking a seat on the bench. He was one of the grandchildren, old enough to remember the tune from the house but never old enough to learn its name.

“Moonlit Night,” the woman replied, never taking her eyes off the keys. “It’s a song of sorrow, of ages gone by that only exist in memory and will eventually fade away. Your grandmother loved it dearly.”

He nodded slowly, the light in his eyes wise beyond his years. His gaze flickered to the line of mourners, watching them with a curiosity and an understanding only a child could truly make manifest. “She was…really loved, wasn’t she?”

“Your grandmother touched the lives of a lot of people. She was a teacher, a mother, a grandmother, a good friend, a pillar of the community,” she said, the ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “What was she to you?”

The boy glanced over to the casket, heavily obscured with the bodies of the performers, then back to the grand piano before him. For the first time since the doors had opened and the family service had taken place, he seemed to be lost in thoughts that were no longer just sorrow. Minutes stretched between them, and still the song played on, sending out light and darkness, joy and sorrow, magic and the mundane out into the world

“She was a pianist.”

The woman smiled true.

The song began anew.

#commissions #commission #zac #my writing

[tmiquotepage]

I REALLY Need Advice

(LONG post, but I appreciate any feedback you guys can offer me here!)

I currently work as a babysitter for three wonderful children for the summer. They are 7, 10, and 13. I used to watch them before school during the school year, and I watched them for Spring Break as well. The parents got a divorce not long after I started working for them, and so the kids travel back and forth between two apartments five minutes apart. That's the gist of the background.

Now, normally, my fee for babysitting, especially for 3 kids, is $10/hr. The hours I agreed to at the beginning of the summer were 6 am until 3 pm. (I also live 30 minutes away, but my hour of commuting and my gas were never on the table for reimbursement.) Well, the mom asked me on Spring Break if, since I would be watching the kids for 8 weeks, we could do $300 a week, as $450 would get "quite expensive after 8 weeks" (like, yeah. Individualized care for kids is expensive. If you want cheaper, put em in a camp or daycare. Jesus.). I got her to raise that amount to $350, because $300 for 45 hours a week is highway robbery and less than minimum wage. I wouldn’t be able to afford my car and the gas to move this summer. Okay. That was settled.

Summer time rolls around and, at the end of the school year, the mom gets a new boyfriend, who immediately moves in with her. We'll talk about this dude later, because WHEW. Anyway, despite the fact that this dude is constantly hungover and/or day drinking and/or sleeping, the mom decides he is an adequate babysitter for the kids a few days a week. So, my schedule becomes completely confusing (as in, the mom will literally wait until 10 pm the night before to tell me whether or not she needs me the next day, whether she wants me to come in late, etc.). Keep in mind, even though we said "$350 a week," I am really getting paid $70/day. Which is the same thing. Unless you get told at last minute that you aren't needed for the three days of the week the mom has the kids with her boyfriend, in which case, it's only $140. So, I am already having issues with how much I am getting paid BEFORE I get into the shit show that is the family dynamic I have to work with.

Now, let's talk about the family. I'll obviously give codenames, not real names, because I'm not a monster. We'll start with the parents, Popeye (Dad) and Diva (Mom).

Popeye is a good dad. Works hard, doesn't make a ton of money, but always spends what he has on his kids. His apartment has more kids toys than signs of being a bachelor pad. He works hard, hasn't seen anyone since the divorce. His primary focus has ALWAYS been his kids. He cooks dinner for them almost every night (eating out is MAD rare. He's a really good cook.) He is ex-Navy, so he can be a bit strict. He doesn't accept mouthing off or being rude, but he also isn't mean. I have never seen him yell at his children or get angry. He is completely in control of his emotions around them. He's not a huge hardass about censoring his kids either. He'll let them listen to explicit rap music, play war video games with the kids. He's careful, but not overprotective. He is a balanced, comfortable, imperfect but loving parent

And then there's Diva™️. Diva is an Australian transplant who has a master's degree in the art of giving facials. She is all about pristine living, Michael Kors jackets, and acting way more rich and perfect than she is (though she has a LOT more money than Popeye). Acts like she is God's gift to all mankind. She has a boyfriend, who we will call JT, that she puts above all else - including her 3 children. Dinner at her house is almost always take out because, as her 10 year old tells me, she knows how to cook, but badly, and she's just too lazy to do it. She runs her own business, is constantly looking for groupons for the kids to use. Or rather, looks for cheap things "kids their age" would like. I am convinced she knows nothing about her children's likes and dislikes. Their rooms are her house are sterile and clean and don't have much feeling. Whenever things are out of place, she makes them clean it up and chastises them because "they are old enough to know better." She acts the part of the nurturing, caring, all-natural mother, but her eyes and words are always cool and sharp as a blade. She, the small woman I could probably break like a toothpick, scares me more than the buff retired navy father or the ex-con she has living with her and her children. I get the feeling, from the way the kids talk about her, that they have the same fears as I do.

As a tack on the end of the adult descriptions, allow me to tell you the bit I know about JT, the mom's boyfriend. He is significantly younger than her, halfway between the ages of her and her 13 year old daughter. He is a hot head. No job. Sleeps most of the day. Often leave the apartment reeking of booze. Often hungover. Has been in jail before, though I am unsure as to what he was arrested for. From what the kids said, I believe it was some sort of assault, burglary, or armed robbery. He occasionally cooks the meals at the house, which means the kids are at least getting a little bit of non-fast-food when they stay there (or, as the mom puts it, when they “visit.” They apparently don't “live” there. They visit, like you might visit a grandparent.). He has a daughter that is 10 years old, who also lives with him at Diva's house when she isn't with her mom. JT is confrontational with Diva's 10 year old boy, which I'll talk about later. I never feel comfortable when he is around, because he seems misogynistic (he called his daughter a ho for wearing yoga pants out to play) and always looks like he's ready to start a fight. Even though he and the mom are just dating, he already acts like a stepdad to Diva's kid, and he is NOT the good kind. When the kids do something he doesn't like, he will call Diva and tell her to chastise and punish the children. Occasionally, he even gives them punishments like grounding them for three weeks, even though he has ZERO authority to do so. Diva always takes his side in arguments.

On to the kids. Diva and Popeye have three: Uni (13), Pathfinder (10), and Sharknado (7). JT has one daughter, Mellie (10).

Uni is the most mature of the kids. She is a very talented artist who has been dealing really well with the divorce, as she surrounds herself with friends, a positive attitude, and creative outlets, like skateboarding and drawing. She cooks for herself often, and easily adapts to whichever situation she is in. It rarely ever feels like a chore to watch her when we go somewhere. She helps with the boys when I am swamped, occasionally, and knows how to calm the youngest's tantrums. The only real issue I have with her is when she and the middle child get in arguments and she tried to mother him and chastise him. It doesn't go well.

Next up, we have Pathfinder. Pathfinder is a 10 year old boy, the middle child. He plays video games very well, and has a soft heart which he will show when you prove he can trust you. He is, by far, the best dancer and beat spitter in the whole family, and he is proud of the fact. Pathfinder has a few behavioral issues where he will lie, and push boundaries every once in a while. He gets heated when playing video games, and often plays way too roughly and/or doesn't share with his little brother. Pathfinder, however, I understand more than I think I used to. He is a middle child with a sick younger brother and an older sister who wants nothing to do with him. He gets bullied at school and doesn’t make friends easily. He is starting to show early signs of major depression. Perhaps most importantly, Pathfinder is not taking the divorce well. More specifically, he clashes like hell with Diva's boyfriend. JT often picks fights with him and gets in his face. JT constantly feels the need to assert authority over Pathfinder and intimidate him. Pathfinder has shared with me that he never feels comfortable staying with JT. He begs me to take him to his dad's, to get him out of the apartment whenever possible. A few weeks ago, he stood up for himself to the boyfriend. JT gog in his face and yelled at him, then grounded him off all electronics (which, let's be honest, was because he wanted to play Pathfinder's Xbox at Diva's apartment without Pathfinder telling him no, because he's the one that got it for his birthday). When Pathfinder told his dad that he didn't want to go to his mom's anymore, the mother called the kid while we were at the store getting supplies for a craft project to tell him he was grounded for longer and that she was now going to shave his hair that he's been growing out for two years because he isn't respecting her boyfriend. She told me he wasn't allowed to even do our craft or watch TV. He could “sit on the couch and twiddle his thumbs" all day. (I eventually said fuck it and let him do whatever he wanted because we were at Popeye's place, and I could see that this kid was positively distraught.) He is STILL grounded, 3 weeks later. Yesterday, JT came out of his bedroom while the kids were talking, got in Pathfinder's face and started calling him gay because his shorts were sagging a bit. I took Pathfinder to Popeye's because he was shaken at the altercation, and told his mom what happened. Her ONLY response was “[Pathfinder]’s main problem is that he can't take direction or obey adults, and he needs to work on that.” What's worse about this situation is this kid has since told me (since he knows I am gay and proud and accepting) that he feels like he might be bisexual. He doesn't feel like he’d be safe if his mom and JT found out he is interested in a boy in his class. Pathfinder has openly stated that he hates his life, dreads staying at his mom's place, feels completely alone, thinks no one loves him. He barely calls her “mom" anymore. He has said that, if she goes through with shaving his head, he will never call her “mom” again, and will basically disown her as his mother. Keep in mind with all this shit that this child is 10. Ten years old and already a god damned nearly suicide risk, judging by his words and behavior lately. I had a meltdown yesterday when I realized this much because, unless this kid get serious help, he could very easily be just another name on the news in the coming years, and that breaks my heart.

Finally, we have the youngest child of Popeye and Diva, Sharknado. Sharknado is seven. Sharknado is a total trainwreck in the behavioral department. This kid has an adrenal insufficiency that means he is reliant on a steroid the way a diabetic is reliant on insulin. He is a bit more prone to disease than other kids. As a result, the mother babies the ever-loving shit out of him. She lets him get away with absolutely everything, and blames Pathfinder if they are ever in an argument. Tells Pathfinder he has to be gentle with his little brother. As a result of this parenting, Sharknado is a MAJOR tantrum thrower, even at age seven. If we are not playing the game he wants to play, the screaming and stomping starts. If he is losing, the screaming and stomping starts. If we are not actively paying attention to him, he will scream and make a spectacle of himself. Where the mother loves seeing that Pathfinder has an issue taking direction from adults, she is blind to the fact that her youngest is exponentially worse. When we go to the store, he runs off. When we go out to do something, he is instantly bored. When I tell him not to touch things in the store, he thinks it is funny to grab it an run away from me. If he is in any way unhappy, he will drop onto the floor and start screaming. Even in public (bowling alley, the zoo). Rules just do not apply to him, and he is positively dumbfounded when you try to correct this behavior through punishment (like taking away a toy, or banning video games for the day). We played the quiet game one day where all winner would get a dollar when we got back (because I had a headache and it was an hour drive and they just kept arguing). He talked the entire ride home, and the others didn't. They got a dollar each, he didn't. He pitched the biggest fit, pounding on the floor screaming, hiding under the bed, saying he wished he was dead because I was being so mean to him. He is always yelling about “fairness" when you tell him “no.” I don't think he actually knows what the word means. Sharknado is a nightmare who never listens and screams his head off on a daily basis, louder when I tell him to stop. And yet the mom has never threatened to chop his locks off. He is her perfect angel.

Lastly, I'll introduce you to Mellie, JT's daughter. She is 10. She is kind and generally respectful, which I assume comes from her mother's side. She is a daddy's girl, however, and so takes on her father's qualities when it comes to his treatment of Diva's kids. She's best friends with Uni, which is great, because Uni needed a girl friend to hang out with during the summer. She let’s Sharknado win in games and babies him. And, of course, she constantly belittles and picks fights with Pathfinder. This week was the first week I was babysitting her as well, so I don’t know much more than that.

So here's my main problem (yeah, all the above was essentially preface. That's the stuff I am USED to putting up with for barely minimum wage). This week, I watched the kids at Popeye's apartment Monday and Friday, with the rest of the days at Diva's. JT was at Diva's, but he is unable to travel, I guess, and two of the kids had dentist appointments two of the days. So, I went. At Diva's request, I came in later at 10 am on Tuesday and Wednesday, then 7:30 am in Thursday. On Tuesday, the kids were having a pillow fight in the apartment at, like, 1 pm, which apparently woke JT up, so he came lumbering out of the bedroom, snatched up the Xbox controller Pathfinder was using to find a YouTube video, and yelled at everyone – Mellie included – to get dressed and go play outside. I was then (without ever being asked) babysitting a fourth child outside with my three. We ended up going to the pool all three days, too, by the way. Three days with 4 kids in a pool. I stayed an hour late the first day, and an hour and a half late yesterday, too, because I came in late. I drove the kids to their appointments, and also made 4 different trips to and from Popeye's apartment to retrieve things for the children, and I drove the girls around to gather ingredients for their bake sale. Keep in kind, it was nearly 50 miles just with the kids in my car (not counting my commute or anything) that I was not getting reimbursed for. I also went and spent $60 on pool toys for the kids (including Mellie), because I love them and want them to have a great time. I spent personal money, knowing I wouldn't get reimbursed. But here's the kicker. When I contacted Diva to ask about adjusted payment to include the fourth child, she just said (I swear I could literally hear venom dripping from her teeth) “of course I won't short you for those days, even though you came in late. You will get the full $350 we agreed on.” Basically, even though she is already paying me peanuts, she assumes the fourth child is covered by the extra hours in the day I didn't come in. As if I shouldn't be getting paid at least $70/day, regardless of what hours I work, because even that is barely acceptable for the job I do. I should also mention that she and the dad split the childcare costs. So, if she really is saying the rest of that $350 completely covers the cost of a fourth kid, that means Popeye is shelling out childcare costs for his ex-wife's boyfriend's daughter.

So that's my situation right now. I just want advice, you guys. Should I stay, leave, ask for more per week? I mean, the thing is, I know the dad will pay more if I ask, but he's already spread pretty thin with the income. Diva is the one who always asks me to cart the kids places and has me watching extra kids and do extra stuff like crafts with them, and she’s the one who makes so much money, but she's the one who is being stingy and not giving me what I deserve. It bugs me. I just need advice on future steps, guys. I love these kids, and I don't want to just leave and have them think it was something they did wrong, but I am at the end of my mental rope. What do I do here?

#advice #advice needed #babysitting #childcare #child abuse #divorced parents #halp

[volchonika]

I was tagged by @stitchcasual!  How exciting.

Always post these rules!

Answer the questions given by the person who tagged you

Write 11 questions of your own. Tag 11 people.

1. Who do you look up to most?

Oh boy.  Carrie Fisher was a big one I discovered only in recent years.  She was an incredible advocate for herself and others, a woman who lived without fear, a beautiful and glittery soul.

Maxine Waters is the hero Gotham deserves, and the one it needs right now.

Amy Tenbrink, who y’all probably don’t know, is one of the most spectacular and awe-inspiring people I have ever personally known.  She’s a goddamn superhero.

2. What is your favorite passage of literature?

Virtually all of The Last Unicorn, but especially: “They went down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints.”  I’d like to have that tattooed on me, preferably in Peter S. Beagle’s handwriting.  Another favorite is Mommy Fortuna’s death at the claws of the harpy, capped by the unicorn’s rule for survival: “You must never run from anything immortal.  It attracts their attention.”  Also the ending passages.  And--and everything in that book.

I also really, really love the death of Wen Jian in Under Heaven, by Guy Gavriel Kay:

“I didn’t think of it that way.”

“I know you didn’t,” said Liu.  “If you can, have me buried beside father in the orchard.”  Another thin smile as he glanced back.  “You are skilled at quieting ghosts, are you not?”

And with that, he went down the steps to the sunlit yard, drawing a jewelled court blade from the sleeve of his robe.

Tai saw him approach Jian and bow to her. The dui commander was the only one near them, and now he withdrew, backing away a dozen steps, as if to, belatedly, distance himself from this.

Tai saw his brother say something to Jian, too softly for anyone to hear. But he saw her smile, as if surprised, and pleased, by what she heard. She murmured something to Liu, and he bowed again.

He spoke one more time, and after a motionless instant she nodded her head. She made a dancer’s spinning movement, a last one, the sort that ends a performance and releases the audience’s approval and applause.

She ended it with her back to Liu, to the posting station. She faced south (her people had come from the south), towards the cypress trees lining the road and the summer fields beyond them, bright in the morning light, and Tai’s brother placed his left hand around her waist, to steady the both of them, and he thrust his knife cleanly into her, between ribs, into the heart, from behind.

Liu held her, gently, carefully, as she died.  And then he held her a little longer, and then he laid her down on her back in the dust of the yard, because there was nothing else he could do.

He knelt beside her a moment, arranging her clothing. One of her hairpins had come loose. Tai watched his brother fix it in place again.  Then Liu set down his jewelled blade and stood up and he moved a distance away from her, toward the archers of the Second Army.  He stopped.

“Do it,” he said.  Making it his command.  And was standing very straight as they sent half a dozen arrows into him.

Tai had no way of knowing if his brother’s eyes were open or closed before he died. He did become aware, after a time, that Sima Zian was beside him, saying nothing, but present.

He looked out into the yard. At Liu, face down, and Jian on her back, the blue robe spread about her, and it seemed to him that sunlight was wrong for what the moment was, what it would always be now, even as it receded. This morning brightness, the birds rising and darting, their singing.

He said that, to the poet. “Should there be birdsong?”

Zian said, “No, and yes. We do what we do, and the world continues. Somewhere, a child is being born and the parents are tasting a joy they never imagined.”

“I know that,” said Tai. “But here? Should there be so much light here?”

“No,” said Sima Zian, after a moment. “Not here.”

3. Star Wars or Star Trek?

Oh my fucking god.  Both were a huge part of my upbringing (my parents are huge nerds and I started watching TNG around the same time they showed me the original trilogy).  If I had to choose TODAY, it would be Star Wars because of my evolving love of space opera, but--goddamn it, I need both.

4. What is your favorite thing that makes other people go “whaaat?”

Jousting.  I’d say about 60% of the people I tell think I’m joking, and another 25-30% have to check:  “You mean, like--in Game of Thrones?”

Which--no, not like in Game of Thrones.  Same sport, just... not done like that.  I’m training to compete in light-armor jousting, which is a sport of precision (you have to hit a target the size of a silver dollar with a lance the diameter of... well, a silver dollar.  While running at each other on horses).  No one gets unhorsed (provided everything goes right) or killed or even hurt, usually.  I used to do eventing, and jousting is a *much* safer equestrian sport.  Most injuries in jousting are rider error.

5. What do you bring to a potluck?

Gin and tonic.  I’m such a novelist.

6. What is your favorite food for a dark and stormy night?

Meat cooked over a fire.

7. What is your beverage of choice?

This speakeasy, Social, makes the most amazing cocktail I’ve ever had.  It’s called La Vie en Rose, and it’s mezcal vida, pamplemousse rose, maple-allspice, fresh lime, and rosewater.

That or a gin and tonic.  With a little squeeze of lime.  In a 10oz heavy-bottomed double old fashioned glass.

8. What’s your most ridiculous memory from childhood?

I have so many.  Ridiculous as in, it should be ridiculed?  One time my Sunday school teacher called me a murderer for pulling a leaf off a bush.

9. What Thing that you do/have done are you the most proud of?

I have two, which is sort of cheating.  First, I’m super proud of my writing, because it’s a constant labor of self-improvement and I am the only one who can take responsibility for it.

But I’ve had the chance to encourage some really amazing tiny warrior-girls performing as Gudrun the She-Bear.  I love doing that.  I want a generation of girls who are armed to the teeth by confidence and the childhood memory of a woman bellowing and then tackling a man twice her size to the ground and punching him in the mouth because he acted like a chauvinistic piece of pigfart.

10. What’s your favorite holiday?

Aviator Day.

Because the Sirens Conference is not a widely recognized holiday.

11. If you knew your expiration date was 3/1/2017, what would you do with the rest of your February?

First, I would distribute The Pale Queen.  The pre-publication life of an original fiction author is lonely as fuck.  I’m so excited about these characters, and I have no one to talk to about it.  I’m alone in this fandom.  I’m not deluded enough to think that enthusiasm would spring up in two and a half weeks, but maybe it would outlive me.

Then I would travel.  I’m not sure where.  Southeast Asia?  Russia?  Stick in-continent and do a ghost roadtrip across the American south?  Steal a horse and head for Panama?  I dunno.  But I would take my dog and my cat and the people I love most and go.

My 11 Questions for whosoever wants to answer them:

1. What animal creeps you out the most? 2. What terrible scene ruined a movie you might otherwise have loved? 3. Favorite single episode of a TV show? 4. What is the best thing you’ve ever made with your hands? 5. What’s your favorite way to get rid of something? 6. If you could spend ten minutes unattended with any object, what would it be? 7. What was the last thing you doodled? 8. What book is better if you only read the last 50 pages? 9. Tell me some of the words in your vernacular. 10. What do you lose the most frequently? 11.   What would you do if you woke up in a strange cottage, alone, with a clear set of instructions written for you in a language you couldn’t read?

[elrondsscribe]

The Seventh Avenger: Chapter 1

Nothing here's mine, of course. Tolkien and Marvel Studios own it all.

April 21, 2012

Glorfindel let himself into his apartment and hung up his keys on the rack next to the door. He set his phone down on the counter by the sink, opened the dishwasher to retrieve a clean glass, and retrieved an open jug of distilled water from the refrigerator. He drank deeply, the cool water soothing his dry throat.

He had been running, partly because it was a beautiful day but mostly because he'd needed the exercise to loosen himself up for the day's exercise routines. Now that his profession was so demandingly physical, he had to take better and more intentional care of his body than he'd had to in a few centuries. He quite relished the challenge.

He was just about to go for a much-needed shower when his senses belatedly went on the alert. He stiffened, and looked around.

Someone uninvited was in the house - was in fact in the next room, which was the living room. A tall, completely bald black man with a patch over his left eye was sitting comfortably on the couch holding a book. "You know, I used to love fantasy novels when I was in high school," he said conversationally. "Maybe that's why I still believe in heroes."

Glorfindel could honestly say that he had not had a genuine surprise like this for a solid decade. "Should I know you?" he asked suspiciously.

"You don't?" The man with the patch finally looked up and turned his head so that he was facing Glorfindel directly. "I'm surprised. Didn't you save my ungrateful ass from, to quote you directly, 'a Houseless in service to the Enemy' near forty-three years ago?"

And then Glorfindel remembered the lean, long-limbed boy who had come within an inch of death and worse that hot summer night. "You are Nicholas Fury," he said, and cocked his head. "I didn't recognize you at first; you've changed much since then."

The Man Nicholas Fury looked gave him a searching look. "You haven't."

Glorfindel's mouth tightened. "Is there a reason you are here, Mr. Fury?" he asked sharply.

But the Man smiled. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said, and he shut the book and turned the cover toward Glorfindel. "I'm now the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, or SHIELD."

Glorfindel tensed, and wondered briefly if now after all these years he would be exposed. "What is SHIELD?" he asked warily.

Fury tucked the (rather large) book he'd been reading under his arm and got up. As he came into the kitchen Glorfindel saw that he was also holding a folder. "SHIELD is an international extra-governmental counter-terrorism intelligence agency," he said. "Our focus is on protection - specifically, protecting the world from alter-natural threats, and from alter-natural secrets they're not ready to hear yet."

And with these words he swept the book from under his arm and laid it on the kitchen table, and its title, The Lord of the Rings: One Volume, gleamed in large gold letters.

Glorfindel stared at the book and pursed his lips, trying to hide his unease. "Secrets people aren't ready to hear?" he asked. "This work -" he pointed to the book. "- is known the world over - been translated into heaven only knows how many languages."

"It's even been made into a motion picture," said Fury. "You probably already know there's another one scheduled to come out in November."

"That's the point," said Glorfindel. "Hobbits and Elves and Dwarves are popular everywhere -"

"Isn't that convenient," rumbled Fury.

Glorfindel became silent. He couldn't afford vehement denial.

"Then, on the other hand, maybe not," Fury went on. "See, a little while back, I remembered what you said to me that night. I started doing a little research - Fellowship, Silmarilllion, Unfinished Tales, Book of Lost Tales, Peoples of Middle-Earth. Hell, I even went through online forums and fan articles. I had a theory, see, based on what you said."

Glorfindel gritted his teeth.

"Like I said, I did some digging," said Fury. "And I found this story about an Elf called Glorfindel. He came back from the dead and was sent back to Middle-Earth as an emissary of the Valar, like Gandalf was later on. Glorfindel, I hear, was an extraordinary warrior, but he was even more than that. He could send Sauron's most terrifying minions running like a bunch of dormice just by showing up."

In spite of his worries, Glorfindel found his lips curling. "I wouldn't quite say that," he hedged.

"Too humble?" asked Fury with a smirk. "Not surprised."

Caught. Red-handed.

"Is there something in particular you need?" snapped Glorfindel.

"Well, I'm here for two things," said Fury. "The first one you already took care of - admitting to, you know, that." He gestured to the large volume. "You haven't been nearly as careful as you should about trying to protect your secret."

Glorfindel gulped. "What do you mean?"

Fury opened his folder, and began drawing papers and photos from it one by one. "Taylor Alexander, principal dancer with the New York City Ballet for three years, been with the company for ten. Laurence Matthews, flute teacher in Maryland for twenty-eight years until a fatal car accident in 1971. Adam Bartlett, promising intelligence agent during the Second World War, killed in action in 1943. Jonathan Davis, professional photographer that went down with the Titanic after nearly thirty years in business. Rare photo of Samuel McCarson, famed abolitionist and post-war Reconstruction activist, killed in a riot in 1875 - you have no idea how many strings I had to pull to get that one -"

Glorfindel felt his heart come into his mouth as all his last aliases were displayed one by one.

"- and those are just the identities we have photos for," Fury went on. "We've got painted portraits of a Bernard Mandeville, a Herman John Walker, a Raymond Vandeleur, and a Charles Williamson. I won't bore you with the entire list, but you get the idea, right?"

Glorfindel's jaw was tight. "What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you?" Fury shook his head. "No, that's not the question here. The question here is, what do you want from me? See, there aren't too many people even in the intelligence community who know about all this -" he pointed to all the photos and documents on the table. "But when it comes to secrets, two's plenty and three's a crowd. You dig what I'm getting at?"

And just like that, when he'd thought things couldn't get worse, they'd worsened. "You're not the only one who's guessed about me, have you?" asked Glorfindel.

"I'm willing to bet I'm not," said Fury. "So here's the deal: I can make you disappear from every record about you that exists - SHIELD's good like that. Nobody'll ever find you - or any others of your kind, I might add -" Glorfindel let out a small groan. "- the way I did."

"Should have known I wouldn't be the only one," sighed the Elf, rubbing his neck again. "What's the catch? And don't play coy with me, I know there's a catch."

"Not a catch, per se," said Fury, his single visible eye gleaming in amusement. "Just a favor I'd like to ask, which you're actually free to turn down if you really want to. I do owe you that."

"What's the favor?" asked Glorfindel.

Without a word, the Man laid down the folder and turned it toward Glorfindel, who raised his eyebrows at the title, printed in large black letters under a logo designed like an eagle. "The Avengers Initiative?"

"Call me an idealist," Fury's expression was enigmatic. "Earth's mightiest heroes, coming together to fight the battles we couldn't."

Glorfindel opened the folder, and his jaw fell. "These are your other candidates?"

Fury's smile was shark-like. "You got an idea, now, what I'm asking you for?"

A slow grin spread across the Elf's face. He looked back up at Fury. "If I agree to this, may I ask a small favor of you?"

April 21, 2012

A bright yellow sun with eight rays set inside a larger circle of deep forest green glowed on Fury's office wall.

"So he actually wants to use the original Golden Flower device?" asked Agent Maria Hill, gazing at the icon.

"He said he was ready to 'step out of the shadows'," said Fury. "Thought it was 'time for the age of marvels to begin.'" His tone turned mocking at the last words.

Hill was not fooled. "You're enjoying everything about this, aren't you?" she asked, arching her eyebrows at her superior.

Fury's single eye glinted. "Maybe. Get the thing put on a suit of armor."

Hill took a look at the numbers underneath the image. "A suit of armor for a seven-foot-two creature out of an adventure novel. Should I put in an order a sword?"

"What else would he use?" snorted her superior.

She shook her head. "You know the Council wouldn't be happy to hear you're still working on Phase One."

Fury fixed his eye on Hill. "Sure they wouldn't, if they knew jack about it."

[From the classified personal file of Director Nicholas J. Fury]

May 1: Destruction of Project PEGASUS; arrival of hostile Asgardian force identified as Loki; brainwashing of unknown number of PEGASUS participants including Agent Barton and Dr. Erik Selvig.

May 2: Reactivation of Phase One: Avengers Initiative - call in and brief the following candidates: Captain Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Dr. Bruce Banner, and Laurëfindel/Glorfindel (alias Taylor Alexander).

"This is out of line, Director," said Councilman Malick sternly. "You're dealing with forces you can't hope to control."

"You ever been in a war, Councilman?" snapped Director Fury, gazing up at the group of screens in front of him in a virtual conference room. Each of the screens displayed a real-time image of a member of the World Security Council. "In a firefight? Did you feel an overabundance of control?"

"You saying that this Asgard declared war on our planet?" demanded the American Councilman.

"Not Asgard, Loki," corrected Fury.

"He can't be working alone," interjected Councilwoman Hawley, a representative from the United Kingdom. She was writing busily on a notepad. "What about the other one, his brother?"

"Our intelligence says Thor is not a hostile," said Fury. "But he's worlds away. We can't depend on him for help. It's up to us."

"Which is why you should be focusing on Phase Two," said Councilman Malick. "It was designed for exactly -"

"Phase Two isn't ready," Fury cut him off. "Our enemy is. We need a response team."

"The Avengers Initiative was shut down," Councilman Malick's voice held a hint of warning.

"This isn't about the Avengers," said Fury dismissively.

"We've seen the list," said Councilman Singh, arms folded.

"We're running the world's greatest security network," Councilman Malick leaned forward. "And you're going to leave the fate of the human race to a handful of freaks."

Fury's frown deepened. "I'm not leaving anything to anyone," he said emphatically. "We need a response team. These people may be isolated - unbalanced, even - but I believe with the right push they can be exactly what we need."

"You believe?" asked Councilwoman Hawley, with a smile that held no warmth.

"War isn't won by sentiment, Director," added Councilman Malick.

"No," said Fury, and his voice rang with conviction. "It's won by soldiers."

Yeah, this chapter was slow. And brief. Sorry. The next ones will make up for it, though I can't guarantee they'll come very quickly.

Couple things straight off the bat - in case you couldn't tell in the first chapter, I've made Glorfindel the focus of my story, not Legolas. He's a lot older, more powerful, and in my opinion more the Avenger type than Legolas (at least canon Legolas). He will also be by far the oldest Avenger.

Also, I referenced the real 2012 schedule for the NYCB to see what a real dancer in Glorfindel's position would have been doing at this point - which on this particular day is nothing, since the winter season ended February 26 and the spring season didn't begin until May 1. [Which means that Glorfindel will get the call to come in at a really bad time . . .]

#elrondsscribe #fanfiction on tumblr #fanfiction #fanfic #avengers #lotr #lord of the rings #glorfindel #glorfindel the avenger #the seventh avenger

[hexenloveletters]

Dear N. 

While writing this letter I am going to read all the letters sent so far in chronological order. I know I said I shouldn’t wait only for opportunities like this to write to you, when I have slow and soft time on my hands, and that we should be more impulsive in sharing. But, this process here is puuure(purring) joy for me. Long, heavy, intense, some words forensically investigated before being written, and then some used just to spite them, lightheartedly and unapologetically wrong. 

Is anyone dancing in our old studio at the moment? That summer was so hot and we were turning the lights off to ward off mosquito beasts. When it all ended I decided I hated performing. Was it because I then thought it means knowing what you want to say with all the shady metaphors that your body spits at you? (This idea crept into my mind after talking to you about your creation struggles concerning animation.) And I adore this feeling of suspicion our summer gave to me and I realized it doesn’t mean I should stop. This suspicion will be a propeller for all my future performances as I am reinventing whatever. (Pula is the scenography: nevidljivi solo TBC...)

“To suffer dance” is accumulating meaning. Glorious. Sufferers become glorious.

my body - a Wunderkammer is a reason why I am looking forward to coding. 

Dreams and haunting. Mine are so bloody these days, either I am killing or being killed. The emphasis is on the unforgivable act or perishing without a chance to say ok, bye. There is a choreographer, Anna Nowicka, whose performance I saw recently, who works with dreams. Because a lot of her work is embedded in the realm of dreams, a place of the unconscious from where she draws both material and form for her practice, there is room for suspicion, or at least surprise, when the idea of conscious choice is brought to the scene. I don’t have any choice while dreaming. Then again, am I ever not dreaming? Maybe I should revisit bed dances seriously and read again all those quotes I thought I will remember. pffffff.

N, I feel like I just woke up. From dreaming about my past 26 or so years. I am awake for the last two. And the reality is a fresh breeze when I get it, and bljuzga when I don’t. Turning imanje into bivanje. > This sentence is the cheating code for life, if you use it wisely.

Do you have your favorite drawing? Can I know? 

I wanted to verbalize my relationship to dance as you once did. I loved how you talked about these different levels. But the words don’t come easily. I am starting to suspect I am not a dancer at all. I always have to persuade myself. Except, when I am desperate on the bottom, then it is easier to just do it.

Hey, how is your wanting going???

I diagnosed myself with social anxiety so that I can enjoy my shyness as her highness. Little tactics to avoid regret. And I mantra myself you do you bitch in the face of authorities and canon. 

It is now already dark where I am and when I started it was morning. I took a nap earlier. I am somewhere in the middle of our blog-studio(?) read-through and I decided to stop. I am becoming restless, not the same person from the beginning of the letter, and I wanted her to finish this.

This is 1/2 because I take so much time.

...

I love you N!

D.

[biofunmy]

After Misty Comes Marie. Breaking Barriers in ‘The Nutcracker.’

She may not remember it, but during the first summer of her life Charlotte Nebres canvassed for Barack Obama with her mother, Danielle, who carried her in a sling. She attended political rallies. And on a frigid day in January 2009, she accompanied her parents and older sister to his inauguration.

When Charlotte was 6, Misty Copeland became the first female African-American principal at American Ballet Theater. That, she remembers.

“I saw her perform and she was just so inspiring and so beautiful,” Charlotte, 11, said. “When I saw someone who looked like me onstage, I thought, that’s amazing. She was representing me and all the people like me.”

Now Charlotte, a student at the School of American Ballet, is breaking a barrier herself: She is the first black Marie, the young heroine of “George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker,” at New York City Ballet. It’s a milestone for the production, which dates to 1954.

It isn’t lost on Charlotte that she “got to grow up in a time when it wasn’t just like, oh yeah I can do this, but not do this,” she said. “There was nothing holding you back.”

But the cultural shift reaches beyond Charlotte, whose mother’s family is from Trinidad (her father’s side is from the Philippines), as her school works to diversify its student body. In addition to Charlotte, the other young leads this season are Tanner Quirk (her Prince), who is half-Chinese; Sophia Thomopoulos (Marie), who is half-Korean, half-Greek; and Kai Misra-Stone (Sophia’s Prince), who is half-South Asian. (The children are always double cast.)

City Ballet, which takes most of its members from the School of American Ballet, its affiliate, is also showing signs of change. Over the past seven years, 62 S.A.B. students have become City Ballet apprentices; of those, 21 identify as nonwhite or mixed; and of those, 12 refer to themselves as black; four of those are women. That carries weight: Since the 1970s, City Ballet has largely had only one black female dancer at a given time.

For Charlotte’s debut, that context is meaningful. Her mother described what happened when Charlotte, who is quiet and artistic — she loves to draw and sing — emerged from her “Nutcracker” audition: “With that poker face of hers, she said, ‘Well, I’m Marie,’ And I just thought, oh my goodness — they really did it. I couldn’t believe it.”

The importance of the casting hit Ms. Nebres, who herself danced growing up: “What does this mean in a larger context? That was just a whole different conversation than that initial, oh my gosh, you’re going to do this thing.”

When she told Charlotte that she was the first, Ms. Nebres said, her daughter’s response was: “Wow. That seems a little late.”

The children at the school, no matter their ethnicity, are growing up with role models like Mr. Obama and Ms. Copeland to guide them. Ms. Nebres, who has three children enrolled at the school — Charlotte, whom she called “a free spirit,” is the middle child — said she tries to be mindful of that. “It’s tough because we have past hurts, past injuries and disappointments,” she said, “and you don’t necessarily want to color their worldview that way. You want them to approach it with their fresh perspective.” She added: “It really gave me chills thinking about it.”

She’s not alone. Kai’s mother, Kavita Misra, said she was proud that her son was cast this season. “It’s a historical moment and he is privileged to be a part of it,” she said, later adding: “I think at some point they’re just dancers. And that’s what trumps everything else.”

Casting for “The Nutcracker” is not a casual act. Dena Abergel, the children’s ballet master of City Ballet, considers many things, from a dancer’s size and dependability — how often does an 11-year-old hold a Lincoln Center stage? — to dramatic finesse. Tanner, at 13, is older than the others with, Ms. Abergel said, an “inborn princely quality,” while Kai, 11, has “a really sensitive soul — his demeanor is so open.”

Sophia, 12, and Charlotte each have a delicacy. Ms. Abergel said both are quiet in class but stood out to her onstage — Sophia in the party scene of the “Nutcracker” last year and Charlotte as Little Red Riding Hood in “The Sleeping Beauty.” Charlotte ran away with the role — and even surprised her mother, who hadn’t realized she was so theatrical.

“I just thought, they picked the wrong child,” Ms. Nebres said. “She is introverted in a way. But then when I saw her, I thought, O.K., I’m the one that doesn’t know Charlotte.”

Ms. Nebres laughed. “I think that’s the most interesting thing about this experience for me,” she said. “You don’t know what people are seeing in your child, and they are definitely seeing something in her.”

But kids have opinions, too. Earlier this month, this year’s Princes and Maries took a break from rehearsals to talk about the dedication and fun of training to become ballet dancers.

What follows are edited excerpts from that conversation.

What is it like to represent the changing face of S.A.B.?

Charlotte It’s pretty amazing to be not only representing S.A.B., but also representing all of our cultures. There might be a little boy or girl in the audience seeing that and saying, hey, I can do that, too.

How do you feel about Misty Copeland?

Sophia Honestly, if I see an African-American dancer, it doesn’t really make a difference of how I think of them or anything, but I think it’s pretty amazing how she represents something — that maybe a lot of other African-American dancers wanted to be this, but they felt too afraid or something. She just went out there and did what she loved no matter what.

Do you think that ballet needs to change?

Kai I think that it should because stuff is always evolving and the more it changes, the more opportunities people will have.

Is it a big deal for you to be the first black Marie?

Charlotte It is. But to me, it’s just how I grew up so it’s not really different to me.

Does this feel like a sacrifice of your time?

Sophia It can be hard, especially with all the rehearsals to get homework done. But I think overall I’m getting used to the schedule and the whole experience is going to be really fun. I think I will have time to do homework.

What are you most excited about for “The Nutcracker”?

Charlotte I think the part that I’m most, most excited about is at the end when they’re on the sleigh.

Could you describe what happens?

Charlotte Marie and the Prince go offstage and sit on this sleigh. Then, they get to float up in the air and they fly away — they leave the Land of Sweets. I don’t know where they go. It’s like a one-in-a-million chance to do that and it looks so fun.

Kai The snow is really magical. It’s really fun in rehearsals to do the scene waking Marie up, but I think with the snow it will give it more of a magical feel. What does it feel like? I think it might be paper.

Sophia I remember a lot of Princes and Maries from the past like to collect the snow that would fall in their hair for, like, a souvenir.

Charlotte [Sighs happily] I’m so excited about that part.

Kai I’ve heard things about them going to a bucket? And when they’re not looking, they just take a handful and put it somewhere. [The girls squeal in delight.]

Charlotte Last year, Tenzin [Niles, a former Prince] was like, “This is a secret.” There’s water backstage so he took a cup and opened up this barrel of what looked like a trash can and took a scoop of it and it was, like, snow. He showed us how. He was like, “Just put it on this piano and once you come offstage, take it.”

You’ve spent a good deal of your lives onstage. What is that experience like?

Sophia I think “Nutcracker” has a different feel to it than if you’re in another show. It’s very magical, like the whole part of it being close to Christmas and the holidays.

Are you nervous?

Kai I’m quite nervous about it. But then I think once I do a couple of shows, it will get more natural. I’m also really excited about the backstage process. I remember having a lot of memories about having fun backstage and going in the hallways — I’m sorry to give secrets — but we would run around.

Charlotte It’s not allowed, but everyone does it.

What did you do?

Charlotte Unspeakable things.

Tanner We would dare ourselves to go into this little room and just scream.

Who is Marie to you?

Charlotte I never really thought about that, but I guess to me, literally, she’s a little Victorian girl who experiences magic.

How do you relate to that?

Charlotte Everyone experiences Christmas magic. She’s a girl on Christmas Eve and almost anyone can relate to that — being happy, getting a little doll and playing with your friends. I think of it as having Christmas every day. That’s the best way to think about it. It’s Christmas! Be happy.

Kai Can I add a little bit to the Marie stuff? I think, honestly, Marie is almost just a normal girl, who is young and has that spirit and then suddenly she gets into this magic world with all of her nightmares, like the mice, but also, all of her dreams, like the Sugarplum Fairy, come true.

What about the Prince?

Kai The Prince is this character that develops. In the beginning, he is Drosselmeier’s nephew and then it’s almost as if he transforms into the Nutcracker and then goes back to being the Prince. He comes out of his shell and just opens up and is like: Here I am.

Do you watch “Stranger Things”? Are you into the supernatural?

Kai Yes. I mean I don’t like many shows like that, but “Stranger Things” is an exception. I started watching it when I was 8. My mom was like, “Oh my God” to my sister and she was like, “Oh, he’ll be fine.” I was — kind of fine? But I kind of wasn’t.

Tanner, as a former Fritz [Marie’s bratty little brother], you have probably studied Princes over the years.

Tanner I definitely think that the Prince is very brave and compassionate especially toward his Marie, which is what I aspire to be like in real life, too.

Charlotte And the pink suit. It never gets old. He transforms from the Nutcracker Prince — sword-fighting, mouse-killer, victorious — to the Prince who is the ruler of the Land of the Sweets and wears a pink suit.

Sophia Although we don’t get to see the big transformation. We’re asleep on the bed. But you can hear it in the music.

Charlotte And everyone’s clapping.

Why ballet? Why is it important to you now?

Charlotte To me, it just feels like when I dance I feel free and I feel empowered. I feel like I can do anything when I dance. It makes me happy, and I’m going to do what makes me happy. You don’t need to think about anything else.

Sophia It’s kind of the same thing. You feel really free and open when you dance and to me, the dance world is almost a separate world. You’re not thinking about school. As much as I like the technique and all of that, I really like the moments when you get to move through the air and feel the music.

Tanner I feel like I’m in another world. I love to perform.

Kai What I like about it is you do something, and you do something well, but then there’s always something you need to perfect more. I think that’s a life lesson for regular day life. Nothing’s ever perfect, but in ballet you do your best. You try to make it beautiful. But really you just learn from it.

George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker

Through Jan. 5 at the David H. Koch Theater, Lincoln Center; nycballet.com.

Other Notable Nutcrackers in the Area

‘MY FIRST NUTCRACKER’ An introductory production for kids aged 3-8. Saturdays and Sundays through Dec. 22 at Theater Row, 410 West 42nd Street, Manhattan; nycchildrenstheater.org.

‘NUTCRACKER ROUGE’ This sexy version for adults mixes burlesque and circus arts with ballet. Through Jan. 26 at Théâtre XIV, 383 Troutman Street, Bushwick, Brooklyn; companyxiv.com.

SALZBURG MARIONETTE THEATER’S ‘THE NUTCRACKER’ The venerable Austrian company brings its handcrafted puppets to Queens. Dec. 4 at 7 p.m. at Flushing Town Hall, 137-35 Northern Boulevard, Flushing, Queens; flushingtownhall.org.

‘GREAT RUSSIAN NUTCRACKER’ Local children join professional dancers from the Moscow Ballet in a Russian-influenced production. Dec. 7 at 2 and 7 p.m., Kings Theater, 1027 Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn; kingstheatre.com.

‘THE YORKVILLE NUTCRACKER’ Dances Patrelle’s production, set in New York City in the late 19th century, features New York City Ballet principal dancers. Dec. 13-15, the Kaye Playhouse at Hunter College, East 68th Street, Manhattan; dancespatrelle.org.

JOFFREY BALLET SCHOOL’S ‘THE NUTCRACKER’ A student performance of the full two-act ballet. Dec. 13-15 at LaGuardia Performing Arts Center, 31-10 Thomson Avenue, Long Island City, Queens; joffreyballetschool.com.

‘KEITH MICHAEL’S “THE NUTCRACKER”’ New York Theater Ballet’s production has an Art Nouveau design and hourlong running time. Dec. 13-15 at Florence Gould Hall, 55 East 59th Street, Manhattan; nytb.org.

‘THE BROOKLYN NUTCRACKER’ Brooklyn Ballet combines ballet with hip-hop and other dance styles from around the world. Dec. 14 at 2 and 7 p.m. at Kings Theater, Brooklyn brooklynballet.org.

NATIONAL BALLET THEATER OF ODESSA’S ‘THE NUTCRACKER’ A traditional version from the Ukrainian company. Dec. 14 at 2 and 7 p.m. at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center, Newark; njpac.org.

‘NUT/CRACKED’ The Bang Group’s vaudevillian take on the classic. Dec. 19-21 at the Flea Theater, 20 Thomas Street, Manhattan; thebanggroup.com.

‘NUTCRACKER WINTER SUITE’ A showcase for the dancers of the Valentina Kozlova Dance Conservatory. Dec. 20-21 at Symphony Space, Manhattan; vkdcny.com.

VICKY SIMEGIATOS DANCE COMPANY’S ‘THE NUTCRACKER’ The New York City Ballet principal dancers Maria Kowroski and Ask la Cour are featured. Dec. 22 at 1 and 6 p.m. at St. George Theater, 35 Hyatt Street, Staten Island; vspac.com.

Sahred From Source link Arts

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[megadarkbouquettidalwavethings]

Brits 2018: The real winners and losers

Stormzy and Dua Lipa both took home two trophies at the Brits, but there’s always more to the show than the awards.

On a night of joy and disappointment, X-rated confessions and spectacular performances, who were the real winners and losers at the O2 Arena?

Most dress – Dua Lipa

So much dress, in fact, that it took two or three people to move it around.

Dua’s baby pink tiered Giambattista Valli gown was an extravaganza of ruffles – but she wasn’t being precious about it.

“There’s a lot of it, so if it gets damaged I can pick up a piece from somewhere else.”

Best mum – Emma Bunton

Emma Bunton’s kids were disappointed they couldn’t come to the Brit Awards, so she threw them their own awards ceremony on Tuesday.

“We had orange juice, they did a little performance, and they won best male and best group.”

Biggest snub – Ed Sheeran

He might have sold 12.8 million albums last year, but Ed Sheeran was shut out of the Brits. His only prize was the global success award, which recognises commercial success, while best male, best album, best single and best video all went to other artists.

There’s certainly a sense that the industry isn’t on his side right now – he was similarly overlooked at the Grammys – but it’s hard to work out what he’s done wrong.

Perhaps voters felt his latest album, ÷, was too safe, or cynically commercial, to deserve a prize. Or maybe they just really, really hated Galway Girl.

Either way, it feels odd that the star couldn’t catch a break in his home country.

Sauciest confession – Cheryl

Photo: ITV

During the ceremony, pop couple Cheryl and Liam Payne were confronted by presenter Jack Whitehall, who had a question about Liam’s upcoming performance with Rita Ora.

“You’re performing later, you’re doing a song from the Fifty Shades of Grey movie,” he said. “Sounds pretty saucy, is there a safe word?”

Liam gallantly threw the question to Cheryl, saying: “She knows that.”

Without batting an eyelid, she leaned into the microphone and said two words. “Don’t stop”.

Stormzy’s performance was a show-stopper, and not just because it literally came at the end of the ceremony.

Still beaming after winning best album, the star showed the full range of his talents in a performance that encompassed the heartfelt gospel of Blinded By Your Grace and the tongue-twisting wordplay of Big For Your Boots.

But in the middle, he did something special – a ferocious freestyle verse that took aim at the government’s response to the Grenfell fire.

“Yo, Theresa May, where’s the money for Grenfell?” he rapped. “What, you thought we forgot about Grenfell?

“You’re criminals, and you got the cheek to call us savages? You should do some jail time, you should pay some damages. We should burn your house down and see if you can manage this?”

In true Stormzy style, though, the rap wove the personal into the political, and he went on to talk about his pride in seeing other black British stars succeeding, including model Jourdan Dunn and actor Daniel Kaluuya.

“When Dan Kaluuya won the Bafta, I could have cried,” he grinned.

Speaking to the BBC afterwards, the rapper said he wanted to use his platform “to say something bigger” than “yeah, it’s the Stormzy show”.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Grenfell, it’s about all the things I said in that lyric.”

Narrowest escape from injury – Taylor Swift

Technically this happened three years ago but we only found out about it tonight, and it’s our public duty to inform you that Taylor Swift narrowly escaped a black eye at the Brit Awards.

Mike Kerr from Royal Blood revealed the incident, while grassing up his musical partner Ben Thatcher as the culprit.

“We went into her dressing room to say hello, and Ben opened a bottle of champagne,” he recalled. “The cork nearly hit her in the face and knocked her out”.

“I get a little overexcited sometimes,” said Ben, sheepishly.

Greatest hook-up – Haim and Nile Rodgers

Out on the red carpet, we introduced disco legend Nile Rodgers to Este Haim, who essentially exploded with glee.

“You are the funkiest man I’ve ever heard,” she gushed as the Chic guitarist greeted her with a hug.

“I’m literally… I wish I was wearing a diaper right now,” she said.

When they record an album together, you can thank us.

Most outrageous robbery – Harry Styles

The video for Dua Lipa’s New Rules is unquestionably brilliant. Its message of women supporting women chimes perfectly with the times; and the iconic choreography inspired hundreds of tributes and covers.

Last week, it clocked up its one billionth play on YouTube. At 22, Dua is now the youngest female artist ever to reach that milestone.

So why wasn’t it in the running for best British video? Because the Brits opens that category up to a fan vote, which meant Dua was dumped from the longlist in favour of multiple videos by former members of One Direction.

In the end, the not-very-good video for Harry Styles’s not-very-good Sign Of The Times won. A complete travesty.

Nicest surprise – Jack Whitehall

Hosting the Brits is a poisoned chalice. The audience aren’t listening, the artists aren’t interested and the script is perennially awful.

But, amazingly, Jack Whitehall pulled it out of the bag with a series of acid-tongued one-liners. Like these ones:

On Rag ‘N’ Bone Man: “The man with the voice of an angel and the beard of a wizard”. On Sam Smith: “If you like Adele songs, but find them too upbeat, you’re in for a treat as Sam Smith will be performing!” On The Voice judges: “It’s a knight of the realm, an Oscar-winner and… Olly Murs.”

Biggest metaphor failure – Kendrick Lamar

Kendrick Lamar performed Feel, a song about how stardom left him feeling isolated, while a dancer smashed an orange Lamborghini with a baseball bat.

His intention was to make a statement about the emptiness of status symbols and the trappings of fame. But, with most viewers unable to hear his lyrics, it came off as “I’m so rich I can afford to smash up this very expensive car live on TV.”

Biggest softies – Dave Grohl and Dua Lipa

Dua Lipa brought her little brother and sister up on stage when she won best breakthrough artist, because she wants them to follow their dreams.

“I told them to believe in magic, because it’s real,” she said. “And this is the closest I’ve come to it – so I wanted them to experience it first hand.”

But she wasn’t the only one thinking about family. Dave Grohl might have picked up the Foo Fighters’ fourth Brit Award for best international group, but the highlight of his night was getting Stranger Things star Millie Bobby Brown to record a video message for his daughter.

“My daughter is such a huge fan of Stranger Things that she draws pictures of Millie Bobby Brown and puts them up around her bedroom,” he told BBC 5 live.

“She also shaved her head to look like Millie Bobby Brown – so when she gets home from school and sees the video I just took, it’ll be the biggest thing that ever happened.”

Best dressing gown – Leigh-Anne Pinnock

We never got an adequate explanation for Leigh-Anne’s sartorial decision. Maybe she just slept in.

Whatever happened, Little Mix were available to give us an update on their fifth album, which they’re aiming to have ready for the end of the year.

“We’ve only done a few sessions so far,” said Jade Thirlwall. “And we go back to work next week, all the way through March.”

The band will “hopefully” have a new single in time for their stadium tour this summer, she added.

“That’s the aim: To have something ready by then. But we don’t want to rush things.”

Least drunk ‘drunk woman’ – Este Haim

While Jack Whitehall was interviewing Liam and Cheryl, TV viewers spotted an “absolutely plastered” woman in the background mouthing the words “Call Me”.

Only it wasn’t a random record company executive, it was bass-playing pop phenomenon Este Haim.

“Not drunk, just living my truth,” she tweeted.

Source: BBC

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