#i suppose... i just want a better ending for cassandra (back to the fic idea) which this would be even though she'd have to deal with apollo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

evermoreholland · 3 years

Text

in harmony | tom holland

-> singer!reader x tom holland

-> summary: after a nasty break up, you go to london with your two best friends in hope to find inspiration for your upcoming album and a london boy soon became your muse.

-> word count: 5.7k

-> a/n: wow. this is probably my favorite fic of mine. i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do. big thank you to @rainbowrobin for hyping this fic up and being its biggest fan. also thank you to @cali-holland for beta reading this for me! your support means the world to me and you inspire me every day to keep writing. love you to bits <3

~~~

Breaking up with someone you used to care about was never easy. In fact, grieving and eventually getting over that person was the hardest thing to do. You were a singer so relationships that went public usually ended up terribly wrong. The good part about it is that you can write a hit song about the experience.

Breaking up with your past boyfriend was probably the worst experience for you thus far. You thought that he was the one, every move you made was for him and you ended up depending on him constantly. And he broke your heart. He played you like a fiddle and played with the strings of your heart. He cheated on you with someone you were insecure about the duration of your relationship with him, which made everything feel worse.

You decided that you needed a change of scenery in hopes to clear your head. You had been spending time in your Los Angeles apartment moping around, trying to get over your ex-boyfriend. You also had a deadline for your new album and you haven’t even started. Your album was due towards the end of the summer, and it was now spring.

You sat down on your sofa with a pen and notebook in your hand. You were determined to write something. You didn’t want to write songs about your breakup, but that was all you were thinking about. You saw your phone on the coffee table light up and buzz. It was your manager and agent, Cassandra. You picked up the phone nervously, knowing that she was going to ask about your progress or lack thereof.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hello, Y/N,” Cassandra greeted sweetly. “How’s the album coming along? We need to start recording soon.”

“Funny you ask.” You always tried to make fun out of an uncomfortable situation.

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, Cass! I have no idea what I should be writing about for this album.” It’s not like you didn’t want to write. You did, but you had no idea what to write about.

“Maybe you need a change of scenery, dear. You haven’t been out in months,” Cassandra suggested.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Where would you want to go? You can stay there for the rest of the spring and the beginning of the summer.”

You thought about it for a moment. You definitely wanted to leave the country. “How does London sound, Cass?”

“Sounds nice. I’ll book you, Natalie, and Sarah tickets for this weekend and I’ll rent the three of you an Airbnb for your stay,” Cassandra confirmed. Natalie was your personal assistant and your best friend. Sarah was your older sister who traveled with you everywhere and she helped you with many of your songs. She was good to bounce ideas off of. You had the perfect team.

“Perfect. Thank you.” You both said your goodbyes and hung up.

***

Tom got off the airplane and sighed in relief. He was finally home. After many months of filming on another continent, he was back in London. Tom was ready to finally sleep in his own bed and hang out with his brothers and friends once again.

Harry and Tom took an Uber back to Tom’s apartment. It was fairly late and all Tom wanted to do was sleep. In the Uber, Tom and Harry made light conversation.

“You want to go to the new pub by our flat this weekend? Haz and Tuwaine want to hang out,” Harry asked.

“Sure,” Tom mumbled. To be quite honest, Tom had absolutely no desire to go out at all this weekend, but he knew that his mates wanted to see him. He did want to see them too, so he agreed.

“Sounds good.”

***

You packed your suitcases for London at the last minute. In your defense, Cassandra only booked Thursday night’s tickets on Wednesday, so you didn’t have that much time in the first place. You were planning on using your time in London to relax and to create a healthy headspace to write your next album.

You called Natalie to ask her opinion on some of your outfit choices. “Nat, am I going for a casual look this trip? Like sweatpants and t-shirts?”

“Absolutely not, Y/N. Are you insane?!”

“It was just a question, Natalie.” You defended yourself. “What should I pack then?”

“I don’t know, just look hot. You need to get out of the post-breakup sweatpants phase.”

“Fine,” you grumbled. You grabbed some cute spring sundresses from your closet and threw them into your suitcase. You packed some jeans and blouses as well.

You hung up with Natalie and took a look at your bag. “Should be good.”

***

The flight to London from Los Angeles was long and exhausting. You arrived at Heathrow airport in the early afternoon on Friday. You immediately went to the house to rest up from jetlag. Once you woke up a few hours later, Sarah was pressuring you and Natalie to get dressed. “We’re going to the pub! Get up, ladies!”

“What? Why?” Natalie groaned. You and Natalie were laying on your beds in your shared room. Sarah jumped onto your bed and tackled you.

“Sarah, we’re exhausted,” you said. You pushed your sister off of you and sat up. “We can just go tomorrow.”

“It’s the pub’s grand opening! It’s supposed to be fire!”

“Fine,” you mumbled. You got up and began unpacking your suitcase. “But I refuse to wear heels.”

***

Harrison made his way to his best mate’s flat to pick him up for the Cheer Beers grand opening on Friday night. Harrison used his spare key to get into Tom’s place. “Tom,” Harrison called out. He made his way to Tom’s bedroom to make sure he was ready for the night.

“In my room!” Tom exclaimed. Tom sounded upset and agitated. Harrison entered his room anyway because he wanted to hang out with his best friend. He opened the door and noticed Tom laying his bed under the covers.

“Are you alright, mate?” Harrison asked. Harrison noticed Tom in his pajamas while in bed. “Why aren’t you ready to go? Harry already went out with Tuwaine to wait in line.”

“I want to hang out with you all, but I’m just so jetlagged, mate.”

Harrison took his phone out of his back pocket to check the time and noticed an Instagram notification from you. He opened it out of curiosity and it was a direct message. It said that you would be at Cheer Beers tonight with your friends and asked if he was going. Harrison and you had met at an award show a few months back and you became friends. “You know what I just found out, Tom?”

“What?”

“Y/N L/N is going to the grand opening tonight.”

“You’re lying just to get me out of bed!” Tom accused him. Tom didn’t want to admit it, but he fancied you. He has been following you on social media and listening to your music for a while now, so Harrison saying you were going to be at the pub caught his attention.

“I’m not.” Harrison showed Tom his phone with your direct message. “I had no idea she was in town, though.”

“No clue, either.”

“Now will you come?” Harrison asked. “I know you have a huge crush on her.”

Tom eyed him skeptically but then let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”

***

You waited in line outside of Cheer Beers with Sarah and Natalie. You were wearing a black sleeveless cocktail dress with black slip-on vans. You saw a few familiar faces approach you and you realized that it’s your friend Harrison and his mates. You recognized one of his friends to be Tom Holland.

“Hey, Haz!” You greeted. He pulled you into a hug and squeezed you tightly. You pulled away and said, “Following me, I see?”

“Very funny,” he replied. “We were coming to opening night anyway. We were planning this in honor of Tom’s return from filming.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you said and then turned to Tom. You put your hand out for him to shake. “I’m Y/N.”

He shook your hand and you felt his sweaty palm touch yours. You could assume that he was either unwell or nervous. “Tom. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.”

You introduced Natalie and Sarah to Harrison and he introduced the rest of his friends to the three of you.

“Would you like to share a table with us?” Harry, Tom’s younger brother, asked you.

“I’m sure that Y/N L/N would have much better opportunities than to sit with us, Harry,” Tom interjected.

“Actually, Tom, we would love to.” You all entered the pub and grabbed a table in the back room. Harrison sat between Sarah and Tuwaine. Harry sat by Natalie. You sat between Natalie and Tom, per Natalie’s whisper in your ear to go for it. You all got your first round of drinks.

“So what brings you to London?” Tom asked.

“Needed to clear my head,” you said and then ate the olives from your martini.

“So you flew halfway across the world?” Tom was amused and you could tell. He wasn’t trying to laugh at you particularly, he just thought it was funny that you chose London of all places.

“Shut up,” you teased. “We’re here for the summer. A vacation, or holiday, if you will.”

“Nice, nice.” You could feel the slight awkward tension between the two of you. You were basically strangers so it made sense. You decided to try and break it. “How was filming for the third Spider-Man film?”

Tom’s eyes lit up at your sudden interest in his work. “Can I tell you a funny story?”

***

Three hours passed by and you decided to call it a night. You talked with Tom the entire night. You enjoyed his company but you were also jetlagged. “Tom, I’m tired,” you said as you leaned on his shoulder.

“Me too.”

“Want to walk me home?” You asked.

“Would love to.” You both got up from the booth and Tom paid for your drinks, even though you protested. Harrison, Tuwaine, Harry, Sarah, and Natalie didn’t look like they were ready to leave any time soon so you said your goodbyes to them and left with Tom.

“How far are you away from here?” Tom asked you.

“About a ten minute walk.” You began walking in the cool London air.

“So, Harrison told me that you were writing for your new album. How’s that going?”

“Not well,” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s been fucking difficult.”

“I’m sorry, love.” The pet named warmed your heart and body even more. Tom wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “I wish I can help you out somehow.”

“It’s alright. Getting out tonight helped me get into a good headspace,” you said.

“Glad to hear it.” You arrived at your Airbnb and Tom walked you to the front door. “I had a great time tonight, Y/N.”

You smiled, the first genuine smile that you’ve had in a while. “Me too, Tom.” You opened your door to enter.

“Wait.” Tom stopped you. “Let me get your number.”

“Sure.”

***

Two weeks had passed since you arrived in London and you and Tom have been texting back and forth. He had even taken you on a tour of London. He took you to all of the hot spots. Occasionally, Tom, Harrison, and Harry would come over to your Airbnb to hang out with you, Sarah, and Natalie. You were developing friendships with everyone, but you felt a bit stronger about Tom. He was charming, kind, and really funny. You enjoyed his company and you finally got the chance to start writing for your upcoming album. You realized that you didn’t want to write about your breakup with your ex, but instead write about your crush on the brown-haired London boy.

“How is the album coming along?” Cassandra asked you on the phone.

“Pretty good. I have a killer single coming your way and many other songs too.”

“Remember, we need to start recording at the end of July.”

“You got it.”

“You sound happy,” she commented. She was right. You were happy and finally completely over your ex. “It’s a good look on you.”

“Thanks.”

“What are you writing about?”

“Oh, you know… London, pubs, boys,” you trailed off.

***

Harrison was busy planning his upcoming date with your sister, Sarah. They hit it off extremely well at the opening of Cheer Beers. They got each other’s numbers and planned to go on a date. To be honest, Harrison was stressed out. He scored a date with Sarah L/N, which ultimately shocked him. So, he decided to go to his best mate for some advice.

Tom was sitting in his living room and Harrison entered with two dress shirts in hand. One of them was a white button-down and the other one navy. “Which shirt should I wear on my date with Sarah?”

“Black slacks, right?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, and a black leather jacket.”

“Go with white,” Tom suggested.

“Thanks, mate. Another question,” Harrison proposed. It felt natural for Harrison to ask Tom about his lady troubles, even though Tom had been single for a while.

Tom nodded his head to urge Harrison to continue.

“What if I fuck this up?” He asked nervously. “I really like Sarah.”

Tom got up from the couch to come closer to Harrison and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, mate. Just be yourself. She’ll fancy you, I promise.”

“How are you so good at giving me advice but you can’t get a girlfriend?”

Tom mocked being bothered. “Rude,” he scoffed.

“What are you waiting for?”

“If I say the perfect girl, will you slap me?” Tom joked.

“Yes, yes I will,” Harrison laughed as he replied. “I think that you already found the perfect girl at Cheer Beers.”

“We’re still getting to know each other. Why must we move so fast?” Tom wondered. He wanted to take things slow. His life had always moved fast and he wanted something to move at his pace, for once. Too many relationships have moved too fast and he ended up hurt.

“Because she’s only here for so long and I have a feeling that she likes you,” Harrison reasoned. Tom was starting to feel the same way about you too.

“Fine. While you go on your date with Sarah tonight, I’ll see if Y/N wants to hang out.” He picked up his phone from the coffee table and texted you asking if you wanted to come over. You replied saying yes and he smiled. “We’re hanging out.”

“Great. Don’t forget to use protection,” Harrison said as he ran away to go get dressed for his date.

“Fuck off, you div!”

***

Tom went to the grocery store to pick up some snacks and beers before you came over to his flat. He tidied up the living room once he got home and made sure to fluff the pillow to make them look nicer. Even though you and Tom were only friends, he couldn’t help but make sure that everything looked perfect for you.

You arrived 30 minutes later. You wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt, along with your slides. Your hair was out of your face and Tom thought that you looked stunning. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Tom blushed. “Nice sweatshirt.” Your sweatshirt was light blue and it had butterflies on it. Tom realized that he loved that color on you.

He led you to the couch and he sat beside you. “So what did you do today?” You asked.

“I worked on a script that I’m writing and then I helped Harrison get ready for his date with your sister. What about you, love?” The pet name made your heart flutter. Tom was definitely charming.

“I worked on some songs for the album,” you answered proudly.

“Care to share?”

“Willing to share what the script’s about?” You asked back, already knowing the answer.

“I’m legally not allowed to share, so no. I’m sorry, darling.”

“Then my answer is the same.”

“Well played, pretty girl,” he flirted. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure, what do you have in mind?”

“Avengers: Age of Ultron?”

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite Marvel movies!” You exclaimed. “I have a feeling that you knew that already.”

Tom smiled at you as he picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television. “I may have, but only because Haz told me. Don’t worry, though. It’s one of my favorites too.”

Tom found the movie and before he hit play he got up from the couch. “May I offer you some popcorn before we start the movie? I have beer as well.”

“Yes to both, please.” Tom went to the kitchen to pop the popcorn and grab some beers. He came back around five minutes later with everything.

“Here you go,” he said as he handed you a bottle of beer. “I know it’s not a martini.”

“It’ll have to do,” you teased. You pat the seat beside you to urge Tom over. “Now, come sit.”

Tom pressed play and the Marvel introduction appeared on the screen. You moved closer to Tom and he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, just like he did that night at the pub. “Is this ok?” He asked.

“It’s perfect.”

Around an hour into the movie, the popcorn was finished along with your first bottle of beer. Tom’s hand was still resting on your shoulder but now your head was resting on his. “Y/N?” Tom called out.

“Yeah?” You asked as you moved your head away from him so you could look at him.

“Can I be honest with you about something?” You nodded so he would continue. “I really want to kiss you.”

“Can I be honest with you?” You asked while smiling.

“Yeah.”

“I really want you to kiss me,” you said as you leaned in. He pressed his lips against yours in a soft first kiss. You kissed back almost immediately. After a couple of seconds, you pulled away from him.

“Wow,” he said.

“Ditto,” you said and then pulled him back towards you. You kissed him again and you knew that from now on, you couldn’t get enough of him.

***

Tom and you didn’t finish the movie the other night. After your many makeout sessions with him, you decided to go home, and you promised him that the two of you would get together again soon. You went home with the biggest smile on your face. Since your kiss, you and Tom have not talked about the status of your relationship. As of right now, you were just friends who have kissed before. No biggie.

It was now the 28th of May and you were sitting on a park bench having coffee with Harrison. It would be Tom’s 25th birthday in four days and the two of you were attempting to plan the perfect party for him.

“You’ll get the decorations, Sam will cook a few dishes, and I’ll provide booze,” Harrison said, listing things off. “We’ll host it at my new flat and I already called everyone.”

“Sounds great, Haz. I just hope he has a great time.”

“I’m sure he will,” he said as he winked at you, indicating something.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked, referring to his wink.

“I know that something happened between the two of you last week. Tom hasn’t stopped smiling since the two of you started hanging out. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know that you planned a party for him.”

“We all are planning it,” you corrected him.

“Yeah, but it’s not like he fancies me,” Harrison laughed.

You rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy in front of you. “Whatever.” You got up from the park bench and began walking towards his car. “Come on, Harrison. We need to go to the market.”

***

It was the 1st of June; Tom’s birthday. You woke up early to make sure that everything was ready to go for the party tonight. Harrison and Tom’s brothers planned a golf trip with Tom while you set up Harrison’s flat. You brought Sarah and Natalie along with you to help.

“Move that banner a little more to the right,” you told Sarah. She moved it as you requested. The banner said, Happy 25th birthday, Tom! in light blue glitter. “Looks great. Thanks, sis.”

You blew up balloons, set up tables for the food and drinks, got streamers and ribbons, and finally assembled the cupcake tower with the cupcakes you and Natalie baked the night before.

“Red velvet. Nice choice,” Sarah said as she took a look at the cupcakes on display.

“They’re Tom’s favorite,” you pointed out.

“Seems like you know a lot about him.”

“Well, he is my friend.”

Natalie laughed at your response to your sister’s comment. “Is that all he is?” She asked.

“For now.” You pulled out your phone from your pocket to check the time. It was the early afternoon and the party would start in a few hours. “We better get going to get ready. Sam will bring the food and set it up within the hour.”

Before you got into the car, you texted Tom to wish him a happy birthday and he responded with a heart emoji. You smiled to yourself and then got into the car to drive to your Airbnb.

The three of you washed up and got dressed for Tom’s party. You decided on wearing a light blue sundress with daisies on it. You matched it with white wedges and you did your hair to your liking. Once you were all ready you drove to Harrison’s. When you got there, Harrison, Sam, Tuwaine, and a few other friends of Tom’s were already there.

“Harry is bringing Tom in around 15 minutes,” Harrison told you.

“Ok. Everything seems to be going pretty smoothly.”

“We make a pretty great team,” Harrison said in appreciation for all of the work to make Tom’s party happen.

“Tell that to Sarah over there,” you teased him. His date with your sister went well from what she told you, but because of Harrison’s nervousness, they haven’t talked much since. “She’s been dying to hang out with you.”

“Are you just saying that so you can have Tom all to yourself when he gets here?” He tried to joke.

“No,” you said seriously. “Go talk to her, Haz.” You pushed him lightly in her direction to encourage him to go talk to her.

“I see Harry’s car pulling up!” Sam said a few minutes later. “Everyone get ready.”

Harry used Harrison’s spare key to get into his flat and once both of them entered you all yelled, “Surprise!”

“Thanks, guys!” Tom said in shock. Tom made his rounds to greet everyone to say thank you. You waited patiently in the kitchen for the birthday boy. He finally approached you after a few minutes. “Hey, love.”

“Happy birthday,” you said as you pulled him in for a hug. “You look very handsome.”

He pulled away to look at you. “Thank you, but you’re absolutely stunning.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek and then said, “Thanks, Tom.”

“I should be thanking you,” he said and then grabbed your hands to intertwine your fingers together.

“For what?”

“Harrison told me that you helped him plan all of this, so thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you said genuinely. “You like it?”

“I love it. He looked over to the counter and saw the cupcakes. “Is that a cupcake tower?”

“A red velvet cupcake tower,” you confirmed. “I baked them.”

“You’re a goddess.” He kissed your lips for half a second and then grabbed a cupcake from one of the tiers. He unwrapped the cupcake and then took a bite. He hummed in delight.

“I’m taking that you like them,” you giggled at the man in front of you. He could seriously make anything look cute.

“They’re heaven,” he moaned. Tom dipped his finger in the frosting and swiped your nose with it. You looked at him in shock. “Aw, you look so adorable,” he said.

You laughed at his antics. “Glad you think so, babe.”

Tom’s lit up at the pet name. “Babe? Hmmm.”

“Yeah, babe.” You took some frosting from what was remaining of his cupcake and placed some on his nose to match you. “You look very cute with frosting on your nose, babe.”

Tom grabbed a napkin from the counter and cleaned the frosting off the both of you. “We’re both very cute.”

“Ok, lovebirds,” Sam called out for the two of you. “Let’s get this party started!”

“Before we go out there, I have something to ask you,” Tom said.

“And what may that be?”

“Will you go out on a date with me?” He asked nervously. You felt your heart skip a beat and you could’ve sworn that you felt Tom’s heart beating rapidly from how close you were standing to him.

“I would love to, Tom,” you said and then kissed him to confirm that you really wanted to.

***

The rest of the night went well and Tom enjoyed his time with his friends. You, Sarah, and Natalie crashed at Harrison’s place along with Tom and Harry. The party ended late and the five of you were too tired to drive home, so Harrison offered to let you all stay there.

You woke up early and made your way downstairs to heat the kettle for tea. As you were waiting, you heard footsteps, and soon enough a pair of arms wrapped around you. “Good morning, beautiful,” Tom said and then kissed your clothed shoulder.

“Morning.” You turned around so you could face him. “How did you sleep?”

“Not so well,” Tom said as he stretched out his arms. “Harrison’s a kicker.”

“Poor baby,” you teased, and then Tom pouted. “Quit pouting, Tommy. I know you’re faking it.”

“Fine,” Tom mumbled.

You turned to the stove and saw that the kettle was ready. “Want tea?”

“Please. A splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” you said as you poured him a cup. “So where are we going on our first date?”

“That’s a surprise, darling.”

***

A week after Tom’s birthday, Tom texted you asking if you were available to go on your first date. You had been working on the album the entire morning so you thought it’d be nice to go out with Tom. You replied yes and he told you to be ready within the hour. Tom knocked on your door around an hour later, with a bouquet in his hand. “These are for you, love,” he said with a smile as he handed them to you.

“Thank you, Tom,” you said and then sniffed the flowers. “Come in while I put these in some water.” Tom entered your Airbnb and you searched for a vase in one of the cabinets. Once you found one, you filled it up with water and put the flowers in. “We should be good to go now.”

Tom held your hand as he led you to the car. He opened the door for you and then got in and started the car. “You ready?”

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You’ll see in around 15 minutes, angel.” Tom grabbed your hand that was resting in your lap and brought it up to his lips to kiss it. “I don’t think I told you this, but you look ethereal.”

“You’re quite the charmer, Holland.”

“I aim to please,” he joked. “But in all seriousness, you always look gorgeous.”

Tom was by far the kindest man you have ever met in your entire life. You have known him for barely two months but he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. You had never felt this way about anyone before.

Tom drove down to a lake. “It’s one of my secret spots,” he told you.

He led you down to the grass near the water and he set up a picnic there for the two of you. “I made sandwiches, cut up some fruit, and some apple cider.”

“It looks good. Thank you, Tom.” He pulled everything out from the picnic basket and handed you one of the sandwiches.

“Anything for you.”

“So this is one of your secret spots, huh?” You asked.

“Mhm,” he mumbled as he took a bite from his sandwich.

“So you bring a lot of girls here?” You teased and you could’ve sworn that you saw Tom almost choke on his sandwich. “Is that why it's so special?”

“Very funny, love,” Tom said. “No, I actually come here alone.”

“I’m guessing because it’s quiet.”

“Yeah, I come here when I need to clear my head.”

You looked around the area and you immediately understood why Tom liked it so much. There was a beautiful, cool breeze and the birds chirping sounded like music to your ears. “It’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I can drive you here to write songs if you’d like,” Tom offered.

“That would be lovely.”

You and Tom spent a couple of hours at the lake. You talked about anything and everything, and you finally felt yourself get closer to him. You felt him opening up to you too, which you felt good about.

“Would you like to go on a drive with me?” Tom asked once you both packed up the remainder of the picnic.

“Will there be music involved?”

“What would be a nice evening drive without music? C’mon, let’s go.” Tom led you to his car and you began your drive. The sun was setting and it was beautiful. “It’s wonderful outside, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” you said.

“I had a great time with you, Y/N.”

“Me too.”

*** Once Tom dropped you off, you began writing another song. His date left you inspired and you were starting to like him more and more. Each time you saw him your feelings for him grew. He inspired you to write your song, London Boy.

Tom wanted a second date. He felt so good leaving the first one and knew that he wanted to pursue a relationship with you. He knew that it would be hard but relationships won’t always be easy. He decided to call you the next to ask when he could see you again.

“Tom, we just went out,” you teased.

“I know, Y/N, but I like you. A lot.” You thought that it was cute how Tom was eager for a second date. You were excited too.

“I like you, too. I would love to see you again, too,” you said.

“Coffee? I don’t drink it but I know how much you like it,” Tom offered.

“How about tea? Know any good spots for a cup of tea and maybe breakfast?”

“I know just the place. See you soon, Y/N.”

***

Many amazing dates with Tom and a bunch of fun days in London later and you know that you’re ready to start recording your next album. People had their assumptions about you and Tom. Rumors had gone around but Tom and you didn’t address them.

London inspired so much of your album that you decided to record there. The rest of your team flew out and you began recording.

You called Tom asking him to come to the studio. “I’m recording one of my favorite songs today. I would love for you to come if you’re free.” You were recording London Boy today and you wanted Tom to hear it since he hadn’t before. It would also be a good way to officially tell Tom that you’re falling in love with him.

“I would love to come. Send me the address.”

“You got it. See you in 20.”

You sent Tom the address of the studio and he was there within 15 minutes. You greeted him at the front. “Hey, babe.”

He kissed you on the cheek and then asked, “Are you excited for today?”

“Very. I’m excited for you to hear the song,” you said as you led him into the studio. You introduced him to Cassandra and the rest of your team.

“Y/N, get your pretty ass in the booth,” Cassandra said. You walked into the recording booth and put on your headphones. “Let’s do this.”

“Tom, sit up in front,” you said and then he took a seat beside Cassandra. “This one is called London Boy.”

The upbeat music came on and you knew that you were skipping the intro for now so you went in with the first verse.

I love my hometown as much as Motown, I love SoCal And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey But something happened, I heard him laughing I saw the dimples first and then I heard the accent They say home is where the heart is But that's not where mine lives

You heard Cassandra tell you to stop so they could play it back. You saw Tom smiling at you as you were singing and you took that as a good sign that he was enjoying it.

“Now for the chorus.”

You know I love a London boy I enjoy walking Camden Market in the afternoon He likes my American smile, like a child when our eyes meet Darling, I fancy you Took me back to Highgate, met all of his best mates So I guess all the rumors are true You know I love a London boy Boy, I fancy you (Ooh)

You ended up finishing the recording of the song in an hour. You left the booth for your break and you first greeted Tom. “What did you think of it?”

“I love you, too,” he said. You leaned up to him and kissed him with every fiber of your being.

“That’s good because many of these songs are about you.”

“And I can’t wait to hear them all,” he said and then smiled.

“I can’t believe how I’ve only been here for three months and I already feel this way,” you said honestly. You have never fallen so fast for anyone, but it feels right with Tom. Everything feels right with him.

“Well, believe it because it’s real,” Tom confirmed. “Be mine, Y/N?”

“I thought you’d never ask, lover.”

~~~

leave feedback!

tagging: @tomsbabymomma @canwekissforever-hazzy @pinklxmonade @tomsbrina @storybookholland

#this is scheduled so i hope it shows up in the tags #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfic

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dylanrauhl · 3 years

Text

Baby’s Got Blue Eyes

Stiles always assumed he’d die young, with all the near death experiences he’s been through it just made sense. He had come to terms with it. It was accepted. Although he assumed it would at least be after college and not the night of his highschool graduation. Especially not before he got to get drunk in celebration of beating Lydia Martin at valedictorian.

Yet here he was; against a tree, a gash in his side so big he’s pretty sure an organ was half hanging out and a werewolf’s mate standing above him.

His eyesight was fading, loss of blood and all that. His peripherals and depth perception were shot, and all he could make out was a fuzzy form of the scene in front of him. He couldn’t lift his arms from where they were laying limp by his side covered in his own blood.

“Where’s your little pack now?” Cassandra, no Carissa, oh who the hell cares what her name is, sneered. “I can smell that alpha all over you, you know. It’s so potent I can barely get to your own scent. I’m going to show Derek’s mate the same mercy you guys showed mine.” She stepped forward and bent down centimeters from Stiles’ neck to take a long drag of his scent, claws raised.

The fear was gone. Stiles’ heart rate didn’t even change with how close she got. There was no room for panic, the pain was too overwhelming. Sure everyone would be sad about his death but Melissa would help his Dad and Kira would help Scott. Crazy bitch didn’t even have it right, Derek wasn’t his mate. Sure, things were starting to get somewhere but the most that happened was some dry humping and two emotionally constipated boys who don’t know how to express feelings because of all the shit they’ve been through. He had his pack, he would be fine too.

Just one swipe of her claws and it would finally be over.

Except it never came. He opened his eyes that he never realized closed and saw Cassidy alarmed? Maybe in shock? Her eyes, now shining red, were wide and the hand that was supposed to bring him a fast death was now being withdrawn back to her side. Her mouth gaped but all it took was a second for her face to split out into what you can only call an evil grin.

“They never told you?” Her head turned at a slight degree much like a confused puppy, he wishes he was able to laugh and make a joke about that.

“Actually, I have a better plan.” She whispered. “Tell your Alpha that I know their secret weapon and can’t wait to have him watch you die with nothing he can do about it for the second time in his life.”

Her teeth were elongated and sunken into Stiles’ neck before his sluggish brain could question what the hell she was talking about.

-----

“Iles. Stiles. STILES.” Someone left out a whine, a pitiful whine. Wait - was that him? His head turned to the sound of his name still using the tree as support. His eyes were heavy as he tried to make out anything in front of him. Cleo nowhere in sight. Why couldn’t he have an easy death?

His whole body was thrumming, the bite on his neck leaking so much blood he could feel it running down his chest. The bite wasn’t taking; that was obvious. Even without the giant gash in his side he could feel his insides shutting down, organ by organ.

“Stiles” A breathless voice was heard above him. He lifted his gaze as much as he could to see Derek standing above him. He immediately went into hero mode, dropping to his knees and adding pressure to the open wound. Stiles grunted as pain shot through him.

“Stop, there - there’s no use.” It was barely above a whisper but he knew Derek could hear with his supernatural ears. Every word he spoke took a terrible amount of effort. He bared his neck to show the unhealing bite.

“Please Der, please end it.” He sobbed, there was no cure for a bite that’s not taking. He was dying and he didn’t want to suffer anymore. “Please.”

Derek had a haunting look in his eye and stayed frozen holding Stiles’ insides inside him. A moment passed with nothing happening and now Stiles was getting angry. He didn’t deserve to suffer anymore, the thought of seeing his mom again was the only thing keeping him calm through this tortue and Derek was prolonging it.

He just wanted to feel peace again.

And then he did.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Sooo I’ve been dabbling with this Sterek fic idea for like a year now and finally wrote some that I didn’t absolutly despise. I’m hoping I get the motivation to write the rest because I have the whole plot and everything laid out - just need to sit down and write. Lmao, story of every writers life. So I thought I post a little sneak peak/prologue on here. If I ever do finish it I’ll post on A03.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #a03 #fanfiction #fanfic #suspense #cliffhanger #mediocre writing #prologue #writing #stiles x derek

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danny-chase · 3 years

Text

Hello, are there any Cassandra Cain fans/stans that could help me out with her characterization? I’ve just started to get into writing fanfiction (I haven’t posted any, and am working towards getting more confident with writing the characters in general so hopefully I��ll post some someday) and I haven’t been in the fandom long. Cass is a confusing character for me to write, mostly because I feel like she’s written differently in everything she’s in. And her personality absolutely got erased and overhauled in the New52. I’ve read some of her Batgirl run (it was awhile ago ngl) and I read the storyline where she was introduced in the New52 and the Rise and the Fall of the Batmen (I think that’s the arc she’s involved in with Detective Comics). Idk, more under cut.

My goal in writing Cass is to make her seem like a real person and I’m drawing more on pre-New52 than post-New52. I feel like she used to have so much more to her than just being like a perfect person and the sweetest person in general. Not that she can’t be sweet (I love cinnamon bun Cass too), but she used to have much more grit to her personality it seems like. I’m blending the two personalities, and I’d really like to focus on her love for dance, it’s one of the changes I really liked, and of course her connections to her siblings because I love sibling dynamics. Currently I’m working on a fic where she ends up dancing with each of her siblings. I like the idea of writing her as a bit snarky or sassy (the kind of person that just stares at you with the “really” expression when you do something dumb), more introverted, a bit of a little shit, self deprecating, but genuinely kind hearted, driven, and a perfectionist. I also don’t want to write her as being a magic character that instantly knows what’s wrong with a character. Yeah, she can read body language, but her family is good at hiding things, they’ve been trained recognizing body language and I’m guessing some of them have worked to have good control over their own. My interpretation is she can tell what people are feeling but not why, and how they’re going to move. I’ve written a little bit of the fic so far (um please don’t feel obligated to read through it, any comments on how you think Cass should be written is helpful) so I’ll post it below. Thanks for reading this far if you made it XD.

I don’t have a title for this lmao but the fic starts here:

“Hey.” Dick gently placed a hand on her shoulder as he hopped down from his spot on the water tower. “You know who’s my most favorite, strongest, most beautiful, spectacular-”

Cass groaned; he was making the face. He was wearing his Nightwing mask, but as she turned to look, she could already tell he was making the face. Dick ignored her groans and continued “-most perfect, amazing, gorgeous, sweetest, nicest, kindhearted, thoughtful-”

Cass pulled away; she would not be doing what he asked. Nope. The last time she heard Dick talking like this, Barbara ended up agreeing to dog sit for Titus. The dog chewed everything in the clocktower; they were still finding ripped up socks in various locations. “He’s so well behaved” he said. “It won’t be for that long” he said. “You’re the best thank you so, so much” he said. On the bright side, Dick had bought her new ballet shoes to replace the ones Titus tore through. But they’d taken weeks to break in and-oh he was still talking.

“-smartest, wisest, funniest, loveliest, badass, awesomest, funnest-” Cass placed her hands on her hips and stood up to meet him. The stakeout had been going fine on her own, at this rate she probably didn’t need his backup anyways, so if this was something stupid, she could always tell him to leave. She gave him her best “bat-glare” as he continued to mumble on compliments. “fantastic, reliable, trustworthy-” his voice grew smaller as she continued glaring. He cleared his throat “sister of all time?” He finished.

Cass sighed and leaned back against the tower’s support. “What do you want?” Dick gave her a weak smile, embarrassment radiated off him. That couldn’t be good.

“Look, I’ll cut to the chase.” Thank heavens for that. “But like, just know I love you so much.” Cass wished she could stick her tongue out, maybe the domino mask was the way to go. She settled for lightly shoving his shoulder. He grinned at her, doing his best to seem casual, but slight tension in his neck gave away his discomfort. Dick was always hard for her to read, he was a performer from birth, and had excellent control of his posture and facial expressions. He gave himself away in movement, in the lack thereof. He could paint the perfect mask, but it slipped slightly when he moved. He was nervous, anxious, exasperated, and worried. Cass was intrigued.

“What is it?” She said, more gently than before, turning back to watch her mark. She could hear Dick let out a deep breath.

“It’s Da-Robin. He got invited to a formal.” Cass turned back and cocked her head. “Don’t give me that look, you know how he is.” He said, shifting his weight. “It’s a school event, so they’ve been learning ballroom dance in gym. But I got a call the other day from the gym teacher saying he’s not participating.”

“Why should he?” Cass asked. “You shouldn’t force people to do things they don’t want to do.” Living with the family long enough had taught her that. If the kid didn’t want to dance, he shouldn’t have to.

“Yeah, I know.” Dick replied a bit flatly. He moved to crouch where she had been sitting and focused on the building across the street. “But I don’t know if he doesn’t want to, or if he’s just embarrassed.” Cass thought for a moment. “I don’t suppose he grew up with many dance lessons.” He added a bit apologetically. She shook her head.

“Have you talked to him?” She asked. Dick sighed.

“I tried. But he kept switching topics and when I pressed it, he locked himself in his room. Which is why I’m concerned.” Cass hummed in affirmation. It made sense.

“Why haven’t you tried teaching him?” Dick wasn’t a bad dancer, and he’d always performed quite well at the galas.

He looked back at her sheepishly. “I gave it a go last time I was at the manor. But he stormed off before we could get anything done. Something about me being an embarrassment to the family.”

Cass rolled her eyes under the cowl. “What did you do?”

“I just wanted to do some jazzercising to warm up, what’s wrong with that?” Dick spluttered in response. Cass lightly smacked the back of his head. “So anyways, I lost my chance at it. I can’t even play music without him running away.” He continued, ducking away as she tried to tap him again. “Besides, you’re probably a better height to practice with for him.” She scoffed in response.

“When’s the gala?” She asked. It slipped out without her permission. She wasn’t getting involved. The kid could figure it out on his own. Couldn’t he?

“It’s next weekend.” He replied and sighed. “I don’t want him to miss it. He never does stuff that’s age appropriate.” Oh, no. Not that card. Cass would not be involved, she had work to do. She stepped back to lean against the tower again and bit her lip. “And some girl in his class asked him to go. Her name’s Maps and she’s a really good influence on him.” She crossed her arms tighter. Damian was rude to her. He called her Cain. Not. Getting. Involved. “She’s so energetic, it helps him loosen up-” Damnit.

“Fine.” Dick whipped around to look at her, not bothering to hide his disbelief. She squirmed internally. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the kid. It was just easier to spend time on her own. The kid was better off without her influence anyways.

“Are you sure, I could ask Steph or I don’t know-” He continued.

She cut him off. “I’ll do it. I don’t mind.” The others wouldn’t work. Dick knew that going into the conversation. They were too…loud in their judgement. Steph would laugh at the wrong time, Tim would say the wrong thing, Jason didn’t have the patience for the kid’s temper, and Duke would be a safe bet, but was away on Outsider business for the next two weeks.

Dick practically melted in relief. “Thank you so-”

“You owe me, big brother.” Cass reminded.

“Anything you want, little sister.” He promised. “Are hugs acceptable as a down payment? I could kiss you right now.”

“Eww.” Cass made a face under the mask but strode forward as he opened his arms and stood for a hug. He eagerly wrapped her in a bear hug. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re winning sister of the year award.” He said as he released her.

“You’re making me cookies.” She retorted. Dick grimaced.

“Can I buy them?” He asked hesitantly. She shook her head.

“Homemade, with love. And I’m watching.” She added, smirking under the mask. Dick sunk back down into position.

“I’ll do my best.” He promised. Cass snickered. The last time Dick tried making cookies, he apparently caught his oven mitts on fire. There was still a bit of cookie dough on the ceiling he hadn’t noticed yet.

A flash of movement jolted her back into reality, their mark was making his move. She shot her grapple, and Dick quickly followed suit. “I’ll text you the plan tomorrow.” He promised as they leapt into the night.

Thanks so much if you read this far, and please comment or send me feedback directly if you have the time and don’t mind. I’m sorry if you completely disagree with how I characterized her (or Dick/Damian for that matter) I’m mostly relying on Damian’s canon interactions with her and Dick’s half canon half fanon personality (I know they don’t get on great in the comics...but sibling dynamics) and the rest of this portion of the fic would focus on Damian earning more respect for her (and learning to call her Cass - not Cain).

#i don't know how i feel about posting this #this is the first time i've posted some of my writing #and it isn't betad or anything #please help me #i don't know what i'm doing #i don't even have an AO3 account cuz i'm such a noob #it's gonna take time #a whole lot of precious time #but someday i will hopefully post a fic or two #if i ever finish one of them...#cassandra cain #batgirls #batfam #batman #dc #black bat #orphan

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todisturbtheuniverse · 4 years

Text

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [7/9]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 2200 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one. Chapter-specific note: I did not intend to leave this hanging for six months, but 2020 comes for us all, I suppose. I hope, if you're still reading, that you enjoy the conclusion. All of the remaining chapters (7-9) are up on AO3; they’ll be posted more slowly here on tumblr so as not to clog your dashboards.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

"See," Adaar said, pointing, "we’re nearly there."

She leaned a little to the left in her saddle, closer to Josephine, giving her a better trajectory to follow. Josephine's eyes narrowed, searching. At this distance, the landmark was still hard to make out if you didn’t know what you were looking for.

"Strange," Josephine said. "That star appears to be moving."

"Dancing," Adaar corrected. "The old windmill is still lit. There must be someone left." At Josephine's perplexed look, she explained, "The windmill’s practically center of town. Someone got the idea way back when to keep a brazier lit at the top. Like a lighthouse, kind of. Instead of bringing ships in to port, it guided the farmers and herders into town at the end of the day. When you’re closer in, it’s a good way for the neighborhood watch to mark where they’re patrolling overnight, too. From far off, though, it just looks like a dancing star."

Josephine nodded. "Clever. And if it’s still lit…"

"I can’t see bandits bothering to tend it, can you?"

"That depends on the breed of bandit." Josephine’s mare whickered, and she patted its mane absently. "I think this tells us something about what might be happening in Duskfield. Either your old neighbors have already driven the bandits off, and things have returned to normal...or the bandits have taken up residence here, kept all the old habits in place, so that your farmers and shepherds might keep operating. If that’s the case, they’re after some kind of long-term stability and supply."

"And that could be good or bad," Adaar agreed. "Maybe they’re just folk driven to desperation by the current unpleasantness."

"Or maybe they are Red Templars, establishing new routes through the Free Marches while we have been busy elsewhere." Josephine glanced sidelong at Adaar. "Rest assured I do not plan to negotiate with them, should that be the case."

Adaar forced a thin laugh. "I expected as much." She looked ahead again, at the Dancing Star, trying to find something red in the flicker of its light. It was still too far to tell; it looked perfectly normal, just as she remembered it, yellowish in hue.

And if she did see a bit of red? More easily attributed to her imagination, fear, and anxiety. At this distance, it could be nothing else.

"If it’s an entire band," Josephine said, her voice lowering, "will you be able to manage on your own?"

Adaar glanced behind her, at Cassandra and Bull and Dorian, all riding quiet and alert. "We’ve managed an awful lot," she said. "And we could still run into Leliana’s people. There's some road left to go. If we don’t find them, I’ll sneak ahead to see what we’re working with before we go charging in."

"Is that wise? If you’re caught—"

"Would you rather send one of them?" Adaar asked, jerking her thumb at the others.

"I heard that," Bull said.

Adaar ignored him. "Cassandra makes a noise of incredible menace with every step she takes. Bull's worse, like a small earthquake. And Dorian can’t keep his mouth shut if there’s an opening for a witty quip."

"She’s right," Dorian said easily. "Adaar is the sneakiest giant you’ll ever meet. And that rates somewhat above the rest of us."

Josephine didn't look convinced. Worse, she looked afraid. Adaar tipped her head, silently asking Josephine to follow her ahead, out of earshot. The others kept to their own pace, allowing the road to spread out between them.

"Not reassured?" Adaar asked.

"I don’t doubt your skills. I just…" Josephine's fingers tightened on the reins. "If you’re caught, what then?"

"We’ll figure out the exact timeframe when we get closer, but if I’m not back in, say, an hour, the others can ride to the rescue."

"Has that ever happened before?"

Adaar figured it was best to be honest, but casual. "Sure."

Josephine’s lips thinned; she didn’t reply. Someone else in Adaar’s boots might’ve seen this as a good opportunity for comeuppance. They’d taken care of Josephine’s assassins her way, and Adaar had lost a month’s worth of sleep in the process. Josephine would get a little taste of her own medicine.

But Adaar had never been accused of vengefulness. The idea of Josephine fretting down the road behind her only made her feel vaguely queasy and sad.

"Don’t get caught," Josephine said at last.

Adaar inclined her head. "I’ll do my level best."

"You have to remember that they chose Duskfield," Josephine went on. "Maybe it’s random, maybe they are just desperate people, but it seems an awful coincidence. If anyone bothered to learn enough about you, to try to lure you out, this is how they would do it."

"If it’s a trap, I have a light step. I won’t spring it."

Josephine gave a despairing laugh. "If there’s an opening for a witty quip, are you certain that you will be able to restrain yourself?"

"In all things that matter, I am the picture of restraint."

She'd meant to sound cheerful; instead, the words were a little sour, and she turned her face away before her expression could add to the unintended effect. She didn't want to give Josephine another opening to make her case, not yet. Despite her words, her restraint had been wearing very thin indeed since their conversation on the road to Val Royeaux. One good snip would destroy those last tenuous threads.

But Josephine did not sound disappointed or angry when she replied, simply, "I know."

For a moment, Adaar thought she would leave it at that. They rode in the quiet, to the soft sounds of horses, for plenty of hoofbeats.

Then Josephine asked, "I've been wondering, how long have you...cared...about me?"

Adaar didn't have to answer. The question was put forward tentatively, feeling for where the boundary line was. Josephine would have understood if Adaar reminded her of her promise, the promise of space to think.

But thinking, so far, had gotten her nowhere. She kept chasing it round and round in her head, ever since that night on the road to Val Royeaux. She slept with her head pillowed on the shawl Josephine had left with her, and breathed her scent, and could not stop wanting, no matter how much she wished to. Maybe a little talk wouldn't hurt.

"Too long," she said. "Embarrassingly long. Well before we left Haven."

She looked back to Josephine, who smiled and ducked her head, as if to hide it. "Me, too."

The words struck Adaar like a slap, rendering her speechless. She hunted for what to say, how to react, and came up with nothing more original than, "Really?"

"You sound surprised." There was a teasing note in Josephine's voice now.

"Well, you just didn't…" Adaar floundered. "I don't know. You didn't seem interested."

"Leliana has said that I was being dense," Josephine admitted, with as much dignity as could be mustered with such a sentence. "I only thought that...your attention was split so many ways. You had—have—a great deal to worry about. I didn't think there would be time. And if there was, I didn't see why you would choose to spend it with me."

Adaar shook her head, exasperated. "We’re a pair, aren’t we?"

"I certainly hope so," Josephine said archly, but her smile faded again as she looked ahead to the Dancing Star. "When this is over, can we revisit the issue of restraint?"

"Lady Montilyet," Adaar said, all feigned astonishment, "I had no idea your desires ran that way."

It had the intended effect. Josephine lost her worry again, face flushing, hand coming up to cover a surprised laugh. Adaar grinned, reveling in her small victory. It would help, for what was to come. It would carry her through to the other side.

"Don't worry," she added, squinting at the Dancing Star. "I have a plan."

The good news: they weren't Red Templars.

Adaar had been gone from home so long that there were people in the village she didn't recognize or know, but she'd gotten good at distinguishing peasant from combatant; she observed carefully from her rooftop perch by The Wet Whistle's chimney stack, and she counted. It wasn't just about who wore armor, who carried weapons. It was body language, alertness. It was the berth that others gave them.

She'd arrived too late to count the bandits as they went into the tavern, but she counted them as they came out—and as a patrol cut through town and continued to the north. These ones carried obvious weapons, and they didn't sway when they walked. They were professional enough to keep their heads clear on duty.

Duskfield was a small village, and this company was enough to keep them cowed. She'd counted eight so far; she was sure there were more she was missing. She just wasn't sure what to do about them.

The bad news: she knew some of them.

Only three, that she'd spotted and recognized. Old neighbors, around her age: Vilya, the blacksmith's daughter; Cossus, her younger brother; Herbert, one of the farmer's sons. He'd been friends with the other two, she remembered.

The others were strangers to her, but they held themselves with more confidence than these three by far. Had they been recruited? What had convinced them to allow these mercenaries to occupy the town, to throw their lot in with them?

She didn't have time in the hour allocated to her to figure out why they were here. She only knew she didn't like the occasional raucous laughter spilling from the tavern below her, or the way the rest of her old neighbors flinched out of the way when one of the rogues stalked past. They were not starving and desperate. They were hungry, but they were waiting.

And there was no sign of Leliana's people. They were on their own.

It was time to return to her companions. She'd learned what she could, precious little though it was, and maybe they would have better ideas. Josephine had spun gold out of less before. Delicately, silently, she crept down the roof and lowered herself to the ground.

Her feet had barely touched down before the point of a sword pricked at her spine. "Not so fast, Inquisitor."

She considered her options. Two shapes in the shadows of the barrels ahead of her formed up and revealed themselves to be people. They, too, held swords, so that was three—at minimum. She'd won out over worse odds before.

But she'd missed these three watching her. What else had she missed? She didn't want to get chin-deep in a fight where she didn't know the stakes. Maybe they needed her alive, but maybe they were happy to dogpile and kill her.

She didn't know enough. Damn it.

"A welcoming party," she said. "Nice of you. I wasn't expecting such a fuss—"

The point of the sword jabbed harder. She sighed and stopped talking.

"I can't believe you actually showed," the voice behind her said. "When Moiraine pitched this idea to me, I almost punched her. 'Moiraine,' I said, 'she's Qunari, what does she care about a bunch of human cattle in some nowhere village?' But tales kept spreading about you—how you'd stick your neck out for any refugee needing a blanket, even if they'd spit on the ground as you walked past." He spit on her boot, for emphasis. Nice aim. "Started to see the potential. Still, though. Didn't expect you to be stupid enough to take the bait."

He lapsed into silence. Adaar waited a moment, then said, "Just let me know when you actually need my input. Hard to tell if there was a question in there. I'm kind of slow, as you've figured out."

"Watch her," the voice said, and yanked her hands around to bind them behind her back. She resisted the urge to fight, mind working frantically. Did she know a Moiraine-the-bandit? No, she was fairly sure she didn't. Did she know any Moiraine? She didn't think she'd ever heard the name before.

"Now," he said, yanking her daggers roughly from her back, "we're going to get comfortable and wait for your friends to come along. Then we'll have a nice little chat, and everyone can go home happy."

"My favorite part of the day," Adaar muttered.

Well, technically, at least, this was still part of the plan. Things had just accelerated somewhat. She was sure the others could work out the rest.

She'd been captured before, bound before. She stayed alert, but let her mind turn to more pleasant things. In similar situations, she'd thought of Josephine. She'd thought, Well, we didn't have much of a chance, anyway. She'd thought, Maybe, if we'd had more time…

This time, though, she thought of Josephine's stately walk, of the fire burning in her eyes, of her sharp and clever tongue. She thought of Josephine riding to her rescue, and she smiled.

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar x josephine #f!adaar/josephine #dragon age #inquisition #friends to lovers #class differences #mutual pining #developing relationship #universe writes

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liveinink · 3 years

Link

A multi Inquisitor friendship fic with a F!Adaar/Cassandra focus

Follows a previous fic but can be read alone

“Okay,” Nikka Adaar dispelled the flame in her hand as she finished lighting the candles. “Okay,” She took a steadying breath. “Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Maxwell teased. “It’s not like you’ve spent countless hours, weeks, months, however long, planning this in intricate detail.”

It would probably be wrong to mind blast the Herald of Andraste. Tempting though.

Nikka looked around the space she’d set up. She picked the spot where she and Cassandra had first begun their relationship. It was private, peaceful, symbolic. It was perfect. And Cassandra deserved perfect.

But was it perfect? Nikka inspected the small space her fellow inquisitors had helped her set up. The candles, the flowers... she had tried to keep it romantic but simple, she worried she’d overdo it otherwise, but was it enough? She supposed what she was going to say was more important than the setting, but she couldn’t afford to worry about that right now. She’d planned, she’d practiced, she couldn’t allow herself to become even more anxious and distracted.

“Nikka,” Trista called over to her gently. “Don’t listen to Max, everything is fine.”

The human mage was finishing stringing magically lit baubles in the nearby trees. She and Nikka had created them together, and now they looked even better than Nikka had envisioned.

“Trista’s right,” Blair agreed with her sister, handing her another string of lights. “Nikka, you’ve thought of pretty much everything. In fact, you’ve probably over planned. Not to a ridiculous degree, but... I think Cassandra would love almost anything you did for her.”

Nikka felt her heart rate slow just a little. Even if it didn’t take away the fear, deep down she knew Blair was right.

“And you,” Blair gently kicked her brother. “We’re here for moral support, not to make things worse.”

Maxwell held up his one hand in false surrender.

“I’m sorry, Nikka,” he said. “No more teasing.”

“I forgive you,” Nikka said. “I’m also not sure if I believe you.”

“That’s fair.”

Nikka watched the Trevelyan siblings continue their tasks, and satisfied with their efforts, checked in on her dwarven and elven friends.

Kyla and Alariel were stringing flower petals into garlands, and doing a lovely job of it.

“These are wonderful,” Nikka said warmly. “Thank you.”

“Alariel deserves most of the credit,” Kyla clasped the elf’s shoulder. “I had no idea what I was doing at first, he had to teach me how to get started.”

“And you learned quickly, and did just as much of the work as I did,” Alariel said. “Do not give yourself too little credit.”

“Alright, we did it together,” Kyla agreed as she picked up another handful of petals. “Shared credit.”

“Honestly, shared credit applies to most things we do, doesn’t it?” Nikka said.

“We Inquisitors?” Alariel said. “Yes, we have done a great deal together. Though, arguably, Maxwell has borne the burnt of it all as the Herald.”

“Oh, what’s one hand in exchange for a safer world?”

Maxwell sauntered over, a big smile on his face as per usual. His sisters followed just behind him, presumably finished with their task.

Whatever was said next, Nikka missed. She had noticed the sun going down, dusk falling, and realized that Cassandra would arrive soon. Because Nikka had asked her to meet her here at dusk. Just like once before. Why had she been so confident then, yet so nervous now? The fear of her efforts not being good enough, her plans not prepared enough... adrenaline had already been coursing through her all day, but now, with so little time left before Cassandra arrived, doubt had gripped her heart.

“Nikka?”

Trista’s brought Nikka out of her trance.

“Nikka,” Trista said very gently. “Do you honestly think Cassandra will say no?”

Nikka took a deep breath.

“No, I wouldn’t be proposing if I didn’t know this was what we both wanted. That’s not what I’m nervous about.”

The others allowed her a pause.

“Cassandra deserves to have everything she wants. I just want to know I got it right for her.”

Her fellow Inquisitors threw glances at each other. They were all smiling.

“Nikka,” Blair said warmly. “You did.”

“How do you know?” Nikka said.

“Because I’ve been proposed to.” Blair said. “I didn’t anticipate Sera’s proposal, but it was exactly what I wanted. Because it was her. And it was us, and I loved every moment of it.”

“I can concur,” Kyla said. “It didn’t matter to me how Cullen proposed, I was just happy that he did.”

“And speaking as someone who has been the proposer,” Trista said. “At least for me... once Josie was in front of me it was easy. Because... you know those moments where you feel the full strength of your love for someone?”

Nikka nodded.

“When I knew I was going to ask her, and she was there in front of me, any nervousness I may have had was overwhelmed by love. I needed to ask her to marry me, and it wasn’t difficult at all. Everything was exactly right because we loved each other.”

Nikka closed her eyes, let herself steady.

“You’re right,” she smiled softly. “Cass and I have already discussed marriage, we both know it’s something we want. I still want it all to be perfect, and against all reason a small part of me still doubts, but I do know that nothing else matters as much as me asking and her saying yes.”

“Exactly,” Kyla said. “It will be perfect because of the two of you. I get wanting to make it special, but you have to know it already is.”

“Right,” Nikka nodded. “It’s already special.”

“Now,” Kyla said, laying down her finished garland. “How about we distracted you by teasing the boys about dragging their feet?”

“I’m not dragging my feet,” Alariel offered a small smile. “Dorian has many other important things he has to manage. I would not wish to put any further burden on him.”

“You think you proposing would be a burden?” Kyla asked.

Alariel laid down his last garland.

“Not exactly,” he said. “If I ask him to marry me, he may feel it unfair to make me wait. I wouldn’t want him to feel any pressure to rush into a wedding to please me.”

“Alariel, that’s a conversation you can have with him,” Blair said. “You can tell him you’re happy to wait.”

“Perhaps so.” Alariel said. “I just worry that my asking in itself will seem like an unwillingness to wait, even if I explain otherwise.”

“That can be part of that conversation between the two of you,” Blair said.

“Well, you do make communication sound awfully sensible,” Alariel said.

“Indeed,” Kyla said. “And what about you, Max?”

Maxwell was uncharacteristically silent.

“Thom and I have been through a lot, both together and apart,” Maxwell absentmindedly cradled the end of his arm in his hand. “We’ve helped each other heal. You know I’m not much good at planning ahead. There were always other things to think about, other ways we were building our relationship. Other ways we were growing as people.”

He paused.

“Perhaps it is time to start thinking about further commitment. Marriage hadn’t been on my mind, but... I think that is what I want. And maybe he doesn’t want to wait anymore. There is a bit of an age gap between us, maybe he’s ready for settling down. And maybe I don’t mind.”

It was rare to see Maxwell so unguardedly thoughtful. But that meant he was serious, and that he cared a great deal.

“It’s a conversation to have with him, at least,” Maxwell said. “We talk about what we want.”

They all let the silence be for a moment. They could be comfortable in it together.

“Well,” Alariel said. “I think this is as long as we can be by your side. Any longer and we risk ruining your solitude with Cassandra.”

“Of course,” Nikka could feel her nerves coming back at the thought of being left alone.

Alariel gently clasped her shoulders.

“I think I can speak for all of us when I say we were glad to be here, offering solace for as long as we could. But now it is time for just you and your beloved. It would not be the same if we were here when she arrived.” “And you know it, because that was exactly the plan you laid out for us,” Maxwell said, his smile returning.

“I know,” Nikka nodded. “I know.”

“Trust me,” Trista said. “It will be easier than you fear.”

“You’re right,” Nikka said. “I’ll be alright.”

It was not said with great confidence, but it was a start.

Nikka watched her friends disappear, and tried not to scare herself in the solitude. Over thinking was easier to curtail with someone to talk to. That was why she’d asked her friends to wait with her in the first place. In the silence worry was harder to overcome.

She inspected the all the elements of her setup too many times; candles, flowers, strung lights and garlands, nothing was out of place. Yet she kept checking. And pacing.

She heard footsteps approaching.

A wave of adrenaline rushed through her. The waiting was ending, and now all she could do was play out her plan. Possibly with some spur-of-the-moment alterations, she knew not everything was likely to go according to script.

But they would go right.

A sense of calm overtook her. Now that the moment was here... she knew it would be alright. However it went, it would be alright. Because Cassandra loved her. She knew that.

Cassandra stepped into view. And she smiled so fondly at Nikka.

The fear was gone, at least in this moment. Because Nikka loved Cassandra. And that, in all its depth, was all she felt. And it was all that she needed to make this night perfect.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #mage adaar #female adaar #adaar #inquisitor #dragon age femslash #dragon age fanfiction #cassandra x feminquisitor #cassandra x adaar #cassandra x f!inquisitor #cassandra x inquisitor #pentadaar

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senseandaccountability · 4 years

Text

Fic update: ‘I can see us gather at the gates’, part 8/32

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Female Trevelyan/Iron Bull Rating: M for future updates Summary: He doesn’t trust mages, she doesn’t trust Qunari; it feels oddly fair. A former Circle mage and an estranged Qunari spy get entangled in each other’s lives over assorted Thedosian drinks. Chapter summary: Like all the previous times he’s been on the edge of it, dying is pretty overrated. Notes: I scream into the void with this fic but there you go. :D

Chapter 8: Dragon Piss (Fallow Mire) (AO3 link)

He’s just a kid, unhorned and soft - fat as a qalaba, Vasaad says, racing him to the outskirts of the jungle where the rocks form challenges and the sun never reach - and they climb the old trees and even older stone. They stumble, kids always do up there and that is the very clever reason they are not allowed to go. But they're just kids, far from clever. They stumble and fall and Vasaad is lucky, gets caught on a few softer corners and tree branches; Ashkaari crashes. Everything after is blurry and gentle, the edges softened by potions.

“What were you supposed to do today?” Tama asks, without removing her hand from his arm.

Slowly, grasping for his memory, he begins to rattle off the tasks and duties; they’re as many as his fingers. Maybe that’s the point, to make them remember.

“So why did you run to the jungle?”

Ashkaari has no answer that Tama will want to hear so he drags it out, pretending to think while her touch remains. "You must take better care of yourself," she says sternly. The Qun hates wastefulness and dead imekari is a terrible shame. For her, for them all. He doesn't want to make Tama look bad. He will remember. For several months, at least.

x. “Welcome back,” Armaas says. His commander, the voice in the field. Hissrad can’t remember being gone, but his body is full of pain. A broken rib, a punctured lung, a long, deep wound running from his left shoulder blade to right side and he has to sleep propped up on his stomach in the infirmary. He learns that he has been out for days. He learns, too, that they're right about his commander. Doesn't lose a single man, they say. He leads from the front and shouts you back from the dead if he has to. The intense pair of eyes that follows Hissrad's every move here certainly looks like it belongs to someone who could. Years later, on Seheron, he’ll look into those eyes again before his axe falls down over Armaas's neck. Your soul is dust, Tal-Vashoth, he'll think but he won't be sure ever again. x. “Your blocking is still shit,” Hissrad manages from where he lies propped up by pillows and blankets and a wasted bedroll. Even his horns hurt. “Your plans are still shit,” Vasaad counters. “You’ll be the death of me, big guy. Can’t believe they gave you command.” “Maybe you were the only other option.” “Maybe they just want to let Seheron kill you so they don’t have to,” Vasaad says and there’s warmth and mockery and bone-hard truths in the joke. Hissrad grins. It must be the hundredth time one of them gets wrecked in battle, yet every single one feels like absolute crap, everyone worse than the others. Hissrad has carried Vasaad’s skinny ass across half a jungle, cursing into the skin on his back - don’t you dare, asshole - and Vasaad’s dragged him out of burning buildings, pits of poison, traps laid by mages and rebels and they’ve always survived. They’ll always survive until one of them fails. x. Their newest Viddathari may be little more than a twitchy kid but he’s got hands strong as iron, knows curses in several tongues and he refuses to leave Hissrad’s bedside until Hissrad gets well enough to carry him out and lock the door. “Hey!” the kid protests but Hissrad is determined. His right arm may still be broken and the bone-deep wound along his side smarts like fuck but malnourished elves are tiny. “Sorry, Gatt,” he says and pats the elf’s head. “Can’t recover with an audience.” x. Boss is heading towards the building where they expect to find the clan leader of the Avvar, her jaw set and her determination cut in stone, as if she’s gone and become a brawler when Bull wasn’t looking. They have my soldiers. She had been very closed-off this morning, grim and focused, barely had time for a briefing before they set out and her tone is still clipped whenever someone brings something up with her. “Surely you are not challenging their chieftain in battle, darling?” Vivienne’s voice betrays nothing but Bull is willing to bet she isn’t looking forward to having her day ruined by a bashed-in skull. “It will be fine.” At first it almost is. As fine as it ever is, fighting in someone else's stronghold, lacking every advantage of the enemy. But for a while they can make up for what they lack in strength with what they possess in terms of sheer determination. Until they can't. “Take out their mages!” “Let’s not,” Bull growls, carving his blade into the spine of an attacker. In the corner of his eye he can see the Avvar leader rushing forth, his greataxe in front of him, ramming into their flimsy line of defense and Bull curses, trying to wrestle free from the archers he’s stuck with but it takes too long. Vivienne shouts something, Boss shouts something back and when Bull finally shoves the last dead archer from his blade, there’s no time left. He pushes the mages back, hears them swear at him and then, things become a little blurry. --- He wakes up in darkness. Total, throbbing darkness and his first thought is that he’s lost his other eye. That would definitely be shitty. “Bull, can you hear me?” He does, he can. But when he tries to speak, there are no sounds emerging from his body. Great, now he’ll be both blind and mute. What a gift to send back to Par Vollen. Maybe they can put a ribbon on his horns. He feels her hands on his chest, magic flowing out of them and into him and it’s soft, like a warm bath but then she twists it, angles it so he gasps for air instead, crying out in pain, and immediately it stops. She’s leaning over him, judging by her breath against his neck, her voice closer to his ear now. “I’m sorry.” The pad of her thumb brushes over his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bull, but I have to do that again. I’m trying to find what’s wrong.” Less talking, more healing, he thinks. She does the same magical crap again. And again. The pain is just as sharp, just as staggering. He feels like he’s losing his mind. There’s something broken that won’t mend, something stubborn that won’t budge. “Hurry,” Vivienne says somewhere nearby. “He’s bleeding quite a lot, darling.” “I know. Can you… shit.” Boss’s touch leaves him and if he could speak, he would have asked for it to return. Magic or not, her hands are soothing and if he’s dying here, he’d like to feel calm about it. Like all the previous times he’s been on the edge of it, dying is pretty overrated. A burning, painful kind of overrated that he could do without. In the end lies glory, so the Qun claims. Perhaps that's right, he just can't see it. But then again his eyesight never really recovered from losing one eye. Even bad jokes are wasted on death. The last thing he hears is Boss, her voice increasingly desperate, telling him to stay with her as she pulls at the threads of his flesh with her magic, forcing it to close over his wounds. --- He drifts in and out of consciousness and sleep and through it all he can hear her voice. In fact, she never stops talking. She’s quiet when she’s nervous and she talks when she’s afraid; he knows this about her. He knows this about her and in this particular setting, it twists its way into the back of his mind, lingers. As the pain torments him and whatever draughts and spells he’s been exposed to do their thing, he hears her mutter her way through what sounds like magical theory in Orlesian. Between a nightmare and a potion-induced episode about ghouls he can discern sentences from a book on the Inquisition of old - he knows because the nights in camp get long and sometimes there's nothing to do but read the only thing someone like Cassandra or Boss has carried with them. He prefers it when they bring Varric’s crappy but hilarious smut novels over the tedious ones on human history, but he’ll read anything. "You can't take blows meant for me," she tells him because - as he’s come to understand - she truly has no idea what front-line bodyguard means, its concept as foreign to her as stealth or frivolity. Bull replies in grunts and monosyllabic words. “Don’t die on me, you stupid man,” she whispers to him as he drifts out of sleep momentarily, blinking as the sunlight from the window falls across her features. It makes her look on fire, lit with the sun itself. If he had been an Andrastian, he’d probably be praying by now. “I’m sorry,” she says and he’s feeling more awake by then, though not awake enough to argue through the lack of strategy with his boss. He keeps his eyes closed. Feels her hands running over his chest, then quickly brushing against his forehead. She’s got the lightest of touches; it leaves some kind of mark. “This is on me. It’s my fault. Please, survive.” --- He wakes up, properly now, to her sleeping form. The room is dimly lit but his senses have returned, making it possible for him to discern the actual shapes of everything around him. A pile of medical supplies by his bed, a couple of books, a warm blanket and a goblet of what looks like water. Outside the only window in the room, darkness has fallen. He feels sluggish and heavy, unused to his own body. And there’s a sense of oddness somewhere below his chest. At first he can’t tell what the sensation comes from and blinks, prepared for all sorts of bad news as always after being knocked out in battle. You never know what limbs you’ve lost or what new impairment you’ve suffered, any warrior could tell you that. But this, Bull realises rather quickly, this isn’t him. It’s Boss, sleeping with her face pressed into his belly, her arms spread out over his upper body and her hair tickling his chest. Small puffs of warm breath dampen his skin as her body rises and falls over his; there are soft snores and sleep-sounds and there’s an intimacy to the scene that snakes its way into his chest, the unfamiliar outline of it at once thrilling and strange. It’s definitely… something. All the gentleness in her, everything about her that she keeps hidden as they work methodically side by side to push this damn world back from the brink of destruction, is suddenly visible in the way she’s sleeping, unarmed, undone. Her hair is loose, strands of it cascading over his flesh; her neck is bared and looks more inviting in the candlelight than he’s ever seen it before; lacking its usual multi-layered outfit, her body sleeps free and soft, curved around him, around itself, the generous shape of her ass almost impossible not to reach out and touch. It’s the intense privacy of the moment, he thinks. The intimacy of sleep coupled with the fact that she had worried. About him. He pretends to be asleep when she wakes, startling herself, bolting upright like someone’s caught her in the act which effectively ruins his. Bull can’t hold back a laugh, even though it hurts deep inside him, all the way up along his ribs. Boss flushes bright red, cursing under her breath. The tension in her body is so acute, so severe that it practically cuts through the air. For a brief moment he wonders if she’ll set something on fire. Then, when she forces herself to look at him, he can see nothing but relief in her eyes. It hits him, like a hammer. Maybe it hits her, too, because she scratches the back of her head and looks away. She takes a step to the side. Another one forward. Glances at the doorway over her shoulder. “I’m - this-” she exhales slowly. “Not a word, Bull.” He remains exactly where he is, watching her and grinning - because it seems to infuriate her in a subtle and delightful way and also, mostly, because he can’t help himself. “My lips are sealed.” He gestures towards his mouth, ignoring the pain the motion brings. “I won’t tell a living soul that you snore like a bronto, Boss.” “You’re an ass.” Then, quiet and already half-way outside the room. “I’m glad you live.”

#iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull x trevelyan #the iron bull #fanfic #anne trevelyan #iron bull romance

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wootensmith · 4 years

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Shartan

(full fic fixed on AO3, all chapters in their proper places right now. Will post second new chapter tomorrow)

“Wait, don’t go up yet,” Varric said abruptly. “You do realize what we’ve just done, don’t you?” His voice echoed off the large pillars of stone that ringed the cavern. Cassandra paused halfway up the small slope back into Winterwatch Tower. She squinted back down into the dark at them. “Closed the rift, of course.” “Exactly. And?” Cassandra shook her head. Solas glanced up from the Herald’s hand. The anchor was stabilizing and she didn’t need his assistance as badly as he’d thought she would. “We took away a gift of their Maker,” said the Herald suddenly. “Yeah. Not really sure how they’re going to react to that. Might want to go up there together instead of one at a time,” said Varric. “The whole thing is blasphemous!” cried Cassandra. “What were we supposed to do, leave it to spew demons?” “Relax, Seeker. I’m not saying we were wrong, exactly. Just that— Chantry folk can get a little stabby on occasion.”

“The speaker at the gate seemed to want to be convinced that the rift was not divine,” offered Solas. “Perhaps we could appeal to her better judgment.”

Cassandra sighed and descended back into the large cave. “Maybe if the Herald hadn’t flatly denied that she—” “I told you I was uncomfortable,” said the Herald. Solas was surprised. She hadn’t shown much propensity to stand up to Cassandra to this point. “I agreed to join the Inquisition because we’re all in peril. And because you assured me that you wanted peace, Cassandra.” “I do—” “We know nothing about how the Breach came to be. Or how I survived the Conclave. Lying about it won’t help us find out the answers.” “They want to believe in something. You don’t have to lie. You said it yourself. You do not know how you came to be in the crater. Perhaps you really were sent by Andraste. What harm is there in allowing them to think so if it brings them comfort?” “Because if she did, she didn’t send me with any instructions. I’m lost, Cassandra. As lost as these people are. You can’t let them think I have all the answers. Especially if you value their faith. When I fail—” “If—” interjected Varric. She glanced at him. “If I fail, they’ll be shattered when we need them to be at their strongest. They don’t need another idol to replace the rift we closed. They need to go home. Be with their families. The fighting between the mages and the templars may be at a standstill now, but their villages are in ruins. Hiding here will not replant their crops or heal that boy’s mother.” Solas touched her shoulder to calm her. “What do you want to tell them lethallan?” he asked.

She looked at him, as if just now remembering he was with her. “I— cannot say.” She blushed. He was certain she knew exactly what she wished to tell them, but feared repercussions if she did so. Cassandra took it to mean that she didn’t have any good idea. “Then perhaps we say nothing and allow them to assume what they will?” she tried. The Herald started to shake her head, but Solas intervened. “Vindhru? Eshan tel’dhrua ma.” “I have to try,” she whispered. “To accomplish what, lethallan? You have a choice. If you tell them exactly how it happened, most of them will not believe you. Some will decide you are sent by their Maker anyway. Others will decide that you’ve played a trick. At best, they’ll stay here away from their families until starvation or cold takes them. At worst— they may strike at us. But if you say simply that the rift has closed, and allow them to draw their own conclusions, many will come to the truth on their own. The ones who do not may be— amenable to listening to your suggestions. If you tell them to go home and help their families or to help the refugees outside, some of them will do it out of awe and some will just see that the fear of the rift had driven them mad and what you’ve asked of them makes sense. What is your goal, Herald?” She always flinched when he called her that, just as she’d flinched when he’d called her a hero in Haven. It bothered him. She never so much as blinked when Cassandra or Varric called her “herald”. “Ar tel’vara,” he added.

“It’s not right,” she insisted. “No. It’s shitty,” said Varric. “But so is all the rest of it. Chuckles is right. We aren’t going to be able to talk sense to these people, their families have already tried over and over and they still ended up here. We’ve got to make the best of a bad hand. What’s more important? Whether or not these people believe you’re sent by the Maker or if they live to talk about it?” “But if I can’t close the Breach—” Varric shook his head. “I don’t think it’s going to matter much in that case. If we can’t close the Breach, nobody’s going to be around long enough to have theological arguments. You don’t have to like this— I don’t like this, but we have to tell them something.” She hesitated but then nodded. “All right. If it helps them, then my pride shouldn’t be what stops us.”

When they emerged from the cave several cultists knelt in their path. Solas willed her not to recoil. It seemed once she’d decided, however, that she did not leave herself room for doubt. She didn’t protest when Speaker Anais claimed she was a believer. And when the Speaker asked what the Herald of Andraste would have of the people in the tower, the Herald only gave simple instructions to help the refugees in the valley. He wasn’t the only one startled by the apparent ease she had playing the part. As soon as they cleared the tower, Varric let out a long gust of air, as if he’d been holding his breath. “Remind me never to play Wicked Grace with you, Herald. Your bluffing face is too good,” he said. It won him a laugh. Solas was pleased to hear her again at ease. “I’m afraid my skill doesn’t extend to cards, Varric,” she said, “You’d take whatever I had of worth within the hour.” “Ah, well, consider this a standing invitation, then, if we ever get back to the Singing Maiden before the sky collapses.”

The rest of the day was spent fairly pleasantly, hunting for resources to help feed and clothe the people still stuck in the crossroads, and Solas put the entire incident almost completely out of mind until that evening. The Herald waited until Cassandra had gone to write a report and Varric was playing cards with the scouts. She sat grinding embrium at the large stump the camp was using as an apothecary table. He sat on the other side of the stump studying a tracing of the veilfire rune they’d found, wondering who would have left such a thing in plain sight. “Solas,” she said. He looked up. “You said— you said you saw Shartan, in the Fade.” “Yes, I’ve seen memories of his deeds many times.” “Did he believe Andraste was divine?”

He put the tracing down, suddenly wary. “Alas, even the Fade cannot show all things. I have seen his deeds, but not his heart.” She turned back to the mortar and pestle for a moment. He thought the conversation had ended and began folding up his notes. “From his deeds then,” she asked without looking at him, “what do you think he believed?” It concerned him that she was so insistent on it. “I think,” he said slowly, “I think he believed she was a good strategist. And that throwing in his support was the last best chance his people had to win their freedom. But in the moment— no. I don’t think Shartan believed Andraste was anything more than a mortal woman. It’s highly unlikely she thought of herself as divine either.” She put down the pestle. Cleaned the debris from her hands. “Do you think— did he pretend he believed in more than her martial prowess to gain that freedom?” “Yes, lethallan. Or, at least— he used the belief of others to that end. When he led the charge of elves to her pyre, he knew they would not save her. A hundred against thousands? It was doomed from the start. But Shartan knew that while battles may be won with weapons, wars are won with symbols. If he had let her burn without trying to aid her, he and his people would have been lost to history. There would be no Dales and elves would still be enslaved across Thedas. When she was captured, the struggle could have been utterly lost. But already the common people whispered that Andraste was blessed. Shartan was no fool. His goal was not self-preservation, but the preservation of his people. That charge was his last attempt to give them what he otherwise could not. He used her martyrdom— and his, to save the People.” “Did he? If he used the belief in Andraste to give us the Dales, then at the same time he must have given over the rest of Thedas to worship of her. That— falsehood might be why the Chantry exists. And this war.”

Solas leaned forward, surprised. “And if he’d stood on the pyre and loudly proclaimed his faith in Elvhen gods? Do you think that would have stopped the Andrastians?” “No,” she admitted. “But if he’d lived instead— maybe she wouldn’t be seen as a martyr. Maybe it would have been little more than a cult like the people we helped today. Maybe he would have found another way.” “Maybe. But his goal was not to create a religion, it was to free the people he loved. Just as yours, I presume, is not to proselytize about Elgar’nan and Mythal, but to close the Breach, correct?” “Of course. But the way I close it should matter. We let them believe Andraste sent me to close the Breach. Afterward, once it’s gone and I remain, what will they believe in then?” Afterward it will not matter, Mouseling, he thought, but did not say so. “Those people were unharmed, lethallan. They will go on with their lives, provided the Breach does not swallow them, and largely forget about us. The few that don’t may tell their grandchildren a fairy story about the Herald of Andraste who healed the sky, but they will be few and far between. They will not even need to suppress a verse about us in the Chant. They will only remember that the Inquisition saved them, not us.” “That is worse,” she said, abruptly lowering her voice to a heated whisper. “I thought you didn’t want all this. That you’d rather go home to your clan—” “Yes, I would.”

“Then how is it worse that they forget about you? If you are forgotten, you’ll be allowed to lead your life as you see fit.” “It’s not my ego, it’s the Chantry.” She covered her ears for just an instant and then let her hands drop to the stump again. “Their god is already so loud. And ours have been… silent for so long. If I do this in Andraste’s name, maybe I’m only repeating Shartan’s charge. Maybe I’m helping them cover the whole world and drive us out. I don’t want to be hunted, Solas.” He touched her fingertips. “Your legacy, like Shartan’s will not be yours to control, lethallan. Despite our best efforts what people will remember is not always what we would wish. The story will get lost, bit by bit. I know. It’s happened to m— many in your situation,” he stumbled over himself, remembering that she did not know, could not know. Even if she knew, she wouldn’t understand, he reminded himself. “You must remember your goal. Do nothing that does not further them. Only time will determine the rest.” She shook her head and pulled her hand back from his. “I cannot promise that. I have a terrible feeling that whoever opened the Breach had the same idea. So many are left to suffer for the goals of people who have power. How can I do that?”

Her disappointment and shock confused him. She would be right, of course, if they could truly see their situation. The world would be a torture chamber if they really knew how stunted they were. Illusion. Play-acting, he told himself. Just a degraded recital of all the denigrations that came before. And yet— what harm is there in making their lives easier? Kinder? Even if it is only for a short time. He’d rest easier, in the end, if he could say he left them with some modicum of peace. “You are the only one with the ability to close the Breach, lethallan. You have power, whether you’d choose to wield it or not. And for us to even approach the people who might be allies, you must allow the stories around you to grow. You could not alter it even if you wished. Focus instead on the good you can do while you have that power. You sent those people back to their families. That is a tangible good, regardless of the tale they tell after. If you wish to help the Dalish, do so. Now. While you can. For nothing can guarantee what will happen afterward. Use the Chantry’s awe and ire to aid them. And the Inquisition. And any other you can.” “Even if it means being dishonest?” “I cannot say. That is for you to decide. What is more important? The task? Or the way you complete it? I do not think they will always align.” She had no answer for that. She bent over the mortar again.

Solas was frustrated with the sudden silence, frustrated by his own inability to say what he meant to her. Frustrated by her lack of understanding, though he knew that was unfair. “Do you think he would have regretted doing it if he could see what he had wrought so many years later?” she asked after a moment. “I think he had more than one reason to lead that charge. It would— complicate his feelings in the matter.” “Would you regret it? Had you been forced to make a similar decision?” “Vin. Bellanaris.” She looked at him, surprised at the sudden emotion in his voice. He looked away. “But even knowing that, I would do it anyway,” he added. “After all, what is one man’s guilt compared to his people’s freedom, limited though it ended up being?” He shook his head and gave her an uneasy smile. “But come, you need not take Shartan’s path. We need only convince the mages in Redcliffe to aid us and the Breach will close. There is no call for such somber talk. You’ll soon be on the road back to your clan, a hero.” The doubt in her face was plain to see. It sent a deep ripple of doubt through his mind, but Varric interrupted before they could speak longer and Solas tried to push the entire conversation from his memory.

#solas #lavellan #dragon age inquisition #solas x lavellan

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beclynn-herondale · 4 years

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Chapter 6 - the Company of the Carstairs Family

( the world and characters except my OCs belong to Cassandra Clare)

Mina was getting ready for the day ahead, her family was coming to visit and she was overjoyed. She missed her younger siblings and big brother and her mom and dad of course. It had almost been a year since she came to live at the New York Institute and she was settling in okay. When she arrived her room was a plain white but she painted it a lavender Purple and Had Tessy paint lavender flowers on the walls as well, Mina loved it, her bed was a queen sized four corner bed with grey sheets and purple comforter. She had four pillows with purple pillows cases. She had pictures of her family hung up on the walls and special family outings they had, her mom and dad have always told her she's loved adventure since she was a baby. She also had a nice collection of blades, swords and knives in cases at one end of her bedroom. She had her violin on the fireplace and a guitar in a corner. Her floor was wood tile, her bathroom was painted a light blue. She was thinking about what her family will think when they see her making herself at home, here in New York Institute-

"Mina the Beautiful!." Said her Parabatai Charlie, coming into her bedroom. "You know if you keep up those nicknames people will start to think we're more then Parabatai." Mina told her Parabatai with a teasing tone. "Don't worry I am totally platonically gay for you." Said Charlie with a amused tone in her voice. "So what brings you to my bedroom?" Mina asked Charlie with a smile on her face. "Well I wanted to bring you downstairs to your family, cause they're here my dear." Said Charlie. "They are!?" Mina replied back. And then she was out of her bedroom, down the stairs with Charlie behind her like she always was.

When Mina made it to the main room in the Institute her parents and siblings were there talking to her Clary and Jace Fairchild-herondale. "Mom! Dad!" Mina called, they looked up at her and Mina ran to them and hugged them both "I missed you all." She said. "We missed you more Mina mine." Said her father. "My baby girl." Said her mom. And then her big brother Kit hugged her so tight she couldn't breathe "kit...i... can't...breathe." "oh sorry Mina I just missed you." Said Kit. "I missed you too, but if you crush my wind pipes then I wouldn't be able to talk to you." She said teasingly. "Hahaha". Said Kit. Then her younger siblings the twins both gave her hugs "missed you big sis." Said her younger brother Jonah. "The house has been weird without you and Kit has been here so the boys are taking over." Said Cecy her younger sister with a playful voice. "Well I suppose we'll have to gain up and teach a lesson while you're all here won't we?" Said Mina. "Yes!" Said Cecy. After that everyone burst out laughing. And Mina felt at home even more.

"Well". Said her Aunt Clary, "lunch is ready in the dining room, so how about we eat and talk." "That sounds like a great idea." Said her mother Tessa. And then they were eating Tessy herondale and her sister Cecy were sitting by each talking about blades and training, Mina noticed Jonah was watching tessy and grinned, he was always watching her these days when he saw her and Mina couldn't help but smile, her baby brother had a crush. Charlie was next to Mina and eating her food. "Charlie" Mina whispered. "What?" Charlie whispered back. "I think we should take our younger siblings out for a walk around New York later." Whispered Mina. "Okay sounds like a great Idea, but why are we whispering?" "Because I felt like it you goof." "Ohh my Parabatai and her beautiful weirdness." Said Charlie." And they both giggled.

"Knock knock." Said a voice in the doorway of the dining room and Mina knew who it was, Max Lightwood-Bane, her boyfriend. "Max!" Said Charlie and she got up and hugged her cousin. "Charlie how have you been my dear cousin?." "I have been amazing, and you my loving cousin?" "I have been great." Said Max. "You two." Mina said. "There she is my beautiful girlfriend." Said Max, it made Mina blush, he could always do that.

After lunch they all went to the training room in the Institute, including Max and they trained the younger kids and they themselves trained. They had plans to go out for dinner so Mina supposed they could go for a walk through the park after dinner.

After several hours of training, and teaching the kids to balance properly, Charlie was heading to get ready for going out to dinner, she loved having family meals with her family, and tonight the Carstairs were here to. She decided to throw on some nice Jean's and a fancy tank top, with some boots, she pulled her into a high ponytail, she insisted her necklace, it was a pendant with a heron and wings on it, it was to honor both her Herondale and Fairchild heritage, she was proud of both, her family fine also had it but this was a birthday present from Mina and she loved it.

After that she headed downstairs and saw that Mina had changed into a beautiful light blue strappy dress, it fit her well, Charlie thought, "The Beautiful Mina," Charlie Said, "oh my lovely Parabatai, you look beautiful!" Mina told her, "not as beautiful, as you," Charlie told Her, Max came into the room, wearing a nice shirt and a nice pair of Jean's, "someone's looking handsome," Mina said. "And someone else is looking so beautiful, it could make a gentleman lose his mind," Max replied to her, Mina blushed and it made Charlie miss Mari, she was on a mission in LA and wouldn't be back for a few more weeks. Charlie pushed the thought out of her mind, tonight was going to be a fun night and she wanted to make sure she didn't bring anyone's mood down.

Mina was excited and nervous, to show her family around New York and have them visit the New York Institute, they decided since they were such a big group to go to a Chinese restaurant that Uncle Jace and Aunt Clary often would get, and said is the best Chinese food around, and it was really good, Mina loved getting it. After everyone had ordered they decided to get it to go and eat at a park, which Mina loved, it was like a picnic and she loved picnics, after they all ate the adults talked and the kids ran around the park, Clary and Jace grateful that Lexy was getting energy out, she had a lot of energy and was a very busy toddler and Mina couldn't blame Jace and Clary for wanting a night where putting her to bed was easy.

Mina looked over at Max who was talking to Charlie, they were talking about fighting demons like they often do, "Max, Charlie, do you two still want to take the kids on a walk around the park?" Mina asked them, "yes!" They both answered at the same time and they ask the adults, who said yes and took the kids for a walk. It was actually easy considering how many there were, though they had never been bad kids, Mina's sister Cecy was looking around and taking in the sights of the New York park, Mina loved that her siblings were enjoying themselves, she turned to her brother Kit and Asked "how's Ty?", "he's great!, he is currently studying all kinds of things, Plants, Languages, Science's and many more things, he is helping with learning more about Mundane medicine and I am so proud of him," Kit answered, "you're so in love," Mina teased him, "my dear little sister you will understand one day, I hope," he told her, "I think I do a little already," she replied, "that's great to hear," Kit told her.

"Shall we head back now," Charlie said, with Lexy in her arms almost asleep, Uncle Jace and Aunt Clary will be happy for that, "yes, let's head back, the kids look tired," Mina said, they went back to where the adults were and made their way back to the Institute.

When they got back Jace and Clary took Lexy to bed, the other kids heading to their rooms to get ready for bed as well, Mina told Max goodnight, "I'll see you soon my beautiful Mina," Max told her and kissed her forehead, he went out the front door of the Institute and headed back to his parents apartment in Brooklyn, she loved him there was no doubt about that. "Well," said Charlie, "I guess we better head to bed to," "yeah I suppose so, I have a feeling tomorrow will be busy again," Mina replied to her Parabatai, "yeah me too, hey Mina I was wondering can I um.... could I maybe sleep in your room tonight?, like let's have a sleepover kind of thing but in your room?" "Of course, you can Charlie," Mina told her Parabatai, she saw the look her Parabatai's eyes which said please I don't want to be alone tonight, she must be having nightmares about her late sister again and Mina wished she could take the pain away from her Parabatai, but there were some things you can't do. "K, I'll put on my PJ's and you can put yours on to and then I'll be in your room in about ten or fifteen minutes," Charlie told her and raced up the stairs, "okay dear, I'll go get ready for bed, and bring A Tale of two Cities with you so we can read before we fall asleep," Mina called to her Parabatai before she was completely to her bedroom, "will do," Charlie answered back.

And Mina was off to her bedroom, she put on shorts and a tank top, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and got under the covers, awaiting her Parabatai, who came in at that moment, he PJ's were shorts and tank top too, she got into the bed with Mina and handed her the book and they read, after an hour of reading they both were to exhausted to read anymore and fell asleep.

( hopefully you enjoy this, thanks! to everyone who has been supporting me with my fic, I hope to get another chapter out soon)

@daisyherxndale

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antihero-writings · 4 years

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What They Want to Believe Ch1--Tangled Varian and Quirin Fic (Full Chapter!)

Title: What They Want to Believe

Synopsis: Quirin has to find out what Varian did eventually.

(For all those who like Varian’s canon redemption, but who are looking for some more could-be-canon angst.)

Notes:

I know this idea has probably been done by someone, or perhaps many others...but I have yet to read them, and I've really wanted to write a Varian fic for a while, and this was something I thought would be really fun to expand upon (and I've really enjoyed writing it so far)!!

This chapter is supposed to take place immediately after S3 E1-2: Rapunzel's Return.

Chapter 1:

Varian breathes deep. The city air smells sweet. Sweeter now than it ever had. He forgot how much he missed the smell of flowers, and cupcakes, and new shoes.

“It’s lovely out here, isn’t it?” Rapunzel voices his thoughts, smiling at him.

“Beats being in a cell, I’ll give you that.” Varian tries to joke, to fight the lump rising in his throat. “Anything beats Andrew’s all-natural scent, that’s for sure.”

She tries to smile too.

He looks away. He isn’t quite sure how to act around her now. She had forgiven him; they’d saved the kingdom together, even. She hadn’t sent him back to his cell afterwards…not that they’d talked about it.

Should he pretend like it never happened? That he’s always been just another law-abiding citizen, just the alchemist in Old Corona, that kid who caused a lot of little—well, sometimes big—unintentional mishaps… not the villain who tried to overthrow the kingdom…even if it’s not true?

Or should they confront it, admit that he spent the last year in a cell, because he’d done terrible things—that he’d try to kill her, her friends and family?

But if they confronted it, admitted it…what would happen? Would that remind her of all the reasons not to trust him, all the reasons she should throw him back into that cell after all?

Something moves in the corner of his eye, and he turns to see Old Lady Crowley fluffing out a sheet, giving him the evil eye all the while.

She does that to everyone, he tells the thing that pangs inside him.

As they continue their stroll through the city streets, Varian notices she isn’t the only one with less-than-cordial looks for him.

Feldspar slams his door when they walk by.

…Maybe he had a shoe-related emergency?

There’s a woman who ducks into an alley with her baby, a kid who gasps and gets out of the way.

He turns again, and Monty is at their side. He is the first to actually speak;

“You know, you’ve got some nerve to show your face around here.”

Rapunzel taps her foot impatiently. “Well excuuuse me for wanting to—!”

“No—though I’ll admit it’s a shocker—not you;” he brandishes his frosting-clad spatula from her to Varian, “him.”—the alleged ‘him’s eyes widen—“Since when are you two all cookies-and-cream again? Didn’t he try to kill you?”

“‘Kill’ is a strong word,” Rapunzel tries to laugh, looking away, her smile twisting a little.

“What word would use for it?” he folds his arms over his chest.

“Umm…” Rapunzel flicks the frosting her off her dress. “Not ‘kill’ that’s for sure...More like uhh…” She turns to the alchemist, and he doesn’t dare return her gaze, for fear of what he’ll find there.

“I was just trying to save my dad—”

“So you didn’t send a monster into the city?” A woman calls.

“Uh, well,” he rubs the back of his neck, “that was more of a diversion really—”

“A diversion so you could kidnap the Queen!” this is the first raised voice, raised fist, coming from behind him.

He turns to see they’ve accumulated something of a crowd.

“Yeah!” another voice speaks from behind them, “How can you let someone like him still walk free?! People have been killed for less!”

“Hey, listen!” Rapunzel steps in front of him, “He may have made some misguided decisions, but he’s not some monster! We all make mistakes sometimes!”

“He may not be a monster, but what do you call the thing he sent into the city?!”

“And how do you explain the automatons?!”

“Or how he stole the sun flower!”

“From the royal vault no less!”

“Or how he hurt the captain?!”

“It could have been much worse!”

“What if he had killed someone?!”

“He needs to be punished!”

“Locked up!”

“He’s a traitor!”

“Yeah, a traitor!”

“Traitor!”

The accusations blend together into some sick smoothie of sound, a dull ringing fault-line.

The clouds are rolling in too grey, too fast. His whole world is turning monochrome.

“I can’t believe you let him go, after everything he did to you.” Eugene crosses his arms, glaring at him like he’s the wrong size nose on a wanted poster.

“Eugene!” Varian tries to move towards him, to plead with him, but he bumps into Lance, whose arms are folded, face set.

“Where do you think you’re going, little man?”

“I just—”

I need to think. I need to figure this out. To do something. I need to get out of here. I need to find my dad.

“Tch, you know, if it were me,” Cassandra leans against a building, her face half hidden in shadow—Where is she now? Why didn’t she come back with them?— “I’d leave him to rot with the rest of the criminals.”

“No, Cassie…”

—Something is wrong, something is wrong, they just don’t want to tell me—

But, worse than all this, another voice breaks through the throng.

“Varian…is all this true?”

And this voice doesn’t shout. Doesn’t accuse. Doesn’t scorn. It isn’t even angry, just…disappointed. So very disappointed.

“Dad…” the word falls pitifully to the stones, like a child who dropped his ice cream, and I will make you proud rings through his head like a death knell.

At first Varian doesn’t turn to face him, just stands there, staring at the ground, trying to formulate words that will explain what happened, without neutralizing his ‘I’m so proud of you’ that he had given earlier. But words aren’t like numbers, they don’t follow rules, they twist and writhe, and never do what they’re told. So he just stands there, words failing him, mouth hanging open like a creaky door.

Then he does lift his head, and Quirin isn’t incased in amber. He’s alive, out, and safe, but Varian almost selfishly wishes he was still in the amber, because then he wouldn’t have to bear this look in his father’s eyes, the look that makes him want to shrivel up like a worm in the sun.

Rapunzel. He has to get back to Rapunzel. Rapunzel won’t judge him. Won’t say he needs to be punished. She forgave him. She’ll explain everything to them. Rapunzel, Rapunzel give me your strength. Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your defense.

Having lost her in the crowd, he casts his gaze, like a fishing line, from one side to the other. He gets a bite; his eyes land upon her, between Xavier and a Pete, her back turned.

He runs to her.

“Rapunzel!” he calls, reaching out.

But the moment he touches her, a stain starts to spread along her hair, like it’s a squid he scared. But the ink spill doesn’t stop; like the best of plagues, it keeps spreading, until she’s nothing but a blotch on the world.

As the golden strands dim to black they break their bonds, becoming a living thing with tentacles and a bone to pick with the pirates who dared cross its waters.

She turns to him, and the ink has stained her gaze too; her eyes are nothing but caverns in the surface of her face now; a layer of the sea no one dares enter, for there are things with teeth down there.

“R-Rapunzel?” his voice isn’t so sure-footed, isn’t so certain it’s the right name.

She takes a step forward, her bare foot against the stones, and he takes a step back in this dance, because she doesn’t look like she’s going to defend him, in fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was going to attack him too—

“Wither and decay” her voice is not the bright, not gentle, not kind. “End this destiny”

“Rapunzel—It’s me!” and now his voice is sure, pleading.

He continues backing up, trying to get away, but he’s bumps into a wall of people, and when he looks up at their leering faces, he sees that their eyes are black too.

That sends him recoiling back into the center of the circle with the moon-struck sundrop, who continues chanting;

“Break these Earthly chains”

She doesn’t belong to the sun anymore. She’s a thing of moon and shadow.

On “chains” her blackened hair, of its own accord, snaps around his arms and torso like he’s the offending ship, and it’ll bend him till he breaks.

“Rapunzel! Please!” he shouts, “It’s me, Varian! I-I’m your friend!” but the last three words are cracking gasps, because something is infecting his lungs; something very cold is reaching into the center of his chest, a living emptiness, sucking away, feeding off, all the light and life in him. His chest is stinging, aching, burning—

“And set the spirit free.”

This is more than just heartache. Decay is eating at his body, corroding it away like acid.

And the alchemist can do nothing but watch as the black eats him alive; his lungs collapsing in on themselves, like his breath was built on sand—(but it feels like he’s breathing too much)—gripping his heart, digging in like needles—(but it feels like it’s beating too fast)—wrapping around his hands, his feet and unraveling them into strings of lifeless flesh.

He reaches out with breathless voice and lifeless hands to the only person whose voice never raised throughout this affair, who never insulted him, whose gaze has not been doused in moonless night, the one for whom all this was done:

“Dad! Dad help me!” The words are swallowed by the black in his throat.

Quirin turns away.

And as it devours him—

There’s a ceiling above him, a bed below him, a nightlight made of glowing tubes beside him.

He’s still alive—a little too alive; sitting bolt upright in bed, breath heavy and gasping on his chest, sweat dripping down his face, beneath his clothes, as if he really was in some epic sea battle, still able to taste the end of those last words on awake lips.

It takes a moment for reality to tie its strings around him, pull him back to the ground again, for his breath to deepen, and his mind to clear. For him to realize that this is, in fact, his room, not a city road, or a cell, and he is a fourteen-year-old-boy again; an alchemist, a son, a friend, a kid…not a villain, a criminal, or a prisoner. Not anymore.

He grimaces, bringing his knees up and hugging them, burying his face in them, like he always did when these sorts of things plagued him in his cell, and he had no dad to run to. He has his dad back to run to now…but he can’t go to him, not anymore, not about this.

Maybe he isn’t anymore, but he was once; all the things the dreamified versions of his friends accused him of were true. …And his half awake brain wonders if they really thought those things, beneath it all.

He had hoped, if and when he was free from prison, and better yet, forgiven, that he would be free of these villainous dreams too.

Ruddiger chitters from the bed beside him, pawing at his hand.

He must have hoped the nightmares would stop too.

“I’m okay, Ruddiger,” he says softly. “I just—”

Is he?

Because it isn’t over. Not really. Not enough.

He had his father back, yes. He was out of prison. Yes. And Rapunzel had forgiven him, and, as, it seemed, did the rest of her gang—(“Where’s Cass?” He’d asked once all the kingdom-saving was over, and he’d scanned the group, and found an empty slot in the lineup. Eugene said they’d tell him later, when everything was more settled…and Varian didn’t much like the sound of that)—Yes. But that didn’t mean everyone else did.

It didn’t mean the King and Queen did. When their memories were restored, what would they think? What would they do when they saw the kid who kidnapped the Queen, tried to kill their citizens and princess, who they’d locked up, running about? What could he say?

Oh, hi, remember me? You know, the kid who kidnapped you and threatened your daughter? The one who sent a monster and a bunch of automatons to cause havoc to your kingdom, and endanger the lives of your subjects? Yeah, that’s me. It’s all good now. Would you like a cookie?

They didn’t come into the kingdom, or the dungeon, often, so they weren’t liable to notice right away when their memories did return…but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And when they did…what if they didn’t believe Rapunzel, or him? What if they sent him back to that cell? Would he have to spend the rest of his days sitting with Andrew and his equally-all-natural-scented cronies? Would he grow up with three walls and some bars for a teacher? Never to use alchemy again, never to see his dad again, never to eat a good meal, or smell the flowers, or kiss a girl…

And then there was the question using the back of his mind as a chew toy: What will dad think?

Varian would do everything in his power to hide it—sweep the subject under beds and rugs and opportunely-placed cabinets—but he was bound to clean up eventually.

And… what would Quirin do then? Would he look at him as he had in the dream? Would he take back the ‘I’m proud of you’ that Varian did all those horrible things just to hear? Would he hate him? Punish him? Kick him out? Send him back to that cell himself?

Of course he will. How could he ever be proud of you after he learns everything you’ve done? His mind taunts.

He had said as much to Rapunzel. “If he knew all the things I’d done, well he’d be ashamed.”

With nothing but walls, bars, and a bunch of separatists for company, he had rehearsed the words he’d say to her so many times in his head. It started with ‘I don’t need your help Princess!’ to ‘Rapunzel I…Well, it doesn’t matter.’ then ‘I…I didn’t mean it, you know that, right?’ then after a few more drafts it became something full of tears and—‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Rapunzel…I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean to hurt anybody…I just wanted to make my dad proud, but I know he won’t be anymore, I know he won’t, I know, I’m such an idiot, I know, I know—‘ And finally it was what he had actually said—with his heart hammering in his throat.

Her acceptance of his words, of him, had been sheer relief. Saving the kingdom never felt so good.

Yet at the same time, that idea that Quirin would be ashamed hadn’t changed just because Rapunzel had forgiven him. Just because his father was out of the amber, and Varian was out of prison, didn’t mean everything he’d done to get his father out, everything that had got him into prison, was erased. He was still going to learn all the things his screw-up-of-a-son did.

It was bad enough when his experiments failed. When Dad walked in to see acid steaming on the walls, and burns on his son’s forearms. He knew how all-too-often his dad was a having a perfectly pleasant, normal, non-stress-inducing day, when he heard explosions coming from his son’s room.

And having to tell him was almost always worse. Having to tell him how he may or may not have set the Goslicks prized chicken on fire, and well needless to say it wasn’t going to be so prized anymore… How they’d have to stay with friends for three to five days, because the gas steaming from the lab wasn’t exactly the intended effect...Or why the town’s water supply mysteriously found itself pink and tasting of croissants…Standing there with his insides writhing, awaiting his punishment, or simply having to live with the look of disappointment on his face, was always worse than how it felt to actually make the mistake.

This was more than a few accidental side effects. This was something he did on purpose. Something he actually deserved to be punished for, not just with a reprimand, or a time out, or spanking from his father, but with actual prison time from the king.

Which would be worse? Dad finding out somehow…or the thought of having to tell him himself?

How would that even go anyways?

“Well dad, while you were in the amber I…did some stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff…” and he’d cough the next few words into his sleeve “crimes, acts of treason...whatever you wanna call it. You know that sundrop flower everyone always talks about? I may or may not have uhh borrowed it.”

“Borrowed?”

“Borrowed, stolen, let’s not go into semantics here.”

“Wait,” he’d wave his hands and put one on his forehead, “You’re not actually telling me you stole from the king—” And he’d stand, all menacing.

“Yeah, you might wanna stay sitting down for this,”—Varian would look away, backing up, rubbing the back of his neck nervously—“it’s a long story, and not exactly the standing-up kind.”

“Varian—” He wouldn’t sit down, in fact he’d keep marching towards him.

“I-I thought it would help you b-break out of the amber.”Varian would stumble in both words and action, and the thought of meeting his eyes would be pure torture. “I-I thought I could if I could just get my hands on the sundrop I could—”—and he’s speaking too fast, too loud now— “I could…I-I thought…I just…”—and then, the next second too slow, too soft—“I thought…” And then the words would trail off, excuses falling limp and lifeless in his mouth as the truth caught up with him.

Even in his rehearsal he couldn’t finish the idea. Couldn’t let his father get a word in edgewise, because if he did…

Either option sounded like an evil mastermind’s best torture plan. Yeah, no matter how many times Quirin taught him it was best to tell the truth, he would never bring himself to say that to him.

His father’s pride was all that mattered, the thought of losing it…

He throws his legs over the side of the bed, letting the static in his eyes scatter before standing. He glances out the window at the navy sky injected with orange, but morningless still.

He grabs his goggles and apron, Ruddiger at his his heels as he heads downstairs to his lab, doing what he always does when he stressed…well, when he’s in any mood really: alchemy.

It was strange to see this place without the amber. It golden tower had become a permanent decoration, a reminder of how alchemy had failed him, how he had failed his father… a sort of dark promise.

He and Rapunzel hit reset…yet he couldn’t return to how things were before the storm so easily as she could.

He pulls on his gloves and goggles, his thoughts still churning.

When Dad found out…would he send him back to prison? The people of Corona could shout all they wanted, but they didn’t have the authority to send him back there.

But his dad…He could punish him, could turn him in. Varian forgot what it was, but he had once taken one of Quirin’s things and tried to experiment on it…and he quite clearly remembered sitting outside in the rain without dinner that night. What would he do when he learned he’d kidnapped the Queen, sent a monster after the citizens, and automatons after his friends? Dads should punish their kids when they steal cookies, much less kidnap queens and threaten princesses. They should teach their kids to rescue princesses from towers, and damsels in distress, without accepting so much as a kiss as payment, and always abide by, and uphold, the law.

His eyes fall upon a book on his desk.

It was funny really. Varian loved the tales of Flynn Rider; this hero who always defeated the villains and saved the day.

And here he was, the bad guy. Just like the ones who Flynn had to use his wit and sword skills to defeat.

The baddies’ motives always seemed so ridiculous in the past; taking over the world, leveling cities for the sake of scorned love, destroying kingdoms for the sake of a grudge…

The beaker he’s holding slips from his grasp. Ruddiger catches it with his tail before it hits the ground.

“Thanks buddy,” he takes it back from him.

He holds up the beaker his reflection distorted in the glass.

The villain.

The word burns like bile at the back of his brain.

The thought of his dad seeing him like that, not just with disappointment in his eyes, but as a criminal, a traitor, a villain, for all the things he did to save him…

“Varian—”

Varian gasps, fumbling again, but this time he manages to catch it, “Dad! Hey!” he sets the beaker down, turning to him, “Hi! It’s good—good to see you! Good morning!”

Quirin smiles as he walks into the lab, yawning and stretching. “I feel like I’ve been asleep for years.”

“Well, to be fair, you, uhh, almost have.” Varian pulls his goggles onto his head.

“How long was I out for, again?”

“Uhh…ehh I don’t know, I mean, it’s all kind of a blur—”

—He tries not to think of tallymarks on prison walls—

His father grunts in response, walking around the lab, looking at all the writings on these walls. The same ones left over from all those months long ago—those months when he would do anything to get him out—collecting dust, and the new ones for the Saporians. Varian sidesteps over to the worst ones, hiding them behind his back.

“You discover any new elements while I was out?” he asks, half-jokingly.

“Oh…uhh…” he rubs the back of his neck, chuckling nervously, “N-Nah. I was kinda…uhh…preoccupied…”

Quirin’s expression shifts, the smile fading. He steps up to his son—who stares at him, and for a second, something fearful in Varian wonders if he’s onto him—but then Quirin leans forward and wraps him into a bone-cracking hug.

Varian’s eyes widen in surprise, but he lifts his arms and returns the gesture, squeezing tightly, smiling.

This was the thing he missed most; not the smell of flowers and cupcakes, not good food, or alchemy, not even Rapunzel’s everlasting smiles….his dad’s hugs.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Quirin sighs, “That must have been very difficult for you,” Quirin murmurs into his ear, “having to make it all on your own.”—Varian’s eyes widen again, but this time it doesn’t turn into a smile— “I’m so sorry you had to go through that…And I’m so proud that you made it through.” He brushes his hand through his hair.

When he releases him, Varian looks from his father to ground, smiling sheepishly, brushing the hair from his eyes, unsure what to say.

“I’m here if you ever want to talk about anything.”

“Oh—Yeah—Thanks—Well—”

“Of course—” Quirin clarifies, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m just saying, I’m here if you ever do.”

“Thanks.” He tries to smile.

There’s an awkward pause, then Quirin turns to leave, “I’ll let you get back to it—”

“Wait, dad,” Varian grabs his arm, “I was thinking…maybe we could spend some time together today? You know, like a father-son-day…thing?”

“I’d love to, Varian,” he puts his hand on his cheek, “but…as I have been, uhh, out of commission, for a long time, I really must get back to my duties. You know, become reacquainted with the town and what’s going on.”

“Oh…Oh! Yeah, right, of course. Psh,” he waves his hand, “It wasn’t that big a deal anyways.”

“You’re welcome to come along, if you like.”

Varian contemplates it. From experience these sorts of trips around town were pretty boring; mostly discussing how well crops were growing, and if anybody needed help repairing their house and whatnot, and Varian’s alchemical solutions were more often than not brushed aside...But he does want to spend time with his dad, not to mention the fact that there would probably be a number of things in town still in need of repairing, whose circumstances Varian wouldn’t exactly want explained to his dad…

“Sure, I’d love to.”

“Wonderful.” He smiles.

“I’ll meet you out there in just a minute.”

Quirin nods, making his way up the stairs.

Varian turns to clean up his work station but does so too quickly, accidentally knocking the beaker to the ground at last, it shattering with a puff of blue smoke, the contents spilling out, his hand hanging uselessly in the air, reaching towards it.

Ruddiger bounds over to it to help clean up. After they finish, the raccoon sits on his back legs, cocking his head to the side, chittering worriedly.

“It’s okay, buddy.” He smiles.

The Raccoon still looks worried.

“I’m okay.”

…Is he?

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veridium · 4 years

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for the record - cellar gate and this whole mess.

I have thought a lot about this. I know I said I would resign from speaking further on it, but some ideas have come to my attention and so I wish to act on my conscience and consideration.

I wholeheartedly think toxic positivity is a prevalent issue in fandom and popular culture. I wholeheartedly believe it works as a silencing and tone policing for those most marginalized in our communities. I think it is something we must be critical of when we engage with each other and our expectations from fandom spaces. That being said, one of the primary reasons I am incensed at its prevalence in this fandom is because it has been fueled for all the wrong reasons: for deeply self-serving, personal, and petty reasons, and not simply to see the fandom be better.

And so, with cautious dread, I am bringing back the issue of the “Cellar Gate” or however it has come to be known.

I think it is safe to say the issue caused a fracture in opinions and people who were all at one time members. I think it is safe to say that drama and dispute has become publicly evident, if not a blaring elephant in the great big room.

I was one of several people who went public with my membership in the cellar. I did so, in part, to have some kind of autonomy and control over how the narrative was being written. I also did it to take responsibility and combat the ways in which that narrative was being twisted in inflammatory, violent, and deceitful ways. I did it because I was hearing how some of my mutuals were being adversely targeted and effected by my name being included on the “burn list” that circulated in the aftermath. I did it to prevent what I believed antagonists wanted: for a dramatic and righteous crusade to begin, which would drive out the people they believed to be “bad apples.” I did it because it was necessary.

And I believe that, considering how much was avoided in the way that conflict subsided, I considered it a worthy gambit. People were listened to, reality checks were taken, and the fanfare was allowed to settle.

Unfortunately, I think some thorns were forgotten about, and left to fester.

I think the former members/people who used the exposure of the Server and the “Salt” to mount their reckoning moral crusade have used the remains of that to persist with a narrative of positivity and inclusion. This narrative, though shiny and great on the surface, is born of toxic fruit: it was not created purely for selfless, apolitical reasoning. It was created to combat a problem they blamed us for: a cultural fixation they believe exists wherein people allow themselves to be critical bullies in the name of “social justice.” I believe they did so in part to antagonize us in public where explicit callouts could not be used. I believe they push positivity as a means of ameliorating their previous involvement in private conversations they believed malevolent harassment, though they took place in, as I said: private conversations.

In short: this positivity wave, as we have recently seen in this fandom, is not much more than a bunch of white women wanting to sleep at night again for sins they deem below their moral high-ground. You know, sins such as: privately salting about problematic fics, shit talking people they don’t like, being rude, petty, salty, and at times insensitive.

One of the reasons I owned up to shit was because I was sick of the image that was being depicted: mean people hiding in some back room somewhere, or backlog of a chat, looking for any reason to tear people apart and be cruel. I was sick of this false interpretation that minimized and reduced a substantial part of my fandom community to heartless maleficents. Especially when these “positivists” once benefitted from, and enjoyed that community as a big part of their audience and support system. Especially when they depended on that community for listening, support, feedback, and friendship. Several of them are people I once considered some of my closest friends in fandom -- people I confided in, trusted, and believed in their integrity.

Unfortunately, I was misguided.

There are several reasons I am coming up for air about this. Firstly, so that I am clear when I say it was never my intention -- or that of anyone I know -- to make it seem like this ordeal was more righteous and universal as it really was. What upset me was watching these ideas about “shutting up” and “minding your business” and “being positive” being pushed onto people who had no involvement with the Server drama, who would nonetheless read their incessant reblogs of that content and think, wow, am I a piece of shit would having criticisms for someone’s work? Am I missing the point in being in fandom when I don’t focus on the positive all the time? Because these messages are being circulated by people who, I think, don’t sincerely care about fandom positivity when it doesn’t serve them and their needs of self-soothing and self-reward. That is wrong, and that is a method of undermining and tone policing I think should be called out.

Secondly, I want to make something explicitly clear: the people pushing positivity and “minding your own business” have all, every single one, participated in the behavior they deem incorrect. They have been comforted by it, they have participated in it, and I would imagine they still do. I have an INCREDIBLY hard time believing that they do not at all speak negatively or harshly about people in fandom considering I, and several others who they deem nemeses, are still here despite their championing. I also have a hard time believing it because they have included and become friends with fandom members who they not-too-long ago verbally and explicitly despised -- people who they lobbied to be banned from the server for being manipulative and toxic, for victimizing them. Someone believed an unsafe presence for them.

And just so we’re clear on this account as well, I’m looking at you, @Tortuosity-Writes, @tanaleth, and @Allisondraste. Hope you’ve been really transparent about that with your newfound friend, @Cassandra-Pentughasst. If not, I know there are plenty of receipts to submit. It’s tax season, no? Just in case you want to suggest it was a matter of ya’ll being poisoned against each other, when you were holding the damn vials yourselves. And the only reason the links don’t work is because we have each other blocked, but somehow I think you’ll see this.

But I suppose bygones are bygones, right? Positivity! Inclusivity!

Also, just to prevent some ammunition unnecessary, and because I know well enough the people I’m working with here: I think it’s horseshit to say you’re all about shutting up and being positive while you’re still passive-aggressively shit-talking people in tags and posts, hoping maybe they’ll come across them or that they’ll cause some whispers/drama/stress for those people. Like, for example, @Cassandra-Pentughasst beautifully resentful tags:

Yep, that’s me she’s talking about. And she’s right: I took forever on a commission, was not communicative, and had spelling mistakes, ones which I sincerely apologized for. I did my best but it wasn’t on par with where I should have been. At the time, I thought I was doing it for a friend, though; and when I could, I was communicative. I even asked after sending a draft to look over if she thought it was okay, because I always do so, so my clients are happy (and people can attest to this practice, and I have email and screenshot records as well). She said everything looked good, so I believed her. It was an unfortunate situation where I wasn’t at my best and I was unprofessional.

What I am not, however, is a coward.

Which is why this kind of behavior incenses me: it makes it seem like she had no way of telling me something was wrong, or that she was unhappy. And it also makes it seem like no one in my circle is ever critical of me, or is invited to be. Apparently everyone thinks the sun shines out my flaky ass.

So, here’s my dilemma: how can people who claim they’re all about positivity, integrity, and inclusivity, possibly condone this kind of behavior? How can people who I once called friends say in all seriousness that their standard of decorum doesn’t apply here, because it’s me? Because it’s someone who didn’t agree with them?

And here’s a very particular thorn: this person, and the group above, only became friends after they all left the server and realized the enemy of thy enemy was thy friend. Before that, it was incessant shit-talking of each other, talking about how one was making them feel unsafe, how toxic they were, and how they should be kicked off or blocked from the server entirely. This person was suddenly forgiven despite the LITANY of conversations and concerns about her trustworthiness, character, and integrity.

At the end of the day, I obviously cannot control people, and they do change. My stance is, however, that none of these people have changed from who they were. They are people: they shit talk, praise, are friendly and also mean. They make mistakes and are regretful. They dislike things, and dislike people. They have animuses and grudges. They are HUMAN BEINGS like we all are.

Only one “side,” however, is trying to get people raked over the coals for admitting to partaking in “negative” behaviors. Only one side is pushing a shut-up-and-mind-your-business broad brush when they really mean they want a specific group of people to shut up. Only one side is trying to push a positivity politic that is first and foremost self-serving.

That, to me, is gross. And that is toxic to fandom as a whole. And I am sick of watching them poke, prod, passive-aggressively post, and seeing their stuff splash onto my dash even though I have them blocked. I am sick of watching it knowing a good portion of what motivates them is spite and antagonism. I am sick of people taking their word for it, and using it as reasoning to be mean to marginalized members. And for that reason I also want to make VERY SURE that no people of color feel like they are being manipulated by anything I have a part in. I want to reiterate: I believe the dysfunction and harm they have circulated to be real and consequential to more than just us tied to the server. I never ever intended false rallying.

Which is to say: their beliefs that we are obsessing over them day and night, trying to find new ways to ruin their lives and antagonize them, is bullshit. I don’t know about ya’ll, but I have, like, a day job. I have family and friends to spend time with. I have PTSD to treat. I think it is safe to say shit-talking people you dislike in private conversations, and conniving/obsessing, are two different things.

And, like I said: if any of these people have said no negative, gossipy, or disrespectful things about us, or myself, since the “Exodus,” then my word to those people are: In case you forgot, you didn’t just leave a server: you hurt a lot of people who were your friends. You made a hell of a lot of people feel unsafe and insecure with their visibility in fandom for shit they had no part in. You didn’t just exit and begin some harmless, painless agenda to bring joy to any and all around you. You fucking hurt people. Swallow that pill and recognize that talking about it -- that includes talking about you -- is a valid form of processing and healing form the disruption you caused in all of our lives. Disruption that we are still dealing with.

Lastly: I have said over and over that I do not care for clout. I do not care for popularity stakes, for “positive” cults of personality. So, if this gets me “cancelled” so be it. But I’d rather be “cancelled” for being transparent than accepted for being shady. My qualms are both broad and personal. I have personal issues with people and I have broad issues with how they are using fandom as a space to enact their false sense of inclusivity.

And at the end of it, I hope these former friends of mine understand one thing above all else: that I soberingly understand the harm they have done in their desire to live with themselves and their guilt, and it is for that reason -- for everything I saw and everything I heard in the aftermath of their need to redeem themselves and their “side” of things -- that I will never, ever forgive them. I have said many harsh things, I have said many unkind things, and I have made many mistakes. But for as long as I fucking live, I will never, ever elect to be known as someone who tried to pass their vendetta and grudges as a community-oriented, positivity-celebrating, sanctimonious cause that made numerous people, especially people of color, have to go to bat to counter and prevent from doing harm.

Also, on a personal note because why not, the fire is going to consume me anyways: you can’t block half of the femslash/wlw genre because you’re insecure about your work or have had drama with them, and then lament that there’s a lack of material. Whoops!

So, yeah, I’ve fucked up. I have. But I can also call bullshit when I see it. And if this ends my tenure in the fandom, again, so be it. I have my friends and my community, and I don’t just jump ship when I see the stormy weather ahead. I have my life, and my loved ones. And more importantly: I sleep very, very well.

Oh and, for the record, contrary to all ya’lls stuff, we aren’t a cult. And I didn’t have to ask permission for posting this from anyone, or mind my manners. I also think it’s very telling when people enact the same standards of control, us vs. them, and dehumanizing that cults are supposedly known for -- and then call us one. It’s really convenient, isn’t it? To have distance from the people you hurt and betrayed, and then say it was nothing more than a cult? And to say that their methods of healing, supporting one another, and processing their anger and pain in private is only proof that they’re a cult?

Yes. Really convenient.

So, there. You want a battle? I think you all know damn well I’m armed. All that I ask is you save your ammunition for me, and not for my friends. Not for people who had nothing to do with the mess we’ve made. Or else.

And this is all to say that, if I have made anyone feel manipulated, led-on, used, or exploited for any of this - then that is something I am responsible for and I sincerely apologize. It is behavior that is below me, and certainly not my intention, but I don’t get to decide how I impact people’s lives and their participation. So, again, I am sorry. And I respect any and all choices you make on that account.

#fandom psa #blog psa #cellar shit I guess?#here we go #maybe this is a callout post #in fact yeah it is

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ranwing · 4 years

Text

Kadam Fic: Learning to Fly (19/20)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 19/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen

One AO3

Adam threw his head back, biting his lip as Kurt thrust deeply within him, setting sparks all throughout his nervous system. The younger man rolled his hips smoothly as with each push he slid deeper into his lover, causing a delightful stretch that made Adam groan with each prod. Their hands were grasped together as Kurt made love to him in a gentle, unhurried manner that threatened to drive Adam completely mad.

He hadn’t bothered trying to keep count of the number of times they’d made love in the past two days, only making a brief quip about making up for lost time. They took turns lavishing attention on one another and rediscovering all the wonderful ways they could bring joy to one another’s bodies. The first few times were fast and a bit rough from their frenzy, unable to be patient as they finally could be together after so long and Adam knew that the both of them would be feeling the effects for a few days. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about any lingering aches and he highly doubted that Kurt would either.

Having Kurt so languidly making love to him, showing infinite patience as he was slowly driven to distraction was the best homecoming Adam could have imagined. His orgasm came as almost a shock as Kurt built him to a near frenzy and hit his prostate at just the right angle to turn his whole system into a veritable fireworks display. His climax triggered Kurt’s and he felt the younger man shudder and pulse within him as he came with a loud, nearly pained moan.

They couldn’t bear to part from one another, merely rolling to their sides so they could press as close together as possible without wearing the same skin. Adam buried his face in the curve of Kurt’s neck, surrounding himself with the scent of his partner being so well loved by him. He felt Kurt running his fingers through his hair, drawing a long sigh of contentment from the older man.

The past two days had been a wonderful release for the two of them as they ensconced themselves in the little hotel room that Adam had rented until they signed their lease. He knew that this perfect bubble of solitude wouldn’t last much longer, as Kurt had his year-end exams to finish and he would see to getting them settled in their new flat. But for now… he wrapped his arms about Kurt and held him close. This was all Adam wanted in the world.

* * *

“Did you sleep at all this weekend?” Rachel teased as Kurt appeared in their voice class looking decidedly less bright-eyed than usual. Not that she would ever blame him given the circumstances.

“Nope,” he answered with an entirely too self-satisficed smile. “I’m just glad that I don’t have my dance critique until Wednesday. I should be walking normally by then.”

Rachel couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst out, giving him a playful swat to his shoulder.

As nice as their weekend had been, cocooned with one another as if the rest of the world didn’t exist, they did have to rejoin the rest of the universe and see to mundane matters. They had an appointment that afternoon after Kurt’s diction class to meet with the real estate agent and get the keys for their new apartment. Then they planned to go shopping for a new bedroom set that would give them plenty of room for sleep and play. Adam was insistent on spending a bit of his tour pay on making their home theirs and a new bed and mattress was in a high position on his list of priorities.

“I’m surprised that you haven’t already moved into the new place,” Rachel teased, giving her friend a meaningful nudge. “Or that Adam is willing to let you out of his sight.”

Kurt shrugged offhandedly, his mood shifting from contented to the prickliness that Rachel immediately picked up on. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t tell me that there’s already trouble in paradise?”

“Not trouble,” Kurt insisted. “Adam and I… we had a little difference of opinion yesterday.”

That got Rachel’s attention. Given Kurt’s habit of downplaying problems he was having, that he was admitting that he and Adam had some kind of disagreement hinted that things had gotten very heated between the two men. “What do you mean?” she pressed carefully, wanting to get her friend to open up a bit. “You and Adam are practically the image of couple’s goals.”

“It’s not like we don’t disagree on occasion,” Kurt reminded her. “It’s okay. We really didn’t have a fight. I just… Adam was pretty insistent that I not move in right away. He wants me to focus on my finals and he said that this would give him time to get things organized while I’m at school.”

Rachel pursed her lips, considering the idea. “You know, he’s probably right,” she pointed out.

Kurt sighed in resignation. “I know he is,” he acknowledged, making it clear that while he might have come around to Adam’s point of view, he wasn’t happy about it. “That doesn’t mean that I’m thrilled about him being alone while I’m stuck at school.”

Adam had been his normally preceptive self and recognized that Kurt needed a bit of stability and peace to get through his finals and dealing with a move would just be a huge distraction that he didn’t need. As upset as Kurt had been, he eventually accepted that Adam had a point, thought admitting it was like pulling teeth.

“It wasn’t as if we’re not going to see each other,” Kurt insisted, forcing himself to smile. “He promised to start taking some of my stuff that I’m not using right now to the apartment, so I’ll have less to pack. I’ll be moving in right after my last exam.”

“Well, everyone is looking forward to helping this weekend,” Rachel informed him. “Even Santana. She missed Adam more than she lets on.”

“I’ll bet she spent the last few months thinking up all kinds of new nicknames for him,” Kurt chuckled, knowing his friend all too well. For all of Santana’s sharpness, she really did care about those that had wormed their way through her defenses, and she appreciated the way Adam went along with her particular brand of humor.

Talk about moving and settling into their new place was put on hold as Madam Tibideaux strolled into the classroom, her violet caftan and turban perfectly matching the beautiful sunny weather they’d all been enjoying as of late. She turned a warm smile to her students; the select group that had survived their trials at NYADA and had begun to truly thrive under her tutelage.

“Good morning all,” she greeted pleasantly. The class fell to attention, knowing that their teacher, however congenial she appeared, would not be taking it at all easy on them. But regardless of how difficult the challenge she presented was or how much complaining they might do, it wasn’t what they wanted. This group, that she had hand-picked herself and shown that they had what it takes to endure wanted and needed to be pushed as hard as she could manage.

“I hope that you all had a pleasant weekend, although some of you appear to have had a better weekend than others,” she teased, noting Kurt’s less than customary neatness. His cheeks flushed charmingly at being called out and was grateful that she didn’t comment on the love bites scattered up the length of his throat. He supposed that it was a good thing that their relationship had evolved to the point where their dignified teacher could tease them.

Letting Kurt off the hook for the moment, she shifted her focus to their lesson. “We’re now in the final days of classwork and before we get started, I wanted to give you your spring critique assignments,” she warned, reminding them of their all-important year end exam the following week. “All of you have been progressing as well as I could have ever hoped, between your classwork and your work on our spring musical this year. I could not be more pleased with your growth as performers.

“But I would be remiss as your teacher if I didn’t consider that we still have two more years of study together,” she warned. “Some of you, undoubtably will be looking for work shortly and some of you likely already have lined up performing jobs for the summer.”

Rachel couldn’t help from smiling at Kurt, relishing that both of them having secured their summer employment.

Madam Tibideaux leaned against her desk, looking out at their attentive faces. “When considering the nature of your critiques, my goal is to always help in your continued musical education. Not only to see what you’re already learned, but how much more you can grow. What I want from each of you are two song selections,” she advised with a calm smile. “I want you to pick one song, the genre of your choice, that you feel best shows off your current qualities as a singer and artist. Your challenge is to show me how you see yourself as a performer and that you can choose material that displays those qualities best. This is going to be critical when you start auditioning professionally because it will show me that you have a clear understanding of your abilities and how best to show them. The second song is to show me what you hope to become.

“All of you are at the halfway mark of your training here at NYADA,” she reminded. “That means that while you’ve had a considerable amount of intensive training up until now, you still should have room for growth and development. I expect that the second song will be something that is a challenge for you; that you will struggle with because it’s something that you haven’t attempted or thought yourself capable of before. This is the time when you should be considering the artist that you might wish to be when you leave this room for the final time.”

Kurt listened carefully to her requirements and realized that the assignment was actually harder than it initially appeared. She would want to see how ambitious they were in their aspirations, or if they were content to rest on their laurels. For those like himself, Rachel and their friends who have been standouts in so many ways, her expectations would be sky high.

He wasn’t the only one who’d realized that, he noted at seeing the concerned look on Rachel’s face. For someone who knew her voice as well as she did and having as many years of training under her belt, she had a harder task than he did. She’d spent so long thinking that her voice had reached its pinnacle of what it was capable of and having to consider further growth in both technique and artistic reach would be a real challenge for her.

Kurt bit back a sigh, knowing that however much a challenge they found the past year or two, the next two years would be even more difficult. There would always be the press to improve upon what had been perfection only the day before and their teacher would never be satisfied with their accomplishments. Madam Tibideaux would always be demanding more of them.

When they were dismissed and their august teacher left the room so they could stew in the challenge she had issued to them, Rachel let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she said with resignation. “I mean, I know my voice and what I can do, but I can’t imagine what she expects of me.”

“She wants us to keep challenging ourselves,” he answered with a tired grimace.

“It’s never going to be good enough. Is it?” Rachel asked, even knowing the answer.

Kurt shook his head. “Because she knows that we’re always capable of more. However tough we think this is, it’s going to be even worse going forward,” he warned. “We’ve got two years more of school and she’s going to want us to unlearn all of the limits that we put on ourselves.”

Rachel nodded, her dark eyes shadowed with worry because she knew this was indeed a weakness of hers. “Will you help me?” she asked, her gaze pleading. “I always get lost in my own head and start second guessing myself about these things. You know me better than anyone else.”

Rachel’s confidence in him and trusting his judgement was always humbling. Kurt had always admired how sure she was of her own abilities, but he admired even more her new capability of being able to see her lack of perspective where her talents were concerned. Just as he had leaned on her when he was uncertain, she had learned to lean on him.

That afternoon, he found himself in his room digging through the numerous books of musical material that he’d collected over the years. Finding a song that showed his full development to date would not be so difficult. He wanted something both technically and emotionally complex, so that he could show just how much he’d grown as a singer over the past year and a half. It was the second song that had him worried.

What would Madam Tibideaux want to see from him, he pondered as he thumbed through pages of songs from a variety of genres, the pile of rejects far taller than anything that seemed like a reasonable prospect. He knew that he could sing nearly any style by this point. He’d already taken on modern rock-based songs, popular music and songs from any number of musical productions. He’d managed to take on a major role in their school production and handle it as well as any of the upper classmen.

Knowing his teacher as well as he thought he did, he knew that she would be critical of any box that he allowed himself to slip into. He would have to push himself in a way that he’d never tried before. Even if he failed to sing as well as he’d like to, he got the impression that Madam Tibideaux would want to see the direction that he wanted to progress in and show that he wanted to be more than he currently was. Finding something that he had a chance of doing some kind of justice to while still showing room for growth… that was going to be hard.

He had a week to figure this out. Looking up from the pile of songbooks, he realized what he needed to do.

* * *

“Darling, I can handle this,” Adam assured his partner as they walked up the block to their new home. “You’ve got exams to prepare for, and…”

“And we’re moving our stuff in today,” Kurt reminded him with a brilliant smile as he pulled one of his suitcases behind him. “I already confirmed with the furniture store and our bedroom set will arrive this afternoon. The storage company should be here later with the rest of our stuff, and Rachel and the others are on their way.”

Adam had technically already moved in, even if that had meant a borrowed sleeping bag on the floor for the past few days. Kurt wanted him in a proper bed before the day was over and to start getting things situated for them.

They had a good number of volunteers to help them, enough that Kurt was able to assure his fellow Apples that they should focus on their finals and not worry about rushing over to help. Too many people would have ended up being a hinderance with the relatively narrow staircase, and they’d just end up driving over one another all day. There would be plenty of time for them to visit and help out with things. Kurt wasn’t going to tell Adam, but he had a suspicion that their friends were planning something pretty significant for them once finals were done.

The older man slung and arm about Kurt’s shoulders and pulled him in for a quick peck. “Well, I’ll be able to get things sorted out while you’re at school this week,” he assured Kurt. “Just tell me where you want stuff. We can always move things around as we want later.”

Kurt beamed at his lover. “It’ll all be fine,” he insisted. “I’m ready for my exams. Even my voice class. And do you know what I’m really looking forward to?”

“A private shower?” Adam guessed, only to earn a teasing smile from Kurt.

“Nope, although that will be nice. What I’m really looking forward to is christening our new bed tonight.” The gleam in Kurt’s eyes made it abundantly clear what he meant.

Even after the thorough reconnection they’d enjoyed since his return, Adam couldn’t help the slow burn of arousal that Kurt’s teasing kindled and he couldn’t resist pulling Kurt closer to him despite the baggage that they were literally carrying.

“And not just the bed,” Kurt promised. “The day after my last test, I’m going to go to my dorm room and pack the last of my things. Then I’m going to come here for good. And we’re going to christen every room and every single piece of furniture we own.”

“Nice, Hummel,” Santana snapped with a wicked grin as she came up behind Kurt, having heard every salacious word. Trailing in her wake was Dani and Elliot, both of whom were clearly attempting to keep from laughing and failing.

“Just make sure that you disinfect everything before you invite anyone over for dinner,” she warned with a flash of humor in her dark eyes. “The last thing I need to be thinking about is my plate being right where your bare ass was planted right a half hour earlier.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk,” he complained playfully. “I seem to remember how quickly we were going through cling wrap after you moved in. We didn’t have that many leftovers.”

Dani muffled her giggles while her girlfriend’s smile contained entirely too much smug satisfaction. “Hey, none of my ladies can ever be called leftovers,” Santana retorted before turning to Adam.

“Nice of you to finally come out of hiding, Teaboy,” she pronounced with a sharp glint of humor in her eye. “I’m surprised that you were letting Hummel here off his back long enough to go to class.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing, having missed her particular brand of humor. “Back, side… whatever position we found ourselves in,” he answered mischievously, earning a swat from his lover and a nod of admiration from the young woman teasing them. He’s learned early on that the best way to handle Santana’s particular brand of humor was to meet it head on, without shame or embarrassment.

Besides, what man in his right mind would be ashamed to have someone like Kurt in his bed? Adam couldn’t be prouder that of all the men Kurt had met, it was he that Kurt chose to be with. Even after months spent apart.

Elliot couldn’t help from laughing and stepped up to give Adam a pat on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. “Good to have you back, man,” he said sincerely. “We all missed you.”

“I missed you all too,” Adam insisted. “Come on… let me show you the new place.”

As they walked to the apartment, Elliot couldn’t resist looking around. “I really love this area,” he claimed. “You’ve got everything here. It’s got a great vibe.”

“Well, this is it,” Kurt proclaimed as they reached the building.

Elliot quickly moved to take one of the bags that Adam was pulling in hand. “Let me help,” he insisted with a brilliant smile.

Within a few moments, they were stepping into the mostly bare apartment, the empty rooms waiting for the two new tenants to put their stamp on them. Kurt lay the suitcase he’d been pulling on the floor and took the girls in hand. “Let me show you around,” he insisted, taking them on a quick tour before the rest of their friends arrived.

Elliot looked to Adam. “It must feel good to be back,” he surmised, giving the other man a knowing smile. “You know, getting reacquainted with people.”

Adam chuckled, knowing exactly what Elliot meant. “We’ve definitely been doing that,” he said amusedly. “Lots of reacquainting.”

He looked about the apartment that was to be his and Kurt’s home before turning a thankful smile to Elliot. “I did want to thank you for being there for Kurt,” he said sincerely. “I know how hard this was for him, and he had so many things thrown at him.”

“Hey, he’s my friend so it wasn’t exactly a sacrifice,” Elliot insisted. “You are too. Now that you’re back, we can hang out more. And don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook when my cabaret group does its next performance. I can’t wait to see you and Kurt duet together, especially if you’re able to pull off something like you did on Halloween.”

Adam felt his cheeks flush at the memory. “That was all Kurt,” he asserted proudly. “He’s just full of surprises.”

“Nah… I think that you’ve got a couple of surprises up your sleeve too,” Elliot claimed with a knowing grin.

“Kurt’s been telling me that you’ve got a job lined up now,” Adam prodded.

Elliot nodded happily. “And I get to stay in New York, which is just icing on the cake. I was pretty shocked when the Elevator Repair Service made an offer for me to join the company for a year, but it was exactly what I was looking for. And they’ve got some interesting projects lined up for the fall season. It’ll give me a chance to get my feet wet in the business and make some decisions about where to take it from there.”

“Well, I know that Kurt’s going to be pleased to have your around,” Adam reminded. He heard the sound of a large vehicle outside and peered out the window, seeing a truck pulling up to the curb.

“Kurt, I think that’s our furniture arriving,” he called out. “I’m going downstairs to meet them.”

“Coming!” Kurt answered, hurrying over with the girls following in in his wake.

“Can’t you wait for the bed to arrive?” Santana teased, earning a poke in her ribs from her girlfriend.

Adam laughed and gave Kurt a quick kiss. “You wait up here and keep the door open.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Elliot offered, following Adam down the stairs.

Not for the first time, Adam was glad that they purchased their bedroom set from a proper furniture store and arranged for delivery and assembly. It was worth saving their backs for the other stuff arriving and Adam was happy to let the three burly men from the delivery service do the heavy lifting. He watched as they unloaded the truck and began to carry the pieces up the stairs to where Kurt was waiting to direct them.

An hour later, the two dressers, nightstands and bedframe were assembled and in place and the new mattress laid on the bed. Adam had to admit that it was a lovely set, done in a modern style with pale honey colored wood and clean lines that was suitably masculine. He couldn’t help from smiling as Kurt sat down on the bed and gave a little bounce to test it out.

“Comfy, love?” Adam asked, watching as Kurt kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. There was something really special about seeing Kurt making sure that their shared bed was suitably comfortable for them.

“Oh, this is so nice,” Kurt sighed happily. “And it’s so big…”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that Adam’s heard that a few times before,” he said teasingly.

Kurt snorted and aimed a half-hearted kick at his friend, who dodged him easily with a laugh.

Santana walked in an announced that the second truck had arrived from the storage company and that Rachel and Tina were waiting for them downstairs. Adam thanked her and said they’d be downstairs in just a moment.

He patted Kurt’s leg to get his attention. “Come on, love,” he urged gently. ”Let’s get things moving. We’ve got a lot of stuff to bring up and a good part of it is your wardrobe.”

Kurt snorted indignantly, not missing the light teasing in his lover’s voice. He held out his hand so that Adam could help pull him to a seated position and slipped into his running shoes again. Holding hands, they walked down the stairs to meet the others where they found the truck being unloaded of all their boxes and furniture. Rachel and Tina were there, and Kurt wasn’t surprised to see Neil holding Rachel’s hand.

Good, he though. They could use another strong man to cart the heavy things up the stairs.

Tina held out a white cardboard cake box to Kurt. “These are from Artie,” she advised. “He feels terrible that he’s not here to help. He’s been stuck doing a project for his finals, and I’ve barely seen him. He’s been locked away in the editing room at school the past few days.”

Kurt nodded understandingly, knowing that Artie’s absence was only partly due to his final project and more the fact that he probably wouldn’t be any real help with this. With the stairs, he wouldn’t be able to assist with moving anything in and would need assistance himself in getting up to the apartment. A school project was the most graceful way he could beg out of trying to help when he would be in the way more than anything else. Kurt would have to remember that when they invited the group over for their official housewarming, he and Adam would have to help carry Artie and his chair up the stairs and do it in a way that didn’t embarrass their younger friend.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Adam said with a smile. “Why don’t you run upstairs and place that in the kitchen. We can enjoy them once we get things settled.”

“I’ll show her where it is,” Rachel advised. “We’ll be right back.”

Adam shook Neil’s hand. “Good to see you,” he greeted cheerfully. “We can definitely use another set of hands.”

Neal grinned back at him. “I’m glad to help,” he assured the other man. “It’s a break from the books, and I was promised by Elliot that there would be pizza and beer.”

“That there will be,” Adam assured him. “I figure that we’ll tackle the furniture and let the girls start on the boxes.”

“Sounds good to me.” Neal rolled up his sleeve. “What do you want to start with?”

Kurt placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the collection of boxes and furniture pieces. “How the hell do we have so much stuff?” he asked. “I don’t remember all this.”

“I think that the boxes multiplied while they were in storage,” Adam mused with a teasing smile. He draped an arm about the younger man’s shoulders and pulled him along. “Come on, love… the sooner we get started, the sooner we finish.”

Between the four men, they managed the pieces of furniture that Kurt and Adam had saved from their old apartment. They had planned on eventually purchasing a few new things since their apartment was considerably larger than Adam’s studio, but at least they had enough to get them started. It took all four of them to wrestle the sofa up the stairs, carefully navigating to keep from battering the walls of the hallway. Then came the chair and coffee table and their bookcases.

The girls took care of the lighter items and the boxes containing their clothing and personal possessions, using the hand truck Adam had borrowed from the building superintendent to pull them up the stairs. Rachel and Tina carried up the rug for the living room and rolled it out in front of the couch while Santana and Dani took care of the framed art. The television and stand were set up in the living area and Adam assured Kurt that the internet connection would be set up the following day. The final burden of boxes of books, their cookware and dishes were shared between the group. Adam would have quite a task unpacking, but it would give him something to do while Kurt was busy at school with his exams.

It was late afternoon by the time they were done, and everyone was physically exhausted. But at least the apartment was now at least partly furnished and livable. Once Kurt and Adam completed their unpacking and arranging things more to their liking, they’d get a better sense of what additional items they’d need to purchase.

Kurt looked about the main area, satisfied that Adam would be comfortable until they got everything settled. “I’m going to put in the pizza order,” he announced as he set out bowls of chips and dips for them to snack on in the meantime. “Any requests?”

“Anything but anchovies,” Elliot answered with a dramatic shudder.

“I still don’t get what you have against anchovies,” Neil teased from across the room, giving his friend a playful grin.

“Little hairy, salty fish? Totally gross,” Elliot insisted, getting an emphatic nod of support from Dani.

Rachel looked down at Neil from her position on his lap and gave him a judgmental look. “If you really like anchovies, I’m going to have to reconsider our relationship,” she warned seriously.

Neil laughed and patted her on her thigh. “I’m just teasing Elliot,” he assured her with a warm grin. “He really, really is grossed out by them and it’s so easy to yank his chain.”

“And everyone, please help yourself to drinks,” Adam invited. “The fridge is full. We’ve got beer, cider, soft drinks…”

These were the moments that Kurt had grown to treasure since arriving in New York. Sitting with his friends, eating junk food and teasing one another in a way that did not draw blood while they shared and celebrated milestones in their lives. Holidays, new relationships, employment opportunities or something major like this were made all the sweeter by having people that he loved to share them with.

Sitting on the floor between Adam’s legs while his lover sat on the couch allowed them to remain in close physical contact, Adam’s hands free to smooth through Kurt’s hair or rest on his shoulder while they talked. Elliot shared the couch with Adam while Neil had appropriated their one other chair with Rachel seated on his lap. The other girls joined Kurt on the floor, sprawled about the rug like a litter of unruly kittens.

“So, do you think you’ll ever take a touring job again?” Elliot asked Adam.

Adam shrugged. “If the job was a particular good one, I wouldn’t refuse it out of hand,” he admitted. “I’m hardly at the stage where I can turn down work if it’s offered, but it won’t be my first preference.”

“Well, fortunately you won’t have to worry about that so soon,” Kurt reminded him with a loving smile.

Adam nodded, ducking his head to kiss the top of Kurt’s head. “You’re right, sweetheart. We’ve got the run in London, but that will almost be a holiday for us. And then the opening in spring here in New York. I’m very fortunate.”

“What was it like?” Neil asked. “It must have been fun to travel to so many places?”

Adam appeared thoughtful, considering the question. “It was definitely interesting,” he admitted. “I mean, I’d only really been around New York since I came to the States, so I do appreciate having been able to visit so many places over the past few months. But it wasn’t exactly a holiday and staying in hotels all the time and traveling so much took a lot out of me.

“But I made some good friends along the way,” he admitted with a smile. Through necessity and the good fortune of just having the right blend of personalities, the cast had become quite close over the past few months. “And having the chance to really put what I’d learned to practical application will help my career in the future. So, it definitely can be counted as a positive experience.”

Elliot smiled happily at the other man. “I’m really glad for you,” he claimed. “We all worried about you, so I’m happy that it was mostly a good experience.”

Adam was thankful for Elliot’s sincerity. “I’m glad to be back where I belong,” he insisted gently. He felt Kurt reach up to touch the hand that was resting on his shoulder and Adam couldn’t resist entwining their fingers. “I know it was just as hard for Kurt and I’m glad that all of you were there for him.”

Kurt just smiled, letting the warm comfort of having so many of his closest friends wash over him. He was so fortunate, he realized. To have managed to meld the friends that had followed him and Rachel from Ohio with the new group that they had found in New York. Somewhere along the line, he had come to view all of them as members of his very strange extended family.

He thought about his whole family, bound by blood and choice, scattered across the country. There was his father and stepmother splitting their time between Lima and Washington, with Finn and the other two young men that he considered brothers were building lives in Texas. Mercedes was on her way to making a name for herself in California. Mike was building his career in Chicago and Quinn in Cambridge. Their paths would continue to cross through their lives, and they would gather to celebrate important milestones. There would be premieres, weddings, births and, hopefully not for many years, deaths. The bonds between them would remain strong, even if many miles separated them. They would fade only if allowed to.

He carried those thoughts in his mind as he walked into the Round Room for his spring vocal critique. As she had the previous year, Madam Tibideax wanted to give them the opportunity to show off their vocals in the best venue that NYADA had to offer. Kurt always loved this room because it had been the place where so many wonderful things in his life had originated. How could he have ever known that being called upon to perform that night would have changed his life so.

Kurt was glad that he arrived early, allowing him a few moments to see how the stage was set and to mentally run through how he wanted his performance to go. The band had already begun to set up and tune their instruments, so Kurt stayed out of their way as much as possible. He’d already given his written instructions for his music and trusted that the student musicians and conductor would be able to provide the musical support that he needed for this test.

Rachel had arrived shortly after him, her dark blue dress decorated with ruffles that floated lightly over her body and gave her a soft, waiflike air that suited the material she’d chosen. She had her hair styled in soft waves that framed her face beautifully and Kurt bent to give her a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“You look wonderful,” he complimented, so glad that she had moved beyond the garish makeup and overdone hair that suited her so poorly. He very much preferred this sweeter, more honest and gentle version of his friend.

“You too,” she praised, eyeing his outfit with a complimentary nod. “Did Isabelle help with this look?”

Kurt couldn’t help from grinning. “No. You know, I am capable of dressing myself,” he reminded her, arching his perfectly groomed eyebrow wryly. He was rather proud of how he managed to pair a blue sharkskin suit with a shirt and tie in a deep golden color. Maybe Isabelle and Chase helped him to transition his fashion-forward tastes to more mature, put together styles but he still knew what worked best for him. The slim-cut suit displayed his body perfectly and knowing that he looked good helped his confidence in the performance challenge that awaited him.

The rest of the class streamed into the room, and while Kurt and Rachel took a few moments to greet their friends, everyone needed a bit of space to mentally prepared for this test. Kurt took a seat towards the back and went over the notes he’d made about his performance choices, taking care to review exactly where he needed to make the transitions in his register and just when he wanted to launch into his glory notes. The first song he picked was well within his capabilities and he knew that it would display all of his best qualities as a singer.

It was the second that would be a real challenge. For all he practiced over the past week, he knew that he would not be able to sing it nearly as well as he would like to. But this song spoke to him as much as his first song did and he needed to show that he was ready to start ranging well outside his box. He was going to be pushing far out of his comfort zone and this had the potential to be a complete disaster if his voice failed him. Madam Tibideaux would hold nothing back in her criticisms.

The doors opened and Madam Tibideax glided in, looking as calm and at ease as her students were apprehensive. She paused to speak briefly with the conductor before turning her attention to her class.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted with a warm smile. “I hope that all of you are excited about showing me what you have chosen to perform, because I certainly am about seeing it. All of you have shown over the past two years your desire to grow as artists and now is the time to show where all your hard work has taken you.”

She looked about the room, catching the gaze of each of her students with her steady, calm eyes. “All of you are still maturing as artists. This test is to show me how you see yourselves as performers now, and what you hope to achieve in the coming two years. I’m looking forward to seeing some interesting things today.

“I will meet with each of you at the end of the week to review your work and discuss your training going forward,” she reminded. “We have a lot to get through today, so let’s not waste time. Ms. Berry? If you’re ready.”

It appeared that their teacher was going in alphabetical order, so it wasn’t a complete surprise for Rachel to be called up first. She smiled confidently and stepped to the stage, turning to face her classmates and teacher.

“Before you begin, Ms. Berry, I’d like to know what informed your decisions about the material you’ve chosen,” Madam Tibideax requested, taking out her notepad.

Rachel considered the question carefully before answering. “Well, last year was a bit of a rocky one for me and I made a lot of mistakes,” she admitted. “I had a difficult time accepting just how narrow a view I had on what constituted a good performance. This year I’ve been really trying to work more on an emotional connection to the material I pick and rethink more about the kind of roles that I hope to play in the future. I picked one song today from a musical that I’d always dreamed of performing in and one that I’d never considered before.”

Her answer seemed to please their teacher, who made a brief nod of approval for her to begin.

When Kurt heard the first strains of music, he couldn’t help from smiling. Rachel’s adoration for Wicked and the role of Elphaba was hardly a secret and Kurt knew that she dreamed about assuming that role one day. She could have chosen any number of songs that would have displayed her powerhouse vocal technique, but she picked the gentlest, most introspective song for her favorite character.

“Hands touch, eyes meet,” she sang gently, her voice lifted on the strains of flute and violin. “Sudden silence, sudden heat. Hearts leap in a giddy whirl. He could be that boy… but I’m not that girl.”

She looked up, a softly wistful expression on her face. “Don’t dream too far,” she warned. “Don’t lose sight of who you are. Don’t remember that rush of joy. He could be that boy, but I’m not that girl.”

Kurt thought about the past few years, and about the challenges and setbacks that Rachel had faced. She hadn’t always weathered them so well, lashing out and seeking to assign blame in order to shield herself from disappointment. She had faced the choice of giving up on her dreams or allowing a more realistic version of them to take hold. One that wouldn’t be so simple to fulfill but was still achievable. One that allowed for the possibility for failures, but also growth. Maybe one that would be more satisfying when it was achieved.

Rachel’s arms folded about herself comfortingly, as if in recognition that no matter how much support she could expect from those around her, in the end it would be her own strength and determination that would see her through.

“Every so often, we long to steal to the land of what might have been,” she granted regretfully, understanding that to wish for things that just could not be was pointless. “But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in.”

Kurt knew that Rachel had finally reached that place where she could accept the disappointments and not let them crush her. That she had finally gained the wisdom to recognize the difference between a dream and a fantasy. She was finally becoming the person that he’d always hoped she would be.

The music began to pick up power as cello and percussion came in to lift Rachel’s voice. She sang with a technical finesse that Kurt hadn’t seen before and was able to meld with the song rather than overpowering it. Rachel had figured out before how to use material to communicate with her audience, but this was the first time that he could remember her able to take a song associated with such an iconic singer and making it totally her own.

If Madam Tibideaux was looking for growth from Rachel, she would be more than satisfied.

“Blithe smile, lithe limb,” Rachel sang with clear regret in her voice, able to express the character’s recognition that she would not be getting what she desperately wanted. “She who’s winsome, she wins him.

“Gold hair with a gentle curl. That the girl he chose. And heaven knows, I’m not that girl.”

The band changed the tone again, bringing more strength into the notes and Rachel visibly steeled herself, as if accepting this bitter disappointment but refusing to be beaten by it. She would accept her flaws and her failings and use them to grow.

“Don’t wish, don’t start,” she warned, finally allowing the full strength of her vocal tone come out as her character’s resolve came to the forefront. “Wishing only wounds the heart. I wasn’t born for the rose and pearl. There’s a girl I know… he loves her so… I’m not that girl…”

As always, Madam Tibideaux expressed nothing while Rachel sang. Just watching every element like a sphinx, making her copious notes that would be at least as much criticism and compliments. But given what he knew that their teacher was demanding of Rachel, Kurt believed that Rachel would be very happy when she got her critique. This was the first time that he felt her performance on such a visceral level.

Rachel accepted the applause from her peers with a shy smile and a nod, apparently pleased that the performance had gone as well as it did. The band began to play her second song selection and immediately, Kurt could see the radical difference between the two numbers. The first had started off gently and introspective. This one was immediately showing how radically different a song it was with its discordant piano and clashing symbols.

“It’s my mother’s house, in my mother’s name,” Rachel all but snarled, her dark eyes flashing anger that her character wasn’t allowed to express towards the person it was aimed at. “And you can’t beat mother at mother’s game.

“Cuz she liked the people who I don’t like. And if I don’t like it it’s take a hike!”

Rachel began to pace, looking more like a caged animal than the young theater student that she was in reality. “Which is mother’s way or reminding me, when you live with mother you can’t be free,” Rachel complained, her expression clearly displaying her anger at the injustice portrayed in the song.

“And I think that mother is very mean. And the latest thing with this wash machine. The one that Jerry bought!” Rachel confided to her audience. “Don’t be surprised if this guy moves in and I’m pulverized!

“Cuz I’ll be damned if I’m gonna waste my time. Washing clothes in a goddam machine!”

The music shifted, with a more gentle piano and woodwinds coming in and Rachel’s performance tone changed to reflect the more childlike musings of a woman trapped in a miserable life, using scraps that she’d collected for a mental escape.

“Around the world is what I call my wall of special things,” Rachel explained, the anger in her voice exchanged for pained longing for a life that she could only imagine. “Around the world with rose bouquets. I dried and tied on strings, a silver mask from a masquerade. Around and around I twirled…”

Rachel turned about, holding out her arms as she sang, “You take them up so you can twirl around the world.”

The music turned harsh again and Rachel halted with a bereft expression. “It my mother’s house,” she bemoaned, allowing a sense of desperation to come into her voice. “With my mother’s friend. And with Jerry coming it never ends. It’s the same old story as George Gould Strong. Not in twenty years did we get along.

“Though I did feel bad for the way he died,” she granted. “In a two-bit flea bag; a suicide. It was mother’s money, the Bouvier’s. And if mother spent it in crazy ways. No one took care of her. Only me! Not sexually.”

Rachel’s expression took on a defiant cast, ready to throw back the judgement that others had placed on her back in their faces. Kurt smiled proudly, happy to see her throwing herself into a role that she had never shown any interest in and was so different from the characters that she had wanted to play in the past.

“And if you infer that they were using her, I will shove you under the goddamn bed!” she warned dangerously, trying to balance the shifting moods of anger towards her mother and protectiveness. The music shifted tone again to the gentler notes, betraying her character’s ache for something more.

“Around the world, with stones and shells. The nicest ones I lost,” Rachel lamented tiredly. “Around the world, without a boat, or just a quote from Frost. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. A lovely crossing on…”

Kurt could see what Rachel was trying to accomplish with this song. She had painted herself into such a tight box with the types of roles that she wanted to play and and how to play those parts that she was holding herself back. It was only now that she was starting to open up to roles outside of her diva, showstopper style. Roles that weren’t glamorous, but more complex and with more emotional nuance than she was currently capable of delivering.

She was finally showing that she wanted to be more than what she currently was. That she wanted a career beyond the fantasy of a Tony award by the time she was twenty-five. Rachel wanted to learn and evolve and was willing to put in the work and make the mistakes that would allow her to do so.

There were plenty of things that Madam Tibideaux would find to be critical of. Rachel wasn’t able to handle the shifts in mood and tone so smoothly and there were even points where the melody was getting away from her. But she had never attempted a song as technically or emotionally complex as this one and Kurt had little doubt that she would be getting ample credit for making the attempt.

The girl who had started out only dreaming of being a star was now showing that she wanted to be taken seriously as an actress.

“Around the world there isn’t room for every special thing,” Rachel cried out, folding in on herself. “Around the world, you choose a few to make the music sing!

“A silver mask from a masquerade. Around and around I twirled. You take them up, so when you go the world will be the one you know!”

The music began to draw to a close, and Rachel’s voice rose gently. “A birdcage I plan to hang. I’ll get to that someday,” she promised. “A birdcage for a bird who flew away… around the world…”

Kurt and several in the class got to their feet to give Rachel a standing ovation that she very richly deserved. She wasn’t flawless, but the emotional depth of her singing was miles beyond what she had done before. For the first time that Kurt could remember, she wasn’t worried about being perfect and just sang from her soul.

Madam Tibideaux granted her students a moment to praise their peer before calling for the next to take the stage. Rachel took her seat next to Kurt and turned a tired smile to him.

He didn’t say anything, not wanting to distract from their classmate who was starting her exam. He just reached out and took Rachel’s hand, giving it a warm squeeze to let her know that she had done well.

When it was finally Kurt’s turn to stand before his peers, Madam Tibideaux asked of him the same question that she asked of each her students. Why these particular songs?

Kurt smiled thoughtfully, taking time to consider his answer before speaking. “I did a lot of thinking about what songs I wanted to do today because the past year has been a really challenging one for me. This was the year when I really started to understand just what a career in this business is going to entail. I tried to pick songs that would express what I consider important, because my life will be more than just the roles that I play. And I wanted songs that would challenge me both artistically and technically. I’m still learning who I am as an artist and how far my voice can take me.”

Madam Tibideaux nodded for him to begin and Kurt waited for the piano player to begin. He’d selected a simple arrangement, not wanting the music to overshadow his voice. He appreciated the emotional vulnerability of this particular song and wanted to do it justice. Kurt he found it fitting that if a Sondheim number was the performance that opened the doors to NYADA for him and brought his lover into his life.

“Not a day goes by,” Kurt sang out with measured strength, wanting to express the tender but complicated feelings about his life. “Not a single day. But you’re somewhere, a part of my life, and it looks like you’ll stay…

“As the days go by… I keep thinking ‘when does it end?’ But I just go on thinking and sweating. And cursing and crying. And turning and reaching. And waking and dying…”

Kurt knew how very fortunate he was. That just two years ago, he couldn’t see a future for himself. He had his family and he had Blaine, as much as he could claim to have Blaine, but his dreams of the stage seemed futile. Then Blaine walked out of his life and Kurt felt completely lost. It felt like any time he had the slightest hope for something better, the universe conspired to snatch it away from him.

Now he had NYADA. And Adam. And a group of friends that he would happily go to the ends of the earth for, and that he knew would do the same for him. He would fight like hell to keep them in his life.

“And no… Not a day goes by,” he sang, looking about the room with a satisfied expression on his face. For all the times he had doubted himself, he knew in his heart that he deserved to be standing there at that instant. “Not a blessed day. But you’re still somewhere in my life, and you won’t go away…”

The months of Adam being on the road had been difficult ones for the both of them, but they had learned so much about themselves and one another. Kurt saw the strength that he had, and that he deserved to be loved. That he didn’t have to shy away from praise or caring out of fear that it wasn’t truly warranted. Allowing himself to risk being hurt had gained him so much more than he could have ever hoped for.

He looked to his friends, who watched him with happy smiles and he knew that he was giving his teacher what she demanded. A song that expressed who he was as a performer; someone who could distill the raw emotion of a song and make it his own. That was his greatest strength as an artist.

“So there’s hell to pay,” Kurt warned, letting his voice slip free of the measured restraint and rise with the soaring notes. “And until I die! I’ll die day after day. After day, after day. After day, after day. After day…”

There was no reason for Kurt to be afraid any longer. He had found his place in the world and it would continue to grow and expand and those that he loved would always be there with him. He was no longer alone in the world.

“Till the days go by!” he cried out, letting his voice take wing. “Till the days go by!”

He let the last note go with a flourish and felt no fear that his performance hadn’t met the standards of their difficult to please teacher, because he knew that he had done so. He took a steadying breath to center himself and prepare for his next challenge.

The band was waiting for his cue and Kurt slipped held out his arms, his feet firmly planted as if staking his place in the universe.

“Here I stand!” he proclaimed proudly, his voice ringing out through the room as he opened his throat. The band began to play, the lilting music supporting his soaring notes. “My constitution sound, my frame not ill-favoured. My wit ready, my heart light…”

He knew that he was going to surprise a lot of people, his teacher included, with this song. It was one thing to play with light operettas as he learned classical technique. But a proper operatic aria? He doubted that Madam Tibideax would have expected him to display that level of ambition.

“I play the industrious apprentice in a copybook,” he complained, looking affronted at being confined to such a demeaning role as he focused on following the complicated melody. “I submit to the drudge’s yoke. I slave through a lifetime to enrich others, and then be thrown away like a gnawed bone. Not I!”

How often had Kurt allowed himself to be used to benefit others? How many times did he let friends walk all over him to advance themselves at his expense? He could not begin to count the number of times that he swallowed his pride to grant Blaine the spotlight that he demanded, No more…

He looked to his audience with a determined stare. “Have not the grave doctors assured us that good works are of no avail, for heaven predestines all?” he questioned, his voice nimbly dancing up the scale of notes while engaging his vibrato to its fullest. “In my fashion, I may profess myself of their party and herewith entrust myself to Fortune.”

It was a shame that he couldn’t sing this song first. This song was full of bravado about throwing caution to the wind and abandoning bonds of friends and family so as to chase dreams, while the second was recognizing the importance of those bonds to one’s life. But he was glad that he was able to find two songs that complimented one another, and in the end it still worked. Especially when he considered the structure of the show that his first song was featured in, the story being told in reverse time.

Kurt shifted his focus fully to his singing because this was the complicated part. “Since it is not by merit we rise or fall, but the favour of Fortune that governs us all,” he mused aloud, his voice all but dancing over the complicated pattern of notes.

“That governs us all! Why should I labour for what in the end She will give me for nothing if she be my friend?”

Kurt knew, back when he first started working with this song just how different his viewpoint was from his character’s. He wasn’t the kind to just expect good things to come into his life by chance or because he felt that he deserved it just by existing. He knew better than most that even with hard work that successes sometimes needed to be clawed to him and fought for. Had he just waited for the universe to grant him what he wanted he’d still be behind the counter of the Lima Bean back in Ohio.

“While if She not, why, the wealth I might gain for a time by my toil would at last be in vain,” Kurt considered, drawing out the last note of that verse dramatically. “Till I die then, of fever, or by lightning am struck. Let me live by my wits and trust to my luck!”

He struggled to keep his hold on the melody, focusing on enunciating properly while still using enough vibrato for flavor his notes. He knew that Madam TIbideaux was going to give him hell over the lapses in his technique and he knew that this song was well outside his current skill set, but he had to try. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his teacher furiously scribbling down notes and knew that his critique was going to be a very in depth one and that he’d better be prepared for every word of criticism in it.

Allowing a determined smile to cross his face, Kurt squared his shoulders confidently. “My life lies before me,” he proclaimed with determination. “The world is so wide! Come, wishes, be horses… this beggar shall ride!”

His voice soared into his upper register and held the note without breaking, much to Kurt’s satisfaction. He looked up, as if to command the universe to give him what he deserved.

“This beggar shall ride!”

The final notes of the instruments drifted silent and it took a second for his classmates to respond. He heard Jamie give a delighted “Woo!” before the class as a whole began to applaud him. Most of them had gotten to their feet and Kurt allowed himself the moment to enjoy the sense of pride as he took his seat next to Rachel again.

Madam Tibideax was still jotting down notes and Kurt knew that he was going to be rewarded or raked over the coals for throwing caution to the wind as he did. Maybe both, he considered. Either way, his review was likely to be very interesting.

It was late in the afternoon when the last student had finished singing and Madam Tibideaux rose to her feet.

“Well, you’ve all given me quite a bit to think over,” she acknowledged with a satisfied smile. “I’m very pleased that all of you rose to the challenge and chose such interesting material. My office will be in touch to schedule your reviews and we can discuss your training for the coming months.

“But for now, I hope that everyone has a productive summer,” she urged. “Use these weeks to continue training and thinking about how you want to continue to grow as artists.”

Once she had left the Round Room, her students gave a collective sigh of relief that they’d survived the ordeal. Kurt couldn’t help from grinning as he looked at his friends all but slumped in their seats as the tension was released like air from a popped balloon.

“Thank God that’s over,” Jamie groaned, rubbing at is eyes. His girlfriend leaned over to pat his arm reassuringly even though she looked as mentally and physically drained as he did.

Analisa offered her friends a wan smile. “But we survived,” she reminded them. “And I don’t know about all of you, but I seriously need a drink right now. Several drinks.”

Rachel nodded in agreement. “How about we go grab dinner? And a few bottles of wine?”

Kurt quickly considered his schedule. He had his stage combat practical in the morning, but he could afford a glass or two to decompress. “Sounds good to me,” he agreed.

After gathering up his messenger bag, he followed his friends out of their performance space, unable to resist taking a quick glance back at the room where his fortunes had shifted. Kurt smiled and took a deep breath of contentment. He might be a little foolish, but he could almost imagine the atmosphere of the room enveloping him in a warm embrace.

“Kurt, are you coming?” Analisa called. “There’s a bottle of rosé with my name on it waiting.”

He blinked, clearing his head of the mental cobwebs before hurrying to meet the others.

“Coming…”

* * *

The week progressed quickly, with Kurt focused on his exams and practicals. Fortunately, it left him little time for woolgathering as he was either studying, practicing or taking a test of some sort. He would rather die than admit that just maybe Adam had been right all along, but he ended up being glad to not have his life uprooted again while getting through the final days of the semester.

He had also met with his academic advisor to discuss his progress and the classes he should plan on for the coming school year. Now that he’d satisfied all of his core requirements, he could go on to more specialized training. Kurt had almost made the decision to take the advanced levels in his stagecraft classes, and Cassandra July would decapitate him if he bailed out on Advanced Jazz Movement. He did want to continue with his stage combat training.

His voice development would be up to Madam Tibideaux, and he was both anticipating and dreading his meeting with her. For some odd reason, both he and Rachel were scheduled within an hour or one another and they made plans to meet up afterwards to celebrate surviving another year and lick their battle wounds.

Knowing that his teacher despised tardiness, Kurt arrived several minutes early and waited patiently by the Dean’s assistant until he was called inside. Whereas at one time entering the Dean’s office was an exercise in terror, he’d grown accustomed to her ways and was looking forward to getting her review of his performances, even if he was expecting more criticism than normal.

“Have a seat, Mr. Hummel,” Madam Tibideaux offered, the command in her tone carefully concealed with her customary formal curtesy. She hadn’t bothered to look up at his entrance, her dark eyes focused on the papers spread out over her desk. “We have quite a bit to go over today.”

Readying himself to face the firing squad, Kurt took the seat in front of her desk and waited patiently for her to begin. When the Dean finally looked up at him, he sat up and offered his full attention.

“Well, I can’t say that you didn’t give me a great deal to consider,” she mused with a reserved smile, tapping her pen lightly against her desk. “We’ll start off with your first number, which was obviously the one you were most comfortable with.”

Kurt nodded in agreement, knowing that her assessment of that fact was more than fair.

“I do appreciate you choosing another Sondheim number,” she assured him. “You seem to have an affinity for his style of songwriting. And while it bears some similarity to the song you performed at Winter Showcase in style, I think that worked to your advantage in this assignment. You were able to show me very clearly just how much you’ve progressed over the past year and a half. Your technique was exceptional, and you gave me a rendition that would not be out of place on any professional stage, so well done.”

“Thank you, Madam,” he said gratefully, glad that at least one of his songs met her exacting standards. “To be honest, that night did have a lot of influence on my choice of material. I did want to make a clear comparison to my abilities before I started at NYADA.”

“There are few things that I enjoy more than seeing students fulfilling their potential and becoming aware of their progression. You have become a very well-rounded performer,” she assured him. “You’ve always had a distinct talent for communicating the emotional message of the material you choose and able to make it sincere. That’s not a talent that many singers have naturally but you’ve always displayed an emotional maturity in your performances that is very well-developed for someone of your age and level of experience.

“Now you also have the vocal technique to support it. Your breath control was excellent and there was no strain in either the upper or lower ends of your register,” she noted. “You’re also able to bring more warmth into your tone, especially in your upper range which is tempering the sharpness that you sometimes displayed. That gives a lot more depth to your voice and I think that we’ve set a very strong foundation for your future development.”

Kurt allowed himself to relax, just a little bit. If his first song was so well received, then she likely wasn’t going to destroy him over his second.

“As far as your choice of material, you understand your voice well and now see just how much it is capable of. You took full advantage of the first part of the test and picked a song that shows all the best qualities of your performer. So, very well done.”

Kurt couldn’t help from smiling. “Thank you, Madam,” she said sincerely.

His teacher offered him another smile, and the glint in her eyes warned Kurt that the harder part of his critique was about to begin. “Let’s discuss your second number,” she proposed. “What was your thinking when you chose it?”

Kurt had suspected that she might question his choice and had come prepared. “You asked us to choose something that we could aspire to in the future,” he reminded. “I was thinking that doing another Broadway number would be too expected. Too safe, maybe. I wanted to do something that was totally outside of my comfort zone.”

The gleam in Madam Tibideaux’s eyes sharped a bit. “So, logically you thought that opera, which you’ve had only limited training in up until now, would be a good idea?” she questioned pointedly. “That wasn’t exactly Gilbert and Sullivan.”

“Maybe not a good idea,” he granted. “But it was something that I needed to try. I’ve been learning over the past few years that if I choose to limit myself, then I can’t complain if others also limit me.”

Madam Tibideaux cocked her head curiously, her eyes widening slightly at his response and Kurt knew that he would have to explain his rational more fully.

“I know that the odds of me performing material like this in my career are very low,” Kurt acknowledged. “My focus is still performing on Broadway and scores this complex are not exactly the norm. I don’t plan on an opera career. Even if I did, the odds are that I just started vocal training too late to have a reasonable chance at success.”

“I’ll disagree with you on that point,” Madam Tibideaux offered with a reassuring smile. “I think that you’ve got the drive to do anything you set your mind to.”

Kurt was grateful for her reassurance about his prospects. “Still, I know where my aspirations lie. But I thought about your instructions for picking our material and I realized that there’s nothing that I don’t want to do.”

The Dean arched a nearly non-existent eyebrow in response.

He looked at her frankly. “I don’t want to put myself in a position of not being able to handle whatever material is thrown at me. Or that I might prove someone right if they insist that I can’t do something. I don’t know what my future holds, but what I do know is that I need to be prepared to handle anything that might come my way. I don’t want to lose out on a job because the material is outside of my comfort zone.

“So, I chose something that’s totally different from anything I’ve tried to do up until now. And I know that I took a risk, trying to perform opera when I’ve never done it before in front of one of the great opera talents of her generation. But I had to do it,” he insisted. “I couldn’t do anything else and not feel like I wasn’t coasting.”

“Well, I won’t be able to criticize you for lack of courage,” she commented amusedly. “Throwing caution to the wind like that could have been an utter disaster. We haven’t reached the point in your training where I would expect you to manage material like that.

“And I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The flaws were considerable,” his teacher informed him bluntly, never one to beat around the bush if she found something lacking. “There were times when your vibrato was verging on tremolo, which gave the wrong resonance for the song. And your ability to vocally shift octaves wasn’t as smooth as I normally see from you. The pacing of the melody is difficult with the shifts of tempo and while I believe that one day you could have the vocal dexterity to handle it, you’re not there just yet. The melisma for this song seemed to be tripping you and I caught you swallowing your notes at a few points.”

Kurt swallowed tightly but he couldn’t fault her criticism. He’d been aware of every single lapse and error he’d made as he was making them. He paid careful attention to her evaluations, knowing that they were very valid. Having her pointing out his errors was only going to help him to continue growing.

“But despite that, you did make a reasonable showing,” Madam Tibieaux granted. “I’m glad that you selected a song where the timbre matched your natural singing voice because this was a big enough challenge without trying to wrestle a key that you’re not comfortable with. Taking on a role normally suited to a dramatic tenor and doing it with more than a little credibility shows your increased confidence.”

She sat back in her chair, appraising her student carefully. “You also chose to sing for a character that you could conceivably play at some point, which does indicate that you are considering more than just choosing a difficult song that you think would impress me. I will give you credit for ambition, because you are showing me that you are taking your future development seriously. We are going to continue to work on both your classical and contemporary technique as we move forward, and we’ll see just how far we can take this.”

Kurt nodded, knowing that he probably just made his life a lot more difficult, as now his teacher would be even more demanding now that he’s shown that he was interested in pushing his voice to its absolute limits.

She studied him again, as if to take his measure before giving a nod of approval. “I know that you’re going to be busy with your acting job this summer, but I don’t want you to neglect your voice training,” she reminded firmly. “You need to keep up on your exercises so that we don’t lose the progress you’ve made.”

“I definitely will,” he assured her. That hadn’t even been a question as far as he was concerned.

“Good. I also want you to listen to recordings of some of the great classical tenors and countertenors. Really pay attention to their technique,” she instructed. “Listen to their breathing, and how they are able to support their notes. You should be able to come away with a bit more understanding of the mechanics of operatic singing and be prepared to start putting it into application when we meet next semester.”

Kurt considered the idea and decided that it would be very useful to have examples to follow and to have a few weeks before he met his teacher next to see what worked best for him.

Madam Tibideaux studied him carefully, finally granting him a reassuring smile. “I think that you are correct that even if you keep your focus on conventional musical theater, you can only benefit from continued training like this. It will help improve your strength and vocal flexibility. We’ve been working with some of the basics over the past few months, but if you feel that you’re ready, we’re going to take the training wheels off. I’ve come to expect quite a bit from you and since you’ve shown me just how steep your ambition is, I’m going to do my best to make sure that you achieve that.”

A little voice in the back of Kurt’s mind began to whine about what he was letting himself in for a world of hurt, but that bit of doubt was quickly drowned out by a veritable tidal wave of excitement over what this new phase of his training might bring. It felt like he had managed to pry open some ancient tome of secret knowledge that would bring him the world. Kurt thought that he’d come to know Madam Tibideaux fairly well by that point and he knew that she wouldn’t agree to try to teach him something that she didn’t think he was capable of achieving. He’d only needed to prove that he was ready for it.

By the time he was finally dismissed, Kurt was both drained and elated about what the next two years might bring. He’d known going into this that he was throwing down a bit of a gauntlet to his teacher and that she would certainly respond. It had gone as well as he could have hoped, even though he knew that he’d just made his life even more demanding. As hard as he’d worked since he started his education at NYADA, the challenge he faced was at least doubled. But he was looking forward to seeing just how far he could rise.

Rachel was waiting outside the office for her meeting with Madam Tibideaux and saw him leaving the room with a satisfied grin on his face. “I’m guessing that it went well,” she surmised playfully.

“Well, we’ll know how well after school starts in the fall and I see how well I survive what she’s going to throw at me,” Kurt quipped self-deprecatingly. He knew that he was asking for this and certainly couldn’t complain that their teacher was in the mood to oblige him.

“I’m going to my room to pack a few things,” he informed his friend. “Call me when you’re done so we can grab some coffee.”

“Will do,” she assured him. They hugged quickly, Kurt offering a supportive pat to her back before he headed back to his dorm room for one of the last times.

* * *

“Rachel, she’s ready for you,” Madam Tibideaux’s secretary informed her, opening the door to grant the student entrance.

Rachel took a deep breath to steady her nerves, readying herself to accept her teacher’s judgement. With as much confidence as she could muster, she stepped into the office and paused in front of her desk, waiting to be acknowledged.

Madam Tibideaux was reviewing some notes, apparently content to let her student stew for a moment before she looked up at the younger woman. “Have a seat, Ms. Berry,” she ordered, pushing her reading glasses up to a more comfortable position.

Rachel took the chair opposite Madam Tibideaux’s desk and smoothed out her skirt.

Madam Tibideaux took one last glance at her notes before turning her full attention to her student. “Well… I do have to say that this is a very different position than we found ourselves in last year,” she pronounced, looking very pleased over that fact. “To be honest, I wasn’t certain that we were going to get to this point. I’m delighted that you were able to bounce back from the mistakes you made.”

That sounded like things were off to a good start, Rachel thought, allowing herself to smile at her teacher. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve been trying very hard to overcome what happened last year.”

“I know that this year was a serious challenge for you, as you were trying to unlearn a lot of things,” Madam Tibideaux granted. “Not to mention negating the poor impression you’d built with your teachers and fellow students. I’ve been very demanding of you because I knew that you could do better than what you were giving me, and I’m happy to see that you rose to the occasion. I’ve been getting a lot of good feedback from all of your teachers, and your work on the spring musical has not gone unnoticed. I was admittedly curious to see how you would manage in a supporting role and you very much exceeded what I could have expected. You certainly have changed, and for the better.”

Rachel couldn’t hold back a smile of satisfaction, thrilled that she had been able to repair the damage that she’d so blindly caused to herself.

“Now… let’s take a look at your critique performances,” the teacher said, shifting their focus. “Choosing to do a song that doesn’t highlight the sheer power of your voice forced you to engage the other performance skills that you’ve been working on the past year. It would have been too easy for you to pick a song like ‘Defying Gravity’,”

Rachel nodded in agreement. “That exactly what I was thinking,” she acknowledged, relieved that she’d chosen correctly. “I always hoped to play Elphaba one day and I know that this song is at a critical point of her character’s development. If I didn’t perform that in a way that gets as much response as the bigger numbers get, then I can’t expect the audience to buy her evolution.”

Madam Tibideaux didn’t seem surprised by her answer, but definitely pleased by it. “When you’re not performing the entire role and just doing individual songs in class, it’s easy to lose track of your character’s full storyline. You’re finally at the point where you’re not just using a song to highlight your voice and you’re starting to consider what your character is going through at that moment. And doing so in a way that doesn’t feel contrived,” she complimented, offering her student a reassuring smile. “This is what I’ve been trying to get out of you for two years, so good work.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Rachel said, smiling with quiet satisfaction that she had finally managed to truly satisfy her demanding teacher. “I’ve been working very hard to opening up more when I perform.”

“It’s been showing,” Madam Tibideaux assured her. “I’m starting to see more of how Rachel Berry would perform the role and a lot less of you copying other performers. It’s still something of a work in progress because as much as you want your audience to see you, they need to see the character first. Figuring out how to balance that is not easy, but you have made a great deal of progress.”

Rachel couldn’t help from feeling proud of what she’d accomplished over the past few months. She knew that she still had a long way to go, but she was on the path the becoming the performer that she’d always hoped to be.

“Someone very wise told me to stop worrying about being the next Barbra and to focus on being the best Rachel,” she explained to her teacher, feeling a deep sense of appreciation for Kurt driving that lesson through her thick skull and not giving up on her. She would not be sitting there if it weren’t for the help he’d given her, even when she hadn’t deserved it.

Rachel had a feeling that Madam Tibideaux would be able to guess who’d been the one to finally reach her. The Dean leaned back in her chair, appraising her student carefully. “I’m very happy that you had someone that you trusted who was able to give you such excellent advice. And the more comfortable you get with stepping back so that the character shines through, the more convincing your performances will become. You did a wonderful job this past spring and I know that you’ve got an opportunity this summer to build on what you’ve learned. I hope that you take advantage of that,” she urged.

Rachel nodded enthusiastically. “I definitely will,” she promised confidently.

Madam Tibideaux nodded approvingly at her student’s enthusiasm for actually learning. “Good. Let’s take a look at your second song, because things got really interesting there.”

The younger woman couldn’t resist smiling and leaned forward in her seat, paying attention to every word from her teacher.

Madam Tibideaux checked her notes again. “I was admittedly curious to see what direction you would go in and to say the least, I was a little surprised that you would choose such an emotionally complex and unglamorous role to step into. Little Edie is a very difficult character to play, because she has so many conflicting emotions. This song you chose distills all the conflicts of her life and balancing those struggles and showing the pressures that she’s under. It’s harsh and ugly and I give you credit for choosing to attempt a character so alien to any that you’ve taken on before.”

Rachel smiled gratefully, glad that she had chosen in a manner that impressed her teacher. “I know that I was stuck on the same kind of character, and that my outlook was very limited,” she granted. “When we were doing the show this spring, I got the chance to play some really interesting characters, even if they were all background figures. You’re not going to get less glamorous than a beggar or prostitute.

“And this summer, I’m going to play a woman who’s borderline insane. I thought that it would for me to do something completely out of left field,” Rachel explained. “I mean, no one would expect me to pick that role. And I found the story really interesting.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy Madam Tibideax, who granted her a rare nod of approval. “The most superficially unappealing characters tend to be the most interesting,” she confided. “Sometimes the lead characters can be a bit one-dimensional because the show needs the audience to be rooting for them. I always found more satisfaction at playing a truly compelling character, even in a supporting role and they often can draw the audience’s focus.

“A character like Little Edie will be fascinating to an audience because she can be both very sympathetic and repelling at the same time. It takes a very skilled actress to bring a character like that to life and I give you a lot of credit for trying.”

“But I didn’t succeed. Did I?” Rachel asked, her face falling a bit in disappointment.

Her normally stern teacher offered a reassuring smile. “It wasn’t bad,” she assured Rachel. “Lacking in nuance, maybe. On the level of what I would expect from a second-year theater student. You were very ambitious with your choice, which is a good thing. I would have been very frustrated if you weren’t shooting for the stars. This gives us a goal to work towards.”

Rachel could not help the expression of hope from becoming apparent. It was still difficult for her to hear criticism on something that she’d worked hard on, but she knew that she needed to listen. As difficult as she could be, Madam Tibideaux was working for her benefit.

“A performance like this needs a lot of layers to make it fully realized,” Madam Tibideaux explained. “You need to expose every raw nerve in that character’s body and make the audience feel all of her anger and frustration and love for her mother. It can’t be pretty or a façade. It’s got to be real.

“Technically, you can sing pretty much anything,” she assured her student. “Where you fall short is by focusing too much on the mechanics of the performance and not the soul. You can’t just look at the story that Little Edie exists in. You have to see her and present her as a fully realized person to your audience. That will come with opening yourself to be as ugly as her life is. And I can help you do that.”

The Dean tapped her pen thoughtfully on her desk as she considered how they would proceed going forward. “Melding acting and singing is a huge challenge that you will have to overcome. I think that your role this summer can help you with this. Pay attention to your character and her place in the storyline. Look at how she exists in that space and how the other characters respond to her. Try to build in the layers that make her a whole person so that the audience sees it.”

“I’m going to do my best,” Rachel promised, realizing the steep task that awaited her. She knew that she wasn’t going to get away with overacting or mugging in that kind of venue. Not when finally having the chance to work in a professional production.

“Good,” Madam Tibideaux complimented. “Next semester, besides your technical classes, I think that you would benefit from the Synthesis and Presentation class. It will help you in learning how to understand your character and tailor your performances. You might also consider a writing class, so that you get a better grasp of story development.”

Rachel considered the suggestion and recognized that those classes could very possibly help her further her acting development. “I’ll have to rework my class schedule, but I’m sure that I’ll be able to fit them in,” she assured her teacher.

“Excellent,” Madam Tibideaux said approvingly. “Because going forward, I won’t be holding back when you give me a technically proficient but emotionally superficial presentation. I want to see the kind of depth that I know you’re capable of.”

“I’ll do my very best to give it to you,” Rachel promised. The next year or so were going to be rough ones, because she knew that her teacher would stand for no more technically pretty but emotionally stagnant performances from her. She’d better be prepared to carve her heart out and present it to Madam Tibideaux if that’s what it took.

Madam Tibideaux offered her student a smile of encouragement. “I hope that you have a wonderful and productive summer,” she urged. “I’m pleased that you’re finding opportunities to help you to continue growing as a performer. I know that the past two years have been challenging ones for you, but you’re showing that you are capable of everything I’d hoped. Keep up with the good work and I’ll see you in the fall.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Rachel answered sincerely, feeling like she was beaming with happiness at how things had gone. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so thrilled after a critique because it finally seemed like she was on the right path.

Walking out of the Dean’s office, Rachel felt light as air. Madam Tibideaux’s assistant caught her expression and smiled knowingly. “Looks like you had a good one,” she surmised with a chuckle.

Rachel laughed, knowing that if anyone could guess how a critique had gone, it would be this young woman. Students either exited the Dean’s office smiling or in tears. There was little middle ground.

“It wasn’t bad,” Rachel confirmed happily. “Thank so much. You have a good summer.”

“You too, Rachel. See you in September.”

Walking down the hallway, Rachel felt the spring in her step and a lightness within her. Rather than being irritated by the crowd of students around her as they hurried to their own tests and reviews, she move smoothly through the crowd and nodded casual greetings to classmates and friends. For maybe the first time in her life, she felt at peace with herself. The urgent need to cement her place at the top of the heap, to make others feel small in order for her to feel big was gone. She was confident in herself and knew that while there would be struggles in her future, Rachel was confident that she would be able to achieve her dreams.

One day, she told herself with a smile. As for now… she needed to meet Kurt. She had been promised an iced coffee and she was determined to collect on that.

* * *

Rachel's solos: "I'm Not That Girl" - Wicked "Around the World" - Grey Gardens

Kurt's solos: "Not a Day Goes By" - Merrily We Roll Along "Here I Stand" - The Rake's Progress by Igor Stravinsky

#kadam fic #kadam #learning to fly #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #santana lopez #elliot starchild gilbert #dani (glee)#carman tibideaux #nyada students #original students #not blaine or klaine friendly

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sweetwriting · 4 years

Text

TimKon Week 2020 - Day 1: What’s Going On?

Category: Gen or Pre-slash

Genre: Angst/Friendship

Fandoms: DC Comics, Superverse, Teamverse

Continuity: Post-Crisis/Pre-Flashpoint & Rebirth

Summary: Iris Force didn't really have visions, she just knew things. But tonight, for the first time, she had one. And it was about somebody who shouldn't be there. The TimKon part isn’t that big even if it hints at how bit it could be. As of this story they’re still just friends so it can be seen as platonic or romantic

Word Count: 3356

AN: A part of this is a WIP I had already posted here : https://sweetwriting.tumblr.com/post/165029401671/hello-this-is-a-snippet-for-a-fic-ive-always but to which I was never able to find fitting parts. This part stayed at least as an inspiration of the Vibe I wanted to give but ended up being put to the side. However this Prompt gave me an idea so I’ll try to see where it goes and if it does’n work well…It will be considered as a bonus :D There’s also a reference to Ruelle’s song “I will Find You” as this song is kinda linked to most of the TimKon Angst and general New Rebirth Plot.

Prompt: Under Lock & Key - Future

Can be read on AO3

A breath.

Everything was dark. Were his eyes even open?

Another breath.

What was he feeling around him? It felt like a liquid. But how could he possibly breathe in a liquid?

Another one. He extended his arms. Glass. Surrounding him.

And another. Faster.

He didn’t have enough place to extend them completely.

Another breath. Panic.

Who was he? Another one.

How did he know he was a “he”.

And another.

What was going on?

And another.

Where was he?

And another.

Why.

Another.

How.

Another.

Where.

Another.

Superman.

That was his name. But it wasn’t. It was supposed to be his name. But it wasn’t. Why. Who was he?

Paul Westfield.

That was his father? No.

Alexander Luthor. Was he his father? No. Disgusting.

Who?

Why?

How?

Where?

Was Superman his father? No. Brother. Clark Kent? Same.

Names.

So many names.

Robin, Impulse, Wonder Girl, Roxy, Rex Leech, Dubbilex, Tana Moon, Sam Makoa, Guardian, Hero, Matrix, Aura, Half-Life, Sparx, Empress, Arrowette, Secret, Red Tornado, Traya, Speedy, Green Lantern, Ravager, Starfire, Beast Boy, Cyborg, Nightwing, Flash, Max Mercury, Wonder Woman, Troia, Agent A, Batman, Not Robin, Red Hood, Spoiler, Batgirl, Knockout, Lori, Simon, Ma Kent. Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Donna Troy, Diana Prince, Wally West, Dick Grayson, Jim Harper, Victor Stone, Garfield Logan, Koriand’r, Rose Wilson,,Sterling, Kyle Rainer, Mia Dearden, Victoria no Greta Hayes, Cissie King-Jones, Anita Fite, Donna Carol Force, Byron Stark, Lindsey Wah, Hero Cruz, Cassandra Sandsmark, Bart Allen.

Tim.

Tim Drake.

He remembers.

Names.

His best friends.

Bart and Tim.

This is a pod or a tube or whatever.

He’s Superboy, Kon-El, Conner Kent. The Metropolis Kid, The Boy of Steel.

And he has to find his friends. To make sure Ma is okay. He can’t abandon them again. He can’t abandon Tim again. How long was he in there?

Panic.

Everything goes completely white.

- - - - -

Shortly before Flashpoint happened.

Timberton, British Columbia, Canada.

Iris Force woke up with a gasp. It was the first time she saw what felt so far off in the future and felt so entwined with the recipient of her vision. It was that boy, Superboy who had been one of her dear D.C’s friends back when she went to that horrible party place.

She suddenly heard her door open and the voice of her granddaughter, Anastasia, come to her.

“Granny Iris, I’ve felt you panic, are you alright?”

Iris felt her dear Anastasia settle next to her and help her sit by pulling her elbow.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” She answered, leaving herself time to try and sort out what could be happening.

Anastasia’s hands came to take her own in them in a reassuring gesture.

“Don’t worry, I’m honestly more concerned by the strangely strong reaction you showed to one of you visions. And especially since I’ve never known you to have prophetic dreams”.

Iris turned her head toward her granddaughter. She might not be able to see but she wasn’t going to be impolite.

“This is a problem, It didn’t seem to be a prophetic dreams yet it still was. It seemed to be happening in a far-off future but in the past at the same time. Distant and close at once. I’ve been trying to make sense of it but I can’t seem to be able to do that. And it’s something I’d rather have sorted out before I talk to Donna Carol.”

Anastasia startled and asked in a tiny voice why her sister was concerned.

“It’s about the Superboy. You remember, they were friends a few years ago. Even if they lost touch his death and resurrection had deeply affected her and I think this might too.”

- - - - - -

Prime Earth. Around the Time Red Robin’s future self came to the present.

Timberton, British Columbia, Canada.

She suddenly heard her door open and the voice of her granddaughter, Anastasia, come to her.

“Granny Iris, I’ve felt you panic, are you alright?”

Iris felt her dear Anastasia settle next to her and help her sit by pulling her elbow.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” She answered, leaving herself time to try and sort out what could be happening.

Anastasia’s hands came to take her own in them in a reassuring gesture.

“Don’t worry, I’m honestly more concerned by the strangely strong reaction you showed to one of you visions. And especially since I’ve never known you to have prophetic dreams”.

Iris turned her head toward her granddaughter. She might not be able to see but she wasn’t going to be impolite.

“This is a problem, It didn’t seem to be a prophetic dreams yet it still was. It seemed to be happening in the near future but in the past at the same time. Distant and close at once. I’ve been trying to make sense of it but I can’t seem to be able to do that. And it’s something I’d rather have sorted out before I talk to Donna Carol.”

Anastasia startled and asked in a tiny voice why her sister was concerned.

“I do not know, I just know it concerns a Superboy. They were friends a few years ago. No. They were not. I know the universe had changed but I don’t exactly know how. This is one of these changes.”

She knew Anastasia was frowning. She could not blame her as it was confusing even for her. She had told her family the universe had changed but since most of those changes were unknown even to her, and since their family didn’t seem in any immediate danger, they let it be and almost never thought of it again. Except for Donna Carol. She wanted to act. To become a hero. It was obvious but she had never acted on it. Probably due to the knowledge that a past she had lived had been erased. While it fueled her desire to help as a hero more than before it also scared her. The fact that her aunt had not left the family and as such making sure Donna Carol did not have an example to follow might have also helped.

Because yes, Iris knew Donna Carol had been a hero and Allure had left. But that was only because she saw the shift between then and now within the family. She could only see the very big changes when she met people concerned by them.

Just like she knew this conversation had happened before the shift. Maybe not the exact same but her other/past self had the same vision.

What was happening?

- - - - - - -

Conner awoke to a dark room. Or was it a cave? It was too dark to tell but he could not hear the telltale sign of machinery. No sound, no light. Nothing

He wasn’t sure. What he knew was that he was in a pod, in a liquid. That he had woken up some time before and gotten most of his memory back. The pod had fallen sideways on the ground and was the glass was cracking. He tried to push against it but he couldn’t.

Why? Why couldn’t he just burst though? Why wasn’t his TTK working? Where was he? What was going on?

So he screamed.

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP! BART! TIM! CLARK! CA…”

He was interrupted by crackling. And a sudden burst of blue light.

Right in front of him was electricity in the shape of a woman. He smiled in relief. He knew her after all, she was an old friend of his.

“D.C! Boy am I glad to see you! It’s been a while!”

The girl however didn’t seem to show the same joy.

“Wow Granny said I knew a Superboy in the old world but I half believed her. But you actually look that other Superboy who disappeared, and you seem to know me.”

Now Conner was confused. What old world? Why would she need Granny Iris to tell her they were friends? Why was he still in this thing?

“Whatever! Can you help me get out? I can’t seem to be able to use any of my powers.”

D.C shrugged and agreed. She fried the commands and opened the lid of the pod before lifting him then she promptly let him fall as she covered her eyes and turned around.

Conner fell on his butt, the floor was made of wood so he didn’t hurt himself much, but apparently he hadn’t retained his invulnerability.

“Hey! Why did you drop me DC?!”

D.C. had curled up in the air, her back still to him. She answered him in a small voice.

“You’re naked”

Conner looked down. She was right. It was luck then that the floor was made of wood and not a less smooth surface. He looked around. There wasn’t anything to cover himself as he was in a bare rectangular room only filled with cables. The door DC had opened seemed to show water as he could see the ripples reflecting the moon and stars in what would be a rather bleak night otherwise.

D.C ran toward the door with her eyes closed.

“I’m gonna go try and find you something more decent. Wait here!”

And she left him there. Well he didn’t have much shame but even he knew better than to walk around naked -if only to avoid unwanted attention when he was already so confused. In the meantime he would try to see what he could still do. So he tried to get up, and promptly fell down again.

“OK so baby steps…literally.”

Two hours later and he could finally walk almost normally. However he really couldn’t use any of his powers. He also wasn’t anywhere close to knowing what was going on. That’s when he heard the telltale sound of Sparx’s powers nearby.

She came in with her eyes closed and two pieces of cloth in her arms.

“OK so pants are harder to fit especially since I don’t know your size so I found a hoodie and a skirt, hope you don’t mind”.

She threw the clothes n the room and turned around. Conner Started putting them on as he answered.

“They definitely wouldn’t be my first choice but I don’t mind. At least the skirt is nicer than the dress I had to wear last time”.

“Wait.You really wore a dress?”

“Yeah, it was to be used as a distraction. Honestly it was fun even if I had my costume underneath. All right, I’m all done.”

D.C turned toward him.

“Hey it’s actually not that bad. Though the fact that it’s night and we can’t really see the colors probably help.”

Conner rolled his eyes. Of course he looked good in it. He looked good in almost everything. Granted he wasn’t sure what he looked like right now. Sparx coughed and he brought his attention back on her.

“OK so…this isn’t the most comfortable place to talk and I’m honestly not the best person to talk world heroics with so I’m gonna bring you to my family and especially my granny Iris. Don’t worry though they all…”

“Have powers, yeah I know I already met them, you brought us there remember?”

“That’s the thing actually, I don’t. I’m only here because of granny Iris”

“Oh.”

There was a slight lull before D.C started again.

“Anyway we should go, you can fly right?”

Conner shifted slightly.

“Yeah, actually, no. I seem to have lost my powers actually”

“Well it’s okay, I’ll just have to fly you there. We might have to take a few breaks though because while I’m not slow, I’m also not strong enough to go all the way there while holding you in one go”

Conner nodded and they left. As Sparx got high up in the sky, he noticed that what they left wasn’t a room but actually one of several train cars left on the side of a river bank. It seemed to have been separated from another part which was nowhere to be found. Moss had started to grow on it so it had been there for a while. He had been there for a while.

- - - - - - - -

It took them six hours to get to the Force family and they mostly spoke about the new tv shows that D.C. had found interesting lately so they would avoid any topic too heavy (apparently he had missed out on a hilarious cop show). Also Smartphones were so much more advanced as they were the last time he saw them.

- - - - - - -

Timberton, British Columbia, Canada.

As they landed in front of a house in a clearing surrounded by woods, a young brown-haired teenager came to greet them.

“D.C ! Mom said that you would probably need to rest when arriving so you need to show Superboy the guest room.”

D.C. undid her transformation and turned into a cute girl with short brown hair and dressed in a baseball shirt and jeans.

“No way! I’m not tired and I wanna know what’s going on!”

Ana smiled at her big sister and turned toward the house.

“Granny Iris said you’d say that and is waiting for you both in the living room”.

D.C rolled her eyes and grumbled a short “then why not invite us there directly?” before going after her sister followed by a nostalgia filled hero.

Iris Force looked as dignified as ever when, putting the cup of tea she was sipping back on the teacup in her hand, she greeted her granddaughter and her friend from another life.

“Hello Superboy, it has been a while. Though I believe you did get a few name since we last saw each other.”

“Hi Mrs Force. I go by Conner as a civilian and Kon El among other heroes now. Though you already knew that. It’s nice to see you again”.

The older woman kept her eyes closed as she smiled at him. He and D.C sat down on the couch next to Granny Iris’ armchair. Both had a teacup waiting in front of them on the table, filled with warm tea.

“You’re much more subdued than I remember young man. I would like to say it is nice to see you have grown up but as I know what some of it implies I’m afraid I am just saddened for you”.

Conner flinched at the bluntness and D.C almost got up to yell at her grandmother before changing her mind as Conner nodded at Granny. The older woman started talking again.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to fill in most gaps, you know our family doesn’t really get involved in heroics so we don’t have the same kinds of information you could get from those people. All I know is that a few years ago, I woke up with the distinct feeling that things had changed. I didn’t know what but when I saw Allure and D.C. I immediately knew what had changed for them. For you….I can see what you where but I’m not sure what you are right now. Do you have any idea what happened to you?”

Conner stared at the teapot in the middle of the table for a few minutes.

“I don’t remember how I got there to be honest. The last thing I remember clearly was being with my best friends, Tim and Bart. I’m…I’m pretty sure I was with Tim for a while but I don’t know where or what happened.”

There was a pause.

“Oh my God! I don’t know where he is! I don’t have my powers I can’t make sure he’s okay! What do I do?”

“Maybe just google his name, whoever “he” is.”

Conner turned to D.C who showed him her phone already put on a google page. He tapped Tim’s name in the search bar and found pictures of the Wayne family with basic information. He frowned. Something was definitely wrong and it was not just because of Tim’s height…Wait.

“That’s not Tim!”

D.C Looked on her phone and almost screamed.

“You know the Waynes? Wait. Why do you say it’s not him?”

Kon turned the phone fully toward her.

“Look he reaches Bruce Wayne’s ear and it say he’s 5’10” and that’s just wrong. Tim’s tiny. He barely reached 5’6” and his hair here is way too short so that can’t be him.”

D.C. looked at him with an unimpressed look.

“Seriously, that’s what you’re basing this on? The Tim Drake from this world could have simply eaten better food that helped him grow up or there was a light alteration to his genes that made him taller and maybe he just got used to having short hair.”

“Well it also says he just turned 17 and I remember celebrating his 18th birthday.”

“This could simply be a timeline issue”

“He’s just weird okay! And not just him. This picture kinda creeps me out actually”.

Conner gave D.C her phone back as he started pouting. He wasn’t good with words but he knew something was wrong. It was in the attitude displayed. There had always been a level of fakeness in these kinds of pictures if only because of Brucie Wayne’s character, but the affection never felt as fake or distant as it did in this picture. DC played with her phone for a few seconds before giving it back to him.

“Maybe it was just that picture, look here are some other ones”.

So Conner tried. He looked at them all but they all gave him the same vibe. He tried to look for Bart too but nothing came up. There was only Barry Allen. He gave D.C her phone back and shook his head while trying to stifle a yawn. He would look for Cassie and the others later. He wasn’t sure he could take another disappointment right now.

It’s at this point that Granny Iris intervened.

“I think it’s time for you both to go to bed. Donna Carol you’ve flown for a while you should rest. Conner will try to get in touch with other heroes later on. I believe the Wally West you know is around somewhere. But you need to rest a little.”

Both D.C and Conner nodded and D.C lead the not-so-much Boy of Steel to the guest bedroom for the night. Before they parted ways, she informed him there should be clothes for him there and that he better explain how they knew each other after breakfast.

There was a small bathroom linked to the room and Conner used the opportunity to take himself in. He was tiny. Well not really but compared to how buff he had gotten in recent times he was closer to how he was when he was born at first. He even had his hair back. Even though he had cut it short to try and avoid looking like Superman, he had to admit that he missed having longer hair.

As he settled in his bed the only thing he could only think of one thing. He would find them no matter where they were. He was not going to lose Tim and Bart. They could probably handle themselves but he didn’t want them to have to. He didn’t want Tim to be on his own again. He just wanted to be with him right now.

- - - - - - - -

Somewhere in Metropolis

“CLARK!”

Clark Kent woke up with a start. He tried to focus on a voice he thought he heard. But when he tried to focus on it he couldn’t seem to remember what it had been.

Maybe it was just a dream. He wouldn’t have lost it if it had been real after all.

He went back to bed.

#TimKon Week #TimKon #Conner Kent #Kon El #Iris Force #Donna Carol Force / Sparx #BrOT3: TimKonBart #OTP:TimKon #BrOTP: TimKon #DC Comics #Family: The Waynes #Superboy and the Ravers #mostly...#Superboy (1994)#Rebirth is such a mess guys #I swear

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