#and he runs across a shard of his ex that like Actually Resembles Her in both appearance and deed and she's like. stunningly fun-

[doomedlightningshard]

and as i watched from underneath i came aware of all that she dreamed the little foxes, so safe and sound they were not dead, they'd gone to ground

#fell down into a pit with these two when that was REALLY not the intention #but look - this is his second calamity and the first one was an abject disaster for his interpersonal relations for many reasons #and he runs across a shard of his ex that like Actually Resembles Her in both appearance and deed and she's like. stunningly fun- #and *dying* as it turns out #i have been just been rotating him being honest with her about what he is - not human and not from this star- #though i suspect he left out the bit about purposefully making this place a hellscape but that's for later #and like THE SHARD IS DOOMED ANYWAY- #the anyway is fake priest/sickly parishioner home visits and aquarium dates and transformative monsterfucking :) #we have amended goth anime bishounen emet-selch to goth anime fake priest bishounen emet-selch btw which has just. been a blast #i'm having such a good time with my awful barbies #doomed lightning shard #ourania #emet-selch #who is my oc don't worry about it-

[minwoo-ia]

추억들이 쏟아져 내려 - {self}

Memories spill down Welling up in my heart And falling down as tears Your star that’s engraved in me still shines in me I’m still looking at you In front of your memories that faintly come I become numb, I’m breaking down I tried so hard to hold onto you But you’re fading away, you’re disappearing

It has been a few months now. This is the first time I can write about it. I have to write it down. I have to put into words what has happened.

If not for me then for mom, for dad. For everyone who has eyed me questioningly. 

For everyone who has helped or was involved. 

For @leejieun-ia who has been such a soft and warm person in my life that I do not deserve. For @eternal-youngmin who I have lost once again but is still there. For @prince-beinion who might be somewhere else in mind and body but who was the living proof that sometimes it better to lose someone all together than to have them return. For @jaejoong-ia who will probably disagree with me. For the fairy with the heart of crystal, who still haunts me in my dreams. For @taexmin-ia, @dokyungsoo-ia and @jamie-ia who have helped me find the pieces I couldn’t find alone.  For Zachary, the first one in a long list of people that would die after I gave them my heart.

For @kimjonghyun-ia who I haven’t seen for weeks now. Who I once thought would walk this road with me, instead of have taken a different road. 

This, my friends, ex lovers and all those that read this, is the story of how I found my sister & lost her again. 

The saying, time is medicine, became a habit It’s about accepting everything that happens But I can’t sleep and you keep coming to me What do I do? I miss you

It probably is best to start at the beginning. When I was young, I had a sister, she was way prettier than me and I never liked it. She was a rare demon, a time demon. My parents who are quite common kinds of demons were surprised when she was born and even moreso when I came along, another demon of a rare kind. I never thought much of it, I was just pissed I couldn’t summon fire like my dad or had large energy swords like my mom. My sister, Eunbin, was soft and kind and never seemed to mind she had no obvious powers. Her powers came in later, she could stop time, manipulate the pure existence of mankind with the blink of an eye. She was magnificent.

One day.

She was no more.

My sister never was found, no one knew where she was, my parents were devastated and if I look back; that is when the fighting started. My father blamed my mother, my mother my father but they loved each other so much that I always assumed it would make them stay together forever. Forever, in demontongue, is an actual forever. Not the forever of humans or other mortals, no the forever of a demon is an actual endless thing; as long as you don’t get beheaded by a hunter or accidentally trip into a volcano. Forever is pretty permanent. 

They searched for years and as I grew up, my mother made a grave without a body, planted a single rosebush on her grave. As I grew up, the grave turned into a garden and there were roses everywhere. I think that was my mother’s way of dealing with the loss. My father just set things aflame. 

At one point, long after I moved out to the academy, I met an angel who showed me the heavens, it was around that time that I followed a vision where I saw her; my star. My sister. It is ironic that what I needed was heavenly intervention to find her; she showed me places and memories. I thought I was going insane; I went to a fortune teller, a sight seeker, a tarot master and a warlock. They all gave me the same answer; to follow the vision. So I did. I found the first shard in a vision, just at the street. I knew then, that my sister wasn’t dead, she was scattered in time and space.

You turn into longing and come to me My darkened spaces get bright with you Don’t go far away, I must have you When I walk, I still look around me To check if that person who resembles you, is you

In between my fiance died, I went to hell and back, got a dog, cheated on my zombie of a husband, had a friend become a God, had another friend become a star creature that lost his marbles and offered to kill a friend to end his suffering. You see, this whole situation could have been resolved a lot easier if it wasn’t for my whole life falling apart underneath me. It took me years to find all the locations and get to the shards themselves. Some were lost in actual outer space, others under water, then one was buried in the darkest memory I had, in the bloody snow where my fiance died. 

The last shard was hardest to find; I spend months on figuring out what I had seen. A dark room with books and a muffy smell. It took me a while until I could figure out who it was I had seen in the vision; so I went to him and asked access to the place I had seen. The place where the last shard had been. 

It did not make sense though. All the places had been metaphors or actual places that had been significant to my sister. Even the one in outer space had made sense because she had been obsessed with stars and planets. It was only logical that a part of her soul would be there, but the filthy, old and abandoned basement? 

When I was there, I wasn’t in a basement. I was in a murder cage. There was demon blood everywhere and books on experiments on demonic kin. It was the workplace of a warlock; one we have heard of in children tales designed to keep us inside at night. A warlock that experimented with the immortality of demons. One that could manipulate the core of what we are in a sick envy of our power. This was what my sister had been trying to tell me, this was not only the last part of her soul but also the puzzle. 

This was what had hurt her. 

When I got back home, I went to a secret place within academy walls. I put the shard with the others, and she was whole again. My sister, oh my dearest star, she appeared in front of my eyes. With her long raven hair ending in silver and golden skin. Her dark eyes framed by lashes as long as a deer and soft lips that had the color of peaches. 

But don’t show me your brightness Because it shows the scars in my heart You shine a bright light into my dark heart, star

This is where writing becomes hard- this is where my memories are crystal clear but my pen wavers. This is where I hesitate to continue. But I have to- She was there, laying on the ground, shivering before I fell down to the ground with a cry and tears streamed over my cheeks as I held your cold body. You weren’t well, you were in pain. You had been ripped into pieces for such a long time, scattered across two dimensions that your body couldn’t go on. You couldn’t even open your eyes as you stammered and wheezed in pain. I couldn’t let you suffer. Your frail hand grasped mine as you whispered your last wishes. You had seen everything, you had always been there, always watching over me, us, always worrying and always, always, in endless pain. 

Endless pain. 

I knew it there and then, that forever was endless in a demon’s tongue. That it was truly without an ending, that what had been done to you, had been done long before you took your first breath. It had been a design by a sick creature, something that no one could have stopped except perhaps you, yourself. 

Forever in pain, was not what you deserved. ‘

You wished to die. 

And thus, I granted you your wish. There in the sacred chamber, where no one will be allowed to come, ever again. It was easy to stop your beating heart, it was so weak already. It was easy to unwrap your fingers from mine and lower you on the cold floor as I laid my head on your shoulder and cried until I had no more tears left. 

That was when I picked you up, with one shoulder red with tears. Your head against my chest and your hand hanging off your body, lifeless as the soft fingertips would never feel a warm skin again. I could hear your voice but I knew it was my mind playing tricks on me as I summoned a portal and brought you to the garden. 

You turn into longing and come to me My darkened spaces get bright with you Don’t go far away, I must have you When I walk, I still look around me To check if that person who resembles you, is you You’re like a lost piece You’re my star, my star

It was easy, so easy to dig a hole as my mom screamed behind my and fell down to her knees hysterically holding your body as I stood in the pit I was digging. My father appeared and I heard him scream behind me, I heard him rage and run off, disappearing. He always dealt with pain in a way to react in anger. By the time I was done digging the grave I climbed out. Covered in dirt as I stammered out and took your body from the claws of my hysterical mother. A mother who gave up after a few minutes and let me take you to your place. 

Surrounded by roses.

Near the home you grew up in. 

I pushed the locks of hair out of your face one last time. I kissed the tip of your nose once more before I climbed out and walked away before I lost my step and fell down. Curled up in a ball and cried, not the soft crying that you do at a funeral. But the loud and hysterical crying that comes from realizing how unfair life is, how fucked up destiny is and how cruel fate can be. And I wished, I wished that I laid next to her, in that hole in the ground because where else could I be?

But I heard you laugh, one last time. And your fingers seemed to touch my cheek, one more time. 

And I knew that I had finally done what you had wanted, what you had longed for all this.time.

And that, to whom it may concern, is the story of how I found my sister & lost her again.

Memories spill down Welling up in my heart And falling down as tears Your star that’s engraved in me still shines in me I’m still looking at you

#tw: death #tw: experiments #tw: sibling death #selfpara #Memories spill down #추억들이 쏟아져 내려

[moonsandstar-s]

Nevermore (Reprise)

Chapter I - I Am Damaged 

 He is damaged, far too damaged. Remnant is full of fairytales and legends, but it is just as full of beasts and demons, and his misfortune only marks him out as an outcast. The souls that Salem has taken are lost; they are beyond redemption, as he will soon be.

Team STRQ is shattered. One dead. One lost. One traitor. One damaged.  By watching the turn of the clock, Qrow can see that there's not much time left before the same fate repeats itself on the ones he loves.

                                                             ☨ ☨ ☨

He was born to the wind and sky, a bird in flight. Born to the blood of the tribe, spilled across the pavement, and to his sister, one whom darkness knew well. Melded to a team— to Taiyang, the one of sunshine, and Summer, shackled to silver and murdered by a legend. He brought misfortune wherever he planted his roots, abandoned the ones he loved, created a spot of turbulent darkness in a beacon of shining light.

A beacon, one that glowed like a star, erected from nothing. His home, now an empty shell. He remembers the one who stood apart from the crowd, unencumbered by the troubles of everyday life, untouched by humanity’s strife, the spirit of light.

The man who was devoured by fire and burned to nothingness, swallowed up and spat out into shards, consumed by the breath of autumn.

Qrow remembers this: his copper eyes.

He thought he’d never see them again.

☨ ☨ ☨ He was born to the tribe on the cusp on autumn and winter, when the last of the leaves fell from the trees, along with his sister. The tribe had never been one to celebrate the birth of new stock, but twins were uncommon, and the healer of the tribe predicted enormous fates ahead of them. “The girl,” the healer had said, “shall bring luck and fortune. She will open the closed eye that can see the future’s events. Good luck lies in her path, but it will not be an easy one. She will lead us out of famine and into strength. On wings of darkness, this child will fly us to infamy.”

And they named her Raven, for the bird that followed the wolves, and for the inborn ability of the tribe, the ability to shape-shift.  

“This one will bring misfortune wherever he may tread,” the healer said of the second child, a boy. “His path winds long and dark. It is impossible to see the end of it. The tribe will never make use of him, nor he of us. His path is shrouded in mist, obscured by things I cannot divine, a fate marred by misfortune… the pitfalls along the way will surely kill him.”  

And they named him Qrow, the sign of bad luck, and cast him down while his sister rose in the eyes of the tribe.

When the twins entered the world, the first snows began to fall.

☨ ☨ ☨

“The last survivor,” one of the tribe members croons, his voice taunting. “Your whole village is dead, isn’t it? Pity you’ll follow them. Don’t you know that nothing outside your precious little kingdoms is safe anymore?”

Qrow edges forward in the shadows, his hand on his dagger. The tribe is not kind, and they will punish him cruelly, if he’s found eavesdropping. They’re taunting a little girl from the village they raided last. She’s not much older than he is— only twelve, he would guess. Twelve years old.

She is missing one eye. They’ve been torturing her for a while now, and she hasn’t seen sustenance in days, except for scummy water and food so molded that it resembles dirt. Her hands, altogether, have less than four fingers left. Her skin is gashed up, vicious old wounds layered over newer, red over brown. He can smell the scent of infection, fear, and pain, even from here. Her hair is more tangled than a bird’s nest, and her remaining eye— a terrified green— peers out from between the gaps in her hair. Two tribe members are standing over her, mocking her, and the sunlight shines off the knives they hold in their hands.

“Tell me,” one of the tribe members purrs, “who is the Master?”

The girl shrinks back, silent.

“Who is the Master?” he repeats again, his voice dangerously quiet. “Answer me.”

Again, no answer.

Instantly, they descend upon her, beating her and torturing her, because her will is not broken yet. She will not submit to them. And for that, he knows, she will surely die. It’s not long before she will succumb, he can tell, but in the time between now and then, it will be living hell for her. She screams as they bring out their knives into the equation, and blood mixes with the dirt. Qrow’s hands clench together, and he winces at each scream, a jolt going through his body.

Her howls of agony swarm through the air like birds, flocking in his ears, and he cowers away, hands over his ears. His nails scratch against his temples so hard he almost draws blood, but the agony in them— the strangled pain— tells him that what they’ve done before is nothing compared to what they’re doing to her now.

Qrow scowls, but bile rises in his throat. His hands seem to pulse, and his eyes widen as he realizes his semblance is reacting. One of the tribe members yells, startled, as his knife jerks to the side, misfortune yanking it from his hand, and it plunges towards his foot, point-down. He leaps back, shouting angrily.

“Who in the hell—” He begins, before casting around, eyes roving over the shell of the blackened town. Qrow scrambles back into the shadows, desperate not to be seen by those searching eyes, but he’s not fast enough.

“Damned bastard kid,” the member hisses, stalking towards him with the knife. “Get out of here, you useless, misfortune-causing—”

Qrow jumps to his feet and runs, leaving dust billowing in his wake as fear ignites in his heart, but he’s not fast enough to outrun the sound of the little girl from the town, screaming as they finally kill her.

☨ ☨ ☨

The night he shifts into his crow for the first time, he flies straight for Vale, and never looks back.

☨ ☨ ☨

Life on the streets is hard.

Every day is an uncertainty. Often, he goes hungry, curled in a back alley underneath corrugated tin and dumpsters. The only food he can get is what he nicks from market stands and paws out of trashcans. The only bright side of his life is when he transform into a crow and fly over the city, seeing the true beauty of it, the winding rivers, soaring spires, glittering buildings. He speaks to birds, tells them where to fly. He can hear the songs on the breeze, and for the moment, life is good.

Kids try to fight him all the time when they find him in the streets, like some rat. They aren’t real fighters, just thugs and idiots, and he wins so easily. He always wins. Every time he strikes the finishing blow, he feels like he loses another part of himself.

☨ ☨ ☨

He is seventeen years old now. It’s been seven years since his parents were killed. Five since he witnessed the murder of the little girl. And it’s been only hours since he sustained another wound. He has nothing now— he is still fleeing the tribe, fleeing their cruelty, seeking a better life.

A group of rich kids playing at being gangsters jumped him a while ago in an alley while he was scrounging around— nothing he couldn’t handle, but they’ve cost him precious energy and the sheer amount that attacked him gave him a few wounds that sting like fury. To top it all off, they stole the meager supply of Lien and Dust he had forged. Now, he has nothing. He is nothing but Qrow Branwen, bastard of the tribe, ally to the wind and sky, renegade of the tribe, ex-brother to Raven. There is nothing but the clothes on his back, the wounds on his body, and the knife in his hand.

He walks down the streets of Vale, fresh out of a back-alley fight. He’s pissed off, itching to start and finish another fight. At least in battle, there is nothing but the mind numbing-chill of adrenaline. His anger feels like live wires, twisting and coiling white hot in his veins, and he can see the muscles moving beneath his skin, flaked with white scars.

His chest aches. The puckered, jagged scar there, stretching from collarbone to navel— one he received many years ago— stings like fury. It was Raven’s fault that he ever got it in the first place, but she would never admit it. They’d always promised to have each other’s backs in a fight— until, one day, she didn’t. Now, the scar is reopened, bleeding shallowly from a blow he sustained recently.

Above his head, a bird croaks.

He turns to look up. There’s large black raven perched on the elegant curve of a light-pole, its red eyes fixed upon him with a a beady glare. It would look unassuming to anyone else, but he can see the amused cock of his head, the slight ruffle on the crest of its head, and there’s also the irritating fact that he knows his sister, though it’s been five years since he’s seen her, and he would know her anywhere.

Glancing down the street to make sure that it is still devoid of people— he’d look especially idiotic if someone caught him chattering at a bird— he raises his head to the raven with a scowl. “How long have you been stalking me?”

The bird spreads its wings and spirals to the ground. Midway in flight, it elongates and shifts, and then Raven tumbles out of the air and lands in a catlike crouch, smiling up at him. She’s always been able to shift from human to corvid easier than he has, and she makes it look effortless. Rising, she dusts herself off and tilts her head, studying him— all sharp teeth and narrowed eyes. “Not long, brother. Maybe a week’s time.”

“That’s actually pretty long. I didn’t know you found me so interesting.” Qrow scowls. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any sign of you, Raven. Too long for this to just be an idle visit. I ran away years ago— five, to be exact. What brings you here now, after all this time?”

“I’m on a mission… my first one ever. The tribe believes I’m out scouting out other villages to attack, and I found one swiftly enough to allow for this little… excursion. I wanted to find you before now, but it was impossible without risking them finding out.” She tosses her black hair behind her shoulders, taking a deep breath. “So here we are.”

Qrow scowls at her, and imagines how he looks— gaunt and ragged, every rib showing, his battle-marked skin a harsh reminder of the life he’s eked out in the streets, fighting and stealing to survive. Just as the tribe has— but now, he imagines, he will be able to escape it. He has to. He’s seventeen, after all; that’s the applicant age to enter a combat academy. And his fighting skills are plenty advanced.

“I don’t want to speak to you,” he says at last, dragging his attention back to his sister. “The tribe has a way of sinking its claws into its members… and that’s obvious with you. So if you’re here to drag me back there, beat it. I’m done with them, done with their murdering and thieving and stealing, and I’ve been done with it for years. I’m not going back.”  

Raven looks haughty at his quick dismissal, and he can see her jaw tighten with disapproval. “If you must know, that wasn’t my intention at all, but if you insist on being so prickly all the time, brother…”

He begins to walk, his stride tightly clipped, and Raven moves to his side, her eyes flashing. “You can’t avoid me forever!”

“I can sure as hell try.” He tries to duck to the side and outpace her, but she matches him stride for stride.

“What if I were to make a proposition?” His sister’s voice has the edge of an amused purr. “Your listening ear in exchange for a promise of honesty, little brother. I’ve never lied to you. Never had cause to. You’ve never tried to understand me, nor I you, but we’re family. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

His eyes go to slits. “Your deals always involve some sort of double-cross. Please, don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you’re an innocent little flower.”

Raven’s nostrils flare, and she steps into his path, forcing him to stop. “You act like you’re so secretive,” she snaps, “but you’re an open book, brother. Do you think the tribe didn’t know of your desires long before you saw that little girl murdered? They knew you shifted into your crow and flew out to Vale, to study the Hunters, study their ways. They knew you were growing restless. I daresay they even knew you would leave them, despite everything they gave you. Perhaps you are desperate to play the hero, but it’s a path that will only take you to your own demise. I cannot stop you from running off like a starry-eyed fool, pursuing your destiny. I can’t even keep you from chasing after the malleable idea of destiny, throwing away all the heritage of your past for an idiot’s dream of being a Huntsman. That’s not where you belong. You know that.” She looks pointedly in the direction of the soaring spires of Beacon Academy. “That’s not your home, Qrow.”

“I always knew you were pragmatic,” Qrow grunts, shielding his anger at her words as his hand wrapped around the hilt of his knife. “Though, sis, I’ll admit I never really realized you could be so much of a bi—”

“It’s not your home alone,” Raven interrupts without a trace of anger, “but it could be ours.” She hesitates. “If I came with you.”

He eyes her suspiciously. “No offense, but I can tell you’re lying. Why would you leave the tribe? They’ve always been a bigger part of you than I have ever been. That’s just how it is.” A pang of sadness echoes in his heart. “Why would you leave them behind to come with me?”  

She looks caught off guard for a moment’s instance, but it quickly disappears, replaced by a mask of cool self-certainty. “The tribe means much to me, yes. But you’re my brother… and knowledge is power. There is much that the tribe cannot teach me, of the ways of Remnant— knowledge I could acquire there, at Beacon Academy. The leader of the tribe was grooming me to become the next in line, but I’m not ready. I know myself. Power is something I could handle so easily, but it would be rash to take it now, while there is still so much to learn, so much to change before I shoulder a burden like that.” Her eyes darken, the color of freshly-spilled blood. “And… I care for family, even if you do not.”

“Family means nothing. It’s just something you’re born into.”

“Your heart is filled with bitterness,” she tells him.

She could be lying, he thinks. Raven has always been remarkably gifted at duplication, but her gaze is guileless. She’s either become an extremely good actor in the time since he’s last seen her… or she’s telling the truth.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Qrow grunts, before he unsheathes his knife, and looks at it. The sunlight sparks off it, gold and silver, and Raven stiffens. Qrow puts it away, and reaches out his hand towards his sister. “But I’ll give you another chance.”

Raven takes his hand in a firm grip, nodding, her eyebrows forming dark slashes sheltering the depth of her eyes, and what hidden motives might lie there. “And I will be honored to take it.”

☨ ☨ ☨  

They both apply for Beacon.

They find a small coffee shop, ignoring the glances of the patrons as they stride in— they both look scruffy and wild— and find a table near the back to fill the forms out in quiet. Raven frowns down at her paper, and he helps her, ignoring the amusement he feels at it. He’s technically her little brother by mere minutes, but it’s good to know he still has the edge in cases like these. The form is nothing fancy— just printed applicant boxes on cream-colored paper, with lines for a signature. At the top, the headmaster’s name is flourished in a simple script. Professor Ozpin, it says. Privately, Qrow thinks it’s a ridiculous sort of title.

The register with their names, Qrow and Raven Branwen.

They easily fill in the boxes asking them to describe themselves and why they want to be Huntsmen or Huntresses. Qrow’s honest about it— no point in lying, really, if he’ll only be caught— and marks down his motives as being the same as anyone else’s: he just wants a career that’s not as constrictive as others, and one that allows him to help others out, while being an adventurous job. He has no idea what Raven puts, nor does he want to know.

They register with their choice of weapon, or the idea of weapon they might like to forge. Raven marks her down without a hint of hesitation— she’s always fought with a blood-red katana and a few vials of Dust, something the tribe gave her after a particularly remarkable display in a raid— but Qrow wavers, his pen hovering over the paper long enough to blotch. He has no weapon, because he’s never stood out like his sister has enough to earn one. Not unless you count the dagger he carries around— he doesn’t count that.

I request a forged weapon, he writes. I will make it with my own two hands, so long as I can use the material and a furnace. I’m not afraid of hard work.

He thinks a larger weapon would be good. He doesn’t want to use something that the tribe uses, so mentally, he rules out the idea of any maces, or bows, or knives. A sword would be nice— a greatsword, one that’s full of power and promise. He might even fancy it up and include a shift in it, to symbolize how he can shift to a crow… something unexpected, like a gun, or a scythe, like those used to cut down fields.  A faint smile crosses his lips, and he looks around, surprised by the burst of lightness in his chest. This is all so unfamiliar— feeling hopeful, sitting with his sister in a quiet but comfortable silence, applying for a future he knows is right for him. He almost feels happy.  

Under the box that asks them to label their semblances and any additional details, Qrow’s chest tightens. As if on cue, somewhere in the shop, he can hear the tinkle of a glass shattering, and an angry shout.

“Misfortune,” he growls.

Raven’s eyebrows raise in an amused manner and she sneaks him a sly, sidelong glance. “Misfortune, indeed. Just be glad that it’s not you dropping a glass. You know, you might even be able to turn your semblance to your advantage at the Academy, Qrow. Just be sure to hang around those you don’t like, and you’re home free.”

“It’s not funny,” he snaps, and she smiles.

“I never said it was, my brother.” Then she looks directly at him, her good mood fading. “Do not tell them you can shape-shift. That marks us out as different. And what society deems as different, they deem unnatural— they don’t understand what’s different, so they brand it as an outcast, and drive it away.” Her voice is dark and heavy. “Believe me, I know.”

He notices a pale scar stretching from her temple and disappearing into her hairline. She didn’t have it when he fled the tribe, and he is half-tempted to ask what it’s from, before he decides to let it go. “I won’t.”

He marks down misfortune just as she marks down good luck, and he wonders why some people are cursed in life while others are blessed.

☨ ☨ ☨

They are accepted one week and five days later.

☨ ☨ ☨

The initiation ceremony is awful, and the speech is just as redundant and boring; he’s beginning to sweat under his gear and regret all of this. He’s surrounded by a swarm of gossiping idiots who seem to have no idea that this is a school for fighting and battle, not parties and fun. Raven slinks off soon after they enter the amphitheater, and he doesn’t bother following her. He slips to the front of the crowd, eyes narrowed. Behind him, someone trips, falls, and cries out as their nose begins to gush blood, but he doesn’t turn around to look at them. He is past the point of worrying about those whom his semblance affects.

The headmaster, Professor Ozpin, is up at the forefront of the stage, standing silently and observing the crowd. A ray of sunlight falls through the window and illuminates him, bathing him in warm gold. Qrow stares up at him, reminded of a statue carved like an angel. All he lacks is the wings flaring out from his back. He’s way younger than Qrow expected, and flicker of surprise shocks him, for a moment. He’d expected to see some boring old guy, complete with wobbling jowls and absolutely no idea how combat actually worked. But this man meets neither expectations. Sure, there’s a cane balanced under his crossed palms, but Qrow doubts he uses it; Ozpin looks no older than—

Come to think of it, Qrow can’t actually guess his age. He looks ageless, in a way. Like something that’s stood here as long as the school, as long as Remnant itself.

“May I have your attention,” he says into the microphone. Something about his voice— resonating a quiet power— makes the room fall silent instantly, as if holding its breath, put into a trance. “Thank you all for coming here today. While Remnant is full of many excellent professions, the career of a Hunter is, in my mind, a noble one to pursue. You all have one common bond: you have decided you want to aid your world through your skills, and make it a safer place. You have put your duty and your people ahead of yourself, and through careful selection, we chose the individuals who we feel will be the most… suited, per se, to this task.” His eyes rove the room, passing over the shifting crowd, and Qrow takes a step back as they pass over him.

“As you know,” Ozpin goes on, “most of you sent applications within the span of the previous month. The remainder of you entered Beacon with an open application. Now, all of you will be fielded for your unique combat abilities, and narrowed down from there on out. I am sure you have heard rumors of our initiation ceremony. They run rampant through Vale, each one wilder than the last. Allow me to end those rumors right here.”

From the crowd, a kid shouts out, “Is it true that we’ve got to wrestle a King Taijitu and win?”

“Not in the slightest, I’m afraid,” the headmaster replies conversationally, a brief smile gracing his face, and Qrow feels his heart lighten a little bit. “Our process is decidedly less rigorous and exciting, though some of you may find it challenging enough on its own. You will be entered into the forest lying to the north of Beacon; the Emerald Forest. It is inhabited by many of the lesser subspecies of Grimm— Beowolves, Deathstalkers, and Ursai. These, we have deemed, should be manageable for first-years undergoing initiation—”

“He calls Deathstalkers manageable?” Someone mutters behind Qrow.

“—and the exact details of the initiation should be made more clear to you tomorrow morning,” Ozpin continues. “For now, there will be a tour of the Academy, wherein you will learn the grounds of the campus, and be permitted a rocket locker in which you may store your weapon and any personal belongings. Then you will be sent to the ballroom, where temporary sleeping spaces have been arranged for you. After initiation, those of you who are left will be assigned to your teams, and delegated to a dorm room. I wish you all the best of luck. Get a good night’s rest for tomorrow, and listen well to Professor Goodwitch.”

The crowd erupts into speculative chattering as Ozpin turns and vanishes backstage, and his assistant— Goodwitch— turns the other way, walking down the stairs and calling for the massive crowd to follow her. Privately, Qrow thinks she looks way too young to be an assistant, too— she’s got to be only a couple years older than he is, but whatever. Dismissing the thought, he looks around, searching for one dark head of hair in the crowd.

“Don’t look so angry, brother. You might frighten all the children here.”  

Her voice is spoken in the shell of his ear, and he jumps, startled, before whipping around to glare at her. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

She frowns. “This whole initiation ceremony seems rather… foolish, don’t you think? I think the headmaster should simply pick the ones who don’t have their brains in their feet… though to be fair, that seems to be less than half of this room.”

Qrow scoffs. “Don’t tell me you actually stuck around to listen, Raven.”

Her eyes burn at him. “I told you I was going to do this wholeheartedly, or not at all.”

“Fine. Don’t bite my head off, or anything.” He strides off into the crowd that obediently trails Goodwitch— she’s prattling on about the campus’s rich history, or something— and his sister follows him.

When they get their rocket lockers, they get them right beside each other, and he sneaks a sidelong grin at her as she fiddles with the combination, her brows furrowed in frustration. “Need some help?”

She scowls at him. “Yes, I can’t work with all the technology as well as you. Very amusing. Now would you just get on with it?”  

“Alright, it’s fine. You didn’t have to scrounge out your life learning stuff as fast as I did to survive on the streets— not your fault, but whatever.” He leans over and fiddles with her combo, punching it in and typing in the affirming ‘click’. “Tribe didn’t work much with technology, did they?”

She’s obviously nettled, her red eyes locked onto him, and her sentence comes out in a sibilant hiss. “You’re the one that left, not I.”

“I did.” He moves his shoulders in a shrug, but her words hurt him more than he lets on. “But that’s in the past now.” She doesn’t press the argument further, but he can tell she’s still bubbling with resentment over the supposed betrayal of her brother.

Whatever. She didn’t see what I saw… or if she did, she chose to ignore it, and that’s not my fault.

In the ballroom that night, it’s packed with chatter, and Qrow claims a corner near a candle, though he doubts he’ll get a wink of sleep with all these kids going on and on. Someone yells “shut up!” from the western end of the room. The talking abates for a heartbeat before resuming, even more noisily than before, and Raven settles beside him with a soft sigh.

“You’re not used to this kind of life, are you?” Qrow asks her. “All these people and all this entitlement and fun.”

She eyes him jealously, her face shadowy in the firelight. “You seem right at home here, brother.”

He cocks a brow. “No. I’m no less comfortable than you are with these many idiot crammed into a room. Honestly, I hate it. I spent a lot of time alone, Raven. I was always on my own.”

She turns away, curling up in a little ball of shadow, but he knows she isn’t asleep. Unwilling to press the matter further— Raven’s always been an enigma, and he’s long since accepted the mysterious silence of her ways— he snuffs out the candle, plunging their corner of the room into darkness. But after a long heartbeat, he can hear her whisper, just under the chatter of the room.

“Your isolation was self imposed.”

☨ ☨ ☨

In his sleep, an old lullaby from when he was child rings in Qrow’s ears, wearing the voice of his parents, and he tumbles down into nightmares. The words of the lullaby haunts him into the darkness.

“I know the rain like the clouds know the sky

I speak to birds and tell them where to fly.

I sing the songs that you hear on the breeze

I write the names of the rocks and the trees.

Oh, you fool, there are rules

I am coming for you.

Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins

I tried to warn you when you were a child

I told you not to get lost in the wild.

I sent omens and all kinds of signs

I taught you melodies, poems, and rhymes

Oh, you fool, there are rules

I am coming for you

You can run but you can't escape…

Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins

You will open the yawning grave…”

☨ ☨ ☨

Qrow wakes up, wide-eyed and stiff, to yelling and an authoritative voice rising above the chatter. Raven’s already awake, pulling on her wrist guards and looking distinctly tired, her eyes ringed with blue shadows. As Qrow blinks around the room, getting his bearings, she casts him a sour look. “Excellent,” she tells him, her voice conveying the exact opposite. “You’ve finally woken up. And just in time— the headmaster’s assistant has ordered us to get a move on down the cliffs bordering the northern end of the campus, near the airdocks.”

Qrow makes sure his dagger is tucked on his hip, and tightens the raggedy red material of his cape around his shoulders. “Any idea what they’re planning for us?”

“We’ve been accepted,” she points out. “I don’t doubt it’s some convoluted plan to get us assigned a team and a partner, but…” She gives an elegant shrug. “Who can say?”

Qrow rises to his feet, and sticks out his hand with raised eyebrows to help her to her feet. She scorns the proffered hand and uncurls herself from the ground gracefully, rising up and moving off into the shifting throng of initiates.

“Typical,” he mutters, before rolling his eyes heavenward and trailing after her. They both weave their way to the front of the crowd, where Goodwitch is scolding a kid who is rumpled from sleep, his hair stuck up all over the place.

After she’s done yelling, she sweeps one frigid-eyed glance over the waiting crowd before whirling around and stalking from the room. Obediently, they follow after her, clutching an array of gear and weaponry— Qrow can see sensible weapons, sure, but some of the things he sees look ridiculous. An extendable wooden staff with a spear-blade on one end and a gun on the other, a wristbands that bristle with spiky metal knives, a large sword with two guns protruding from either side of the hilt, a whip ribbed with fire Dust, a bow shaped in the curve of a wing, the endings flaring out to resemble feathers, the arrows fashioned in the form of a bird’s beak and glowing with Dust in their points.

He doesn’t see anything like what he has in mind of what he wants to forge— a greatsword that can change to a scythe with the flash of a button— and he hides a smile.

“Why are you smiling?” Raven asks him.

He cocks a brow at his sister. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about things. Are you regretting your decision to come along with me yet?”

In unison, they both glance to the right as a boy lets out a loud retching noise and suddenly vomits all over the ground, scattering the kids around him like windblown leaves, except with more shrieking and name-calling. Qrow snorts, and Raven gives him a cold, tight smile. “Most definitely.”

The walk to the cliffs is silent from then on. They make it there in less than five minutes. It’s a lonely, wild place, with craggy bluffs and a vast forest of green trees spreading out before them. The trees are already beginning to turn to gold and red as autumn dawns closer, and the coldness in the air only confirms that summer is finally reaching the end of its passage. Qrow stops as the other Beacon initiates fan out in a long line.

There’s already a solitary figure poised on the edge of the cliffs, straight-backed and elegant, his hair silvery and windblown in the gale. Qrow recognizes it as Ozpin. Autumn leaves chase each other around his feet. As the initiates come to a stop, he turns around, his copper eyes surveying them. “Welcome,” he says.

A soft murmur of greeting is echoed back to the headmaster, and he nods to the stone squares that lead down to the end of the cliffs. Each of them have some sort of springboard device rigged beneath them, and they are emblazoned with an emblem of crossed axes and laurel wreath. “Please, find yourself a spot on the springboards and have your weapons at the ready as I explain how your initiation will go. I am not one to waste time, so please, make it swift, and we can begin this as soon as possible. Thank you.”

There’s a mad scrambling for spots on the boards, complete with mild scuffles and name-calling, and Qrow finds himself on one of the stone pads right in front of Ozpin and parallel to his sister. She looks slightly uneasy, and he shares the sentiment. What the hell is their initiation going to be, exactly?

“Now.” Ozpin casts a glance over all of them. “As I’ve said before, I do not doubt you’ve been exposed to several rumors concerning our initiation process here— each one more wild than the last, I’m sure. I’m afraid it’s not going to live up to some of your expectations—” He looks at the kid who asked him about wrestling a King Taijitu, and the initiate blushes— “but rest assured that it will not be your typical entry-level assessment, either. You were all accepted here because I determined you had what it took to survive this sort of test. Today I will see if my expectations were correct.

As you know, today you will be receiving your teams, and your partners. Your teams and your partner will be your counterparts for the remainder of your time at Beacon— they will be who you can count on in fight; you will take your classes with them; you will eat with them, sleep in a dorm room with them, and in every way, they will be your family for the duration of your time here. Therefore, it is in your best interests to find someone with whom you can work well.”

Qrow looks dubiously down the line of initiates, who all seem to have the same thoughts, but Ozpin’s voice catches his attention once more.

“You may be wondering the exact process of how your teams and partners will be selected: allow me to cease your wonderings. You will be placed in the forest. The first person with whom you make eye contact shall be your partner for the next four years. Furthermore, the next set of partners you run into will make up the remaining members of your team. Once you have your team, you will make your way to the heart of the forest together. This forest is home to many Grimm, so do not expect to go unchallenged on your way. Once you have made it to the forest’s heart, there lies an abandoned temple stocked with chess-pieces that will serve as indications to me that you have completed your objective. After you retrieve a single chess piece, it is your responsibility to make your way back to the base of the cliffs. Is that understood?”

A chorus of “yes, headmaster” rings out from the line of initiates. Qrow shivers in the blustery autumn day, complete with a steel-gray sky and biting wind, and and wishes that he had something a bit warmer than his raggedy gear.

Well, that settles it. He’s not going to get paired up with some idiot, and he’s not going to get shoved off on a team full of blockheads either. He’ll have to slink around until he finds someone who doesn’t look like a total washout and settle for them.

“Sir? Professor Ozpin?” Someone asks in a quavering voice.

“Yes?”

“Um, how exactly are we going to get down to the forest?”

“You will be launched from the stone pads on which you are currently standing at a rate of over thirty miles per hour,” he announces. “Your Aura will protect you from any serious harm, but it is in your best interest to devise a landing strategy that will keep you intact. This will also allow me to glean your sense of thinking under pressure, and planning to keep yourself safe in the long run… and it will give me a sense of who to appoint as team leaders.” There’s not a trace of humor in his voice, and a low murmur of shock runs through the line as they all realize he’s being completely serious. “Best of luck, and may you all do well.”

With that, the first stone pad lets out a sharp click, and then with a screech of shock, Qrow watches as an initiate is launched from the cliff and into the air. Another follows, and then another, and then Qrow sees his sister flash him a sharp-toothed grin before she is winging off gracefully into the gray autumn sky.

Then it’s his turn.

Qrow meets Ozpin’s eyes for a single moment, his gaze narrowing, before he is hurled into the air like a bullet shot from a gun.

The air screams in his ears, and his heart thunders in his ears, a deluge of adrenaline firing through his veins. He waits until he’s out of sight of the cliff, and of his fellow initiates, before he shifts midair, the change swallowing him up in a whirl of feathery darkness and spitting him back out in the form of a crow. Cawing triumphantly, he rides the gust of wind that soars through the air, letting himself glide safely down to the forest floor. There, he changes back into Qrow, clutching his dagger and wishing fervently he had a better weapon.

There is no time to waste— he can hear an Ursa howling in the distance, and gods know what else trampling through the brambles behind him— so he speeds off, keeping one ear open for sounds as he dashes through the brush. After what seems like an eternity of running, he hears a crackle in the trees ahead, and he skids to a stop, before suspiciously making his way forward.

He sees his sister, and he swears as their eyes meet, red against paler red.

“Hello, my brother,” she says, not looking at all surprised or displeased. She looks smug, satisfied. “Or, to be more accurate, my partner.”

“Goddammit,” he snaps to himself.

“Pity,” she drawls as she takes note of his crestfallen expression. “Because it’s a terrible fate to be partnered to your sister, is that right?”

“No. I’m just cringing inwardly at the prospect of being forced to have your back and all that sentimental shit for four years, that’s all.” He lets out a scoff. “Let’s get moving.”

They both move off into the forest.

☨ ☨ ☨

After about ten minutes of walking, Qrow can hear yelling and the sounds of thudding impact, followed by an agonized bellow. He charges forward towards the sound, Raven on his heels, and whips his dagger out, and then— as he breaks through the vines and trees of the Emerald Forest— a chaotic sight unfurls before his eyes.

Two initiates whirl around a Grimm, crying out— not in fear, but in excitement. They are attacking an Ursa, one of the more massive kind. There’s a short girl, wispy and petite, who doesn’t look at though she could hurt a fly, but she’s riding the back of the Ursa and whooping triumphantly as she bashes a long feather-staff over its head. Her eyes are bright silver. Her partner is a tall blonde-haired boy, broad-shouldered and weaponless—

That’s not quite right. His hands are gleaming with brass knuckles. His eyes spark like blue fire as he hurls himself at the Ursai and taunts it almost playfully, punching it in the jaw and dancing backward, out of its reach.

Qrow and Raven exchange a glance before they leap into the fray as one, knives and katana flashing. The Ursa bellows in pain, but it doesn’t stand a chance against four, and they all retreat as it dissolves into black smoke.

“Hey,” the girl greets them, looking exhilarated, her hair windblown and her face flushed. “Tai, our team is all together now!”

The boy sweeps a nonchalant glance over the twins, giving them both a crooked grin. He’s broad-jawed and his hair is swept back over his head in a messy flare of blonde. He’s good-looking in a rugged, handsome way, Qrow supposes, if you like that sort of thing— but doesn’t like the way his eyes linger a moment too long on Raven. She seems impervious to the appraising look.

“Hey, there,” he introduces himself, his voice warm. “My name’s Taiyang Xiao Long, but I also go by Tai, if you’d like. This is Summer Rose—”

“But you can call me Summer; I don’t mind,” she interrupts. Her voice is melodic and kind, and Qrow feels himself softening towards her. “I know Summer Rose is a bit of a mouthful—”

“— but it’s no big deal,” Tai finishes for her, blue eyes glittering. He steps forward to shake hands with Qrow. “I didn’t catch your names last night when everyone was getting all gung-ho friendly with each other in the ballroom, but I remember you two well enough— the dark-haired twins, that’s what Summer called you. But what do you want us to call you?”

“Raven Branwen,” she responds, a note of ice in her voice.

Taiyang grins good-naturedly at her, pushing a hand through his hair. “And your brother?”

“I’m Qrow Branwen,” he offers, letting out a heavy breath and sheathing his dagger to throw his hands in his pockets.

“Qrow and Raven,” Taiyang snorts. “You sure it’s the Branwen twins, and not the birdbrain twins?”

“I bet that’s the wittiest thing you’ve said all week, dirt-for-brains,” Qrow snaps, storming past them, and Summer giggles. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a relic to find.”

Raven catches up to him as he takes the lead, and they both exchange a glance, not needing words to voice the thought that passes between them. If these two vapid idiots are their team members, it’s going to be a long four years.

“So what do you think we’ll be called?” Taiyang wonders aloud. “Like, our team name, I mean. Professor Ozpin decides them. He seems alright, but I wonder…”

“No idea,” Qrow grunts, flattening a track through a tussock of high grass. “It’s Q, R, S, and T.” Suddenly, a thought occurs to him, and he swears. “Fuck, he’s not going to call us something like Team SQRT, is he?”

Taiyang chokes out loud. “There is something horrifyingly wrong with you.”

Qrow can see Raven bite back a smile, which makes him feel a bit less suspicious about this whole thing. “Squirt isn’t a color, Qrow,” Summer reminds him gently.  

Qrow lets the three of them talk and he leads the way through the forest, over bubbling creaks and tangled brambles. There’s not hide nor hair of any more Grimm, and he begins to suspect that Ozpin’s little speech was just for theatrics and flair.

A glimmer of sunlight on stone catches his eyes, and he pushes through the trees, and is greeted by a buffeting blast of wind. He’s on the edge of a small cliff, and his team fans out behind him as the sight of what lies below spreads out ahead of them in brilliant color. Summer and Tai inhale sharp breaths, and Raven lets out a noncommittal grunt of surprise.

There is an abandoned temple. It’s still mostly intact, but it’s weathered and old-looking. Lichen and moss coats the pillars, and there are several alters ringing the structure; each one holds a chess piece on the top of it. Each one is black as pitch.

“So how do we get down there?” Taiyang wonders aloud. “I don’t really fancy our chances trying to climb down this cliff, and while our Aura might keep us from dying, I don’t really want a broken bone today— or ever.”

Qrow casts a glance at his sister, thinking of the dramatic show he could create by shifting into a crow and soaring down the temple. Besides, he’s never listened to Raven before; why should he do it now?

She seems to know what he is thinking, because her expression shifts to anger as he grins at her. “Qrow—”

He allows the change to swallow him up and spit him out as a corvid. His bones elongate, melting and shrinking, and his skin prickles and aches before the world blurs before him, and he is standing several feet smaller, three humans looming over him.

He doesn’t stick around to hear Raven shout at him for being an idiot; enjoying the sputtering shock of Taiyang and Summer, he spreads his wings and glides off the cliff, down to the temple.

Ten minutes later, Raven, Taiyang, and Summer join him, having traversed the long way around. Raven looks stormy as a thundercloud, Summer looks mildly surprised but happy, and Taiyang is shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “A fucking bird,” he says. “His name’s Qrow and he can change into a fu—”

“Taiyang, please.”

Qrow brandishes the black rook he took from an altar. “I know it must be so interesting to discuss my abilities, but here’s the damn thing we were sent here for, so drop it. I don’t walk about shouting out my semblance for the world to hear, so you shouldn’t, either.”

Raven shoots him a look that’s sharper than a dagger— they both very well know his semblance isn’t shifting into a crow— but they don’t let Taiyang or Summer know that.

“Well, that’s it; we’ve got our relic,” Raven tells the team. “Now let’s get back to the checkpoint as swiftly as we can. Our objective is fulfilled now.”

“Don’t you want to explore?” Summer asks her, eyes twinkling like stars. “After all, surely Ozpin can’t fault us for checking out this area.”

Raven’s cold eyes fall upon Summer. “No, I do not. It’s foolish to hang around here longer than we must.”

Summer’s smile seems to waver and fall from her face. “I— do you not want to be here or something?”

“I think this is all theatrics and a pointless waste of time.” Raven sheathes her sword, eyeing the relic. “Perhaps it’s fitting for fools, but not for I. We should get assigned our teams and leaders and be done with it, the sooner the better.”  

“Hey, you don’t need to be like that,” Summer tells Raven. “Is this because you’re worried Ozpin is going to see your real skills and that you might not be made the leader? Look, I get you might be disappointed in this whole initiation deal, but believe me, it’s fine if you’re not going to be made the leader. Leadership isn’t for everyone, and not everyone is an excellent fighter… I can tell you and your brother don’t seem really accustomed to how all of this works, but it’s no big deal if you don’t quite understand it yet. Beacon will teach you how to fight and lead well, especially if you can’t do it yet. You seem like an okay fighter, but not everyone can be really strong and special… not everyone is cut out to be really good, you know?”

Qrow’s eyes widen at that. His sister stiffens at the word ‘strong’. She sputters, eyes gleaming furious red as if Summer has uttered the vilest of insults— and Qrow knows that, in a way, she has. Then, with a feral snarl, his sister charges at Summer and lifts her hand, her sharp nails flashing brightly in the sunlight as she prepares to rake them over Summer Rose’s face.

At that exact moment, a blonde streak shoots past Qrow and plows into her, throwing her to the side. They roll end over end, coming to a tumbling stop on the moss several feet away. Taiyang slams Raven’s shoulders into the ground, a terrible growl coming from somewhere deep in his throat.

“Get off of me!” she spits, thrashing underneath him. “Let me up this instant, you whelp, you idiot! Let me go!”  

Taiyang doesn’t move an inch. His burning blue eyes remain steadily locked on hers. Qrow knows from bitter experience the strength in his sister’s muscles, and he can appreciate how much endurance it must take to keep her pinned there. “Not until I can trust I can do that without you trying to murder one of your teammates.”

Raven struggles again. “My teammate—”

“We’re all your teammates now whether you like it or not. Capisce?” Taiyang lets out a huff. “Qrow,” he addresses him, without budging an inch to twist around to look at Qrow. “Is Summer okay?”

Eyebrows raised, Qrow glances at his new teammate. Her silver eyes look stricken, and she’s a bit pale, but she directs a shaky smile in his direction, voice managing to be chipper. “I’m right as rain. She didn’t touch me.”

Qrow nods, returning the smile reluctantly. “She’s fine,” he tells Tai. “Pretty face unscratched. Way to dash in there, sport. I’m sure you’re her knight in shining armor now.”

Taiyang visibly sags. “Okay. Brilliant. Perfect. You’re both determined to be sarcastic and bitter at every possible time. Wonderful.” He lets out a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Look,” he continues to Raven— she has stopped thrashing around by now— obviously making an enormous effort to remain calm. “I get that we’ve all got our differences, and it’s stupid to expect them to go away just because we’re teammates now. I don’t know what part of what Summer said offended you, but it did. I’m sure she didn’t mean to do it— misunderstandings are fine— but it’s done with, so just apologize to each other, because if we throw ourselves at each other every time we disagree, we’ll never learn to work together. Got it?”

Raven goes limp, boneless; Taiyang seems to sense that the fight has drained out of her, because he scrambles to his feet quickly and dusts himself off. Raven gets up on her own, red eyes falling onto Summer, who gazes at her nervously.

“I’m sorry for offending you,” Summer murmurs.

Raven’s mouth thins in a stern expression— not angry or displeased, but guarded. “And I apologize for charging you. It was foolish.”

“And rude,” Qrow chimes in, his voice light. “Don’t forget ‘rude’ too.”

His sister shoots him a dirty look. “Be silent, Qrow.”

While they’re apologizing and making an uneasy peace that’s definitely never going to last, Qrow patrols the border, making sure there are no Grimm lurking around. Everything is silent, though, and he makes his way back to the team, still bearing the black rook. “Let’s head back to the cliffs and get this done with.”

As they move back into the forest, their new truce still heavy in the air between them, Qrow feels— hopeful.

Nothing unfortunate happens to them on that day.

☨ ☨ ☨

Qrow wakes up to the unmistakable sound of snoring.

It’s Taiyang. He sounds like some gods-awful mixture between an donkey, gunshots, and a blender— a droning, strangulated sound that makes Qrow want to wring his neck. Miraculously, Summer and Raven are somehow managing to catch some sleep through the noise, but he can’t. Eyes wide-open, he stares at the ceiling and curses the name of every god he knows before resigning himself to the fact that he’s not going to get back to sleep unless someone punches him unconscious. In fact, he’s half-tempted to do it himself.

Muttering angrily about blonde idiots, he slides out of bed and drops to the ground, silent as stone. Living on thievery has given him an edge on sneaking around— nevertheless, it doesn’t rest easy on him, all this secrecy. As he pads past Raven’s bed, he half-expects her to snap open her eyes and yell at him, but she doesn’t, and he eases himself out of the dorm as quietly as he can.  

Moonbeams fall across the ground in the hallway, and lush red carpet muffles the sound of his steps. He wanders down the hall like a shadow, relishing in the silence that accompanies his solitude.

“Mr. Branwen.”

A sudden voice rings out into the silence, clear and crisp as crystal, and Qrow jumps in shock, whipping around to see Ozpin standing in the middle of the hallway, observing him with raised brows.

“Godsdammit,” Qrow mutters. Caught before I even made it out of the dorm building. Way to go.

Unfazed, Ozpin looks at him over the rim of his glasses. “You are, by the rules, technically out after curfew, and thereby going against a very stringent policy of Glynda’s. I would not advise you to be roaming the school after hours, Mr. Branwen. Count yourself lucky that Glynda was not the one to find you first. She is not as lenient in such matters. Why are you out here?”

“I can’t sleep,” Qrow admits. “Taiyang snores… and I’ve always been a bit of an insomniac.”

Ozpin smiles, lowering his cane to the ground with a clicking noise. “I see. Believe me, you would not be the first student I’ve caught out in the corridors after hours with a case of insomnia… or teammates who have rather bothersome sleeping habits. I have found that a game of chess has always been particularly useful in clearing intrusive thoughts from one’s mind and lulling it into a calmer state for rest. I don’t mind circumventing the rules in some cases, and I would be lying if I claimed that no student ever broke curfew. Would you care to join me?”

Qrow shuffles his feet, but he can’t exactly turn down the headmaster without looking like an ass, and this might be a good chance to get on Ozpin’s good side. He’s long since learned that you don’t survive and get ahead of everyone else without tallying up favors and being in good graces with those in authority. “Yeah, I guess.”

He follows behind Ozpin in silence as he continues down the hall, and then the headmaster launches into what Qrow can already tell will be a long-winded lecture on history, or some shit. “Beacon Academy was constructed many, many years ago, on the principles of courage, duty, and compassion, before you existed. It still holds those morals, and I’m pleased to see that the ambition of Huntsmen and Huntresses world-wide has not waned as the years go by.”

“And before you were born too, I expect,” Qrow says dryly, trying not to sound disinterested. Normally he wouldn’t care, but there’s something about the headmaster that tells him that being standoffish is a very, very bad idea. To that, Ozpin does not reply.

They enter the office amid the same emptiness, and it’s quiet, save for the turning of the gears above Qrow’s head. He seats himself as Ozpin pulls out a mahogany chess set from beneath his desk, opening it and removing the pieces— bishops, rooks, pawns— with a few deft flicks of his fingers. “Black or white?”

“Black.”

He sets up the black and white pieces. Moonlight sparks off the game board. Qrow narrows his eyes, determined to win, and pulls his chair closer to the table as the headmaster takes his own seat.

And five minutes later, in less than sixteen moves, Ozpin has him beat.

“Fuck,” Qrow says as he’s forced to concede. “How long have you been playing chess?”

That earns him a wan smile. “Far longer than I should be, I assure you.”

“Huh.” Qrow sits back, folding his arms with a frown flickering across his lips. “Well, chess isn’t really a huge skill anyways. I bet I could beat you in a straight-up fight.”

Ozpin’s eyebrows slant downward. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. A warrior’s greatest asset is not his strength, or even the weapon he wields— often it is his mind. And while we’re on the subject, Mr. Branwen, do you have your weapon? I remember that you had filled out the box on your transcript requesting one.”

He shakes his head. “Just a dagger. It’s fine, but I don’t think it’ll carry me through the four years. I asked if I could forge one or something.”  

Ozpin nods. “Yes, you’re correct on that count. A more advanced weapon will help you gain an edge in a fight, and it will hone your skills more than a plain one could ever do. In that case, you can begin forging your weapon tomorrow. Head to the furnaces of metalworking on the fourth level of the school, down the hall and in room 3B. Skip your second period class— I think you are enrolled in Grimm studies for that time, I believe, which from my observations thus far, I believe you have that subject well in hand.” There’s a hidden note in his voice that makes Qrow wonder just how much he knows. “And for now, I will bid you a good night, Mr. Branwen.”

Qrow finds himself standing outside the door of the office several moments later, looking up at the vast, shadowy ceiling, ribbed with beams, and there’s only one thought in his mind.

I’m screwed.

☨ ☨ ☨

Qrow splits from his team as they head for their second block class. Raven gives him a parting glance as Taiyang and Summer, chattering excitedly, drag her off. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look contemptuous or unenthusiastic— her expression is unreadable. He doesn’t stick around to ponder upon it, though. He tosses his dagger into a waste bin and heads for the fourth level of the school.

☨ ☨ ☨

“Is your task going well, Mr. Branwen?”

He jumps, the chair clattering as he nearly falls out. “Gods!”

“No. It’s merely me. I apologize for startling you.” It’s Ozpin, looking grave over the rim of his glasses. There’s a cup in his hand, a chipped white mug bearing the emblem of crossed axes.

“I know that’s hot chocolate,” Qrow grunts without looking up. Turning around, he casts an accusatory glance at the headmaster. “Also, quit sneaking up on me.”

Ozpin’s voice holds a trace of amusement. “You and Glynda make up the only two people within the confines of the school who are privy to that knowledge.”

Qrow turns back to the hunk of metal that will soon be his sword, and begins to hammer at it. Its shape is beginning to take form, slowly but surely, and sparks scatter from the clangs of the hammer. “You don’t need to talk so formally all the time, you know.”

Ozpin moves to flank his right side, and Qrow stiffens slightly, the even rhythm of the hammer on the metal faltering slightly. “Would you prefer me to fall into a more colloquial manner of communication, like your friend, Tai?”

Qrow tries to imagine Ozpin’s formal, silvery tones replaces with Tai’s gruff and open words, and fails. “If there’s a hell on this earth, that would be it.”

Ozpin lets out a laugh. “I didn’t believe so. Formality is always simpler, I’ve found, in the long run… it’s easiest to be straight-up instead of twisting and hiding behind evasions and modern-day words.” He pauses. “Are you getting along well with your team?”

Qrow weights the merits of lying against honesty, and decides on the latter; Ozpin has a knack for sniffing out lies. A rough laugh forces its way up from his throat. “I’ve been fighting with Raven since we could open our mouths to form words, so no surprise there. Summer is… alright, I guess, but I’ve yet to see her fight… she seems more like an innocent schoolgirl than anything, with that round face and those innocent silver eyes…”

Something in Ozpin’s face flickers, but Qrow puts it down to the shimmer of the firelight on his expression. “She was not admitted to this academy on uncertain terms. You can trust her skill when engaged in combat. And what about the third member? Taiyang?”

“I don’t like him,” Qrow growls, and the hammer crashes on the metal with vicious force, the muscles in his arm rippling with the movement. Cinders swarm out from the epicenter, and he shakes his head to extinguish them. “I don’t like the way he looks at my sister, I don’t like his holier-than-thou attitude, and I hate that damned honesty… he’s got no clue how the world works, none at all, and it’s going to come back to bite him where it hurts one day.”

Ozpin is quiet for a heartbeat, and then: “Cynicism does not suit you well.”

Qrow glances up, taken aback. Ozpin is not looking at him; he stares deep into the heart of the furnace fire, his expression more ancient and full of grief than words can say.  

“You try not being a cynic once you’ve lived my life,” Qrow responds, turning back to his task.

Ozpin leaves, his pace slowly and unsteady, like he’s bleeding out from an unseen wound— Qrow would know; he’s seen enough people stumbling away in their dying throes from the aftermath of the tribe’s attacks. None of them ever make it far enough to tell the tale of what happened to them. He can see Raven’s eyes, and the red in them is not her irises, but the blood of those they have slaughtered together. It blurs together— the unsteady stride, the blood, the eyes, Ozpin— until he is nearly drowning in memories.

It’s only when Qrow smells the stench of burning cloth that he realizes the edge of his sleeve has caught on fire from the furnace.

☨ ☨ ☨

“Holy hell!” Taiyang exclaims as Qrow meets up with his team, where they’re standing by one of the fountains in the courtyard. He is smoldering with fury, one sleeve of his gear cut off, leaving a raggedy hole from which his singed arm protrudes. “What happened to you? Get into a little run-in with a fire Grimm?”

He laughs at his own joke, and Qrow scowls, hurling the scorched remains of the sleeve at his face. “Shut up, Raggedy-Andy, and go pant after some girl you have no chance with, why don’t you?” For good measure, he lets his eyes flit to his sister, who looks thoroughly entertained by the whole ordeal.

Taiyang laughs roughly, but his eyes narrow, and Qrow knows he has hit a nerve. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Qrow scowls, tosses his hands into his pockets, and tells him to do something with his body that’s anatomically impossible. Taiyang’s eyes flash and he stands up in one smooth motion. Qrow stares back without a trace of hesitation or fear. The air crackles between them.

“Sure, I will. And where have you been, Qrow? Chasing after a certain someone, right?” The challenge in his voice is unmistakable. “So you think I’m the freak for going after a couple girls, but you’re off with the hea—”

Qrow shoves Taiyang in the chest with both hands, sending him lurching back. The brawler has always been top-heavy, and the shove sends him toppling into the waters of the fountain, water surging up and soaking him. Taiyang snarls, just as Raven snaps, “Brother, that’s enough,” followed by Summer letting out a startled squeak. They stand up together, and Raven towers over Summer, but they both stare at Taiyang and Qrow angrily. They make such an unlikely pair, the daughter of the tribe and the innocent girl—

Taiyang comes hurtling out of the fountain in a wave of water and a streak of golden fury, and the force of the punch he throws sends Qrow’s head snapping to the right, his vision breaking apart into jagged flashes of red and black. He goes down, his skull cracking against the pavement, and Taiyang lands right on top of him, shouting something about Qrow being pretentious and deserving every bit of the beating he’s about to get. Fury exploding as his shock finally gives way to retaliation, Qrow flips Taiyang over and strikes him squarely in the nose, rewarded by the crunch of bone and a gush of blood as it breaks. Taiyang retaliates by returning the favor just as savagely. Blood bursts from Qrow’s nose, spraying Taiyang’s shirtfront with scarlet splatters, and then he grabs his arm and snaps it around. Qrow screeches in pain and anger as his bone clashes against its joint, sending burning agony exploding up through his arm— and then he clocks Tai in the eye, a straight punch with all his force behind it, and he knows it’ll bruise later. Taiyang bares his teeth, looking up at him.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” Qrow snarls.

Taiyang’s laugh is cruelly amused. “What? You think we all can’t see it whenever you come back from being around him? You think it’s not obvious? Because it is, and you lo—”

Qrow drives his elbow into Taiyang’s throat, choking the words off with a strangled noise. Taiyang rams his knee straight up into Qrow’s stomach, blasting the breath out of his lungs, before flipping him over and pinning his shoulders to the pavement, fingers digging in viciously. Qrow’s vision goes blurry as his head cracks against the stone once more— now would be a great time, he thinks hazily, for the misfortune to kick in and get Taiyang to magically fall unconscious, or something— but nothing happens to aid him.

And then, someone shouts for them to stop. The voice is familiar, and Qrow’s heart drops all the way to his toes as he makes out Ozpin striding towards them, cane clicking against the pavement, and Glynda is at his heels, looking amazed and stiff with disapproval at the two boys brawling on the ground.

Taiyang scrambles up, but Qrow lies there, oblivious to his sister’s narrowed gaze on him, and Summer’s wide-eyed worry.

“Sir,” Taiyang says stiffly. There’s blood running down his noise, and his eye is beginning to blacken; he looks like a bulldozer has run over him. Qrow feels a vicious sort of satisfaction. The idiot’s no longer cocky and handsome, and certainly in no state to be eyeing up his sister.“Sir, I—”

“That’s enough, Mr. Xiao Long. Quite enough out of the both of you. I don’t know why this happened, nor do I need any explanations for it.” Ozpin’s voice is colder than Qrow has ever heard it, before his eyes flick down to him. They’re devoid of any discernible emotion, except one that cuts Qrow to the chest, hurting him far more than any of Taiyang’s taunts: disappointment. “Glynda,” he announces, each word heavy, “go back to my office and make sure there are no students waiting to meet with me, please. I shall take care of this.”

The assistant scurries off with a nod.

“Miss Rose, Miss Branwen,” Ozpin continues, looking at them in a more kindly manner, “I would advise you to take Mr. Xiao Long back to your dorm— or, if you feel it necessary, swing by the infirmary.”

Summer glances at Qrow nervously, and he looks away, scowling, feeling too close and cornered in his stupid school uniform, with one sleeve still singed off. He cradles his arm close to his chest, feeling it ache. It’s sprained, if not broken, and that’s not even accounting for the state of his face right now, with one cheekbone dented and beginning to swell up with a black bruise. “What are you going to do with him, sir?” She asks, her voice quavering.

Ozpin looks down, back at Qrow. The sunlight forms a soft halo around the silver of his hair, his copper eyes dark. Even with Qrow’s vision blurry with pain, there’s no denying what he sees and the way his heartbeat seems to cease, if only for an instance. “I shall speak with him, and make sure he understands why this behavior isn’t fit for this academy— or, truly, ever. Fighting amongst peers is not something I will permit in my Academy, now or ever, and the rules are most stringent on that policy… but I am sure the four of you were well aware of that before this occurred.” He directs another comforting, patient smile towards Summer, and there’s the headmaster side of him that Qrow knows. “However, I will make sure he is all right before I go about any methods of scolding, Miss Rose. Do not fear about that. The wellbeing of my students is always my priority.”  

“Thank you, sir,” she says, before helping Taiyang hobble off, like some wounded war-hero, and Qrow scowls again. Raven shoots her brother one last look, and Qrow can’t tell what she’s trying to convey, before Ozpin’s hand on his shoulder draws his attention back to the present.

“Do you need help getting up, Mr. Branwen?”

Qrow tries to put his arm down to brace himself and rise, but the lightning bolt of pain that jolts up his arm, nearly making him black out, prevents him from doing that. “Yeah, I do. My Aura is shot,” he growls thickly, trying to hide his shame as he wipes a hand over his nose to stifle the flow of blood. “In case you couldn’t tell.”

Ozpin’s hands loop under his arms, and he helps Qrow stagger to his feet. Qrow shivers, before breaking away and stumbling to a steadier stance. “Thanks.”

Ozpin nods shortly, gripping his cane. “Come with me to my office, and we shall discuss a few matters that should have been cleared up long before today.”

#Qrow Branwen #Team STRQ #Taiyang Xiao Long #Ozpin #Professor Ozpin #Raven Branwen #Summer Rose #Ozqrow #Qrowpin #Taiyang x Raven #Raven x Summer #Summer x Taiyang #RWBY #my writing