#cnb

音楽教室で7年間売れ残ったCNB製変形ギターケースを買ってみた【長期在庫の主を狩ろう 第4神】 _ ギターいじリストのおうち

so alt au but Chloe’s paraplegic instead and she and Max still get together because i refuse to accept the canon alt au ╰（‵□′）╯

Honestly the idea stems from projection but... are you really telling me this woman had 4 daughters and all of them are cishet? unrealistic. bye. ALSO Wyatt and Crash are trans/enby solidarity. 

(Also sorry if this is like out of character. honestly I haven’t even finished Crash and Bernstein, though I do wanna. And it’s been a hot minute since I watched it.)

It really should have been obvious he was trans tho. Dude was never really interested in ‘girly’ stuff like the rest of his sisters. If there was the option, he always would gravitate towards the more ‘boyish’ option.

His body also was never Right to him. The idea of like having to do feminine hygiene stuff honestly scared the heck out of him. (He hates having his period it’s the WORST) and he just... didn’t want to grow up like that. But alas....

Thank god his mom doesn’t really check his internet history. Who knows what would happen if she saw it?

He, obviously, came out to Crash first. He knows it was a mistake bc Crash is Crash, but he was d y i n g to tell someone and well Crash is his best friend.

It definitely took a lot of explaining, tho.

“What do you mean you have a girl body?! You’re the boyish boy to ever boy!” -Crash, after Wyatt explains. “I mean have you SEEN your dirty sock pile?? No girl could pull of that!”

Wyatt asks him not to tell anyone and Crash doesn’t understand why he wants to keep it a secret, but doesn’t press it and says he won’t tell anyone. Then Wyatt asks Crash to call him by Wyatt, his chosen name, and Crash immediately wipes his dead name from his memory.

Keeping it a secret is kinda hard tho. Whenever someone misgenders/dead names Wyatt, Crash is always like “who? Ohhh, his name is Wyatt btw.”

Mrs. B notices that Crash starts doing that and decides to ask him about it, worried about her kid. Which results in Crash going like “Oh Wyatt told me....”, then he remembers Wyatt asked to keep it a secret, and he jumps out of the window.

Which leads to Mrs. B asking Wyatt directly, out of worry. And he comes out to her.

She’s.... surprised to say the least.

“Well.... if you want to be a boy, then as your mother I have no choice but to support you.”

“.....You’re not.... angry or anything?”

“Of course not. I want you to be yourself as much as you can. And if you wanna be a boy and be called Wyatt then.... Looks like I have 3 daughters and a son.”

It takes a while to get used to calling him his chosen name, but luckily they have crash to remind them. Which Wyatt is very thankful about.

Bonus: Crash comes out as non-binary

“Ya know, Bernstein, with all this gender business and you being trans, I think it’s helped me realize something about myself.”

“What is that, Crash?”

“I don’t think I’m a boy, but I’m definitely not a girl either. I mean, I’m a puppet for goodness sake. I don’t care if people call me Crash or call me ‘he’ but something about the term ‘boy’ just doesn’t sit right with me.”

“You could be non-binary.”

“Oooo Non-binary. What’s that?” Crash asks excitedly.

“It’s when you’re not really a boy, but you’re not really a girl. You could be neither, but you could also be a mix of the two.” Wyatt explains.

“Oooo!!! I like that!!! I wanna be non-binary!!! Oh but, can I still go by Crash?”

“Yeah dude. Nothing wrong with that.”

In the beginning was ROMILDA ALTIER, a GIFTED loyal to the cause of the MORTALS. She is said to be TWENTY-SIX and uses SHE/THEY pronouns. In this New Testament she serves as a MEMBER of the ROUND TABLE. Blessed be their name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

It is at her will that they dance for her, it is at her will that their heart beats and pounds. The movement of their muscles bow and bend to her will. Her ability to puppeteer others - to make their blood boil, their heart beat faster - is one that she does not enjoy implementing often due to how invasive it feels. In a bout of anger she discovered her abilities, causing the subject of her attention great pain as their muscles twisted and bent into shapes at Romilda’s bidding. However great these powers are - and she’s quite aware they are capable of being developed further - they come with dire drawbacks if she overextends herself, that being the near-bursting of her own heart if she doesn’t take care. It makes this gift a great disadvantage when engaging, unprepared, in combat. And, as all who have suffered and survived the Blood Plague, Romilda’s scars are obvious and unsettling: she looks as though claws have been dragged from her right eye, where her birthmark colors her face, down her cheek, along her neck, and to her chest. The flesh that has knit together looks as though it is iridescent and shifts in the light.

THE HISTORY.

For as long as she could remember, she had hoped to swallow the sun. Not to cast the world in darkness, no, she hopes to swallow the sun so that she might be the one to fill it with light - what a blessing it would be, to shine upon the visage of each and every one of her loved ones so that she might warm them to the marrow of their bones and guide them through the harrowing darkness of the night. As a young babe she seemed intent on doing so, her howls of protest quickly turning into coos of delight, eyes shining in wonder at the world about her, hungering already to illuminate it with her light - though the wet-nurse quickly marked her as cursed, seeing the birthmark that marred her face, that colored it in a way that was thought to be unnatural. Cursed in the eyes of all except her mother, who held her daughter’s face in her hands and could see her as nothing other than blessed. And how young Romilda longed to share her blessings, practically blistering and bleeding with unerring warmth, with the entirety of the world. Though such dreams are lofty and often short-lived, it has never been one that she has quite let go of, keeping a white-knuckled grip upon it despite how foolish it seemed. Her mother had often whispered into her ear, tucking a lock of hair behind it, that she was meant for such a destiny of unparalleled greatness, despite what her others might say in contradiction. A blight, they would whisper, while her mother would laugh- as loud and melodically as a lark, saying  that children such as hers could never be; they were creatures made of prophecy, of legacy, of gold-tinted glory - Romilda was made to swallow the sun. 

All too soon she learned that the tales of heroines were woven with tragedy, woe, and heartache - that few of them were ever truly happy. So she took the grief and anguish that life gave her, the beginnings of hardships budding at a young age, starting first with her father, robbed from her far too soon - his face becoming nothing more than an ever-shifting memory of kindness and affection. A good man, her mother reassured her, that was far too tender to survive in a world such as this. Perhaps that is why she married a man made of iron and metal soon after, whose voice was as harsh as his hand. He taught young Romilda the importance of discipline, the value of a quick-striking blade and an even quicker wit. Under his tutelage she was molded into a striking figure - and still, she hoped to swallow the sun, to press it between her lips and bask in its decadent, scorching heat so that all who met her might know of its warmth. How could she not when her young sister deserved nothing less? The moment that the pink-cheeked babe was placed upon their doorstep and  opened her eyes, she knew, in her heart that this was who her destiny would be forever tied to and shaped by - the two of them, the strings of their fate knotted together in an irrevocable way. Such knowledge, though, such companionship did not make the loss of their mother any easier to bear. It did not make the wound of her loss any less raw and aching. Even numbness came with its own peculiar brand of pain. 

Yet she knew her story was not meant to end in this chapter, so, with weary fingers, she turned the page. It was in the tall trees of the forest that she made herself at home, the cries of its night-birds becoming the sweetest of lullabies. They were driven there like crows from wreckage and ruin, their father muttering to himself of the abhorrence of the winged creatures that walked upon this earth. He bemoaned the loss of an earth that was never his to begin with, while her sister longed for the earth that she still had yet to discover. Romilda, however,  was content with the lot that fate had given her, taking to the life of a hunter as though it were second nature. And soon, it became Arianne’s as well. For a half-moment she thought that life might stagnate in this way, repeated patterns that might have been mistaken for tranquil if it were not for the blood that stained their hands each day. Then the Blood Plague descended upon her sister, lakes of red welling in Arianne’s eyes as she realized what their father might do to them, hate-filled as he was for those that he considered other. She did not doubt it when she felt his hands wrap around her throat, sickened and fevered as she was. She did not doubt it when her sister skewered him like the boars that they hunted, nor when she slid her knife across his throat as she looked at him, blistering with rage at this madman. Was this to be her gold-tinted glory? Was this to be the story of the girl who swallowed the sun? 

The moment they were well enough to, Romilda packed her and her sister’s bags, embarking upon a journey with an ending that seemed nowhere in sight. She watched as her sister took to society as a bird takes to the skies, wings spread and wind catching beneath it easily. They left whispers in the wake, traveling from village to village, city to city - the story of the return of the Altier sisters catching like flames. The story that the sisters wove was an intricate one, their deranged father -- broken by the weight of grief, they mourned -- driving them to the point of bone-deep exhaustion until they were well practiced in the art of hunting the unnatural, until they knew nothing but the company of the creatures in the forest, erasing any notion of the legacy that they carried and the weight of their family name. A name that was revered and treasured within the mouths of the populace of the Holy Land, a city that was a sanctuary to angels, demons, mortals alike was like a newborn fawn, tottering upon weak and inexperienced legs - it could fall to the wolves so quickly, the ravenous greed of fallible creatures eager to sink their teeth into something so tender and new. Yet, the populace had embraced them both with open arms, heralding them as grand, legendary, blessed, even. And it was then that Romilda realized that this chapter of her life was to be the one rendered in ink. It would be the story that minstrels and bards would sing about, that mothers would tell their young babes when recounting the harrowing adventures of the great Romilda Altier, a woman that was the sun incarnate. She would set the world alight with her  blistering glory - and she might yet raze it all in her fire and leave the world in ruins.

THE CONNECTIONS.

ARIANNE ALTIER & REVNA VOLK: The Trinity. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb - and they are bound by the blood that stains their hands and the water that they shared as they grew older. They spilled the blood of their father, embraced their sisterhood as though they were two parts of the same soul, and embarked upon the journey of their Fate together. It came as no surprise that when they realized the gifts bestowed upon them by the Blood Plague reflected their counterpart nature. Where Romilda blisters like the sun, Arianne stirs the soul like a full moon; where the elder Altier edges their words as bluntly as their blades, the younger sweetens hers like honeyed cakes. And when Revna entered their lives, it was as if the stars of the skies began to populate their world, adding to it a wealth of novelty and color. She added a pensiveness that quieted their volatility, a methodical deliberateness that rooted them in their ties with one another. In Revna, Romilda found kinship in their belief that there was something greater for the Gifted -- in Revna, she found a brother-in-arms, the two of them utterly fixated in giving the world a reckoning. With Romilda’s determination, Arianne’s magnetism, and Revna’s ruthlessness, it is the wonder that the entirety of the universe has not fallen under their thrall already.

LUCA RICHE: Kindred Spirit. It was inexplicable, what drew them to one another so innately -- yet neither of them has ever thought to question it. Why should they ever think to question what is so clearly a blessing? What is so clearly something to horde and keep safe when Fate was so benevolent as to grant it? They are two blistering, burning souls that dance around one another in perpetual harmony, laughter ever present on their faces, secretive smiles shared as they glance at one another from across the Round Table. As of late, though, he has noticed how their own light blinds them -- how they are so consumed with the fulfillment of their destiny that they are blind to the darkness that is slowly surrounding them, seeking to stifle their innate goodness and virtue. Romilda only ever seeks to protect the Holy Land from an onslaught of anarchy, but Luca? He only wants to protect them from the oncoming promise of a perpetual night. 

RAPHAEL: Pygmalion. When they had asked him to instruct them in the art of healing, it was with their head held high and their eyes blazing. After all, she had only ever been told of the atrocities angels had committed -- their father all too eager to instill in them the fear that would make celestials so hateful in her eyes. When he had looked upon them, it was with the enthrallment that consumes an artist looking upon their muse, with the singular, fixed intensity of a predator encountering their prey. Still, though, they did not balk and stared right back, determined that, if they were to endure this Gift, they were very well going to remake the world into something greater than it had been before. So they had sought out the most highly regarded healer that had been lauded in the Old World and in the New -- and if what they must endure is the bending of their pride and the shudder that runs down their spine whenever he lifts his gaze to theirs, then so be it. There are times though, when they look at him, that they see the excitement and passion that paints his face. They think that he looks almost human, rather than something cut from marble. They tell themselves that they have faced monsters worse than this -- but that is so far from the truth. 

MAMMON: Hound. When Mammon first sloughed off the darkness that had clung to them, they remembered that relief that had pervaded them. Then the hunger had set in. An insatiable craving had overwhelmed them until, for one fleeting, hope-filled moment, they had experienced a semblance of satisfaction. And they have hunted for it ever since, ruthless and obsessive, snarling in frustration until their gaze dragged along the profile of a figure who seemed suffused with an inexplicable warmth of spirit that they offered the singular relief of satiation. Bedecked in gold armor, brows drawn together in confusion, she had looked back at them -- quite obviously annoyed by the attention she was receiving from the infernal demon, a Vice no less. In that spiteful look, they immediately knew that this was the delectable rabbit that they would perpetually chase after, relentless as a hound that has caught the scent of their unexpecting prey.

❝ changbin isn’t a bad person, just a terrible roommate with some character flaws. ❞

this is a series of (mostly-disconnected) one shots set in the same universe, featuring seo changbin -- a chaotic physics enthusiast -- and his dearly beloved, equally-as-disastrous, roommate: you!

--- the unholy trinity (complete)

mess --- mayhem --- purify

--- a rose for you