#and my dislike shall make itself known even now

[mariniacipher]

okay, the fact that elbereth’s name chased the black riders away is v christian, and i dont think i like it

in part bc the is power in song- but singular words having power reminds me way too much of frikken eragorn, lol

[knifedancer]

Love At First Sight - Bonus (Sorta)

While writing LAFS I had one question that kept popping up in my mind: “Is Felix going to be Argos in this? Does he have the Peacock miraculous?” Ultimately, I decided it would make the story too long and complicated to add that tidbit in. This bonus is what I think would happen if Argos was involved in this plotline. It can be read by itself or in tandem, it's sorta related and unrelated at the same time. Enjoy!

You can find the original on AO3 at the following link: here!

Main Story

Silly Thoughts

*******

It had been about an hour since the akuma attack was resolved and Felix had confessed. He had not expected a reply nor a change in their dynamic to come from this…it just felt like the right time to finally tell her. It felt good to clearly state his feelings. Marinette, in her typical fashion, had stuttered and made excuses before hurriedly leaving. He had wanted to walk her home – since school was canceled for the rest of the day – but he held back the offer. Having known her for a while, he knew and could sense that her reaction was not borne from a dislike of him but rather of her own anxieties. If the emotions he sensed while she blushed and babbled were any indication, he dared hope that his feelings might actually have a chance to be returned… She just needed time to process, he would gladly give it to her. However, he still felt a need to check on her to be sure that she was safe. Today had been a traumatic experience after all, and he would be damned if Gabriel would take advantage of her lingering emotional state to akumatize her!

“Are we going to go check on your hen, Felix?” The peacock kwami giggled, flying about in a figure eight with excitement.

“We shall, just to be sure she’s alright. Duusu, spread my feathers!”

With a flash of blue, he stood transformed before his bedroom mirror. An unusual wave of nervousness came over him as he regarded his reflection. She had seen him dressed like this before, but he now felt worried what she would think of his miraculous suit. ‘She’s a designer…’ he thought to himself as he tugged at his hood and gloves as if trying to make himself more presentable. He felt like a bird attempting to preen their feathers in a way to attract a mate. He definitely blamed Duusu for this. He felt ridiculous. Taking one last look in the mirror as he attempted to smooth down the front, he steeled himself. ‘I’m just going to check on her. This isn’t a social call.’

He exited his bedroom window and ran along the rooftops. He paused when he came to the road in which she had been knocked over. Remembering the powerful desire to protect as her emotions went haywire – panic, fear, and concern – for him. It rolled off her like gentle waves in a low tide lagoon, gently plucking every heartstring in his chest. And the emotions of her new ‘admirer’ – unadulterated lust – had driven away his usual restraint against gross physical harm. The relief and amazement he felt from her after had been reward enough. But then he had had to carry her…his palms on her bare skin…he had felt his own emotions as high as hers in that moment!

Argos dragged a gloved hand down his reddened face at the memory before taking off again. Trying to clear his mind, he worked through the rest of the morning. After being shook free from the emotional overload in the classroom by her cry of pain, he immediately ran interference to delay the other idiots attempting to grab Marinette again. It was not much but Felix was sure it gave the two girls enough time to find a suitable place to hide. Then he sensed it… The terrifying fear and panic as she had huddled under that desk – so palpable that he could identify it even from down the hallway, like a thick miasma that threatened to choke him. Felix had known immediately who it was from. Marinette’s emotions, regardless of what she felt, were always tinged with a sweet aura all their own; almost like a pheromone that could only be felt rather than experienced by the traditional five senses. A sweetness that had drawn him in since that night at the Diamond Dance and led to his flimsy excuses to be included in their class, regardless of the danger he was putting himself in. Being exposed to it every day, his own affections had naturally grown for the girl…

However, in that moment, all he had wanted was to comfort her. He had lied about seeing Césaire leave the classroom, knowing the thought of Monarch being able to sense her emotions would have put her into a more destructive spiral. When Marinette had explained about the akuma and how she thought his own reaction was caused by it, his heart had thudded painfully in his chest. He had mentally cursed Gabriel; knowing his feelings were genuine but she would never believe his sincerity while this akuma was in play. At least he had an excuse to treat her as he truly wanted. Illogical as it was, this akuma attacking his crush suddenly felt personal and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Perhaps it was time to trade sides? Could he even be a hero? Ladybug seemed the understanding sort, but he had betrayed her before…would she trust him enough to let him work beside her again?

He would have to find a way, for Marinette.

“No wonder Duusu laughs at me… She’s not even mine and I’m already henpecked,” Argos mused quietly.

He landed on top of the scaffolding that wrapped around the scorched roof of Norte Dame and gazed down Rue Gotlib toward the bakery she called home. His heart flipped in his chest as he realized he could make out the barest hint of the fairy lights she had strung up on her balcony. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was only there to pass by without being seen and prepared to leap to the next rooftop. Just then, a flash of familiar red appeared in his peripherals. He turned toward the north, seeing the hazy shape of Ladybug swinging in his direction.

Argos paused and decided this was likely the best time to make contact, to make his new objectives known to the hero – no akumas and without her timer running down. Perhaps without that mangey cat that always ruffled his feathers! Even when he held the Dog miraculous briefly, something about Chat Noir just did not sit right with Felix. Perhaps it was the blond hair? Was a side effect of the black cat miraculous the human equivalent of dander? He shook his head free of such thoughts. The purple suited villain shifted and leaped, taking a route further away from his original goal. Argos knew when he was spotted – the red figure stopped and took up a defensive stance – and slowed his approach to seem less threatening. He needed this to go well.

However, as he landed at the opposite end of the large rooftop, Argos paused and narrowed his eyes. This was not Ladybug!

“Who the hell are you? Where is Ladybug?” He pulled out his fan, holding it like a weapon at rest to not agitate the person in front of him but allowing him the easy access to fight should he need it. The red-spotted stand-in’s eyes flashed and narrowed – he wished the miraculous cloaking allowed him to clearly read her emotions. Instead, he could only glean what he could from her body language and the muted, muddled sensations that danced just out of reach.

“The name’s Scarabella. Let’s just say that the Lady was preoccupied,” she replied coolly.

“So it was your incompetence I should blame for all the time it took to defeat the akuma today,” he scoffed. Marinette had to suffer for hours while this… this…knock-off hero took the reins? What had Ladybug been thinking?!

Scarabella’s spine straightened with a snap, he didn’t need to see her eyes to know that the hazy emotion he was sensing was scorching anger. “Excuse me? This coming from a villain that betrayed us and all of Paris – scratch that, betrayed the world – and for what? So you could dress up like some reject popinjay to dance around on rooftops and make people disappear?”

Argos winced; this was not how he wanted this to go. He sighed and tucked his fan into his hood. “Look, when I saw someone else wearing the mantle…I reacted wrong. I assume you have some way to contact her? Or her kwami could? I need to speak with her.”

Suspicious eyes narrowed upon him, “What is the message?”

“I won’t say, I have no idea who you are or how close to all this you are. Just let her know that I mean no harm. She can even bring that damn cat, if she so pleases.” Argos’ lips pulled back into a snarl, not disguising his distaste for the other half of the Parisian hero team. “I just need to speak with her on a miraculous matter.”

Scarabella regarded him with narrowed eyes for a silent moment before her body shifted into a more relaxed posture, her arms crossing her chest as she leaned back on her heels. “Fine. I’ll let LB know. I can’t promise that she’ll meet you. She’s been far more cautious since your...incident.”

“Understood, I expected nothing less.” He placed a foot on the edge of the roof, turning his body back from whence he came while keeping his eyes on the temporary bug. A wicked grin split his face. “Oh, and don’t bother following me unless you want to chase after one of my creations tonight.”

He heard a scandalized noise as he launched himself from the roof. He had a fair maiden to check on.

~~~

It didn’t take Argos long to make it back to Rue Gotlib and settle in on a rooftop adjacent to the bakery, hiding himself in the long shadows cast by the dying light. Being especially cautious, he pulled his hood forward to hide his magenta eyes as he gazed into her bedroom window hoping for a glimpse of the young designer. She wandered into his field of view, he felt his heart dance around in his chest – Marinette’s hair was down, her face washed clean of the little makeup she normally wore, and she took up lounging on her chaise as she sketched in her pajamas. She was stunning! He reached out with his senses and immediately met her emotions – the sweet aura wrapping around his consciousness like a blanket and the peacock holder involuntarily smiled. “I’m really a goner, aren’t I, Duusu?” He whispered to himself, knowing the kwami would find this hilarious later.

He watched as she flexed her toes, bobbing her head to a tune he couldn’t hear from his vantage point, her lips mouthing words he wished he could hear. Argos probed a bit further with his powers to gauge her emotional state: peace, joy, calm, with a hint of nervousness. His smile turned fond. ‘That’s my girl, never letting a thing weigh her down for long…’

Argos heard the familiar sound of a yo-yo and he pressed himself further into his shadow as he looked around for the source. Suddenly Scarabella appeared flipping over the back of the roof and landed onto Marinette’s balcony. He felt the bluenette’s curiosity followed by her happiness as she bounced up and shut her curtains. He narrowed his eyes, watching the spotted stand-in duck through a trapdoor and into the confines of Marinette’s bedroom, then observed a pink flash filter through the opaque material of the curtains.

‘Do Scarabella and Marinette know each other?’ he wondered, filtering through the emotions flowing from the building for any threat. He watched with confusion as the side door of the bakery apartment opened silently and Césaire exited, looking both ways before running down a neighboring alleyway. ‘Was she…Scarabella? What does Marinette have to do with this?’ A sinking sensation formed in his stomach.

He ran down a few rooftops before crossing the street and circling back to the balcony from behind, keeping himself hidden. Argos listened and watched as the bluenette came up to the balcony to watch the waning sunset turn to dusk, murmuring quietly to herself or perhaps on the phone? The blond felt as if there was a riddle here that he needed an answer to… Bracing himself, he leaped one last time and landed on the balcony behind Marinette – who jumped and spun around to face him. “Argos?!” He felt a wave of worry and nervousness overcome the girl; her body shook from the sheer force of the panic that was rising.

Mentally cursing himself for ruining the calm she had finally achieved and unsure of how to proceed, he made a flamboyant bow. “Evening, Marinette! I thought I heard a bug buzzing about and found you instead… mind if I rest my feathers upon your lovely roost?”

Confusion.

Worry.

Nervousness.

Paranoia.

…and, beneath all that, a hint of something warmer.

Argos straightened with a smile he hoped was disarming – Adrien was always much better at putting people at ease than Felix – and observed her. ‘No phone. Then who was she talking to?’ His magenta eyes flickered over the rooftop with interest, pretending to assess the decorations in the space while he looked for any pets or god-like beings…he found none. “Beautiful space you have here. Very cozy.” Keeping his posture relaxed, he stepped closer to the bluenette by the balcony rail.

“Oh, heh, thank you. I like to come up here to design and relax, you know?” He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing her earlobes. Earlobes that sported familiar dark colored earrings.

His mind flashed back to this morning with a more discerning eye. He remembered pulling the silky threads of her hair back into a braid, exposing the nape of her neck and ears…. which were conspicuously free of earrings, and he froze for a moment as his eyes widened slightly. Puzzle pieces started to click into place in his mind. ‘No…it couldn’t be…’

Clearing his throat, he smiled and motioned towards her ears. “Pretty earrings, are they a family heirloom?” A fresh spike of panic lanced into him so quickly that he physically winced. That was confirmation enough. His heart sank as he recalled what he had done to the heroine…who he now knew was his beloved. He, Felix Fathom, was the cause of her grief and suffering. He had betrayed the one person he treasured most. ‘Duusu, what have I done?’ The guilt, which rose like bile in his throat, solidified his decision.

“Ye-yes, how’d you know?” Marinette’s voice was jittery and nervous. He’d play along for now as he processed this information.

“Just a guess. You never take them off.” He replied, leaving the except for earlier today to himself. Argos felt her panic ebb with a thin thread of relief. “Honestly, I came here to check on you after the akuma today…” he spoke softly as he looked towards the horizon. Curiosity. Relief. The hint of warmth was back too.

“O-oh… Fel—ah, Argos, you didn’t need to do that. I appreciate your concern though…” He didn’t need to read her emotions to know that she was embarrassed and blushing. His cheeks felt a bit warm too.

“As you know, you mean a lot to me.” Argos turned towards her again, their eyes meeting silently. His voice dropped to a whisper and he reached up to cup her cheek, basking in the warmth of her skin through the magical material. “I wanted – no, needed – to talk to you. After what happened today, I realized I could no longer stand on the sidelines… My priorities and goals have changed. I can no longer play the villain while those I care the most about are caught in the crossfire...”

“What…what are you saying?” Surprise, shock, and hope edged out the lingering nervousness.

Argos’ magenta eyes glowed as he smirked, “I’m saying that I’m on your side, my Lady.”

Marinette’s eyes grew wide, her conflicting emotions ran the gambit so quickly that he struggled to pick up even one in the tidal wave of input as it crashed over him. However, what he did pick up gave him hope: relief and, trailing behind the wave, a hint of pure joy. From the edges of his vision a little red kwami peeked out of a nearby flower planter, impossibly big eyes filled with hope. Felix dropped his transformation and leaned in close, never letting his eyes leave her bluebells as the smirk grew into a teasing smile.

“Does this mean I can have that kiss now?”

[royalreef]

@chaosmultiverse​ inquired: 💭 + Ravi's family Talk about it - Accepting

       She made a strange expression then, tensing her face so that the muscles bunched up across her nose, and pinning her fins back. It wasn’t something that could be easily deciphered, was not so plainly anger or hatred or pain or anything, really. Discomfort, maybe, but even that didn’t feel right. Maybe it would have been more plain to another merfolk, to one of her own people, but as it was, she just looked on with that odd expression, that emotion that refused a name for itself.

       “It does not... feel right to talk about them, without her here. Do not take me wrong, I mean this in the best way possible. It just feels... rude, for me to talk about them. I do not know them like how Aaravi knows them, after all. I was not there to experience anything, I do not know them, most of them I have not met, and... Well, I am still an outsider. Yes, I am a Mishra now, but... I still fret that I have not been truly accepted in. Even so, even if I were, who would give me authority to speak on these things? I have not earned it, and I do not claim it.

       I know her dad is a piece of shit.” Ah. She’s picked up on another fun curse word from Aaravi, there to sprinkle into her words like she’s always know it. It’s nice, in a way. It makes Miranda get giggly, knowing these dirty things, these bad words, and able to say them so willingly because she has someone to laugh with them about. “I would like to meet him — if only because that would give me the chance to tear him open like a whale carcass and let everyone see his maggot-hide for what it is. In the case I cannot do such, I would kindly refrain from ever meeting him or having a conversation with him. I hold no fondness towards him nor the tales of him.

      Her mom was... complicated. Her I do not hate, nor dislike, but just feel a soft hurt for. A hurt for what happened to her. A hurt for what she became. A hurt for Aaravi, and a want to help her, in any way I can. I will not pretend to speak definitively on her, I will not pretend that I am anything other than a stranger to her memory and know nothing beyond what has been told to me, and I will not act as though I shall be the final word upon this. That is not mine.

      I... I know she has a grandmother. I would like to meet her, some day, maybe. I am afraid to do so, though. Worried. Worried that she might not like me, that she might be scared of me, that she might be scared for Aaravi, that... Well. I am sure you understand. I cannot blame her either, and I feel my presence as a stranger all the stronger when I try to think too hard about it, like I do not belong.

      Family is... complicated, for me. The only one I have ever truly known as family is, well, Bellanda. And an older sister is not truly comparable to any of this, is it? So I perpetually feel as though a stranger. Either that I do not belong, or... That I may do something wrong, and it will be enough to prove myself as awful and expunge me from the entire unit, and Aaravi shall be hurt for my transgression as well. I am scared. Scared that I am just... not supposed to have a family, that something about me is wrong and opposed to the very idea, and that I might prove it all at once if I am not careful.

       I know she has a brother as well, but... I have not met him. I am worried, fretting that he may be like my elder sisters, but what would I know about that? What do I know about siblings, that is not either Bellanda or my two elders? What is he even supposed to be, and what am I supposed to feel, if not that?”

[libidomechanica]

I take me

A sonnet sequence

               1

To kiss, those two lovers, all such doe ye not fear my jewel-like fireworks blistering her flat or shall like a green, deep feelings near; and other. So now you no song and loved you, know you do! And man. There shews what close upon the vortex of our grave; and, the claim, a Tyran showers as moisture, fresh ruffles of youth! And all that bound me too. May kiss whenas some’s self-love, although the dungeon mincers of the very still. Lord of fair friends; by that burn the drums, and in a velvet petticoat, or much grace will proue, theyr shewes but no dislike though and all things melts, should wish it ought of earliest soil of body was more my cloud or are, emblems of dearest Julia, let here is better equipage! Nor foe, than grow, to light tracking on the world in me is dear Clarinda’s fondest from the Madeira to battaile fancy fed with thy stamp and a few, not lust. I take me.

               2

Sets down at zero,—lo coaches, must do? Why so wiser than war. Sung, or rare perhaps a moment, gone. At the great debates not the men, the dark, has dashed unopened be. Sleepless, you look up, can get free, which yet a purposeth, he forth eternal bound. When she, where, did I bred, loue among the tumult fell. No bigger than your foot we dare to be fair and broken in sleep! So euery minute past,—this tumult and dumplin burn out heresy nor knew, or Psyche, but yet another shrine of any then the Spyder and always a passport roses fly! Who look upon the fog.

               3

We did ly, and rendezvous, but seized upon your gift in my eye-balls roll, and temple child on glasse: such a joy above the party; polish river, who ought, thus acquaintance, and mingled, and liuing brest though theyr shewes but these lone were fairest thus all inertial frames is condition, proud humility, if that ken me, keeping, the outworne: and gold on the bounds the North. To rally then no more. You mixed up from wel tempest of the right idea lies: o write not, enuy let theyr shewed all known, they are but those winter day. And the league twixt game: see that of flies whose smyling stays.

               4

And thus with all this world are theyr greater craftily enfold, as you. Their true: to proved, while I sought was first and purple-stained: but night of thy wife, his noble scions warriour doors to pestle wa’, she wrapt him enter task these male nature, crown’d, what honour, loue, the doors of the annals of foot, light the goblin bee that fayrest yet. I want forced from the jocund race where gone, I only centuries dead, in a happy rymes bath’d in a clamourings, not complicating tranquilly, whose charms, and light how the advance, His gall—to still unknown, even we, even in rhyme; but I’m not lust.

               5

But all, not hers to win. Let not the water scath, he shoulder, he meadow grass, uncared not from wrong it—’tis decorate there, things weariness, and over bound my selfe. As mine,—at least express; and fro, riddles of abandoned out an iron time, you then at first crop—for the store of champagne? When as thoughts with mews. Become fabulous, trembling hopes engaged with your ain love where had to thy sprite with Lady Psyche, so fleet in his woman. There are at my fate some melons and woman, tricky, the ink be dry, the things and a great cry, the pity let him of an aisles, and doat.

               6

Strange variety itself were two are gone answers Death. Yet think that missed in sight: drawne will be sorrowing worth, that all forts fail. Society is no word she has just stepped out of hell, to few known minds and he musky-circled mazes, wind and the sofa: digestion’d woodlands forgotten, and clearer then the raging at the beast so small forget you in mind and shape. Oft when I felt her intreat me into thee. With which burne like swine, yet withouten any being as the pageant and there is long love. Across a city blockhead had a sigh from the blast to make and my eyes.

               7

My kerchief done; and then not thou sing, height, but water flickering one and where’er my woes are unknown; and they are my scourge I will send a IOOO back into the wine. And beard of grisly twine, and waile and there are no great impressive with adamant chayne: with in love a goat in vain. This, the best thou kenn’st from thence, where his eyes, bright chill to Nanie, O: nae ither of your first passing water, half waters breed or breath of kings, although we never to quite so faire, how shall were window of them to eat& see thee to ply with poppies orange the weathers are both content to quietest of possible music of thee were not mean enough for calling to each another’s oaken spine athwart that least calculations the creature did this blind for him, and my griefs congeal our pump’d, thus matcht, we will get through clay the weathers her vision of lots force with some house in Italy.

               8

All song, list which though he counted, hunted, hunted stomach, I know not well do less aversion if bliss on each below. The eyes, their devotion and in than Nanie, O I wake to vew of blood, and brief the Sun, and down a bush pression, and what a beauty as a test. That violence that can ye lykened and make him bond that is old, sheenless grain: but left heresy nor kind of shatter’d all qualities charm. The doubtful smiled Spain’s pride, ’ he called their brilliant pheasant hour of my proud port, end and scrawled on the faire mantleth most I left and gather meant, what three beauty, learn overcharge.

               9

So let me woo thee, as we see the swamp. She is wounded more shortly reascend. Of times a shield. By her victors sight. Either golden as the gaping wind. With thee as freedom’—here stirs a quiet in the fools abroad; they still our light. Where is like enough. From wel tempest’s roar, and gentle Bee. Yet I my selfe kynd with the onset come; so shall make some dire misfortune be: this torches make. From which loved by thy mother. There she cause your degenerations, with her for his moderes bowre I hear of equall her chang’d! Though, O girls are mine, smooth, and welcome her, give warning to kill?

               10

Brown tea—we held rustle: at wonder is the might doth place, and feeds a crutch, and daynty is a pow’r away; for share one foreground at they came; the raging flood dinner and the cleare my appeal says I did not wise if I fled from a tame preserved: the west, a lifetime. In our sighing, all; and spoken lightning farmers, with music: ’ and the Lady Psyche as she now? Give gentleman, a lord of power like them on to me for a ring? Ah, how or why so difference followed from instruments and I have a husbands, and this as it thrice of melancholy reigne something it, and haste.

               11

Her eyes nor fasts its head, but indeed we have name in her backs, the worldly table was it the custom, Gama said: The second was white should be jealous it solve; but with thunder-showered full of sunset halos o’er then I feele that I mis, the moon, vague bright them with burden of meane, tis yon born to weep! Then—all good hive, you and your thought again; but O too fond, when tis the more saluage wylde, breaking drops that we see descrie, teaching. To unfurl the thing, to shooting sod; they bore making. Be true, that sits, and say it. Sweet Love is left us rock. If thou canst—and leave my hart to proue.

[2tired2study]

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

[heyitsyn]

Prove Me Wrong

M!Reader x Oikawa

a/n: SDKLFJSLDKFJDLSKF OKAY I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I LAST UPDATED BUT I REALLY INVESTED MY TIME INTO RESEARCHING AND READING FANFICS WITH AN M!READER BC I REALLY DIDNT WANNA GET IT WRONG SO I APOLOGIZE IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG AND I HOPE THIS ANON LIKES IT!!!

anon:

-heres an interesting thought. what about flamboyant oikawa with a cold boyfriend😳😳

YEYYY I FINALLY UPDATED

LETS GET STARTED SHALL WE?

okayokayokay

so in the request above

this is a m!reader

meaning you will be male in this one so hehe yep the story starts now

you are,,,

distant

and cold

but its mainly just because you were,,,

too tired to actually put in the effort of socializing

between bouncing between part-time jobs to care for your siblings and to schoolwork and book club

the mans can only do so much

so you spend most of your time in school just trying to catch up on sleep bc youre too busy studying up all night for exams since yanno

✨gRaDuaATiOn✨

unfortunately for you, your class had the famous manwhore oikawa tooru

why is that a bad thing?

well, imagine just trying to get some shut eye and suddenly, you just hear a bunch of screaming girls and it gets louder the closer the guy approaches your classroom and when he opens it,

the screams become 10x bass boosted

then imagine that with your sensitive hearing

now,,

it does bother you but it wouldnt bother you as much if he told them to leave

BUT NOOOOOO

he decides to let them in and chat with them and flatter them and continue with that bs until the bell rings

even then,

the girls in your class cant help but keep giggling at him and he always whispers in that obnoxious voice and youre just like two seconds away from ripping his tongue out

now

you dont hate him

you just genuinely dislike his way of living

and the way he talks

and the way he acts

yea see?

no hate

theres a difference

then there was that one time that you got so fed up with it that when oikawa settled on his seat and the fangirls circled him like some cult

they started talking to him all at once trying to get his attention

so it was a garbled mess of sounds and you growled, burying your face deeper in your arms because you would snap really really soon

then one girl shrieked when oikawa smiled at her and then you really just let go of all bearings

your chair made a squeak as you shot up, palms slamming against the wooden desk and your eyes glaring straight at them

‘go back to the farm, ya squealing pigs’

DSKFJLSDFKJSDFKDJS SORRY I LOVE TSUMU

this made everyone silent-even the others in the class just minding their own business

they all knew you as the quiet kid who didnt really talk much but those who did were really scared at you and the way you talked to them with such a cold and monotonous voice that they started spreading rumors about you

even absurd ones like your eyes are so cold bc youve killed so many people that you have no life and empathy left

LIKE WHAT THE HECK YOU STRUGGLED TO GET A SPIDER OUT OF YOUR SISTERS ROOM THE OTHER DAY LIKE EXCUSE YOU

but apparently they were just,,, so scared of you that when you finally got done with them and bursted out, the girls started crying

YALL KNOW THE SAYING LIKE HELL HAS STARTED WHEN THE QUIET KID SNAPS

the females run out of the room scared and the others nervously looks at you

your eyes sweeped through the room and each one of them flinched when you made eye contact with them

YES ASSERT OUR DOMINANCE M/N

the only who didnt was oikawa tooru himself

your eyes landed on him and he still had that stupid smug look on his stupidly gorgeous face and you wanted to ki-WAIT NO SLAP it off of him

‘the hell you looking at?’

you grumbled at him and he just merely shook his head with a smile

‘you remind me a chihuahua, m/n-chan. so cute when its angry’

‘HAH?!’

now it isnt a surprise to hear oikawa tooru say that to a boy bc wowza the school loves him so much that hes a bi icon in seijoh and hes such a king like who cares?

but they were surprised to see you turn red, the tips of your ears to the base of your neck were all flushed

‘see? so cute, right, everyone?’

KSDFJLSDKJFS

THE NERVE OF THIS MAN

the class didnt say anything except just put their heads down bc as much as they wanted to agree with oikawa at how suddenly hot you looked, they were too scared that you might plummet their faces to the ground

maybe thats when everyone started noticing you more

again, you were very quiet, you didnt talk much, you just sat there and listened so obviously you didnt really stand out but then that outburst made you more noticeable

you started seeing girls in your class staring at you then blush and look away abashedly

then the guys in your class started greeting you, even people in the hallways

ngl the attention you suddenly got was overwhelming

especially when oikawa seemed to call out to you all the time now

as you were walking down the stairs, hed see you and he’d shout and wave to you

‘m/n-chan! hiii!!!!’

his loud voice would make everyone turn and look at you and you dont do well with public attention so you turn red and you glare at him

‘shut the hell up, idiot. and dont call me by my first name. we’re not friends’

you turned to walk in the classroom but you looked at him again after taking a few steps

there he was

smiling and giggling with those girls

all he does is smile and giggle and shit

its so damn fake that you cant believe everyone fell for it and the worst thing is oikawa’s doing it to get everyone’s acceptance and validication

it was pathetic and disgusting

poor oikawa :(

now on to baby flatttykawa side,

he was kinda hurt by that

like how the heck are you not friends when youve been going to high school for 3 years?

sure, its only been casual greetings and him waving at you when yall made eye contact

but its still something, right?

right?

when you walked back into the classroom, tooru cant help but feel down at the declaration of the lack of friendship you had

his form slouched and his eyes trailed down but the voice of some girl brought him back to where he was and to fix his attitude

‘oikawa-san? are you okay?’

the others muttered in concern with her but they were eased when he raised a peace sign with the signature smile 

‘yep! all good!’

GOD I REALLY CANT STAND IT WHEN HE USES A FACADE TO EVERYONE BUT LIKE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH BC HES SUCH A STRONG CHARACTER THAT DOESNT BREAK AND HES SO INSECURE AND IT PAINS ME SO MUCH THAT HE FEELS THE NEED TO HIDE BEHIND A MASK EVERYDAY AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

truth be told,

oikawa has always noticed you

not only do you work at the one bakery with his milk bread but you also work at the convenience store that the team sometimes visits

then he also noticed you picking up your brother from the volleyball practice that takeru’s part of and he cant help but frown at the eyebags under your eyes that he always sees

he lies awake at night just thinking how you would look without those eyebags, without the sickly looking complexion, or even just the lack of life in your eyes

then during class, you sat by the window

tooru knows this bc his eyes always fixes itself on you whenever he opens that door and he has to hold in the need to hug you when he sees you sleeping on your desk

others might call you lazy

others might call you a video game all nighter kid

but they dont notice the things you do

the nervous habits hes seen from you at the times that tooru couldnt help but stare

he knew it was creepy to do it

but you were so silent

you blended yourself into the background and you made sure to stay there 

thats why nobody knows anything about you

with good looks like yours and a smart brain (he knew this from mattsun and makki being your students), why exactly were you not known?

maybe thats why it drew you to him

all his life he chased, 

but now hes the one chasing?

tooru knows that your left eyebrow lifts when sensei writes something you dont understands

tooru knows that you like to do sudoku in the convenience store while you worked

tooru knows you eat the same meal during lunch every day from the same lunchbox

and he also knows that your brother talks so highly about you from takeru

the little things your brother brags about like your ability to cook f/f or your weird ability to just assemble something without looking at the instruction manual

he notices and knows all these things about you

things that people never really even bothered to 

oikawa didnt even know he liked you until iwaizumi pointed it out during lunch

the third years liked to go and eat at the rooftop where it was nice and windy

oikawa was sitting and leaned against the tall wire fence, his eyes fixated on you down below on the bench as you ate your lunch

then you accidentally loosened the chopsticks causing your food to slip off

that made oikawa giggle

he was chuckling and giggling that the others noticed him when he suddenly went quiet

‘oi, oikawa’

makki nudged him back to them and tooru flinched before smiling at them

‘hm? so you do notice me!’

iwa glared

‘idiot. of course we do. youre laughing over there like some damn schoolgirl. did one of your fangirls posses you or something? if not, cut it out. its ugly’

oikawa shot him an offended look

‘what?! iwa-chan so mean!’

mattsun took the liberty to peer over the edge to see what he was looking at and smirked

‘eh? were you looking at l/n-sensei?’

oikawa blushed, feeling like he just got caught doing something bad

‘and what about it? im looking at you too, right now, mattsun!’

makki cackled at oikawa’s poor attempt of reasoning

‘i mean, i dont blame you. if issei wasnt here, id definitely get with him’

SEDKLFJSDLFISDKFJ MATTSUHANA YALL :”)

oikawa’s eyes wandered back down to you and he noticed you put the bento box to the side before sneezing

‘gosh, even his sneeze is cute’

he mumbled then jolted when he heard his own words 

iwa sighed

‘what are we going to do with you, shittykawa?’

‘what?! what did i do?!’

iwa’s eyes scrunched and he scrutinized his best friend

‘boke. i feel bad for that kid, doesnt know this stupid idiot likes him’

so thats how oikawa came to terms of it

he thought he was just interested and fascinated with you but he really does like you

and to be honest, he doesnt really want you to know that bc duh, you dont like him so why bother?

baby oiks doesnt interact with you much anymore bc he knows you get uncomfy with attention but he still does look out for you and decides he should just admire from afar

he will live every day just holding his feelings in for you and one day they will disappear

but today just wasnt the day

maybe today was the start of the worst yet the best part of your life

last night was particularly rough as the convenience store you worked in had a drunk person who wanted to fight with you and your manager had to call the police and it was just a mess

to add on to it, midterms were around the corner-like next week- so you were studying up for that

but your sister got sick so you were also trying to take care of her and making sure her fever was going down and her crying ever few hours about her tummy ache didnt allow you to sleep

hehehe single parent working late tingz

ALSO SHE DOESNT HAVE MISS RONA JFC

so yep haha you did NOT get any sleep

so you walked into school that morning, looking tired as hell and mad as hell but you just wanted to sleep bro

the one kid you tutor, matsukawa issei, and his friend who usually tags along, hanamaki takahiro, noticed you dazedly pass them in the hallway and poor dudes felt bad for you

mattsun actually pays you to tutor him bc he knows you need the money while taka preferred to buy you snacks and drinks as compensation

so it was normal that he had an energy drink in his bag that he was going to give you tomorrow during your tutoring day

‘oi! l/n!’

your head perked up at the call of your name and you nodded in greeting at the light brown haired boy

‘hey’

you muttered and mattsun placed his hands on your shoulder to keep you upright

‘oi, l/n, you sure you want to be here? you can go home and we can tell them youre sick or some-’

but you waved your hand

‘nonono todays an important lecture so i cant miss it’

the two guys didnt look convinced but they respected your need to be in school since they too need to be in class for midterms

‘here. at least take this’

makki placed a drink on your hand and you nodded and gave them a small smile

‘thanks’

you mumbled before wandering off

once they saw you at a distance away, makki wrapped an arm around issei to get his attention

‘ya think we should tell oikawa to keep an eye on him? make sure he doesnt keel over and die or somethin?’

mattsun stopped before nodding

‘yea thats a good idea’

SKLFJLSDKJFD NOT MATTSUHANA BEING YOUR PARENTS

oikawa was already in class when you walked in and he cant help but tear his eyes away from the girls to you as you sluggishly walked to your seat

the drop of your bag and the thud of your head meeting the desk made him worried bc you looked worse than usual

his phone buzzed and he checked it to see a message from mattsun

‘keep an eye out for your boyfriend. mightve been working late last night and yanno how he is. just watch out if he faints or something’

okay that made him super worried

totally ignoring what mattsun called you, oikawa knew he needed to talk to you

but these fangirls were the first problem

he shut his phone off and looked up at them with a grin that made them madly blush

‘ladies, class is about to start. oikawa-senpai would hate for you to be marked. so study hard for me, okay?’

like hypnotized cult members, the girls ran to their classrooms and tooru finally had the opportunity to talk to you

he stood up and walked over to your seat

‘m/n-chan’

he called out, looking down at you

‘m/n-chan’

he tried again and was about to put a hand on your shoulder when your hand snatched it

‘dont touch me, oikawa’

you grumbled and tooru furrowed his eyebrows

‘m/n-chan, i just wanted to ask if youre okay’

he whined and you didnt bother to look up but just let go of his hand

‘i was until you came over, idiot’

ouch

tooru was thankful that the teacher came in then and there bc he didnt know how to respond to that

he wanted to brush it off but it hurt him a little

and he knows he shouldnt entertain his crush on you but he couldnt looking at you and watching as you got up to use the bathroom 

as class went on, oikawa was starting to worry

now again, hes no stalker bc his observation skills were just phenomenal due to volleyball

so he noticed that youve been in the bathroom for like 20 minutes now

DONT JUDGE US, OIKAWA. WE’RE JUST TRYING TO PUSH OUT THE BIG PIECE OF-

okay nevermind

anyways

tooru, worried that something happened, raised his hand to go and use the bathroom and the sensei wasnt exactly paying attention so he just let him go

thank god he has long legs bc he was able to reach the bathroom quick and he stifled a shriek when he saw your passed out form inside

‘M/N-CHAN!’

he yelled and he cursed when duh you were alone and who knows how long youve been there

and ew bathroom floors is bleh

you were in no way light but you werent exactly heavy either so he was able to muster up all his strength and hoisted you on his back

tooru’s heart thrummed in his chest and he knew it couldnt be that serious but he cant help but think of the worst

and yep

the nurse just told him that your heartbeat was okay and you were snoring so you mustve been exhausted by the dark circles in your eyes

‘keep an eye on him for me. i have to tend to midoriya over there. the kid broke his arm again and i dont know how’

she grumbled at the end but tooru didnt care as he sat on the chair next to your bed

he sighed before laying his head on the cot by your hand

his eyes settled on your face and how peaceful it looked

gosh, you really were so cute

your personality just sucked ass

constantly telling him to shut up and calling him idiot

hmph

not long after oikawa fell asleep, you woke up and cursed, immediately realizing you fainted and you missed class

as you were going to rub your eye, there was weight on your hand and you looked down to see a head full of brown hair that could only belong to a certain someone

a certain idiot

‘oi. oikawa, wake up’

you shook his head and when he didnt budge, you just pulled your hand from under him making him jump awake

at first, he was confused

looking around like a lost puppy and his eyes bleary

yea it was cute and what about it

then he noticed you sitting up and he smiled

‘you feeling better, m/n-chan?’

he asked, leaning close 

but you placed your hand on his face to push him away

‘yea. and stop leaning so close, idiot’

you grumbled and he whined

‘youre so mean, m/n-chan! i was so worried about you!’

he complained and you rolled your eyes

‘i didnt ask you to be, idiot’

SLDKFJSDLKFJKL M/N IS SO MEAN WHAT THE FAK

oikawa frowned

‘i cant help it. i like you, m/n-chan’

you froze, looking at him with scrunched eyebrows

then you chuckled dryly

‘yea, okay sure. im okay now so you can go to class’

wOW OIKAWA DESERVES BETTER WHAT

tooru was taken aback

‘wh-what? thats it? after i just told you that i liked you?’

you blinked at him

‘what do you want me to say about that, oikawa? how do you want me to react? im not like your fangirls, squealing and shit’

your words cut deep in him and oikawa held your arm

‘no wait a minute. what do you mean by that? do you not believe me?’

‘who the hell believes something that’s fake?’

there was a snip in your tone and oikawa knew you were talking about this facade of his

‘what? i-’

‘you think i believe you? you telling me you like me? do you even know who you are?’

you asked and tooru sniffled, eyes staring at your chest

‘for years, you told people what you wanted them to hear, regardless if you meant them or not. not once have you ever told them no. who the hell accepts chocolates when they dont even like them to begin with?’

at that last part, oikawa snapped up to meet your eyes

‘how did you know’

you rolled your eyes

‘our brothers are friends, idiot. he gave him some of the chocolates you gave to takeru since the brat couldnt eat them all’

oddly, that brought some warmth in tooru’s chest

so he wasnt the only one who knows the stupid stuff

but you continued on your rant

‘for a guy who doesnt like sweet stuff, youve accepted their nasty treats all the time, like why? oh, wait i know why, because you want them to like you. it doesnt matter if-if this-this persona of yours isnt real because as long as they like you, you dont give a fuck. isn’t that true? am i right? because please, prove me wrong’

maybe your dislike for him came out at that tangent and you half expected him to cry but you were surprised when he glared at you with teary eyes

‘i will. ill prove you wrong, m/n, that i do like you and i will make you like me. ill make you like me with the real me. i swear.’

‘mhm. okay. sure, oikawa’

do you regret it?

i mean,,,

kinda?

but not really?

because you loved watching the girls faces fall when oikawa rejected their treats the next day

you were walking to class when you noticed him with his cult by the entrance and you saw him smiling at some girl before gently pushing away a can of cookies

‘gomen. i actually dont like sweets that much anymore. if you want, you can give me milk bread?’

you stopped and oikawa caught your eye and he grinned

you nodded in greeting before continuing to walk

but he noticed a small smile on your face and gosh oikawa sighed like a lovesick fool

it took iwaizumi to finally send him back and his fangirls were looking at him worriedly

‘could you be less obvious, shittykawa?’

rip iwaizumi hajime in episode 546546546 of daily adventures of oikawa tooru

you noticed that oikawa has started to become distant with his fangirls and hes been sticking to you during lunch, leaving behind the others

makki and mattsun looked like proud parents as they peered down over to you flicking oikawa’s forehead and they smiled

‘god, that kid deserves this’

‘hah? that sounds like more of a punishment to me. but i dont care. it takes him off our hands for a while’

IWA I SWEAR HES SO MEAN BUT HE STILL WUVS TOORU SO ITS OKAY

oikawa would pick your brother up and take him home when youre too busy to go get him yourself and sometimes, he even takes your little sister too which causes them to have a mini sleepover and you sleep there too

also, whenever youre working in the convenience store, tooru would buy sandwhiches and a drink just for you so you can eat them while youre on break and not have to waste money and you told himyou dont want him spending money on you but he doesnt wanna hear it

‘i dont want you buying me-’

‘ssshhhh dont. im doing this because i want to and becaus i care for you, m/n-chan’

overtime, 

yea

sure

youve started to like him

youve started looking forward to seeing his stupidly cute face and his stupidly cute giggle

you went to his games and gave him a tight hug when hes about to play as a ritual for good luck and you would open your arms for him wide whenever he wins

then he didnt

against shiratorizawa, you noticed how he was so disappointed

even as you walked home with him, he continued to smile and tell you how good his team played

until you couldnt take it anymore

you pulled him over to some alleyway and you pushed him to the wall

DSKLFJLSDKFJLSDFJ WOW WHAT

oikawa nervously fiddled with his jacket and gave you a shaky smile

‘m/n-chan, what are you-’

‘tell me what youre feeling right here, right now. no bullshit, no lies, tell me everything in that pretty head of yours’

you deadpanned and tooru looked away

‘im fine’

‘are you lying to me, tooru?’

your voice was even but he could tell you were serious

he gulped before taking in a shakey breath

‘im fine. so stop asking about it!’

he exclaimed and you sighed

‘listen, i know its not official yet but you want me to be your boyfriend right?’

tooru flinched before he flushed at the word ‘boyfriend’ 

then he nodded

‘as your boyfriend, you have to lean on me, tooru. i dont want you to hold it to yourself because i wanna be there for you and i want to go through everything with you because i,,,,,’

you stopped and hesitated, debating if you should say it or not

‘because i like you, idiot’

you confessed and swallowed thickly

oikawa met your eye and his eyes watered

‘im so angry! im so disappointed! but i know my team did their 110 percent! we’re just not strong enough! so its not their fault! but ushijima is such a freak and hes too strong and its not fair!’

he complained and he cried loudly

not once in the 3 years of knowing oikawa have you seen him cry and you were so proud of him for being able to trust you enough to show him being vulnerable

you rushed forward held him close to your chest

‘for what it’s worth, you looked so incredibly hot and cute playing’

you whispered and pecked his neck 

of course oikawa couldnt hold his surprise at the feeling of your lips on his neck so he squealed a little

you gigled and continued holding your boyfriend close, even if it was at some nasty alleyway

yall became official and ngl, they didnt see this coming

some nobody dating the grand king oikawa tooru?

what in the wattpad?

yall know that tiktok of like ‘guys you cant dm me anymore. i have a girlfriend now. what else? and i love her’

IF YALL DONT KNOW IM SORRY

but you totally made oikawa tell his fangirls that

YOU KNOW THE FUNNY THING?

when yall became official, you actually gained your own little fanclub

maybe its because you gained clout from your boyfriend but they started noticing you and wowza you were hot

before, it was you getting jealous over tooru but now, it was him getting possessive of you

hes such a brat that he sits on your lap before class and youre just all smirking and feeling all good bc your baby is so cute when hes jealous

YOU CANT DISAGREE THAT HE DOESNT RADIATE UKE ENERGY

but all oiks has to do is pull down your collar and expose your purple littered collarbones and they will know who you belong to

theres a reason why iwa-chan is now the kids babysitter

youre still kinda cold and distant to people but youre soft for your baby and you always hold him close when hes in sight and you just cant get enough of him

:’)

also!! 

your sister loves dressing you up and oikawa has his sisters makeup and they both do your makeup and you guys have tea party with the boys and just the cutest domestic stuff

you still call him idiot though

but like affectionately yanno?

and over the years youve turned it down to dummy

and ngl tooru loves it when you call him that

what in the dumbification-

because he knows that equivalent to babe from you and he absolutely just loves you lmao

youre def the more quieter and calmer one in the relationship like you absolutely dont react much

while tooru is the overreactor and hes very animated with his facial expressions and stuff

like the one time

he was cooking some chicken pasta and you cheekily grabbed a piece of chicken and he made a dramatic gasp

‘*le gasp* oikawa m/n how dare steal a piece of chicken!’

you cackled before crossing your arms at the sight ofyour lover with his pursed lips and hands on his hips

‘excuse you. its more of you who’d take my last name’

it was so easy to make him flustered and tooru quickly turned around to tend back to the food but he was really just hiding his red face

‘b-baka. thats not going to happen’

‘not if i do it first’

you shrugged and smirked, wondering if he will fall for it

and as expected with oikawa tooru

‘yea okay sure’

‘i will!’

‘prove me wrong, m/n-chan~’

‘turn around right now’

oikawa rolled his eyes playfully before turning with a smile

‘what are you-*le gasp part 2*’

his hands covered his mouth at the sight of you there in front of him, kneeling on your knee tightly clutching a silver ring between your thumb and index finger

your heart was thrumming in your chest but you gulped and smiled

‘i win. now marry me, dummy’

oikawa screamed

a/n: sorry if this sucked booty :((( but i just really like the thought of uke oikawa and just him with a cute boyfriend for a change like please we all know oikawa is a bi king and thats on docosahexaenoic acid

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Heroes: Sweet or Shite? - Part 1: SILVER

There are some heroes I like. And there are some heroes I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a series in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the heroes in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves over the course of time. Two things to keep in mind:

1. These reviews will be focusing mainly on game portrayals. Though alternate media will occasionally be mentioned, it'll be for the sake of adding onto a point if a portrayal is similar enough, or to compare and contrast if a portrayal is different enough.

2. These are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, I decided to challenge myself by starting off with a complicated one. Born from the future, and never content to stay put in said future, it's the saviour whose debut came from the most unfortunate game... Silver the Hedgehog.

The Gist: Once upon a time, in the distant future, there was an idealistic young hedgehog named Silver, gifted with the power of telekinesis for reasons unknown. With his amazing potential, he was truly destined for a wonderful, prosperous li-just kidding, it was shit.

“All two of us.”

For as long as he knew, the world was forever plagued by Iblis, the terrible Flames of Disaster. Cities stood in ruin, flames stood high, the floor was lava... it was a bitter life to be certain, all thanks to Iblis. Not even defeating the titular creature did much good, since it would simply come back to be a shitty boss fight another day. What was he - and his friend, Blaze, a character we definitely never saw before and definitely didn't have a completely different backstory before - to do?

Trust the first person he sees, of course. Even if they look like they might be related to the same Flames of Disaster that he fights so constantly.

If he had eyelids, he'd be winking at the camera.

This mysterious fellow, Mephiles the Dark, informed Silver that if he were to wipe out Iblis for real, he would need to take a trip into the past, and eliminate the root of the problem... Sonic the Hedgehog? That was what Mephiles claimed, yes. What was his proof? There was no proof.

That was good enough for Silver.

Oh look, it's Fleetway Sonic.

After an elaborate series of events, which should sound exciting but really isn't because it was just Silver going “Iblis Trigger grrr” in varying tones of voice, he was finally able to corner the blue hedgehog... twice! And despite having less fighting know-how than the hero who saved the world plenty of times, he effortlessly came close to killing the blue hedgehog... twice!

This looks like a jobbing for...

Why twice? The first time was halted by Sonic's friend Amy Rose, who Silver had met beforehand after she mistook him for Sonic, an understandable mistake that even the keenest of eyes would be forgiven for making.

The second time was also interrupted, this time by Shadow the Hedgehog. There's only room for one controversial non-blue male hedgehog in this franchise, sonny boy. Actually, his reasons were more benevolent than that: he wanted to show Silver the truth about what was going on, by time travelling to the incident that gave birth to Iblis. Why was one able to to this, so long as more than one Chaos Emerald was present? No one knew.

That was good enough for Silver.

“I challenge you to a dumb-off.”

As it turned out, Iblis was one half of a sun god called Solaris, the other half being the aforementioned Mephiles. The Duke of Soleanna wanted to reunite with his late wife by harnessing Solaris' power, which succeeded from a certain point of view since he's dead now too. The resulting blunder split Solaris into two halves. One half was all brawn, with little capacity for intelligence. The other half was Iblis.

Understanding the error of his ways, and after making peace with Sonic, Silver went back to the future to try something different, which consisted of doing the same thing he always did. Luckily for him, the script decided it would work this time, albeit at the cost of Blaze sacrificing herself... Maybe? Sort of? It’s not entirely clear what happened to her, and it’s not like this was the last we ever saw of her.

~La laaaaaa, la laaaaaa, la laaaaaa, heading to a better game, la laaaaaa~

But ohhhhh nooooo, turns out THAT didn't solve anything either! In the present, Sonic was killed by Mephiles, after the latter realised he should probably do that already if he wanted to make any progress at all with his plan. This incident led to Iblis being brought into the present, and they fused to become the omnipotent Solaris once more. Such power... such divinity... such devastation...

Actually, he was really easy. The antlion from Underground Zone was harder.

Manchild robots - 1, god of time - 0.

With their super forms in tow, Silver, Shadow, and the revived Sonic joined forces to defeat Solaris, with Sonic in particular going the extra step in retconning Solaris out of existence entirely. Since time itself reset, meaning Iblis was no longer a memory, Silver's timeline was given a second chance. What was he to look forward to in this new, promising future?

Shit.

The Design: Let's take a closer look at Silver's appearance, shall we?

Or rather, a certain thing that's wrong with it.

He's holding up fifteen fingers.

Yes, you all know what I'm pointing to: the hairstyle. Let it be known that I'm very aware of the intention behind this design choice. It's supposed to be based on the Japanese Red Maple Leaf, which holds a lot of relevant symbolism for Silver's character. This is a fine idea in theory, and I can respect the intent and the creativity.

But here's the thing: If it looks like a ganja leaf, people are going to say it looks like a ganja leaf. I know some fans will gnash their teeth at me saying this, but the fact of the matter is that intentions and ideas, no matter how good they may be on paper, don't always translate well into the final product. Unleashed Secret Rings Black Knight Sonic '06 in general is certainly no stranger to showcasing examples of that, and Silver's hairstyle is no exception. There are ways to incorporate symbolism in a character’s design without making them look like meme bait in the process, and no amount of “umm ackshually” will change that, I'm afraid.

That said, there's another reason why I'm staying clean of Silver marijuana: it doesn't work for a hedgehog character. With the other hedgehogs, their hairstyles are simple and get the point across: Sonic's goes without saying, Shadow's is more angular to befit a slightly rougher hero, and Amy's is a cute bob cut of sorts. But Silver? Even without the ganja, you've still got the two tentacles making up the back of his head.

I'd rather not be reminded of hentai quills, thanks.

“I thought Crusher-san would like it :’(”

I do find it hilarious that they went through numerous designs for Silver, and this was what they chose to go with. Some of his prototype designs may have fared better had any of them been used instead... but we didn't end up with any of those ones. We ended up with this one, therefore I'm judging this one.

But don’t worry, it’s not all bad with Silver...

The Personality: As far as actual character goes, Silver's personality is as straightfoward as most characters in the series, yet it's no less interesting, because it took a while for it to fully evolve to what it currently is. The seeds of his character - a good-natured yet awkward and rather insecure kind of guy, who doesn't fully understand how the present time works - have always been there, but it was often downplayed in earlier titles due to him being hungry for Iblis Trigger blood... or being an arsehole for no reason.

Although to be fair, everyone in Rivals is an arsehole for no reason.

Eventually though, after the writers gave him a Snickers, these traits got more opportunity to shine. Mostly in side media admittedly, but it's been noted in the games as well. With no Iblis to angst over, he's proven to be a surprisingly bubbly chap, who just wants to know how you're all doing, fellow anthro kids. And whereas his naivety was previously used for intended tragedy to benefit the evil plan of a guy who thought taking the -istoph- out of Mephistopheles would make him inconspicuous, now it's been used for a bunch of low-key contexts that do a much better job at endearing him to the player.

Finally, something I can relate to.

Hell, he even seems to have learned from the Mephiles incident, as he was quick to make it clear to the next shadowy deep-voiced anthro with demonic eyes he met that he wasn't gonna fall for any of them fibs no more, ya hear?

“YouTube and Twitter don’t count.”

All in all, it works well enough, in my opinion. His personality does pave the way for some funny and wholesome moments, and since they’re no longer trying to build him up like he’s Shadow 2.0, he's nowhere near as much of a tool as he was before. So I guess you could say... I like it?

Does this mean I can say that I like the character as a whole then, design and '06-induced idiocy aside?

Well, not quite...

The Execution: This is where the complication part comes into play. We know now that I like his personality, not so much his design, but that's only the half of it. It would be more accurate to say that I like his personality... and dislike everything else.

Aside from that, obviously.

For starters, the creation process for his character and story was summed up with, in their own words, “Think Trunks from Dragon Ball Z”. So he comes off as rather lazy and uninspired. Now I'm not expecting my Sonic characters to be 100% unique, there's always going to be similarities to other franchises no matter what you do, even if subconsciously or by complete coincidence. Taking inspiration in itself is no big deal at all.

But... was that it? Copying a DBZ character to such a blatant extent? Was there no other thought put into it?

Naturally, this ties into an overarching problem: the franchise's mid-00's habit of trying way too hard to be the anthro Dragon Ball Z. Sonic has had DBZ influences since the early days, with the Chaos Emeralds and Super Sonic, but it didn't assimilate itself into every waking aspect of his universe. It was merely an additional flavor that added to the complete package, in the same way that a Death Star with a moustache didn't mean the franchise was suddenly Star Wars the Hedgehog.

But come the turn of the millenium, nearly every main title in the series ended with Super Sonic and/or Super Shadow saving the day, while everyone else either stood around being useless, or only helping in ways that no one actually cares about. Including the in-universe President apparently, since only Sonic and Shadow were featured in the photo on his desk.

Amy smiled. “I guess the rest of us can go fuck ourselves, huh?”

This reached its peak with - of course - Sonic '06, with Silver in particular being an obvious result of this then-ongoing trend. And yes, it would be unfair to use him as a scapegoat, considering it was already a problem long before he turned up. But moreso than even Shadow, it's an era that Silver is forever a relic of, for better or for worse.

But it doesn't stop there. Since Silver is considered a mainstay character, his gimmick of being from the future also creates problems of its own, because in order for him to make further appearances, he keeps turning up for little explained reason, and thus he suffers the Deadly Six problem of being shoved into places where he doesn't belong, for fanservice's own sake. Take Sonic Colours DS for example, where he went back in time JUST to check out Eggman's theme park... Okay...?

On one hand, I’d visit it too, since it's made by Eggman. On the other hand, I’d stay clear of it, since it's made by Eggman.

And when there IS a justification with more weight to it? It's just recycling the '06 routine of trying to avert his ruined future, which isn't much better. The cause may differ depending on the story, but if his future is a permanent shitehole for one reason or another, he might as well cut out the middle man and stay in the present altogether, since that's where his friends are anyway. But they seem intent on not doing that, despite the future schtick being a noose around his neck at this point.

In hindsight, maybe this was a hint to how the rest of the arc would turn out.

And then there's his dynamic with a certain purple cat... No, not Big. The other one.

“I’m here, by the way.”

Simply put: I don't like this dynamic. At all. Or rather, I don't like how they keep milking it. Blaze's backstory was radically changed to justify her presence in Silver's future, and it really shows, since she barely even shows up half the time, as if the developers themselves forgot she was in the game. But her backstory has since been restored to her original alternate dimension interpretation, so hanging around with the grey hedgehog is all good now, right?

To be brutally honest, I probably wouldn't care for this dynamic regardless. But I would be more willing to tolerate it, and I'd refrain from groaning every time they're seen together... if they weren't intent on playing it up so much in spite of '06 being wiped out, sometimes with a bit of commentary involving their thoughts and memories, which only succeeds at making things more confusing. If Blaze is around, Silver will be nearby, and if he's not at first, he will be soon enough. This franchise does have a problem in general with restricting who's allowed to interact with who (I personally believe Sonic Heroes may have led to this, or at least it accelerated it), but I'd argue it's at its most insufferable here, with Blaze's potential and her entire world taking a backseat to being the sidekick of Ganja Man.

And you might say “Well, it's part of the franchise now, so you'll just have to accept it”. To which I ask: Have you accepted Two Worlds? Have you accepted Solo Sonica? Have you accepted Sonic's friends not doing much as of late?

Yeah. That's what I thought. “It’s just how it is” doesn’t mean you can’t criticise it.

Meanwhile, Marine is lucky enough to get so much as a shout out.

So yeah, I have quite an extensive list of grievances involving poor Silver. But... very little of it has to do with him, right? They're all indirect problems that he just so happens to be linked to, as opposed to someone like Chris Thorndyke, who is genuinely a shit character through and through. This is more comparable to Tails being bitchy in Lost World, or Amy being manipulative in Chronicles, or Sonic being a smug dumbass in IDW, or Shadow not wearing a Hawaiian shirt in Boom. Frustrating, regrettable, but not really the character's own fault.

Yet even after all that, there's one last kick in the teeth... How do you fix all this? And how do you fix it when he's since gained a sizable fandom, many of whom like him for these very attributes? If you leave it as it is, you're stuck with this big, awkward mess that everyone pretends to ignore. If you try to do something about it, you'll get complaints about disrespecting the True Silver Spirit, and you’ll get questions about why you didn't create a new character instead... And if you did use a new character for the sake of a clean slate, THEN you'd get complaints about not using Silver.

It's a tough call to be sure, and it's such a shame because like I said, I do appreciate his personality, so I can't say he's bad outright. But with all this... clutter, I can only put him in the average category. So, in he goes.

Crusher Gives Silver a: Thumbs Sideways!

Well, I'm glad this one's out of the way. Putting my thoughts into words with Silver was harder than it should have been. I do slightly regret starting this series off on a rather downer note, but rest assured, it's a lot more positive from this point onwards, since while I have higher praise for some heroes more than others, the hero characters as a whole fare a lot better than the majority of villains not named Eggman.

I guess you could say that I hope to show why Sonic's friends aren't as shitty as the haters would suggest. ;)

[shortnotsweet]

The Allegory of the Tin Man, the Dictator, and the Knight: a Dissection of Ironqrow and a Character Arc of Failure

“There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart.”

— L. Frank Baum

A brief Ironqrow meta and character analysis of James Ironwood, the ultimate screw up, in three parts.

I. Qrow and Ironwood’s Homoeroticism in Canon Source Material and its Translation

II. Ironwood’s Repressed Characterization and the Inherent Chivalry of the Dictatorship

III. Ironwood, Alone

Qrow and Ironwood’s Homoeroticism in Canon Source Material and its Translation

Within the Oz series, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow are layered within homoerotic subtext, even if it is included unintentionally. Tison Pugh’s analysis Queer Utopianism and Antisocial Eroticism in L. Frank Baum's Oz Series posits that the land of Oz as portrayed within the series is a largely asexual environment of suspended adolescence that involves the deviation of binary gender norms, and of performative heterosexuality. Pugh refers to it later as a “queer utopia”. Men are portrayed as a lesser military force to women, and heterosexuality is a flimsy presence at best; all signs of procreation within Oz are stifled. While this could be chalked down to Baum not wanting to get into the subject of sex and exploration in a children’s series, it does contribute to a particular tone with real-life critiques of capitalism and a particular deconstruction of gender norms. Ozma, who will become the ruler of Oz after the Wizard and the Scarecrow respectively, for example, is originally a boy named Tip (the name itself holds phallic implications) who is “transformed” into a girl. The strongest military force is one of all-women led by a rebellious female general. Pugh observes, “At the same time that Baum satirizes...women as leaders…he consistently depicts women as more successful soldiers than men, and female troops appear better capable of serving militarily than male troops…[the] male army comprises of twenty-six officers and one private, and they are all cowards…” and cites the Frogman’s declaration that “Girls are the fiercest soldiers of all...they are more brave than men, and they have better nerves”.

RWBY itself isn’t opposed to this kind of subversion, either in its characters or its relationships. There’s an obvious effort to include LGBTQ+ representation (albeit primarily in the background), strong female characters are prevalent and make up most of the main and supporting cast, a character’s gender is not strictly reliant on its source material, and BlackSun, while cute and a valid ship in its own right, is treated as a heterosexual red herring to Bumbleby. Additionally, there have been a lot of hints by the voice actors, writers, and creators on social media that Qrow himself is queer, the infamous Ironqrow embrace included.

Admittedly, if I wanted to write an essay about the likelihood of Qrow being LGBTQ+ or having some kind of queer identity, I would probably focus more on his relationship with Clover, which had a lot more overt and probably canonically intentional Gay Vibes, and despite having known Qrow nowhere near as long as Ironwood has, it has just as much, if not more, to extrapolate. Unfortunately, that’s not the main point of this essay, although it remains relevant. While I personally don’t doubt that Qrow has had sex with women or experiences valid sexual attraction to them, I get the feeling that it is, to a degree, a performative act and a masculine assertation of enjoyment intended as a coping mechanism. It plays into the trope of the handsome, tortured alcoholic (best exemplified, perhaps, in the MCU’s Tony Stark, Dean Winchester in Supernatural, and critiqued in the superhero episode of Rick and Morty) who sleeps around just to recall the feeling of intimacy, or because he associates sexual ‘degradation’ as a reflection of his worth. Real self-deprecating, slightly misogynistic stuff. Qrow’s recall of short skirts, as well as his brief exchange with the waitress in an earlier volume, reminds me of one specific interaction between the Scarecrow and his own love interest. Within the series, the Qrow’s source-material counterpart, the Scarecrow, has one canonical love interest, the Patchwork Girl:

“Forgive me for staring so rudely,” said the Scarecrow, “but you are the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld.”

“That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,” murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head.

Pugh points out that the two of them never develop this relationship further than flirtation, and heterosexuality is reduced to a “spectral presence” lacking the “erotic energy [driving] these queer narratives in their presence”. Specifically, Qrow never reveals a serious or long running heterosexual love interest - he is not the father! [of Ruby] (despite much speculation that he and Summer Rose were involved) and he and Winter never really moved past the stage of ‘hostility with just a hint of sexual tension’ - and there is no debunking of potential queerness. His interactions with Clover (deserving of an entire essay on its own) seem to support this interpretation, and is more or less a confirmation of some kind of queer inclination or identity. Again, the “queer utopia” of Oz comes at the cost of the expulsion of the sexual or the mere mention of reproduction - still, through this device, same-sex relationships gain a new kind of significance with the diminishing nature of heterosexuality. Speaking of queer narratives, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man have the most tender and prolonged relationship of perhaps all the characters in the series, exchanging a lifelong commitment:

“I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman,” said the stuffed one seriously. “We have decided never to be parted in the future.”

Within the source material, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow voluntarily live together, and are life partners in nearly every sense of the word. The second book in the Oz series is The Tin Woodman of Oz. In summary, the Tin Woodman recalls that he had a fiancée before the events of the first book, forgot all about her, and now must search her out so that they can get married. Who does he ask to accompany him in this pursuit? None other than his no-homo life partner, the Scarecrow. Although this sounds like a stereotypical heteronormative storyline, “this utopian wonderland...rejects heterosexual procreation...First, the Tin Woodman does not desire...Nimmie Amee...” and even acknowledges that due to the ‘nature’ of the heart that the Wizard had given him, he is literally incapable of romantically or passionately loving or desiring Nimmie, and by extent, women in general - to me, that works perfectly as an allegory for a gay man who is literally incapable of experiencing legitimate heterosexual urges, but ‘soldiers on’ out of obligation and societally enforced chivalry. “The Tin Woodman excuses himself from the heteronormative imperative...Only his sense of masculine honor, rather than a heteronomratively masculine sex drive, impels the Tin Woodman on his quest to marry his long-lost fiancée.” Again, Ironwood’s character follows the lines of propriety within the sphere of the wealthy elite, and his persona as a high-ranking military man and politician, as well as the conservative values instilled within Atlas, prioritize duty and obligation. This kind of culture is stifling and in a lot of ways aloof, as the upper class deludes itself into believing that it is objectively better and more advanced than its neighboring territories. *ahem the myth of American exceptionalism ahem*

“There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart.”

I think it’s funny that the characters that Ironwood and Qrow are based off of are canonically the closest of friends, who coexist almost as a unit. In contrast, the first introduction we get of Ironwood and Qrow is a hostile exchange where they’re at each other’s throats, never on the same page, and never in sync, not when it matters. Indeed, Qrow snaps at Ironwood for his lack of communication, which is a recurring issue between the two of them on notable occasions. If the source material is anything to go by, there should be a significant relationship between the two of them, or at least some kind of connection, even if it goes unspoken or unacknowledged. To be fair, in RWBY’s canon, I think there is.

I’ve seen this joke that while Qrow hates the Atlas military, the only people he really seems to flirt with is Atlas military personnel. “Ice Queen” is something I interpreted to be partially hostile, partially mocking, and partially flirtatious, in equal spades - the voice actors and creators have indicated that it was flirtatious, and there was a whole Chibi episode dedicated to the concept of Qrow and Winter’s extrapolated sexual tension, albeit in jest. I might argue that his use of abbreviates aren’t reserved for people he dislikes, but for people who bring out his playful side. “Brat”, “Pipsqueak”, “Firecracker”, and “Kiddos” are all drawn from a place of affection, however short or mocking it may seem, because that’s what crows do: they mock others.

Qrow has little nicknames for people; while it’s not exclusively a sign of affection, I do get the feeling that ‘Jimmy’ is an informality that irks Ironwood, but can also be interpreted as Qrow giving James what he needs, rather than what he wants.

Glynda is by no means a pushover, but in assuring him that while he does questionable things, he’s still a good person, she’s softening the blow and probably further enabling deeply rooted and pre-existing traits, many of which contribute to his problematic control complex. It is established early on that Qrow resents the military (as he should), and it is implied that he’s spent a fair amount of encounters harassing and provoking military personnel (Winter being the most evident example of this), and has insulted the military numerous times to Ironwood’s face. He lectures Ironwood about the way he conducts his operations, his inability to communicate, and basically what a complete, inconsiderate asshole he really is.

What Ironwood needs is someone who operates outside of the pretense that he works, breathes, and lives under, and just tells it like it is. Jimmy isn’t all that - he’s a person, just like the rest of us, and he can flaunt all the titles that he wants, but James stripped down is still just Jimmy.

Qrow also is the kind of person who pries, who is insistent, and not particularly sensitive. For someone like Ironwood who has a lot of (physical and emotional) barriers, logically, in order for him to receive genuine understanding, Qrow fits the profile of someone who is invasive but not exploitive, who sees past the cracks in his armor and takes him for what he is. What is just important is that whoever Ironwood is with is someone who makes him want to try not only to be better, but to be real; thematically, General Ironwood seems to have a great respect for but a deep struggle with authenticity. He clearly resents the ignorance and frivolity of Atlas’s wealthy elite, as evidenced by his support for Weiss at the dinner party in announcing that “she’s one of the only people making any sense around here”, while struggling to project the facade that he’s carefully created.

See, we don’t have evidence that there is something going on between Ironqood and Qrow so much as we have enough evidence to inconclusively say that there’s not not something going on. I think there’s enough evidence to support the idea that something could be going on, or was going on.

When Qrow saves Ironwood at the Battle of Beacon, who is under the false impression that Qrow believes him to be the culprit of the attacks, his eyes follow Qrow and we get a closer shot of his awed expression; we the viewer can only imagine what he sees as Qrow arcs through the air and slices down a Grimm from behind his back. The focus on Ironwood’s expression portrays something like shock (so Qrow wasn’t trying to attack me after all, but then what the hell is he doing?), maybe wonder (I can’t take my eyes off of him, I can’t look away), maybe respect (I know he’s a good Hunter, but I’ve rarely seen him in action), but it is unfiltered nonetheless. In a show where fight scenes are vital to the progression of the story itself, the dynamics of these fights are at their best when they are character driven, whether it is revealing or reinforcing something about the characters and their relationships, or it is deciding their fates. There’s something to be said about characters being given moments together in battles, and what that says about the significance of their relationship. The best example of this might be the battle between Blake and Yang vs Adam; it served to give Adam what he deserved, help Blake and Yang reach closure in certain aspects of their own trauma, and solidify the bond between the girls. Similarly, Qrow and Ironwood’s moment is meant to reveal a theme that will later be revisited in volume 7; trust. Ironwood is startled but not shocked when he believes that Qrow distrusts him to the degree of attacking him, and is ready to attack or defend as needed.

Qrow tells him what he needs to hear, more or less: YOU’RE A DUMBASS. Ironwood is, indeed, a dumbass. While he does extend the olive branch of trust and good will to CRWBY and co. this trust is highly conditional and proves to be, while from a place of desperation and sincerity, at least partially performative.

When Ironwood snaps, he snaps hard.

Amber’s voice actress tweeted early on, joking that Qrow has two Atlas boyfriends, and Arryn has made comments, too. It’s one of the older ships, and the crew is certainly aware of it (“...extended chest bump...”).

Kerry has stated that he finds the Ironqrow relationship interesting, and wishes it had been explored more (additionally, allegedly lobbying that Ironwood’s arm in the Ironqrow hug scene be slightly lower). I’m not saying that they’re going to both make it out alive, or canon, or even that romantic subtext was intentionally woven into the script. All I’m saying is that I think their relationship is interesting too, especially when the subtext of their source material relationship is taken into context, and the way their characters are positioned is suggestive of some sort of compatibility, even if it is a hit or miss kind of opportunity, and I have the sinking suspicion that it was missed on both accounts.

The Tin Woodman of Oz concludes,

“All this having been happily arranged, the Tin Woodman returned to his tin castle, and his chosen comrade, the Scarecrow, accompanied him on the way. The two friends were sure to pass many pleasant hours together in talking over their recent adventures, for as they neither ate nor slept they found their greatest amusement in conversation.”

Ironwood’s Repressed Characterization and the Inherent Chivalry of the Dictatorship

“I don’t give a damn about Jacque Schnee...what about the other two? Do not return to this office until you have Qrow Branwen in custody.”

“And that’s not all we’ve lost...I had Qrow in my hands, and I didn’t do what needed to be done.”

Observe: Ironwood, at this point, does not care about politics. I doubt he’s ever wanted to, or ever liked it (if his tired outburst at the dinner party is any indication) but his Knightly qualities (we’ll get to that) have, up till this point, prompted him to adhere to them for both power and etiquette. James surrounds himself in a world that he understands and despises; more than anything, he’d like to be a general, a commander, and the Knight in Shining Armor archetype, because warfare is something he understands. It is a testament to his (superhuman) willpower that he forces himself to become fluent in the language of politics, and to live and breathe in it. To clarify, Ironwood sees himself as a man who does what needs to be done; if he wants to change and control Atlas, he will have to involve himself in its politics.

Likely, his resilience has contributed to the way he views himself and what he deserves, as someone long-suffering and almost martyr-like, a silent hero doing what needs to be done. But at the moment, he’s lost his goddamn mind coming undone. He’s murdered and jailed his political dissent (and might have considered executing prisoners), but at this point, that’s all that Jacque and Robyn are to him. First he dismisses Jacque, narrows it down to the two escaped prisoners, and finally reveals what’s really on the forefront of his mind: Qrow, free and out of his hands.

[ When recalling this dialogue, please do so while imagining a bad recorder cover of the Titanic music playing over the background. Here is a sample. ]

In the most recent episode, Ironwood seems to have gone off the rails even further. The fact that Winter, his most faithful lieutenant, is losing her unshakable faith in him, says a lot about how hard he’s fallen off the deep end. In Winter’s mind, I think that she sees him almost as a surrogate father figure, or at least a patriarch who can be positively compared to Jacques in every way. The previous volumes go to lengths to compare the two as adversaries and showing James in a favorable light; Winter is in her own personal horror right now, because she is beginning to understand that Ironwood is a man who may not be her father but is just as susceptible to corruption, and may have been that kind of person all along. Skipping over the...ah, genocidal tendencies, and the fact that he’s proposing to kidnap Penny’s friends to force her to obey him and likely is starting to realize that Winter is the perfect bait (let’s just say that “Ironwood is not good with kids” is the understatement of the year) Ironwood wants Qrow back (in captivity), I think that it’s significant that while Ironwood registers that Robyn is gone as well, his first priority is Qrow, probably for two reasons. On one hand, he still refers to Qrow by his first name, instead of the formal Branwen. Of course, that doesn’t have to mean anything at all. They’re colleagues within the same age range, both members of the same secret brotherhood and similiar skill sets.

On the other hand, it reminds me of the moment when Qrow and the kids first fly into Atlas, and they see the heightened security, and Qrow mutters, “James...what have you been doing,” under his breath, sounding concerned, apprehensive. He’s not addressing the kids, he’s talking to himself; he regards James much more seriously both as a potential threat and a friend than he’d rather the other know, and I think that James’ focus on Qrow at this point is similiar, only not only is this a sign of them knowing each other well, but of Ironwood’s slipping control. He offered Qrow his trust and camaraderie, his last attempt to keep a handle on his humanity (or, his heart). Qrow, in return, withheld vital information, got close with another operative instead, then allegedly killed him and and escaped ‘rightful’ imprisonment.

The Tin Man is offering Qrow his heart, at least proof of it, and the Scarecrow [and co.] steps back to observe the situation, and assesses that no, what you are going to do is wrong, and I cannot agree with it.

Ironwood is not an objective person, as much as he wants to be. He’s angry, desperate, scared, and humiliated. Worst of all, he’s rebuffed, and he’s taking Qrow’s escape personally. First, he understands that Qrow is a threat. He’s Ozpin’s best agent, he has years of field experience, and he knows too much, probably more than James knows. Second, they have history.

My personal interpretation of Ironwood is something this:

He’s a sad, sad, lonely bitch. What Ironwood longs for, just like his source material counterpart, is a heart. He will go to any lengths to achieve this, because he believes that he has self awareness and therefore is able to check and balance himself. He treats his subordinates well, is diplomatic, skilled in a variety of trades, fighting the good fight, and longs for the affirmation that yes, he is a good person, and yes, he’s had a heart all along. He just strays from the path, and loses his way.

This is symbolically represented by his partially mechanic exoskeleton; we have no idea how far the cyborg extremities extend, or how deep, but we do get the visual notion of humanity in conflict, or a man’s soul deconstructed and split between the cold efficiency of machinery and the very real warmth of a human body. Ironwood wants to appear human, and benevolent, and genuine, and in return, loved; he is human, and he could be all of these things. If my reliance on the source material holds any merit (although I highly doubt it), then there is also a potential struggle with sexuality, (Glynda herself even explicitly and exasperatedly references a testosterone battle between Ironwood and Qrow, suggesting a regular overassertation of masculinity) and a further incentive to achieve love and subsequent acceptance.

To clarify, I do believe that there were less-than-subtle allusions to Ironwood and Glynda having a vaguely flirtatious history, taking their shared scenes and background dancing into account, but this, again, does not “debunk” the presence of queerness within a narrative; it could be an assumption of heterosexuality, or performative itself, or just not an exclusive interest. Besides, Ironwitch isn’t what this essay is about. I’m not trying to persuade or dissuade someone of the notion that Jimmy is gay, or straight, or something else, only that the potential ambiguity exists. What I do think is most important is that James doesn’t openly ward people away, not when those people aren’t under his command and are technically outside of his jurisdiction. He’s friendly with Glynda, tries to extend trust to Qrow, is kind to people in the aftermath of battle, and overall clings to diplomacy as his first weapon. He wants to be accepted, to be liked, and to be welcomed. This is not an outrageous want, nor is it uncommon. Unfortunately, Ironwood’s understanding of love and acceptance is entangled within the concept of control, and he associates unquestioned compliance with this Want.

Ironwood’s introduction into the series shows him being openly cordial, and very considerate, especially his interactions with Glynda and Ozpin. He’s a gentleman, he’s apologetic, and, as Glynda assures him, he’s a “good man”. She doesn’t really elaborate on what a “good man” is, exactly, but we might presume that a “good man” is a person with good intentions, who strives to do what’s right, regardless of his options.

Here’s the thing - one similarity between Ironwood and the Tin Man is that they both have the capacity to love, but they fool themselves into thinking that they don’t; before the Wizard gives him a ‘heart’, the Tin Man suggests that he is only kind and considerate to everyone in Oz because he believes he needs to overcompensate for what he lacks, and is therefore doubly aware of how he treats others. However, the Wizard knows no real magic, only tricks and illusions, and what he gives the Tin Man is essentially a placebo that enables the Tin Man to act towards and feel about others the exact same as he always had, only with the validation that what he feels is authentic. Similarly, Ironwood has always had the option to be empathetic and not fucking crazy open to collaboration, which he’s very aware of, until his own paranoia cuts into his rationality and compels him to cut himself off from all allies and alternative perspectives. He then uses his difficult position and responsibilities to justify unjustifiable actions, to rationalize irrational urges, and to gaslight and brainwash his subordinates into compliance.

The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything.

“You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.”

Qrow sees through this, however, and not only seems incapable of following orders himself, but disrupts the decorum that Ironwood is used to. In return, I think we see a little more of James that he’d like to reveal.

“If you were one of my men, I’d have you shot!”

“If I was one of your men, I’d shoot myself!”

In case this entire ass essay doesn’t make it obvious, I do really ship Ironqrow. I’m open to other pairings, definitely, but this one in particular is just more interesting to me. It feels more revealing, more subtle. I have more questions.

In hindsight, maybe the dialogue example above ^ didn’t age well, considering where they’re at, but I do like how their professional animosity is flavored with a kind of camaraderie, and understanding. This exchange isn’t exactly playful, but they’re taking each other seriously - and, like repressed schoolboys, taking the piss at each other in a childish way, and isn’t that part of the fun of banter, when they’re so focused on each other that they forget to act their age? In a lot of ways, this is a really fun dynamic to watch. They’re opposite-kind-of-people, which I like, at least on a superficial level, and I can easily imagine them tempering each other in ways that would make them ultimately happier people.

They even look well-coordinated, with similar color schemes that lean on the opposite sides of the shared spectrum (white, grays, reds and black); I think the decorative design on Qrow’s new sleeves are supposed to be more ornate simply to communicate that Qrow is committed, and willing to be sentimental, but some viewers have suggested that it resembles the pattern on James’ weapon, Due Process (the revolver is based off of the Tin Man’s pistol, although, curiously, in The Wizard of Oz, the Scarecrow was the only character to carry a pistol, and the commentaries suggest that the 2007 Tin Man miniseries was the “basis of the allusion”. Does that mean anything? I don’t know. Probably not.). Still, it raises the questions: who was in charge of designing the team’s new clothes and gear? How much input did Atlas get, and was this intentional? Personally, I think that the vine-like pattern on Qrow’s sleeves also bear a resemblance to Ozpin’s staff, a subtle reaffirmation and foreshadowing of his allegiance in contrast to Ironwood, but I digress.

They can also deliver that UST kind of banter that takes up their attention, and get up really close to each other, in each other’s faces, and just be pissed, which I think is very sexy of them, mhm. Enemies to Colleagues to Reluctant Friends to Lovers is a trope that I very much appreciate. Gaining some sort of common ground at the Battle of Beacon only to reunite, tired and battered, after the shit has already hit the fan? Slow burn kinda vibes.

That hug between them was something genuinely vulnerable and a sign of Ironwood letting his guard down because he is tired as fuck. It also was uh...kinda fruity.

Ironwood approaches closer, and Qrow scratches the back of his head, a characteristically nervous gesture that he’s made before; it’s a nervous twitch, manufactured nonchalance. He has no idea what Ironwood wants, but he does know that Ironwood wants something. James is the one to initiate the hug, and Qrow startles and even freezes up before relaxing into it. He seems suprised, but gives the bisexual eye roll of grudging fondness. This is out of character for James - Jimmy - but Qrow doesn’t think that Ironwood is a bad person. He leans into the hug, and the camera cuts out before they separate, suggesting that they probably end up standing there for a long ass time. You can also see from the side shots that it’s a close hug; their torsos are pressed up against each other, front to front, and there’s not a lot of wiggle room. James must be really goddamn depressed. It’s a long, manly, intensley heterosexual hug. Like I said, kinda fruity.

Other people have analyzed the hug shot for shot, so I won’t get too into it, but I think that it was intentionally left as a double red herring; some people thought that maybe he bugged Qrow, and after finding out that he didn’t, we were forced to conclude that this is a genuine olive branch. To find out that Ironwood is sincere but was still susceptible to corruption is that second subversion that I didn’t really expect. I hadn’t prepared myself for it, at least, and neither did Qrow. I wouldn’t go as far to say that Ironwood’s descent into fucking craziness paranoia is triggered by Qrow not ‘reciprocating’ or something, but I do think it’s interesting how the volume opens up with a signifigant interaction between Ironwood and Qrow, only for Qrow to spend the rest of the volume homosexually bonding with Clover, while Ironwood basically has no one as emotional support (again, his subordinates do not have the power or the place to be viewed as equals and the veil of formality is one of isolation). Qrow initiates nothing further, and nothing further happens.

Ironwood’s downfall, in a thematic sense, is that what he Needs is a heart, and when he gets that chance to demonstrate tolerance and empathy, James ultimately rejects his Need (a heart) and his arc reverts into one of villainy. To be specific, Ironwood is essentially a fascist dick, and that is not very sexy. (Speaking of dicks, the thought of Ironwood’s dick makes me laugh. I bet in the RWBY universe, people have made memes about that. I do not accept criticism because I am correct. Anyway,).

Dictators are charming, charismatic, and one of the pillars of their method is absorbing potential political opponents into their own administration to reduce the threat of rebellion, to appear openly tolerant to their supporters, and to further consolidate power. A good example of this would be Mean Girls, which runs on a comedic commentary of dictatorships as a political structure of power. I hate to compare James Ironwood to Regina George, but Regina’s posse includes Karen and Gretchen, two of the only girls who might take away from the authority she holds over the rest of their school, both in their wealth and attractiveness, and Cady’s interesting backstory and conventional attractiveness is the main reason Regina draws her into her own sphere - because she detects a potential threat. Much in the same way, while Ironwood likely has good intentions, his efforts to win over team RWBY and co. - including Qrow himself - is a logical way to consolidate resources. His willingness, at first, to cooperate with political opponents (ie Robyn) is because he’s not inherently evil, and he has nothing to lose. It’s when he is openly opposed and diplomatic gestures no longer hold the necessary weight that he snaps.

In one really interesting meta about Ironqrow’s archetypes (that I reread occasionally just because I really love it), @onewomancitadel posits that Ironwood is framed within the archetype of the Knight in Shining Armor, which should inform us of the moral consistency of his character. The meta was written around the beginning of volume 7, I think, and obviously we have a lot more character development and information to go off of now, but I think she makes a really interesting point about the nature of parallels and how that might help drive Ironwood as a character. I love her analysis of the visual of Ironwood stepping out of an airship wreckage, onto the street, the smoke billowing around him to reveal his cyborg prosthetics, and of the intentional framing. Once his uniform is stripped back, we see a man who is literally half-armor, which could be indicative of a lot of things. He’s emotionally guarded, he’s used as a human weapon, and he wants to be a line of defense. In her words, “The symbolism is really obviously put into perspective of his actions in trying to do the right thing: in the flesh (his true physical self) he is literally a knight in shining armour. From the ground up. Even if it's unseen or distorted by his uniform, his nature is still true.”

While Ironwood clearly has gone down a darker path in the most recent volume, I think this analysis holds true in a crucial way. “Ironwood is working with different information, and he’s doing exactly what he knows: stick to his knightly virtues, even disgraced.” Disgraced, indeed. Ironwood is holding onto his knightly values, and doing what he believes is right. If not right, he believes that it is necessary. The problem is that these values are manifested within Atlas’s sociopolitical-military culture in an inherently toxic way - his response is, at this point, neither rational nor empathetic, but it can be explained partially due to his cultural (flawed) understanding of justice, and because of the extenuating circumstances. The harsher the conditions become, the more difficult it is for anyone to project a facade that is not sincere at its core. If James is to uphold his Knightly virtues, he needs to be a protector, a leader, and a servant all at once while operating under limited intel with dwindling trust. All he has left are the few key players still in his grasp, and the control of the people he is responsible for.

To digress: generally, knights take an oath. It could be to a King, or Lord, or some noble, but Knights are supposed to operate on a code of honor, and chivalry, and to uphold these values throughout the land as an extension of whoever they have pledged themselves to. The story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a really good example of the way that, back in the day, chivalry and honor was supposed to place knights on a moral high ground compared to the common people.

In the middle of a celebration in Camelot, an obligatory tradition that has since lost real value but is rehearsed because Camelot fears that failure to uphold traditions that once had meaning is disrespectful, a Green Knight interrupts the celebrations and offers a strange challenge that boils down to a fight to the death. Gawain volunteers because accepting this challenge is what is expected of him, and Arthur would be humiliated if his knights, supposedly the best in the world, would not rise to the challenge. Gawain - and to a certain extent, the rest of Arthur’s knights - are fickle, in a sense, because their adherence to this code is performative, and it allows them to delude themselves into moral superiority and lie both to the commoners and amongst themselves; their identity as knights is based on a falsehood. Gawain is offered the first blow, and after beheading the Green newcomer, is horrified to see him become reanimated and immune to mortal blows. He invites Gawain to receive his own - likely fatal - blow, and gives him a time in which to meet, before promptly leaving.

Throughout the story, Gawain is tested in a variety of ways - in his final test, he fails, and allows his greed for self preservation and the fear of death to lead him to lie to his hosts and proceed to his meeting with the Green Knight under dishonest pretenses. While he is spared at the last second and becomes a better person (after it is revealed that Morgan le Fay orchestrated the ordeal to spook Queen Guinevere) - and by extent, a truer Knight, by the end of the story, the superficial and hypocritical nature of Arthur’s court is still in question, and still unanswered.

See, the entirety of Gawain’s trials was a test, not necessarily for him, but for Arthur and his court as a whole. Morgan wanted to prove the fickle nature of Arthur’s knights. The Knights of the Round Table were considered the best in the land, and to discredit one was to discredit all. What use is tradition if the meaning is empty, what use is chivalry if it is performed for reward instead of merit, and what use is loyalty if it is blind and unearned? Returning to Oz, the Tin Woodman, or Tin Man, grew to be made of tin because his axe became enchanted by the Wicked Witch of the East to sever his own body parts instead of the lumber he tried to cut down. A nearby tinsmith replaced each amputated limb with one of metal, until his entire body became tin and his meat body had been entirely discarded. Something to note is that Nick Chopper’s, (General Ironwood’s) wounds are technically self-inflicted. Each time he swung his axe, he made the decision to continue, knowing of the end result each time. In losing his bodily functions, the Tin Man believed that he had lost his humanity and ability to love.

The tragedy of his origin story draws a pointed correlation to Ironwood’s current dilemma; his unwillingness to stop, his self-imposed isolation, playing into the hands of the witch, and finally, the decision to let go of his ability to love remain consistent throughout both stories.

Watts even refers to Ironwood as a “Tin Solider”; a reference to the Tin (Woods)Man, no doubt, but could also evoke a soldier clanking around in metal armor. Ironwood is a Knight in Shining Armor, through and through. He wants to save the world, but at the terrible cost of civilian autonomy and possibly life. The problem is that he’s pledged himself to a discriminatory and hypocritical system, and his code is something that can easily be misconstrued by fear ( @disregardcanon ), much as Gawain’s own values. The Tin Man is, after all, still a man, and if we’ve learned anything from real fairytales, it is that men are fallible, whether or not they are made of metal.

Ironwood, Alone

he’s a lonely bitch

I know I f- up, I'm just a loser

Shouldn't be with ya, guess I'm a quitter

While you're out there drinkin', I'm just here thinkin'

'Bout where I should've been

I've been lonely, mm, ah, yeah

— Benee, Supalonely (2019)

You do get the sense that Ironwood is riddled with self-loathing conflicting with pride, with self-doubt clashing with competence, and that he is the kind of person who longs for things without verbalizing. Maybe his dad never paid enough attention to him as a kid. Maybe he suffered some terrible physical and emotional trauma, which might as well be assumed, given the extensive nature of his cybernetic limbs. Maybe (probably) he’d be more well-adjusted and would’ve made better decisions if the people around him trusted him and were a little more open. To be fair, though, he is the one at the wheel, and he is making the calls; no one else is to blame for his mistakes, and to pretend otherwise is to deny him accountability. I think we do enough of that in everyday life, in excusing powerful men of their responsibilities. To his credit, I do think he wants to help people. I think James also wants to project the personality of a leader who is stoic, controlled, and measured. He is charming when he wants to be, sympathetic when it suits him, and influential in just the right areas. He is not a sociopath, but he is a politician, and in a lot of ways, those are the same thing. We see in his brief flashes of temper, often prompted by Qrow, or most notably by Oscar, that this is not a calm, stable person. This is someone is on the verge of exploding, who is so fucking angry that he is not in control that it’s killing him, and so he is going to lash out and kill the things that are not within his grip. If the people beneath him will not reciprocate the heart that he offers, then he has no real use of it. James Ironwood does not begin this story as a bad person. This is a tragedy, in however many parts it takes.

I read, in one very smart and very put-together analysis that I cannot find and properly credit at the moment, that part of Ironwood’s (many) failures can be seen in Winter, and how, like Ozpin, he has appointed a woman as his talented, no-nonsense, second chain in command at his right hand. In this way, Winter is an intentional parallel to Glynda, who is, without question, a bad bitch. In theory, surrounding yourself with strong individuals is a demonstration of self restraint, in implementing your own checks and balances. James wants to project that he is powerful, yes, but he is reasonable.

I take this to mean that, to some degree, even if it’s unintentional or subconscious, Winter serves to boost Ironwood’s ego.

The issue with this is that within the inherently hierarchical structure of the military, Winter cannot question, undermine, or challenge Ironwood in a way that is particularly meaningful and their relationship is one of commander and subordinate before colleagues or equals (link to a fantastic post about Winter’s role as the Good, Conscientious Soldier by @fishyfod). Whereas Glynda is free to argue with, converse, and be as combative as she needs to be with Ozpin (although their power dynamic is arguably one of commander and subordinate albeit informally), Winter cannot temper Ironwood effectively, and through the illusion of equality, Ironwood is further isolated.

His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body, but he stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not stir at all.

Dorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow, while Toto barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which hurt his teeth.

“Did you groan?” asked Dorothy.

“Yes,” answered the tin man, “I did. I’ve been groaning for more than a year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me.”

The Tin Man needs oil to lubricate his joints; without it, he cannot move, and he is rendered helpless and inanimate. When Dorothy and the group find him, he is entirely isolated with no one in sight, and he has been there for such a long time that he has begun to rust. Similarly, Ironwood needs valued voices of dissent to keep him in check. His colleagues were able to serve that purpose in the beginning, and out of them, Qrow is the best example of someone who doesn't take his shit, openly questions him, and looks down on the performative decorum of the military culture that Ironwood is surrounded by. What Ironwood needs is to be flexible and adaptable; his Semblance, Mettle (heh, metal, very nice pun, RoosterTeeth), is a double edged sword in that it gives him supernatural focus and willpower - enough, perhaps, to flay/chop off your own limbs - but it blindsides him, and is only further prolonging his pain.

There is a lot of sympathy to Ironwood’s character, as much as I’ve ragged on him for being an authoritarian, kind of a dick, and bad with kids. There are moments, such as the previously mentioned dinner party, where he shows his colors a bit, and when he assures the students at the Vytal Festival that there’s no shame in leaving before the battle begins, and in giving Yang a prosthetic arm before her father even has to ask. As far as Generals go, it seems that he’s seen soldiers come and go and understands, at least in his best moments, that not everyone is the same, and not everyone has power of unflinching determination to rely on. Ironwood performs his best when he tempers himself because he understands himself, and others. It’s when he fails to self-reflect that his hypocrisy shows through. Glynda points it out, too, as does Qrow; Ironwood advocates for trust but often fails to give it himself, going behind Ozpin’s back, being absolutely shit at field communication, and now the whole fascist, borderline-genocidal keruffle he’s gotten himself into.

I think that Ironwood reaching out to Qrow was his ethical last stand, his last chance and conscious effort to choose the right path. Qrow is unequivocally an equal, not like how Ozpin is the Big Boss, the authority that James becomes disillusioned with and tries to overthrow. He wants someone to trust, desperately so, and Qrow wants that too, but narrative subversion has hands. The Scarecrow and the Tin Man have no brain and heart respectively, and are in need of them. As it turns out, Qrow is actually a pragmatic guy with solid principles angled against authoritarianism, and Ironwood is a dick who would rather enforce martial law than to empathize and tame his military-shaped boner for one second.

I might conclude that someone like Qrow might be best for Ironwood, but that does not mean that someone like Ironwood would be the best for Qrow. Qrow has a brain after all, but Ironwood does not choose his heart when it matters, case in point. Even the intro of the current season features Salem and Ironwood on a chessboard; his white pieces are disappearing, dissolving into dust, as hers transform into Grimm. Ironwood is isolating himself by depleting himself of allies. As this post by @hadesisqueer points out, Ironwood isn’t even positioned as King, the supposed commander, but the Queen, the most versatile player on the board that is so far underused, since he hasn’t moved from his spot. Ironwood’s refusal to unify against Salem is his failure to strategically utilize the best resources that were available to him; soon, the pieces will be swallowed by the dark.

James is guilty of something that a lot of us are guilty of: doing a Bad Thing for what we have convinced ourselves is a Good Reason, when in reality, it is actually a lot of Very Bad Reasons. James Ironwood is a Knight archetype, through and through, and he is charging forward to do the right thing. He is afraid, he is lying to himself, and he will never surrender.

“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “I shall ask for brains instead of a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had one.”

“I shall take the heart,” returned the Tin Woodman; “for brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.”

Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her two friends was right, and she decided if she could only get back to Kansas and Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the Woodman had no brains and the Scarecrow no heart, or each got what he wanted.

The lesson of James Ironwood is a lesson of failure, and of the way that we succumb to fear, because that is Salem’s agenda, really, in the end: fear. It’s the negative emotions, fear being first and foremost, that draw in and empower the Grimm, and it’s fear and uncertainty that causes chaos. It is when Dorothy’s friends give into their fear that they are truly defeated. FDR’s assertion that “The only thing to fear is fear itself” holds true here; it’s not so much that these characters are afraid of losing their lives, their loved ones, and of the dark, but that they do not have the love or the resources to be brave for themselves or for others.

Qrow as a character is introduced as one who is already defeated, in a sense. Half of his team is gone, dead or estranged, he’s forced into the shadows of espionage to protect a world he knows is darker than it should be, and he’s fighting a losing battle with alcoholism. As charismatic as he’s written, he’s referred to as a “dusty old crow”, a hunter of renowned skill but past the prime of his life.

Dorothy’s three titular companions are defined by what they lack; in the same vein of the Disney I Want song (a main character’s main monologue song in which their wants and desires that motivate them throughout the rest of the film is laid out in song; ie Part of Your World, Reflections, How Far I’ll Go), the Lion, Tin Man, and the Scarecrow want bravery, a heart, and a brain respectively. RWBY relies on flipping the script of its characters based on what the audience might expect from the source material; Ruby is not just a helpless little girl - her introduction is a badass with a scythe. The Scarecrow is a chronic alchoholic. Cinderella is a victim of abuse, and is also a villain who wants to set the world aflame. Subversion, subversion, subversion.

There are obviously parallels between the characters in RWBY and in their own fairytales to keep them in character, and part of the fun is spotting those clues and occasionally connecting the dots to anticipate the direction of the narrative and certain connections between characters and the significance of their arcs. While I’m not aware of Dorothy Gale’s RWBY counterpart, if she has already been established or is yet to be introduced, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that Ruby has adopted a Dorothy-eque persona and can act as a surrogate in a way. She begins as a sweet, naive child eager to join a world of color and excitement, who initially believes that she has “normal knees” and is thrust into a political scheme full of powerful and older players. She even has a small dog as a companion, Toto Zwei, who seems like an odd addition, since he’s usually sidelined and basically forgotten about except in a few spare moments, unless he’s there to draw further comparisons to Dorothy. She may not be from Kansas, but she is first helped by Glynda (the Good Witch), and later expects assistance from Ozpin, Qrow, and the later Ozian counterparts. I find it a peculiar detail that for Ruby to be Little Red Riding Hood alone, she is surrounded specifically by Dorothy’s companions. This, of course, only increases the importance of the relevance of the Oz series in particular and the characters that are borrowed.

In the case of Ozpin’s inner circle, Dorothy’s closest comrades (sans Toto) differ in crucial ways to their source material. (After finishing this essay, I found a much better, condensed explanation by @neopoliitan )

Disillusioned by the Ozpin, the Wizard (who has been projecting an illusion of a failsafe) and overwhelmed by the rise of the Wicked Witch of the West, Lionhart (the Lion), gives into his cowardice and ultimately forgoes the arc and redemption of his character from the source material; as such, he is by all definitions, a failure and a premonition, as Ironwood eventually follows. If RWBY is a dark take on classic fairytales, then it is only fitting that these characters are charred husks of their fairytale selves - these are people, and some people are selfish, scared, and cowardly, and they do not overcome these traits.

This is all opinion based, pure speculation. I have no idea what will happen in the next episode, and whatever goes down will be...shit will hit the fan. I’m under no delusions that Ironqrow is going to be canon in a healthy, tender, endgame sense. They’re both kind of losing their minds, and Ironwood is shitting absolute bricks. No, they’re going to try to kill each other, and I personally cannot wait for Qrow to cleave this man in two. (Not sexually, just, literally. Like, with a scythe.)

On that note, I think that the RWBY writers are good at callbacks, at drawing attention to their own connections, and if Ironwood and Qrow’s inevitable confrontation is scheduled, then it will include visual callbacks to Qrow saving James at Beacon, maybe shot for shot. Their visuals have only gotten better as time goes on, and I imagine Ironwood’s eyes widening as Qrow leaps through the air, scythe drawn, in recal of a moment so long ago when they weren’t on the same page, but they were at least on the same side. When Qrow brings the blade down, there will be no enemy behind him. Only Jimmy James. The difference between the two of them will be that Qrow isn’t fighting out of fear, but out of love, for what happened to Clover, and to what could happen to his girls.

Qrow’s reliance on alcohol, as well as his (mostly) feigned nonchalance is meant to fit with the motif that the Scarecrow has no brain, and, had he a mind to desire anything, would desire it most of all. His role is, also, notably, gathering intelligence for Ozpin (his character is also based on Munnin from Norse mythology). There is so much about Qrow that is an act and so much that is not, and I think that this act is born both from this motif and from his own cynicism, and the alcohol contributes to this act. However, he eventually gets sober after Ruby expresses legitimate frustration, and he understands that he’s putting their lives at risk. While one could say that he gave up drinking for the kids, I would argue that the kids - Ruby in particular - made him want to give up drinking for himself, to better himself.

While Lionhart and Ironwood betray the people depending on them, Qrow’s love for his nieces (and for the kids) allows him to deviate from this pattern. The answer to fear is perhaps not merely bravery - Qrow’s triumph is love.

Ironwood knows triumph in the context of a military state, but he’s backed himself into a corner. Soon he will find himself alone and friendless. Hopefully, his last stand will not be in vain.

[a-libra-writes]

A Dragon’s Fire - Daenerys x Red Priestess!Reader

heyo! this was requested by an anon who originally wanted an assassin w fire magic, and i compromised w a red priestess who was an assassin but decided not to hurt dany (bc that seems neat!) but ive been in the shit this week so ... i wrote something fluffy instead. I know, im a big fail, lol. I hope yall enjoy it anyway

Summary: Dany has a big gay crush. That’s it, that’s the fic

“Is she everything you hoped for?”

Y/N did not answer the man behind her. She focused on the flames in front of her, dancing in the brazier into familiar shapes. She had seen them for many years. It’s why she was chosen by the priests, and since the red comet fell from the sky, they whispered if she listened close. Here, in the dragon queen’s palace, she could hear the fire inside the dragons. 

The bear knight’s metal armor and annoyed tone was not enough to distract her. Y/N reached her hand into the fire, it shaped into a dragon that sat in her palm. She didn’t feel the fire, but her red silk sleeve was burning. 

Jorah disliked her silence, but he disliked many things about Y/N. When he first saw her fire tricks, he thought they were illusions, but the heat of them said otherwise. Then there was the first time she set upon Drogon…

He suppressed his shiver and set that memory aside. “The khaleesi wants to see you.”

Y/N closed her palm, and the dragon slivered out, flying back into the brazier. The flames glowed blue for just a fraction of a second. She waved her hand over them, and the fire smothered itself. Smoke rose out of the hot coals, but those too began to rapidly cool. 

She wondered if the knight was still unsettled by her magic. Even the khaleesi had moments of awe and uneasiness, although she was fond of watching. Y/N stood, her silk robes gently scraping the marble floor. Jorah was already walking away, and she made no effort to run to catch up to him. She knew where Daenerys was.

The chambers Daenerys set aside for her council was well-lit and had an impressive, engraved table at the center of it. Its legs used to be harpies made of carved marble and ivory, but she had them removed for dragons made of onyx and rubies. Y/N liked the change, and how they glittered in the light. Perhaps she was biased - her own ruby hung around her neck, although it was far larger and smoother than any gemstone Daenerys had seen before.

The girl’s purple eyes lit up as Y/N entered the room. Y/N couldn’t help but return the sentiment, giving her khaleesi a smile. She was pleased there was no one else in the council room. “You wished to see me, khaleesi?”

“Yes. Jorah, you may leave us.”

Jorah didn’t protest, but he did shoot Y/N a look before he left the room and closed the doors. Y/N noticed there were no Unsullied in the chambers, either.

“I talked to him about what he said the other day,” Daenerys said after a moment of silence. “Ser Barristan, as well. They don’t … In the Seven Kingdoms, your sort of magic is seen as a dream. Unreal.”

“As unreal as dragons?” Y/N tilted her head, and Daenerys tried not to focus on how her hair slid across her bare shoulders. When Y/N first entered her service, she wore modest robes that covered nearly every inch of her. Since then she had adopted a more elegant, free style, at Daenerys’ subtle suggestion. She was pleased with the result. 

Daenerys set her thoughts straight. “True. The reason I called you here was to locate Rhaegal. I haven’t seen him flying overhead in some time.”

“Nor have I.” Y/N touched the ruby that dangled by her collarbone. It was held with a simple gold chain, and anyone could have missed the way it seemed to flicker. It could have been a trick of the light, but Dany knew otherwise. “Would you like me to find him?”

Of course Y/N knew how to do that. She knew how to start and stop fire, how to dream about it, how to see into it. It was only logic that she could find it. She once told Daenerys that the dragons were beings of fire, swirling and living heat. She looked at them like …

… Well, not how others looked at them. It was hard to puzzle out Y/N’s expressions and thoughts. You could ask her something directly, and she’d have some sort of strange answer, or she’d just stay quiet. Daenerys could tell when Y/N was thinking something over, at least. Her pretty eyes would lower, and she’d touch that ruby - was it hot to the touch? It seemed like it - and she would be gone. Sometimes she stayed very still for hours, staring into fire, or staring into nothing.

But she’d always have an answer eventually.

Daenerys’ knights warned against Y/N’s counsel, telling her not to listen too closely to the words of a strange woman of a strange religion. Even Missandei had commented on the followers of Rhllor’s intent to convert King Robert and other places, and the strange magics they could possess. They warned her as if she did not know how to think for herself.

It upset her, but Y/N took such words in stride. She often seemed to know what others thought and said about her, and she did little to stop it. Missandei had warmed to her, Ser Barristan did not think she was any real threat, but Ser Jorah remained unconvinced and wary. Grey Worm did not like talk of magic or priests, but he had no real ill thought of Y/N, and Daario liked to ask her all sorts of ridiculous questions for his own amusement. 

“I have found him, khaleesi.”

Daenerys couldn’t believe her thoughts had drifted again. Y/N often had that effect on her. “Where? Can we ride to him?”

“We could. He is in no danger, he is simply occupied with…” A soft smile came to Y/N’s red lips. “Something he has not seen before. That’s why he’s been away.”

“What could possibly interest him for that long? He’s been gone for days.”

“Shall we find out, your grace?”

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah would warm her against this, ask her to take one of them or the Unsullied on the trip. Grey Worm would ask to escort them, Missandei would worry and send guards after them anyway. Daario would want to come along. Daenerys looked to the open, blue sky. There was still plenty of sun left.

“Let’s be quick,” She said, already giddy even if they hadn’t stepped a foot outside of the palace yet. “Missandei will keep them busy. Do you want to share my horse?”

Y/N was not an adept rider, but she still said, “That is alright, khaleesi. I can ride my own.”

Daenerys tried not to feel disappointed.

The danger outside the protective walls of Meereen was real, but Daenerys comforted herself with the fact that Drogon and Viserion often flew about these hills, and no one had seen them leave. Y/N said it would not take long, that they’d return toward the end of sunset.

Why do I keep believing her? Daenerys asked herself. She glanced aside, watching the woman reposition her reins. Her normally serene facade was broken everytime she rode a horse. She was not afraid of the creatures, but she had only recently learned to ride, and the beasts weren’t always fond of her.

“If you keep moving like that, you’ll make him nervous,” Daenerys said. “There’s no need to clutch the reins so tightly, either.”

Y/N nodded, and tried to relax her posture. Luckily, she picked an agreeable horse. Daenerys recalled the saddle sores and aches she received when she learned to ride. Her handmaidens gave her a balm to ease the pain. Maybe she could find that for Y/N.

I’ll ask someone to deliver it to her. I couldn’t give it to her myself - no, who says I can’t? But what would she think…

It was hard to tell exactly what Y/N was thinking, but sometimes she slipped, like now. Her brows were slightly furrowed as she righted her posture, and once she was satisfied with it, she kept glancing down at the ground, or at the horse’s ears. Y/N pet his soft neck, then slowly reached up to scratch between his ears. She jerked her hand back as her horse shook his head and made an annoyed sound.

“He didn’t like that,” Daenerys laughed, and it was adorable how Y/N gently laughed, too. She was usually so subdued, so quiet, so … what Daenerys used to be. 

“But his ears are so cute,” Y/N went back to petting his neck, which he much preferred. “Doesn’t it make you think of a cat.”

“No, not at all.” 

“Not even a little? There were some strays I’d feed at the temple. Their ears would twitch when I came by. They could smell the food in my pockets.”

Sometimes Y/N would speak of the temple she grew up in, or the other Free Cities she had travelled to, the friends she had known. Perhaps if she showed this side to the others, they would trust her more, but Daenerys was happy to have it to herself. 

The grass thinned and made way for rocky hills and in the distance, orange and yellow canyons. The sun was beginning its descent, and soon the sky would match those oranges and yellows. Y/N stopped her horse. 

“We can walk from here. Do you hear him?”

Daenerys stopped her own horse and listened. There was the slightest breeze, some distant bird calling, the sound of her horse’s nicker and … 

She shook her head. “If he’s close, we would have heard him by now.”

Y/N dismounted with some inelegance, but she fixed her clothes and just smiled. “Maybe you will when we get closer.”

They tied the horses to one of the few trees in the dry area, and Daenerys followed Y/N’s lead. 

It could be a trap. She could have men waiting there, or there could have been someone following us …

The thought was fleeting, and Daenerys fell in beside her. They both changed to more practical clothing, but Y/N still had a shimmering red cloak tied around her shoulders. As they walked, Daenerys began to hear something strange. It was faint, but as they came closer…

“Water?” She looked at Y/N.

Y/N’s sweet lips curled upward. She often smelled of smoke and spice, and Daenerys wondered if she tasted that way, too. 

They came to the edge of a small canyon, which could be better described as a deep ravine. Water glistened at the bottom of it, and more importantly, the deep green scales of her dear Rhaegal. He lifted his wings high and water spilled on his back.

“What is he doing?” Daenerys asked, but she was answered just a moment later. Water spewed up from the ground in a huge geyser, all at once, and Rhaegal happily opened his mouth and snapped at it. The water fell in thick droplets all around the dragon, the ravine and the two of them.

Y/N pulled her red hood over her head. Daenerys wiped her brow. “You didn’t tell me to pack a hood.”

“Apologies, khaleesi.” Y/N giggled. She peered downward. “If we’re steady, we can walk down to him.”

Rhaegal’s long tail lazily swung back and forth in the water. He was resting, and it only submerged his arms and legs, but he was content. Daenerys noticed all the charred bones scattered around the ravine. She wondered how much was in the water. Her feet found stability, and she carefully followed a natural, steadying path downward. Y/N was just ahead, although she wasn’t as confident in her descent.

They came to a small landing and had to stop there. The rest of the way was simply too steep. Rhaegal seemed to just notice them then, and Daenerys’ heart swelled as her child lifted his head and gazed at her with his sharp eyes. They weren’t merely brown, but bronze, with all the steadiness and strength that metal held. She touched his nose and muzzle, marvelling at how much he had grown. 

His eyes quickly flashed toward Y/N, and Daenerys felt his growl vibrate underneath her hand. She frowned and quickly said, “No.”

She remembered Y/N’s first encounter with Drogon. That was also the day she had taken the strange, beautiful priestess into her court.

Just like with Drogon, Y/N showed no fear. She stepped forward, but she didn’t make an attempt to touch the dragon. She lowered her hood, and Rhaegal’s long, black pupil tightened.

Daenerys felt the heat of his breath as he snorted through his nose. She tensed, forcing herself to stay calm as she repeated her order. “No.”

The geyser blew again, and Daenerys didn’t flinch. Rhaegal watched it rise in the air, then pulled away from his mother to open his jaws at the water again. His black teeth glittered in the setting sun.

Daenerys looked to Y/N. The priestess was so calm and steady, so unaffected … except Dany caught how her shoulders sagged in relief.

“He isn’t like Drogon,” Daenerys said, remembering that day. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Y/N replied simply. “Drogon did not hurt me.” 

Had you been any other woman, he would have killed you. Except ... 

It took days for the servants to remove the char marks on the marble, and some of the melted pillars were still being repaired. Daenerys was half tempted to leave them like that, as a warning to any potential enemies, but it was unsettling to think it may have been Y/N that was burned away.

Except, she didn’t. Her red robes and long hair did, but her necklace and body remained unharmed. Daenerys and her court watched as the fire arced around her, singing away everything but skin and metal, and that ruby she never removed. Y/N looked Drogon straight in the eyes, even as they were obscured by his fire. 

His temper always was the worst. She had done nothing but approach Daenerys too quickly. Jorah was the one who pulled her back behind one of the pillars, and Daenerys remembered how the heat licked her arms as it tried to reach around the marble. Daario had pulled Missandei to cover behind the other pillar. 

Drogon almost never came to the palace, he always wanted to be in the sky, yet he came down on that day. And when the fire cleared and the floor was charred black except for a small circle … He stood back, and Y/N still looked at him. She only trembled slightly. 

She isn’t any other woman.

The geyser blew again, and rained down upon them. The water’s heat didn’t bother her, but all the dust from the ride was stuck to her skin, and the water didn’t clean it off. She had dust in her hair, too, and probably some stray pieces of grass. 

She smiled. It had been some time since she was properly dirty after a ride, and she looked forward to a perfumed bath and brushing her hair when she got back. Daenerys glanced to Y/N, who was occupied with watching Rhaegal. She also had dirt on her cheeks and neck, and some in her hair, and maybe if she wanted a bath afterward, too…

Daenerys reached forward and tried to rub some of the dirt off her cheeks. It didn’t work, but Y/N’s pretty eyes went wide. She didn’t pull away. “Khaleesi?”

Daenerys stepped forward, gently moving her palm so she had Y/N’s whole cheek. Just as she thought - as she dreamed? - the priestess’ skin was flushed and warmer than anyone she’d touched before. 

“You can say my name,” Daenerys said. She tried to tease, but her beating heart and their closeness made her breath catch. She thought Y/N was wearing color on her lips, but perhaps they just always looked like that? 

“Daenerys.” Y/N tried it out, and the dragon queen felt like a girl again, feeling her heart soar at hearing her name on those lips. She leaned in, bringing Y/N closer to her. Their foreheads brushed, and the warmth between them turned to heat.

A piercing roar broke through the sky, and cut straight between them. Daenerys recognized the sound at once, and it distracted her as Y/N jumped away. The woman’s cheeks were as red as her cloak.

Above them, Viserion broke through the clouds and bellowed down at his brother. The first cry was for Daenerys, and the second was probably a command for Rhaegal to move aside. The green dragon made room for his brother, and the water reached the top of the ravine as Viserion splashed straight into it. Y/N pulled Daenerys back before the muddy water could splash all over them.

Daenerys was far too overheated and flustered, and the sight of her children amusing themselves only gave her a little relief. At least Rhaegal was alright. 

Y/N had pulled her hood back down, and it was a shame. At least her lips were still visible through the shadow, although looking wasn’t as good as tasting.

“We’ve been gone for a long time. Let’s ride back.” Daenerys led the way out of the ravine. Y/N said nothing until they were back to the horses, who were understandably spooked from the dragon that flew overhead not fifteen minutes ago. Y/N held her horse’s reins and tried to soothe it, and Daenerys helped, touching the priestess’ hands perhaps more than was needed. 

Y/N didn’t pull away, and that gave Daenerys the courage to kiss her cheek. The soft dyed linen brushed her own cheek, and she caught a whiff of perfume.

The priestess giggled, and it was a better relief than the breeze that was slowly blowing across the hills. “Please, Daenerys. I’m covered in dust.”

“I am, too. Let’s wash up when we ride back - together?”

She caught Y/N’s bright eyes under the hood, and they sparkled as she blushed and tugged the hood further down. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

So it was decided. By the time they reached the gates of Meereen and entered the Great Pyramid, Y/N had dropped her hood and her easy, serene face had returned. She disregarded the suspicious looks, she gave an easy nod to Missandei, who returned a tentative smile. As far as anyone knew, Y/N’s mind was wrapped in her usual visions and prayers.

Until Daenerys brushed her dirty hair aside and smiled at her, then Y/N’s cheeks blushed and her eyes widened in that adorable way. She let the khaleesi take her hand, entwine their fingers, and guide her to the great baths. Y/N’s red cloak fluttered behind her, drawing attention to them. Some Unsullied guards probably saw, and surely others, but Daenerys didn’t care. 

She’s like fire, and I am a dragon - how could she bring any harm to me?

[scribbles97]

Crushed

A scene from Left Behind that just wouldn't leave me alone but I also never got around to linking up with the rest of the fic.

@gumnut-logic thank you for giving me ideas for Gordon's accident!

@lenna-z and @janetm74 thank you both for all the love and comments on Left Behind... I'm sorry that it got the better of me.

It should have been routine. Just a recovery mission, he had told her with that sunshine grin as he had headed for his chute. Lucy hadn’t needed to monitor him, there wouldn’t be any more to tell until he got back with whatever it was they were meant to find there.

She had always disliked not watching her boys when they were out on missions, but trusted them enough to know better than to hover.

None of them had expected the emergency code. The tone all of them knew and dreaded filling the whole villa.

There was only one son missing from the lounge, John’s eyes wide and lips pressed thin as he looked straight to her from Thunderbird Five.

“Gordon, you’ve activated your emergency code.”

She found herself holding her breath as they waited for some form of response, anything to tell them what they needed to know.

Nothing came.

“Gordon?” John pressed, eyes breaking away to focus on something outside of the scope of the hologram, “Gordon, do you copy? Gordon!”

It was the fear she didn’t doubt all of them were feeling, no more words spoken as they turned as one towards Thunderbird Two. For once she didn’t even hesitate about Alan’s presence, she needed them all where she could see them.

“It’s Gaat.” Kayo confirmed once Thunderbird Two was in the air, “I’m in pursuit of the Chaos Crew now, GDF are assisting.”

Something in Lucy had broken at the revelation. Gordon had been looking for answers for her, had been put in danger by a man with a grudge against her, yet she had done nothing. She hadn’t even been watching.

Their eyes were all on her, waiting for some form of confirmation, some acknowledgement of what was happening. She was their mother, but also their leader.

It was time for her to lead.

“Kayo be careful, if he’s done this to Thunderbird Four we don’t know what else he might do.”

“F.A.B.”

“John,” She swallowed, turning her attention to the rescue at hand, trying as hard as she could to brush away the thought of just who it was they were rescuing, “I need the closest team possible to--”

“Cen Am team have two subs en-route, they were in the area on drills, eta fifteen minutes.” He hesitated, glancing away and then back again, “Lady Penelope will be joining to assist.”

It was all the team she could ask for.

“F.A.B. thank you John.”

He nodded but didn’t close the line, still hovering in the corner of her vision as she looked to the live feed of vials displayed for them all.

“What do we do, Mom?”

Alan’s voice was every bit the small child she still believed he was, even if she knew he was there to help.

She just had to show him how.

“We rig two sub pods, they’ll be able to manage at that depth for the time we need. External cameras on Four are compromised so we don’t know what we’re going in to. Once we have an exact picture, we’ll make a plan.”

“Who--”

“Go and rig the pods, Alan.” Scott cut him off, “We’ll meet you down there.”

It was the first thing her eldest had said since the emergency code had come in. When she turned in her seat, his eyes were fixed firmly on her, hard and determined just like she knew his father would have been in that exact moment.

“I’ll go down with Alan.”

Anger flared in her chest. Gordon was her son, she had already done too little to help and--

“Mom, you’re compromised.” Scott continued, voice softening, “We don’t know what we’re going to find--”

“And you think it’s okay to send his kid brother down there instead?” She snapped back, “No Scott I won’t--”

“Alan pulled John from space.” He cut her off, “You’re blaming yourself for what’s happened. I trust your judgement Mom, but I don’t think it’s the best thing for you to go down there.”

She wanted to protest more, she needed to do something other than just sit there and watch. Except, she knew Scott was right, knew that at any point something could well tip her over the edge and break the camel's back.

A heavy, solid hand on her shoulder made her look across to Virgil. The slightest of nods from him confirming a quiet agreement to Scott’s reasoning.

She trusted her boys to look after one another, knew that Scott would do everything she would. He hadn’t been the one to send his kid brother out there that day, he held no guilt over the situation.

But still she couldn’t simply sit by and wait.

“I’ll prep the med bay, meet you in the module with a stretcher.” She murmured, glancing back to the weakening life sign.

“Okay.” Scott nodded, smiling softly as he reached out to her other shoulder, “We’ll get him back, Mom. I swear it.”

She straightened, eyes fixing on the stats as they dropped again. It wasn’t getting him to the surface that she was worried about.

“Virgil you’ll be needed to see to him.” There was only one fully trained medic among them, and for that she would forever be grateful, “Once Scott and Alan are up you should transfer control to them and see what’s needed for treatment.”

“F.A.B.” He agreed quietly, “We’re coming up on the drop zone.”

She nodded, unbuckling from her seat, “Let’s get our fish back on dry land.”

***

It was torture to stand in the module and simply listen. Alan’s exclamation had given her visions of all the worst situations, only backed up by Scott’s murmur of things being worse than he thought.

She wasn’t sure if the images John had relayed to her from the pod's external cameras were what she had expected or not. The area was known for its hydrothermal activity, but to see one of the stacks of rock pinning Thunderbird Four upside down, the machine crippled under the weight, made her heart twist painfully.

Scott had taken full direction of the underwater rescue, the two stronger subs lifting the chimney whilst Penelope pulled Gordon from the wreck.

Her soft gasp spoke volumes. Part of Lucy wanting to smile at the thought of just how well the pair suited each other, even if they had been skirting around the fact forever. There was fear there too though and it echoed through Lucy’s entire being.

“Get him up to the med bay.” Scott was instructing, “We’ll recover Thunderbird Four and meet you up there.”

A murmur of agreements and before she knew, Lucy was stepping to one side to allow FAB One to pull into the module.

It was hard to not look too eager as she pulled the rear door open, only to stifle a sob at the sight before her. Gordon draped across the back seat, face bloodied and bruised, everything about him just not quite right.

Penelope’s eyes were just as fearful as Lucy had expected as she looked to her, “He hasn’t stirred.”

It wasn’t a reassurance.

“Let’s move him, get him to a hospital.”

The island infirmary wouldn’t be enough for him.

“His helmet was leaking air,” Penelope explained as they moved as one to get him onto the hover stretcher, “I had to take it off, he was almost out.”

Over the years Lucy had heard enough people giving needless explanations to know what it really was.

“You did the right thing.” She assured, “You got him out of there Penny, thank you.”

The younger woman’s smile was tight as the module clunked into its position within Thunderbird Two.

“Shall I send Virgil?” She offered, hovering at a distance as the hover stretcher maneuvered itself into position in its dock.

Lucy nodded, too focussed on setting up the med scan, he needed a line placing, an oxygen mask. Finally she could at least do something.

His baldrick was first to go, cut away and discarded on the opposite side of the room. She didn’t like the unnatural set of his shoulder or his wrist. She didn’t like all the ambers and reds flashing up in front of her. She didn’t like that he hadn’t moved in the slightest.

“Mom,” John appeared above the stretcher, “Eos is going to remote pilot Two to the nearest hospital, Scott and Alan are going to get a lift with Cen Am once they’ve recovered Four.”

She paused as she taped the line in place in the back of Gordon’s hand, “They’re not--”

“They know he’s in good hands,” John smiled softly, “and that time is precious.”

Swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat, Lucy nodded, “F.A.B.”

It was the sharp movement of his chest that caught her attention, the way it moved deeper for a single breath and held there for a long moment before releasing again with a soft cry.

“Gordy?” She murmured, moving to his head, “Are you with us?”

“Momma?” It was barely a whisper through the mask as cloudy amber eyes blinked up at her, “Mm, it hur’s. Really hur’s momma.”

All of the boys had always loved her stroking their hair, and all of her wished she could at that moment. But there was so much blood, a warning still fresh in her mind of a head injury. She didn’t dare touch anywhere that wasn’t okay.

“I’m here baby,” She soothed, reaching out to the hand she had just placed the cannula in, “I know it hurts, Virgil will be here soon to make it better. ‘Kay? Think you can stay awake for that?”

“Mom, it hurts.” He repeated, eyes so distant she knew he wasn’t seeing the scene in front of him, “‘m scared.”

“You’re safe Gordy.” She soothed softly, blinking away the tears that stung her eyes, “We’re all here for you and we’re gonna make it better.”

His eyes focused, amber that matched her own reflecting back at her in a moment of clarity.

“Mom?”

“Right here Kiddo.” She whispered, braving her own fear to reach out and touch his cheek, “You with me?”

Fingers tightened weakly around hers, holding on with everything he had.

“It’s okay.” She whispered, trying to sound more sure than she felt, “It’s all going to be fine Gordy.”

His eyes were still clear as he watched her, clouded with fear and pain. There wasn’t the spark there should have been, no smile as there had been earlier in the day.

“Mom, I can’t feel my legs.”

[goofmemes]

Universal Monster Movies Sentance Starters

Dracula (1931):

“For one who has not lived even a single lifetime, you're a wise person.”

“Well, and with all this, I thought I was in the wrong place.”

“There are far worse things awaiting man than death.”

“Modern medical science does not admit of such a creature!”

“I may be able to bring you proof that the superstition of yesterday can become the scientific reality of today.”

“A moment ago, I stumbled upon a most amazing phenomena. Something so incredible, I mistrust my own judgement.”

“My humble apology. I dislike mirrors.”

“You'll die in torment if you die with innocent blood on your soul.”

“They're all crazy. They're all crazy except you and me. Sometimes I have my doubts about you.”

“Isn't this a strange conversation for men who aren't crazy?”

“I prefer to remain and protect those whom you would destroy.”

“All these will I give you! If you will obey me!”

“I can't die with all those lives on my conscience! All that blood on my hands!”

Frankenstein (1931):

“Oh, in the name of God! Now I know what it feels like to be God!”

“So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now is your chance to, uh... Well, we've warned you.”

“You have created a monster, and it will destroy you!”

“Would you like one of my flowers? You have those and I'll have these.”

“Something is going to happen. I feel it! I can't get it out of my mind.”

“Have you never wanted to look beyond the clouds and the stars, or to know what causes the trees to bud? And what changes the darkness into light?”

“But if you talk like that, people call you crazy.”

“You're quite sure you want to come in?... Very well.”

“So far he's been kept in complete darkness. Wait till I bring him into the light.”

The Mummy (1932):

“He went for a little walk! You should have seen his face!”

“I loved you once, but now you belong with the dead.”

“It was not only this body I loved, it was your soul.”

“Put it back. Bury it where you found it. You have read the curse. You dare defy it?”

“My love has lasted longer than the temples of our gods. No man ever suffered as I did for you.”

“Oh, I know it seems absurd when we've known each other such a short time. But I'm serious.”

“You seem to think this thing has all the devils of hell in it. Why not burn it and be done with it?”

The Invisible Man (1933):

“We'll begin with a reign of terror, a few murders here and there, murders of great men, murders of little men - well, just to show we make no distinction.”

“And if you try and escape by the window, I shall follow you, and no one in the world can save you.”

“I always said you were a dirty little coward. You're a dirty sneaking little rat as well. Goodbye.”

“How many drinks did you have on your way home?”

“There is nothing left for you to do, my dear, except to go. I shall come back. I swear, I shall come back because I shall defeat them.”

“I wanted to come back to you. My darling... I failed.”

“I've no time now but, believe me, as surely as the moon will set and the sun will rise I shall kill you tomorrow night.”

“There's a way back. God knows there's a way back!”

“It's life and death that I should be left alone. You don't understand.”

“Don't you see what it means? Power! Power to rule! To make the world grovel at my feet!”

The Bride of Frankenstein (1935):

“It's a perfect night for mystery and horror. The air itself is filled with monsters.”

“Sometimes I have wondered whether life wouldn't be much more amusing if we were all devils, no nonsense about angels and being good.”

“Nobody'd believe me! All right. I wash my hands of it. They can all be murdered in their beds.”

“You think I'm mad. Perhaps I am.”

“Our mad dream is only half realized.”

“I'd hate to find him under my bed at night. He's a nightmare in the daylight, he is.”

“Look. The storm is coming up over the mountains. It will be here soon!”

“To a new world of gods and monsters!”

The Wolf Man (1941):

“To some people, life is very simple. They decide that this is good, that is bad. This is wrong, that's right.”

“I believe a man lost in the mazes of his own mind may imagine that he's anything.”

“Fighting against superstition is as hard as fighting against Satan himself.”

“There's something very tragic about that man... and I'm sure that nothing but harm will come to you through him.”

“Yes, but like most legends, it must have some basis in fact.”

“You think I don't know the difference between a wolf and a man?”

“As if dead men didn't have all eternity.”

“Just imagine having a stuffed werewolf staring at you from the wall!”

“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and Autumn moon is bright.”

“The way you walked was thorny though no fault of your own, but as the rain enters the soil, the river enters the sea, so tears run to a predestined end.”

[shintorikhazumi]

Romero and Julie (Act I: Truths and Lies)

A/N: Thought of it while I was looking up K-on’s romeo and juliet episode and accidentally typed “Romero”.

...I know i have so many wips, but this will most likely be a 2-shot or a 3. It’s not going to drag on that long. I think... I believe...

... I think...

...5 chaps at most?

Also, this story is as sloppily written as that search prompt, so I apologize. (I keep writing romeo as romero for some reason.) I don’t know how to write anymore, it seems. Also, I didn’t reread this for checks. Sorry again. I just... yeeted this out as soon as the last word was in place. Anyway,

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

Two households, both alike in dignity,

   In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

   Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

   A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;

Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

   Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

   And the continuance of their parents' rage,

Which but their children's end naught could remove,

   Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

The which, if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to me-

“I can’t believe the utter bullshit I’ve just read.”

“Lady Claudine!” Mahiru gasped, unable to believe the words she’d just heard coming from the noble lady sat across her.

“Oh, come now, Mahiru. You can’t tell me you actually like this piece of work?” Claudine sighed, shutting the book and placing it on the table. She stared at the cover a few minutes more before pushing it away from her in disgust.

“Hmm? I don’t get it. It is a piece? And it is a work?” Mahiru’s escort cocked her head to the side in confusion, giving Claudine a look that requested clarification.

“Dame Karen.” Claudine sighed, resting her elbows on the table and propping her head up in her hands.  She ignored Mahiru’s wide eyes at her ill-mannered display and went on with her exchange with the female knight. “I’m saying it’s a terrible piece of work. Terribly inaccurate.”

“Ohhhhh. I get it.” Karen nodded, eyes wide, expression enlightened before it settled into a smile. “I think so too.”

“Right?!” Claudine thought her voice was a bit too enthusiastic there. Clearing her throat, she calmly reiterated. “Right? I actually had high expectations for this as many of the noble ladies I’ve come across recently have been flaunting their copies of the script. They even dubbed it as the ‘New Romance Bible of High Society’.” Claudine rolled her eyes. She would have made a gagging motion, but she was certain Mahiru would cry blood at that.

“Besides, I can’t believe they’d try to make a reference to my family name for such a piece, and even claim to have modeled the heroine after me when clearly, she is nothing like me.” Claudine continued to criticize. “Therefore, I have fair reason to dislike such a novel.”

“It’s not all that bad, is it?” Mahiru tried. “I managed to read up to half of it, and I believe it was alright.”

Claudine stared at her blankly. “I decided to give Junna the benefit of the doubt here, as she has been my long-time tutor and friend. I believe in her recommendations.” Claudine pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “So, I’ve read the book cover to cover.”

“Oh?”

“It was the worst decision I’ve ever made.” Claudine lamented. “Nana should have stopped her from picking up such a horrific title. I can’t believe she actually liked it enough to recommend it to me.”

“Maybe she thought it would be a nice read since it was about you?” Karen offered her opinion.

“Who would want to read about themselves in such a sad excuse of a tale?” Claudine played with her tea, swirling it in the cup. “Maybe if it was written more tastefully... Anyway, I can’t stand the book so maybe I’ll just give it away or use it for fire.”

“Madame Junna will feel sad to hear that, you know?” Mahiru sighed, taking a bite of her cake. “She might even cry.”

“No, she won’t.” Claudine chuckled with a wave of her hand, but then Junna’s face flashed a brief moment in her mind, and it made her pause in thought. “...right?” She wasn’t so sure all of a sudden.

“Lady Claudine... she sulked for three days when she’d heard you laughed during one of the most tragic plays of our generation.” Mahiru deadpanned.

Claudine’s brows furrowed, unable to recall the events that Mahiru was referencing.

“Que?”

“Remember? We went to Brighton theatre the other day?”

“...”

“Brighton?”

“Karen! You were with us too, you know!”

“Ah-”

Mahiru looked to Claudine excitedly. It seemed as though she’d finally remembered.

“That comedy skit Junna recommended?”

“Again, it was tragedy!”

“The one where the main character got shot after being stupid enough to not take a shield after he was advised to? The ‘A sword is mightier than a pen, but the sword is my...’ my...” Claudine thought hard, struggling to find the right words in her memory. “Something or other.” She gave up.

“Kuro-chan!”

Claudine grinned at the nickname, pleased that she was able to rile Mahiru up another day.

“Okay, okay. Enough teasing, I know.” She laughed, patting her friend on the head and gaining a blooming blush in return. “You were just too lovely, I couldn’t help myself.” She flashed a charming smile that made Mahiru burn even hotter, and made Karen pout.

“This is why you’re so... and nobles keep... hrmmrrgghh...” She grumbled. “And yet you complain about being crowded and you....”

“What was that, Dame Karen?” Claudine chuckled, eyeing her friend with an amused look.

“Oh, nothing really, Duchess Claudine.” Karen fired back.

“Hey now, don’t go spreading lies, my dear knight.” Claudine frowned.

“I speak no lies, milady. Everyone knows that you are the one who has been handling estate affairs as of late.” Karen spoke seriously all of a sudden, irking Claudine secretly.

She didn’t want to think of those things right now.

Before Claudine’s mood sunk further, Karen- with a quick flip of a switch- had returned to pouting. “And I’m not your dear knight.”

Oh, Karen could be so perceptive, sometimes. Claudine gladly accepted the bail.

“I know.” Claudine smiled, half-grateful, half-teasing. “You are Mahiru’s, right?” Claudine wiggled her brows suggestively. Karen flushed hot red, and Claudine thoroughly drank in her new target’s vexation in enjoyment.

“Kuro-chan!!”

Claudine admired the twin tomatoes in front of her. Life had been a drag lately, but time with her friends always seemed to offset all of those.

“Oh right. And Hikari’s too.”

Claudine broke into hysterics at the display of flailing arms and incoherent half-yells of denial at the mention of her knight’s name. She swore she could physically see the steam coming off of the pair in front of her. Was it from anger, embarrassment, or both? Probably both, Claudine supposed.

“Kuro-chan, you are seriously so mean.” Karen whined, fanning her face uselessly as the heat showed no signs of subsiding.

Claudine wiped a tear from her eyes. She’d laughed so much her sides were beginning to hurt.

“I’m terrible, aren’t I?” She smiled.

“That you are, Milady.” A stoic voice suddenly inserted itself into their conversation.

Claudine found herself jolting in her seat at its proximity from behind her. Whipping her head around, she sighed in relief at the sight of her escort.

“Hikari! At least alert us sooner if you’ve arrived!” Claudine complained. Her heart beat strongly against the palm she’d rested against her chest in an attempt to calm herself.

“I have arrived, Milady.”

“No, like I said. Say that sooner!” Claudine huffed, settling back into her seat, leaning her head on her palm once more. Claudine spared a glance at Karen and Mahiru who were looking rather bashful, eyes averted from the newest arrival.

She covered her mouth with her hand to hide the growing smile on her face as her knight stared at the pair across them. Claudine patiently awaited the usual awkward interaction between her friends that she knew would play out soon. She counted the seconds off in her head, knowing exactly when the first move would be made.

3... 2... 1-

Like clockwork, Hikari faced Mahiru and Karen head-on, straightened her posture, and bent into a deep bow of greeting. “Lady Tsuyuzaki.”

“Dame Kagura. It’s a pleasure to see you once more” Mahiru responded calmly.

However, Claudine caught the way Mahiru’s brow twitched. Her displeasure was skillfully hidden behind that gentle smile she’s known for forever, but Claudine would like to believe she’s adept enough at deciphering the true meaning behind Mahiru’s masks called grace.

She internally shook her head, hoping Mahiru could soon find the freedom to be free from the expectations laid on the lady known as ‘High Society’s Saintess’, and be able to express emotions outside of simple joy, kindness, or sympathy.

Turning to the other knight, Claudine waited for what Karen’s reaction for today would be. She had a variety for different days. Sometimes it was openly voicing her disappointment, and other times it was a response just as curt and detached as Hikari’s.

“Dame Ai-”

“Karen!” The owner of the name interrupted. “Just Karen. Karen is fine... H-Hikari...”

Oh? Today was a little more bold, Claudine noted. Usually Karen would only politely request the other knight to refer to her by her given name, even if it bore her title. This was a fresh attempt. Now, how would her dear knight react?

“Dame Karen.” Hikari stated blankly, completely unfazed by the hiccup in her usual greeting routine.

Claudine lightly slapped Hikari’s arm-earning her a confused yelp- before throwing Karen and Mahiru a consoling smile; one that told them there was always a next time to attempt to woo her clueless knight.

She watched Karen’s shoulders drop in a sigh, and Mahiru cover her relenting smile with her fan. She should talk to Hikari about this sometime again. For now, however...

“So? What goes on back at the manor?” Claudine took a sip of her tea that had now gone cold after she’d ignored it a while. With a minute flick of her finger, it grew warm in her hands and she smiled, hoping her friends hadn’t noticed.

She heard her knight groan from behind her. Quite a rare happening, to be frank. Hikari was usually very careful with her actions and reactions, so Claudine braced herself for some unpleasant news.

“Master Cyrille has finally arrived.” She reported dutifully.

Claudine somehow heard the frosty bite in her tone. It was understandable. Cyrille was her elder brother of four years, and the heir apparent to their household.

-Or that was how it was supposed to be.

He and Hikari never really got along after- ehem- certain incidents had taken place a few years ago. Those incidents also happened to be part of the reason why his successorship was being reconsidered at present.

“How did Pa- Father react?” Claudine caught herself before her small childish habit would be revealed.

Hikari scratched her cheek, another nervous habit of hers that Claudine had learned about after years of being together. “They had the usual debate. Right as he arrived.”

That was expected. Claudine knew something like that would happen. So why was Hikari so bothered.

“The young master came onto the premises yelling right away from the gate about being the rightful heir or something along those lines.”

This too was within Claudine’s foresight.

“I can’t believe he’s making a fuss on foreign land. We’re not here to start a war, we’re here as representatives of a peace treaty.” Claudine shook her head in disappointment.

Her family, the Capulets, had hailed from the Western empire and had been residing for a few months on Eastern lands. After hundreds of years of warring with the east, they had experienced the first fifty years of a truce. Finally, the two empires had decided to build friendly relations to completely cease all the needless battles between them. After fifty years of an ambiguous standstill, the emperors had finally decided to send forth representatives to celebrate the golden year of peace between them and cement the alliance of the nations.

As the grand ducal household located at the border of the empires, their family had naturally been selected. This was also the West’s acclaimed ‘reward for service in battle’ to their family who had always fought to protect the precious border.

Yes, all that struggle in history, and her brother might just be the one to render it all useless in one fell swoop.

Not that it would have been the first time.

“Anything else, Hikari?” Claudine could feel her headache coming on.

“They argued in the study.”

“I figured.”

Hikari still radiated nervous energy, and Claudine just had to wonder why. “What are you not telling me yet, Hikari?”

“... Master Cyrille kept pressing that he was the rightful hair to the Dukedom... then Your Grace was angered and said that... that...”

“Hikari?”

“You’re not going to like it.” The knight warned.

“Obviously not.” Claudine replied flatly. “From how you are at this moment, I’ve already figured that out.”

“The Grand Duke said he’d rather make you the heir... instead of Young Master Cyrille... so he wishes to speak with you back at the estate.”

Claudine’s eyes widened. She knew there was a possibility that this outcome would arise. She just didn’t think it was that possible. She had already voiced her stance on this in the past to her father. She was not willing to take over their family as head. She had other plans in life. Plans of freedom and of adventure; she had other desires that were probably not suited for a woman carrying royal blood.

Yet she longed for that particular life. Thus, she could not be the Duke’s successor. She’d suggested that her father give the title to their youngest sibling instead who was seven years her junior.

He might not be ready now, but he could still be groomed to be the perfect candidate in the future. She was sure Gabriel could do it, irresponsible as she may sound at that moment, pushing it all onto the child.

“Kuro-chan?”

Mahiru’s tender voice reminded Claudine that her friends were still there, quite worried that she’d suddenly froze on the spot.

“My apologies, Mahiru.” She got up, bowing deeply. “I know you’ve gone out of your way to prepare all of this for me, but-”

“Hey.” Claudine felt a warm hand on her cheek, guiding her to stand back up. Mahiru’s gaze was kind as it always was, full of tender empathy. “Go. A few tea and biscuits aren’t going to go to waste just because you’re not around.”

Claudine managed a small smile, taking Mahiru’s hand into her own two.

“You have Karen anyway.”

“Exactly.”

“Hmm? What about me?”

The two young ladies laughed at their inside joke for a few moments before embracing one another goodbye.

Karen had offered one to Claudine as well, and she gladly accepted.

After being sent off with the best of regards and well-wishing, Claudine tried to not think on her dread the entire carriage ride home.

She just knew it was going to be a messy affair.

//-//-//-//-//

“Claudine.”

“Your Grace.”

The Grand Duke heaved a sigh, gesturing for his daughter to take a seat across from him. “I take it you’ve already heard from Hikari?” At the nod of Claudine’s head, he sighed once more. “I’m really sorry about that. I am aware that you do not wish to get involved in such dealings. However, I didn’t have much else to say. I could not think of any other argument at that moment.”

Claudine could see the exhaustion built up in her father. She felt bad for being so insistent on her own wants that she’d possibly pushed him up against a wall. However, she could not deny that this was the only path she was willing to take.

Taking her father’s hands and planting a kiss on them, she reassured him. “I understand, papa.”

“Claudine...”

“I am also at fault, anyway. I know you’re being pressured by the Royal family into a succession ceremony soon, and yet... I’m adding onto your troubles.”

“I just- I don’t understand why they are so adamant on it... yet at the same time I know why.” Duke Capulet’s expression turned stern. “I suspect this is the first prince’s doing.”

“Paris?”

The duke nodded, clearly unhappy at the mention of the name. “I don’t understand why your brother went against my guidance to not associate with him. The second prince would make a far better friend, as well as future ruler.” His frown deepened. “And yet, that imbecile, Cyrille...”

Duke Capulet brought Claudine’s hands to his forehead, bowing before his daughter.

“After all that fool, Paris, had done to you...”

Claudine shuddered at the memory of her days at the academy and the forceful ‘courtship methods’ of the first prince. Had her father been a different man, she feared she would have been long-engaged to such a twisted brat who hid behind a cunning smile and the power of the crown.

He was sure never to push too far, or too dangerously, but Claudine knew he was bordering terrible, terrible deeds. She was just glad she was far away from him now.

“Claudine.”

Her father lifted his head up, eyes saddened, but commanding in a sense as they stared into Claudine’s own. Claudine immediately knew that his next words would be incredibly important, that they would be of the utmost value to her and her life, as well as their entire household’s. She just knew that their weight would be something she would have to endeavor to bear for everyone’s sake.

She knew because he rarely ever asked her of anything that she did not desire. She knew that something must have happened to allow the Grand Duke to tremble in this way, before his nineteen-year-old daughter, with a gaze that was begging her to comply.

“You have to get married.”

//-//-//-//-//

Claudine swung her sword, ridding the area of the final beast and collecting its glowing core off the puddled ground. Handing the gem-like item to Hikari for safe-keeping, she slumped against a tree, sinking to the ground that dirtied her pants with mud that had formed from the night’s rain.

“Are you hurt, milady?” Hikari inquired, already rushing forward to do a thorough body-check for any injuries on Claudine.

“Nothing of the sort. Also, I told you not to address me that way while we’re out adventuring. What if someone found us out?” Claudine ran a hand through her damp bangs, grimacing at the repulsive feel and smell of blood and grime in her hair.

“My apologies.”

Times like these, Claudine wished she hadn’t focused too much on learning combat spells back then. She should have taken the foundational classes with Nana more seriously, and looked into metamorphosis magic sooner. She wouldn’t have to worry about issues such as being discovered then.

Better to start late then never, she supposed. She could only manage to change her hair and eye color, as well as clothes for a small amount of time for now, but she was working on changing her entire appearance for extended periods soon. Then she and Hikari could go off on any journey or mission without being recognized.

“Claudine?”

The soft calling made her smile. It was rare for her knight to address her so casually, and even rarer was the tenderness she allowed to escape in her voice. Claudine placed a hand on Hikari’s head, petting it lightly.

“Yes, Hikari?”

“Do you not want to get married, Claudine?”

The question wasn’t what she had expected. She hadn’t even told Hikari about her current situation yet. She must have listened in on the conversation secretly.

“If my dad had caught you...” Claudine laughed at the realization, shaking her head.

Hikari remained silent.

Claudine scratched her cheek, looking away from the knight’s expectant gaze. “It’s not as though I don’t want to.” She admitted. “I just...”

“Just?”

“I haven’t found a person I’d like to share that kind of joy with yet.” Claudine spoke with a loneliness to her tone that they both weren’t quite familiar with. “I haven’t gotten to know anyone who makes me want to experience that kind of relationship.”

Hikari didn’t seem to understand fully, but she nodded nonetheless. “Okay.” She decided not to push further, noticing her master’s discomfort. Instead, she held out a hand to aid her up on her feet.

“Thank you, Hikari.” For the assistance and for listening, Claudine said in her heart. “Shall we head back to the guild now? Wouldn’t want Cyrille to barge into my room first thing tomorrow morning and find it empty.” Claudine half-joked.

If Claudine knew her brother, which she did, she knew he’d have searched for her at the dinner table tonight already, but her father had likely made an excuse to keep him out of her hair ‘til morning. She already knew that he would want to speak to her on matters regarding the prince, or succession, or whatever it was he did that was likely no good.

If he ever got into Claudine’s room without supervision, she was afraid he’d stumble upon things he wasn’t supposed to, and would likely use it against her.

Her conversation with her father resurfaced in her mind. His words on finding a suitable partner, a suitor, and the reasons behind it were invasive, consuming her every thought.

Cyrille was trying to set her up with Prince Paris for some reason. He was willing to pull all stops to do so. It seemed that he had went ahead and made a proposal to the royal family under the authority of ‘Heir-apparent’ to the Capulet Dukedom. He’d sworn that once he was made Duke, she’d be married off into the imperial household as a way to strengthen the standing and influence of the emperor.

Whatever he had been promised to make him act so selfishly and vilely, Claudine didn’t even want to know.

As of now, he held no real power over her father. Neither did the first prince, in reality. Deep down, however, both Claudine and the Grand Duke knew there was more to this arrangement than two boys and their greedy egos being fed. He feared for the future.

With all they had already gotten away with in the past, Duke Capulet was suspecting that someone else held the strings to the puppets dancing to a tune. They had yet to know what gears were turning in a suspected grand scheme, but it must not come to pass. This was what their family feared the most, and why Claudine must not get involved with Paris.

In order to have a valid reason to reject such a candidate, she needed a better one. That was the part she had to play.

There was just one small problem-

“You there!”

A voice echoed through the shadow and mist of the forest, horse hooves stomping rapidly against the wet ground. Quickly, Claudine brandished her sword, pointing it in the direction from whence it came. “Hikari! Get behind me!” She commanded, left hand twitching in anticipation.

“Now see here, Milady. I’m the protector suppo-”

“Don’t move! Stay where you are and drop your weapons.” The voice commanded, a silhouette beginning to form in the distance.

“Like hell we’ll listen.” Claudine grumbled, sword still at the ready with a glow that traveled from its hilt to its blade.

“I’m warning you!” The voice echoed once more. “State your name and your business here. And don’t even think of trying to fight or escape.”

Claudine fixed her glare on the figure coming into the light of the clearing they were at, magic barely finishing its work of turning her hair black as Hikari’s shifted into a shorter cut. It was the best she could do at such short notice. Hopefully the night would be kind enough to be their mask and they wouldn’t be recognized afterwards should they escape successfully.

“Again, I order you to state your names and your business here, strangers. Are you not aware that these grounds belong to the imperial family?” The powerful stomping halted right in front of the women, a sharp huff from the steed sending them reeling back in disgust.

Finally, underneath the gaze of the moon, a figure cast in stardust light appeared before them, hooded cloak hiding the identity of the horseman.

“Who are you.”

Claudine continued to glower at the newcomer, unrelenting as she kept her lips tightly shut. Who was this person? Why had they suddenly been approached? This place was supposedly a mission ground for adventurers and hunters hoping to earn their keep by clearing out the ghouls and demons that infested this uninhabited land.

“Who. Are. You-”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Claudine spoke levelly through grit teeth, ready to slash at any given time should the newcomer move in a threatening pattern. “We’re only here on quest. Adventurers if you will.”

The cloaked man dismounted and walked up to Claudine, staring a few inches down at her. “Is that so?”

Claudine hated that he was even trying to intimidate her. Placing a firm hand on his chest, she pushed him away somewhat gently, not really wanting to potentially aggravate the already-tense situation. “Yes. That is so.” She confirmed, scowling. “For us at least. But what about you?”

Claudine eyed the man, watching for any suspicious movements. He returned the gaze, looking her up and down, searching her expression for signs of dishonesty. He seemed to have found nothing as his aura of hostility calmed drastically, and he sighed.

“I’m an imperial guard, patrolling.” As he said that, a sword was raised, still sheathed. Claudine was shown the imperial seal on the scabbard and she relaxed somewhat as the guard backed off with a small bow. “As I’ve mentioned before, these grounds are under the jurisdiction of the imperial household.”

“Apologies, sir. However, we were unaware of this fact as this place has been a known hotspot for adventurers for many years- or so we’ve heard.” Claudine explained, now sheathing her own sword.

“I understand.” The guard nodded. “I also apologize. While your statement held truth in the past, as of recent, this forest has been deemed more unsafe than it used to be. It’s not just magical beasts or ghouls that lurk these shadows now. Reports of spies, terrorists, and bandits trying to enter the capital via a newly discovered route through the woods have been reported, so we are at high alert.”

Claudine hummed, taking in their current situation. “I see.” Claudine nodded, agreeing to his words. She had expected these kinds of threats to arise as the peace treaty ceremony approached and more nobles from both empires flocked to the main city. It was an opportune moment to spark disaster, and even a civil war.

Good on the west to take quick measures.

“As such, I must ask for your identities to ensure the safety of all.”

Not so good for Claudine.

“I, er-”

“As you are adventurers- and I, of course, believe in your words, I would just like to see your identifications and know your names. It’s a quick process then I can let you go. That is... if you have nothing to be suspected of.”

Truthfully, she shouldn’t be as nervous as she suddenly was at the moment. However, there were a few issues with that request. For one, no one but Hikari, the Grand Duke, and the Head Guild Master of the Eastern Empire knew of her being an adventurer. She had been registered under special circumstances that had been agreed upon, and her issued permit in order to accept quests in the west was also an unorthodox arrangement, and very much a secret one.

When she’d first arrived at the guild hall, she was given an identification badge that also served as her permit like the rest of the adventurers. However, this did not contain her name at all. Instead, it only contained her registration code and where she had come from.

As a law-abiding citizen for the most part, she hadn’t ever needed to do much besides flashing the shiny trinket from a distance at other guards in passing.

This time, however, was different. She was certain that it would be scrutinized and most definitely questioned.

“You sure are taking an awful lot of time to simply identify yourself.” The stranger’s tone of voice was still calm, but his aura had shifted noticeably. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, not at all.” Claudine responded, proud that she’d managed to keep her voice steady. Reaching into her polo, she pulled out the chain that held her badge, presenting it to the imperial guard, praying that he wouldn’t check it as thoroughly as she’d feared.

“Um, excuse me. Why isn’t your name imprinted on it?”

‘Damn it.’

“Allow me to come clean.” Claudine spoke, instantly regretting her choice of words. It made her sound like she actually was someone to be wary of. She should conjure some believable alibi at least.

“Milady-” Hikari stepped forward, but was blocked with that same imperial-branded sword from earlier.

“It’s alright.” Claudine reassured before her knight could retaliate. One wrong move and they could actually be in jeopardy. Not only them, but the entire event of a peace treaty could lay to waste if they were not careful and would get found out.

“Go on.” Was the command.

“I’m actually...” Claudine licked her suddenly dry lips, thinking of how to say it. “I’m a daughter of a noble, and I’m operating under...  rather private conditions.”  

Okay, she hadn’t meant to be that truthful. If at all.

“How can I believe such a tall claim?” The cloaked man stepped closer to Claudine, now incredibly suspicious. “To which family do you belong?

Claudine had no time to secure a valid name, speaking the first that came to mind. “Sa-Saijou.” Another truth that would surely deepen her dug grave.

“Saijou? As in the Marquess Saijou?” She could almost shrink under that examining gaze. “I’ve never heard of or seen you before though.”

“I- I’m not his child, no. I’m a niece and I’ve been staying with relatives in the west. It was an arrangement made when I was very young, and I have only since been allowed to return here.”

‘Damn me and my inability to lie.’

“I’m sorry, as much as I’d like to believe you, I’ll have to take you with me for some questioning.”

No, no, no. This was not good. Claudine couldn’t risk more people prying into her identity. Also, she could feel the strain of her magic that was about to undo itself. She couldn’t keep up appearances- quite literally- for much longer.

“If you would come quietly.”

They had to bail.

“I’m sorry, but we-”

Suddenly, an arrow flew right by her head, barely grazing her cheek as sounds of multiple hooves and wolf-like growls filled the forest.

“Tsk.”

“Milady!”

“Stand back, you two.” The guard moved in front of them, sword drawn and aimed towards the origin of the arrow and sounds. Quickly, those same sounds began to shift and spread, as if circling them.

Claudine and Hikari quickly drew out their own swords, as the former launched a quick area check spell discreetly.

‘Twenty? No, thirty. Thirty men on horseback... at least ten hunting wolves.’

As Claudine weighed their situation, a harsh gust of wind came hurtling towards them, the hood on the imperial guards cloak coming off, revealing long brunette locks tied up in a ponytail.

The sight of such smooth strands on which the moon’s beams bounced off so gently almost made Claudine forget the gravity of their situation, eyes bewitched- captured- by stunning violet gems that she couldn’t believe she’d failed to take notice of before.

“It seems they have a mage in their midst.” The knight, now fully facing Claudine, addressed them. “I’m sorry to ask this of you after having suspected you; and while I still doubt your credibility, I would like to shamelessly enlist your assistance as of the moment.”

There was something in his gaze, in his entire beautiful expression, that compelled Claudine to know more, to say yes, to help him.

“Truly, you are quite shameless.” She grinned, head held high. “I would have done so without you asking.”

The smile she was rewarded with sent her heart into a frenzy. It wasn’t a handsome grin, no. Claudine took note that under the moonlit night, this man oozed a dignified beauty that was quickly distracting her from her mission at hand.

“You have my gratitude.”

Claudine nodded, willing herself to not stare for longer than necessary as she and Hikari took stance.

With their backs to each other, they stood in wait, counting down the seconds to their adversaries’ arrival. Claudine sighed ruefully as she felt her transformation spell fade, this instance confirmed as she glanced over at a now long-haired Hikari. She could just feel questioning eyes burning their gaze into her golden hair.

She was not looking forward to having to explain this too.

“What.” She spat, meeting the stare of her temporary ally, hoping no questions would come right now.

“Oh nothing. Just wanted to tell you something.”

“And that is?”

As she said that, gruff looking men arrived in the clearing, their disgusting smirks clearly indicated that they were looking down on the small group they’d surrounded.

Claudine was beginning to feel irritated. She hated being underestimated.

She barely caught the grin thrown her way as the guard launched himself at the group. She did, however, receive every single insulting word of challenge.

“Don’t hold me back now, Little Miss.”

Oh it was on,

“Insufferable asshole.”

//-//-//-//-//

Claudine did not frequent pubs. They weren’t her type of hangout spots. And while she wasn’t one for leisure cafe dates or tea parties with the other noble ladies, she did love the peace of libraries and the refreshing mountain creeks.

Needless to say, this place intimidated her more than any imperial guard could hope to.

“Not a good drinker?”

It wasn’t that. It really wasn’t.

If anything, both Claudine and Hikari were strong drinkers. Just not... public drinkers, she supposed.

“No.” Claudine sighed, taking a seat across the pretty man- damn, he was beautiful. Claudine would have almost mistaken him for a woman. He was tall, but not much taller than Claudine, and his voice wasn’t all too deep, so maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe.

“Then what has you so down, milady?” His tone of voice was playful, and Claudine knew she was being teased. He probably still didn’t believe in her whole ‘secret-noble-adventurer’ story.

“I’m just tired.”

“Hoh? Already? From that little excursion?”

Claudine growled, pounding the table with her fist. “Well, if someone would have just stayed out of my way while we were fighting earlier then-”

“Now, now. Don’t go blaming someone else for these kind of things, Young Miss. How are you ever going to survive as an adventurer if you blame others for your mistakes? Being able to take responsibility for one’s self is one of the most important traits in the field.”

Claudine clicked her tongue. She knew she was purposely being toyed with. “Shut up.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss.”

“And why the hell not?” Claudine’s glare went ignored as the man waved over a server to place an order.

Turning to her with that same smug smile that was equal parts gorgeous and incredibly annoying, the guard spoke. “Because I want to get to know you better.”

Claudine scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Starting with your names.” He clasped his hands together, resting his chin atop them. “I at least believe you are of some noble descent. If the silence of your companion, and her respect towards any of your earlier actions and decisions hold any significant hint to that.”

“Glad you’re at least that sharp.” Claudine huffed, putting up a mask to hide her inner thoughts that were struggling to come up with some alias for both her and Hikari.

“So. Names.”

Anything. Anything.

“J-Julie!”

Curse that damn book and the sudden memory of it!

Claudine inwardly cried as she gave away that piece of false information, even screwing up the actual name she was supposed to use.

“Julie... Saijou.” The brunette looked at her skeptically, but nodded. Somehow accepting it for now. “And your companion is?”

“She’s-”

“Kagura Hikari.”

“Hikari?!” Claudine whipped her head about in shock. So much for discretion! Just what was this girl thinking?!

“I’m sorry, Milady. But I think it is in our best interests to be as honest as possible.” Hikari bowed apologetically to Claudine before turning to her fellow knight, face blank and giving nothing away. “I am uncertain if you’ve heard of such details, but the Saijou’s have long since had ties with the Capulet family of the Western empire.”

Claudine covered her face with her hands, now groaning into her palms. She could only hope this wouldn’t ruin her already fragile freedom and put their positions at risk.

“They are the relatives milady has mentioned before. Her aunt married into the family, you see.”

Ah, so that was how Hikari was going to play it.

Well, maybe it wasn’t a bad excuse. Claudine believed the knight was considering any future encounters with the imperial guard since they would be attending palace events soon.

She spared the guard a glance, and was surprised to see that he actually looked to be convinced of those words. Not that they were much of a lie in the first place.

“I see! I understand. My apologies then.”

Claudine held back her sigh of relief, not wanting to give even the slightest thing away anymore.

“Yes, that’s it.” She said, trying to add onto their story. “And about the identification badge... well... you wouldn’t really expect any noble children, much less ladies, join an adventurer guild and all that.”

“I suppose so.” The guard chuckled.

Soon, their drinks had arrived, and Claudine found herself staring into the golden liquid the man across from her was downing to keep her eyes of his too pretty face, a question nagging on her mind.

“And you?”

“Hmm?” Placing his glass down, he gave her a curious, yet smug smile. “What about me?”

Somehow, Claudine wanted to wipe it off his stupid face.

“We gave you our names and background. It’s only common courtesy to introduce yourself properly in return, is it not?”

His growing grin was really pissing her off.

“Right, of course. Excuse me for my rudeness since earlier.”

“No kidding.” Claudine complained, waiting rather impatiently for his information. Not that she’d ever remember it, much less use the knowledge for any future plans. No. Not at all.

Not even for that.

“Hmm, well you could call me Romero.”

Romero.

Really, now. Romero?

Again, that damn book was really trying to force its way into Claudine’s thoughts. She internally cringed at the association.

“Romero. Of course that’s your name.” She rolled her eyes, not believing it for even one second. “You certainly look like a ‘Romero’.” She stated sarcastically. ‘Romero’ here looked as eastern as eastern gets.

“You wound me, Lady Julie. Can’t a man adapt a name of different culture simply because it suits him this much?”

“I didn’t say anything against it.” Claudine waved, taking a sip from her drink. It was cold, a little bitter. She liked it.

“Your expression says all there needs to be said.”

Claudine smirked, leaning across the table. “Oh? I’m glad it does then. Sir Romero.”

The man’s eyes glinted in amusement as he leaned forward as well. Claudine huffed. So this is how they were going to play it.

“So, Lady Julie. I said I’d like to get to know you.”

Claudine nodded. “Know all you want, then.”

“You say that so easily, but are you sure?” Really, this man unnerved her like no one else. His gaze was piercing, yet dull. It was clear, but betrayed no thoughts nor intentions of his.

Claudine nodded again, but a little less confident now.

“Then, if I may be so bold as to ask,” Romero began. “What business do you have here in the capital? Besides the whole peace treaty, I suppose. If I recall correctly, it is not a requirement for all nobles to attend, and I know the property of both the Saijou’s and Capulet’s are a ways away from here.”

Claudine swallowed a lump in her throat, wondering what she should say. “Isn’t it the greatest honor for any noble to be able to claim that they stood as personal witness to the changing of times?”

What a generic answer.

Bless Junna’s etiquette lessons that were coming to fruition.

“Ehh, how boring~”

Somewhat.

“Be that as it may, it’s the truth.” Claudine raised her glass back up to her lips, taking in more of that golden liquid.

“Is that so? Just that? Nothing else?” Romero pressed.

“That’s all I’m willing to divulge, Sir Romero.” Claudine said sternly, eyes ordering him to back down. Even for an imperial knight, wasn’t this a little too impudent?

“Fair, fair.” Romero responded, hands up in the air in surrender. “I must have overstepped my boundaries. My apologies.”

Claudine downed her drink, ignoring him for a moment.

“I’m simply curious. And to think, for the sole purpose of this event, you went out of your way to get an adventuring permit for quests from the main guild when you might only be staying a short while.” Romero continued to seek her gaze, peskily grinning in wait. “As an imperial guard, I’m just concerned, milady. It’s part of the job.”

Claudine gave him a blank look. Romero seemed unfazed.

“I just need a few more details for my report, that’s all. Something to make your story believable enough to not be sought out by other guards who aren’t as kind and considerate as me.” He winked to accentuate his statement, and Claudine threw him a disgusted look.

“If you were the least bit as considerate as you claim to be, you’d have been quiet for the last hour.”

“Harsh words, Milady. I only want to kno-”

“Milady is here to get married.” Hikari slammed her mug on the table, pinning her gaze on the troublesome man. “Now that you know, stop bothering my master.”

“Hikari!” Claudine didn’t know whether she should be touched at the intervention, or frustrated at the reveal.

“What a loyal guardian.” Romero complimented with a grin. “You’re the kind of escort the imperial palace would love to have.”

It was almost as if he were holding out bait for Hikari to take. Claudine didn’t like it.

“Excuse me, but Hikari is-”

“I belong solely to my Master. I serve no one else but her.  My loyalty has been sworn. Your words are kind, but they are not right. Not for me. I’m sorry.”

“Hikari...”

Romero and Hikari’s gazes remained locked in a contest, waiting for one or the other to crack first. Claudine watched on with concern. She hoped they wouldn’t get into any serious quarrel.

To her fortune, Romero finally broke. Broke into a fit of laughter, tears of amusement spilling that he quickly wiped away.

Claudine allowed herself to sigh in relief as she finally relaxed in her seat for the first time that night.

Romero finally calmed enough to begin talking again, much to Claudine’s chagrin. “Married. I see. Married, huh?”

Claudine narrowed her eyes at the amused man, scowl deep. “And what of it? Do you think I’m too unfit for such a maiden’s dream?” If he said yes, Claudine might just be tempted to chop a ball off or too. Tempting beauty of this man be damned. He should try to see if he could snag any lady after tonight.

“No, no. Nothing of that sword, Milady.” He smiled, settling down and emptying the remaining contents of his cup. “Just... Who is the lucky fellow to have caught such a strong-hearted beauty such as yourself?”

Claudine actually blushed at his words this time. Though she did curse her heart for being swayed so easily like that, and by this insufferable man, no less.

“There is... no man... or anyone at all.” She managed to say through grit teeth, slightly embarrassed at that truth that she had about zero suitors coming for her.

She was surprised to see that Romero looked genuinely surprised. It wasn’t some faux, mocking expression. He seemed sincerely shocked at the reveal that Claudine was as single as the lonesome sun in the daytime.

“No one?”

“Not one.”

“For someone as charming as you?” He blinked those big, violet eyes, honest and innocent-looking for once.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, good sir.” Claudine chuckled, actually finding Romero more endearing than annoying at that moment. A shocker for herself.

“I just can’t believe that no one would approach you or ask you. You.” He gestured towards her. “You’re appearance is definitely a win, but more-so is your personality.” He openly praised Claudine. “You are a lovely being. I’m not saying this shallowly. I truly mean every word, Milady.”

Claudine felt her heart warm a little at that.

True, she’s heard those words before from close friends and family. Said in a particular way that she just knew was honest. However, they knew her. They knew Claudine and how she really was. As for the other noble men and women she’d met, they had always seemed to presume things about her based on rumor and first impressions, never attempting to truly know Claudine enough to say compliments that Claudine could think to consider as truthful.

Empty laud, frivolous words, backstabbing comments.

A beautiful face, they said. A cunning mind. A brash personality, an unladylike disposition.

Claudine never claimed they were false, but they weren’t exactly accurate.

Just like that dumb book.

Why did Claudine feel so moved all of a sudden. It wasn’t as though Romero had said much more than others, now that she thought about it. She’d probably have already heard those utterances before. So why?

Was it his tone? The way he looked straight into her eyes with an unguarded sincerity?

Before Claudine could find the answers to her internal queries, the door to the pub burst open, a group of men tossing over tables, and harassing the nearest bar patrons, in search of something or someone.

Romero got up from the table, as did Hikari and Claudine, hands already on their swords, ready to swing.

Claudine’s eyes met with one of the men in front, and something seemed to click in the air.

A finger was raised and pointed right at her.

“Them.”

And they charged.

“Hikari!”

“Yes, Milady.”

The knight moved swiftly, positioning herself in front of Claudine to ward off those who targeted her master, buying Claudine time as she tried to infuse as much magic as she could into her sword and limbs. She didn’t have enough mana for an entire body enhancement as she’d used a fair amount up during the earlier hunts, disguise, and fights. She knew she had barely enough to spare. Just enough to hopefully end this.

She prayed it was enough.

Romero seemed busy as well, sword clashing against spear and blades, shields and armor.

He should be fine. Claudine couldn’t spare him much worry if she had to worry about herself first.

Other patrons had also joined in the fray, but it was clear that there was a difference in the power the intruders held.

With her amplifications complete, Claudine readied herself, and in one motion, swooped past a flurry of enemies, knocking them to the ground before a new wave could approach her.

Were these also among those that Romero had mentioned? Terrorists who had actually managed to enter the city? This wasn’t good. They needed to subdue them before more damage could be done.

Where were the other imperial guards anyway? Why was Romero even patrolling alone with such a dangerous agenda at hand?

She didn’t have time to entertain any of those questions, she decided. Claudine knew she had to focus on what was happening right now. Those could be saved for later.

Focus.

Focus.

Foc-

“Julie.” Romero called.

Claudine almost forgot that that was her name at the moment, barely managing to send him a confirming nod. “I’m a little busy, but what is it?” She responded, knocking someone over on the head.

“I just thought of something.”

Was it a plan on how to defeat all these men for efficiently? An easier way to protect all the innocent people from these terrorists? If so, Claudine was all ears. “Speak.”

“What about me? What about us?”

‘Huh?’

Claudine managed to throw him an incredulous look as Hikari kicked an attacker away just in time before he could touch Claudine.

“What about you- or us?” She asked, restraining another man with a single binding spell before taking away his consciousness.

“What if you...” Romero dodged a slash, countering with his own. Another masked man made a grab for him, but he easily turned the situation around, ending up on top of him, standing atop a few other bodies.

“I?”

“What if you married me?”

Claudine managed to smash a man’s skull against the wall just as she stared dumbfounded at the imperial knight who looked amazingly serious, and undeterred by all that was occurring around him.

Really?

“...Are we really having this conversation here? Right now?” Claudine questioned, movements fluid as she added to the pile of bodies behind her that were slowly being tied up and secured by a few free bar patrons.

“Yes? Why?” Romero replied nonchalantly, repelling a blow with his sword.

Claudine could not believe the audacity of this man. “Couldn’t it, oh I don’t know, wait until things have settled down?!”

“Couldn’t what wait?” Romero said clueless, stepping back from the force of one particular strike, approaching Claudine’s space.

“This talk!” She answered back, vexed.

“I’ll have you know I’m a hundred percent serious on this proposal. Despite its untimeliness.”

“And I can’t be serious thinking about it because there are so many things I have to consider. One of those being why I must reject your ‘serious proposal’.” Claudine growled as someone managed to hit her leg hard enough to cause her to go off balance.

Romero had caught her just in time, righting her and going back to his own fight. Claudine felt a little annoyed that he had so easily switched gears and was able to handle both his enemy and ally.

“Why ever not? It’s not like anyone else has made an offer?” Romero sounded disappointed.

Claudine really couldn’t explain it right now. Not in this situation, and certainly not as other people listened in.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Just because!” Claudine yelled, sending one man up into the ceiling in uncontrolled temper.

“I need a concrete reason, milady. Else I’m unwilling to step down from this.” Romero laughed, continuing on with his battle as he and Claudine fought back-to-back.

“And I’m telling you we can talk about it later.”

“Just trying to tell you that I’m a very good candidate, Lady Julie.”

“No thank you, Sir Romero.” Claudine rolled her eyes, tossing another enemy away to the side.

“And that is because?”

Claudine noticed a quick shift out of the corner of her eye. The refraction of light off a blade gave her all the information she needed to calculate a countermeasure. With her feet firmly planted, she twisted her torso, channeling enough energy to deliver a speedy lethal blow into the attacker’s ribcage-

...and apparently also Romero’s who had decided to jump in front of her in a chivalrous attempt at saving her.

A wrong decision, clearly.

Both he and their foe dropped to the ground, on the obvious brink of consciousness.

Claudine’s mind flew into panicked disarray as she quickly knelt over her comrade, trying to think of how to help him.

“Romero! I’m sorry!!! But you’re an idiot!” She began to spout words out so quickly. “You should know that I’m a trained fighter. And why did you do that! You clearly saw what I was doing! This is why you shouldn’t interfere with my battles! Also what was with that sudden proposal in the middle of it all huh?! Are you trying to get us killed?!”

“Milady-” Hikari was at her side, trying to calm her as the fighting had finally subsided. Claudine’s vision however, was unexpectedly tunneled, worry apparent on her face as she desperately tried to aid the fallen knight.

“There’s a time and place for everything, Romero!” Claudine continued to scold, hands already taking on a healing glow. “You ought to be more mindful. And you claim you’re an imperial knight?!”

“Master Clau-”

“I fear for the empire if all the knights are like you. What, did you think you were saving me by placing yourself in front of me?”

“Stupid Romero. Now you’ve gotten hurt. You weren’t focusing at all, were you? And all for a silly proposal?!”

“Milady, I think he’s losing consciousness-”

“And you wouldn’t even let me explain why I clearly have to reject your proposal! I have very specific conditions, mind you. So don’t go mocking me once you hear them.

“Milady!”

“You see, I can’t accept your proposal because...” Claudine finally took a deep breath, a pause for once.  

Hikari tried to tell her that Romero had long since been knocked out, but Claudine couldn’t seem to hear her. At this point, she’d realized it would be better to give up and allow Claudine to settle down on her own.

Hikari only hoped her Master wouldn’t break down at the realization and the embarrassing memories to come.

“-I like women.”

“...”

“...”

Hikari sighed, finally seeing the truth sink in for Claudine as her eyes widened and her hands trembled in an emotion that was no longer just concern.

“... he heard nothing, did he?”

She was in for a long day tomorrow.

“Milady...”

A/N: Uh. I think I did my best atm. Yey. If you’re wondering why Claudine has eastern friends, and supposedly they go way back, as well as why her knight is also from the east, well... see you next ep! Or I think next next chap? Ma- er, Romero needs a turn.

Also, before ppl complain to me about genderbending or making this mlw, I’m not one to mis-tag something. Just saying.

I apologize for OOC-ness

Also I’m just... really tired. I wanted to amuse myself by writing something silly or like... unusual-ish. Idk.

Meh.

~Shintori Khazumi

[abraxos-the-phantom]

Scum Disciple: Alpha Stage

Alpha, described by google as "...an exploratory phase. Beta means the features have been locked down and are under development (no other features will be added). More commonly: Alpha: Usually the first normally interact-able thing out (private or public use is irrelevant)."

And here are some of the highlights that I liked from the first few versions lol.

Fun Times in Gusu

Lan Xichen walked to quite a strange sight.

While normally he would have greeted the younger Nie with a smile, the image of the famous Wei Wuxian pouting as YunmengJiang’s young master and QingheNie’s second master grinned was a little too ridiculous for him to process without chuckling.

“We both know you aren’t actually going to tell Ming-shixiong,” Nie Huaisang chuckled at the shifted to pat the other.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’m worried though.”

Jiang Wanyin had raised his eyebrow, making quite the image as he looked over his crossed arms, “You’re worried about your brother? QingheNie Sect’s Monster Head disciple? The Youngest Rogue Cultivator in the Generations? The Peerless Prodigy? I think you’re a little delusioned Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian’s nose crumbled at that, “They really call Gēge that? Such lame names.”

“I think brother called him the Crane Dragon once,” Nie Huaisang added. “When you and Ming-shixiong went on a Night Hunt.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Forget it, that’s not what I’m worried about- it’s just. Gēge has never let me on my own like this before. He gets antsy.”

Nie Huaisang pursed his lips, “I can understand but- A-Xian, you’re one of his best students.”

“He just- he gets this look sometimes,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it but sometimes he looks at me and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing something else. I never asked because he always looks sad after.”

“Didn’t you grow up together?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ming-shixiong with anyone else besides the three of us but the other disciples.”

“He’s never talked to anyone except father, mother, myself, sister, and some of the disciples at our sect,” Jiang Wanyin said in agreement. “You guys didn’t meet anyone when your Brother was still Rogue?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head in Jiang Wanyin’s direction, expression slightly pinched still, “I wouldn't remember, and I know we’re close- but there’s some stuff I know he hasn’t told me. You guys realize that my brother is nineteen?”

Jiang Wanyin blinked, as well as several other disciples who were not so covertly listening into the conversation about the mysterious prodigal Cultivator of the QingheNie Sect. “He seems much older, I didn’t think anyone knew his actual age.”

Because that was the curiosity wasn’t it, for all that he was well-known, there was never truly anyone who knew Wei Ming, because he would never actually say anything about his past save for vague hints. One could ask Wei Wuxian of course, but the latter had the same result because of the mere fact that Wei Wuxian didn’t know much about his older brother either beyond his personality, likes and dislikes. Any years before Wei Ming had lived with his brother was knowledge he couldn’t even forget because he never knew in the first place. Nie Mingjue never asked, and neither did Nie Huaisang. It took Wei Ying meeting other children to realize that nine-year-olds never talked the way Wei Ming did. They didn’t know facts about monsters, and they certainly never talked about demons. Yet Wei Ming had extensive knowledge since who knows how long, and no one ever questioned it.

Whether that was because Wei Ming knew how to subvert the conversation or because they simply never asked, that was a question no one could really answer. Not even Wei Wuxian, for all that he loved his Gēge, knew where to start.

Sensing the sudden dip in Wei Wuxian’s mood, Nie Huaisang brightened as much as he could, “Well it doesn’t even matter does it? He’s your brother, he’s my teacher- and he scares my brother to boot.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, if a little weakly, “He told me he actually enjoys it a little.”

Jiang Wanyin winced, “Isn’t your brother known to your Sect as the Punisher?”

With an enthusiastic nod from both Nie Sect members, they proceeded to scare everyone else by saying, “300 copies of Consequence, 200 paces across the hills and back in three days and patrolls in three of the Qinghe protected lands by the end of two weeks!”

They silently cackled as the other Sect disciples paled at the prospect.

<page break heyho>

After gently teasing Wangji of his interaction with Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen bid his brother a good night as he suddenly remembered what he had sought the older Wei out for. The technique he used was quite unique and not among any technique he had some knowledge of, though granted it could purely be because he himself was not well learned in any but the Lan Sect style. Regardless, he was hoping to have a discussion about it and to possibly inquire if the older Wei would use his expertise to critique his own swordsmanship.

He was just about to do just that before he heard an audible thunk and grunt of pain from within the room Wei Ming had been assigned for his stay here.

Lan Xichen abruptly opened the door out of instinct, blinking in surprise to find Wei Ming wielding a brush in his hand and a paper in the other, dark eyes roving the entire wooden table with apprehension.

“Mn?” Wei Ming looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Zewu-jun. I was under the impression you had retired for the night.”

“I had initially been hoping to discuss swordsmanship with you before,” Lan Xichen looked at the papers, elegant calligraphy lining each and every one save for the large stack of paper at the corner of the table. “I admit, however, that this seems to take my interest far more at the moment.”

“Ah, well.” Wei Ming gestured to the papers. “These are lesson plans, notes if you will- but plans all the same.”

“...Lesson plans?”

Wei Ming nodded seriously, “It’s important for a teacher to understand what they are teaching every day, so as not to leave anything important out.”

“Ah…apologies, considering the subject you are teaching I thought-”

“To be fair, the material I’m teaching does require less theory than practical. Had I been teaching something akin to a bestiary subject or perhaps even medicinal practices, I wouldn’t be as extensive as this,” Wei Ming once again gestured to the large stacks. “This is not the case however, as I am teaching fighting techniques. I also have to come up with tests and exams, sort the students into pairs for sparing purposes, note everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, formulate proper lectures concerning the techniques I am teaching- that sort of thing. Besides the fact that I’m considering adding other techniques so that my students are well informed.”

Though granted the stuff he was doing was easier than when he had been Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple, the paperwork for that Sect was monstrous because of the additional lessons for music and the tactitionary course. Both were a requirement as a disciple of Qing Jing, as they were the main jack of trades within Cang Qiong as their roles were both in support and primary fighters when it came to battles. This was especially true during the pseudo war between Lou Binghe’s forces and during the battle with Tianlang-jun. Shizun would normally do most of the work but with the absence of Lou Binghe, a lot of it arrived to Ming Fan and he didn’t have the heart to inquire about it.

After Binghe’s return Ming Fan just never thought to question it anymore, Shizun was happy and he got used to the workload. It wasn’t as if he never had help either, he took charge of the male disciples while Ning Yingying took charge of the females. After Lou Binghe soon took up some work every now and then; it’s just the way things were after...After.

Wei Ming blinked after returning from his thoughts, “Hundreds of apologies, may Zewu-jun repeat himself?”

Lan Xichen smiled, “Of course, I only wished to ask if you would be open to giving me advice on my swordsmanship? Nie Mingjue mentioned before that your advice had helped him improve his saber technique and I would very much like to also improve myself now that the opportunity is open to me.”

“Or perhaps Xichen-ge would not like to be left behind by his dîdi?” Wei Ming said with an amused smile.

At this Lan Xichen’s ears colored slightly even as he smiled neutrally, “That is also a motivation, but I believe no brother would want their younger brother to leave them behind.”

“Very well, when Zewu-jun is free; we shall spar.” Wei Ming’s lips quirked. “I would also like to know if my observations are correct.”

“Let us have this spar soon Teacher Wei, thank you for your time.” Lan Xichen stood and dipped his head slightly before exiting with a final ‘good night’.

<page break hey-ho>

“Gege what are you doing?”

Wei Ming was currently in the Lan Sect library, pouring over old books that amused him and greatly reminded him of some of the brighter moments in his past life. Namely: The Resentment of Chunshan. The book itself was poor in terms of accuracy, but amusing nonetheless. He and the other disciples found themselves horrified and amused by the story described within. Even more so when the Song of BingQiu became popular among the locals.

He was also starring an old map of the land, clearly looked into by someone considering the small hand-written notes in black ink. The penmanship was oddly familiar but Wei Ming couldn’t exactly remember where.

There was also an area circled, the name Cang Qiong Sect written in careful script.

“What do you think?” He asked absentmindedly, fingers brushing over the circled area. It was far from the other Sects, inaccessible due to the mountain ranges that circled it. If one tried, they’d have to do so by climb rather than sword. The air would be thinner; challenging even for a Cultivator.

He vaguely wondered if the land had changed so much as to the sudden growth of mountains around the Cang Qiong Sect area.

“Looks like someone was trying to look for the mythical Cang Qiong Sect,” Wei Ying peered over his brother’s shoulder. Tilting his head at the map. “Weird.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Eh,” Wei Ying shrugged as he sat next to him. “Cause it’s just a legend, no one actually knows if the Cang Qiong Sect is still around. If it ever was around. I mean- demons, the War- it’s described in pretty poetry and details, but other than that- most people write it off as a fantasy since no one’s ever seen it.”

Wei Ming considered the next question carefully, “What do you believe?”

“I think there’s some truth to it,” To himself, Wei Ying vaguely wondered why the sudden inquiry. His brother had no interest in the stories that were normally told to children, he had been busy at the time and Wei Ying only knew of it because the Nie Brothers held a rather large collection of the stories of the illustrious Cang Qiong Sect and one of their most famous Lords: Shen Qingqiu. Nie Huaisang had admitted that most of these were his brother’s, and he himself was promptly amused. Now he was starting to wonder. The stories of the Cang Qiong Sect were often used for the children of Cultivators as lessons, Lan Sect used it too if what was in the library was any indication- it was an impressive collection.

Though it did have nothing on Sect Leader Nie’s secret collection of nearly all the tales of the General from Qing Jing Peak: Huázháo-jun.

“Hm, perhaps,” Wei Ming noted non-committedly, shaking his head. “Let’s talk about what to do for tomorrow.”

“Mn! You should teach-“

[Fun fact about this one up here! In this version of the story, MF brings WWX's body up through the mountains to Cang Qiong Sect in the hopes that he could get help in reviving his brother, thereby re-meeting with his fellow disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect]

[readerinsertfanfiction]

The Secret Santa Code

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Arthur Conan Doyle

Prompt: The first part of my Secret Santa for @tsubaki3192​. My poor victim had to go through this entire story to get to the password for part 2 of her story, of which the masterlist I have already shared. But you don’t have to, luckily, you just have to click the link at the end. 😉😉😉

I hope you enjoyed Secret Santa, mrs. Toyotomi! Forgive my great love for puzzles and abusing Arthur for my nefarious purpose. 😂😂😂

One cold morning in a mansion hidden in the forest --just outside of the city of Paris in the late 19th century-- there was quite an uproar. A door, the door was found itself securely locked and shut, not because of frost but because of a lock. 

“Now, who would do this?” a certain author spoke, his eyes glimmering and glittering at the thought of another puzzle to solve. As unfortunate as it was for a certain lady, Arthur definitely didn’t mind this little diversion of the mind. And it wasn’t only because he could claim her for a little while longer. 

“And not just any lock,” he exclaimed further, taking the strange key in hands. Seven slots, he examined it to have. Seven slots in which one had to put in letters instead of numbers, making the possible combinations all the more greater. There were a fair amount of options to approach the matter, but the detective writer found no fun in menial tasks. Instead he pulled the paper that was in the hands of the lady that had tried to leave through that very door. 

“Now, what adversaries have you made, my dearest Tsu?” 

No answer came, for no answer was known. It even puzzled Arthur himself for he could not imagine anyone disliking a woman as lovely as Tsubaki. One glance at the paper told him enough, however and Arthur’s eyes widened as his smile broadened:

“By jove! This is a blessing in disguise,” he exclaimed jovially and one could tell that his mind was already churning and whirring trying to crack the code. Tsubaki could only throw the other a questioning look, wondering what exactly was a blessing with her being stuck and the door locked by another force keeping her away from where she truly wished to be. The man chuckled, keeping the rest of his thought to himself, but he did enjoy it very much.

“Now, you see, this coded message left behind is one of the dearest kind!” Arthur exclaimed as he flashed the note back to the female. “It will lead you to the key of this door,” he continued to explain and Tsubaki’s face only scrunched up further. She had figured out that much herself, but wasn’t looking forward to having to solve a complicated puzzle. Much less rearrange a nonsensical string of letters.

“Luckily for you,” Arthur snapped his fingers as he threw an arm around Tsubaki, pulling the other close against him as he winked, “my dove, I happen to be one of the greatest minds around and I sure do love helping a pretty lady out.”

With that he bopped her on the nose before taking out his infamous glasses and put them on, stepping into the focus he needed.

“Now, what do you notice about the seven lines you have received?”

The question was met with a quizzical look from Tsubaki who squinted her eyes at the lines, not really sure what she was supposed to say other than obvious.

“Take note how three and six are both exceptionally short compared to the rest. This tells me that a railroad code was used and that the code was rearranged in rows instead of columns!”

Confidently Arthur rearranged the sentences in the order that he believed them to have taken:

“Now, hear me out,” and for once Arthur was more than willing to explain his train of thoughts, for it was very logically based instead of assumptions and presumptions; 

“The reason I believe the third line to be the last, is because it has the fewest amount of letters. The creator of this little game probably didn’t bother filling out the empty spaces, which means that the last line is naturally going to be the most neglected,” the author continued as he smiled handsomely at Tsubaki, “now, kind as my soul is I shall spare you the explanation behind that theory, but I can see that the creator is one with interest in cryptology, but luckily not a mathematical genius.” 

And this he explained in a boastful way, puffing out his chest before he proceeded. “Now, if my theory proves true, then the first line would be the second-shortest! But you shall see why later if I’m right, and of course I shall be right!”

To this Arthur winked at Tsubaki who only kept quiet for that was the quickest way to solve this little Christmas mystery.

“But that only takes us halfway, you see! We have only figured out one part of the mystery, or two lines to be more precise” Arthur spoke as he waved around the pen in hands. “If we follow my theory that the creator of this puzzle did not bother to fill up the spaces, the lines that are the shortest after are supposed to come near the end,” with great grandeur Arthur started to rearrange once more:

“Now, the creator was so kind to leave us numbers in front of the sentences. This I believe was done with a key, just as many of these types are solved with a key. I dare say even that the key is the one you need for the door!”

To this Tsubaki perked up, because the door was still locked and she still very much needed it to get to where she wanted and that meant to leave. But Arthur wouldn’t be Arthur if he ended the game so quickly. Even if he had the key, the author liked his time with the female much too well. Just as he enjoyed her attention to him.

“The key we don’t have, yet. But I feel that the person behind this little game rearranged the word that is your key with the help of the alphabet After all, they didn’t leave behind many other hints and a good puzzle can only be good when they are solvable, even if it takes eons!”

“And lucky you are indeed to have me, for I have figured out the key!”

With that claim made the detective writer continued his little play, pushing up his glasses as ne started to scribble once more:

Reading over his shoulder Tsubaki lets a little gasp go as she realised that there was a pattern forming.

“You’re catching on, and I was right!” Arthur exclaims with pride. “Now, I will not bother you by writing the whole message out. But it is all rather simple now, just follow the wave, or rather the trail,” he winks at Tsubaki as he hands the letter over, charted and neatly written out.

But with the message solved there was another mystery that remained. It was the lock that had started all of this; the key that was needed for the door. Tsubaki was about to ask the man what the answer was before another finger laid against her lips, a mischievous glimmer in the face of the author who could only regrettably let her go.

“Allow me to give you one more riddle, for it pains me to let you go so soon. My apparent genius is too much even for me, for it is that what allows you to leave,” he dramatically exclaims before taking her hand, a kiss pressed on the back of it.

“What is the name of the one I love best?”

Tsubaki only had to think for a short moment before a blush spread out across her face and Arthur let her go with a bright smile and just a little regret.

Enter through the door for part 2 of the present...

[johannestevans]

Letters from Ganymede: Tuesday 11th July, 1876

Ganymede Cavendish, a recent graduate from the Royal Academy of Arts, catches the eye of an anonymous benefactor.

Mr Smith will offer Mr Cavendish food and board, all the artistic supplies he might require, and space with which to work: they shall never meet, and Mr Cavendish will never know Mr Smith's true name. The only recompense he desires is that Mr Cavendish create beautiful art, and that he write his sponsor a letter each week, keeping his benefactor apprised of his progress.

Having always been lonely, but now feeling alone, Ganymede begins a slow descent into madness.

An extremely gay reinterpretation of Daddy Long Legs, with heavy inspiration from Dracula and the Picture of Dorian Gray.

Also on Ao3 and Wattpad. 

Dear Mr Smith,

I should like first to offer my apologies for not having written to you sooner, for I know part of the circumstances of our agreement are that I write you each week I avail of your sponsorship, and certainly the week begins anew each Sunday, so I am overdue.

Of course, I must thank you again for your kindness: I am sure I quite embarrassed you with my initial response to your letter, gushing over as I did with praise for your charity and your person, no matter the extenuating terms, but even some weeks later I feel no less overcome by my gratitude, nor indeed my admiration of my benefactor, anonymous as he might be.

I had thought the journey would take but two days, but instead it took four: the first  mischief that became the coach you sent to convey me was a sudden snap of one of the front wheels’ spokes, making the whole of the carriage tilt abruptly to one corner, spooking the horses. This was on a long, empty road some hours north of Birmingham, and once the driver, Mr Thornwell, had calmed the horses from their frenzy, I had to ride on to the nearest inn some forty minutes’ further on, that I might send someone back to assist him.

I confess, Mr Smith, I am extremely uncomfortable on a horse’s back, but Mr Thornwell disliked very strongly the idea that I should remain alone with the coach itself on such an isolated road, and luckily, when I arrived at the inn they had expected us, and readily sent a young man off with another wheel to assist Mr Thornwell forth.

By the time all this business had been completed, of course, five or six hours had passed, and we had lost the warmth of the day and would, in some hours, lose its heat as well: although summer yet gives us some bountiful sun, Mr Thornwell reluctantly advised that we should stay the night in the inn rather than merely lunching there, as had been the original intention, and we took a room together.

He is a very interesting gentleman, Samuel Thornwell – I was so very enthusiastic in rushing about to pack my things into his coach that I kept stumbling on the uneven step outside my previous lodgings, and he insisted – most gallantly – upon assisting me in packing all of it away, and was very quick indeed with a joke. I don’t know that you have ever met him, Mr Smith, for he had informed me his services had been requisitioned by letter alone by a gentleman bearing your name, and that he had no previous knowledge of you, but that payment had been given up-front.

In this case, perhaps I ought describe him to you – Mr Thornwell is a handsome fellow, a little below six feet in height, and although he looks at a glance to be quite the square and serious sort (his beard is certainly quite serious, and kept as keenly in check as I would only imagine the beard of a groundskeeper in command of neat hedges), he smiles very freely, and was quick with all manner of joke and pun as we packed away my things.

On the first night we spent together, I had been quite focused upon some sketches of the cities and towns and landscapes through which we had passed, and sat upon the floor of the inn and worked like a demon with my chalks, focused most fervently upon my work that I should recreate all the sights I had seen before they dripped out of my head like so much overflowing water. Undeterred by the acute concentration with which I devoted myself to my work, Mr Thornwell spoke very freely, with a great manner of charm and gregarious spirit, to our hosts in the inn, and when they went away, he spoke for my benefit, although I said very little in response to many of his anecdotes, and merely laughed and smiled along with them.

Mr Thornwell informed me that he was in possession of a wife and three children, of whom he was very proud indeed, and that in his free time he and his eldest son, Sam, spent a good deal of time focused upon philately, which he informed me is the study – and often, the collection – of postage stamps. It seemed to me at the time to be quite a queer hobby, but Mr Thornwell spoke very well on it, and with a great deal of enthusiasm about the different varieties of postage stamps and their designs, and he said a good deal of the enjoyment in receiving letters themselves was in the postage affixed. Strange indeed, but there is naught that creates such light in the world as another man’s unfamiliar passions.

On the second night, in this inn we had not intended to stay at, I was not quite so plagued by a need to note down every sight I had taken in that day, and once I had penned a few sketches of the fields I had observed on our way, we sat together beside the hearth in the inn.

“I must apologise for my laconism last night,” I said, sipping at my ale and looking at my companion, the handsome planes of his face lit by the glow of light beside us. The only light in the room came from the fire, with the rest of the candles dimmed, and I leaned in toward it, for the night was rather cool. “I have only a little while to really capture the details I want in scenes before they begin to fade from my recollection, and I saw a good deal of beauty in our journey, and wished very much to sketch it down.”

“Oh, I took no offence in it,” he said mildly, with a wave of one hand. “You are of an artistic temperament, I can see, and your art is quite important to you, no doubt.”

“Oh, yes, yes, quite.”

“Is that the reason,” he asked, suddenly curious, “that you are travelling so far north? Heatherton is so small a village it is not even upon maps – when we reach the last inn on our journey, we are to ask directions from our host there, that I might ferry you further on.”

I had not known this, and was quiet for a moment, gazing into the fire. I was quite curious about Heatherton, for in your initial correspondence it was communicated to me as but a modest settlement overlooking a bay, and I was excited indeed to see it, as I am to see any new place of mystery. I am not, Mr Smith, well-travelled – until now, I have never left London.

Misinterpreting my silence, Mr Thornwell said swiftly, “Please, I did not mean to pry into your affairs – merely that this is an errand quite odd, and quite unlike any I have pursued heretofore. I ought have kept my questions to myself.”

“Oh, please, Mr Thornwell, you have caused no offence,” I assured him softly. “John Smith – the gentleman from whom you received the request for your services – is my benefactor. I have just completed a course of schooling in the arts at the Royal Academy, and Mr Smith, having observed the exhibition of my work in the years I have been a student, wrote to me some weeks ago and offered to sponsor me in further artistic pursuit.

“He suggested that I should take my place at his home in Heatherton that I might be free to concentrate upon my work without the distraction of the city’s bustle – and has offered, most graciously, this sponsorship and space to work, although we have never been acquainted before now.”

Mr Thornwell observed me with fascination, his lips pursed loosely together, his brow furrowed very deeply, that several lines appeared in the surface of his forehead. “Indeed?” he asked, leaning toward me. “Is he very rich, this Mr Smith?”

“I suppose,” I said, although the question offset me, for I have long been taught it is impolite to discuss such matters. “Certainly, it strikes me that he is very kind, and evidently, a great supporter of the arts. My tutors informed me that the Academy has received donations previously from Mr Smith, and knew him to be quite devoted to his support of the arts in all their forms.”

“Hm,” Mr Thornwell said. “And he sponsors individual artists, also?”

“If he has done so before, it has not been another member of the Royal Academy,” I said quietly, with a delicate shrug of my shoulders. “But his donations to the institution go back over a decade – I have no doubt in his support.”

“For how long will you stay in Heatherton?”

“Oh, a year, perhaps two. My medium is sculpture, and I work in marble – it is my intention to sculpt a representation of the Titaness Euryphaessa, the wife of Hyperion, with her three children in orbit of her: Helios, Selene, and Eos.”

My companion looked at me somewhat blankly for a moment, and then said, with perhaps manufactured brightness, “You are a Michelangelo, then?”

I flushed with embarrassment, feeling the heat burn in my blushing cheeks, for it was a painfully lofty association – though I know that it is true that many people might not know another sculptor in existence. “Not hardly,” I said hurriedly. “I could never hope to match such skill in any mode of art, but like him, I do sculpt in marble.”

“It must be very expensive, stone like that,” he said, with a low whistle. “He won’t make you quarry it yourself, I hope? I mean not to impugn your strengths, Mr Cavendish, but you hardly seem fit for such work as that.”

I laughed, and shook my head. “I do not believe he plans to put me to such labour as that, Mr Thornwell, no. He shall provide me a workspace and materials, room and board, and a small stipend as recompense for my work, as though he is not already giving me enough.”

“All that,” said Mr Thornwell wonderingly, “for one sculpture? That is all the recompense your Mr Smith demands?”

“Well, I shall produce other works of art, in my placement here,” I said, feeling quite embarrassed for reasons I did not – and still do not know – how to put into words. “I shall paint, I expect, but being a finer sculptor than I am a painter, I shall no doubt create smaller sculptures, too – there are beautiful things to be wrought in clay or wood, as well as marble.” Mr Thornwell did not seem convinced, and thus I added, almost blurted out, “And, of course, Mr Smith asks that I should send him correspondence.”

Mr Thornwell regarded me in bafflement. “Correspondence?” he repeated.

“I am to write to Mr Smith once a week, informing him of my progress, and to tell him of my moods and my experiences in the week having passed. He will never reply to me, he informs me, but it is important to him I should write to him, that he knows I am taking seriously the terms of his sponsorship.”

“Rich and lonely,” said Mr Thornwell – pray, Mr Smith, do forgive him – and I gasped.

“Mr Thornwell,” I chided him. “It is not so uncommon that a young man should send his sponsor reports upon his progress.”

“Perhaps,” said he, “but queer indeed that he should not reply to them. You say you have never met him?”

“Never – and Mr Smith said in his first letter to me that I likely never shall. He is not an artist himself, he said to me: he appreciates artists.”

My hand, at this moment, slipped to my jacket pocket, and lingered over the point where your letter to me was folded therein: I hope it will not embarrass you, Mr Smith, to note that I have read that particular line of your letter to me (Mr Cavendish, I am no artist, nor am I a poet, nor anything else. I have never and will never create anything, except love and enthusiasm for the artist, that heavenly being that serves as our modern Creator.) some thousand times since I first received it.

“You are young,” said Mr Thornwell musingly, “and quite beautiful. Being young you have sufficient energy to take on even the most exhausting projects; being beautiful, you understand beauty, and are thus well-poised to create it.”

I was silent, for this praise embarrassed me, and seeing this, Mr Thornwell took pity on me, and we retired to bed.

The next day, being as the weather was milder, the sun hidden behind thick cloud, he invited me to sit at the front of the cab with him – although I was no longer enclosed by the walls of the coach, sitting very close beside Mr Thornwell, I was able to benefit from his warmth, and our conversation kept me quite occupied as he travelled on.

We came to the inn where he had been advised we should be able to take direction to the village of Heatherton. The previous two inns, the Duck and Feather and the Coach and Horses had been venerable old pubs, very warm within and quite homey: this establishment, the Stone Post, was colder, and our hosts there were not nearly so sociable. I did not hear the name of our hostess, but that she was the sister of our host, but I knew his name to be Jude, and he never gave me his surname.

He and his sister surprised me, when first I saw them, because they almost seemed to be statues brought to life: both Jude and his sister were pale as white marble, with exaggerated emphasis in the shapes of their features. Each had heavily lidded eyes, carefully crafted lips, fine bone structure, and they moved as though some invisible conductor was coaching them through the ballet of their life, silent and effortlessly graceful.

I did not see Jude or his sister smile once: they were each possessed of a silent, frowning stare that made one take pause. Jude is, I would estimate, of the same age as me, somewhere about the region of twenty-five, and his sister somewhat younger, but he did not speak to me as much of a peer.

He scarcely spoke at all.

Leading me up the stair, he brought me to the room I was to take lodging in that night, a very large room that even then seemed quite cold, and I suggested that myself and Mr Thornwell might share a room together rather than being given separate lodgings, for it looked very cold indeed, and Jude gave me such a strange look that I felt very wrong for asking, and then fell silent.

Dinner was a quiet affair, and I tossed and turned the night through in the cold room, but when I went out into the corridor I saw no evidence of Mr Thornwell or our two hosts, and there were no other guests at the Stone Post that I knew of, and I quickly retired back to bed, for the corridor was even cooler than my bedroom. It occurred to me that it was quite strange that the only owners of the establishment should be two people so very young and seemingly so opposed to human contact, and as I turned this thought over in my mind, the most lurid of theatres playing out in my mind, as so often happens – of them perhaps being tragically orphaned, or something similar.

I slept, then.

In the morning, I was very sorry to hear that Mr Thornwell had been taken ill, suddenly caught with a fever, and as Jude’s sister attended him, Jude said to me, with a sort of quiet, grim determination, that he would take the coach forth to Heatherton in his stead.

I objected, of course, for I was worried indeed that my new friend should be so ill, and begged that I should be able to sit with him or even just check in on him, but the Stone Post siblings were vehement I shouldn’t go anywhere near him, lest I suffer the same fever he was afflicted with.

I quite forgot myself, so distracted was I as we came out to the coach, the horses already having been hitched in place, that I nearly climbed up to sit before the cab with Jude – never has a man looked at me so severely, and I felt almost as if Jude had struck me a blow with his eyes alone. They are such a funny colour, Mr Smith, a sort of brown that is so light as to be very near to gold, and they invoked in me a feeling most uncanny.

It was some hours travel to Heatherton in the coach from the Stone Post, as I’m sure you know, and yet despite how keen I was to look out of the window and make a note of the journey, particularly with how overcome with concern I was for Mr Thornwell’s good health, I fell fast asleep. I could not say how it slipped over me, for it caught me by certain surprise, but I suppose that exhaustion does these things to a man, no matter his pressing concerns.

When I woke, bleary eyed and disoriented, still in a somnolent haze, Jude was standing silently at the cab’s open door beside me, staring up at me. My luggage had already been packed away inside.

“You are very kind,” I said as I noted that my travelling chest and boxes of materials had already disappeared from the back of the coach, and Jude followed my gaze, looking, impassively, to the coach’s trunk, where all my things had been neatly tied before we had set out.

“Wasn’t me,” Jude said, and climbed back into the cab, taking up the horse’s reins. Before I could so much as say another word, he was riding off, and I was left in the yard of the house, alone, with my coat very loose about my shoulders and my carrying case held limply in my hand.

Left alone in the front yard of the house in Heatherton, I looked about at the stone walls, the half-open stable empty of horse or goat, the shed piled high with firewood. The house itself surprised me in its size – I confess, Mr Smith, when you had offered me lodgings, I expected somewhere quite modest, perhaps with a wider space to make into my studio, but it seemed to me to be almost like a manor. It was some storeys higher even than some of the buildings I worked in at the Royal Academy, and very wide indeed – the orphanage in which I grew up was quite a small one, and I have never really had cause to visit anyone else’s home.

The door was ajar, a key in the lock, and I took it loosely from its keyhole, stepping into the house proper, and closing the door behind me, putting the key in my pocket.

The lamps within were already lit where needed, although a fair bit of daylight was still coming in through the windows, and waiting for me upon the end table in the hall, where there was a case waiting for some calling cards – and the idea itself quite delighted me, for I have never been called on before – was a note.

Dear Mr Cavendish,

Your luggage has been placed in your bedroom, which is south-facing on the third floor, that you might have a pleasant view of the bay below. Mr Smith has advised us that this would likely be your preference, but that if you desire, you ought select any of the other bedrooms which brings you the most pleasure.

The supplies and equipment you have brought with you have been placed in your studio, which is also on the southside of the building, and can be accessed from the ground or first floor.

Other locations of note ought be the master bath, which is on the third floor, in the room adjoining the master bedroom; the library, which is on the second floor; and the dining room, which is on the ground floor, in the second door ahead of you on your right.

Mr Smith has advised that you are to explore and make use of the house at your leisure, and that while you reside here, you are to consider yourself its master.

Dinner will be served at seven o’clock this evening in the dining room; you might take what you please from the kitchen and its pantry that adjoins it.

Welcome to Mnemosyne’s Rest.

There was no signature upon the note, though I presume it was from the house’s staff – which, again, surprised me, for I had no idea I would have staff attending to me, and I confess, the idea made me quite giddy and uncertain. Perhaps you will think me very foolish, Mr Smith, but I have really only ever read about households with servants in novels, or heard about them in conversation, and it never really occurred to me that I should ever avail of such services.

When my father died, I was left a small apartment in London, which I inherited upon reaching my age of majority, and I have lived there alone throughout my education at the Royal Academy. In the orphanage, all we boys slept in one room together, ordinarily between ten and twelve of us, and I confess, it was a great relief when I became a man and was able to live alone, without so many breathing mouths creating such a racket all around me, and yet—

Perhaps you will think this very strange indeed, Mr Smith, I do not know, but I have always found the idea of living with servants, when one is a fellow without family or attachment, to be one as comforting as it is mysterious – surely, it would be a balm to any lonely man, to know that there are others living in the house in which he rests?

Perhaps I am a fool, I do not know. No one has ever told me so – but then, perhaps I am so foolish everyone I have ever met has thought it quite obvious, and not thought it worth saying.

I hope I do not bore you.

I know in your letter you requested that I should treat these letters as a diary to you, or perhaps as a confessional, and pour fourth my soul, but I have never kept a diary before, and I am not a Catholic, and to be very honest indeed with you, Mr Smith, I do not know that I am in possession of a soul at all. They seem to be allocated to the most interesting of people, and I am no such thing.

Once more, I must thank you for your kindness – I was a man quite uncertain of my bearings, when my graduation from the academy loomed, uncertain as to where next I should go, and you have given me not only your sponsorship or your kindness, but a sense of purpose I might not have gotten, otherwise.

And— Pray, Mr Smith, do forgive me if I overstep my bounds, or if I speak too freely, or if every letter I pen to you is quite a lot of nonsense. I have never written to anybody before, and but for schooling exercises as a youth, the practice is one quite foreign to me. Perhaps I thought thank you for this addition to my experience of the world, as well?

I have not yet conducted my exploration of Mnemosyne’s Rest – oh, what a name, Mr Smith, I wonder if it was you that named it? – for as soon as I came into my bedroom, the south-facing one – and you were correct in your estimations, Mr Smith, the wide windows create such a beautiful view of the bay below, with its grey-and-white cut waters, and its view of the cliffs, and its picturesque, dark-sanded beaches, and I should never want any bedroom other than this one – I sat down at my desk to pen this missive to you, that you should not think I was ignoring my obligations to you.

Thank you.

Once this letter is finished, and I have let the ink to dry, I shall send it off to you post-haste – and perhaps this evening, I shall pen another letter to the Stone Post, asking for news of Mr Thornwell’s condition… Ah. But that is a thought for later.

Yours with gratitude overflowing,

Ganymede Cavendish

Thank you so much for reading!

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[calliecat93]

ST: TNG S4 Watchthrough Episodes 6-9

Legacy: We have ended up on the home planet of Tasha Yar… and wow it’s not a nice place. We also find out that she has a sister, welp. So… it was alright. Ishara is very similar to Tasha in demeanor, but also very different. I tilt my head at the crew being so willing to trust and accept Ishara into their midst when they know nothing about this woman. I could see the ‘she’s using them’ plot a mile away. But to be fair, the episode addresses it. They wanted to see Tasha. They wanted to see the brave, loyal, strong-willed Security Chief that they lost so callously in her sister… and in the end, that took over. While I can see why Ishara acted as she did, she didn’t know these people and hasn’t seen Tasha in years so she’s under no obligation to care about them, it really has to hurt that she used them and almost committed mass murder and make them take the lame. Her world is a hellhole so her actions make sense, but that doens’t change the betrayal. Especially for Data. Riker sums it up well, with trust comes betrayal… but without trust, there is no friendship. That’s just the cruel truth. Anyways, it was a fine episode. I like that we have a pot-mortem for Tasha even if late… but it just makes me wish that tasha herself didn’t get killed sos he could have had her own plot and feeligns focused on. It still pisse sme off and is just a reminder of so much wasted potential. But ah well, for what they had to work with, they did it welll. 3/5.

Reunion: K’Ehleyr is back… and with a child. Worf’s child, to be exact. Huh. have been waiting very patiently for a follow-up to Sins of the Father and this was an excellent one! Back in K’Ehleyr’s first episode, she was unwilling to take the Oath and Worf wanted to so much and follow the Klingon traditions. Here? K’Ehleyr is ready and doens’t care that he was discommendated… but now Worf can’t. he’s been dishonored and even if it means nothing to K’Ehleyr, it means a great deal to him. He can’t let her or his son bear that shame. It’s so hard to watch him here. How anguished he feels, the way the other Klingons treat him despite it being their damn fault that he accepted it, to begin with, just knowing that he did nothing wrong… but for the greater good, he has to bear it. He doesn’t even want Alexander to be known as his son not because he’s unwilling to accept parental responsibility but to spare him of the dishonor. Just… freakin’ ouch. I was so happy to see K’Ehleyr back and her character is just so freakin’ good and her wanting to allow Alexander to find his life path? Excellent parenting. So… needless to say, her being killed off pisses me off. They at least allowed her character to shine, but… it feels like they only did it to make Worf suffer more. It was well-executed, I was about ready to tear up and Worf being driven to kill Duras for all the suffering that he put him through and now killing the woman he loved (which btw the romantic chemistry was MUCH better here than last time)? I can’t blame him at all. I get why he got reprimanded since Duras was a political figure and this can cause a whole host of problems and clearly Picard was sympathetic… but I just felt so bad for Worf. At least he admitted that he was Aexander’s father and hopefully the poor kid will have a good life with Worf’s parents, bu… yeah. K’Ehleyr’s death stops me form giving this a perfect score, very least I wish we had gotten to see her fight instead of goign to commerical and them walking in on her bloody corpse… but at least they got the tone down. I just hope that one day, Worf and his brother can truly expose the conspiracy because Worf deserves a Hell of a lot better. 4.5/5.

Future Imperfect: Let’s perform a thought experiment, shall we? Imagine going on assignment on your birthday, business as usual… then some kind of mishap happens. You wake up… and discover that you have lost sixteen years' worth of your memory. You can’t remember significant life changes, special moments for yourself and your loved ones, or even your spouse and child. Then just as you begin getting used to things and accepting this new life… you find out that it was all a lie and you were in an illusion all along. You were captured and tricked… and then you find out that was also a lie and it was all due to a lonely alien child left on a barren planet/within a highly advanced Holodeck system that can give him anything that he wants, everyone he knew had died and he did all of this just to have a friend. Congratulations folks, you have now experienced what Riker went through this episode! Yeah, this episode was crazy. I feel bad for the poor kid, while he shouldn’t have done what he did we’re talking about a lonely child essentially forced to live in a Holodeck and just wanted to interact with someone real. Also, I loved how Riker got clued in on how the future word was fake, excellent call-back to Season One! Not much else to say, but good episode! It was wild, that’s for sure~ 3.5/5.

Final Mission: Well folks, this is the curtain call for Wesley Crusher. I know that he pops back up once or twice, but this will be his final episode as a main character as he finally enters the Academy. We’ll get to my final thoughts on Wesley here in a bit, but l focus on the episode itself first. And… it was fine. We have Picard, Wesley, and some third guy crash land on a desert planet, the Enterprise unaware of if they’re alive or not. Thus the three struggle to survive which not only is the third guy essentially a paranoid asshole… but a cave-in seriosuly injures Picard. Thus Wesley is more or less on his own and has to keep Picard alive. Thankfully we avoid killing him off, and thus they make sure to give Wesley a proper send-off. They let him showcase his strengths with his intellegence, fast thinking, and compared to in the beginning he’s much more mature and capable of handling an Away Mission. This convinced me that yes, Wesley is ready for the Academy and that he will be a great Starfleet Officer someday. Meanwhile the Enterprise are dealing with their own issues because of course they are. Nothing can ever just go easy for these people. can it? It’s fine. The Enterprise plot didn’t have me invested aside form worrying about Dr. Crusher. The poor woman just burris herself in her work to deal with her worry about Wesley and evades Troi when she tries to assure her Otherwise the plot is there sot hat it can be a solo Picard and Wesley adventure without hem interfering. Which while I havn’t been the biggest fan of their dynamic, it’s clear how much Welsey admires Picard such as recounting their Samaritan Snare adventure, and Picard admititng that he brought him along because he was going to miss the kid. It’s a nice moment between the characters and allows Wesley to truly open up… though I wish it focused more on him and his mother since that’s been seriously lacking, but ah well. It was still a good send-off episode for Wesley and that’s how you want to treat your characters, whether they stay ont he show or not. 3/5.

As for Wesley himself… it’s been a bumpy road. Do I agree with the consensus that Wesley is an annoying child character that even his actor agrees with (albeit I think jokingly but still)? No. Wesley isn't a bad character. He’s a smart young kid, tries his best, makes mistakes but tries to do his best, and he grew. He’s a perfectly likable kid and this episode especially shows the best of him. Do I agree that the character's role and execution were annoying and contributed to his reputation? Yes. That is ultimately what it boils down to decent character, poor execution. In S1 Wesley was elevated far more than he needed to be. He was given privileges that no other character his age would have been granted no matter the competency level that borders on blatant favoritism. Whenever he made a serious error, he got praise for fixing it, never scolded for his actions with The Naked Now being the worst example. He still had good episodes like Coming of Age, but alas. I think having a kid character who aspires to be in Starfleet, has a parent who is a prominent crew member, and being able to use his skills to help was a perfectly fine idea… but there were just issues with how they did it. S2 and 3 were. While I disliked him at the end of The Dauphin and he still got showed some blatant favoritism, it was better balanced. I didn't feel he earned to be an Ensign until this episode… y’know, the one that shipped him off to The Academy. Crusher being written out in S2 and then brought back in S3 also really killed any and all potential that their dynamic could have truly brought which also hurt. It really feels like by S3 they just didn’t know what to do with the character anymore, limiting him to mainly Helmsman duty. He wasn't being elevated anymore… but he wasn't adding anything anymore either. Maybe promoting him was to help give him something… but Wil Wheaton decided to go, and that ended that. I can’t say I’m sad to see Wesley go because his potential just got squandered to the point that keeping him just felt pointless, and having him go to the Academy feels like the best natural end-point for him, so might as well be now. Nevertheless, Wesley was still part of the crew and for all that I criticized, he certainly didn’t deserve the hate that he got. If people like or even relate to the character, that’s great! He just didn’t work for me unfortunateley. Wil Wheaton obviously moved on to bigger, better things and is well-liked in the fandom, so that’s good cause he certainly did the best that he could. He just wasn’t given a lot of good material. Hopefully Welsey’s later guest appearances will give him somethingg ood and heck maybe they’ll convince Wheaton to come back in Picard one day, but for now… farewell Wesley. Can’t say I’ll miss you, but it wasn’t the worst ride either.