#i also think hes one of the most forward thinking nobles period

[nefertittythegreat]

The thing about Sylvester is the things that make him a great person make him a terrible Aub.

[authorhjk1]

Dreamy Pink

(Shin Ryujin X Male Reader)

By @i-am-lifeform24

“The pink one is Ryujin being an actual princess (haven't decided on the time period yet). This one is completely the opposite to the black one. Here is Ryujin in control. And her advisor is the guy she uses when she needs to get off.” - Inspiration quote from @authorhjk1

“No.”

“Your highness, they are all very accomplished, winners of multiple wars!”

“Accomplished, but ugly. No.”

“Princess, these nations have stood with us for centuries. Surely you can think it o-”

Ryujin stares down the impassioned minister, crossing her arms, her pink, flowing dress sparkling as she looks up at the man from across the round table. “I see no reason why I have to do anything, minister. I will not be marrying any of these slimy men.”

You sigh, shooting the old man an apologetic glance as the other members of the council fidget in their seats. The princess has always been… difficult. Even standing behind her, you can feel how uncomfortable the room is getting. Funny, that all the most powerful lords and ladies of the country can’t get through to a much younger girl.

Steeling yourself, you take a step forward, “My apologies, minister, perhaps the princess misunderstands.” Ryujin’s catlike eyes dart left, the princess giving you a warning, shifting her lithe body in the pink mass of cotton so she can better stare up at you. You can feel the other members of the table hold their breath. Here it comes.

“Misunderstand what exactly, advisor?” Her voice is icy, pointed, like she can’t imagine why you would say something so stupid. Well, it is your job after all, and whether she likes it or not, you were put in this position to keep her in check, so keep her in check you will.

“That while you are the most beautiful princess on the continent, you are also the leader of the most powerful country on this side of the world.” You start, gesturing to the other nobles of the table. They straighten up, morning sunlight peeking through stained glass to illuminate their battle-worn features, as if they’ve broken free from the spell of a very bratty princess.

Ryujin raises her eyebrow at you, slightly nodding for you to go on. You watch her dress shine in the soft light, taking a deep breath, “You have to at least listen their proposals out. Agree to the minister’s plan to let the princes visit you.”

Ryujin scoffs, “I don’t want their mud on my floors. This castle was built by my father, and you want to bring these grungy foreigners here? To my paradise?”

You lean forward, and Ryujin’s eyes widen as your strong voice echoes throughout the ornate chamber, “A paradise built by alliances. Strong, long-lasting, powerful alliances. Do you believe that your honorable parents fell in love by the grace of God, your highness?”

Ryujin’s eyes narrow, and the whole room holds its breath. You glance at the minister across the table, the man slowly sitting back down, eyes wide, his robes shifting as he tries to sneak back into his seat. Your heart catches in your throat. It’s never a good idea to mention the late King and Queen in front of her.

Maybe if you apologize before it sets in, she’ll forgive you. You meet Ryujin’s gaze, stammering, ‘N-not to say that your parents were without grace. I’m sure that they would be very proud of you, your high-“

“You’re right.”

Wait, what?

Ryujin smiles at you, her dark eyes crinkling as she exhales, breaking her stare. She turns back to the council. “My Advisor is right. I apologize for my own lack of foresight in the matter of my engagement. Minister, let it be know that I will receive these… princes. I will leave the details up to you.”

“A…. A wise choice, your highness! We shall begin constructing the plans right away.” The old man shoots up with a wide smile, the other council members filling the room with excited applause. You look down at Ryujin, and the princess cracks a smirk at you, as if her jolt of anger was all one big, convoluted, prank.

You gulp, giving her a quick smirk back, stepping behind the sovereign’s large makeshift throne as the council chatters on. Ryujin straightens her back, adjusting her tiara to sit on perfectly on her neatly combed locks. Here, at the head of the table, she almost seems like a real ruler, not an aggressive orphan made to reign way too early.

Soon, the meeting concludes, and you find yourself at the large mahogany bowing to every council member that takes their leave. “Thank you, duchess. And yes, we will make sure that the princess attends your name day celebration!” You lean forward, holding the gloved hand of an older woman, the smile lines on her cheeks deepening as you smile at her. She leans beside your ear, letting the other nobles pass behind her, “Thank the Lord for you, advisor. The poor girl barely has things together as it is…” You straighten, giving the older woman a sideways grin, “Now that’s our sovereign you are talking about, duchess, with how large the kingdom is, I would say that she is doing much better than any of us could.”

The duchess opens her mouth to respond, “Oh no advisor, i’m sure….” Suddenly, her eyes widen, staring at the doorway behind you, and she trails off. “Nevermind! I shall see you on Saturday. Your highness.” She curtsies, and you turn around, just in time to see Ryujin, with her guards flanking her, and her arms across her chest.

“P-princess! I apologize, I'm blocking your way.” You start, stepping aside in an ill attempt to escape. With a bang, the large doors swing shut, and the guards shift uneasily as Ryujin grabs you by the ear and pulls you along the hallway.

“Ow! Princess! I was just escorting the duchess out! I didn’t mean anything by-” You grimace, the sharp pain coursing through your body as she drags you past ornate paintings and ancient keepsakes. The royal is surprisingly strong, her long legs strutting confidently on the velvet carpet. You wonder what set her off this time. She handled the meeting well, really, really well. If anything, you’re more than proud that she managed to avoid exploding at the council, or at you, for once, so what could she possibly want with you now.

Eventually, the thump of her heels on the soft flooring stops, and you find yourself in front of a large, gilded door. The guards follow closely behind, gloves gripping the hilts of their swords tightly as Ryujin addresses them. “Leave us, now. And make sure that none enter this wing for the next few hours. I will have a few words with my advisor.”

You shoot a pleading look at the knights, almost feeling their pity through their plated armor. ‘Sorry, boss. We’ll make it up to you.’ they seem to say, bowing quickly before marching away to the entrance of the castle wing. God, you’ve really done it now.

Ryujin drags you inside, not wasting a second, pushing you up against the warm wood. Your breath catches in your throat, the messy, victorian style bedroom a lazy backdrop to the princess’ intense stare. She pushes her covered breasts onto your chest. Arms, they stay pinned at your side, like she’s pressing a painting into a wall. Ryujin slowly cranes her lips beside your ear, “I barely have things together?”

You gulp, heart catching in your throat as you look down at the beautiful woman. Her gaze is icy, hands slowly rubbing the outside of your trousers. “P-princess, the duchess simply worries for you, we don’t have to do this again.” you squeak, like a mouse, hunted by this very turned on, catlike royal.

Ryujin does nothing but smirk, pulling your underwear down quickly, dropping to her knees as the cold morning air wraps around your erect member. Your hands slowly droop down, but you stay plastered on the wood, like she’s still pinning you there, like her body is still on you.

“Heavy. Good. You’re filling me up today.” The princess cups your balls, her fingers dribbling against the puckered skin as she squints up at you. Amidst short breaths, you can’t help but marvel at how the orange-yellow light glazes her skin, the thin, pink fabric of her dress covered in dark spots as Ryujin’s wetness spreads from her legs. She’s beautiful, and after that disaster of a meeting, she needs a way to relieve her stress.

Ryujin’s tongue darts out, teasing the leaking tip of your cockhead as she grips you by your base, “Hey.” Informal. Casual. Crude. She looks up into your eyes, and you stare back down at her, sweat forming on your forehead as you can’t help but throb in her soft hands. “Yes, princess?” you reply, your voice breathy.

Her gaze softens, her eyes now half-lidded as she slowly licks up the length of your shaft. Her dress has creeped up her thighs at this point, and you can’t help but notice her bare pussy lips in between her kneeling legs. Ryujin stares at you, a firm warning exiting her precum smeared lips, “Don’t ever embarrass me again… daddy.”

You harden at the words, wanting nothing more than to grab the princess by the neck and throw her onto the bed. Ryujin can tell, making a show out of keeping one hand jerking on your cock, while the other pulls her dress down her breasts, the mink revealing perfect, perky breasts.

She smiles, “I’m going to drain you now, and you don’t get to cum until I say so, alright?” Ryujin accentuates the last word with a kiss on your cockhead, the skin wet with her spit. You give her a slow nod, gritting your teeth. She’s asking you for the impossible.

But she’s also your princess. You are sworn to her.

“Yes… your highness.” You croak out the words as Ryujin smirks at you, “Good daddy, now come to bed, i’m riding you until you fill me with your seed.”

You stumble forward, watching as your princess sauntily sways her now naked hips. No undergarments in the council meeting? You’d have ot tell her off later, but in the meantime, the idea only does more to keep your cock hard and ready. Her pink dress stays bunched up around her tight waist, and you watch as her ass sways in the morning light, the dresses and books strewed around the floor nothing but obstacles for her long, supple legs.

Ryujin crawls onto the bed, peeling the rest of the pink fabric off her body, then kneeling on her heels as she crosses her arms, “Faster, daddy. I have a kingdom to run.”

Hastily, you strip, sitting on the edge of the bed, then swinging your legs so they are on either side of the kneeling girl. You’re careful not to meet her eyes. No matter how turned on you are, she’s in charge.

Soon, you’re lying down on your back, the expensive, gold patterned furs digging into the small of your back as your princess straddles you. Ryujin’s hair falls around her face in the soft yellow light, and you watch as her petite tits rise and fall, the princess grabbing you by the shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her pussy lips as she stares down at you.

Her eyes roll back into her head, “God, daddy, if only that old hag could watch me handle this.

“Fuck!” You groan. With a slap, the princess’ ass bounces on your thighs as she roughly takes you to the hilt. She’s always rough, calling you daddy even if you’re her toy, but a part of you loves it, loves letting her take control, loves letting the princess, in a twisted way, worship you with her body.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ryujin moans, grabbing handfuls of the blankets around her as she bounces on your cock. You feel her walls get accustomed to you, the tightness suffocating, wringing you in a wet embrace.

You look up. She’s not even looking at you. Her Tiara stays skewed on her head, her breasts jumping with every bounce, her small hands resting on your thighs as the princess arches her back, gyrating her hips onto your waiting cock.

“P-princess, it’s so good.” You moan, hands reaching down to grab her soaked ass.

A slap resounds through the large room. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to touch me until I milk you dry, daddy.” Ryujin warns, her tongue coming out of her moaning mouth as she slaps your hands away, continuing her impassioned ride.

You give up, resorting to grabbing handfuls of cloth, watching as your beloved princess cums on your cock, over and over again, her breasts lathered in sweat, her taut stomach rippling under the force of her bouncing.

Ryujin opens one eye, panting, to grab you by the neck, “Kiss me, daddy…” You hesitate for a moment, wishing to savor the feeling of her drawing circles on your crotch, the glorious sensation of her royal pussy grasping onto every ridge of your unworthy cock, but in the end, you sit up.

“You’re beautiful, princess… please, i’m so close.” You beg, letting the girl hold you by the cheeks as your tongue explores her mouth, her hips still riding you, albeit slower, more deliberate, as if she wants to savor every moment too.

Ryujin looks up at you, her dark eyes mesmerizing as you feel the blankets shift. “Here, you belong to me… all your cum, daddy… it belongs to me…” She whispers slowly, pausing to grimace, as if your cock is somehow surprising her with pleasure after all these trysts.

You exhale, feeling it bubble in your core. Something about your aloof, icy princess demanding for you, demanding for your seed, burns all thoughts of stopping away. You need to cum in her, now.

Your lips find Ryujin’s neck, sucking on her clear, unblemished skin as your rough hands find her ass. This time, she doesn’t turn you away, the princess’ smile only getting bigger, as if she’s been waiting for you to take charge.

”Mmm, fuck! Fuck! Breed me! Breed your princess!” Ryujin screams, her hips now still as you fuck into her fast and hard. She’s sitting on your lap now, your chests pushed together, her breasts warm as you hammer into the royal’s pussy.

“Y-yes princess! It’s coming!” You grit your teeth, focusing on delaying your release for as long as you can, until the princess wraps her long legs around you, rocking her pussy lips on the base of your crotch. “Oh… oh! Daddy!” Ryujin groans, grinding her pussy onto you, not allowing you to thrust, her walls clenching, begging for your seed as she pins you down with the flower between her legs.

“I’m coming!” You roar, kissing Ryujin’s jaw as the princess’ eyes shoot open. She moans loudly as you fill her, your hot, virile cum making her body relax. You feel her in your arms, her tits shaking, her ass trembling as you fill the next in line to the throne with your seed.

It’s almost comical, that she’d get so frustrated with a stupid meeting, that this.is the only way she could relax.

Hey, you’re not complaining, sighing as Ryujin topples onto your chest, her hot, deep breaths in your ear her pussy still milking the last dribbles of cum from your cock.

You look down at her with a grin, “Is that all for this morning, your highness?”

Ryujin rolls her eyes, nestling into the crook of your neck, the fur blankets around you damp with the heat of your sex. “Mmm,..”

She flips you over, her legs spreading as you crouch above her, your cock exiting her pussy with a pop. Ryujin smiles, “No, daddy. This time, you’re going to use me.”

You smile, watching her bite her lip as the morning light fades. “As you wish, your highness.”

----------

Hi everyone!

This chapter was written by @i-am-lifeform24 . Thank you so much for the great chapter!

I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Stay healthy!

[ashxketchum]

Yesterday I said I won't probably talk about this but you know what fuck it I found the BEST PICREWS EVER!!!

Link: M / F

Regency Romance AU feat. my favourite OTPs:

KaixOC

2. TysonxHilary

3. Mimato

4. Taiora

I am still not sure how much I can explain well but for now the gist is that the girls are all childhood friends, despite having different backgrounds/upbringings.

Charlie (OC)'s father is a solicitor for the royal family which puts her family in the nouveau rich category. Sora's father is a very high ranking military official who doesn't spend much time at home. Both Charlie and Sora are very rebellious (considering the time period lol) and do not get along well with their respective mothers at all. Mimi's father belongs to the nobility but with her mother often falling sick, he lets her run free and act as per her wishes very often. Hilary too has a noble background but both her parents pass away at a very young age without proper heirs assigned so the royalty takes back her property and she grows up with a disinterested grandmother caring for her in a bare minimum fashion.

Save for Mimi, the other three girls are set to debut in the same season. Mimi is not very happy about having to wait a whole year in joining her best friends out in society, so she does attempt to manipulate her father into letting her debut early quite a few times but it just so happens that her mother's health is in a good condition on those days and she doesn't end up succeeding.

Charlie doesn't want to get married, but wants to inherit her father's soliciting business which her mother is against. When she's forced to debut, she decides to create a scandal around herself to get herself out of the marriage race and sort of doom her chances of being courted for a long time so she can focus instead on secretly studying to take over her father's work.

Sora is also not very interested in the idea of marriage and she enjoys designing/stitching clothes. But her mother is against the idea of a military officer's daughter running her own boutique, so she's eager to get Sora married off as soon as possible. Not having the will to drag her own family into a fake scandal like Charlie, she instead decides to chop off all her hair right before her presentation in front of the queen, hoping to seem more tomboyish to keep potential suitors at bay.

Hilary thinks her life couldn't possibly be more tragic but her grandmother too passes away a week before the presentation. Mimi's mother is feeling healthy at the time and offers to sponsor her for the day, and although she's dressed the most plainly, the Queen does praise her appearance which puts her in the spotlight. (Sora's mom thinks that if Sora wouldn't have cut her hair she would be the one to receive the praise and gives her shit about it for quite a few days lol) Hilary is unsure whether she's pleased with this because she does get a lot of attention from suitors and marriage would mean finally leaving behind her financial struggles, her romantic nature makes her keep her hopes up for a love match.

And all you need to know about the boys is THAT THEY'RE 1000% CERTIFIED SIMPS FOR THEIR LADIES, NO PERSONALITY OR DEPTH WHATSOEVER JUST KISSING THE GROUND THE GIRLS WALK ON FOREVER.

Jk, jk but not really, putting the plot details under the cut. Just fyi that the last names will be different, more victorian and this will follow the same logic as most of my crossovers where Tyson (Beyblade) and Tai (Digimon) are brothers.

Charlie, Sora and Hilary make their debut in society together with the spotlight being on Hilary instantly, despite of her being completely unprepared to handle it. Charlie is not looking forward to having to go through a bunch of suitors and maybe find the guy she's looking for after so many attempts. Sora just wants to escape whatever plan her mother has hatched up for her, long enough for her father to come back home so he can support her choices.

Kai, a distant relative of the Queen and Prince in line of whatever kingdom, is in town after some time away and is awarded the title of the most eligible bachelor the minute he sets foot in public. He's not happy with all the people swarming him constantly, and is even more disappointed to find that the Queen is planning to set him up with who she thinks is the best debutante this season, Hilary. He spends his time at parties, skirting the corners and hiding in the shadows where he runs into Charlie. When Charlie finds out about the Queen's plan, she knows that Hilary is too overwhelmed to handle a courtship like this, so she makes a proposal to Kai. The two can fake a courtship for the entirety of this season, after which Kai plans to go back to his travels abroad. When he's leaving they can stage a dramatic break up, where Charlie's reputation can be ruined just enough to keep her out of the running for the next few seasons. Although Kai is reluctant at first, but when he sees that Charlie really doesn't care about scandals and such, he agrees, and the two create a shocking ripple by dancing together at the Queen's ball - which dissuades the Queen and also takes the attention off Hilary so that she can finally breathe.

While Hilary is fully aware that the only way for her to secure a future with money in it is for her to find a decent match, when she's chosen as the Queen's "favourite" of the season, she ends up being tied to the centre of the society with no room for imperfection or mistakes. With only a few decent dress to wear to such fashionable events, she knows she has limited opportunity to find a husband. She does appreciate all the men approaching her without any effort on her behalf, but half of those have not read as much as her and the other half are too old for her liking. She is grateful to Charlie for taking the Prince off the list for her, because she could not imagine faking another conversation that night, when the attention moves on to the latest attractive event, she makes her escape to get home and try and figure out just how she would get money to go on attending these parties. On her way out, she bumps into someone, and the other party ends up spilling wine on her only very good dress. Completely overwhelmed by the events of the night, she goes off on the stranger, not knowing his name or title, even if his face feels oddly familiar, and then stomps out in tears.

The next morning, she is visited by the Dowager Viscountess Godsworth, she shares that when she was younger she used to be very close friends with Hilary's mother, and when she noticed Hilary at the Queen's Ball she wanted to share how much she resembled her mother with her. Hilary hosts her for tea, though embarrassed by the state of her rundown lodgings. Lady Godsworth offers to sponsor Hilary for the season, as a gesture towards her late mother but Hilary is stubborn about accepting charity. It seems that the Viscountess is equally unwilling to accept a refusal, so instead she suggests that Hilary provide guidance to her daughter Kari, for a decent fee. She explains that Kari had always been sick since she was a baby and the doctor advised to not let her travel far, so Kari never got a chance to go to finishing school and was very much unprepared to debut next season. Hilary decides that since she would actually be working for the money, and doing something she's good at, she accepts the offer and the following week she arrives at the Godsworth House.

There she is greeted by the eldest son, Tyson, who also happens to be the same man she shouted at a few days ago. Realising it was too late to back out now, she keeps her head down as the Viscountess introduces the two of them, and pretends to meet him for the first time. While he doesn’t call her out on the lie, she notices the smug look on his face when his mother turns away, and figures out that her job won’t be as easy as she assumed. She is introduced to Kari, and the two get along well, years of experience in trying to keep all her friends in line benefits Hilary and she’s able to connect well with the young girl. Her lessons are supervised by the Viscountess but Tyson often crashes them unannounced, poking at her by raising contradictions against everything she says, arguing with her on the more philosophical part of her lessons. Hilary's glad that sweet little Kari is blessed with such a progressive minded brother, but she does not appreciate him butting heads with her and often ends up arguing in support of notions she herself dislikes, always leaving the Godsworth House more huffier and restless than when she arrived.

With the help of Sora, some of Hilary's mothers older dresses are repurposed for her usage and she spends her nights attending parties and events with her friends. She realises that having Kai next to Charlie gives the girls a chance to relax and have fun talking with each other since most people are too nervous to approach them. The few times she does have a conversation with potential suitors, she finds it completely drab in comparison to her arguments with Tyson, she finds herself often hoping to run into him in the evening, outside from his house, where there would be no familial duty or job requirement binding them and they could freely express their true feelings to each other. But to her disappointment, he rarely attends these events, occasionally stopping by to greet important people briefly, spare a dance with his mother and then leaving without even looking in Hilary’s direction.

Meanwhile, the fake courtship is working out well for Charlie, with Kai’s help she’s able to spend her time studying at the palace library under the ruse of spending quality time with her suitor. When her Aunt Nancy (Matt/Yamato’s mom) is visiting the city for a weekend, she overhears a conversation between her parents and her Aunt about an upcoming two week long reprieve at the Stonefield Manor (Ishi (stone) da (field) = Stonefield GEDDIT?). Her mother suggests to Nancy that they should invite Hilary as a potential match for Matt, so Charlie warns her friend beforehand. Hilary makes up a lie about not being able to travel, and instead Charlie has Sora and Mimi tag along with her.

Since a lot of other young boys and girls have joined the party, Mimi being the oldest out of the lot ends up babysitting most of them throughout the two weeks. She can’t complain to Charlie because it took a lot of convincing on her friend’s behalf to let her parents to allow her to travel so she suffers in silence, until she runs into Matt. Although Matt had visited his cousin Charlie in the city often, he never met her friends in person despite hearing about them, so he doesn’t recognise who Mimi is. Seeing this is an opportunity, Mimi lies about her age to get away from all the boring kids and befriends Matt during her stay at his manor. The two are fans of the same composer so they quickly connect over music, spending a lot of their time hiding inside the manor and playing the piano together.

Charlie and Sora are not so lucky in escaping what is required of them at such an event. But since Kai agreed to join her for the reprieve, Charlie loudly declares that Sora will be their chaperone and the three are able to get out of most activities planned by the parents using this strategy. Because they also spend a lot of time avoiding the main areas of the Stonefield manor, they coincidentally never run into Matt and Mimi hanging out together.

When the hunt is planned, Tai shows up to invite Kai to join and meets Sora for the first time. Sora expresses her wish to join the hunt as well, but Tai just laughs it off saying that with Kai joining they’d have enough men as was the custom. Kai, who has been slightly confused about his feelings towards Charlie recently, thinks that if he helps out Sora, Charlie would surely think highly of him. So he pretends to be a little sick, urging Tai to let Sora join the hunt in his place. Tai finds it hard to argue with him, considering the hierarchy, asking Sora to do some target practice and if she performs well, the hunting party would consider letting her join.

Sora, the daughter of a military man who raised her like a son, obviously outshines everyone at the practice and is allowed to accompany the men for the activity. Tai is awestruck and captivated, and after spending time with her that day, he’s obsessed with making her fall for him. Sora is very flattered but she also knows that her mother would turn up her nose at the idea of her marrying the second son so to say. She’s also afraid that marrying into nobility would only lead to more restrictions and duties, stopping her from pursuing her dream of having her own boutique. She tries to avoid all of Tai’s advances, keeping things friendly between them as much as possible, but he’s persistent with his approach throughout.

When everyone is in the country side enjoying the fresh air, Hilary still continues giving lessons to Kari at the Godsworth House. Happy that her schedule is not running as tight with no evening parties happening for the time being. Since the Viscountess accompanied Tai to the reprieve as well, Tyson is stuck supervising the lessons as the ‘head of the household’ and sweet but not so innocent Kari is very happy with this situation. She was quick to catch on to the tension between her tutor and her brother so she spends a lot of time coming up with ways to make them end up in embarrassing situations with each other. When the two weeks are almost coming to an end, Kari insists that the only way for her to know if she’s good with the piano would be to see if people enjoying dancing to her music. Tyson, unable to turn down a request by his little sister, and Hilary, bound by her duty as a tutor, give in to her demand and end up dancing together for the first time, which ignites a lot of feelings in both of them.

The party at the countryside begins to wrap up and Mimi prepares to tell Matt the truth about her not being out in the society, but that’s exactly when he shares that he has decided to join Charlie in the city for the rest of the season. Their conversation is interrupted and Mimi never gets the chance to tell him the truth. Matt ends up in the city later and attends one of the balls where he’s surprised to find Mimi missing. That’s when Charlie tells him about Mimi still being young, which shocks him. Since he’s hurting and angry over the lie, he goes to Mimi’s house and tells her parents about how she lied while she was away, carefully omitting the part that he was the man she spent so much unsupervised time with. Mimi’s parents are angry of course, and they forbid her from leaving the house for the rest of the season.

After a few days when Matt has calmed down, he regrets his actions but when he goes back to Mimi’s house, he’s not allowed to see her. Mimi is also overtaken by the guilt she feels over lying to Matt so shamelessly, and she ends up writing an apology letter where she pours her heart about feeling left out and just wanting to enjoy this period of her life like her friends were. At the end she requests that if he decides to forgive her, she would be happy to show him around the city next season when she is officially out. Charlie is tasked with delivering the letter to Matt, but is unable to hand it over to him directly. Not thinking too much of it, she hands it to her Aunty Nancy instead, who is aware of the situation.

Nancy opens the letter and reads it before Matt comes home. She knows that if Matt read the letter he would shut himself off in the country again for another year, spoiling her plans to get him married, before next season. So she ends up destroying the letter, and eventually the two head back to their manor to receive another set of guests she has invited, that includes an eligible woman she hopes to set Matt up with. Mimi on the other hand thinks that Matt was too arrogant to accept her apology, and though she is heartbroken, she decides to move on, setting her sights on preparing herself to debut as the Queen’s favourite next year so she could pick anyone she wanted as her husband.

***

So this is all I have for now. I have to think about how to tie all the loose ends.

Tai has to win Sora’s parents over and make her see that a life with him would award her more freedom than she could ever dream of. Tyson and Hilary have to put their stubbornness and their obsession with their duties aside to really talk to each other and understand why they are always so drawn to one another. Kai and Charlie need to figure out if their fake courtship is really as easy and fake as they thought it would be, or if the element of pretence is wearing off and real feelings are starting to seep in. Matt and Mimi need to come face to face next season, and see how much they have changed over the time they’ve spent apart.

If I do end up making a coherent ending, I’ll definitely post an update! If you read it till here, I hope this 2.9k worth of idea dumping was worth your time, thanks for sticking around 😆

[littlebeelife]

Daily J2 Breakdown

Day 6

This interview has my whole heart.

"We’re best friends, period. He’s my best friend for life. I don’t think it’s that remarkable, but it’s definitely special."

***

Supernatural siblings

WE ARE BROTHERS FOR LIFE, SUPERNATURAL HUNKS JARED PADALECKI AND JENSEN ACKLES TELL T2 Priyanka Roy What Would You Tell Jared And Jensen If You Met Them? Tell T2@abp.in   Published 19.10.13, 12:00 AM

Through nine seasons, the Winchester brothers — Dean and Sam — have battled demons, busted metaphysical myths and redefined chills and thrills on the small screen. In an email chat, Jared Padalecki (who plays Sam) and Jensen Ackles (who plays Dean) tell t2 about the show (Season 9 currently airs Monday to Thursday at 8pm on AXN) that’s made them a household name across the world.

When you were first approached to play brothers who bust ghosts and hunt down devils, did you ever think that Supernatural would become the show it is today?

Jared Padalecki: We’re one of the longest running shows on television! When I turned 31 (on July 19 this year), I remember thinking, ‘Wow… I’m 31 and this is my ninth season. This is a third of my life!’ It’s pretty amazing. I feel that what we’re doing this season could go on for however long the writers, and the fans, want to keep it going. We’ve opened so many doors and we didn’t close any... we didn’t kill this or stop that, we just left it so that we can do anything. What the writers have chosen to do is so awesome. I want to strangle them because I’m really excited about it — but I’m not allowed to tell you anything more at this stage. My hands are tied.

How does Season 9 carry the drama forward?

Jared: Season Nine is really cool! I’m more excited about shooting this season than any other season of Supernatural. I was really excited when I read the first five scripts and I think they are the best five episodes I’ve ever read, including Season One. As an actor, and as a fan of the show, I’m really excited about it. I am certain that the fans are going to think the storyline is badass this season. And I’m really hoping that they like my choices as an actor when they see what happens.

At the end of last year, Sam was not getting better. Well, this storyline will explain how Sam gets better. Dean says, ‘Hey buddy, stop the trials and you’re not going to die.’ And so Sam does stop the trials, but clearly he does not get better. We know that at some point between then and the second episode of Season Nine, he gets better and you’ll find out why immediately.

How much of Sam is Jared and how much of Dean is Jensen?

Jared: I grew up with Sam — I started the show when I was 22. I even met my wife (Genevieve Cortese who played Ruby) on this show. In fact, now I try to find similarities between the character and my own personality.

Jensen Ackles: The longer we become these characters, go through so much on and off, we get a greater clarity about ourselves. Now I know the clear differences between Dean and me. The only exception being that we look exactly alike!

What’s been the most challenging bit about playing Sam and Dean?

Jensen: I’d say... just I think, the emotional toll that he has sometimes where he doesn’t think that he is of value, that he isn’t equal to the people that he surrounds himself with. He’ll put other people first before himself. He’s very quick to sacrifice himself, and that’s difficult. I think it’s also a noble trade. 

Jared: And I feel Sam is very pensive and he’s very fastidious when he’s trying to get a task done. And Jared’s like that. I read instruction booklets, I really do... when I get something, I can’t buy something and just go like, ‘Oh, I’ll figure it out.’ I read and re-read it and I try and really figure everything out. And I like that... Sam kind of takes that approach. And I guess before I started acting, I was going to be an engineer, and maybe that’s what it comes from, just that kind of break everything down to put it all back together, reverse engineering or whatever. However, sometimes I feel like I wish Sam would make a hard decision.

Do you believe in the supernatural?

Jensen: I wouldn’t call myself superstitious, but I do suspect there’s more between heaven and earth... even hell. I’m open for spiritual experiences, although I haven’t needed any salt yet to ward off evil spirits from my home!

Jared: I firmly believe that things happen for a reason. That may sound melodramatic, but I don’t believe coincidence exists. And I also believe we’re not the only living creatures in this universe.

Which have been your favourite moments on the show so far?

Jensen: My favourite moment is when the brothers made a commitment to each other in the church. This is a commitment that they’re going to check in with each other... that they are going to remain partners and stay on the same track and not be like, ‘You go do this while I go and do that, and we’ll all try to solve the world our own way.’

Is there anything you would want to change about Dean and Sam?

Jared: There’s a term we use, to “man up” — “man up and get the job done”. Sam ends up making a decision, but I don’t think he takes a stand. There’s a small difference, and I wish he’d take a stand sometimes.

You guys have been sharing screen space through nine seasons. What kind of a dynamic do you share off screen?

Jensen: That’s almost impossible to explain. Nine months a year we’re stuck with each other literally 24 hours a day, seven days a week because we’re working on the show. Even doing stuff for ourselves in between isn’t possible. We’re constantly together. And even when we’re not actually working together during the nine months, or the other three months out of the year for that matter, we always find ourselves choosing to hang out and be together. But what I’m saying is, if you compare our relationship with Dean and Sam’s relationship on the show, there is a huge difference. Jared never drives me up the wall.We can talk to each other about anything.

Whenever we’ve fought, it’s been for each other! Like, I’ll do or say something and he will too and the other one might not like it, but in the end we’re doing it to help or protect them and it’s never against him. I think we do have that loyalty and I can honestly say you know, I’d trust my life with this guy and I guess in relevance to Dean for Sam, I would jump in front of a bullet for him any day and never think twice.

Jared: And the best part about Jensen and my relationship is it’s gonna be that way when we’re on the show and not. I mean, unfortunately for him, he’s stuck with me for life now and that’s important. But look, brothers and sisters, for that matter, sometimes fight. Or worse... they can’t get along at all. Between Jensen and me there have never been any issues and I think that’s rather special.

Jensen: We’re best friends, period. He’s my best friend for life. I don’t think it’s that remarkable, but it’s definitely special.

Are you aware that you have a huge fan following in India?

Jared: I was so surprised when I was informed that we have a huge fan following in India. Until recently, I had no idea that the show was even airing in India! It feels so good to know we have fans across the continent.

Jensen: I had no idea either. Jared and I both found out about it together! We are dying to come to India... it would be amazing.

What’s the craziest thing a fan has done for you?

Jared: The people will come up and be like, ‘Oh, my gosh! I saw an episode where this happened and it made me think of this time when I saw this.’ And you’re like: ‘What did you do? Get the salt?’ So the fans are pretty funny. The fans of the show are certainly. They’re not casual fans. People, if they know the show, they know the show, which is nice. It’s wonderful to have such a dedicated audience and a loyal following. It’s become part of the show and we’ve made episodes about our fans. So that’s fun, and they certainly share their stories with us.

Source: telegraphindia.com - October 19th 2013, written by Priyanka Roy

[russellshaws]

"tim had no space to continue talking there." He didn't want to talk, that was the point of him saying he couldn't give what she wanted when she asked for a conversation.

"he doesn't think he can support her fully without working on himself first...and honestly? i think that's noble." That's not really what happened tho. The breakup was final, he had no intention to "work on himself" and come back to her after. His justification for the breakup was that she deserved better, and there's no nobility in him deciding for her. *That* is patronizing

well, ok...just a heads up this whole style of message feels super combative to me lol but i'll at least try to explain what i mean here:

i don't think we can say if tim did or did not want to talk - he didn't really make indications in that convo, but imo, i didn't take any of that as tim not wanting to talk. i get the vibe that if lucy had actually been down to have a conversation, he would've had it. in reality: tim said 2 things that she didn't like and lucy jumped down his throat. lucy asked for an adult conversation and i'm sure tim would've had one - but lucy didn't allow that to happen. and i don't blame her for that one bit, but you can't say it was just tim there when it wasn't. she snapped - she ended the interaction. also, just something i've been thinking about...neither of them are the type of people to have that convo in uniform, at the station. i doubt either of them actually wanted to have that deep of a conversation standing in the hallway where any of their peers and supervisors could've overheard. not excusing either of their behavior with that, but it just felt like the wrong moment to me.

ok so this just feels like a perceptual issue we're going to have here bc his whole entire speech for the breakup was that he needed to better himself. sure, maybe he wasn't thinking about the future - but i don't think we can say he was like...delivering that with complete finality? imo, he explained his thoughts to allow her to understand that he can't be what she needs right now. also like...the man was literally having a crisis of conscience, i think it's pretty clear the intention was to figure that all out (aka work on himself, which got pushed forward further in this ep) before considering/returning to a romantic relationship period. anyway: what i'm not saying is that it's noble not to give her the chance to decide for herself. that's stupid, that's tim being selfish - which, this breakup is a big selfish moment for tim. he broke things off to work on himself because he thinks that's what lucy deserves - and not giving her the opportunity to discuss or decide that for herself is selfish. the nobility i was referring to was that he understands in his own way that he needed space to work on himself. even if he did it in a shitty way, understanding that you have to be a better you is a great first step to actually achieving it.

for the most part we're just going to have to agree to disagree here bc i think we're reading into the show two very different ways. also overall, i just think like...in an adult relationship where you feel like you've found what you're looking for...breaking things off for self improvement isn't usually seen as a note of finality, at least on the side of the person who does it. the issue is we aren't seeing the internal monologue of tim to understand his intention, so people are perceiving it differently. either way i think looking at this like tim wasn't coming from a loving place is just like...so deeply off base. he did what he thought was the right move - and even if it wasn't, it came from a place of love. i understand that's not the easiest notion, but like...he's not a supervillain, he's just a little dumb.

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XXX | On Friendly Terms

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: memory loss, referenced suicidal ideation, body horror AO3:Lost Kin | Chapter XXX | On Friendly Terms First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Quirrel arrives on Hornet's doorstep. Quirrel travels a lot slower than Hornet can. Mainly by virtue of not being able to fly. She may have forgotten to account for this. (She also has forgotten a lot of social niceties. For instance: how to greet someone who knocks at your front door.) I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts on the addition of Quirrel's POV. Truthfully, he's been a new sort of challenge, but I think he makes a good foil to the other two, and it looks like he'll be a regular feature of this fic going forward!

○

It had been a long day.

Several days, in fact, although life underground tended to blur those lines into oblivion. It had been mid-afternoon by Quirrel’s sleep cycle when Hornet left him staring after her over the placid surface of the lake, only a faint, dying ripple caused by the breeze of her passing to show she had even been there.

By the time he collected himself and his belongings—which amounted to pulling his nail out of the ground and sheathing it again, with as little thought directed toward the action as possible—and traveled deeper, the light had gone in the City caverns.

He stopped for the night, then spent most of the next “day” attempting to reorient himself and identify the best route to take, as well as looting several promising areas for supplies. Hornet had not exactly left him with a wishlist, but he was clinging to his vague desire to be helpful as meagre warmth against the cold wasteland in his mind.

One would think having one’s memories restored would make a mind feel full, crowded, even, but it was only emptier than ever.

Quirrel spent a second night near the King’s Station and continued onward once the light returned, with a few stops to forage for a meal before he made his way across the upper bridges and began his search of the houses in the nobles’ quarter.

He was already tired. Returning to the City always required several days’ adjustment, as the artificial light cycle appealed to some time in his species’ distant past, when his ancestors had lived aboveground.

Or… had he returned to the city more than once? The word always in the phrase he had just used made him question.

He supposed it was likely he had lived outside the city and returned to it before. His knowledge of the light cycle’s effect on his physiology suggested so. The Archives had had no such convenience, the acid tubes glowing their soft, flickering green whether the scholars were awake or asleep.

His occupation must have required him to venture into the city periodically, for him to remember so much when he arrived. He could recall the locations of some streets, had been able to head straight to the merchants’ district for supplies, and several times found himself standing in front of buildings that seemed hauntingly familiar. Certain places seemed to roll out before him in his memory, neatly marked and delineated, like a map stretched beneath his feet.

The nobles’ quarter was not one of those places.

So far, his search had been fruitless, yielding only ruined interiors, smashed windows, and a persistent stench of mildew that clung to his kerchief, despite it being soaked many times over, handily reminding him via the constant dribble of rainwater down his back.

He missed the weight of her mask on his head, he missed the effortless motion of his nail in his hand, he missed the dreamless sleep, the monotonous days, he missed when everything had been easy—

Quirrel shook himself, spraying water in an arc from the beaded tassel under his chin, and approached the next house.

Hornet’s directions had the parameters of a logic puzzle. If she had thought it important to tell him that her house had no curtains, that detail should have made it stand out from the others, but it did not. There were dozens of houses whose curtains had simply given up over the years and now lay in puddled heaps on the floor, each layer adhered to the next in a mass of fibers that would rip the whole thing apart if anyone was foolish enough to pick it up.

The stasis had failed in strange and varying ways. Some places in the kingdom were untouched, as if the bugs who lived there had simply walked out one day, leaving their belongings where they lay, and never returned. Often in these places he half-expected to find a cup of cooling tea on the table, or blankets still warm upon the beds.

And then between one stride and the next he would be in another time entirely, the road pitted and crumbling beneath his feet, houses slumping in on themselves, every veneer of civilization rotted away. If he stared too long, these structures stopped looking like structures at all, their purpose slowly eroding until what had once been mansions, theatres, libraries, hospitals, were indistinguishable from the carved cavern walls.

Part of him marveled that a kingdom as vibrant as he now knew Hallownest had been could vanish so completely into obscurity. Ravaged by its gods, haunted by their wrongs, shambling onward in a mockery of life, black regret and blinding rage pooling in its footsteps…

He let out a shaky sigh and tore his gaze away, ignoring the sense that the house continued staring at him after he turned his back. He wasn’t likely to find Hornet in that ruin.

From what he knew of her, she did not seem like the type who would tolerate a door with no lock, or a house with no door—of which he had seen plenty. Broken windows were likely also out of the question. With these generous boundaries set, he had still been wandering for hours, and had had to search eighteen—now nineteen—houses, his throat growing scratchy from the smell, and the brace of tiktiks over his shoulder becoming steadily less and less fresh.

This one looked promising so far. There was no light in the windows anywhere, but said windows were curtainless, and it was in better condition than the two on either side of it. Not the most lavish accommodations, but serviceable. Certainly better than where he’d spent the night.

He knocked.

He would open the door regardless of whether anyone answered, at least to browse through the house and find anything worthwhile, and to ensure he hadn’t missed her by chance. Still, knocking was a courtesy—and a precaution, as he didn’t think it wise to startle someone who could skewer him at thirty paces.

His attempt to find her had turned into more of an ordeal than he expected. It could hardly have been more difficult than if she’d been a fabled princess of lore. At this point, if and when she opened any of these doors, he was half expecting a demand that he answer her riddles three.

The door banged open, with a tremendous crash of doorknob against wall.

Quirrel jumped back. His hand landed on his nail hilt before he registered the bright red and pure white of Hornet’s silhouette, and remembered that this was a spectacularly bad way to greet her.

He let go of the nail as if it burned him, despite every instinct screaming that he draw it. That had nearly doomed him once before, and he recalled all too well the silver comet-streak of the needle she held now, as it split his vision and impacted the mask atop his head with a bone-jarring shock of spell against spell.

Not an experience he ever cared to repeat, unless it was on friendly terms, and he had a running start.

He had thought this meeting would be on friendly terms. After she had confessed to him, with the suppressed panic of a swimmer who’d lost sight of shore, that she did not know what to do. But she did not move, did not speak, did not even lower her needle.

At least no riddles were forthcoming.

Quirrel drew breath to speak, to apologize for his tardiness, to re-introduce himself, anything, and she interrupted him.

“Just a moment,” she said, and closed the door in his face.

Rain washed down his mask. Droplets jumped in the puddles. Quirrel’s hand hovered in midair, above his nail.

Hornet opened the door again, after far too short an interval to have done anything meaningful except, perhaps, put down her needle—which she notably had not done.

“Come inside,” she said, breathless, and any joke or quip he might have made slipped back down his throat. He swallowed and stepped forward, over the threshold, and she shut the door behind him.

He had no time to register more than the dimness of the room before Hornet threw the bolt, hissed “Stay here,” and left him blinking in the antechamber.

Curiosity sprouted like a weed in his mind, but anything other than inspecting the little he could see through the doorway seemed like a dangerous prospect. He adjusted the weight of his catch on his shoulder, then pulled off his kerchief and wrung it out, tying the damp fabric back on over his antennae.

Blue light lay in a hazy rectangle on the stained, rumpled rug at his feet. When he paused to listen, Hornet’s voice carried from the next room, tone urgent but soft, and she paused before resuming, though he’d heard no answer in return.

Had she not been expecting him?

He grimaced. He had told her about his plans after leaving the lakeshore. Plans like those didn’t tend to inspire confidence in one’s ability to keep appointments.

A rustle of cloth announced Hornet’s approach. She had put down her needle, this time. He bowed when she stepped through the doorway, though not as deeply as before—if she preferred her given name to her title, she might not want that title acknowledged in other ways, either.

“I do apologize for the delay.” He straightened, hand still resting on his chest-plate. “In my defense, I needed to restock my supplies, and your directions left something to be desired.”

She closed her eyes briefly, black eyelids flickering shut over dark brown lenses. “You apologize far too much.”

And you don’t apologize at all.

He stifled the response, though not before his mandibles twitched. His reflexive tendency toward gentle teasing had already proven unproductive with Hornet.

Before he could find anything less pointed to say, she spoke. “I did not know… when to expect you.”

An apology, of sorts, though the unspoken if stung like venom.

“Have I arrived at a bad time?” he asked, tentatively, with a glance over her shoulder at the visible sliver of parlor.

A sigh hissed through her fangs, and her gaze dropped. “There are no good times.”

“Ah.” He looked away, staring at one of the astonishingly boring portraits on the wall behind her. The ache in his arm demanded his attention, and he straightened, proffering the fresh—or slightly less than fresh—kills. “I’ve been told it’s Deepnest tradition to offer dinner to a hunter. These were dressed and cleaned this morning, though I fear they’re a bit waterlogged now.”

She reached slowly forward, fangs working under her mask with evident surprise. Or anticipation—he had very little experience reading spiders, let alone the single known spiderwyrm. Either way, she took them, her motions betraying a caution he had done very little to inspire. “Who told you that?”

His mouth opened before he realized he had no answer. He’d obviously expected to have one once he did so, but the fact that his muscle memory was intact did not mean the rest of it was.

The silence stretched awkwardly before Hornet hoisted the string of kills and appraised them. “I accept,” she said, and weighed them in her hand before lowering them again. “They are… appreciated.”

Her other hand clenched and reopened, feeling, perhaps, the lack of her weapon, and then disappeared somewhere under her cloak as she seemed to notice herself fidgeting. “I have little to offer in return, I’m afraid.”

“I take vanilla and honey in my tea,” Quirrel said, deadpan, wondering how he knew that, and Hornet snorted, and he was left feeling as if he had won something, though if the prize was her amusement, it faded after a short moment.

“It has been a long time since I had a front door to knock on,” she began, and stopped.

“Which might explain your reaction,” he offered, generously.

Damn it. He hadn’t been able to stifle it this time, and it earned him a glare. “This situation is… less than ideal,” she said stiffly. “My hospitality will be somewhat lacking. This house was only a temporary shelter of mine; I was not prepared to stay here for long periods.”

Until? he wondered, but kept his mouth shut. She was here, she had let him in; she would explain sooner or later.

“I require very little,” he returned, accepting what seemed like yet another roundabout apology. “I have lived on the road for far too long to need much.”

Hornet nodded, but did not look him in the eye. Embarrassed? Lost for words? She did not seem like the type for either, but despite her insistence that there were no good times, he had the sense that he had interrupted something, that his arrival had tipped some kind of scale, and she was now fumbling to rebalance.

Her fangs worked under her mask again, pale points flashing, though not in a threat, as it seemed to be when she lifted her chin to display them. They tightened into a grimace as she reached a conclusion she did not appear to be happy with, and she whispered an oath under her breath, one he could honestly say he never expected to hear in the mouth of a princess.

“You must do exactly as I say.” She raised a hand to forestall a protest he had not intended to utter. “For your safety, and my own, and that of my sibling. I do not ask this lightly.”

“Understood,” he said, and she eyed him, and he resisted the urge to elaborate. Verbose as he could be, his word held the most weight when he spoke simply, and after a moment she nodded and continued.

“I do not know how my sibling will take your arrival. I have told them you are a friend, and that I trust you, but I am still unsure how much they understand, or what might cause them to react.” Her next exhale was shaky, and she hastened to speak again. “Wounded as they are, they are still strong, and quicker than they look. I advise that you stay to the opposite side of the room, near the hearth, unless I tell you to approach.”

Perhaps this should not intrigue him as much as it did. He almost wished he had peeked through the doorway, if she intended to delay him in the entry much longer.

Before he agreed to this latest set of conditions, she forged onward. “In addition, please refrain from asking questions. I will explain later, but… they should need to sleep soon. I shall be happy to answer whatever you ask then.”

“Agreed.”

She looked as though she had expected him to object. He did not, but she let the silence stretch for a moment longer before she believed it.

Taking a hesitant step toward the parlor, she halted, then spun around again. “And perhaps it would be best if you left your nail out of sight. I don’t know what they might do if you appeared to threaten me.”

She looked truly apologetic for this request, in a way she had not for the others. Perhaps that made sense, if he imagined someone asking her to part with her own weapon.

“Appearing unthreatening is no trouble,” he said with a half-laugh, drawing his nail and leaning it against the door frame. His gaze lingered for a moment before he yanked it away. His next words warbled a little. “Rather the inverse is usually true.”

“Hm,” Hornet responded, and the way she scanned him head to claws made him want to laugh again, warm amusement washing over chilly regret.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, after a long moment where she didn’t move.

“No.” She shook herself, and when she turned away there were spikes bristling on the back of her neck, pushing at the collar of her cloak.

Fascinating.

He thought she might conjure yet another reason to delay him, but instead she stepped through the doorway, and after a deep breath, he followed.

He immediately amended parlor to great room; the ceiling soared up into the second story, with tall arched windows on the opposite wall that looked out onto a rather lovely rain garden. The floor and walls were bare, without any of the customary carpets and hangings, though the imprints were still there, ghosts of luxury hastily stripped away. A collection of towels and linens hung from every available surface, and an unlit chandelier dangled crookedly from the ceiling’s apex.

And on the floor in front of him—

“Oh,” he said, and then, when all other words failed him, “Oh, my.”

 The creature lying atop the pile of mattresses and pillows would have turned any head in Hallownest in their prime. For a moment he could perceive nothing but the size of them. Curled slightly on their side, knees bent, arm draped across their abdomen, they made at least two of him, and their lower legs were still hidden under the ragged blankets bunched at the end of the bed. Their mask was another wonder altogether: horns pure white and triple-pointed, sweeping improbably high and coming to a gentle point at their muzzle, the seamless shape interrupted only by a pair of tapered black eyeholes that showed nothing but darkness beneath.

That, and the jagged crack that tracked through one socket, splitting their jaw and the base of one horn before curving out of sight behind their head.

Quirrel blinked. As if the crack in their mask was a flaw in the spell, his stunned daze fell away, and his next breath was sharp, almost a gasp, though he caught it and cut it off. He had the sudden urge to hold himself still, to stifle every sound, as if anything he did might hurt them, any action shatter them the rest of the way.

Their shell was scored with cracks—narrow slashes, deep punctures, shallow fracture lines that webbed from points of impact. Lower on their body, he thought he saw the subtle rippling patterns of offensive soul-spells branded into their legs. Not even their arms had been spared—

Oh, no.

What he had taken at first for a scrap of ratty fabric across their left shoulder was their skin. No shell, not even fragments—it was simply gone. As was their arm; he could see a shallow dip where the socket should be, but nothing else remained, the structure so withered and eaten away that he would be hard-pressed to identify much more.

Horrified as he was, he could not look away, though his gut twisted queasily when he noticed that the shell at the edges of the wound was deformed and roughened in a way he had only seen on burns from acid or extreme heat.

Their arm had not been cut or torn off. It had melted away.

When his gaze finally went to the blisters pushing through the cracks in their chest, the other wounds made an awful sort of sense. His hand dropped to his side, falling through empty air when he failed to find the hilt of his nail.

Hornet. Hornet had asked him to leave it behind.

He took a deeper breath to still the sudden hammer-pulse of fear in his chest. She knew what she was doing, she had lived in this kingdom far longer than he had, she would surely have the sense not to ask him to step weaponless into a room with someone infected.

The Hollow Knight had not moved, and neither had Quirrel, still just inside the doorway, within reach of his weapon and escape. If they had intended to slaughter him, they could have done it by now, and easily—regardless of the fact that Hornet stood in the way, half-turned to keep both of them in view, spikes bristling beneath her cloak, one hand held halfway out, as if to halt an altercation.

Held out not toward her sibling, but toward Quirrel.

He choked on a brief surge of indignation. What was he meant to do against that? If they wished to kill him, they simply would.

He had wondered before whether he could best his traveling friend—the other vessel—in combat. As their encounters grew more frequent, and he had more cause to observe them, he had come solidly down on an answer in the negative. The most he could hope for was to assist them, to be on the same side of whatever conflict arose at the time. He was not fool enough to fight a force of nature.

They had been a fourth this size. If that.

Hornet was glaring fixedly at him. He could only hope she wasn’t capable of injecting venom through intimidating looks as well as through more traditional means.

Quirrel pushed the fear back. Again. Spread both hands, away from his sides, and empty. She relaxed a touch, and he nodded at her.

Then he took another breath, and looked back at the Hollow Knight.

Despite the instinctive push to run, to fight, to do anything but stand still, he made himself do just that. Made himself exist with the impossibility of it, waiting for the answer to reveal itself.

He had never seen injuries this extensive on a bug that was still living.

His first assumption had been that the infection was keeping them alive. It certainly had the capacity to do so, if some of the more grotesque husks he had seen were any indication. Physical symptoms did not manifest in those who were not mentally infected as well; one preceded the other, in every case he knew of, and the condition progressed until the individual was fully taken over, prey to the whims of the murderous rage that had poisoned their dreams.

Hornet’s sibling did not seem murderous. Or enraged. They lay in exactly the same position they had been in when he stepped through the doorway, as if frozen in place, for all the world like he was a threat to them.

And perhaps he was, he thought, remembering his first impression that any move he made might break them into pieces. Hornet certainly seemed to think so. Although if they were not dead already, he doubted anything he could do would kill them.

It broke all the accepted patterns of the infection, but the Hollow Knight was alive, unchained, both infected and not. Their chest pulsed with rot, swollen sacs of orange pressing their wounds open, but their eyes were as clear and dark as the bottom of a well, fixed firmly to his face, waiting for whatever they clearly expected him to do.

Clear and dark did not mean empty, however, and the intensity of their gaze pressed against his mask like a cold hand, leaving no doubt that something there was watching him. Closely.

His gaze flicked to Hornet, and once again he resorted to the exact opposite of his instincts. Moving slowly, he stepped around the edge of the room until he reached the furthest point away, then sat down on the hearth, resting his back against the chilly slate.

Truthfully, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But if the two godspawn in the room both insisted on eying him as if he might explode, it was one of the few unequivocally unthreatening actions he could think of.

He couldn’t exactly relax, not with those two dark gazes pinned on him, but it did feel good to sit after hours of walking.

Hornet, after a further moment of tension, seemed to accept that Quirrel and her sibling were not going to fly at each other’s throats. She expelled a breath that shook slightly and stepped closer to the vessel, sinking to her knees near their head, turning her gaze away from Quirrel to nervously check them over.

The Hollow Knight did not follow suit, their attention remaining fixed in his direction. He thought he detected motion behind their mask, though when he stared into the darkness, that was precisely what he saw—more darkness. Dark in a way these caverns never were, with the remnants of kingslight still lingering. Dark as few things ever could be, dark as true blindness, or the inside of a grave.

Quirrel shook himself. His thoughts rarely trended so gloomy, though he recalled a similar effect when confronted with the unwavering gaze of his small friend. Odd, that two creatures with such vast outward differences would inspire such similar—and uncharacteristic—reactions.

Few had the chance to meet more than one vessel. Did that make him lucky? Unlucky? He certainly would not wish to give up any of his other encounters; they were rare, fleeting things, all the more precious for their infrequency, and no less meaningful for all that the only words spoken had been his. The weight of the little vessel’s presence made them an exceptional listener, and the tilt of their head as they stared up at him with those fathomless eyes, waiting for him to continue, made him wander farther afield in the conversation than was normal, even for him. To meet someone who seemed to drink in his every word, to soak up every moment in his company, was water in the desert, a gift in a kingdom otherwise defined by its emptiness.

Hornet was speaking softly, her hand resting on the bed just in front of the vessel’s mask, fingers stretched out and open, as if waiting for her sibling to place something in them. The Hollow Knight did not seem to be listening, all their focus narrowed to Quirrel, and after a moment she exhaled and sat back, though she left her hand where it was.

Quirrel opened his mouth, remembered Hornet’s prohibition on questions, and shut it again. Still, when the silence stretched on with no indication that she intended to break it, he cleared his throat.

She jumped a little, more of a twitch than anything, and her sibling’s breath caught, a soft whine that he had not fully noticed falling silent and then resuming. Now that he was listening, he could hear them breathing, though only by the horrible wet catch in their lungs, a sound he had only ever heard described as a death rattle.

Perhaps he was only digging the hole deeper, but he had her attention now, at the cost of startling her, and he was loath to waste it. “If… if there’s any way I can help…”

Hornet sat motionless, staring at the floor. With every moment that passed, Quirrel was surer that he should not have spoken. She looked as though she was holding something in, clinging to composure by her clawtips.

How long had she been here, caring for her sibling alone? He had thought she looked exhausted at the lakeshore, but if possible, she looked even worse now, her shoulders curling forward and masktip dropping until it nearly reached her chest. He knew she had heard him; her fangs parted as if to answer, but she said nothing.

“There is a kettle by the fireplace,” she mumbled after a long pause, sounding as if the words had been dragged out of her. “And clean water and shellwood in the kitchen.” She turned to look at him. “These wounds need washing, though I will not be able to finish the job tonight. While I am doing that, I will tell you what I can.”

Grateful as he was, silence still felt like the safest bet. He nodded to Hornet, then stood without a word and picked up the kettle, feeling the Hollow Knight’s eyes follow him all the way to the door.

○

Taglist: @2amtime��@moss-tombstone @slimeel Send an ask or reply to this post to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

[cloudbattrolls]

Fear No More

This drabble is preceded by Grey Tidings.

Ullane’s gambit to survive was not needed after all. But now she faces a far greater threat than some slavering dogs.

Indrid shakes her head, pitying Halvir a bit, her feelings clear on her face.

"A shame." She says, and she means it.

Ullane is expressionless. If anything, she is only looking to where Xrumon disappeared again. Friday looks shocked, and worried, because she knows what this means.

Ullane pats her shoulder.

Indrid looks to Artair.

"Does the prosecution have any further questions or comments?" She asks politely.

"Aye," he replies, nodding. "The prosecution notes that while it appears we may have a confession... of sorts..." he glares at Halvir again. "As to th' exact cause of the crime, which would reduce th' penalty for medical malpractice..."

He turns, unfolding his arms and resting both of them on his desk, leaning forward. "The fact remains that the defense still bears responsibility for th' death of a blueblood. It is your job to keep your facilities safe and secure from incidents like these."

"Accordingly, we request, your Honorable Tyranny, your judgment on the charge of extreme negligence and lack of care. The penalty for this is not as severe, of course," he continues, glancing at Ullane. 

"But there must be some consequence for what has happened."

Indrid nods in agreement. "The defense understands and accepts these reduced penalties, if you would like to sentence now. Thank you, your honor."

Ullane nods as well. Friday just looks sad.

The judge nods, looking solemn in spite of his fearsome appearance. "Very well. Bailiff, escort mister Urtyop into custody pending further interrogation in this incident," he begins.

The yellowblood is led away, disappearing behind a side door near to the broken window, as another troll works to sweep up the glass on the floor.

"Now then," he leans forward, looking down on the defense. "On the charge of medical malpractice leading to the death of a noble, upon hearing the arguments and evidence put forth in this most extraordinary trial, this court finds the defense: Not guilty."

"On the charge of extreme negligence and lack of care, resulting in inadvertent harm due to outside malignance, this court finds the defense: Guilty."

"Your sentence will be handed down immediately," he bares his fangs for a moment, before settling back into his seat. 

"Your medical license will be stripped from you, and you will be prohibited from the profession for a period no less than five sweeps. 

Accordingly, you are no longer fit to hold your current position, but your clinic is free to employ a different administrator of its choosing. This court also orders the remaining staff at the clinic to close this breach in security in this nanotech before any more of it may be used in further patients."

He bangs his gavel on the stand, sounding as loud as a gunshot. "Court is adjourned. Defense has one week to vacate their position."

Indrid nods in understanding. Ullane does as well. Friday sighs deeply.

As the three women exit the room, Friday looks miserable again.

"I'm not...I'm not ready, Ullane."

"Not completely." She agrees. "But you've been trained. You'll have much support. I trust you, Friday." She says simply.

The other yellowblood sighs.

"Do you think Xrumon's all right?"

"He will be." says Ullane, in a voice that clearly states what will happen if the tealblood is not all right, as she goes to look for him. Friday follows, and Indrid leaves the pair of them.

The medic lightens, just barely, giving one of her slight smiles.

"Take heart, new administrator." She says gently, slightly teasing. "The beginning is always the hardest." She says. "You'll do better than me, I think."

Friday looks startled by that.

Ullane keeps smiling.

Just inside of the courtroom lobby, Xrumon is calmly waiting on a bench. He doesn't look any worse for wear, simply annoyed. 

"About god damn time you finished up in there," he complains, rolling his eyes. "How long does it take to figure out you're only mostly an ass?"

Ullane's smile only widens on seeing him. "A long time." She says solemnly, in what would seem a serious manner if her smile weren't so obvious. 

Her expression becomes sharper, more intent as she looks at her now-former employee and patient.

"You two go back to the clinic. I have to leave now."

Chimer Latrai shows up right on cue with her blueblood guard trailing her, sighing.

"Girl, I swear, you are the third biggest headache I've ever had. Let's get going before the mob shoots another bullet through the damn wall." She snorts.

"Better the window than anyone's head," Xrumon remarks, still shaking his head. "Still the same as they ever were."

He stands up, struggling only somewhat, and frowns at Ullane. "You 'have' to leave, huh? They take your license? That's the lesser penalty for medical negligence. What a pain in the ass."

Chimer nods. "Yeah, you should see the other guy, and by other guy I mean Halsy. I do not wanna be him right now."

Ullane looks grave. "Not about that. Need to leave the city before the grey mob figures out what I did."

Chimer, sighing. "I'll put it in one word: fucked. I'd want to slap her shit if I were them." Shakes her head.

"You've probably got one week. Maybe two," Xrumon remarks. "Got rid of a lot of your lead time when those arrests got brought up, because it's not gonna be hard to figure out how the police suddenly decided to be competent."

Chimer, nodding. "Yeah, they recruited the world's most fucking deranged mediculler with a whole ribcage to pick, wouldn't you know it, real darned coincidence that was."

He rubs his forehead with one hand. "At least they're not too big. You'll be safe... ish. As long as you get out of town for a long while. Just try not to piss off any more heavily armed gangs of pissed off hemorebels."

Friday giggles nervously. "Ullane, what did you..."

Ullane, quietly. "No time for that. It won't reflect back on you. The clinic's safe from the mob now."

Friday doesn't look very reassured by that, but she nods.

Ullane nods as well in response to Xrumon's words. 

"Chimer has a place for me." She assures him.

She sticks a hand out to shake his.

"Goodbye for now, Xrumon."

His hand, scarred and calloused as it is, grasped hers. "Goodbye, Ullane," he replies, giving her as firm a shake as he can get. "And good luck out there."

She smiles, just barely, as she lets go and walks away with Chimer.

"The same to you."

Friday watches Ullane go until she's gone, looking a little lost. Then she shakes her head and looks at Xrumon.

"I'm the clinic administrator now." She says with a sigh. The once-cheery surgeonhiliator is more subdued now, slim shoulders weighed down by her new responsibilities.

Ever since Ullane told her that Friday would take her place after she was sentenced, right after Calcit's death, she has known this would happen. Ullane has been training her.

It hasn’t made it any easier. 

"Let's go back, Xrumon. There's so much to do."

"What a shit way to get a promotion," he answers blandly, but shrugs. "Lead the way, new boss."

She snorts. "It's definitely not how I wanted it...but...at least I have you, and Yarrex, and Chimer...and the others."

Friday does lead the way, back to crown clinic.

Ullane's lusus is already gone from the place, picked up by Chimer before the trial. Her office has been cleared out. There is almost no trace the yellowblood was ever here.

Except one thing, put up in the employee break room. A typed note.

"To my former employees -

I have kept quiet about my investigations, and spoken little of my trial. This has been to protect you all from my enemies, who shouldn't trouble this place any longer.

I have left the city for a while. I don't know how long. But I am safe, though I cannot message or call anyone just yet.

Treat Friday with the same respect you treated me. Help her as best you can while the clinic transitions.

Above all, thank you all for the work you've done. It means everything to me, and more importantly, the patients you've cared for.

- Ullane Wistim"

Take heart. She’ll return some night. 

Ullane Wistim always has a plan.

THE END OF 

MORE TO LOSE 

[theanimeview]

Source: https://tapas.io/series/the-return-of-the-8th-class-mage/info

By: Peggy Sue Wood | @pswediting

I love Middle Age-inspired stories, mostly because of their interpretation and integration of archetypal ideas regarding what it means to be a King, a Knight, or a Noble. It is something I’ve talked about several times on our blog and something I will undoubtedly continue to examine moving forward. However, rarely have I seen an address to the archetype of a mage, despite so many magic-class central or main characters in these medieval-inspired works. At least, that was until I read The Return of the 8th Class Mage, which is currently available on Tapas.

For those who haven’t read it, or just need a refresher, the story follows Ian Page–the highest mage in all the kingdom and world as we know it. In this particular story, mages can be born in any class, but once identified enter the status of a “mage” within their respective kingdom and must serve their kingdom in a way–whether by becoming a family’s mage, the kingdom’s mage, or a mage of the magic tower.

Source: The Return of the 8th Class Mage, Chapter 76

Ian, as a high-class magician, was a mage of the magic tower but also one that served under a specific royal, Prince and later King Ragnar Greenriver. Ian and Ragnar were friends, the best of friends. Ian supported Prince Ragnar, and it was this support that aided the most in Ragnar becoming the King.

After Ragnar becomes King, Ian says he wants to retire and hide away.

Over a short period of time, Ragnar is convinced by those around him that Ian could become a threat, and so–much to both their dismay–Ragnar betrays Ian’s trust and friendship and kills his closest friend. In a last-minute effort to preserve his life, Ian activates a spell that transmigrates him back in time to the point of him becoming a mage.

Thus begins a story of changing allegiances and setting things down a better path that is so typical of these types of stories. Now, controversy, I actually think that Ragnar probably would have been a better King over the first prince (his brother) who eventually takes the throne, as nothing in the story really made it seem like Ragnar was a bad King to the people. There was war, and other things, but ultimately he seems like a well-intentioned ruler looking to expand his borders. Rather than a bad King, it seemed like Ragnar was one who was not well-liked by those in the palace and potentially one whose early mistakes would have been avoided had he been more welcomed by his family and had he not been forced to rely on outside and corrupted help. If anything, the first prince–who fails to see the worth and merit in handling the power and responsibility of the crown–was the least deserving of becoming the King (even the princess would have been better).

Source: https://www.thebottleimp.org.uk/2018/12/wizardry-prophecy-and-the-origins-of-merlin/

Who or what is the archetype of the modern mage?

Magic and magicians have been around for a long time, at least in a storytelling sense. For example, in Norse mythology, Odin was a powerful sorcerer and shapeshifter who possessed great knowledge and wisdom. In Greek mythology, the god Hermes was a messenger and trickster who was also associated with magic and alchemy. However, in a contemporary lens, we might think of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Gandalf and Saruman, elders who possess both magical abilities and great wisdom. We may also think of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, which features wizards and witches of varied magical abilities and personalities, though notably the professors–older, wiser, and sometimes mischievous magicians that they are–would probably align more with the image of a mage or wizard in our minds. This stems from what can be considered the archetype of the modern mage: Merlin.

The exact origins of Merlin, as with other Arthurian characters of legend, is unclear, and there are many different versions of his story. Still, from the many tales he appears in, we can piece together that he is often able to perform magical feats and portrayed as a wise and powerful advisor who helps win battles and makes important decisions. He is also sometimes shown as a flawed character with a dark and tragic backstory.

When we think of a wizard, what often comes to mind is that Merlin-like figure of a wise old man with magical abilities. We think of medieval-inspired robes as their daily garb and of one with a common appearance that has an enduring personality. Sometimes the Mage play pranks. Sometimes, the Mage acts like a cranky old fellow who is leading you to the answer you seek by unusual means, and often the Mage is a storyteller. The Mage is traditionally a powerful influence and closely tied to the advisory position of a King. This traditional image takes inspiration from older examples but is commonly associated with the image of Merlin.

The Mage, as an archetype, is not subservient to the King though he is of a lower or unknown class status. Rather than subservient, the Mage is much more powerful on an individual level and othered because of it. Due to such great power, it is truly only a King that could be the Mage’s friend since only a King would have such great power and responsibility to hold because of their position. Unlike the King or a Knight, where the power comes from the people and invested interest of those people in that person’s bloodline or personhood, the Mage is one who has simply been gifted power by an otherworldly source and will not lose that power if expectations of the people are not upheld.

The Mage is different from the Knight too because he is not expected to be loyal to the King. In fact, the Mage may be suspected of disloyalty at all times because of his great power as an individual and because they have chosen to give loyalty without the same expectation of needing to keep their word with the consequences of losing their life or reputation by not keeping to said promises.

For further context, the Knight’s archetype in fiction is expected to be loyal to their lord even at the cost of their own life. This loyalty is not just a matter of personal honor, but it is also seen as essential for maintaining order and stability in the feudal society of the Middle Ages. When a knight betrays their lord or breaks their oath, they not only lose their honor and reputation, but they also jeopardize the stability and security of the entire feudal system. As such, a Knight’s betrayal is often portrayed as a catastrophic event that leads to chaos and destruction, potentially to the extent that it could cause the downfall of a country. However, a Mage’s influences, which are also large and potentially catastrophic, usually ends up working for the best because magic makes it so or because they have otherworldly wisdom and insight into the future.

In a Knight’s story, loyalty and betrayal can become central themes but are perhaps even more impactful in a Mage’s story because it is much easier to resonate with modern audiences who typically have more loyalty to their family and friends–all of whom may be of a higher or lower social and economic status–than to one’s employer (though that is not always the case).

Source: https://return-of-the-8th-class-mage.fandom.com/wiki/Ian_Page?file=Hamon.png

It is a complicated set of ideas, but one that the creator, Ryu song (류송) and Tess, completes beautifully. In The Return of the 8th Class Mage, Ian upholds that old archetype. Even after the betrayal, he never pledges support to another King candidate even though he does end up helping the first prince take the throne.

Ian keeps his word, even to the promises made in his past life, though he also pursues his own interests. He does, with the past-life approval of Ragnar, gain his revenge and won’t forgive Ragnar, which lends to the continued and lasting ideas of magic wherein the choices you make, intended or not, maintain an impact.

Of the many ways friendship and betrayal can be explored in fiction, the focus this story has on the betrayal itself, the impact it has on the characters involved whether they know it or not, and the process of seeking revenge for the betrayal rather than repairing a damaged friendship makes this particular Mage a truly a fantastic embodiment of Merlin’s archetype brought to a modern lens. Ian Page, similar to Merlin, is not really a servant to the King but an equal friend of a lower status. He is the compelling main character of his own story, one who must deal with the responsibility of his otherworldly powers and wisdom regarding future events due to past experiences along with their impact. He is one that must balance his personal interests with living in a society that demands personal wants be put aside for the greater good or for the personal desires of another. This is what makes a mage according to The Return of the 8th Class Mage, and I can’t help but love it!

[sillyangellove]

Episode 1 Qin Yu

Chapter 1 Qin Yu

It was late winter, and after the heavy snowfall, the entire city of Yanjing was covered with a layer of silver. Yanjing City is huge and can accommodate millions of people. The residence of Qin De, the "Zhendong King" who controls the three counties of the Eastern Region, is in Yanjing City.

The Zhendong Prince's residence occupies a very large area, and the main entrance is wide open day and night. The main entrance of the residence is extremely wide, enough for six or seven people to enter at a time.

On both sides of the gate stood two brave men with naked upper bodies about two meters tall. These two men were like rock carvings. Their cold eyes scanned the passing crowd. There were giant blood-red swords hanging on the broad tiger backs. . At first glance, the blood-red sword was one meter and a half long.

In the depth of winter, the ground was covered with snowflakes, the temperature was frighteningly low, and the river was already frozen, but these two big men were naked from the waist up.

However, this is not the most horrifying thing. What is even more horrifying is that there is a ferocious tiger next to these two big men.

The tiger's whole body is as red as flames, and its body is about two meters long. A sudden sweep of its iron whip-like tail makes the air vibrate, and a cold gleam emits from the tiger's eyes. This tiger is exactly the so-called " Fierce Tiger'.

Suddenly, two other big men walked out of the Zhendong King's mansion. These two big men were also naked from the upper body, and they were pulling a ferocious tiger respectively. They were here to change shifts.

Outside the mansion, the wealthy nobles of Yanjing City and the common people all walked around the residence of King Zhendong consciously.

In a quiet courtyard inside the Zhendong Prince's residence.

A middle-aged man in green clothes was sitting on a stone bench, with a cute little boy sitting on his lap. And standing in front of the middle-aged man were twelve people. These twelve people were either old men, beautiful women, or young people... But one thing was the same, these twelve people were all dressed in purple.

"Father, why do you have so many teachers here?" Qin Yu, who was just six years old, sat on his father's lap, holding a snowball in his hand and looking at his father Qin De in confusion.

Qin De caressed Qin Yu's head lovingly, then looked up at the twelve people and said calmly: "You have been teaching Yu'er for a while, okay, don't worry about anything, just say what you think."

The twelve people looked at each other, and then an old man with a fluttering white beard stepped forward and said respectfully: "Reporting to the prince, we have observed from all aspects that His Highness is only slightly interested in strange skills. However, he is not interested in the superiors." According to our judgment, His Highness the Third Prince cannot be a perfect superior."

It seems a bit arbitrary to make such an assertion based on just a period of contact with the boy. However, Qin De had no doubt.

Qin De let out a long sigh, looked at the ignorant Qin Yu, and said with a bitter smile: "I can see that Yu'er is like his mother, not interested in worldly power at all, but on the way to cultivation, he is..."

Qin De stopped abruptly, then waved his hand and said: "I'm sorry to trouble you during this time, but you can leave the palace now."

"Your Majesty, I'll take my leave!"

The twelve people in purple clothes bowed at the same time, and then left the small and quiet manor one after another.

At this moment, there were only Qin De and his son Qin Yu in the courtyard. Qin De was silent and looked at Qin Yu on his lap from time to time. The meaning in his eyes was something that Qin Yu, who was at least six years old, still couldn't understand.

"What's wrong with my father? Why doesn't he talk?" Qin Yu thought to himself, but Qin Yu was very obedient and did not disturb his father. He had no mother since he was a child. In Qin Yu's heart, the most important thing is his father, and The other two brothers.

For a long time, Qin De kept sitting, and Qin Yu kept sitting quietly on his father's lap.

Suddenly, a crane roared.

I saw a white crane flying in the sky, and sitting on the crane was a handsome middle-aged man with an immortal spirit. In a moment, the crane fell into the courtyard.

"Brother Feng, can you think of a solution to the problem of Yu'er Dantian..." As soon as Qin De saw the middle-aged man, he stood up eagerly and asked.

When Feng Yuzi saw Qin De like this, he naturally knew what happened to his good friend Qin De. He could only sigh and said: "Your Majesty, I have already said that Yu'er has no hope at all in his cultivation. He The Dantian is very weird and cannot accumulate internal energy, so it is naturally impossible to cultivate it. It is impossible to find one among hundreds of millions of people, and I, Feng Yuzi, have no way to do it."

After hearing this result, Qin De slowly sat down and pondered for a long time.

"Father? What is internal power? What's wrong with my Dantian being unable to accumulate internal power? What did those teachers say about superiors just now? What does that mean?" Six-year-old Qin Yu opened his eyes wide and asked in confusion.

He remembered clearly what he said just now.

Qin De smiled bitterly in his heart, but said comfortingly: "Yu'er, don't ask so many questions. Don't you like to learn this and that, and like to go to 'Yunwu Villa'?"

Qin Yu's eyes suddenly lit up, like bright stars in the night sky: "Ah, can I not study those boring books? Yunwu Villa, I like that hot spring, I also like to watch the stars, and I also like to watch the sunrise."

Qin De smiled and said: "Okay, okay, okay, Yu'er, since you like it, I will give you Yunwu Villa, and a thousand elite soldiers will also be under your control in the future. If you want anything, just contact you directly." Grandpa said.

"Okay, great, wow, Yunwu Villa is mine. I can soak in the hot spring every day. It's so comfortable." Qin Yu's face turned red with excitement.

The smile on Qin De's face was completely fake, but Qin Yu couldn't notice it.

"As long as you like it, Yu'er, you go back to bed first. When you want to go to Yunwu Villa, just tell your grandpa Lian." Qin De smiled and patted Qin Yu's head.

"Goodbye, father, goodbye, uncle Feng." Qin Yu waved his hand and ran directly to his room.

Qin Dexiao watched Qin Yu enter the room, and then Qin De's face suddenly became stern, and his figure turned into a line of green smoke and disappeared into the courtyard, while Feng Yuzi followed him like floating catkins.

…

In the secret room of the palace, there were only three people at the moment, Qin De, Feng Yuzi and a scholar in black with a folding fan in his hand.

"My lord, have you really decided?" The scholar in black looked at Qin De and asked doubtfully.

Qin De nodded and said: "Yu'er can't become a leader, nor can he become an innate master. It's better for him not to get involved. His weird Dantian, alas, what I can give him may only be more than ten years. Happy and peaceful days, until we start the final plan, Yu'er will no longer be able to live a stable life. "

Feng Yuzi thought for a moment and decided to speak out.

"My lord, are you really going to implement your plan? You should know what the consequences will be once the plan is implemented?" Feng Yuzi asked again.

Qin De's face suddenly turned cold, and his eyes flashed coldly: "Whether it's for my Qin family ancestors or for Jingyi, this plan must be implemented. The three sons Jingyi left me, although Yu'er has problems with his Dantian. But Feng'er and Zheng'er have both martial arts and literature, which is enough to achieve great things. Xu Yuan, have you started to use the first move of 'Dark Chess'?"

Xu Yuan, a scholar in black, fanned twice, closed the folding fan and said with a smile: "Don't worry, Your Majesty, everything is under control."

"Okay, very good." Qin De's eyes flashed with astonishing murderous intent.

…

The world where Zhendong King Qin De lives is the Qianlong Continent. The Qianlong Continent is so large that no one has been able to figure it out yet.

The main reason is that the far east of the Qianlong Continent is a boundless wilderness with high mountains and jungles. There are countless monsters in it. The deeper you go, the more powerful the monsters are, because it is the top of the Qianlong Continent. Immortals cannot explore the entire boundless wilderness.

To the west of the boundless wilderness are the three major countries.

The Chu Dynasty, Ming Dynasty, and Han Dynasty, the three dynasties have a combined population of nearly 10 billion, and the land area is even more terrifying. Among the three dynasties, the Chu Dynasty is the most powerful, and among the Chu Dynasty, there is a very remarkable Family——Qin family.

The Qin family occupies the three counties of the Eastern Region among the twelve counties of the Chu Dynasty. The three counties of the Eastern Region are close to the boundless wilderness. The Qin family has been inherited for hundreds of years and has extremely deep roots in the three counties of the Eastern Region. Even the emperor of the Chu Dynasty found it very difficult to deal with it. Moreover, the Qin family has a special unit called the Fierce Tiger Army.

The fierce tiger, with its red body and relatively huge body, is a branch of the tiger. The method of large-scale breeding of fierce tigers is one of the most important secrets of the Qin family.

The Qin family controls an army of 600,000, of which 50,000 are the Fierce Tiger Army. Every warrior in the entire Fierce Tiger Army rides a 'Fierce Tiger'. The Fierce Tiger's own attack power is terrifying. If you add the warriors, then It is even more invincible.

The 'tiger roar' of 50,000 ferocious tigers alone can greatly demoralize the enemy. Fifty thousand Fierce Tigers can easily destroy an army of over 100,000 ordinary cavalry.

Qianlong Continent has the highest level of military power. The three major countries have immortal cultivators who control the country. Every immortal cultivator is a god-like existence in the eyes of mortals. Once the flying sword is released, it can cut people's heads thousands of miles away, and it can fly with the sword and soar in the nine heavens. Isn't this a magical method?

…

Yunwu Villa is built on the "Donglan Mountain". Donglan Mountain is more than 3,000 meters high and can be considered a high mountain.

Two years later.

Qin Yu is now eight years old and much taller. His eyes sometimes sparkle with wisdom, but deep in his eyes there is a hint of melancholy. At this moment, Qin Yu is walking alone on the mountain road. There is a black eagle on the shoulder.

"Xiao Hei, it's been two years. My father has only visited me once in these two years." Qin Yu bit his lip and said to the young eagle on his shoulder.

Qin Yu discovered this young eagle when he visited Donglan Mountain a year ago, so he took the young eagle with him. With the young eagle by his side, Qin Yu would not be too lonely. Before he was six years old, he was often accompanied by his father. For two full years after he turned six, he only saw his father once.

Black Eagle flapped its wings and touched Qin Yu's young face. Qin Yu suddenly smiled.

After walking for a while, Qin Yu suddenly saw a pregnant woman walking hard ahead carrying broken wood. He immediately said to Heiying: "Xiao Hei, let's go help this aunt, shall we?"

Black Eagle immediately flapped its wings and shook Qin Yu's shoulders twice. Qin Yu immediately smiled and ran towards the pregnant woman quickly.

"Auntie, let me help you carry the wood." Qin Yu said looking at the pregnant woman.

When the pregnant woman heard the sound, she put down the bundle of wood on her body, wiped the sweat from her head, looked at Qin Yu, who was obviously still a child, and said with a smile: "Thank you, little one. Auntie can carry it by herself, but there is still a mile to go." It’s time to reach our small village.” He then picked up the wood again and moved on.

"Baby? I'm not young anymore. I'm eight years old this year. I can definitely carry this wood." Qin Yu looked at the sweat on the pregnant woman's face, grabbed the wood, and suddenly carried it on his back.

A bundle of wood is naturally not heavy for ordinary people, but it is very heavy for an eight-year-old child. However, Qin Yu often soaks in the natural hot springs of Yunwu Villa and is much stronger than the average eight-year-old child. He just carried it on his back.

"Auntie, look, didn't I carry it on my back? Huh, you still call me a little kid." Qin Yu said proudly, but at this moment, his immature little face was covered in dust and dirty.

The pregnant woman was stunned, then smiled and said: "You are really strong, but it's just a mile. You definitely won't be able to hold on, baby. You'd better let Auntie do it."

"Who says you can't persevere?"

When Qin Yu saw the pregnant woman stretching out her hand, he hurriedly ran forward, then turned back and said: "Auntie, I have run to Donglan Mountain many times. I know there is a small village a mile away from here. It must be you." Then, let’s go quickly. You’re not as fast as me!”

The pregnant woman's face burst into laughter: "I don't know whose child this baby is. His parents must be very happy to have such a child."

It was not difficult for Qin Yu to carry this bundle of wood at first, but after walking for a while, Qin Yu felt that his legs began to weaken. After all, he was going up a mountain, and he was also carrying wood. Even though Qin Yu was strong, He is only eight years old.

After a while, Qin Yu's legs suddenly trembled.

"Baby..." The pregnant woman was startled.

"It's okay, this matter is very simple." Qin Yu turned around and tried to force out a smile and said in a tone like that of a strong man. However, the mountain road was uneven and Qin Yu couldn't help but swayed when he touched a stone under his feet.

"Peng!" Qin Yu couldn't help but fall down.

The pregnant woman immediately came up quickly, took the wood, and helped Qin Yu up. Qin Yu's face was completely covered with dust at this moment, and his little face was all dirty. Qin Yu looked at the pregnant woman very aggrievedly and said: "Auntie, actually... I can still carry it. I was hit by a stone just now. ”

"Okay, Auntie knows you can carry it, but the village is just ahead, thank you."

The pregnant woman carried the wood on her back and saw that Qin Yu was not injured. After that, she wiped Qin Yu's face clean and gave her instructions carefully. After Qin Yu nodded in agreement, she returned to the village.

Qin Yu looked at the village about a hundred meters in front of him, frowned and said, "Xiao Hei, we're just a little bit there." Qin Yu then smiled, "But Auntie is much more relaxed now. Just arrived at the village.”

Qin Yu smiled brightly, a smile from the heart.

The three figures in the dark looked at each other. They were masters at protecting Qin Yu secretly.

Qin Yu is the son of King Zhendong. His Majesty the Third Highness, how could he be allowed to run around alone in the mountains?

"The Third Highness is still a child, but his heart is so kind. How could he be willing to leave His Highness in Yunwu Villa? He only comes to visit once every two years. Every time he sees His Highness sitting on the top of the mountain late at night for a whole night, then My little body is exposed to the cold wind at night on the top of the mountain, and I feel uncomfortable." A figure sighed in a low voice.

Another figure also nodded and said: "Every time His Highness looks up at the night sky, his expression makes me feel sad. Your Majesty... ugh!"

"Forget it, we don't know what the prince wants to do. We just have to protect His Highness."

suddenly--

Down the mountain road, a big black man with eyes as big as copper bells rode a ferocious red tiger and rushed over at top speed. When he saw Qin Yu, he shouted from afar: "Your Highness, Your Highness, Your Highness and Your Highness are here." ”

"Big brother and second brother are here!" Qin Yu's eyes lit up with excitement, and he immediately ran towards the big black man, climbed on the tiger's back, his face turned red with excitement, and urged urgently, "Uncle Wang, let's go, come back quickly. Yunwu Villa!”

The big man hugged Qin Yu, then drove the fierce tiger and ran down the mountain at high speed, leaving a trail of dust behind.

Stock Exchange Group：

[song-of-amethyst]

Thank you for the reply, it was such a delightful read!

It also gives insight into the story (or one or the stories) that both of these scenes are echoing or at least heavily referencing, from Clamp's earlier work RG Veda. That is, the story of Karura-ou and her sister Karyoubinga. Same imagery of Karyou falling down, same last words, "Be free."

For the longest time Karura-ou never rebelled against the tyrant Taishakuten because she wanted to protect her sickly sister. It is only after Karyou was murdered that Karura-ou ended up, after a period of mad grief, faking her own death and joining Ashura's group in defying and trying to overthrow Taishakuten. Through the loss of the person she loved most, Karura came to be in a place where she can do what she believes to be right.

I find that this story/version is especially explicit in its message, because of the unambiguous evil of Taishakuten (at least from what we knew at that point in the story) and the situation of pure coercion that Karura was in, serving someone she sees as a repulsive tyrant because what she has to lose if she doesn't is far, far too precious. She kills her fierce, justice-loving spirit because she loved her sister more than she loved freedom, and thus Karyou lived only thanks to her beloved's self-denial, and if you believe one's purpose in life is to live according to their truth, it is unbearable to love someone and know yourself to be the reason they are living a lie.

As long as Karyou was alive, Karura couldn't be free. She wasn't actually emprisoned as Fai was, so freedom in this sense is purely in the spiritual sense, in how much she restrains herself to spare herself the grief of Karyou's loss. In how much she says and does the things she knows to be wrong; in the way she is complicit to acts of such undiluted evil that it might be killing her in ways that are worse than any literal death.

Another point that I think makes the situation more clear-cut is that Karyou was dying—had been dying for a while, actually. Of course, it was completely unnecessary for her to die in those horrible circumstances, it was an act of wilfull cruelty; but death by itself is not evil, it is the inevitable conclusion of life and it cannot be escaped forever. While Fai's magic meant he could've well lived for decades if not centuries more, and Sakura's clone status left a big question mark on her longevity and mortality, Karyou would've still died, and sooner rather than later.

I suppose that, perhaps, the point I might be trying to get at is that this is a story about how the grief of an irretrievable loss may, at times, be the only thing that can force one to embrace the truth, to set themselves free, to be fully alive. It is noble to wish to protect what you love, but at which point does it become denial of life and of yourself? When you give up so much of yourself to protect another, doesn't it just become refusal to accept their eventual loss, protecting yourself from the pain which we call grief? Isn't it just a milder version of wanting to bring back the dead?

Grief is freeing—freedom is a meaningless word without the acceptance of loss, because nothing binds us more than our fear and rejection of impermanence. We would spend our entire lives twisting ourselves in all sorts of shapes in order not to lose something, never taking a full breath, never taking a step forward. As long as we deny ourselves in order to not feel pain, we might be more of a prisoner than a powerless child locked in the highest tower of a lifeless valley.

Nick have you seen the parallel between Sakura's farewell words to Lava Lamp and Real!Fai's last words to Yuui/our Fai as uncovered in his final memory in Celes? Could you talk about it?

I didn't notice this at all in the moment, but OOF. The PAIN of this parallel.

WHAT A MOMENT TO ECHO.

It draws quite an emotional parallel between (our) Fai and Lava Lamp Guy. Both of them ended up trapped in long, lonely, torturous situations where their fate was tied to someone else - someone they loved dearly, someone who is kind of dead, but because of their unique situation they ended up tying their entire existence around these ultra painful complex scenarios for the other person's eventual survival. Lava Lamp outright told Watanuki in the dream world that no matter how much he has to endure he will do what needs to be done to fix it. And Fai kind of had the situation happen twice - first, when both twins were alive, where they both stuck in the eternal torture pit for eternity because they refused to let each other die, and then later in life where Fai was trapped into servitude to Evil Wolverine's plan in order to try and revive his brother at the end of it all. Both Lava Lamp and Fai have good goals - they are devoted to someone they love, and will endure anything they think they need to in order to save them. But so much so that it twists their lives into constant suffering, to the point that the person they want to save actually cannot bear it anymore and wants to set them free instead.

So in both these final moments we have Sakura and (the original) Fai sacrificing themselves to save the other from endless suffering - Sakura saving Lava Lamp to free him from his plotline death and everything he is chained to, and (og) Fai making the deal with Wolverine that thematically frees Fai from the pit AND frees his future self from his commitment once he knows the truth of the situation.

It's a very beautiful, dark, and tragic act of love in both cases. They are scenarios born of desperation, where there is no safe winning outcome, and the alternative will either bring endless suffering or death for both of them. It shows that both parties are, at the end of the day, willing to sacrifice literally their entire existence to save each other - but also exploring what that means and how much suffering can come of this blind devotion. IS it truly better to live your life in constant torture in the hope that you might one day free someone you love from their predetermined death? Or is this only forcing yourself to suffer needlessly?

From a plotline perspective, both of these characters are technically already dead by the time we get these lines. Sakura kind of died in Infinity. Her fate, by her own choice, has already been tied to this outcome. It would have been impossible for Lava Lamp to stop it. (Og) Fai, too, is dead by the time Our Fai sees this scene in it's true context. He died hundreds of years ago, and even though Fai bent his entire life around trying to switch places with him, in truth that was always impossible. With that in mind, both scenarios are less about "who sacrificed themselves first to save the other" and more about the concept of trying to change a death that has already taken place - and that's an idea at the very core of Tsubasa all the way through.

What is the true nature of grief? To be in pain forever, or to accept that the person you've lost loved you, wanted the best for you, and wouldn't want you to suffer like this anymore?

Do you, like Evil Wolverine, break anything you need to break in order to bring that person back - or do you allow yourself to heal, like they would have wanted?

It's technically an open question, but in both Fai's death and Sakura's death, we have the person in question actually answer the question for us.

[quarksmommyissues]

Cardassian Beauty Standards and Aesthetics

apologies in advance for any problems with its language, English is not my home language but I think this is okay :)))

Something that I’ve noticed when watching ds9 is the vastly different looks of Cardassians and the different and inconsistent standards of beauty for them. This got me thinking about cardassian beauty standards because surely they like us must have different kinds of attractiveness. I want to explore the ideas of cardassian beauty standards and preferred aesthetics through the characters we know and love and use them as examples of what I believe aspects of cardassian beauty are and how they are viewed. Of course here’s my ususal disclaimer, this is not canon but simply an exercise in starting to explore my interpretation of what we are presented with.

Something that I believe was once very important and is still prominent today in cardassian beauty standards are the ideas of class, where certain traits are associated with people from different classes, making them more or less appealing, much like in human societies. However I also want to explore how this may have changed since the militarisation of cardassia and since the cardassians old spiritual beliefs were largely lost.

I think historically and up until modern times, someone like Dukat would be the aristocratic idea of beauty and thus the ideal that was for a significant period strived towards by cardassians of all classes in an effort to seem more noble and of better lineage. When one looks at Dukat, he is tall and lithe, and exudes an almost serpentine energy through his elongated limbs and neck. This seems like a frame that would be suited to nobility as it does not seem to lend itself to heavy labour. I believe that historically Dukat would have been the model of beauty due to his long and slender limbs, and sharp features. However, he also lacked a certain bulk that was present in cardassians like Damar, Mila and Garak. His body also has a inverted triangle and his shoulders and by extension ridges were large and prominent. This would indicate a beauty standard of wide and prominent shoulders being considered attractive being carried forward as can be seen in the aesthetically driven choices of military armour. Military armour in cardassians, while somewhat functional also expose a large portion of their shoulders while following a tapered and inverted triangular silhouette, perhaps to mimic the standard of beauty present in individuals like Dukat and to allow the body of the wearer to seem closer to this shape. I believe that while the standards on cardassia are changing to favor more bulky and solid shapes suited to a soldier, many cardassians still hold in equal regard this standard of beauty as it represents a good lineage and with this comes power.

Additionally, this standard is more prevalent also in men than in women with women being considered attractive (for marriage) when they have a frame more suited to childbearing, with wider hips and a more solid frame. This lends itself to the family oriented ideals followed by most cardassians. However the lither frame is still prized among cardassian women as it is considered a sign of grace and elegance as well as one of higher intellect as historically higher class women would have been more educated than their lower class counterparts. Cardassian beauty standards for women vary more than that of their male counterparts with urban women being considered attractive with a slimmer frame and those who are from more rural areas being considered attractive with a solid frame with examples of these two standards being Natima Lang and Ulani Belor.

Contrasting to this historical beauty standard, one can safely assume that Damar is the perfect example of changing beauty standards on cardassia, as he follows the newer standard of solidity and bulk that became synonymous with the soldiers of the cardassian military (and the lower classes that often served as active officers rather than beurocracts..?) It would not be unreasonable to assume that with the militarisation of cardassia and the glorification of duty and servitude to state, a frame associated with those who were historically in duty to the state rather than rulers of it would gain popularity and been seen as desirable. Additionally, Damar who stands as an exemplar of this standard is the only male cardassian described as attractive at any point during DS9. Damar’s frame; unlike Dukat’s; is much more solid, his neck is thicker and shorter, his entire frame contains a bulkier appearance and seems more heavyset. Damar also seems to have less prominent and yet still bulkier ridges on his face and neck. Damar’s build seems the sort that would lend itself to hard labour as he seems more solid and grounded in his build than someone like Dukat. This newer beauty standard prioritises the idea of a soldier and a servant of the state as attractive. However I do think that this idea is still rejected by the families of higher class and status and they continue to prize a “Dukat frame” while looking down on those with a “soldiers build” as imposters in the upper echelons of cardassian society and seeing them as less refined, thus treating them to some extent as outsiders within the higher military and governmental ranks.

Both ideals interestingly share height as an attractive characteristic among men and this suggests that someone like Garak who falls much shorter than both Damar and Dukat. Garak, seems to me to be an example of unconventional beauty. Garak’s frame falls into neither ideal, rather verging on the border of both while simultaneously being shorter than ideal. Facially Garak also takes on a softer and more feminine shape which falls into mind that of ulani belor, rather than the sharp and angular features possessed by individuals like Dukat and the broader and thicker features possessed by those like Damar, Rusot, Mila, and many of the Cardassians seen in the military. Garak as a model of unconventional attractiveness also fits with his characterization as someone who has never quite fit into the expected as is illustrated in ‘A Sitch in Time’.

In terms of cosmetics, it would not be far-fetched to assume the blue seen on the “spoons” of most female Cardassians was a form of cosmetic enhancement, the purpose of which remains unknown to us but which due to not being seen on all Cardassian women and no Cardassian men can be presumed to not be naturally occurring. It is interesting to note that this form of cosmetics is placed the same on all who wear it, suggesting perhaps a deeper cultural or historical reasoning behind the marking of the ‘spoon’ and ridge. However, it may play a role in mating and could detonate societal standing, marital status, age, occupation, or even simply exist as a form of enticement.

[thecryingastrologer]

ASTEROID HVIEZDOSLAV(3980) ☄️

Disclaimer: this is my first time trying to interpret an asteroid and is based on my personal understanding ❤️🥲

DO NOT 🚫 PLAGIARISE 🚫 MY 🚫 WORK 🚫 IF YOU WISH TO REPOST IT GIVE ME THE CREDITS 💌🧿

Background on hviezdoslav 🤍

DATE OF BIRTH: 2 FEB 1849

DATE OF DEATH: 8 NOV 1921

AGE OF DEATH: 72

CAUSE OF DEATH: NATURAL

Hviezdoslav aka Pavol országh was one of the most powerful and versatile of Slovak poets. and for a short time, member of the Czechoslovak parliament.

Hviezdoslav was a lawyer until he became able to devote himself to literature. He originally wrote in Hungarian and was a Hungarian patriot, but in the 1860s he switched both activities to Slovak. By the time of his death the Slovaks possessed an extensive poetic literature of a high order.

One of his Most memorable works are his moving Krvavé sonety (1919; “Blood-Red Sonnets”), which embody his attitude toward World War I. He also translated much Hungarian, Russian, German, and English literature into Slovak.

A MORE DETAILED LIFE OF HVIEZDOSLAV ❤️

Pavel Országh was living in Vyšný Kubín (Felsőkubin), Árva County, Kingdom of Hungary, Austrian Empire. He was of noble origin.[2] Hviezdoslav studied at grammar schools in Miskolc and Kežmarok (Késmárk) in the Hungarian lutheran school. The young Országh became a Hungarian patriot.

During this time he got acquainted with the poetry of Arany János and Petőfi Sándor and under their influence he started to write poems first in Hungarian,[5] then from the mid-1870s in Slovak. After his graduation in 1870, he continued his studies at the Law Academy of Prešov (Eperjes), where in 1871 he participated in the preparation of the Almanach Napred ("Forward" Miscellany/Almanac), which marked the beginning of a new literary generation in Slovak literature. Due to his contribution to this Almanac with several radical poems, however, he was ignored in the literary life of the country for the rest of the 1870s and couldn't get his works published. During this period, he pursued his law career in Dolný Kubín, but he also carried on with his literary work in his free time. He practiced as a lawyer between 1875 and 1899 in Námestovo (Námesztó), and then in Dolný Kubín again. In 1918, he became a member of the newly created Revolutionary National Assembly (provisional governing body, later parliament) in Prague, and from 1919 to 1920, served as its representative. In 1919, he was chosen as the leader of the re-established Matica slovenská (Slovak matica), a Slovak cultural institute founded in 1863, and closed as a result of Hungarian policy in 1875

In 1954, the Literary Museum of P. O. Hviezdoslav was established in Dolný Kubín. A festival of amateur poetry reciters named Hviezdoslav's Kubín has been held there

Literary museum of PO HVIEZDOSLAV 👇

WHAT I THINK ASTEROID HVIEZDOSLAV COULD MEAN☄️🤍

Involvement with law

Ability to influence masses

Social activism/ involvement

Intellect

Literature

Legacy

Politics/ political involvement

Where you are ignored at first but then recognised

Where you are extremely dedicated/ idealistic to a point of naivety.

Your philosophical ideas

Switch in works.

(Aspects with personal planets and points)

[kurowrites]

Aviophobia

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

---

It wasn’t like Wei Ying particularly hated air travel, not at all. After all, it was still the most practical way to travel long distances, and the distance between China and Europe was definitely long. The problem was that though he had just sat down in his seat, he was already horrifically bored. The airplane hadn’t even finished boarding yet, and there were around ten hours of flight still in front of him, and he couldn’t wait to arrive at his destination already.

He wasn’t looking forward to the flight, not least because he didn’t actually want to leave. After a year of not seeing her, Wei Ying had finally been able to take some time off and visit his sister, who had been living abroad with her stupid, loaded husband. He’d spent two weeks with Jiang Yanli and his little nephew, and it had been so good to see them again. A-Ling had grown so much! But now, a lot of work was waiting for him back at home, and he really needed to return, not sure when they would be able to meet the next time. That, he definitely wasn’t happy about.

Wei Ying distractedly fidgeted around in his seat, trying to keep in mind that it was no use to take out his laptop now, because the flight attendants would ask him to pack it up again for take-off in a few minutes. He had taken a book with him, anticipating this situation, but right now, the book seemed so unappealing he couldn’t even be bothered to unpack it from his backpack.

Come on, he mentally urged the passengers who were still moving along the aisles in search of their seat like a group of very slow snails, move faster, so we can leave.

Despite his best efforts, the other passengers did not speed up their pace, and so Wei Ying was cursed to sit there and wait until everyone was seated. He tried not to notice the usual offenders that managed to get in everyone’s way and blocked everything with their luggage, and tried to relax (rather unsuccessfully).

As he was idly watching the passengers pass him by, he caught a flash of white that caught his attention. Just when he was sure that his eyes were playing a trick on him, a man in a pristine white suit separated from the crowd and sat down right next to him. He pushed his briefcase under the front seat, fastened his seat belt, nodded to Wei Ying once, and then directed his glance straight forward, turning into a beautiful marble statue.

Wei Ying tried not to stare at his new neighbour too conspicuously, but he couldn’t really help it. The man seemed to be horribly out of place here in economy class, with a tailor-made white suit that very obviously was of high quality and therefore very expensive. His face equally set him apart from the other passengers, with a noble look and a bone structure that looked more suited to the cover of a fashion magazine. Wei Ying, in a simple hoody, soft jacket, and old jeans that were selected specifically for comfort purposes (after all, he would have to vegetate in them for ten hours), wondered how this unicorn had gotten lost among the common folk.

His seatmate was incredibly handsome, obviously wealthy, and… extremely stiff.

When the flight attendant finally announced that boarding had been completed, and that they were waiting for permission to proceed to the runway, the man next to him put his hands on both armrests, and for a second, Wei Ying was ready to be offended that this man hogged all the armrests for himself without consideration for the other passengers.

Then he noticed the man’s knuckles going white, his hands holding on to the armrests as if…

Wei Ying looked at the man’s face again. He was still staring straight ahead, his handsome face expressionless, his breath deep and controlled.

His eyes were fixed at some indeterminate point in the distance, and their focus did not waver at all.  

And they weren’t even moving yet.

Oh dear, Wei Ying thought to himself. Someone is not a fan of flying, huh.

He knew that a lot of people probably wouldn’t appreciate his meddling, but then again, he couldn’t sit there and do nothing while his neighbour was counting breaths or whatever the fuck he was doing to calm himself down. He wasn’t going to sit next to this man for the next several hours and pretend that he didn’t notice that this person was very obviously panicking.

So he reached out, and carefully put his own hand over the one currently clutching at their shared armrest.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, as quietly as he could. “You’re not alone, and you’re going to be fine.”

The man sucked in a shocked breath the moment Wei Ying touched him.

Wei Ying was ready to draw back and apologise for his unrequested interference, Maybe he shouldn’t have touched him, maybe he had misread–

The hand under his turned around and grasped his own, holding him fast.

“I apologise,” the stranger replied in a faint tone of voice. “For my unseemly display.”

Wei Ying laughed quietly, relief washing over him.

“It’s alright,” he replied conversationally. “We all have our little burdens to carry. As for me, I am deadly afraid of dogs, and I will jump into your arms when I see one. Not that I have much shame to begin with, but my fear of dogs is definitely bigger than any shame I might have. There will be screaming and a general amount of unnecessary, very ugly drama.”

That, finally, had the stranger remove his gaze from the undetermined point in the distance he had settled on, and he turned towards Wei Ying.

Wow.

Wei Ying had been woefully underprepared for this event. The man was even more handsome, facing him directly, and Wei Ying was sure he had never seen such beautiful eyes.

How, he wondered again, had this man ended up in economy class? He should be flying a private plane, not panicking next to Wei Ying on a commercial flight. He should be someone’s trophy husband.

“Dogs?” the man asked him, as if a fear of dogs wasn’t an entirely normal phobia to have.

“Yes,” Wei Ying replied earnestly. “Have you seen them? So fast, and they make so much noise all the time, and their teeth. Ugh. It’s a completely rational fear to have!”

By now, the plane had moved onto the runway, and was starting the jets up.

The man clutched at Wei Ying’s hand almost painfully as the plane started to vibrate, but surprisingly, he did not look away from Wei Ying, steadily holding Wei Ying’s gaze.

“Well, so is a fear of flying, I guess,” Wei Ying mused as the airplane began to move. “But think about this: it’s far more likely to get mauled by a dog than to get involved in a plane accident. There are dogs everywhere, and you never know when one is going to come around a corner! And some owners really don’t know to handle their dogs. So, you see. My fear is much more rational than yours. Also, I did get mauled by several dogs in the past, you know. It’s not even a theoretical fear for me, I know exactly what those bastards are capable of. Dogs are horrible. Not to mention that it’s too late to do anything about your fear now, anyway. Look. We’ve taken off.”

The man kept clutching his hand and stared at him without replying. Wei Ying didn’t know if he even heard anything Wei Ying had said, what with the noise and the pressure in their ears. But the stranger never looked away, and he never let go of Wei Ying’s hand, so that was good, he thought.

Eventually, when the airplane had gained enough height to level off slightly, and the pressure on the diminished, his handsome neighbour finally let out a deep breath and turned his gaze away.

Wei Ying felt almost disappointed to be relieved of the heavy weight of his gaze.

As he had said, the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

“Ridiculous,” his neighbour murmured, eventually, after a long period of silence.

Wei Ying laughed.

“Hello Ridiculous,” he greeted, shaking their still-connected hands playfully. “My name is Wei Ying.”

The man’s head whipped around, and he sent him a positively offended look.

And then, after a beat of silence, he said,

“Lan Zhan.”

---

It needed some careful prodding and digging, but eventually, Wei Ying found out that Lan Zhan the reason why Lan Zhan was on this plain at all was because he had taken over the business trip as a favour to his older brother, who had been unable to travel.

Wei Ying felt the need to tease him for his self-sacrificing sense of familial piety, but he didn’t quite dare to tease Lan Zhan about it. After all, Lan Zhan had done a good thing, at the cost of his own suffering.

Lan Zhan was already bad enough when it came to flying as it was, but then someone had made a mistake with the booking, and he had been booked to fly economy rather than business class on his return trip. Lan Zhan, already at the airport and very troubled by the notion of having to fly, period, had not had the energy to discuss the mistake in his booking and decided to keep his assigned seat. After all, it hardly made any difference whether he was flying business or economy. He would spend the entire flight terrified, either way.

“Well, it was very lucky you ended up choosing economy,” Wei Ying mused. “Now you have a free emotional support pet for the entire flight.”

He grinned cheekily and wiggled Lan Zhan’s hand, still safely encased in his own.

Lan Zhan frowned at the joke.

“I thank you,” he replied regardless. “It is… much easier with you here. But I do not wish to trouble you with my… unfortunate condition.”

What a polite, honest man!

Wei Ying was delighted.

“It’s no trouble at all! You saved me from hours and hours of boredom, so it’s really not just you that’s profiting from this. Are you going to be fine when I have to go to the bathroom though?”

Lan Zhan frowned again, but nodded once.

“Good, good,” Wei Ying praised. “And if you wait for me very nicely, I’m going to get us some snacks from the kitchen. They never bring out the chocolate, which is a crime, really.”

---

In the end, after Wei Ying wheedled out information about Lan Zhan’s job and life for what felt like hours, Lan Zhan managed to relax enough to doze off for a little bit, and they spent the rest of their flight in a repeating pattern of chatting, dozing off, and then being woken up to be served questionable airplane meals.

When they finally touched down at their destination (Lan Zhan once again clutching Wei Ying’s hand as if it was the only lifeline that he had – and Wei Ying trying not to be too happy about that), they took their carry-on luggage and slowly ambled out of the plane, moving towards the baggage claim with the rest of the passengers.

Lan Zhan, as soon as he was out of the airplane and on solid ground again, straightened up and took on a confident stance.

Wei Ying was a little bit in awe. He looked even more handsome and formidable now, in his still pristine white suit. He was even taller than Wei Ying had first thought, definitely taller than Wei Ying, and Wei Ying mused whether there was anything about this man that wasn’t awe-inspiring.

(Well, there was that small case of aviophobia, but who could blame him for that, really.)

Wei Ying felt his hand twitch, and he sternly told himself that it was silly to wish for them to continue holding hands, now that they were out of the plane.

“Well,” he said awkwardly as he grabbed his luggage off the conveyor belt. He wasn’t quite willing to say his goodbyes yet, but he was equally unable to think of any reason to hold on to Lan Zhan’s company for a little longer. “I had a good time on our flight, Lan Zhan. Well. I guess you don’t really want to hear that. You probably had a horrible time. For your sake, I hope that you won’t come close to any planes for a while.”

“Wei Ying, too,” Lan Zhan replied. “For your sake, I hope that you will not meet any dogs suddenly coming around corners. So that you don’t have to leap into anyone’s arms.”

Wei Ying gaped, and as he stared at Lan Zhan in disbelief, he noticed the smallest uptick of Lan Zhan’s lips.

“Ayoo!” he cried. “Lan Zhan, are you teasing me? Look at you, all confident now that you are back on solid ground! Be a little more grateful to your emotional support pet!”

Lan Zhan nonchalantly picked his (very small, compared to Wei Ying’s big, lumpy one) suitcase up from the conveyor belt, and placed it next to his feet.

“I am grateful,” Lan Zhan said, serious again. “I have a car waiting for me outside. You are welcome to join me. I will drop you off anywhere in the city. As a sign of my gratitude.”

“Mmm,” Wei Ying made a considering noise. He didn’t want to say goodbye yet, not when Lan Zhan made him such a nice offer. But then, he was also really hungry.  

“I would love to get chauffeured around, but to be honest, I was planning on getting some decent coffee and a nice breakfast somewhere first. The food in that plane was horrible and I’m not functional without decent coffee.”

Lan Zhan was quiet for a moment.

“Can you wait for half an hour?”

“Huh?”

But before Wei Ying could ask him to elaborate, Lan Zhan was already herding Wei Ying towards the exit. He somehow managed to argue Wei Ying into accepting the car ride (Lan Zhan didn’t even argue, how that worked, Wei Ying sure didn’t know), and then Lan Zhan drove him to the nicest little shop for the most delicious breakfast that Wei Ying could have possibly wished for.

He was ravenous by the time they arrived, but he definitely wasn’t in a mood to complain as soon as the first delicious whiff of fresh coffee and food met his nose in welcome.

Lan Zhan was very attentive as they sat down to eat, generously plying Wei Ying with coffee, and letting him pick all his favourite foods. Wei Ying also learned that when Lan Zhan wasn’t scared for his life, he was remarkably smart and funny. It was so easy to get comfortable with him that Wei Ying had a hard time believing that they had never met until just one day ago.  

Lan Zhan was fun.

“Lan Zhan, you’re joking,” Wei Ying laughed, playfully swatting at Lan Zhan’s arm. “Your first serious family fight was because of rabbits?”

“They were very cute,” Lan Zhan replied seriously, insistent on the point.

Wei Ying leaned forward eagerly, meeting Lan Zhan’s serious mien with a big grin.

“And then, what happened with them?” Wei Ying asked. “Did your uncle cook them in a pot? Were you forced to eat rabbit stew?”

“The fourth generation now lives in my back garden.”

Wei Ying gasped. “You kept them?”

Lan Zhan showed the barest twitch of his lips. “Of course.”

Wei Ying nearly slid under the table at the sight of Lan Zhan’s proud little smile.

If Lan Zhan was trying to seduce him, then Wei Ying would consider himself sufficiently seduced by now.

Goodness gracious, that smile was criminal!

And he was the proud owner of a hoard of rabbits!

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You are a veritable little rebel. But, speaking from one pet to another, there is no way you can only tell me about your rabbits and not show them to me. That would be very rude.”

And on Wei Ying’s request, Lan Zhan took out his phone and showed Wei Ying his rabbit children. And then, since he had his phone out already, he shared his contact with Wei Ying. And when they had finished their breakfast, Lan Zhan led him back to the car and drove him home to his apartment, as promised.

When Wei Ying opened the door of the parked car, ready to hop out Lan Zhan stopped him.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he said, his beautiful, serious eyes gazing at Wei Ying steadily, as he had done in the plane. “For your help.”

Wei Ying laughed, and rubbed his nose.

God, he really liked the way that Lan Zhan looked at him.  

“For what it’s worth,” he replied quickly, “I’m willing to be Lan Zhan’s emotional support pet anytime.”

And then, because he felt like was too presumptuous and said too much, he hopped out of the car, grabbed his luggage, and weaselled away, to the safety of his apartment.

Once the door of the apartment was closed and his luggage thrown into a corner, he took a deep breath. He dug his phone out of his jacket to inform Jiang Yanli of his save arrival. She was probably wondering why he hadn’t sent her a message yet.

When he unlocked the phone, as expected, there was a message from his sister, asking him if he had arrived safely. However, before he could send a reply, his phone pinged with another message. A message not from Jiang Yanli.

[Lan Zhan, 11.46 am] I’ll take you by your word, Wei Ying. I might have to rely on your services again.

Suddenly, Wei Ying was glad that no one could see him here, hiding behind the door of his own apartment, as he blushed as red as a tomato.

This man!

[misseffie]

Is Gendry illiterate?

Short answer: Probably not. 

Long answer: 

I’ve noticed a lot of fanfiction trying to address Gendry’s illiteracy once he becomes a noble. Most fics depict him as being completely illiterate. Some depict him as having some level of literacy, but not enough for his new position. So let’s try to figure it out, shall we?

Part 1: Literacy

We have this assumption that in medieval times no one could read or write unless they were part of the nobility. That is not quite true. Firstly, we have to understand what it meant to be literate by medieval standards: 

“In Medieval times, “Literate” actually meant able to read and write in Latin, which was considered to be the language of learning. Being able to read and write in the vernacular wasn’t considered real learning at all. Most peasants prior to the Black Death (which really shook up society) had little chance to learn - hard labouring work all of the hours of daylight does’t leave a lot of energy for reading or writing.

It’s worth noting, however the panic amongst the ruling classes when translations of The Bible started to appear written in English. This really started in the late 14th Century (about 30 years after the Black Death). The level of panic suggests that the Ruling Classes knew that the numbers of people who could read and write English was far greater than the numbers who could read Latin.”

However, there is no language quite like Latin in Westeros. The closest we come to something similar is High Valyrian. Which noble children seem to have a basic understanding of. We can safely assume that Gendry doesn’t have extensive knowledge of High Valyrian - so he is illiterate in that regard. But I don’t think High Valyrian is as widely used as Latin was in the Middle Ages. It’s also not a language with religious significance. As the Faith of the Seven doesn’t use High Valyrian the way that the Catholic Church used Latin.

So… taking that into account. What I assume that is meant by “literate” in Westeros is being able to read and write in the Common Tongue. 

I will say that even by those parameters I don’t think most of the commoners would have been literate. However, Gendry was not in the same situation as most of the commoners.

Which leads me to... 

Part 2: Socio-economic class in Medieval Times

The level of literacy among the commonfolk has to be examined on a case by case basis.

Literacy among “peasants” varied a lot depending on circumstance. So, for example, it’s not strange that Davos, who was a smuggler prior to meeting Stannis, was illiterate. Or Gilly, who was completely isolated from the world and in terrible conditions.

But Gendry is in a different situation.

As @arsenicandfinelace pointed out in this cool meta:

Gendry was definitely born low-class, as an unrecognised bastard whose mother was a tavern girl (read: one step away from prostitute). But the whole point of apprenticing with Tobho Mott is that that was a major leap forward for him, socially.

As Davos put it in 3x10, “The Street of Steel? You lived in the fancy part of town.” Yes, a tradesman of any kind is leagues below the nobility, and could never ever be worthy of marrying a highborn girl like Arya. But Tobho Mott is a master craftsman, the best armourer in the capital city of a heavily martial country. As far as tradesman go, he’s the best of the best, and charges accordingly.

There’s a reason Varys had to pay out the ass to get Gendry apprenticed there. If he had stayed, completed his apprenticeship, and eventually taken over the workshop, he would have been very wealthy (by commoner standards) and respectable (again, by commomner standards), despite his low birth.

Tobho Mott is a tradesman and a craftsman. He is part of the merchant class. * Merchants are often referred to as a different class from the rest of the population. The merchant class in Medieval Times was closer to the middle class of contemporary times.

“By the 15th century, merchants were the elite class of many towns and their guilds controlled the town government. Guilds were all-powerful and if a merchant was kicked out of one, he would likely not be able to earn a living again.”

Mott would be considered to be part of the merchant class - and not even a common kind of merchant either. He was the best Blacksmith in all of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. So we can assume that Tobho Mott was a very wealthy and powerful craftsman and merchant.  

“That many 'middle class' people (tradesmen, merchants and the like) could read and write in the late middle ages cannot be disputed.”

I’m not saying that all tradesmen/merchants/craftsmen were literate back then. It was still a smaller percentage than the nobility. Only the richer and more influential of tradesmen would learn Latin. But I think most of them would be literate enough in the vernacular to run a business. Considering Mott’s reputation and his clientele I’m certain that Mott is part of that literate percentage.

In season 2, Arya accidentally reveals to Tywin that she can read. Realizing her mistake she covers up by saying that her father, a ’stonemason', taught her. Of course, I don’t think that completely fooled Tywin but why did Arya say her father was Stonemason. Why did his profession matter at all? Surely it wouldn’t have mattered if he was a fisherman or a farmer... a peasant is a peasant, right?

Wrong.

“The Medieval Stonemason asserts that they were not monks but highly skilled craftsmen who combined the roles of architect, builder, craftsman, designer, and engineer. Many, if not all masons of the Middle Ages learnt their craft through an informal apprentice system”

“Children from merchants and craftsmen were able to study longer and continuous, so they were able to learn Latin at a later age. This way, everyone learned to read and write (some better than others) sufficiently for their trade.”

Stonemasons were the architects of the time and no doubt the top tier was literate.

Many trades (by the 15th C) required reading and writing, so it was taught to apprentices by the masters. We know from apprenticeship agreements that many masters were expected to continue the apprentice's literacy or start it, which makes sense for the wider viability of the trade.

The War of the Roses took place in the late 15th Century. So I’m guessing that that’s the time period that ASOIAF is mostly based on.

Part 3: Level of literacy

I think it’s safe to say that Gendry has some level of literacy. However, his “level” is pretty much up for debate. If he’d finished his apprenticeship it’s likely he’d have a decent level of reading/writing comprehension. However, near the end of his apprenticeship he was kicked out.

I’m not sure how much Gendry could read/write by the time that he was kicked out by Tobho Mott. But he’d already been his apprentice for 10 years (in show canon). More than enough time to get some basic reading/writing/basic math lessons. 

It seems that show!Gendry is more likely to have a higher level of literacy than book!Gendry. In the show, he leaves Tobho Mott at 16, while in the book he is 14. This is just my own impression, but I think his education would be more complete by age 16 than age 14.

Not to mention that book!Gendry is still in the Riverlands and working for outlaws. But in the show we can assume that Gendry has been smithing in King’s Landing for years and it is insinuated that he owns a shop. Meaning he might have reached “Master” status and can take on apprentices of his own. It might seem like Gendry is too young for that. But it’s actually not that strange. 

“Apprentices stayed with their masters for seven to nine years before they were able to claim journeyman status. Journeyman blacksmiths possessed the basic skills necessary to work alongside their master, seek work with other shops, or even open their own businesses.”

Considering that Gendry has been with Mott for 10 years in show!canon, it’s possible that Gendry was a “journeyman” and not an “apprentice” by the time that Ned meets him in season 1. But he might be nearing the end of his apprenticeship in the books.

Guilds also required journeymen to submit work for examination each year in each area of expertise. So, a journeyman who perhaps crafted swords, locks, and keys would need to submit each item to his guild annually for inspection. If the guild approved the craftsmanship of the products, the journeyman could eventually move up to master status.

The process of becoming a master could take from 2 to 5 years. Considering that Gendry is regarded as talented, it’s likely that he achieved this in a shorter period of time. As a journeyman he also needed to work alongside a master for 3 to 4 years before he could obtain master status. Which would still explain why he was so upset at being kicked out by Mott - it’s like someone getting kicked out while they’re trying to obtain a PHD. 

By the time we meet him in season 7 it’s very possible that Gendry is now considered a master of his trade.

He also seems to be making armour and weapons for “Lannisters” which means he has a mostly noble clientele. He probably has plenty of fancy clients asking for custom-made products. With sketches and measurements and all that shit. Which is not surprising since he probably has a de facto reputation simply by merit of being Tobho Mott’s apprentice (lets ignore how dumb it is that no one discovered that Gendry was in King’s Landing since he made no effort to hide who he was or try to hide from the nobility lol).

Conclusion: 

It’s safe to say that Gendry had some access to higher education. He can probably read and write enough for his line of work. It’s likely that his level would still leave much to be desired once he became a noble though. For comparison, imagine if someone left school at age 11 and was then required to write a college-level thesis. So he’d definitely need some “lordly” writing lessons and further education.

Gendry is still wildly uneducated for what he needs to do. So...

This meme is still gold 10/10

* Correction: Though Mott would be considered part of the same socio-economic class as merchants he is primarily a tradesman/craftsman, and would be referred to as such. Since merchants didn’t produce the goods they sold. However they could belong to the same guild, along with artisans and craftsmen. 

[terrence-silver]

What do you think Terry’s views of transgender people are?

Depends which era of Terry we're talking about.

I think Twig would be rather uninformed simply due to the period and environment he grew up in, which would be around the early 50's. I imagine he was a sheltered, tucked away kid during his formative years and his first exposure to Transgender people might've been in Vietnam and after it, returning to The States, finding the increased awareness hitting it's momentum in protests during the late 60's and early to mid 70's (at the peak of which, he still was in the military and in a POW camp and possibly training in Korea afterwards). I think a young, post-war Twig would see a lot of himself in this community, feeling somewhat otherized himself as a returning veteran with PTSD (furthermore, possibly a returning veteran with PTSD and with conflicting sexual attractions), but that the family and raising he came from would've been so repressing and stifling in mentality and structure, he'd still be in denial of internally relating, just like he'd be in denial about any feelings for Kreese / attraction to men (although, for much, much shorter then Kreese himself would've been), even though these emotions were very much present and have been for a while now and it's simply due to the pressure of society that they're made so complicated. Twig is unsure, Twig is on the road of discovery, Twig is evolving and learning.

By the 80's, I think a once-repressed Twig lacking knowledge would be more progressive then most of his peers of the decade, going through immense growth on the topic. I also think Terry's deeply ironic and morally conflicting of a character. That he'd be insanely backwards from one end (his clear and obvious racial bigotry as a result of his post-Vietnam syndrome) and then extremely forward from another, to the point, that during these particular years, I can literally see him being an up and running charity donor to a great many causes, including the AIDS relief charities in the early 80's, various LGBT and Trans communities and I think that often times in the strictly tight laced, dyed in the bone corporate circles he'd dabble in, being a Billionaire himself, he'd often have an unfair infamy for such ventures, having him be deemed somewhat extravagant for it. Ironically, the truly good, noble deeds Terry Silver does for his fellow man does would be scorned and talked of negatively by his peers in the world of rich pencil-pushing CEOs, but the extremely bad ones, like polluting Third World Countries for profit and bribing judges for criminal indictment pass vastly unnoticed and are even congratulated as simply 'having a knack for business'.

Modern day old man Terry is accepting and champions their rights and it's not for show or social brownie points either --- Terry really is something of a communal paragon of acceptance--- while still being ethically reprehensible and a hidden sociopath. That's what makes him so daunting and complex, I think. That he manages to be both at the same time. Terry is accepting of others finding themselves in a safe and accepting environment, with the resources to do so, whereas he isn't as accepting of himself anymore and frequently hides himself behind masks and personas to keep himself in intentional control and in check --- you can even read that as his deliberate suppression of his own sexuality later in life. I think he admires anyone who is themselves and turns into themselves as they feel they were always meant to be (just like he did, in a roundabout way, since Vietnam, and even though it's not the same ordeal, to him, it could be vaguely comparative and reflective), because he himself so frequently does around this part of his life, shoving down trauma, his past, his identity, his pain, his suffering and his truth behind increasingly newly-minted, clinically washed out facades in order to fit in and keep himself from going unhinged. At least until he has his 'breakdown'. Or as I like to see it, his return to himself.

[maxwell-grant]

Ok, but how would the Shadow get along with Superman?

I'm gonna try something a little different with this ask, because I couldn't really find the right words to answer it the way I usually do. So instead I took the more complicated route and ended up writing a fanfic of sorts, about potential interactions between these two I could think of.

I don't think I'll make a habit out of answering replies through fanfic but, I don't know, something about this question kinda demanded from me a different type of answer. I never wrote Superman before but I do need to get back to writing.

So here you go, the Shadow - Superman fanfic I wrote to answer this. Hope you enjoy.

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

They were not friends. They were not enemies. They had their separate worlds to watch over, and rarely did they cross each other. Rarely did they meet under desirable circumstances. 

 The Shadow, as Superman knew him, was not a part of Superman's world. In more ways than one.

Clark knew that he was a man who was mainly active during the 1930s and 40s, that he had been a crimefighter active in the United States during that time, that he has some connection to Bruce and other heroes he knew, and that he has an associate related to Lois named Margo, but somehow, Clark could never find him on his own accord.

Even when he time traveled to said period, he could never find him. Lois and Margo share a bloodline, but Lois does not recall what exactly of what sort, not even under Clark's machines. When he asked some of The Shadow's associates, they could not recall him, and Clark knew for a fact they could not have been lying. Some of them existed in this world but with "ordinary" lives, and others didn't.

Although he seemed to come from an alternate world,there were times when The Shadow appeared to have history in this world as well. Real, tangible history, that seems to be willed out of thin air and to dissappear when Clark goes looking for it. Even Bruce seems to not remember him, and Bruce's the one who seemed to have spent the most time in his presence.

He couldn't quite say he looked fondly on his meetings with The Shadow, if he could be honest with himself. He was cold, remote, harsh and manipulative. He murdered criminals without remorse, something that even he admitted had soured his relationship with Bruce, and terrorized those he fought to a much greater extent than even Batman, who Clark already thought was going too far at times.

Clark knew he was not an evil man, he was certain of the compassion within him that thundered to protect the innocent, but Clark could hardly be certain of how much he knew about him in the first place. Clark, who could see through crowds and make a shopping list out of what each person had eaten for breakfest that morning, could not identify The Shadow's face through his mask, could not see what was behind his eyes.

Clark is extremely aware of the standards he must adhere to in order to operate as Superman, the ways in which he must be held accountable as someone operating above and within society. He understands the importance of his friends and allies that can stop and defeat him, the family he must look after, the reputation he must uphold, the control over his powers and a lifetime of experience in holding himself back. At times he was even grateful for the existence of Kryptonite as a desperate measure. He knows that Bruce goes through a lot of measures to keep himself in check as well.

But he knows little about The Shadow, who works for him, why they do so, who can hold him accountable, who is going to help him when he can't help himself. He worries about what his world must look like, to create a man like him, brainwashing people and gunning down criminals in the streets while laughing. How much good can such a man do if this is what his approach to justice looks like? What is the toil that such a grim approach to life has taken on this man's life?

He knows that overthinking is one of his worse flaws, but Superman can't help but dwell sometimes on the worlds he cannot save, on those that must take on such realities. He only wishes he knew how to find The Shadow of his own accord and try to bring peace to the man, even if he knows better than to assume peace is what he's looking for.

It is the nature of Superman to never stop trying to bring everyone to a world beyond death, darkness and sorrow, and to blame himself for those he cannot save even from themselves.

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

It was a well-known fact that The Shadow always worked alone. And like most known facts about him, it was not entirely accurate.

The Shadow strives to cultivate the image that he's alone, untouchable, that all who work for him do so because he forces them to. That he always tells those he saves that their lives belong to him, that they are trembling slaves to a monster sniffing blood in gutters.

Distractions, lies, smokescreens he must create, to allow his agents to operate as spies, and spare them from the wrath of the police and the criminal underworld alike, too busy hunting a legend to notice the flesh and blood people working under their noses, people they would otherwise be all too happy to neglect or stomp on.

Misdirection, the secret of any magic trick. The true secret of The Shadow's invisibility.

There are days where the only positive thought in his mind is that his agents cannot join him wherever he goes.

The success of The Shadow depended heavily on the vast networks of agents and allies he'd gathered over the years, people from all walks of life who trusted him and had chosen to join him. Every courageous move, sacrifice and pivotal role they played was carefully recorded in his files, and never forgotten. They had skills and capabilities The Shadow did not, and The Shadow was proud to see the ways in which they would cultivate those into the betterment of the world around him.

And though the bridge between them was unassailable, though his ways and actions were secret and mysterious to them and they could never know more than he allowed, they received constant signs of The Shadow’s appreciation of their reliable cooperation, and at many points The Shadow had made said bridge less unassailable for their sake.

But they were not his friends. His allies were distant and occupied with fights The Shadow could assist, but not fight for them. His agents were subordinates rather than equals, expected to play the necessary parts and leave the scene for their own safety just as quickly. His friends were few, and often dead. And when it was the moment of danger, The Shadow fought alone. The protection of others came above all else, and on field, although they were expected to think and strategize for themselves and work together, The Shadow's word was final.

There could be no distractions, no hesitations. Those had cost him more than enough on the battlefields of the Great War, mistakes he would never repeat again. The sacrifice of companionship, his own personhood and self-preservation is an acceptable loss for the sake of those he must protect.

There are occasions when The Shadow is forced into circumstances beyond what logic and physics should allow, and in some of those occasions, Superman had been involved in them. There are occasions also where he has to work side by side with other vigilantes, and sometimes, they also include Superman.

He couldn't quite say he looked forward to working with Superman. His arrival almost inevitably carried chaos into the inner workings of reality. The existence of an omnipotent being able to crack planets with a footstep and liquefy crowds with a gaze, held back only by his human personality, was a danger that thankfully did not exist in The Shadow's own world, but was a worrying prospect regardless.

Few of his experiences with aliens and superpowered warriors could be said to be positive ones, and a lifetime of knowing the evil in the hearts of men had taught The Shadow how easily even the best of intentions and the most solid of morals could be corroded and destroyed. It didn't help matters that this being was also a public crusader and celebrity passing judgement on criminals, even while secretly holding a private dimensional prison to throw them into should they be sufficiently dangerous. Someone completely unstoppable and unaccountable, even to death itself.

The Shadow understood Superman to be a good man, a moral man who had been raised well to be the best he could. The Shadow respected and treasured the existence of those like him, men and women and everything in between that could breathe in the sun and uphold mankind, while he dwelled in the underworld to make sure those more like him would not rise to attack them.

But whatever the rewards of these partnerships, he was glad when they were over. His work requires full control. He cannot tolerate the loss of it.

Others can dream of better tomorrows and work to make them happen, his is the task of clearing the darkest paths so others need not tread them.

Hope, light and comfort are noble gifts, but they are not his to give.

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

The first time they met had been the result of Vandal Savage's Hypertime Collider, a trap designed to keep Superman running circles through the timestreams, cycling through alternate versions of himself. He had landed in the 1930s, somewhat depowered, in a world where some allies of his existed, but superheroes were nowhere to be found (although some people reacted in terror at him, shouting "IT'S DANNER! HE'S COME BACK TO KILL US!", the significance of which was lost on Clark).

He had met a woman named Margo Lane when looking for this world's Lois, telling her he was a farmboy from Kansas lost in the big city looking for a friend with the same last name. Margo didn't recognize anyone named Lois, and Clark could tell she was only pretending to believe his story (even though it was true, in a sense), but through her, he met a tall, gaunt and hawk-like millionaire by the name of Lamont Cranston, a name Clark recognized from an old radio show Jonathan used to listen.

He had an idea of who The Shadow was. An old detective from a radio show or pulp magazines, sure, Superman's been to worlds he used to think were fictional before, some people still think he's as real as Santa Claus (who was going to join him and the Easter Bunny for checkers next Sunday).

Their conversation of platitudes was cut short, as it wasn't long before the Hypertime Collider was soon transporting him to a different time period, but before he was ejected, he remembered the moment their conversation ended.

Shortly before he could feel the Collider breaking and warping time and space in a chokehold around him, he remembered an eerie silence fall on the room. Though his hearing senses in this world were diminished, he could still pick up minute sounds from miles away, and it was a strange sensation to hear the sound of nothing. A sound that did not exist but silenced everything around it with deafening precision, a sound that Clark had not heard even in the deepest recesses of space, when he could still hear his body's metabolism at work. For a moment, though he did not need it to survive, Clark worried his heart had stopped working, for he could not hear it.

It surely was the Collider's effect at work, he reasoned.

But in that brief moment, whatever surprise he expected to find on Cranston's expression was nowhere to be found. Instead, scattered shadows slashed across his face as the air around him changed and he closed his eyes. He was still wearing Cranston's face when he opened them, and once again, they did not match his face.

The last thing he remembered before his ejection was a voice that cut through the air and the meters separating them, that sounded like a python hissing in Clark's ear, from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"This is not your world."

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

The second time was in another dimensional sojourn, this time of his volition.

Having borrowed a portal from Cyberwear Enterprises, Clark was rehearsing a speech intended for the Reginellian people of the Bohren System, one he was expected to give through blinking in reverse morse code, and in order to ensure the atmosphere of their planet would allow them to hear him, Clark intended to pay them a visit. But instead, he was transported somewhere else.

Before he could properly register the time period and location he had landed, he had encountered The Shadow in the middle of rescuing a steamship on fire from sinking.

He was clinging to the side of it unseen from the panicking passangers, drilling bullet holes to the bottom of the ship so it would fall to the side and steer clear from a passing fireworks yacht. He was holding a rope attached to a nearby tugboat with one hand, and with the other he was clinging to the boat's window. The tugboat was moving outside of the steamship's range, and as it moved, it would drag The Shadow and tilt the steamship as he gripped it, just enough to prevent the steamship from colliding head-on with the coming barge.

The tugboat had three men within it, one piloting it and two holding on to the rope that The Shadow had attached, working along with The Shadow to try and pull the steamship. One of these men had a missing eye and was dressed in aviator gear, presumably the pilot of the autogyro atop the tugboat. The other was a tall, muscular black man in suspenders, who dwarfed the pilot in both size and strength.

The strain of their pull could dislocate The Shadow's arms at the very minimum, if not outright kill him, his plunge would carry him 20 feet into the water and potentially under the sinking steamship. Still, they pulled with grim determination, although the boat driver had his eyes closed, and Clark recognized the Yiddish mutterings coming from his mouth as a desperate prayer.

Though they did not see him, these men were extremely thankful when Superman had blown out the inferno with a single breath, and pushed the boat all the way necessary for it's passangers to land on the barge safely, and rescued The Shadow.

Of course they knew the Chief was gonna pull through, he always does.

If The Shadow was thankful for Superman's interference, he didn't show it. In the second he had regained enough strength to talk, he rattled off dozens of names, of passangers in the steamship that had been bruised, by either the flames, the panicking crowd, or the criminals that The Shadow had stopped. People that needed to be taken to medical assistance faster than the ambulances could carry them, of family members that had to be contacted.

He did so without looking at his rescuer, for he remembered Superman, who expected his presence in this timeline to have been erased after he'd destroyed the Hypertime Collider.

Nothing indicated it hadn't been.

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

Their most recent encounter was the outcome of an accident where Vandal Savage had trapped Superman in the Arctic and rebuilt his Hypertime Collider, in the hopes of contacting alternate versions of himself so they could all gain Superman's powers and conquer their worlds.

One of said versions was hunted by The Shadow through the portals. The adventure ended rather quickly as the Savages all turned on each other in their tried-and-true method of solving problems with large rocks, but amidst the chaos, a final burst of energy had granted The Shadow a temporary access to Superman's powers.

Thoughts passed through Clark's head of the last time Bruce had accidentally gained access to Superman's abilities, and how despite his best intentions, Bruce couldn't help but overestimate his own ability to wield said powers responsibly. Of how many times he's come across iterations of Bruce who've gained superpowers and used them poorly or tyranically.

He thought of how often he needed to reign himself back, and of the man in black who stood before him, with eyes like thunderstorms ready to break.

The ways in which he is like Bruce, and the ways in which he is decidedly not.

But before Superman could take any sort of action or even ask how he was feeling, The Shadow turned around silently and started walking, straight in the direction of the Fortress of Solitude.

Upon reaching it, he took the million-ton key from beneath the rug that spelled Welcome in a million languages, opened the door, and walked straight into a high security anti-Superman cell within it, designed specifically as a desperate measure against rogue Kryptonians, only stating Superman was going to have to watch him so he couldn't escape.

Clark had never even told him about the Fortress.

He stayed there for the next 12 hours, as Superman ran tests on him to ensure his body wouldn't be negatively affected by the transformation. Clark chose not to remark that some of the bone-deep injuries he had spotted on The Shadow's body previously had healed, as he knew it wouldn't take long for him to acquire new ones after this was over.

They talked briefly at points, and for much of it, The Shadow assumed the façade of Cranston. Sometimes he remembered to breathe and blink, things he forgot to do with startling ease once he no longer needed them.

Clark understood it to be a diplomatic gesture, a façade over the untameable and fearsome Shadow who was frankly unnerving to be around. Even a kind gesture, an effort to address Superman as a man asking for help. Not different than how Superman would prefer to be Clark Kent in order to approach people and ask questions and say things that Superman could never say.

There was a discomfort, of course. There would always be one between the two.

Still, Superman took it as a victory when, after the 12 hours were over, he heard that familiar hiss, with equal intensity but no aggression or even contempt, spell out a "Thank you", as he turned around and was unsurprised to find The Shadow no longer there.

They were not friends, they were not enemies, they belonged to different worlds. They were opposites in their battles for truth and justice.

But truths are often opposite. It is a truth that not all opposites are opposed.

Truth is often as chilling as it can be comforting.