#poor wesley

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Wes Borland: The Human Emoji

[dmitridish]

I HATE THEM (they're my little boys 😞💚)

Fritz wants him dead so badly, it's embarrassing

Goober doodles under cut vv

[x-enocyon]

Snippet *Sunday

Or, well. Technically snippet Monday now. Tagged by @bleumanouche, thank you Bleu!

No pressure tags: @druidgroves @hotwifeluigi @bigfan-fanfic

Grabbed this snippet from a scene in which Wes and Avery are 19 & 18 and in the aftermath of a falling out with each other. Both of them cope with their emotions poorly at this age. Avery does it more violently. Wes is the patron saint of repression. I have a lot of fun writing scenes while these two are younger because it really shows how much they've grown by the time they're 30.

And as always Wes belongs to @hotwifeluigi

And so Avery gets himself a shot. And another, and another, and another. 

The more Avery drinks the louder he gets, the louder he gets the more other bar patrons want to drink with him. It’s all jovial celebration but it’s a thinly veiled vicious cycle, smiles and laughter encourage poisoning the well. A cheap excuse to justify the means of self-medication, still, to everyone but Avery he’s having a lovely night. And who could blame them? It’s New Years, ain’t no threat in having a good time.

The momentum carries up to a finite point; Avery exists in a state of perpetually teetering over a ledge. All it takes is one nudge and he’ll tumble, push finds its shove when a man built like a bull decides faggot is a good way to describe the way Avery talks. 

One black eye, a busted lip and two sets of bloodied knuckles later, Avery finds himself on the curb outside. His saving grace was the firm belief that fighting dirty is fair game if an opponent really deserves it, dropping slurs in a bar meets that qualifier. They both got kicked out of the bar when it really came down to it, but Avery’s content with knowing that motherfucker took a boot heel to the balls. 

Avery spits to his side, saliva marbled with blood colors a small spot in the dirt. He grunts, sighs from behind his teeth and lifts a cigarette to his lips. The orange glow briefly fills the dark night air, Avery perks up when he hears the door open behind him. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’ pullin’ a stunt like that?” Even while drunker than a cow on a diet of fermented corn he’d recognize Wes’s voice. Oh, so now he can tolerate being near Avery. 

“Dude had it comin’,” Avery says with all the nonchalance in the world.

Wes stands over him with his hands on his hips. Avery tilts his head up and back to stare at him, he can’t help but smirk a little when he gets a good look at that pursed-lip, low-browed expression. He carries a similar cadence to a horse with his ears all pinned back. Careful, he might kick.

“How d’you figure he had it comin’? I watched the whole damn thing from the other side’a the bar, far as I know he mighta just looked atcha wrong and you took a swing,” Wes uses one hand to make frustrated, vague gestures as he talks, “Which, if I’m bein’ quite honest, Mr. Moreno, I wouldn’t put such a thing past you.”

Avery takes another slow inhale off his cigarette. Flicks the ashes into the dirt, mixing with his spit like gold flakes in resin. “Call me a faggot, get your teeth busted out. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh,” Wes breathes as his expression cools to something a grade calmer. He stands there statuesque for a short spell, evidently unsure just what to say. He clears his throat and adds, “I guess it’s for the best then that you uh, you stood up for yourself.”

Standing over Avery while he’s sat there on the curb, Avery decides he should invite Wes to do anything other than loom. “Want a smoke?” He says as he pulls one from the pack he has in his coat pocket.

“No, that’s a’right,” Wes declines and Avery isn’t sure if the feeling cropping up in his chest immolates or if it’s so cold that it burns, somewhere in the back of his head he’d hoped Wes would sit with him out here. “I had somebody waitin’ for me back inside. Just wanted to see what’d happened with you.”

 Avery finds that he has nothing to say, silence lingers between them until Wes opens his mouth again.

“You plan on comin’ back in anytime?” Wes asks.

“Nope,” Avery responds simply, cigarette held up to his mouth.

“A’right. You make it back to the room safe then, okay?” Wes’s voice sounds so strained that Avery could almost mistake his tone for guilt. He makes it a few feet closer to the door before he pauses— again— hesitating seems to be a skill he’s gotten good at. “Want me to walk back with you?”

“Nope,” he lies through his teeth. 

[peppermint-candy]

[sunshinenextdoor]

Letter Prompts! Give me the [ Mistake ] letter! :> That one sounds like it can be fun!

((Tried to make it open so that anyone can join in if they would want to:> ))

Someone woke up to find a mysterious letter in their mailbox. It's soft to the touch and ornated with green leave stickers, sealed with a beautiful light teal wax seal that has a wind chime flower stamped into it. They find it a bit strange at first, as they have never gotten any kind of mail like this before, but went on to opening it nonetheless. Since it could only be meant for them, right?

As their hands go on to open the neatly decorated case, they get slapped by an intense smell of lotus honey and probably some kind of hibiscus and lavender scented perfume, just oozing out of the slightly crampled paper inside. "Wow, okay, this is getting *really* weird" they probably think to themselves.

A few minutes later, after the intense aroma wears off, it may be possible to read it afterall! The letter reads as followed:

"Oh my Dearest, Only Love, my heart aches to be with you again. I miss every little breath, every warming glimpse you give to me. It's only been a day, but I already feel the urge to feel the touch of your fingers, the imprint they make on my skin as they burn, and how they get hotter as your blush grows on your body when I embrace you. I know I act coy, and I'm a jerk sometimes, but in reality, you are the only one who ever saw me this way, and the thought of it makes me drunk. No one can know of our relationship, for they don't understand, but I still want to pursue your love, for it is sweeter than honey, and truer than any word Nivara could say in a thousand years. (Please don't tell her I said that..) Ahem, I wish to meet up in secret again, unknown from the world. I'll be waiting for you by night. I need to feel your warmth again.

- Wesley"

Well. Seems like someone's in big trouble at the Nel'Vari post office! Maybe try to find the person who this could be addressed to?

[practicalsolutions]

I don't post enough doodles. Here, have a Wesley.

[aphrditee]

So I just got finished ATS “Forgiving” and omg. What a fucking closer! David’s so amazing, his anger and rage, literal spit flying as tries to snuff the life out of Wesley— fucking gorgeous scene and he ABSOLUTELY should have. Fuck Wesley!

(But also this is giving just a little bit of when The Major tries to snuff out Buffy and Angel sends him flying.)

Yeah. Angel + hospital rage. It’s a thing of beauty. Don’t fuck with his loved ones.

[theexorcistiii]

HEY GUYS I THINK THE SAME GUY HAS BEEN IN AN EPISODE OF NATHAN FOR YOU & MICHAEL VSAUCE'S MIND FIELD

[thegreatarlecchina]

Thank you all for waiting so patiently on my latest Star Palace Fanfic! So without further ado pleas enjoy…

Making Friends!

The workday was finally over and Y/n let out a sigh of relief as the last customers filed out of the building. Today had been good all things considered, but their social battery was thoroughly depleted. Y/n wasn’t necessarily an antisocial person, but hours of nonstop interaction was just plain tiring. Their cheeks practically ached from smiling for so long. Why had they even taken a customer service position in the first place!? Their phone buzzed in their pocket, *Reminder: Feed Pagliacci*. Oh yeah that’s why. They couldn’t wait to get home to their little fluffball, that cat was more goofy than all the clowns they worked with put together. Once they got out of here they could finally curl up, snuggle their furry friend and- “Y/n wait up!” A familiar voice called just as Y/n was about to clock out. “Heeeey Wesley…” Y/n strained, trying not to sound as unpleasant as they felt. The boy quickly took note of their demeanor before shrinking back just a bit. “I know you're about to clock out, and it’s totally ok if you say no! But I um… need a favor.” The boy explained, clearly desperate. Y/n liked Wesley, they really did! But the poor kid always seemed to be getting in his own way. It was clear that he wanted to be useful (oh how he wanted it), but he hadn’t quite gotten his bearings yet. It didn’t help that the women who should have been mentoring him only did the bare minimum of what it took to keep her job. “Y/n?” He prodded, breaking them from their daze once more. “Oh! Yeah, uh what do you need bud?” They inquired, they were going to help him regardless (they couldn’t not help the poor kid) but they wanted to prepare themselves if it was anything like the Taki incident. “It’s about the bots…” he trailed. “Please don’t be Fairy! Please don’t be Fairy!” They thought to themselves. It’s not that they didn’t enjoy their time with Fairy Floss, but her overbearing peppiness was just one more thing they didn’t want to deal with right now. At least Zavy could read the room, but even he was quite the chatterbox. God forbid the two were together. Those two could prattle on for hours… “It’s Mirage,” the ginger revealed, “they had a bit of a conflict earlier today and they said they needed to recharge but it's been hours. Doc was supposed to look them over but she clocked out early…” Oh! Now it made sense, Wesley hated going into Mirage's room. Most everyone was creeped out by the whey faced robot but Wesley seemed genuinely frightened of the bot for reasons Y/n couldn’t quite grasp. “They don’t bite ya’know.” Y/n chuckled as they made their way down the hall. Wesley, taking this as a yes, followed them. “I know! It’s just…. I tried to go in their earlier and they were just sitting there arguing with their puppets and they-” Wesley said hastily attempting to justify the aversion before realizing how stupid he probably sounded “I’m sorry…” the Ginger began to apologize as they approached their destination. “Don’t worry about it dude! I’m just yankin your chains!” They reassured, “I’ll be fine, it shouldn’t take to long anyway.” Finally, the two stood outside the maroon door, Wesley fidgeting with his tool bag. “I can take it from here buddy.” Y/n prompted, seeming to catch Wesley somewhat by surprise. “Are you sure? We could go together since I have more ummm mechanical training.” He offered. “Nah it’s okay,” Y/n responded shaking their head, “besides if it is a tech problem I’ll call it in and y’all can fix it tomorrow.” The carrot top’s expression relaxed as he huffed out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he sighed “for real!” And with that the boy was off.

“Okay theeen..?” Y/n turned to face the wine colored door, decorated with flourishing gold calligraphy befitting of the thespian inside. They knocked, once, twice, thrice. “Hello? Mirage?” They spoke, hoping for a “Come in!” Or “It’s open!” But alas, nothing. “It’s Y/n,” they prefaced as they opened the door“I’m coming in.” Unlocked. The door was unlocked, or rather, it never had a lock to begin with. It was something so small, but so sad.

They felt guilty entering the dimly lit room. It was one more loss of agency, one more way to dehumanize the bots who weren’t given that much autonomy to begin with. They were so smart, so human, they at least deserved some personal space. (Although some of them seemed to prefer the personal space of others more enticing) As Y/n walked around the claret colored room, they couldn’t help but notice the array of puppets in various stages of completion. The smell of wood varnish filled the air, as they scanned the room for the elusive puppeteer. Suddenly several muffled voices caught their attention. They seemed to be coming from a large wooden chest in the corner to the room. Y/n began to approach the mysterious chest before a hand on their shoulder abruptly cut them off. “What are you doing here?!” Demanded the high pitched voice. With a loud yelp, Y/n jumped, stumbling backwards. Despite the anger in their tone, the bot had the same ever-present smile plastered on their face. “Jesus Christ dude!” Y/n spat, slowly gaining their bearings “You almost gave me a heart attack!” How the heck were they so quiet? Where were they hiding? Why hadn’t they announced themselves? Question after question swam through the employee’s head as Mirage continued to glare down at them, unwavering. “Why are you in my room?” They practically growled, okay now they understood why Wesley has such severe trepidations. “Woah man!” They shot back, throwing their hands up as if admitting defeat, “I was just coming in to check on you!” Before Mirage could respond a sassy little huff could be heard from across the room. “It’s about time someone did!” Piped a soft feminine voice. “Wha- Ery!” Protested a very frustrated Mirage, who had turned around to face what appeared to be an intricately carved wooden marionette.

The puppet was sitting on a dark velveteen cushion that had been placed on a chair, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Y/n vaguely recalled seeing her before, as Mirage often carried her around the building as a sort of comfort item. “You’ll have to excuse them dear,” the puppet apologized , “they’ve been in poor humor all day.” Y/n couldn’t help but chuckle at the little lady’s comment. (Earning them a killer side eye from the animatronic before them) The way she spoke was akin to that of a mother apologizing for her grumpy child who had missed their nap. “Well thank you for your concern, but I can assure you that Im just fine! Now if you’ll excuse us-” insisted the pale faced bot wasting no time attempting to shoo Y/n out of their room, much to Y/n’s annoyance, “We were quite busy before you arrived unannounced so goodbye and good day!” “Now hold on just one minute!” Y/n sassed, spinning to face the bot, “First of all I did not come in unannounced, I knocked!” “Thrice my love.” Added the puppet. “Thank you madam! Secondly I don’t wanna be here either!” Y/n continued as the puppet master began steadily backing up, seeking comfort in their beloved Ery. “Listen, since neither of us wanna deal with each other right now, why don’t we just get this over with. I’ll make it as quick as possible and we can both have some alone time.” They offered. Mirages head gave a odd little twitch as they mulled over the proposition. “That….that’s fair I suppose.” They sighed, picking up both Ery and her cushion before making their way over to their woodworking table, sitting themselves and the puppet down. “May I?” Y/n asked pointing at a free spot at the table. “It seems you’ve already decided.” Mirage grumbled. “Oh hush, you!” Ery chastised as Y/n took a seat, “Though I must ask darling, why is it you’ve come to visit us? I do admit not many people chose our company. Although I haven’t an inkling why.” The puppet remarked, nodding subtly toward Mirage, who in return gave a huffy little noise. Oh Y/n was gonna get along with her just fine.

“Wesley told me something happened today.” At this the twitching returned and the bot grew visibly nervous, beginning to stress stimm with their gloves. “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble!”

They attempted to no avail, “At least I don’t think you are….Anyway! He said you needed to recharge for a while but didn’t come out, so he was worried you weren’t charging properly.” Mirage looked down, then at Y/n before deadpanning “If he was so concerned why didn’t he come to me himself?” At this Y/n started to respond before stopping. What were they supposed to say? Y/n didn’t know Mirage very well (not that any of the employees did) but stating the obvious would hurt their feelings wouldn’t it? Sure they were more reclusive than the other two, but no one wanted to be told they were undesirable. No matter what Mirage might have wanted them to think Y/n figured they weren’t as threatening as they were made out to be. But on the other hand Mirage would know if they were lying to spare their feelings and that could be worse. “Oh you know how the poor boy is, scared of his own shadow.” Ery commented before Y/n could hesitate for too long.

They awkwardly chuckled in agreement before looking at Mirage who had looked askance. “I did recharge, earlier this morning.” They admitted, picking up Ery from her own chair and placing her on their lap. “You see dear, my love had to save me from some unsavory rapscallions. I thought it was quite romantic really.” She regaled, Mirage flustered at her flattery “But the woman in the coat didn’t share my sentiment I’m afraid. We were both a bit shaken up after that and well the others… weren’t helping.” As if on cue the muffled voices from before piped up again. “So those are the other puppets in there?” Y/n queried, motioning toward the chest from earlier. “They were being unpleasant, so we put them in a time out.” Ery said. At this the voices seemed to get angrier which prompted a response from their master, “Quiet, you lot!” The bot scolded, causing the voices to die down.

“So you just wanted a break?” Y/n inquired. Mirage gave a shy nod in response. They seemed less volatile now, but more nervous than before. As if hey we’re expecting to be punished simply for wanting some personal time. “Oh… I’m sorry that happened to you. Teenagers suck.” They comforted, “I won't tell Doc, and as agreed I’ll leave you be.” They stood up from the table making their way toward the door.

Wait, just like that? No grilling them for details? No snide remarks? No scolding them for missing work? “Wait!” The tall being beckoned jumping up from their seat, “You're leaving?” Y/n looked back at the jester quizzically. “Yesss? Did you want me to stay?” Mirage hesitated, why did they call to them? They did want them to leave, didn’t they? “It’s just that….You’re not upset with me? Really?” They inquired clutching their beloved Ery close to their chest. “Of course not!” Y/n snapped, “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean to be as snippy as I was, and I wasn’t even thinking that you might be just as tired as I was.” An odd warmth crept over the bot’s sensors. Sorry? Nobody had ever apologized to them before. “I’m not mad at you for wanting to take a break dude, I just wanted to make sure you were okay! Besides,” they leaned in, “If doc wants to bitch about it so bad I’ll just remind her caffeinated ass how often she’s outside puffing like a freight train instead of doing her job.” Ery nodded enthusiastically at this statement.

Mirage was dumbstruck. They felt…validated. Like for the first time someone was in their corner. (Other than Ery of course) Somebody who didn’t make them feel like they were crazy just for standing up for themselves. “Would you…perhaps like to see what I’ve been working on?” The bot asked cautiously, much to Y/n’s surprise. “Umm sure?” They answered their gaze following Mirage to a wooden drawer on their wood working table. The animatronic opened it to reveal an array of brightly colored yarn and thread, with some wooden beads rolling around, helter skelter. But that wasn’t all, as their gloves reached into the drawer to reveal a darling woolen doll. It was simple, for a head a wooden bead with a face painted on and thick jute for arms and legs, but the real craftsmanship was in the clothes. The dolly dawned golden hair made of embroidery thread and tied back in a bun. She also sported a white gown made from yarn and finished with a blue sash of satin ribbon. “Oh Mirage, She’s beautiful!” They breathed in awe. “If you like her so much, we can show you how to make one dear!” Ery prompted, giving Mirages sleeve a little tug. “Would you?” Said the star struck Y/n turning to the bot. “I suppose we could- Since Ery wants to of course!” They retorted. It seemed odd having someone besides their puppets in the workshop, but not as unpleasant as they expected. It felt…good to be wanted. And so Mirage spent the rest of the afternoon doing something they never thought they would enjoy….making friends.

[doomfox]

"

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

For your viewing pleasure...

(Please don't re-post/share this video edit anywhere else. Please just only reblog this video edit on Tumblr. Thank you!)

[bafflement]

One Night Stand? [Part II]

And part II. :D

Apologies if this flows a bit strangely!

Was he older, though? Beneath the scars, the skin seemed soft and strangely unlined, almost ageless in a way that Qrow was vain enough to admit he envied. The voice was smooth and educated, he definitely sounded like a teacher, but was that a slight Atlas twang beneath the carefully Vale tones? He wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t really like it mattered, after all. He really didn’t know the guy, didn’t know why he was here beyond a quick thrill. Maybe he was looking for more, maybe not, but Qrow always made damn sure his own dating profiles stated that he wasn’t looking for any real connection. He watched as long, elegant fingers curled around the glass of water Oz was sipping from. It wasn’t even alcoholic, which under normal circumstances would be a major turn off, but in this case… there really was something strange about tonight. His mind kept darting back to his old crush, comparing the sheer elegance of Ozpin with the slightly scruffy nonchalance that had characterised Wes. Did characterise Wes, he was still out there somewhere. He just had to be, even if Qrow would never see him again. No, no more ghosts tonight. He was in excellent company with the promise of more to come, even if said company could stand to be a bit more talkative.

The light caught Oz’s eyes again, that strange feeling resurfacing. There really was something off about the other man’s eyes and Qrow could feel himself wanting to ask, wanting to push the issue. It really wasn’t any of his business, of course, at most they were passing acquaintances and he hadn’t met many who would choose to acknowledge any connection after the fact. He rather doubted that this man could really afford to, the scandal alone might be enough to doom him. Then again, as he thought back to the news articles, maybe it wouldn’t.

Oz was content to just watch Qrow. Nothing had changed really, though he was very aware that he himself had changed beyond all recognition. He’d had to, after all. That was the thing about running away, though. You never really could outrun all the ghosts. The old feelings he had harbored for Qrow were still there, though, dammit. Even all these years later, he thought he might follow the other man anywhere. That had got them both into serious trouble, once upon a time, although they had never really been more than friends at that point. They couldn’t be really, not with his father breathing down his neck and his constant lectures on appearances, reputations. Style to cover what little of substance that man had ever truly possessed. He caught Qrow glancing at his eyes again and couldn’t quite suppress the wince. Up close, if you knew what you were looking for, the contact lenses were almost obvious. But then there were so few options for those looking to alter their appearance in Remnant without resorting to their semblances. His, while rather useful, wasn’t one he could easily use to disguise himself.

No, if anything, the family semblance would have been instantly recognisable, especially tinted as his was the same color as his aura. Auras and semblances were relics, supposedly, from a distant past filled with evil and magic and monsters, but nobody really believed that. Still, some of them were recorded in enough detail that they would be remarked upon at the very least. Besides, he couldn’t take the risk. It wasn’t worth it, now he had his own life and his own fate to weave, far away from his father’s control.

Qrow noticed Oz wince and decided it was best to concentrate on something else. He sipped at his whiskey meditatively, mulling over the menu in his mind. He had been here often enough that he knew what was good and what wasn’t, so he already knew exactly what he was planning to eat tonight. Then again, as he glanced at Oz once more, maybe he’d have other plans later… the man really wasn’t playing fair. Where had he got that suit from, anyway? It looked like the sort of thing the nobs back in Atlas would have sported, but somehow it fitted Oz better than it would ever have done on anyone else. There was that sense of familiarity again, he’d definitely run across this man before somewhere. Probably briefly enough, but it felt like more than just that photo that he had stared at, that Tai had teased him over. He blinked, looking at the face opposite again. The scarring was very visible, yeah, but wasn’t there something familiar in the line of his jaw, in the high forehead? He had thought so all night, but he was suddenly almost certain he hadn’t been imagining it. The eyes were wrong, though. Why were they wrong, what color were they meant to be? Blue his brain whispered, sounding wistful, but he ignored it. It wasn’t Wes, surely he’d know if it was Wes? The man opposite was tall, taller than Wes had been by almost a foot. He remembered teasing the other boy about that, but then Wes’ father had been shorter, too. It ran in the family if you discounted his giant of a grandfather. He flagged down a waiter, placing his order as Oz shook himself out of what must have been deep thought and placed his own. Qrow blinked again, noting that it was exactly the order Wes would have made. Gods, he was so damn pathetic. He’d have to apologise to Oz later, he was certain the other man would have noticed how hung up he was tonight, how preoccupied.

Oh, Brothers, was that it? Was it the anniversary of that day already? The day he’d learned that Wes had vanished, that his father might actually have killed him? He’d have to check that later, but he had a horrible feeling it might have been. Damn, the one night he never really indulged in this sort of behaviour. The one night he’d held almost sacred. He’d wondered at the strange look Tai had shot him that morning and now he could place why. Clearing his throat to get Oz’s attention, he winced himself as the other man shot him a gentle smile. Even the smile reminded him of Wes… no, it was best to reschedule things for another night. He couldn’t do this, not now. Not the way things stood.

“Apologies, Oz, but something came up. Could we do this another night?”

“Well, if you’re certain…” Oz sounded wounded, taken aback and Qrow’s heart went out to him. He really did seem lonely, this consummate academic. Maybe, had this been any other night…

“It ain’t you. Just the anniversary of the disappearance of someone I cared about, s’all. I shoulda checked the date, s’why I’ve been distracted. You kinda remind me of him in a way. S’weird…” He trailed off as Oz’s eyes widened slightly, a strangely guilty look lurking in their depths. Why he would feel guilty was anyone’s guess, it wasn’t like he could possibly have known about Wes. It was sweet though, that he seemed to care so much already. Maybe he really would break his rule, just this once? He’d missed having anyone that actually cared.

“I’m… sorry. I’m so very sorry, Qrow. I’m not certain I can really do this, either.” There was a deep guilt in his voice now, too, and Qrow’s eyes snapped back to his, confusion warring with a sickening sense of realisation. What if he hadn’t been imagining the other man’s resemblance to Wes? What if the voice in the back of his mind, telling him that he’d done the impossible, actually found him, was right? But Winter had been his twin, and the thought of running away and never contacting his own twin again, while, yeah… tempting, since Raven was, well, Raven, just seemed so wrong. Jacques had been a monster, the worst sort of father, but still… if Oz was Wes, somehow, that meant that he’d chosen to leave. That meant he’d never reached out, never told anyone. That meant that he had never cared about Qrow at all… what was tonight, some big joke? Today, of all days… no. Well, he guessed he might have to apologise later but right now, there was only one thing on his mind, one choice to make.

Qrow took only a few seconds to move, punching Oz hard in the face as much on reflex as in anger. If he was wrong… if, then he would have to apologise for that too. Hell, if he was wrong, he doubted the other man would ever want anything to do with him again. Imagine, inviting someone to a restaurant like this only to get assaulted? There were cries from behind them, security coming forward, but Ozpin waved them off, looking dazed but strangely unsurprised. They hovered for a minute or two, but when nothing else seemed to happen they left, though not before glaring at Qrow. Eh, he might not be welcome back for awhile. If he was right though, surely that was a small price to pay for the knowledge?

Oz just stared at him as the security left, rubbing at his chin almost thoughtfully, a rueful look on his face. He didn’t seem overly angered by the punch, though. Almost as though he had expected it, which was a sort of answer all by itself, wasn’t it? Qrow made a wounded sound in the back of his throat, both of them stilling at the noise, Oz in surprise and Qrow in sheer mortification.

“I do believe it may be best if we took this elsewhere, Mister Branwen. Qrow, if of course I can still call you that?” The question was soft, the slight Atlas twang more pronounced now. Qrow nodded to him sharply and made to follow the other man out, their meals left uneaten on the table. Oz paid on the way out, overpaying by a way out of sheer embarrassment. But then, what else had he really been expecting, for Qrow just not to realise, not to recognise him? He had known when he’d swiped right on the profile just what he was getting into. But the mask was too heavy now, was it really such a bad thing if he finally took it off? His friends knew, after all, that Ozpin wasn’t really his name. His mind flew to his siblings and he winced, trying to imagine any scenario where they wouldn’t hate him for the choices he had made. But he had been sick, back then. The voice in the back of his mind had been proof enough of that, surely? He knew what it had claimed, who it had called itself. He also knew it was impossible, he might like fairy tales, but that didn’t mean he believed in them. The wizard wasn’t real, the witch wasn’t real. All those dreams he’d had, the weight of lifetimes, were just a figment of an overactive imagination, product of too many nights spent reading old books by candlelight. As if he could possibly have magic, why if he had then maybe he could have kept things together. Maybe he could have stayed, even if just for Winter’s sake, For his mother’s sake. Even now, though, that face haunted him whenever he closed his eyes.

He checked behind him, but Qrow was still following him. Maybe it was to hit him some more, though if so then he probably deserved it. It had been rather pathetic of him, seeing if the old feelings he had for the other man were still there, playing with him, in a way. For all Qrow had seemed attracted to him tonight, it was Ozpin that had attracted him, surely. There had never been even the slightest hint that his feelings had been reciprocated, not at school and not later on, the few times they had passed each other after he’d run away. No, he would be lucky if all Qrow did was punch him, since there was much worse that he could do if he truly put his mind to it. Like telling his father, for one. Disgraced Jacques Schnee may be, but he wasn’t stupid. A story like his could salvage at least a little of his reputation. And hadn’t he almost been tempted, once, to leverage that? Oh, not for his father, never for him. But the shame had touched his siblings, too, the rumors of abuse being proven factual had had a knock on effect over all of their lives. Could he have helped that, really, though? His own reputation, back then, would not have been anywhere near enough to shelter them. It might be, now, but then did they truly need that shelter anymore? They certainly didn’t need him, after all. He doubted they even remembered his existence, much less that they would care.

Qrow was looking at him again, one eyebrow cocked. At least his fists were by his sides this time? That was a definite improvement over the restaurant. He quirked a hesitant grin in his direction that was met by Qrow rolling his eyes at him. He deserved that, too. Anything, really if he could only be entirely sure that Qrow didn’t hate him. Blame him, yes, after all it was all his fault, but he wasn’t at all certain he could easily live with the other man’s hatred. He loved him far too much for that, even after all this time. The distance between them, which would normally snuff out any residual feelings, (and he wondered, again, just how he always seemed to know these things), had seemed to solidify and strengthen things in this case. Maybe not for Qrow so much, but definitely for him. Maybe, one day, he might even go by his real name. At least around those he cared about. It was really very unlikely that Glynda, say, would be swayed by any sort of bribe his father could conjure up and besides, with the scarring all over his face, he was far from the picture perfect heir his father had wanted. To an extent, he had got that with Whitley, though he, too, had seen through him in time. It was almost sad, in a way, but he just wanted to laugh at the thought. How far the mighty had fallen.

… he would need to tell Weiss, tell Winter. He knew he would, had been half expecting it for years now, but the thought of telling them the truth scared him in a way that Qrow finding out hadn’t. After all, that had felt inevitable. Was, in a way. They had always circled each other, growing up, after all.

Qrow pushed him up against the side of a car that he was pretty certain had to belong to the other man, if only by the custom bird decal on the hood. Qrow always had rather leant into his name, refreshing really that that, at least, had never changed.

“What happened, why did ya leave… why did ya come back?” His voice was raw, his eyes begging Oz for answers he wasn’t certain he could really give. After all, he didn’t have all the answers to those questions himself, either. He sighed deeply, considering his response.

“Things at home were bad, Qrow, Worse than you knew, worse than I could ever admit to you. To anyone, really, we were meant to be the picture perfect family, after all. I guess I managed to convince myself that nobody would care if I left. Without me to give an example of what to do, I thought he might treat Winter better. After all, she would be all he had left. That might have been a mistake.”

“Ya think?” Qrow sounded slightly disgusted, but almost fond at the same time. Oz had to be imagining that last bit, though. “Why did ya think nobody would care if you left? I looked for you for years, Wes! Winter looked, or did ya really think your twin’d just forget about you? Weiss looked, I heard her telling her friends about you. I’m pretty sure even your brother looked. They just could never find you, none of us could.”

“Weiss… knew? She knows about me? Whitley does, too? I didn’t think anyone would tell them. I was so certain that father would bury everything.” He shuddered as what he had just said caught up with him. Had he actually just called Jacques what he thought he had? It was technically factual, but… he shivered again. That wasn’t something he had ever been fully comfortable thinking about. He certainly wasn’t comfortable with it right now.

“They knew. They always knew, kinda surprised Ice Princess didn’t put it together before now, actually. After all, ya taught her for four years. How did ya manage to do that, anyway? Must have been tough.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Oz admitted, slowly, “especially considering she was unaware of our connection. At least I rather hope that she was, since that might be rather embarrassing. Then again, it may not, it rather depends on her, really.”

“Nah, she doesn’t know. If she did, she’d’ve told Yang and Ruby and neither of them would have kept it to themselves. Eh, it wouldn’t have spread far, of course, but they would have told me at least. I would have known. Do ya have any idea just how much I’ve missed ya, Wes? Ya were my best friend. More than that, really…” Qrow broke off, watching Oz carefully. Maybe he’d shared more than he’d wanted to, but today had been just as emotional for him as it always was. At least this time, it was for a far better reason than it ever had been in the past?

“More than…” Oz sounded surprised, but the same wistfulness that had been there all night was still fully evident in his voice. The accent was getting more and more Atlesian the longer he talked, too. Not that that was really surprising, given just who he’d been the last time he had spent any real time around Qrow. He wondered if the other man even remembered those few times they had run into each other over the years? No, probably not… especially since he was pretty certain that he’d had black hair for at least one of them. He really didn’t miss than hair dye. But… more than? Could Qrow possibly mean what he thought that he did? Was there any way he could be that lucky? Well, not that anything would come of it, he’d run and hidden away like a child from a bad nightmare. The witch wasn’t real, magic wasn’t real. The threat he’d dreamed of, the horrible things he’d seen in his nightmares were just that after all. They were just nightmares, hadn’t all the psychiatrists said so? Hadn’t they given him all those drugs to quiet the voices? Why was he thinking of that, now, anyway. There were more important things to do than dwell on the past. Like actually talking to Qrow, for a start…

[stevishabitat]

I would love to hear from any of those actors as well as the costume designer. I need the gritty details.

[practicalsolutions]

Long before his throat healed, and before he knew how to speak through the machine, Wesley watched. He could see in real time where the machine intended to go. He knew this through the impressions that would become his way to read, and eventually alter, the code that drove his new body to carry out various tasks. For now, he was bound by it. Only able to interrupt it with his own decisions of how to move. It would pick up where it left off as soon as he ceased.

Before he could effectively speak for himself, he struggled over and over. If his thoughts could become motions, why couldn't they also become words? Just think harder. Just think harder, and maybe your stupid speak-and-spell voice will say what's in your mind. Just try harder. You're not trying hard enough. Try harder.

Teammates would wonder why the robot would walk up to them, as if it wanted something, only to freeze. It would eventually carry on with what it was doing after a few moments. It seemed like a harmless glitch. Spooky, but harmless..

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Police Officer Wes

"Excuse me, sorry, Mr. Batman, sir!"

That's definitely not a voice he knows. Bruce halts in his steps, aborting his usual retreat into the shadows, and turns back around. Commissioner Gordon, who was still in the process of wrapping up his small talk with Tim - the term 'grumpy banter' would describe their conversation more accurately at this point, but Bruce knows better than to argue with the two over semantics - also turns around, pausing in the middle of the sentence.

A ginger haired boy, wide-eyed and obviously either nervous, starstruck, or both, is staring at him from a few feet behind the Commissioner. Bruce can see a few more faces peeking from behind the half-opened door to the roof, all of them filled with anticipation. He knows two of them: detectives that work directly under Gordon, Isaiah Vasquez, and Tasha Kuznets. The third one, a black man in his forties, also looks vaguely familiar, but Bruce can't recall a name.

Yet, he knows absolutely nothing about the ginger, who hasn't blinked once since Bruce noticed him and is now biting on his lips. But he is wearing a police uniform, so, possibly, a new hire?

"Weston, get out," Jim sighs, waving a shooing hand at the boy with a look of barely concealed exasperation on his face. Definitely a new hire, then. That's the level of annoyance he reserves only for the overachieving rookies that he begrudgingly likes but never admits to.

"I-" newly named Weston starts but cuts himself off. Then, he takes a deep breath and straightens up, "Just one question, sir!"

"Weston, I swear to God," Commissioner pinches the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up a bit. But Tim tilts his head to the side, looking in the ginger's direction and raising his eyebrows. His domino mask hides it, but Bruce knows his menagerie of kids well enough to see that he is at least a bit curious about the boy. So he turns back around fully and inclines his head, giving Weston his attention. He doesn't mind talking with those rare few members of GCPD that Gordon likes.

Weston perks up like a very eager dog at the sight of a treat. In the contrast lighting of the BatSignal, his hair looks like it's on fire.

"If you don't mind, was the 'Smiling case' relevant to Joker in any sense?" The boy asks, loud and clear - maybe even too loud - with his unblinking gaze still glued to Bruce. Like he is afraid that if he closes his eyes for a moment, Gotham's vigilantes are going to disappear without a trace.

It's not a question Bruce expected, to be honest. The 'Smiling case' was closed just a few days ago, Gordon was still not done with the paperwork, as far as Oracle's records went. A murder of three, where all victims had some badly drawn clown makeup on them - post-mortem makeup, as it turned out, the murderer tried to deceive the investigation by trying to cover it up as Joker's doing. Only, he didn't do a good job at it, all the Bats were way too familiar with the Mad Clown's signature style. Not to mention that Joker was still securely sealed in his Arkham cell.

Bruce turns to look at Red Robin. He was the one working on the case, so Bruce gives him the choice of answering or not. Tim jerks his shoulder, looks the ginger boy up and down, and then shakes his head.

"Aside from a poor attempt at leading the investigation in the wrong direction, no, it wasn't," Tim shrugs, "The guy isn't even a Gothamite, he knew of Joker only from the rumors and media. And the clown faces were a makeshift cover-up."

Weston visibly deflates at the answer. Bruce watches in a slight amusement as Tasha nudges the other officer, one he doesn't remember the name of, in the shoulder, and stage-whispers, "Pay up." The older man huffs and disappears behind the door, followed by Isaiah.

"Thank you, Mr. Red Robin," Wesley nods politely and takes a step back, his eyes darting to Gordon. Tim snorts a laugh but doesn't correct him. Commissioner, though, gives the boy a long, dreadful sigh.

"Is that all, officer Weston?" He asks, not even bothering to hide his 'tired dad' voice.

The ginger nods again, "Yes, Commissioner Gordon."

"Then get out of my sight before I make all your shifts double," Jim commands, and Weston nearly runs back to the door with a speed that makes Bruce involuntarily think of speedsters. Must be the red hair.

Tim turns to look at the Commissioner right as the door to the roof slams shut behind both Weston and Kuznets.

"Who is he?"

Bruce is also a bit curious now. New recruits in the GCPD are nothing out of the ordinary, but Jim seems to know this one personally, and Kuznets, who is one of his trusted detectives, seems to also like the officer.

Gordon briefly huffs and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. It's quite chilly today; Bruce makes a mental note to switch everyone to their more insulated suits. Scarecrow is currently out on the loose. It won't do any good if any of the Bats went down with a cold.

"Wesley Weston, fresh out of the Academy," Commissioner sighs, but, somehow, Bruce gets the impression it's not a sound of simple exasperation over a new officer eager to prove himself. Jim proves his assumptions by looking around the shoulder to make sure the door to the roof is still closed, and continuing, "Born and raised in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, but GCPD was his first choice. He explained it as having a few friends living in the city, which, unfortunately, proved to be right."

Bruce frowns and grunts, alarm bells ringing in his mind. Deliberately choosing to work in Gotham despite not being from here can be caused by many reasons, and nearly none of them are good reasons.

"Unfortunately?" Tim inquires suspiciously, also with a slight frown, but Jim waves them both off.

"No, he's got nothing to do with any of the criminals. It was the first thing I checked when he mentioned 'friends'. If anything, he's quite on the opposite; he'd make a great detective one day, what with his countless conspiracy theories, determination and the insane urge to dig up every single detail known to mankind," he laughs a bit, and Bruce notices a slight, teasing twinkle to the Commissioner's eyes behind his glasses. "On his second day here, the boy went and plain told me he knows that Batman is Bruce Wayne and that he's saying that because he knows I know and he is aware we're working together."

The alarm bells in Bruce's mind turn into sirens. They never discussed the matters of Bats' real identities with Gordon - Bruce had his suspicions that the man knew it and simply kept his status quo. In all fairness, James Gordon didn't make it to Gotham's Commissioner by sheer dumb luck, so all the Bats kind of expected him to figure it out one day.

But Jim knowing who's behind the cowl is one thing. A new, out of town officer is quite another.

"What did you answer?" Tim asks with an easy smile, but Bruce sees the barely noticeable tension in his shoulders.

Gordon nearly grins, "I didn't believe him, which turned out to be exactly what he expected. He also told me of some kind of a familial curse - he called it 'Cassandra's curse', I believe you're aware of what it means. And then, when I naturally expressed my doubts, proceeded to show it in action. Believe me, it works. Sometimes, it even works too well," the man looks to the side with an amused huff, "That's why officer Weston is strictly prohibited from voicing his opinions on any of the ongoing cases outloud. Detective Kuznets almost missed some critical evidence because of his input once."

Cassandra's curse, Bruce has heard of that saying before. Granted, he never thought it could be a real thing, and he is not intending on starting now, not before he investigates the matter thoroughly. But he does trust Jim - years and years of working together would do that to people - so he simply nods in understanding, leaving the matter of supernatural aside for now.

"What about his friends?" Red Robin asks again, and that causes Gordon to wince momentarily.

"That, I believe, was the cause of his performance just now. One of his friends runs an occult shop, and the other one loves to hang around our forensic scientists and coroners occasionally," the man waves their immediate frowns off again, "I don't go into the morgue often, but I heard he's good at finding out the causes of death by a few looks at the body. And they run a lot of bets between them three," Jim shrugs nonchalantly, "The last one was about the 'Smiling case', I take it."

"Any reason to worry about them?" Bruce can't help but ask. It's not unusual for people to be weird in this city, and running an occult shop and hanging out with pathologists are not exactly reasons to go through background checks when they've got much more pressing issues on their plate. Namely, Scarecrow: it's been more than a week since his escape, but none of the Bats have heard anything about him yet. Oracle is already busy enough with that and the current uprise of gang activity in the Narrows, there's no point in piling even more work on her shoulders just because of some gossip that rubs Bruce the wrong way.

Gordon, thankfully, doesn't take his question lightly and pauses, scratching his chin.

"No," he finally concludes after some thought, "They are a bit strange for non-Gothamites, I'll say that, but in terms of this city? They are no stranger than my neighbors from upstairs." Gordon doesn't tell them to leave it alone, Bruce notices. However, it's probably not because of any doubts he has; the Bats just have a habit of tripplechecking everything anyways, and who would know that better than Jim Gordon?

A quick glance to Tim proves Bruce's thoughts. Red Robin, despite the mask, looks thoughtful. How many cases is he already working on, seven? Bruce makes another mental note to ask Alfred to cut his caffeine intake. It might be a bit hypocritical of him, what with his own plans to send a few messages to JLD about the 'Cassandra's curse', but Bruce excuses himself as the adult in the family.

Commissioner Gordon clears his throat.

"Do you want me to turn around so you can make your mysterious escape, or-" he starts, but both vigilantes are already gone by the time he finishes, "-or not, okay."

[slashere]

data

typical Q performance 💃

YEAHHHH he sings carmen opera - toreador "votre toast"