#very questionable even when looking at pieces i drew with specific headcanons in mind

[the-s-exy-squad]

Headcanons:

Andrew Minyard

Andrew’s favorite color is not black. It’s blue/green but he never told anyone and let the assumption grow because in his mind, even that small amount of happiness would be taken if he admitted it.

I think the reason Andrew is so protective of Aaron isn’t just because he is his brother and he couldn’t protect him but also that his definition of brother differs from the normal. He sees it as “Protect. Save. Take care of.” And since he didn’t have any stable and emotionally available role models for those kinds of relationships, he is using what he knows to accomplish those meanings.

^ The deal he made with Aaron was NOT to control him but to ensure he isn’t taken advantage of by friends because his history of abuse. If he doesn’t have friends, he can’t be taken advantage of.

^^ The issue Aaron had with Katelyn stemmed specifically from their mother. Since Aaron was abused by her most of his childhood, he was afraid they’d get into the exact same relationship but romantically and we know how Andrew reacts when he’s afraid.

When Neil becomes team captain, he and Andrew kinda take in the newer classes’ Exy players. Neil is the protective and sometimes unhinged silly father while Andrew is the caring but emotionally unavailable one.

^ I also think one of the younger class’ players would get back to the dorm late and he would be standing right inside the door scaring the shit out of them deadpanning a “where’ve you been?”

^^ He also enforces that all triggers for the team be averted during practice and casual hang outs for everyone. (He threw a sandal at one of them that he pulled directly from his foot during movie night once after someone made a joke that had a “not normal” trigger in it for one of the other team mates)

Andrew is very specific about his ice cream texture. He likes all sweets for the most part but his ice cream has to be a specific texture.

^ He HATES carnival peanuts and orange slices (the candy). The texture is not a vibe and he would rather stab himself SEVERAL times.

He loves sudoko, puzzles, and logic games. His favorite are 3d puzzles that you stack the pieces to make. He had a lot of every puzzle and logic puzzle and how long it took him to beat or do it successfully.

^ Those metal fidget puzzles? He has HUNDREDS.

^^ He gives one to Neil every so often and would watch him try and figure it out. If Neil didn’t get it and asked, he’d explain. If Neil did get it, it was usually within minutes and he’d sit it in front of Andrew with a triumphant cocky grin.

His first mention of anything Drake did to him was actually in a fit of anger when Nicky got really depressed with guilt about thanksgiving.

(If he had a modern phone) His phone passcode is the day Nicky got custody. When he and Neil became dating “but not dating”, he changed it to the day he hit him with an Exy racquet.

^ When asked he’d say “the first time I took Neil’s breath away” and everyone assumed he meant the first time they fucked or something and not question it anymore. Kevin would be the only one to know but he wasn’t gonna mention he remembered that day.

His favorite animal is a deer. He likes how elegant looking does look and feels a sense of connection with him since he technically was one (by temporary last name).

His favorite number is 88. I have no reason. It just is.

He does art sometimes because Bee suggested an outlet and since he has eidetic memory, he’s able to draw pretty realistic things.

^ He keeps these locked in a desk. Nobody knows even Neil. (Who one day accidentally stumbles upon a loose drawing Andrew forgot to put up of a bird- drawn because he was stressed and wanted to leave. When he asked Andrew who drew it for him, he said he did. Neil has a new binder that is full of drawings Andrew did.)

Andrew gets a Medusa tattoo on either his shoulder blade or forearm. He’s grateful the artist didn’t ask him if he knew the meaning and left a large tip for just that with no explanation. Explanation for the tattoo, not needed.

^ He’d keep it simple and put Medusa’s head (or a graphic of it) inside a circle or some other shape because he likes to signify it’s a part of him but it’s encased in the past and he can’t change it.

He thinks about the stupid shit he laughed at and/or said while medicated and cringe sometimes. (“bee being bee”)

He is actually good at debates. Especially if he does his research on it first and will tear apart anyone he debates ANYTHING with.

^ The DEFINITION of “if I talk long enough, I can make anything right or wrong”

He doesn’t associate with Christianity or Christians but he does grow a sense of spirituality after college. He thinks that nature and sacrifice is worth appreciating and honor and although he doesn’t have a set religion or practices, he goes out for walks in the woods often and sits there sometimes to just thank nature for remaining pure and I corrupt like humanity.

^ (-kinda) After college, he starts meditating. Not like an internal analysis thing but he’d imagine his breathing being the world around him and he’d use this to relax and be calm for a while and to escape his life.

He isn’t one of Bee’s clients after college, but they still have calls where Andrew can use her as a therapist if he needs. If not, it’s just a catch up call on life.

He gets better but not in a “I don’t deal with that anymore” way but a “I deal with that every second of every day and I am this close 🤏 to stabbing everyone in the room so I am leaving (and going to mediate or stab a brick if Neil doesn’t give me something to focus on).” (He learns what tells his body gives him and what he needs to do to fix the issue based on the level of those tells.)

He had a journal that is locked in a locked box in a safe (with Neil’s art binder ) and he uses this to right down things he notices when he’s trying to figure out someone’s motives or way of thinking and has EXCEPTIONAL pattern recognition so he’d get it done pretty quick.

He gets a psychiatrist service animal.

^ He gets a dog because he decided that Sir and King are emotional support animals not his service animals because they are older and would be harder to train. He also wanted to differentiate between his psa and animals that benefit both him and Neil.

^^ His psa is trained for panic attacks, dissociating, anger management, and other things. His psa will help Neil out sometimes as well but knows his job is to take care of Andrew because Neil HAS Andrew.

^^^ Andrew got the psa because he doesn’t want to burden Neil with EVERYTHING. Or become co-dependent.

^^^^ He gets a stereotypically “aggressive breed” of dog for a psa. (Pit Bull, Boxers, etc)

I have so many more. Someone please send help. I need just one (ONE! - 1 singular day without thinking of this man)

[strxwberrylemonxde]

Hello! Could I request headcanons of aizawa x a male!so who has a destruction quirk and is scared to hurt anyone because of an accident he had as hero?

I tried to be as specific as I could, hope it helps, have a nice day <33

Male!S/O with a Destruction Quirk

Pairing: S. Aizawa x male!reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warning: Mentions of death, very brief mention of prescription medication (let me know if I missed any)

Word Count: 0.87k

A/N - Ahhhhh thank you so much for this request, I was so excited when I woke up to it, and thank you for adding specifics! I wasn't sure if you wanted it as a hurt/comfort type, but if not, shoot me a message or ask and I will try to change it to your liking. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! <333

Aizawa was always aware of how withdrawn you were from others, even before the two of you got together

He’d observed how skittish you got whenever someone was too close to you and how you avidly tried to avoid interacting with people

There was this silent allure to you that drew him in and it took a very long time before you actually agreed to go out with him

Of course, this caused you to up your cautiousness around him

He definitely understood why you were so afraid to get too close to people, especially him because he knew you cared too much about him to see him get hurt

However, his subtle attempts at affection were always shut down as you told him you didn’t want to hurt him on accident with your quirk, fearing you would accidentally kill him if you got too close

He’d heard about your history in the hero world and had a basic understanding of the mechanics of your quirk, mostly through what you were willing to share with him, but you covered the darker details well

You never told him directly about the incident you were in, but he had heard bits and pieces of it from a few colleagues at UA

“They say he practically ruined the whole mission”

“Didn’t the commission force him to take a leave of absence?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t his fault, it was just an accident gone wrong”

See, your quirk was known as deterioration, you were able to steadily make a pre-existing break or injury on an object or person progressively worse solely by looking at it, giving you the title “The Demolition Hero”

However, the issue was that your quirk was heavily controlled by your emotional state, so the more intense your emotions are, the more destructive your quirk becomes and the quicker that break or injury worsens

You were always wary of your emotions, keeping them in check as best as you could, and even going as far as taking emotional suppressants which were suggested by the Hero Commission to keep your quirk stable

But the accident in question was what broke your composure, leaving a scar over where your confidence was supposed to be

Sometimes those memories were like a track stuck on repeat, and it tormented you, even after so much time had passed

It’s Friday night when Aizawa was over at your place, he had just finished a batch of papers that needed to be graded, so the two of you were together on the couch watching a movie, trying to unwind

You had put a bit of distance between you and Aizawa, but he wanted you closer to him, he wanted to hold you

“Baby, it’s alright if you want to come a bit closer, I promise you it’s not going to hurt me”

The thought alone made you apprehensive and you shook your head

He wanted you to take as much time as you needed in opening up to him but it pained him to see you so closed off, to see his boyfriend so helpless and scared

By now you had pulled your knees up to your chest in an attempt to make yourself small and you buried your face in your knees, a sob wracking through you

You felt him move closer to you and you panicked

“Sho, no- NO PLEASE, get away from me”

He erased your quirk to show you that you wouldn’t be a danger to him, hoping to ease your mind a little bit

You knew he would find out eventually, so after a bit of silence and light reassurances, you relented

And so you told him

You told him about the hostage situation

And about the little girl who was kidnapped for ransom

You told him about how angry you were at the villains for doing such a thing

And how you were unaware of the girls head injury

“I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN SHE WAS HURT BUT I WASN’T THINKING! IT WAS BECAUSE OF ME THAT GIRL DIED! I DON’T WANT THE SAME THING TO HAPPEN TO YOU OR ANYONE ELSE!”

You didn’t realize how much closer he’d gotten to you, he pulled your head into the crook of his neck as he lifted your body onto his lap, slowly rocking the both of you back and forth

He let you cry it out, his hands softly petting you and his lips placing a few light kisses on your head in an attempt to soothe your wails

He guided your breathing to make sure you didn’t hyperventilate

“My love, listen to me, what happened back then was not your fault, okay? You didn’t know. You are not the monster you think you are. I’ll always be here to love you no matter what and if you need help controlling your quirk, you say the words and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Please, darling, try not to blame yourself anymore”

If Aizawa wanted you to know one thing, it’s that you shouldn’t let your guilt dictate your relationships with others, he loves you and he was going to do anything in his power to let you know that

[my-writings-and-musings]

Same anon thank you for answering my question! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for MTMTE Rung, Megatron, Rodimus, Minimus, and Swerve with an Artisic human reader that just sees the good and creative artist side of everything? From books to pictures to even their own bot? Like they can just look at their bot and go out on a whole rant on how beautiful their optics are from the color to their expression. if that’s too many characters you can take any one, I don’t mind! Thank you and have a good day ❤️

You're welcome! I'm always open for clarification, so feel free to ask questions about whatever you'd like if you're unsure on anything. I took a little liberty with this one, but I've got all the requested bots because darn it all these beautiful mechs deserve recognition!

Rung

·He discovers your artistic inclination thanks to years of experience reading personalities and emotions at a glance, but he wasn't prepared for the depth of your conviction in seeing the world through a creative lens, which he learned upon speaking to you about your process as an artist. This surprise grows as he sees you sketching around the ship, your exuberance for the inherent beauty in everything coming through in every conversation you share.

·When he praises some of your sketches on a quiet day in his office and is compelled to ask how you developed your style, he's fascinated by your explanation, and his spark is warmed by how beautifully you describe the world around you and credit it for inspiring you. He's visibly shocked when your list of current subjects and muses includes him specifically, and you can't help but chuckle at the usually calm bot looking so absolutely flustered. There's no way for him to hide any of that feeling when he requests a bit of clarification; there's hundreds of bots on board, what about him could possibly stand out?

·You're happy to elaborate on your process to a bot who so regularly underestimates his worth and lay out why he in particular piques your interest. The warmth and goodness of his being is such a rare and beautiful thing, you explain, but also so rarely appreciated that it drives you to try and capture that essence in a manner one can see. How could you not? Such compassion and empathy and forgiveness should be remembered! You've also seen that he's capable of accepting any genuine apology, and to have that level of mercy after so much war is beautiful, enough that you have to try and show it.

·To say he's touched is an understatement of unfathomable proportions. Removing his lenses to clear optics blurred with tears, he doesn't even know how to begin processing your praise of his character when you add that his physical self hardly fails to encourage you either. His glasses nearly slip from his hands when he hears you say that. You continue quite easily; the kindness in his optics and the sweetness of his smile, combined with his genuinely handsome profile, simply inspire you to start sketching.

·He's touched, but you have to understand, he is NOT accustomed to this level of praise. Between the near tears and the blushing he has to politely excuse himself to recover from this absolute tsunami of emotions, but being flustered and melted at once is enough to have him smiling through a little blush all day long. While he tries to take a little bit of your mindset into his everyday life going forward, he gets a bit dazed every time he sees a sketch of yours that includes his face, as that level of artistic devotion being dedicated to him is more than he'll ever be able to process. Not that he minds...

Megatron

·Being more familiar with the written word, he enjoys the arts but has little experience with those who create them, and time has not been on his side in regards to learning more. Thus, you're one of the first artistically inclined individuals he's been able to discuss the topic with, which he was motivated to do after catching a glimpse of your work. He could swear some of your sketches bear a resemblance to him, but he says nothing on the matter and is certain his optics are tricking him.

·Your talk of technique quickly surprises him by shifting to inspiration, which to you is the primary driving force of your work, as it influences how you go about conveying the subject matter. Eager to share what you mean, you explain that anything can have beauty worthy of capturing if you just take the time to look at it right. Even the most mundane or seemingly unappealing things can be remarkable if you know their story, and you want to convey that energy as wordlessly as possible.

·A little overwhelmed but quite impressed by your manner of reasoning, he rather jokingly asks if even beings like himself could ever inspire you, or perhaps another artist with your mindset. He's caught off gaurd like never before when you, quite enthusiastically, reply that he most certainly can and does! To keep his composure he recalls portraits of his likeness being commissioned to inspire his soldiers, but never believing these fell under the category of art so much as they did propaganda. They often depicted him quite... violently as well.

·Having never seen these pieces, you reply that your own experience is tied more to how you see him now, and you flip through your sketchbook to demonstrate. As close to your level as can be, he's speechless while you explain what you wanted to capture about him in each sketch, whether it's a quick study or a detailed project; and that's how safe he makes you feel. Hearing himself referred to as a protector cuts straight through his powerful armor.

·You depict him looking almost... gentle? Hearing you describe the his immense size as a source of comfort and his strength as a tool of keeping peace processes about as clearly to him as a foreign language, but he nods along and keeps the conversation going until his duties call him away. Though he says nothing of it, he volunteers himself for more of the physically demanding work around the ship. His body's purpose had always been decided for him, but you've reminded him he has the only true say in its use, and that everything really is a matter of perspective. Perhaps he'll take up sketching once this is all over.

Rodimus

·He's certainly always had an appreciation for visual appeal, even if his idea of beauty doesn't often overlap with what most would consider artistically valuable. This and his natural alertness makes him quick to notice you often sketch about the ship, frequently when he's present, but at first he leaves you alone to work in peace. Having a hobby on this crew is beyond valuable, and he doesn't want to distract you from a passion... That is, until he decides on one especially slow day to just ask you what you like to doodle about.

·You can tell he wants to be a little nosy, if only because he's naturally a curious bot about these things, but you're more than happy to share regardless. There's a lot due to the ample downtime on the quest, and he has to squint so he can properly scan the many sketches on the human sized paper. He happily recognizes friends, locales about the ship, even earth things he knows about... but he's not ready when he finds a picture of himself.

·While he remains outwardly playful, teasing you with how he'd pose if you only asked, he's internally flattered that you took the time to draw him. More specifically, he's touched by the way you drew him. The sketches and portraits portray him as a calm but amicable leader, standing tall and serving as a guide to those around him, a true "father to his men" kind of bot... it's everything he wants to be, but is quite certain he's not. He's barely able to keep up his smooth persona when he asks about your process.

·You explain that you find inspiration in everything, but he's been your chosen subject lately for a lot of reasons. It's no secret he's handsome, but you see something more when you look at him, and you did everything you could to show it here; there's a real leader in him. Maybe some bots don't see it under all the bluster and sarcasm, but you see how much he cares for every bot on his crew. He wants to be the best for all of them, and even if he struggles at times, that effort is beautiful to you.

·It takes everything in him to bite back some very embarrassing tears, and the crack in his voice doesn't help him hide the emotion, though he covers that up with unconvincing coughs and claims something got in his optic. From then on he seems to stand a little taller and find his assigned duties a little easier to bear, but you absolutely notice how he poses in what he believes to be heroic fashion whenever your sketchbook comes out. Inspired by his enthusiasm, you invite him to model more officially, and the crew is just happy to see him so enthusiastic.

Minimus

·Being as observant as he is, your consistent appraisal of your surroundings is not something he'd ever miss, but your frequent sketching in the most random places does leave him absolutely mystified. Every time he sees you there's artistic supplies on your person, but he can't find anything that appears to be worthy of putting to paper, so what could you be drawing? He respects your privacy too much, and feels too silly about his curiosity, to interpret and ask you for an explanation.

·Thus it's with some small eagerness that he finds one of your sketchbooks after it's been misplaced, and he sees the perfect opportunity to slip in a question. For the sake of handling something so tiny, he approaches without his armor, offering the lost item back with barely concealed pride at your delight to have it returned. In the moment of truth he nearly falters, but does indeed manage to ask what you draw around the ship. He leaves out the fact that he's observed you whenever you draw in his presence.

·The question has an answer only he seems to think isn't obvious; him! You spend time together frequently, and while everything is fair game for sketching, he's a very regular subject for you. Whether he's wearing the Magnus armor or not, you explain that the commanding aura he radiates is something you can't help but find beautiful. That word choice baffles him enough that he has to interrupt; beautiful? Commanding? Even without his armor?? You're delighted to assure him that you absolutely mean that.

·Hearing you describe the details of your reasoning, like the quiet dignity of his stance or the calm intelligence of his red optics, touches his spark in ways he wasn't expecting. He's calm and speaks softly as he keeps the conversation going, asking questions about your various works and listening attentively when you answer, processing your view of the universe as being packed with beauty in all the places people don't think to look.

·Any bot that sees him during the remainder of the day absolutely notices the change to his entire demeanor; namely that he's smiling a soft and barely perceptible smile. It's not long after he requests a few sketches from you to keep in his office, whether they're of him or not, and he has them framed in places of honor. He doesn't tell you, but you figure it out, that one particular drawing of him you gift for his sake is kept securely stored in a compartment by his spark.

Swerve

·Many bots may see him being a tad bit on the shallow side when it comes to the arts, but our beloved barkeep has his own unique appreciation for creativity and all the ways it can be visually expressed, and you recognize it not long after meeting him. As his bar is a frequent hangout for everyone, you find it to be a fantastic place to sit and sketch, as the variety of bots makes it quite easy to have your choice of subjects even if you have to sit on a table. Obviously Swerve notices and asks you what you're drawing when traffic slows one evening.

·You're happy to show him your work and he's always eager to hear what everyone is up to, so he starts asking questions about your art in general. How long have you been an artist? What's it like suddenly having a whole ship of aliens to sketch? Why draw here all the time? At that query you light up brilliantly, and he's delighted by your enthusiasm as you describe all the incredible sights the bar has to offer.

·You list some of your favorite things to draw, like the many friend groups on the ship that gather here, the brilliant colors of the glowing vats of enjex, and him smiling and rushing with orders through it all. That last one gets a flash of surprise from behind his visor, which is quickly overtaken by exuberant delight; you've been drawing him?! He babbles out a surge of confusing statements that you're eventually able to interpret as a request to see, just one he's too bashful to say directly.

·Happily obliging, you're touched by how he smiles at every little sketch, and feel compelled to explain that he's a big part of why you love drawing here. You try to see beauty in everything, even what often gets overlooked, and there's so very much of that here. The bar is one of those places that everyone knows is special, but you know he's the reason they love it like they do, and that his enthusiasm and hard work hold it all together. You find that inspiring, and actually quite beautiful. It doesn't hurt that his brilliant smile is always a treat to sketch.

·Trying to play it cool and totally failing, he doesn't quite hide that he's near to tears when he asks if you'd like to hang some of your work up in the bar, or maybe have a little corner for yourself to draw from. He just doesn't want you getting squished while you sketch, is all! And having a better vantage point is ideal for someone so small! When you accept, he gives you your own human sized accommodations not too far from the heart of the bar, and every so often when you sketch he'll glance up at you absolutely beaming.

[panharmonium]

I would like to add Gwaine to the list of friends Merlin had. Especially in the 3/4 seasons he really was ride or die for Merlin, they shared intimate details with each other, they truly trusted each other. There were instances where the show alluded that Gwaine knows about Merlin's magic and is fine with it.

hi there!  i’m assuming this is in response to the post i reblogged about will and lancelot being merlin’s only “real” friends?  

i’m actually happy to write about this, now that the question has been posed - it’s been a while since i wrote anything long about gwaine!

fair warning in advance: i don’t personally classify gwaine the same way i do will and lancelot, and that’s what this piece will cover in more detail, but these are just my own thoughts, and it is totally cool for everybody else to have different opinions.  my take is my take, but it does not have to be everyone’s take - if people wanna scroll past because this isn’t their vibe, i don’t mind in the slightest. :)

so, without further ado - i LOVE gwaine, and i have written extensively about how amazing his relationship with merlin is (some examples here, here, here, and here, if anybody’s looking).  he is the most likely of all merlin’s living friends to ditch arthur in the name of addressing merlin’s needs, which is super important, and he also has a much healthier friendship with merlin than arthur does (in my own personal opinion, of course, which nobody is obligated to share).  he definitely does go ride or die for merlin in S3/S4, i agree.

but my own thoughts on this particular point are still the same as they were in that original post.  i tend to hide my clarifications/explanations in the tags, so they might have flown by, but i’ll just copy/paste the relevant bit here for ease of access, as some background for the rest of this post.

re: will and lancelot were merlin’s only ‘real’ friends:

#what this does not mean: merlin has no other friends!  merlin doesn't have meaningful and important relationships with other people!   #what it does mean:  #every single one of merlin's other relationships is undergirded by the sickening knowledge that those friendships are conditional   #every single one of his other relationships is accompanied by the constant undercurrent of 'they would hate me if they knew'   #merlin knows his friends 'care' about him   #except they don't really; because it's not truly him they're caring about   #they care deeply - about someone merlin made up   #about a facade.   #in the most basic sense   #those relationships aren't Real   #the love merlin feels for the people in them is real   #but you cannot truly be 'friends' with somebody who doesn't even know who you are   #you cannot be loved without being known   #you certainly cannot be loved without being safe

obviously i suppose a person’s thoughts on this would be different if they headcanoned that gwaine knew about merlin’s magic, and that’s fine.  i personally do not believe canon indicates or supports that, but i’m not out to convince people to abandon their own fanon interpretations of things; i’m happy just hanging out in my own space talking about my thoughts.  me writing meta is the virtual equivalent of me talking to myself in my room - if other people have different conversations with themselves, that’s fine :)  i don’t mind if other folks organize their thoughts about things differently.  

in accordance with that - everybody please feel free to continue on with your own interpretations, and ignore mine if mine do not appeal to you!  if people are interested about how i organize my ideas on this, though, they are essentially as follows:

1) a cage fighter, a class traitor, and a fake sorcerer walk into a tavern

ok, to start with - here’s a graph.

(...who tf starts a meta post with ‘here’s a graph’ lol i just drew a venn diagram for the first time since like...middle school...i LOVE fandom, man, this is RIDICULOUS)

anyway

this is a very rough interpretation of how i think about gwaine, lancelot, and will:

to address some of these elements individually:

lancelot and will give merlin something that gwaine can’t - safety, authenticity, the comfort of being known and seen for real, a respite from constantly qualifying every friendship with ‘they would hate me if they knew’

lancelot and gwaine, likewise, give merlin something merlin wouldn’t be as likely to get from will (if will were still alive, i mean) - an understanding of merlin’s devotion to the Crown, a supportive ally in the fight to promote arthur’s reign and keep arthur/camelot safe

will and gwaine, for their part, are more likely to tell arthur to go fuck himself, if it’s important for helping merlin, and that’s a different kind of support that merlin also really needs.

and will, on his own, gives merlin something that neither lancelot NOR gwaine can provide, which is a friend who isn’t connected to or even particularly interested in arthur pendragon (merlin has nobody in his life like this, not after will dies) - somebody who knew and cared about merlin before merlin had any proximity to arthur, before this whole ’destiny’ issue reared its merciless head.

everybody in merlin’s life matters to him and gives him something important.  gwaine is STUPIDLY important to merlin.  the love there is real.  but in canon, because gwaine is not in the know, gwaine is still one of the people from whom merlin feels compelled to hide himself.  gwaine is right up there alongside gwen, arthur, elyan, percival, etc - every other person who merlin loves, who merlin nonetheless constantly, back-of-his-mind fears, ‘they would reject me if they knew.’

the above is part of why i personally have never been too interested in ‘so-and-so knows about merlin’s magic’ canon-imaginings.  there’s absolutely nothing wrong with them, and i’m sure people must have tons of fun with them - and in an AU context maybe i would have fun with them too - but as hopeful interpretations of actual canon, they don’t appeal to me.  merlin’s near-total isolation and desperate, constantly-frustrated desire for real, honest love is an inalienable aspect of his character for me, one i can’t separate from who he is and why he does the things he does and why he eventually ends up in the place where we find him towards the end of the show.  

2) i just want someone to see me for who i am

i have seen a bit of sentiment out there along the lines of ‘merlin should have told (x person) about their magic’ or ‘(x person) obviously doesn’t have a problem with sorcerers,’ but i guess i personally don’t think it’s as clear as all that, and i think me saying it is would be doing merlin a disservice.

merlin’s desire to be seen/known/accepted is literally the most base urge he has.  if he truly thought he could tell somebody safely, he would.

i think merlin knows the people in his orbit well enough to know how they feel about sorcery, at least in a general sense.  and even if they aren’t bloodthirsty bigots like uther, they aren’t exactly welcoming magic with open arms, either.  at the most basic, elementary level, merlin understands something that we don’t like to think about: none of his friends ever challenge arthur on the sorcery ban or express any dissatisfaction with the political status quo, and, even absent outright bigotry, this fact speaks loudly enough in and of itself.  merlin’s friends might not be out clamoring for sorcerers’ blood, but they aren’t criticizing a society that criminalizes sorcery, either, and they are never shown to have a problem with the way things are, even though the way things are is wrong.

The Way Things Are is, in fact, unjust.  it’s oppressive.  and allowing that state of affairs to continue, unquestioned and unchallenged, when you have access to the king’s ear and aren’t personally in danger of being persecuted, indicates that you’re okay with the injustice.  that you’re comfortable with the oppression.  that you don’t see a problem with the status quo, and that you're unbothered enough by it to let it be.

it doesn’t matter that merlin’s friends have never straight-up said ‘boy, magic sure is evil’ onscreen.  they never say that camelot’s policies are wrong, and that delivers a clear enough message on its own.

3) it is not a crime to fight for your freedom

to bring this back to gwaine specifically, since that was originally the focus of this ask -

for me, for all that i adore gwaine, and for all that i think he was, for the most part, an INCREDIBLY sound, healthy relationship for merlin, the truth is that gwaine is as much a part of this problem as everyone else.  does that mean i personally think gwaine would have summarily dumped merlin if he’d found out merlin had magic?  no.  but i don’t think it’s as uncomplicated as maybe we wish it might be, and i think merlin has every right to be as uncertain of gwaine on this issue as he does of everyone else.

for one thing, like i said before, even gwaine, who used to have fewer qualms than any of the knights about pushing back on arthur’s BS, has never said a word about camelot’s injustices, or ever acknowledged that the laws of the land are unjust to begin with.  

for another, there are specific moments that kind of make you wonder.

5.05 (’the disir’) is a good example of this - when gwaine finds osgar in the woods, the two of them have this exchange:

you are a sorcerer, a heretic, and a murderer.  

the rhetoric of this sentence frames all three of these things as equivalent entities - criminal ones.  

to pick this apart more carefully:

a) sorcerer

it’s worth noting here that we’re never told osgar has done anything worse than evading arrest for the crime of being a known sorcerer.  when leon mentions him in the council meeting, the conversation consists solely of the following:

“as you know, a few days ago our garrison in the forest of breckfire intercepted the man who goes by the name of osgar.”

“the sorcerer.”

“the same.  they were trying to apprehend him when he used his powers to escape.”

and…that’s it.  osgar’s crime, as far as we know, was simply being a sorcerer (and then, after that, attempting to escape an unjust arrest, thereby killing a knight in the process).  there’s no mention of any other activities that would have warranted his arrest in the first place, other than the possession of magic.

but magic, even on its own, IS a crime in camelot - and gwaine levels the accusation at osgar as such.

b) heretic

that’s a hell of a word to throw around, if you think sorcery is chill.

“heretic” isn’t a mild accusation.  "heretic” has vitriolic severity behind it.  people are accused of heresy when they’re perceived to be in brazen defiance of what is (in the eyes of the accuser) unquestionably right and correct.  “heretic” is like…it’s like blasphemer.  the connotation is not just that something is bad, but that it’s sinful.

for gwaine, either osgar’s association with sorcery and/or his defiance of camelot’s army makes him a heretic.  and that’s not something a person who is down with sorcery or supportive of a magic-user’s struggle for freedom would say.

c) murderer

if gwaine were cool with sorcery, we would expect him to understand that a sorcerer who resisted arrest for the crime of being a sorcerer isn’t a murderer.  

it’s like kara said in 5.11 - it is not a crime to fight for the right to be who you are.

camelot has been killing sorcerers for decades.  osgar mortally wounded a soldier (not an innocent civilian, i might note) who was trying to imprison him.  he was resisting the armed forces of an oppressive state.  that’s not murder.

somebody who understands that camelot is an oppressive regime wouldn’t think of this as murder.  they would understand that it is not a crime to protect your own life when the state has literally been trying to exterminate your people for years.  and even if osgar had been engaged in rebellious activities against the state (which as far as we know is not the case - nothing like this is ever referenced!), they would understand that people with magic have long been overdue for a righteous uprising.  

but gwaine is a little more like arthur, in this moment - he sees the “wrong” that osgar has done (in the form of sir ranulf’s death) without seeing the thousands upon thousands of wrongs that camelot visited upon the magical community first.

4) you can’t go armed into a sacred place

the rest of this episode is similar.  gwaine pays just as little heed to merlin’s warnings as the rest of the knights, when merlin admonishes them that the disir’s cave is sacred.  gwaine doesn’t relinquish his sword or take special care upon entering the cave.  in fact, he is the one who outright interrupts the disir while they’re speaking - as they’re telling arthur a series of hard truths, that he’s persecuted magic-users, “even unto slaughter;” that he’s desecrated their space: “you come here, to the most sacred of the sacred, to the very heart of the Old Religion, with weapons drawn - trampling hallowed relics - treating our sacred space like you do your kingdom - with arrogance - with conceit - with insolence - ”

and gwaine cuts them off, pushing to the front of the group and shouting at them “enough!  you speak of the king!”  and that’s when the fight starts, when mordred gets stabbed.

someone who was fully accepting of magic, or who knew anything about it at all, would not have behaved this way.  they would not have bristled at hearing how arthur’s regime unfairly persecutes the magical community.  they would have known that it was true.

5) i just want to be myself

the above is just one example, but it’s a clear enough one to illustrate what i mean.  gwaine IS an amazing friend to merlin.  he does treat merlin well.  and merlin loves him to death.  but gwaine is NOT totally chill with magic.  i’m not saying he actively hates it, but he is not, from what merlin has witnessed, entirely safe.  merlin loves him, but he can’t be himself around him.

and i do think that pains merlin terribly.  all these people who he loves so much, and every time he’s with them there’s always that whisper: ‘this is a charade.  all the love in my life is a lie.  they only like me because they don’t know me.  if they knew who i really was, this would be over.’  

and we wonder why he never tells anyone.  we tell him he ‘should’ have told gwaine, gwen, morgana, arthur, like it would have been easy, or even possible, for him to ever consider putting himself in a position where he could lose what precarious, partially make-believe connections he has.

merlin, in the later seasons, when he worries about his magic being exposed, isn’t afraid of being executed.  he’s afraid of becoming even more alone than he is now.  and he has good reason to feel that way - even people who appear to put him first aren’t fully on board with the thing that makes him who he is.  and merlin knows this.  he’s seen it.  none of his friends are out fighting for people like him at court.  some of his friends shake their heads and assure arthur “you are a good and just king” when arthur expresses concern that maybe the disir are right, maybe he has indeed transgressed.  some of merlin’s friends used to buck the system in defense of the powerless, but now they defend the regime even when the accusations levelled against it by an oppressed population are true.

merlin knows that revealing himself is a kind of risk that could very plausibly end with him utterly disowned.  every single friendship he has is subject to this justified fear, this bitter knowledge.  merlin has every reason to doubt the soundness of his relationships.

and, circling back to the thing that started all these musings - the only friends who never made him feel that way were will and lancelot.

that’s all i mean when i say that will and lancelot were merlin’s only “real” friends.  i wish there were a better word to use than that, because i really don’t mean it like…as if merlin’s relationships with other people weren’t…valid, or important, or based on true love and care.  they were.  but there’s just not a better way to express that will and lancelot were the only people who ever even knew who they were friends with, who saw merlin for exactly who he was and said “i love you still.”  they were the only ones whose friendship was something merlin didn’t have to be afraid of losing solely for existing.

i always think of morgana’s line in 2.11 - ‘i don’t want to be brave.  i just want to be myself. i don’t want to be alone anymore.’

around everyone else, merlin has to be brave.  he has to keep up the pretense, which means even when he’s surrounded by friends, he’s completely isolated.

with will and lancelot, though, he could be himself.  with will and lancelot, he wasn’t alone.

6) post-script

i really appreciate being given the opportunity to muse to myself about this in more detail - i actually needed to think through some things regarding gwaine anyway, for writing purposes, and this was actually really helpful in organizing my brain.  so thanks, anon, for the prompt!  

i know my answer probably runs counter to your own interpretation of things, but as i said, this is just my own personal outlook.  i typed it up because the message got me thinking, and because i know i have a couple of friends who might find it interesting, but my thoughts apply only to me, and i do not mind at all if folks think about these things differently!  nobody is obligated to agree with anything i write, or give it any further thought, or even read it at all - we’re all going to engage with this story in different ways, so if anybody finds that this isn’t their cup of tea, please feel free to scroll on by, and keep having fun with this show in whatever way makes you happiest! :)

[ladyfawkes]

Stop Calling Him ‘Horace’! - Eugene Fitzherbert Appreciation Week | Day 7: Birth Day

Sooooo.... Basically, I planned to have this pretty little fanfic finished up for today, the final day of Eugene Appreciation Week. This fanfic is extra-special, specifically it features our Eugene at ages we’ve never seen him in canon. Allow me to sum up this “plan” of mine in one word: HAAAAA!!!! Suffice it to say that although fanfic is very old-hat to me (I’ve been writing it since 1991, fgs) the world of fic-blogging is still relatively NEW to me and several of my fics and headcanons that I’ve released the past several weeks are needing to connect and soon, otherwise the whole convoluted, many-headed Medusa won’t wind up making any sense at all. I’m not exactly certain how it’ll all come together yet but I have to say that getting to spend the past week with all of you fellow Fitzy enthusiasts on Twitter and Tumblr has been some of the BEST DAYS EVER that I’ve experienced on the internet in my entire online life!!!! (And I’ve had an internet presence since 1991!!!) You’ve injected me with serious shots of Inspiration Elixir and I’ve had soooo very many ideas pass through my mind just over the past 7 days that I can’t possibly hope to catalog all of them. I haven’t felt quite this inspired in, well, YEARS.  I’ve enjoyed the heck out of sharing and exchanging headcanons, theories, ideas, essays, and even artforms. I’ve had a Tumblr account for more than ELEVEN YEARS and yet this is the first and only time I have consistently blogged and reblogged over the “heart-stopping” a time-span of 7 months **gasp** now (and counting). I’m a member of a couple dozen fandoms at least and this is the ONLY ONE that has consistently captured my interest AND managed to not scare the shit out of me so badly that I have to go and hibernate my account for the next, y’know, 3498349540 months. Until yet another worthy obsession captures my interest..... but Tangled the Series is still burning the brightest and I REALLY need it to right now, tbh. So THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to everybody with whom I’ve interacted on this....I have health issues that cause me to transpose and forget names. But if you wish me to personally tag you, please tag THIS particular post and I shall tag you when I have actually finished this particular scene sequence featured in THIS ficlet. So now!!!!! Without further ado, I shall give you a teaser of the drabble-turned-ficlet-turned-short-story that will eventually feature the actual Birth Day of one Eugene Fitzherbert!!! Click the keep reading link below to see the remaining text. =)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Edmund knew from the beginning that Alexys did not like the name “Horace”. At the time, the king had told her that it was family tradition that the first-born son should receive a strong family name. Despite her pointed protests, he was utterly immovable on the subject.

The more Alexys’s belly grew, the more her dislike for that name swelled too. Shouldn’t she have a say in their child’s name, given that she was putting in all the work of keeping him healthy and strong, so to speak? Shouldn’t her family names count as possibilities too? Unfortunately, Edmund’s childhood largely consisted of his father and grandfather basically hazing him into believing that he had to “take command” of virtually any subject matter, in practically any situation. As a result, he thought of just about everything in militaristic terms. Over the past 4 years, Lexy had slowly and subtly molded her hot-headed young 20-something husband toward different healthier, less uptight ways of handling life and looking at various situations.

They had finally settled on a great couple synergy and got along very well -- except for the times they had an ongoing argument, that is. And this was definitely one of those times.

“I don’t understand why you won’t see reason, Edmund!”

“Because it’s more than just a name, Alexys! It’s a birthright. It connects him directly back to us and these names might very well be the most important gift we could ever give to our children!”

“You don’t think I know that?? Just as sure as I know this child is a boy, I am equally certain that he will not live a traditional royal life. And his name must reflect that!!”

Apparently, entertaining the possibility that any son of Edmund’s wouldn’t want to grow up a devoted soldier completely servile to the Moonstone wasn’t a possibility he was ready to face. Alexys watched as Edmund drew in a long breath, held it, his face turning interesting colors. Slowly his hands balled into fists and rather than saying anything, he exhaled one very pent-up breath and stomped out of the room. She had never before seen him so agitated. Although she also sensed the naming subject wasn’t at the core of his ire that day, she never brought it up again. Alexys hoped that whatever it was eating at him, Edmund would be able to solve it by the time their child came. And that would happen any day now.

Alexys wanted so much to tell Edmund about the beautiful vivid dreams she’d been having about their future child the past few nights. But he’d been increasingly preoccupied, sullen, and distant over the past month. It was most unfortunate and Alexys was as yet at a loss of how to help him. Now....while it’s true every good mother believes their child to be exceptional, Alexys knew that their son was destined to shatter tradition. For the first time in millennia, she knew without doubt that he would be the one to bring light to the Dark Kingdom. 

One of her dreams began with a small boy, age 4 or 5, who had floppy brown hair and very expressive round eyes just like Edmund. In the dream, Alexys and the boy were standing on a trail near the edge of a narrow rock crevasse....a location that somehow seemed familiar to Lexy....but she couldn’t quite place it. The little boy smiled up at her cherubically and reached out a chubby little hand toward hers.

“Play?” he questioned sweetly. He was happily bouncing on his feet, very subtly heel to toe, and even when he was in one place he barely stood still.

“Yes, of course!” Alexys replied, grinning in awe at this absolutely beautiful dream-child her mind was currently conjuring. She gathered up her long skirts and petticoats in her left hand and took the little boy’s offered hand in her right. As they walked, she noticed a small mole at the base of the boy’s neck and it matched exactly the one that Edmund had, only in miniature. So her suspicions had been confirmed; this was indeed their son.  They approached what Alexys recognized to be a very-scaled-down version of The Great Tree....and the crevasse was apparently a much-scaled-down version of the gorge which held the actual Great Tree. Even though it wasn’t the real Tree, it still possessed a very substantial and robust trunk. It was about 30 feet high and could easily withstand the weight of a couple dozen grown adults, if they ever had the inclination to climb this dream tree from within my own mind, Alexys thought wryly. As they reached the ground level of this miniature Great Tree, the little boy let go of her hand and latched onto the tree base itself. He turned back to her and said, “Play?” again while pointing upward. Bounce, bounce. Instantly, Lexy’s mothering instincts came out. “Uh, little one, I don’t think it’s safe to climb--” but it was clear the little boy wasn’t really listening to her. And even faster than a real toddler could climb, he scrambled up and out of her reach in a flash, giggling with childish abandon. She kept pleading with this child to stop and to come back down instead, that he might get injured, but he clearly had no intention of heeding her. Not only that, she didn’t even know his name. One thing was certain -- he definitely did not answer to ‘Horace’. Poor Alexys hoped this nightmare of a fearless toddler wasn’t an omen of things yet to come.  She fleetingly considered just tearing off her petticoats and skirts to climb and then realized it wouldn’t matter anyway; she was nearly nine months pregnant and thus not climbing anything that day. “Look!” She suddenly heard the little boy’s voice again. This time, he was speaking from some 30 feet overhead through the tree boughs. Alexys moved away from the Great Tree’s base to a better vantage point further out from the trunk. Shielding her eyes from the sun, the queen looked up at the tree to see that the little boy was now pointing out toward the opposite direction of the crevasse from where they originally came. In the distance, she could see what looked to be a miniature version of the impassable mountain range between the Dark Kingdom and the Great Tree. Just beyond was Black Crystal Valley and in the center of the valley, an exact copy of The Dark Palace, only much smaller. What happened next was nothing short of absolute surreality on toast. “Look!” said the little boy’s voice again, still giggling as he climbed even higher until it looked like he was physically standing on the canopy leaves of the fake Great Tree. Lexy’s breath caught in her throat as this little boy reached up and plucked a literal piece out of the sun -- yes, he plucked a PIECE out of the actual SUN -- straight out of the actual sky. The light emanating from the Sun and the Shard he had in hand didn’t seem to be affecting the little boy the way it was affecting Alexys. She was shielding her face from its overpowering brightness when suddenly, the little boy wasn’t in the tree canopy anymore. In the blink of an eye, he was standing miraculously in front of her. Alexys blinked incredulously and tried not to yell aloud in shock due to being so startled. She failed at not yelling, but at least the little boy didn’t appear to notice. Next, this little boy held out the Sun Shard toward Lexy. He must’ve done something to help it because now she could look toward its brilliance without being blinded.  “You can finally see my friend!” her boy said happily. Bounce, bounce. “We hug her!” he continued, holding the glowing object against his heart, rocking back and forth a few times. “And we kiss her,” and he gave the Shard his sweet toddler kisses. “And we be very soft,” he toddler-whispered, demonstrating deft touch through voice as well as action.“Now you!” he insisted, his pudgy hand offering the Sun Shard to her. Bouncy, bouncy, bounce. “I -- I don’t know. Won’t it burn me?” This dream had already gone so warped, she didn’t feel too weird for asking. Lexy was somewhat concerned with accepting the offerings of a toddler but he didn’t appear to be covered in slobber or any other mystery substances, thank goodness. Neither did the Shard. “Burn you?” the child echoed. He suddenly burst into giggles and said, “Silly Mama.” Lexy’s breath caught in her throat. Mama. He actually said it! How her mother’s heart fluttered. This….this interaction required something extra special. She oh-so-carefully got down on her knees (no small feat in her condition) so she could be level with her son. “Yes, your mama can be very silly sometimes,” Lexy acknowledged. Then she pointed toward the Shard in his hands and said, “Will you show me how?” Instantly, he came to her and passed the precious glowing object to Alexys. “Hold her here,” instructed her little boy, pointing toward his heart. Lexy was surprised to discover that the Shard wasn’t a shard at all -- and while it was very warm to the touch, it wasn’t burning hot. Pliable with only mild bit of give to it….rather like warmed sealing wax without the tackiness. Upon tucking the glowing object next to her bosom, Lexy looked upward at her boy and said, “and now I…” “Cradle,” followed by his rapid rocking back and forth motions. Bouncy-bounce bounce.  “Of course,” smiled Alexys, who had arranged both her arms to cradle this golden drop of sunlight. “Is that what you are now? Not a Shard -- but a Drop of Sunlight?” She was now talking to this object but again didn’t feel one bit silly for doing so. It seemed….alive, somehow. Slowly, carefully, she rocked back and forth while on her knees. “Sing, mama!” prompted her little boy, who was excitedly bouncing on his toes and clapping his chubby hands. A time-honored German lullaby sprang to mind and as she sang the words, the longer she sang, something rather remarkable happened. As Alexys looked down in her arms, she could’ve sworn she saw a ghost of an image, not more than a sparkling golden shadow really, of a completely different child in her arms. Only this child was much tinier and younger than the boy. This was an infant, a baby girl, one with remarkably long flowing golden hair. She appeared to have even more hair than her toddler son. By orders of magnitude more. Disembodied babygirl giggling and babbles filled the air around them. “You see her now!!!” Her little boy was more excited than ever! He clearly knows! Lexy could hear the rhythm of his feet in front of her. Bounce-bounce-bouncy bounce-bouncy-bounce. Alexys was afraid to look away, lest the wispy golden dust in her arms blow away before she could get her fill. “Who is she?” questioned Alexys in awe. “She is our friend. She is….Sun...shine. Yes. Sunshine,” the boy confirmed, tilting his head to one side as he spoke, as if he were listening for something only he could hear. ......to be continued!!!!......

[death---dealer]

Show Me The Stars. [ Brian May Oneshot. ]

 Listen here. This is based off my College era headcanon for Brian.  

I could not resist!

Title: Show Me The Stars.

Pairing: BoRhap! Brian May x Reader.

Words: 1208

Rating: T. ( VERY FLUFF ) 

Summary: You’re star gazing. Or as you like to all it, Brian gazing.

It’s early 1967. Brian May was about a year away from graduating school with Honors in physics. He had told you the specifics of his degree many times, but, it all boiled down to space. He loved it, the mystery, the allure and the prospect of finding something much larger was always appealing to Brian. But, on this fateful night, the only thing that he found attractive was you seated next to him in an open field. You were seated on a plush blanket, a few smaller ones wrapped around your shoulders and Brian’s to keep you warm. You were holding the lid of a thermos, sipping the hot chocolate slowly as your eyes scaled the sky above. It was beautiful as if a painter had taken a black canvas and splattered white, gold and sometimes even pink and purple paint all over to create the Milky Way. You were breathless and Brian found it striking to watch your lips form words that he couldn’t hear. Words that were encouraging and awestruck, he hoped. Holding a beat-up telescope Brian had gotten for his birthday many years ago, he looked through the eyepiece once again, his nose scrunching cutely as he closed one eye to do so. “Here, (Name)!!” He scooted his telescope over gently and urged you to lean forward to see what he had found. The excitement in his voice was just too pure and too amazingly passionate that you found your heart fluttering with equal emotion as you looked through the telescope. “That’s a bloody planet you’re looking at! Venus! Isn’t it amazing that we can see a whole ‘nother world from here? Basically, our own backyard…”

“Wow…” You gasped softly, readjusting yourself a bit so you could sit the lid down for a moment. “That’s so amazing!!” The topic of discussion was a needle in a haystack. There were so many bright objects in the sky that Venus seemed dull in comparison, but still, it was miraculous to see another planet so vividly as if you could reach out and touch it with your fingers.

“Isn’t it?” He scooted a bit closer to you, your shoulders now rubbing against each other. Neither of you seemed to mind the intimacy. “Here.” He took the telescope from you and rested it back in front of him once more. “I can show you Mars. You know how the surface is red? That’s how it got its name, from the God of War because it resembled blood, it actually does glow red when the sun hits it!” He wiggled his eyebrows comically, looking up to the sky with just his bare eyes. There was no need for a telescope this time around. It should have been easy to spot. And, indeed it was. “Right…” He pointed with his slender fingers and your eyes instinctively followed to where he was gesturing, “There. See it? Do you see it?”

You saw it. Very clearly but that view only lasted a few moments before you found your gaze dropping back to Brian’s face. He was clearly enjoying himself, nearly bouncing out of his skin next to you as he got to properly express his love for the sky though there were moments when you weren’t sure what he was talking about. You reached downwards and touched his thigh softly, Brian’s eyes dropping and landing on that gesture. You wanted to listen to him talk all about space, about theories and the mathematics that came with it for hours and hours and he was more than willing to pile on the information. You’d even ask him questions when he gave you the chance, which to Brian, was an extreme form of endearment. But, at this time… This exact moment in this exact spot, Brian found himself complete speechless. There was nothing for him to say as you held his thigh affectionately, your eyes locking with his. The only proper light that was around the two of you was coming from the starlight above and it was too romantic to pass up. You knew what you wanted and from the way that Brian stared back at you, you figured that he wanted it just as much. Almost blindly, he lifted a hand up and rested it on the side of your face. It was nearly the size of your entire face which made you chuckle. Brian was tall and lanky with a wash of tight curls, though, he often times tried to tame them for they weren’t his favorite attribute. You loved them, though. You loved the way that they framed his face, the way that your fingers tucked back pieces like they were doing at that very moment. You brushed his hair back and gave him a smile, saying, “Thanks for showing me the stars, Bri. I had a good time tonight.”

“My pleasure. You know, tonight doesn’t have to end...” He drew his bottom lip in slowly and searched your face for some sort of sign that it was okay for his lips to meet yours. It was okay to kiss you, it was okay to be this close to you. Brian could almost hear his heart beating in his chest as he began babbling slightly out of nerves, “If you ever need a lesson on astrology, I’m your man. I can draw you charts of the stars and their alignments, I can name you the constellations even, help you with math---”

You had leaned inwards and pressed your lips against his very gently, succeeding in getting him to be quiet. With one hand on shoulder and the other on his thigh, you managed to balance yourself against him to land a kiss on his soft mouth, now leaving him slightly perplexed as you pulled away with a smile. “Brian.”

“Hmmm?” He hummed, seemingly in a trance as he lifted a hand and set it against his bottom lip. He’d just been kissed by you. Kissed. By. You. KISSED. His mind was going a thousand miles an hour or so it felt.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmmm, yeah. Just,” He chuckled breathlessly and fell backwards. You followed his movement and laughed, snuggling into his side as he wrapped an arm around you, “Did you really just kiss me or am I just dreaming?”

“I can do it again if you don’t think it happened the first time.”

“I know it happened,” He shut his eyes and smiled that smile that caused something to stir happily inside of you. It was a smile, you noticed, reserved only for you which made it all the more better when Brian let it crack along his face. “But I’m not opposed to some back-up proof.” Giggling lightly, you sat up against his chest and craned your head down, repeating the kiss you had given him a few seconds before. Your mouth pressed against his perfectly, melding together in a delicate dance of want and adoration. Brian sunk into it without any hesitation, one of his hands reaching up and cupping the back of your head. Your hair tickled his fingertips as he held you there above him. He didn’t need the stars. He didn’t even feel like he needed air. All Brian needed he felt… Was you.

Thanks for reading, ya’ll. Likes and reblogs are appreciated! <3

--Miss.Em.

[kzesl]

Kdrama: Moorim school-thoughts

I have a lot of feelings about Moorim School: Saga of the Brave, and guess what? I’m going to share. Fair warning, this post is probably going to be a jumbled mess. Like me. I’m a jumbled mess. Spoilers ahoy.

Meet everyone at the school. They all look dorky. Headmaster in the middle, students on the left and teachers on the right, with some overlap.

How I got into this one? I watched Secretly, greatly (ouch, my feels. I could write a long post about it. Stop me. Please.) and then I decided to see what else Lee Hyun Woo has acted in. Because he was an adorable badass in it, and I am weak.

Objectively speaking, Moorim school is not very good. I, however, don’t watch things objectively. Why be objective when you can be subjective? Right? Right. This is not a kdrama that I would recommend to anyone who has never watched a kdrama before. This is a drama for those who like certain, specific things in their dramas. I enjoyed it. Even though I had to increase the speed at times. I use Super Netflix extension occasionally, I admit.

What is it about?

This is the IMDb summary: Moorim School isn't focused on high academic scores. The school teaches students virtues including honesty, faith, sacrifice and communication. The teachers and students at the school come from different countries with their own stories.

These are the four main characters, from left to right: Wang Chi-Ang, Shim Soon-deok, Yoon Shi-Woo, and Hwang Sun-ah.

The intro is a bit misleading. It makes you expect badassery and mysticism, and instead you get a bunch of dorks arguing about who gets the bed with a good view though the window.

It starts with a man protecting a little girl, and fighting off a bunch of mean looking men, dressed in black (gasp! Bad guys) in the woods. The fight scenes are not exactly good. They make me cringe. It’s not high production. However, not every series can be like K2 when it comes to fight scenes. It’s a bit bad, because the series focuses on martial arts quite a bit, but eh. They managed to convey that the man protecting the girl is a badass. Let us move on and not mention the quality of action scenes again. He fights the bad guys off and hides with the girl behind a shield that he raises by activating magical symbols. (Magic is never explained. Everyone just accepts its existence. It’s not taught at the school either. It just exists and no one questions it.)

Then we jump to eighteen years later.

People are preparing for a concert, but the main star, the most popular member of k-pop group Möbius, Yoon Shi-Woo, is sleeping instead of rehearsing. He gets chewed out, but he is not overly concerned. He’s got bigger problems, like the splitting headaches and wonky hearing.

Next we meet Wang Chi-Ang, who is spoiled, sheltered momma’s boy, who only wants to make her happy and his father, the chairman of the Shang Hai group, proud. He’s in the city to go to the concert, because his father’s company is sponsoring it. Shi-Woo is a model for their company.

Shim Soon-deok is a resourceful young woman who is working hard to support herself and her blind father. She sells food at the concert, and she works at a chicken place. She also attends Moorim school. The ladies are badass in this series. Which is nice.

Hwang Sun-ah is Soon-deok’s friend and Shi-Woo’s biggest fan. She calls him my Shi-Woo (headcanon: she is the founder of his fan club. It is a secret she will take to her grave, because it feels a bit awkward when certain truths come to light. Headcanon 2: Shi-Woo knows, but lets her think he doesn’t.). She had to sneak out to go to the concert, because her father, the headmaster of Moorim school is overprotective.

There are a couple of shirtless scenes and Shi-Woo has a Very Important Necklace, which we know because the camera focuses on it a lot.

Chi-Ang and Shi-Woo are accidentally given the same room at a hotel. Oh, no. Who’s going to be the one to leave?!?! Chi-Ang attempts to throw his weight around and refuse to sponsor Shi-Woo, because everything is a competition for that man and he has to win. But Shi-Woo is unimpressed and uninterested and like cool, whatevs, day off.

That’s Shi-Woo there, in white. No fucks given. Can’t win against someone who’s not playing, Chi-Ang. Now this says a lot about their future relationship. Chi-Ang always tries to win, and Shi-Woo always refuses to compete.

The concert goes okay, until there is an accident on stage and Shi-Woo almost gets injured/dies because a piece of equipment starts falling on him and he doesn’t hear everyone shout at him to move because of the wonky hearing. He slows the equipment down with his surprise magical powers and Sun-ha manages to save him. She tells him to go to Moorim school, but doesn’t tell him how to get there (who needs directions, anyway).

Both he and Chi-Ang end up there in the end. Chi-Ang because his father insists (he has nefarious plans) and the girl he likes goes to the same school, and Shi-Woo because he wants help with his hearing. There is a possibility that he will permanently loose it and music is all he has. He is an orphan who has no one else in this world since his manager/father figure turned out to be all about the money. Also, the relationship he has with the rest of his group seems strictly professional. And Möbius was the name he used for himself before he was even scouted. So it predates the group. (I want to read a fic about group feels, or an AU where they are actually close.)

Also, the shield magically comes down when they come close to the school for the first time, and that was not supposed to happen and everyone is concerned. But that relates to the plot and the plot is a bit meh. I’m here for the relationships anyway. (Sigh. The plot had potential.)

Things happen, and I won’t go into detail, but the two of them get expelled, go on a quest, get accepted back into the school and become friends. BFFs.

The school teaches cooking, martial arts, manners (I think), dance (?), meditation, and no other subject, it seems. It is a very weird school, and the professors are weird and nothing makes sense, but okay. Not many things about this series make sense. Moorim was created to ensure world peace, apparently. And it’s a martial arts school, primarily, but they are more focused on teaching good values. There aren’t that many students in this school, and they are from all over. I’m not sure how students are actually recruited. The school is a secret. Are they scouted? Are they those connected to Moorim? Or those who get lost in the woods outside of the school? Who knows. Not me. They also seem to struggle financially because the heating is off. Why else would everyone sleep pretty much fully clothed?

The other students in the school get some screen time, but their characters are not all that well fleshed out, so I found myself not caring too much. It got a bit better in later episodes. One of them keeps badmouthing others in English, for some reason. It’s not like on one understands him. Everyone understands him. He just likes speaking English, I guess.

There is a mysterious man in a coma, villains, a magical key split into three pieces that can lead to unlimited power, reunited families, surprise siblings, etc.

Also, let’s ignore how quickly some people became good at martial arts. Now, I’m no expert, but I have a bit of experience in martial arts and I have known some extremely talented individuals, prodigies, but even they needed more than two months to get anywhere. I’m going to leave it at that. Magic is real in this universe. It’s magic. Problem solved.

The part I like the most about this series is the relationship between Chi-Ang and Shi-Woo. They start off as roommates who don’t like one another, so they fight a lot. It changes, but- Now I’m all for men being shown as having other male friends they can have healthy relationships with, someone they could lean on and cry in front of, if necessary, without toxic masculinity getting in the way. Let men be friends, yeah? And I’m not one who immediately sees gay in everything. But, those two guys have the hots for each other. They’re all: I came back for you/I stayed for you/I miss you/You mean more to me than unlimited power/You’re so cool-No you are/Don’t smile, I might start liking you.

Ahem.

They like the same girl (Soon-deok). Which seemed very hard for them, but I believe that was the best thing that could have happened to them. Soon-deok kept refusing Chi-Ang, and she was very clear about it. She drew the line at one point, and he made me very uncomfortable when he outright told her that he doesn’t care about her lines. This could have turned very ugly if his rival had been anyone other than Shi-Woo. He threatened to destroy Shi-Woo more than once, and he came close to irreparably destroying their relationship, but in the end he didn’t. Because Shi-Wook had so much faith in him, he couldn’t bear to. Again, if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have even hesitated. (Hmm, imagine a Dark AU. So many possibilities. )    

I have the urge to write fic. Sigh.

Also, at one point the students have a party and Möbius’s song plays in the background and no one teases Shi-Woo about it or peer pressures him into doing his part of the song or the dance, or even looks at him while smirking. WTH. Come one, guys!

Back to the two leads. It’s an interesting dynamic they have. And although Chi-Ang is taller, physically stronger and more imposing, it’s Shi-Woo who’s actually in charge. And I’m not going to tell you to get your mind out of the gutter, because that’s exactly where mine is. And Chi-Ang looks like he might have a serious praise kink. Besides, we have seen that Shi-Woo is not shy about going after what he wants. As we saw with the two kissing scenes with Soon-deok, he is quietly assertive. Unlike Chi-Ang, who is more… bluster and need for attention.

Shi-Woo started as this arrogant, irritable superstar, but it didn’t take him long to shed that behavior, that image. As if, all this time, he was just waiting for a moment out of the spotlight, for a place where he can belong. He seems like one of those people who were born knowing which lines they are not willing to cross. His urge to harm someone is his greatest fear, because he is aware of the damage he is capable of inflicting.

Chi-Ang had different masks. He too knew loneliness, but his was of a different kind. While Shi-Woo was not protected enough, Chi-Ang was sheltered too much. His mother dotes on him, and his father adores him, albeit in his own, extremely unhealthy way. It was clear to me from the start that his father loves him. It seems a significant thing that he is the son of a mistress and not legitimate, but his father has made no attempt to hide him. He provides for him, protects him and spoils him. He has no kind words for him, though, and his lessons are poison, but he tried to make his son strong. Which is what he values. And he has used him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love him. He just doesn’t know how to love properly. 

Chi-Ang takes after his father in many ways. We see that the most in later episodes. But he has people who have faith in him, and who are willing to tell him off. He is aware that he is wiling to cross too many lines, lines he shouldn’t. He is gray, and will probably always struggle with himself. He seems like a puppy most of the time, but when he is serious about something, his determination is a scary thing.

Shi-Woo would make a more terrifying villain, though. He wouldn’t become one, precisely because he terrifies himself when he thinks about what he could do, if pushed enough.

I could talk more about this series. There are quite a few touching moments I could cover, and also a lot of ridiculousness and wth moments, but there is a reason I didn’t do a recap of every episode. I don’t have time. Besides, I wrote all of this just to get it off my chest, because I have no fandom friends to discuss stuff with. It is sad.

Also, I should have broken up the text in this with a few more photos, but I’m tired.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, MINNIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of MIRANDA. Admin Rosey: Miranda, our little cherubic child. You capture her essence, her damning purity and naivety with every word you write. Your future plots for her had us by the heart, as you well know, and we can’t wait to see what you do with her. Maeve is our little starlight and our one spot of hope in a quickly deadening world. But what can be one person’s hope, can be another’s vice. And you hint at all that in your writing, your beautiful writing, and more.  Take heart, and take care of her. Or let us ruin her. It’s your pick .Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Minnie, for consistency’s sake.

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | With a full-time job and a social life, I can’t promise to be the most active member! But I adore Maeve and my muse has never been more alive than with her so I expect a lot more activity from me in this roleplay. My aim is to write replies every other day.

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | RIP Maeve 1.0

In Character

Character | Miranda/Maeve Petre. My entire heart.

What drew you to this character? | There is just something about Maeve’s purity and idealism that seals the deal for me. I love that she fights her battles with love and her nearly blind hope. There is no one quite like Maeve, with all of her ideals and passion, all of her drive, this ferocity that comes from her dreaming. She is more than just soft and idealistic; she is brave and determined and so, so fearless. I love my lion-hearted girl who speaks and looks and dreams like a flower. You call her a fool -- I call her a muse. The girl who might, will, inspire an army to join her cause. A modern Joan of Arc who rides into war with a banner in hand and her heart on her sleeve, her heart as her armor.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I.  I love Maeve’s relationship with her father and will never stop writing about it. One thing I would love to write is Maeve and Philip going on a mission together, possibly to train Maeve. Just as Philip hated to see Maeve join the Capulets, Maeve hated to learn her Father was already a Capulet. It’s always hard to work with your parents, but to work with your single father in a mob? Entirely new can of worms.

Although I’m very happy with how Maeve’s relationship with her father progressed in round one (recap: her father was in a coma at the time of Maeve’s death, and Maeve was fighting to keep him alive by trying to murder her morals), I’m excited to see how it might take different turns in round two! I do plan on keeping Maeve’s father an integral part of her development if I were accepted; I don’t know if it’s possible not to incorporate Philip closely into Maeve’s development.

II. My personal headcanon is that Maeve didn’t realize that Santino Gallo was aligned with the Montagues when they met. I would love to explore the implications and consequences of their acquaintanceship. Has anyone seen them, would anyone use that as blackmail against them? I also believe that Maeve or Santino have not approached the subject of peace between the Montagues and the Capulets; a friendship with the enemy is a fragile thing, and peace is even more fragile still. I want to see how their friendship would develop especially in the midst of conflict, and how Santino might influence Maeve’s ideals. Right now, she thinks it’s proof of peace, but Santino is not a major player in the Montague puzzle if we’re being honest. At the end of the day, they’re both pawns, mere soldiers. So will she use him to reach other Montagues above the two of them? Or will Santino become an emblem of cruelty done to her family, blood and found? I want to know!

III. Maybe this is the masochist in me saying this, but I would love for Maeve to be given a violent assignment: to hurt someone or to kill someone. Sure, a knife is a great weapon for threats when you are stalking the streets in the middle of the night — but what happens when all sides against her are pressing her to make good on her threats? What happens when the fight for peace is not possible without violence?

Before Maeve died, Orion had manipulated her into killing someone to save his narcissistic self - but I’m very interested in seeing this assignment given by the Capulets. I’d like for the Capulets to intentionally push her as far as she can go, to do more than just force people to make good on their payments. I’d like Maeve to be sent to the grittiest, dirtiest job they can find and see what ends up happening. I’d like to actively pursue the relationship between Maeve and the Capulets in plots, especially bringing Philip into play. To use Philip as a bargaining chip with Maeve. Even better, to use Maeve as a bargaining chip with Phlip. I don’t know, I have a lot of ideas with this father/daughter relationship and love to play them out.

IV. If you recall, I had a headcanon that Maeve’s mother died in the middle of a Montague deal gone wrong. Maeve doesn’t know how her mother died, and I’m still mad that I never got the chance to see this plot through and use it to test her loyalty and ideals. I want this war for Maeve to become personal, and not just because the war stole her father. No, it stole her mother too. Both Capulet and Montague have done Maeve a deep injustice, and I’d like to see how this compares to the war between mobs. She joined the Capulets for her father — but what will she do for her mother? How will she honor Maria and avenge her death?

V. There is potential in how well Maeve loves and how easily she wins hearts. There is power in it, if only someone would untap it. See it. Harness it. Manipulate it, manipulate her. The girl who gives to the hungry and passes flowers out on the streets is a far cry from the typical Capulet; and don’t they say that the element of surprise is key to winning battles? Whether it’s the Capulets who decide to manipulate Maeve or an individual or even the Montagues, I’d love to see Maeve become something of a pawn. Of course, as Maeve’s biggest fan, I’d also like to see her rise above it - but at what cost? Who knows :)

VI. I would also like to see how the desire for more power blossoms within Maeve. She wants change, so she must gain influence, and to gain influence is to gain power. But at what cost? Will she ever learn to bite her tongue, my sweet flower, and learn other methods of fighting for what she wants? With Catherine and Everett specifically, I’d like them to inspire her to rise the ranks. I’d like them to teach her how to rise above her station as a soldier.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I DID IT ONCE AND I WILL DO IT AGAIN

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“Of all the questions, you chose the most difficult to answer,” she says, smiling as she folds her fingers around the cup of coffee in her hands. There is a beat of silence between them as she takes a moment to think, to run over the list in her head of the most beautiful and peaceful places in her city — until suddenly, she straightens.

“How could I forget?!” Maeve exclaims, eyes bright and merry. “The best place to see the Verona sunset. Oh, it’s so beautiful, the way the light catches the water before the sun slips right beneath it. If you stand right at the center of the Castelvecchio Bridge, you can just imagine the world falling asleep.”

Maeve sighs romantically before she takes a small sip of her coffee, contemplating her next words. “It is a shame that it is so difficult to make our way there.” And then — without warning, without fanfare — her eyes sharpen imperceptibly. “Or more difficult still, to cross it.”

What does your typical day look like? What has been your biggest mistake thus far? What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

A fire ripples beneath Maeve’s skin, igniting every bit of spark in her eyes. She becomes a bush burning, something holy and dangerous; and when she leans forward, it’s as if the flames spread from her eyes to the table, to the person asking, to all of Verona.

But it does not scorch or sting; no, Maeve’s fire is warm and nurturing, a symbol of life without ashes.

“Before we kill each other, it will kill us.” A shadow comes over her features and it looks strange on eyes so bright. “There are so many reasons to choose peace over war, but… but maybe the most important one is that every day, we lose bits and pieces of ourselves to this hatred — not to mention the people we love. This is not the way to honor the fallen. Avenging death with death is an unending circle that will continue even after the world is blind and we are all lost.”

“But Verona is so much more than that,” Maeve insists, brimming with hope. “If you just take a step back and look at this city, you’ll see so much beauty. The people we talk to every morning, the stores we’ve been shopping at for all of our lives… We might know some of the darkest parts of Verona, but I think if we only… took a second to step back and look at all we have to lose, we will realize that peace is the best way to honor Verona, to honor the dead and to honor the people we would die for.”

Maeve smiles kindly, knowing the reaction her speeches usually receive. If she believed any less, then she might be sorry — but her ideals are too important, and she will be damned if she even considers apologizing for them. “I know that this might be hard to understand. We have lived like this for so long, maybe even without realizing it. But I do believe there is hope. For Verona, for all of us. There is a brighter day coming; I just know it.”

In-Character Para Sample:

I. A DIARY ENTRY

A long time ago, I was afraid of the night. I can’t tell you how or when it began, but I have carried this childish fear with me for too many years to count. I thought it was a part of me, just another piece of the puzzle that had no origin and no explanation. There was so much that I did not understand: my father, my mother, the world I so longed to see.

But one day, I thought. One day, I might understand it all.

A long time ago, I was afraid of the night, but I loved it, too. When the sun had set and the light had all but faded, the sound of the one you love coming home would ring out like church bells on a spring morning; the smell of cigarettes would hold tightly to the air like an embrace after a long, weary voyage.

For the night brought many terrors, but it had some comforts, too; didn’t all nightmares end with the whispered comforts of I am here, stella mia, I am here and the day will come and the monsters are only bad thoughts who have overstayed their welcome?

A long time ago.

A long time ago, I only thought of my father returning; I did not know and did not even think to question where he was returning from.

I shall never forget the emptiness of his eyes. I shall never forget the tired droop of his shoulders, the black silhouette of his that seemed so familiar at night. I shall never forget the silver in his hair, which I had not seen before until the moonlight brought its cruel light to every secret I had not considered.

I tried, very hard, to forget the red. I chose to remember the rest, the cold silver and black and blue of it all — but the red, I desperately tried to forget. But I could not let go of the scarlet, as hard as I tried.

I… had a reason for staying up waiting, for running to see him. I can’t remember it now, but — there was a reason.

Oh, I remember. I wanted to read him a poem.

I was a child.

He did not say a single word that night. He shook his head, ever so slightly, and walked away.

Papà. Beloved Papà.

The burden of knowing and still not fully understanding has haunted me since. For even after seeing him in the silver and black and blue and red, Papà merely patted my cheek and sent me on my flowery way. I felt so small, so strange, as if I could hardly recognize myself.

He told me that when I was older, I would understand. I wanted to tell him that I have been waiting my entire life to understand. Even as a child, I so yearned to know about the mother I didn’t remember, and I never received an answer. It pained Papà to hear talk of her, and it pained me to see him weep. So I stopped, but I always wondered, and I always dreamed of a woman’s soft hands and laughing eyes.

I never told him this… and maybe if his secret had been softer, forgiveness would have come so easily. I can empathize with shielding the one you love from pain.

But not like this. Not like Papà did. It wasn’t just his secrecy that wounded me deep to the bone; it was the secret itself. I would never have imagined Papà, who was my entire sun and sky, to be… like that.

It wasn’t just the fact that I didn’t know everything about him. It was that when he came home in scarlet, I didn’t recognize him at all. It was that I loved him still, even with my shattered heart.

I have made peace with this. It might seem strange to you that I can say with full confidence that I have forgiven Papà and that I still love him as my own sun and sky, after writing all of this. But I have. My love for him is stronger than any betrayal, and even that night cannot steal that from us.

These thoughts are so much louder these days because tomorrow, I will be a Capulet soldier. I am older now, just like Papà said, and I must know why Papà ran to their shadows all those years ago. For I have come to the conclusion that to love someone is to know them.

Tomorrow, I will know. Tomorrow, I will begin to understand.

Or so I hope.

II.

Each night, Maeve held her bleeding heart in hand and tucked it under her arm to keep it warm while the wind howled. Be still, my heart; the sun will rise again, and the war will be ours to win.

Because it was a war, though not the one the Capulets enlisted her for. No matter what they told her, Maeve chose her own battles, and she was determined to fight for peace until it was Verona’s triumph — for she had no other choice, for the only alternative was to lose her father and her home to blood and guns.

From the shadows, a man appeared: her target. Her mission was to retrieve the full payment for an order placed exactly one month ago. He was a new, and thus unreliable, client, and therefore needed extra… encouragement to pay the Capulets in full.

The job fell to Miranda, who had never run a solo mission before. Though she might be green, she was confident; she had impressed the others with her sheer will, if not her skill with the knife. They might not take her seriously yet, but they would, for Maeve was determined to make her voice heard.

“They tell me you’re called Miranda,” the man said.

“Yes.”

The street lights cast a sharp shadow on the cruel crook of his lips, the sharp slant of his brows. “They also tell me that you are here for my money.”

Maeve stepped forward, the softness of her eyes coming to view. “That’s true.”

“They sent a pretty girl like you,” he moved closer, “alone in the middle of the night?”

“Is that so strange?” She adjusted her grip on the knife hidden in a sheath inside her sleeve.

“Not strange,” the man shook his head, “dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Maeve offered a kind smile as she continued to run her fingers along the knife, wondering if she needed to bring it forward. Hoping she wouldn’t. “I appreciate the concern, but I think you know that we don’t send soldiers into battle unprepared.”

“What battle, girl?” His laugh was unexpected and rang false in the night, too carefree to be true. “You think I don’t have the money? You think I won’t pay?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m here on orders, and orders alone, to retrieve payment in full for the last transaction.” Not so blunt and straightforward, Maeve reminded herself of the meticulous training she’d received, every word veiled, every intention in the shadows. But she had never been one to hide her heart’s meaning.

He spat onto the ground. “It’s all about money with you folks.”

“Not all of us — but you did make a promise, sir, and you must honor it. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.”

The man fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was with the barest hint of vulnerability. “So you think I’m a gentleman, huh?”

“I assume all men are gentlemen until they prove otherwise,” Maeve said gently.

Her compassion seemed to ease the man out of appearances; a look of panic came over his face, wild and dangerous. “What if I told you I didn’t have the money?” A tremble shook through every word.. “What would they do to me, then?”

She wanted desperately to reassure him, to tell them that she was only a soldier, new and inexperienced and unknowledgeable. But it was not that Maeve did not know; it was that she did not agree. For how could Maeve threaten (or worse) a man who, in that moment, seemed so human?

“I… don’t think you want to know,” she finally answered. And though she tried to keep her expression neutral, sympathy leaked out of her like she was a broken faucet and there was nothing she could do to stop the flood.

Weak, she imagined them saying.

The man groaned and threw his hands in the air. “I had the money, I swear I had it. But then that bastard got me drunk and the women were so pretty…”

Maeve sighed and loosened her grip on her knife. There would be heavy consequences to bear for her next words, but there was nothing else she could do. For her heart was soft and could not bear to harm another. “I will do my best to grant you an extension.”

The man breathed out a long sigh of relief. “Thank you, thank you. You are kind, Miranda, kinder than I deserve. Tell them that I will have it immediately, I only need a little more time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Please,” Maeve let a hint of desperation show in her tone, “don’t do this again. The next time, you will not be forgiven so easily.” With a nod and a faint smile, she turned and walked away from the now-incoherent man.

She would pay for this later — but nothing worth having came without a price.

III. This is an old self-para written during DiVerona 1.0, but I loved writing the back-and-forth of Maeve and Philip so I had to include it here.

“cazzo,” philip petre spits as he glares at his reflection, “the colosseum will be burned to the ground before i ever get this right.”

maeve petre glides over to her father and clicks her tongue. “papà, don’t curse,” she scolds as slim fingers move deftly about his tie, folding and pulling neatly without effort. when it lies perfectly against his suit, maeve smiles proudly at her father and pats her handiwork fondly. “see, now there is no need to destroy the history of italy tonight.”

he frowns at her as if she is dangerous, but his eyes betrays the warmth only a father might understand. “grazie, stella mia.” his gaze trails down, from the gentle strands of hair that frame her eyes, her lashes barely touched with mascara, her smiling mouth — her bare skin, illuminated by the silver of her dress that drapes itself over her slender frame like it is a rare joy to touch her. a flicker of irritation passes over philip’s features; he is unused to seeing his daughter dressed like a woman, with naked shoulders and full breasts. “you look beautiful,” he says begrudgingly; for it is true, she looks beautiful — perhaps too much so.

maeve swallows her laughter at her papà’s obvious discomfort. “grazie di cuore.” and like the little girl she often pretends she is, she spreads her arms wide and spins, the skirt of her dress flying about her as she dreams she can fly. “do you think it is too much?”

“it is a horse race,” her father answers dismissively, waving a hand in the air emphatically. “nothing is too much.”

“oh, i hope so,” maeve says, as earnest as ever. this is her first horse race; her father never allowed her to attend before. (a place of gambling is no place for a star, they will pluck you from the sky and crush you in their hand. only the most wicked of men understand true value — and you, stella mia, are too special to be considered anything less than valuable; how papà loved to see the best in his daughter.)

and how excited she is! to see so many people congregated in one place, for one purpose, underneath the same sun. she cannot imagine such glory, such joy. philip watches his daughter blossom with anticipation and wonders (privately, guiltily) if she will ever understand the impossibility of so complete a happiness. in a rare moment of thoughtlessness, of carelessness with his daughter’s heart, philip says, “you want too much, maeve. you must learn to control your desires, to limit them — lest you be hurt.”

like someone has grabbed her petals and angrily tore them off, maeve winces. she has heard this before, but not from her father, who does not lecture her often. philip petre is a guilt-ridden man, a vengeful man who cannot usually see past his own emptiness and into his daughter’s heart.

“is peace so greedy to ask for?” she whispers.

“not greedy,” her father murmurs. he lifts her chin with his knuckles. “foolish. voracious. your eyes are bigger than your stomach, stella mia.” he offers a small smile like he is at the altar praying for a second chance, for some redemption that is not often given. “you must learn to be content with only what you need, and what is available to you.”

maeve studies her father, searches her own heart, wonders if the world is wrong and jaded or if she is as everyone says: small, stupid, naive. the answer lies on the tip of her tongue, at the very brink of all the secrets of the universe she hungers for (your eyes are bigger than your stomach). and she knows that the truth lies in the bruise on her cheek, the hollowness of her father’s eyes, the scars they all carry with them —

but truth still turns its cheek away from maeve, still scurries away and hides from her devouring curiosity. she smiles up at her father and kisses the hand still beneath her chin. “come, papà. let us go to the race, and forget our troubles.”

when she turns away and heads towards the door, her father sighs. “trouble rarely allows us to forget,” he mutters beneath his breath as he follows after her: his daughter, stella mia, who he ought to protect but does not understand how to even begin.

Extras:

Headcanons:

I. PHILIP. I know that I wrote a para sample from Philip’s perspective, which might be unusual, but I thought it was important to see Maeve from her father’s perspective. That being said, Philip’s portrayal in that para sample is all a headcanon. If the admins choose to create a character for Philip in the future, the para sample is easily ignored!

The part that is most important from the para sample is that Maeve chose to put her father first. Though she wanted to know about her mother desperately, Maeve did her best to shield Philip from any more pain. She loved him and looked up to him and wanted him to be happy; and Philip loved Maeve in return.

The two had a generally playful relationship; Maeve teased her father and pretended to nag him, and he was gruff and loving and protective of her. They were close, with a genuine partnership between them.

One night, Maeve stayed up to read her father a poem that reminded her intensely of him — a poem about love and loss written in the stars.

It would be her first heartbreak.

For so long, her father had been her world — and then her world collapsed in on itself, because it turned out that she didn’t know her father at all. She felt helpless and, for the first time in her life, hopeless. The betrayal went deep, and the pain went deeper still.

They repaired their relationship after many difficult conversations, for Maeve refused to shy away from the matter; the truth was that she knew who her father was, and she refused to let herself or her father run away from it. But she forgave him, because her love was greater than the betrayal. (After all, he was the only family she really had left.)

After she joined the Capulets, their relationship was a little unbalanced again for a little while. It was months before Philip was willing to accept the entirety of Maeve for who she was, just as she had accepted the entirety of her father for who he was. She was both his daughter and a woman with a zeal for peace and a passion for love and hope and all things just. And Philip — Philip was a man with secrets and darkness, but very much good, too.

II. MARIA. It was a drug deal gone wrong, a matter of Montague proportions. It was in the deepest part of the night, when all of Verona knew better than to roam — but Maria never listened when she ought to. No one would ever know why Maria was out of her bed so late at night; not even her husband, who would spend years searching for the answer in liquor. When guns were raised and shots were fired, sweet mother Maria fell to the ground in red.

It was many years before Philip learned who shot his wife. Whispers told him it was a drug deal, and he assumed it was merely that, a business transaction between arbitrary civilians that had gone wrong. And then he learned, from a stranger in black who bought him an awfully expensive drink, that it had been one of the Montagues. He didn’t know who exactly, had no name or face to go by, but the word Montague was all he needed. Philip knew exactly where to go for his revenge. The stranger offered a small window of opportunity that shined favorably upon the Capulets, and from then on, Philip’s path was set.

As for Maeve, her mother was always a mystery. Whenever Maeve tried to learn who Maria was, her father disappeared momentarily into the heartbreak of losing her, and became just a shell of the Papà she loved. So instead of asking, she buried her curiosities and focused all of her heart’s energy onto her father. She adored him, was devoted to him, loved him to all end. He was her mother and father, all at once — and Maeve told herself that one day, she would learn the truth about Maria Petre.

III. KNIVES. When Philip first handed her a 9mm Glock 17, Maeve’s hands shook as she forced her fingers to wrap around the grip. He put his hands on her shoulders and methodically explained just how to use a weapon, and when he stepped back, she knew it was not in her. She turned to her father with silent tears already staining her cheeks and pushed the weapon back into his hands. Papà, a gun is for killing, she said gently, and I am not a killer.

But to be a Capulet was to wield a weapon like a musical instrument, a paintbrush, a masterpiece; so Maeve chose the knife, for at least it was more than just violence. I cooked for you with this, Papà, and perhaps I will cook for you with these knives, as well. Just like her, a knife could be both sharp and soft, it could be used for bad and good. It all depended on her choice, and Maeve knew that she would always choose good.

IV. NIGHTMARES. The nightmares began not too long after Papà came home with another man’s blood on his clothes. They have quieted since and only reappear during times of stress.

Sometimes, she would follow her father at night, watching him bring a gun to people’s heads and shooting. The gun never made a sound in her nightmares.

Other nights, Maeve would go running to her father’s arms, embracing his legs tightly, only to look up and realize with horror that the man she was embracing was not her father, but a stranger with evil eyes and a sinister grin.

And even worse still, Papà never came home; she waited for him all through the night and all through the day. Eventually, a man dressed in black and silver and red came to her door and explained that Philip Petre was missing, and presumed dead. When they left, the door clicked shut, and then clicked locked, and Maeve was utterly alone.

V. DOMESTICITY. Who would keep proud, macho Philip Petre alive, after Maria was dead? They all wondered, and they all never expected the unknown hero to be Maeve. She was so young, but even as a little girl, Maeve had the heart of a lion. She marched to her neighbor’s door, knocked politely, and said sweetly, “Will you come cook for me and Papà?”

And so it went, with Maeve forsaking her pride for her father’s sake, until she was old enough to take care of him herself. She learned to dote on him: which meals he favored, which questions he loved to answer, which story lifted his spirits. She loved playing homemaker, and she was good at it too. There was nothing that made her happier than to see Papà well-fed and well-loved, as she believed he deserved, as she believed everyone deserved. Most nights, she made too much food and went to the streets to give it to the hungry.

VI. CLOTHING. You can find some of her style choices in the Pinterest board, but I think this is the best example of Maeve’s style. I imagine Maeve in long skirts (be it a plain skirt or a dress), airy and modest and free. I imagine her walking through gardens looking like one of the flowers herself, with the wind careening itself around her legs with each step.

VII. ROMANCE. Soldiers have little time for romance, but once upon a time, Maeve was not a soldier. She was a true romantic, falling in love with strangers on the street, dreaming of who they might be, their passions and their dreams. She might have lacked the courage to talk to them, but there were many boys and girls Maeve found herself attracted to. But she was always too busy taking care of herself and her father to truly begin a relationship with someone, even if she would have liked.

But there was a boy, once. His name was Ferdinand, and he was always at the library whenever Maeve went. They only had a few conversations, but they lasted for hours and made Maeve’s heart blossom with the purest of affections. But one day, he stopped coming to the library, and after a brief moment of disappointment, she carried on and continued her love affair with Verona. (If you guys plan on incorporating Ferdinand into the roleplay as a character, then this is definitely not necessary to keep as a headcanon!)

VIII. DAY JOB. Maeve works at a local flower shop in Verona, making conversation with the regulars and reading a book when the shop is slow. It’s a nice way to pass the hours, and she’s been there for so many years that it’s become a second home.

IX. FAVORITES. Maeve’s favorite flowers are violets, which stand for loyalty, devotion, and faithfulness. Her favorite color changes with the hour, based on whatever inspires her in that moment. Her favorite time of day is a few minutes before sunset for the way her heart flutters with anticipation of another beautiful sight, a reminder that though the night is near, there is still beauty to be found as darkness approaches. She loves bracelets and rings but stays away from necklaces, for there’s nothing more graceful than a bare neck. She wears skirts because she likes the way they float when she spins. She likes her coffee with plenty of cream and a little bit of sugar.

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, TARYN! You’ve been accepted for the role of LAVINIA . Ah, be still, my heart! Truly, Taryn, you managed to captured Lavinia effortlessly. The way that Lavinia interviewed was practically like a sweet song to my ears. She’s thoughtful, careful, and an absolute pleasure to read. She’s subtle, a wonderful voice that grows on you the further that you read on. Every word of hers warms the heart, while charming the ears. But I think it’s the last question that really captured her -- which took me by surprise. Lillian doesn’t consider this a war. She’s seen war, between people and their lesser natures. Welcome back to the family, Taryn, and thank you for blessing us with the lovely Lillian! Please read over the checklist  and send in your blog within 24 hours.

                                                                             WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Taryn

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I’m not currently in any other roleplays, so all my free time would likely be here hahaha. I work full time and have had a weirdly full social life lately, so I’m not always available to get online, but when I am it’s usually for many hours because I’m trash. If we’re looking for a number, probably a 6-7/10 at the moment.

Timezone | PST

In Character

Character | Lavinia

What drew you to this character? | I definitely have a thing for characters that have an indefinable quality – something that makes them a star, though not always quite so literally as Lillian and her fame. I adore playing women with a certain sheen that can’t be bottled or replicated, and I’ve found over the years that I certainly have a preference for characters who may have endured hardships in the past, but refuse to rest under the label victim. Lillian was a combination of all these things and more – plus I’ve missed writing with you guys!!

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

i. Let’s talk about the elephant in the room – Cassian. While their (forced) betrothal is certainly a device for mayhem and emotional carnage, I think what is even more powerful than playing with the dynamite strung around their fingers is the link it has to Lillian’s heart, morals, and ethics. It’s quite clear that Lillian has acknowledged and surrendered to the fact that she will never hold affection for her fiancé – but does this mean she’s free to seek attention elsewhere? I see Lillian as a woman beholden to a self-imposed moral code, some of which could be considered traditional - in this case, viewing the bind of marriage as something that does not allow for adultery, regardless of the fact that their relationship holds none of the love or respect that the institution generally denotes. I’m very interested in having Lillian on a spectrum of anything ranging from attracted to - flirting with - sleeping with - in love with someone very much not her fiancé. The severity of which or where she falls in the meter is almost unimportant; the internal strife that she would face when presented with these things is what is moreso capturing me. I think she would struggle with allowing herself to find love or lust elsewhere, no matter how justified she would be in pursuing a romantic life. I want to make her face her options: love/lust in secret, or living a dutiful life as something akin to chastity and ice in a sham marriage.

ii. A gem of the city, a diamond heart. She is strong and beautiful and intelligent in no specific order, but all bodies must have a soft spot - I’d like to see her compassion, her willingness to believe, and mostly her newness to life acquainted with mobs exposed and used against her. I don’t mean this to say that I think Lillian is an easily fooled woman, as she isn’t - but that’s what would make this plot all the more potent. I think the other person(s) involved in this could be Capulet, Montague, or even Spade, given the right intentions; regardless, I feel there’s the potential to have Lillian truly manipulated and left to review the depth of malice and aggravation in this new crowd she has willingly thrown herself into.

iii. Women supporting one another is my favourite thing (both to write and live out, tbh), but the roleplayer in me can’t help but eye the possibilities for Lillian and Katarina. I earnestly couldn’t say at this point exactly where I see their dynamic going (much would depend on Katarina’s player’s interpretation etc etc), but much like Lillian’s relationship with Cassian, these two’s differences is certainly something I’d like to play with.

In Depth

The following THREE questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would were you playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “My childhood home.” It sounds like a rock skipping over water. A zipper reaching the top. A button sliding into place. It sounds like Lillian Wen knows her answer before the question has been completed. There’s something soft and warm about the way she tilts her head, as if the slight stretch of tendon in her neck is enough to ignite flame; like she’s going to teach torchlight to burn bright. There’s a slight nod of punctuation, the confirmation that this is final – that the girl who has stepped inside diamonds and lived as an appointed piece of shimmer still prefers the natural shine of sun over the water. “It’s where I grew up. My mother’s still live there, even though we’ve fixed it up over the years - it’s still home, you know? There’s nothing like it. Not even the greatest cathedrals are as beautiful to me as that house.”

What does your typical day look like? There’s a humbleness in her slow smile, quick hands reaching up to tuck hair behind her ear as she makes the answer deliberately belated. What she says: “I’m afraid you wouldn’t want to hear about that; my ‘typical’ isn’t very fair, or relevant.” What she means: I know it is human to covet, to envy. I know it is only right that we want what is described to us but never handed over. I have never been ill of heart enough to plant a fig tree before you but out of reach. “Things have slowed, since I’ve come back to Verona. I get up early, I work out. I like to run outside, then have an espresso or two on the balcony with my fiancé.” A stop. Like a period, not a comma. There will be no explanation here. “And then I go to work, whatever that may be.” There’s a setting sun behind her eyes, winking as it slides beneath the horizon. “It changes every day.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? The only pause is in her eyes - blink blink - and no stutter; it’s what diplomacy needs to warm up. “I think it does not deserve to be called a war,” She holds your gaze like glass, carefully and mindful of sharp edges. “Wars are far greater a thing. This - this is a spat that’s evolved with time. A blood feud. Which isn’t to say that it isn’t – dangerous in it’s own right.” She’s had enough soliloquies from her mothers to deny as much. “But it is not a war.”

In-Character Para Sample:

REDACTED

Extras:

HEADCANONS.

i. Since her induction into fame and shine, Lillian has become well-known for her advocacy for charities that fall under the umbrella of aiding the impoverished, or battered women (evidently, two things that fall close to her heart). She has a specific charity that she champions for each, and speaks quite frequently on the subjects. Attention particularly picked up after a speech she gave - within which she spoke of her own past dealing with assault - went viral.

[selenelavellan]

1, 3, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 26, 27, 30, 31, 37, 38, 39, 40, 45, 46, 49, 50, and 51 for the Fanfiction Questions!

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

Probably this one, the Looking Glass/Feynites fandom. It’s definitely the most active I’ve ever been in one, and everyone so far has been so lovely and supportive of each other and it’s wonderful.

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?Oh man. I think I wanted to read more Modern AU Solavellan and I came across the HWRC story and devoured it, then went on to The Dread Wolfs Heart (Because it was completed already and I thought ‘oh by the time I get through this, HWRC will update!’ and it did, once.) and then I read through  TDWH AUs (Specifically the porny ones tbh) and then I wanted to read more and found Feynites tumblr and quietly liked everything for a long long time until more info came out and quietly wrote private stories and drew pictures of Selene and Thenvunin (Don’t judge me, first draft Selene was very different from who she is now and Sharkbait wasn’t a thing yet) because he was my favorite, and then Dirthamen popped up and I rambled in tags about Selene being a good match for him and then Fey messaged me like 'hey tell me more about Selene because Dirthamen deserves good things’ and I made a little list and then I wrote a backstory (that I think Fey is still the only person to have read, whoops) and now it’s taken over my life and it’s great.

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?Pretty much everyone is supportive of each other and it’s nice to have a fandom where when people do try to start drama everyone sort of collectively publicly ignores it and creates more positivity instead of feeding into it.

12. Who is your current OT3?

Deceit/Selene/Dirthamen, But Steve/Darcy/Bucky from the marvel fandom is pretty high up there too.

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs?Aelynthi/Thenvunin, Selanna, Selene/Adannar, uhhhh…there are a lot, tbh. Like a LOT.

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?(Does Dirthalene or Desashim count?)  I quietly but intensely ship Haninan and Hildur in LG, and also Aili Lavellan and Uthvir in all of their various AUs.

18. What ship have you written the most about?Dirthalene hands down. I’m almost at 1000 posts on this blog that’s almost entirely dedicated to them and I’m just stunned I was even capable of producing anything. For a really long time I left things very private or just in my head because I didn’t think anyone would be interested.

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them?Not really? I’m pretty open to most ships, so long as you can show it’s a healthy relationship.

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?Desashim wasn’t supposed to happen, but here I am with headcanons and storylines in my head for them.

22. Is there anything you regret writing?Ehh….I don’t love Mermaid AU. I mean I do, and I liked what it was in my head but I can’t even look at the writing anymore tbh. I don’t regret it per se, because it started a lot of people talking and interacting with it, which is why I won’t pull it down. It’s still something I’d like to redo once my writing skills improve, but I just don’t think I got across what I wanted to with it.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.I really like the reincarnation AU. It’s one of my favorites. I like having a Selene whose gotten past a lot of her personal issues and can work with Des rather than against him, and I like that it’s got a lot of fluff and a lot of potential for fluff and porn and I can usually reread my own bits for it without feeling embarrassed about the quality of it.

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?Usually I like alliteration or a quote or something relating to the overall theme of the piece. Or a pun. I like puns.

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?Summaries. There is a reason I don’t really have any summaries, but I still occasionally title.

30. What inspires you to write?Other people’s writings or art, usually. A tag or something I was tagged in, or someone else posting something and my mind going 'OH OH OH AND WHAT IF THEN-’ and so on.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why?

Third person usually. It’s just what I usually read and think in, so that’s what I tend to write.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create Ocs?OCs (with permission) are more fun, and less likely to spark arguments in my experience.

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer?¯\_(ツ)_/¯

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?Actually Writing.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?I can’t pick one, I love too many (literally I can barely pick favorites from my favorite authors there’s no way I could pick one fanfic that was my absolute favorite, sorry)

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?This would depend a whole lot on what they were looking for, to be honest.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?Yes, because I thrive on attention and compliments, they make me feel warm and fuzzy and I like knowing that the work and effort that goes into things means something to someone.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?I got my own computer at the age of 7, and didn’t have an allowance or income so I splurged by reading whatever I could find for free. 

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!I love that people can explore tropes and characters outside of what’s considered the social norm, I love that even if Tony and Bruce are never going to have another on-screen moment together in the MCU, I can hop onto AO3 and find several hundred stories about them getting happily ever afters, or about Tony getting the mental health and support he needs, or that if something terrible happens in canon there will be plenty of other 'canon-divergent’ stories that go AHAHA NOPE, and I love that it’s created this atmosphere where characters in the public eye can become more well-rounded and explored outside of time or budget constraints just because people want them to and I think that sense of creativity and creation and community is wonderful.

Thanks for the ask!