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immersed-in-mischief · 3 years

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Prince Charming (Loki x Female Reader)- Part 2

I was too excited to wait any longer before posting part 2! This part is pretty long but it didn’t feel right to split it anywhere. Over 3k words!

Summary: Things with Chaos begin to develop pretty quickly now that Loki his preoccupied with is new girl.

Warnings: none, just fluff

"Nice of you to join us, Sleeping Beauty!”

10 minutes late. Chaos had certainly accepted the challenge, alright. The sun was already peeking through the building outside your window when the two of you called it a night. Could it still be calling it a night when it wasn’t night anymore though? You had lost track of time in the shower replaying the conversation over again. The lack of hot water quickly brought you back to reality and you grabbed the closest outfit you could reach and threw your hair up in a bun as you raced to the conference room. You noticed Loki giving you a confused stare from across the table. He pretended to pay attention while typing a message out to you from his tablet.

L.Laufeyson: You’re staring off into space and grinning like a mad man. Stop it. It makes you look creepy.

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him when Rogers turned his back to face the screen.

Who are you calling creepy? I know you only pay attention to the parts about hostile takedowns. Maybe I just really enjoy 7am mission briefings. You don’t know me as well as you think you do Mischief!

When Tony shared a look between you and Loki from his end of the table, you both put the tablets down and made a better attempt to pay attention. You tried to quietly hide your yawn. Maybe you could sneak in a nap later since you hadn’t actually gotten a wink of sleep.

Over the next few weeks, you not only talked to Chaos every night you weren’t away for a mission, the two of you had begun to exchange a few messages throughout the day as well when you both weren’t busy with work. Since you weren’t really hanging out with Loki much anymore, it was a welcomed distraction. You had come across him on his phone on several occasions with his book carelessly discarded somewhere nearby. He always seemed to get frustrated with you when you interrupted his reading so this girl must really be special to him. One afternoon, you swore you heard him sigh after putting his phone away. It felt like a punch to the gut. If he even noticed that you hadn’t had one of your movie nights or dinners together in nearly a month, it didn’t seem to bother him. It just gave you more excuses to return the flirtatious advances from Chaos. You couldn’t say that you were really fighting it all that hard though. It may have started out as a distraction, but it felt really good to feel wanted by someone again. Being head over heels for your best friend, coworker, and pretty much roommate makes dating kind of difficult.

With Rogers away on a mission, you cut training a few minutes short to hurry back to your room. A huge grin slowly spread to see the light in the corner of your tablet flashing. Even though it was hard, you resisted the huge to check the message and made yourself shower and change first. Once you were changed into your pajamas for the night, you curled up on the corner of the sofa in your room and slid the screen on.

Dove, I know you won’t see this until late this evening, but I didn’t want to wait another second to tell you that I truly missed our talks the last several nights while I was away. I’m anxiously counting down the minutes until you arrive home from work. You’ve quickly become my favorite part of my day

This guy knew exactly what to say to make you swoon. Part of you was glad he couldn’t see how often he made you blush. You noticed the message was sent just before you returned to your room and Chaos was still logged in.

What if you didn’t have to wait until late this evening?

The fact that he was immediately responding made you smile. Although it was foolish to believe the guy would be staring at the computer waiting for you, it still gave you butterflies when he was so eager to talk to you.

I’d say that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Not that I’m not excited to see you online, but don’t you still have a few hours of work left, darling?

Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, you snuggled up on the couch with the charger for your tablet placed within reach.

Boss is out of town, so I cut out early today. Curling up at home to watch the rain while talking to my favorite person sounded better anyways 😉

Your secret is safe with me. Rainy afternoons curled up with a good book is on my list of favorite things, though speaking with you might have recently taken a higher position on said list. Would it be too forward of me to say that I would rather spend a rainy afternoon like this by your side instead of speaking through an electronic device?

There it goes again. You feel the heat on your cheeks as you bite your lip to control the grin on your face.

Were you really on a business trip or were you just spending time thinking of things to say to make me blush? Not that I’m complaining really. To answer your question, no it wouldn’t be too forward. I was thinking the same just now actually…

You always know how to make me laugh. Unfortunately, I’m not that smooth. I truly was away for business. I can’t help but wonder now how often I cause a blush to form on your cheeks. Maybe that will be my new mission, though it would not be a fruitful endeavor without seeing it in person. I’m sure it’s adorable

Not that smooth? I beg to differ! The number of times you make me absolutely swoon tells a different story. In order to keep my dignity, I won’t disclose what that number actually is at the moment. Let’s just say you must read classical literature and Shakespeare on a regular basis because it shows. Enough of my blushing and swooning! So, Chaos, if we were to be face to face on a rainy afternoon like this, how would we spend it? Not that I am assessing your dating skills or anything… or am I?

The fact that I make you blush and swoon often is quite flattering actually. I was raised somewhat old-fashioned I guess you could say. I was taught that a woman should be treated as a princess and that anything less is disrespectful. I guess you could thank my mother for that. If I’m being completely transparent, you tend to cause me to “blush and swoon” quite often as well, Dove. The feelings you stir within me make it nearly impossible to not let a smile grace my lips at the very thought of you…

Now that I’m sure I have a blush once again residing on your cheeks, I believe you inquired about my dating skills in a not-so-subtle way… Given the honor to have you accompany me on a date on a rainy afternoon such as this, I would say that a visit to a secondhand bookstore would be in order. I of course have a few around the city I like to frequent already. I would enjoy the opportunity to discover what books captured your attention and compare our favorites. Once we had found a few treasures and picked out at least one for the other to enjoy, we would find a place to sit and converse, just like we do here already. A quiet corner of a coffee shop would be a preferred place of mine. It would give us the chance to people watch as well. We could even make up stories about their lives and what we thought their day had entailed. If you didn’t feel it to be too intimate for such a date, I wouldn’t be opposed to finding a quiet place to curl up together to watch the rain and sit and read together.

I admit that I’m now quite curious, Darling. How does my answer fair in your assessment that you may or may not be performing on my ability to court?

You reread his answer a few times before you remembered that you now needed to write back. How could you be so flustered over….words? Now seemed like a good time to run to the kitchen for a snack. Something told you that you had already decided exactly how you wished to spend your evening.

As you made yourself a hot tea and let yourself imagine what a date like that with him would be like, you looked up to see Nat and Wanda standing there staring at you.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

They shared a look before turning back to you.

“Nat, I think our girl just literally floated into the room. She also hasn’t stopped smiling for days now. Could it possibly have anything to do with this mystery guy that you keep dashing away to talk to on your tablet possibly?”

Wanda and Nat laughed as they stood and waited for their answer. Nat was even more forward.

“It’s no secret. You charge that tablet nearly three times a day now. When are you just going to meet him already? You obviously are already completely smitten with each other. It’s written all over your face and if he is making you look like this all of the time, he must be pretty dreamy.”

You willed the kettle to heat up faster to escape this conversation.

“I don’t know. Maybe we will meet up at some point, but things are pretty great right now. What if we meet in person and there is no chemistry?”

Nat came and put a hand on either cheek, holding your head in her hands.

“Sweetie, if this guy was enough to help you forget that you are madly in love with your best friend, then there is zero chance that you two lack chemistry.”

They both laughed at the shocked look on your face. Wanda patted you on the shoulder and whispered as she walked by.

“Yeah, we know about that too. You don’t hide the way you stare at him very well. The only person who can’t see your feelings is Loki.”

Squeezing the bridge of your nose out of frustration, you whispered under your breath.

“Are there no secrets in this building?!”

Wanda seemed to get an idea and turned back around before leaving the kitchen.

“The costume party! That’s how you can meet him in person! Invite him to Tony’s costume party next week. If you don’t feel it in person, you will be in disguise anyways since it’s a masquerade ball! It’s perfect! Your own little fairy tale!”

Just as Nat got excited as well, you put a stop to it.

“Absolutely not! That is so cliché even for you two! Plus, I’m not meeting him for the first time in the lion’s den. That’s just cruel. Get over it. I am not inviting him to Tony’s party, end of discussion.”

“Inviting who?”

Your head whipped around to see Loki standing at the edge of the kitchen. His wet hair formed soft curls against his shoulders and left damp spots on the tight t-shirt that hugged him in all the right places. The sweatpants that hug low on his hips didn’t help stop your breath from quickening. You felt frozen under his gaze.

“Who are you not inviting, Bug?”

Before you could answer, Nat spoke up.

“Her new Boy Toy…”

You shot a warning glare to her before turning back to Loki in time to catch the smirk form on his lips.

“Boy Toy? Is that who has been stealing you away from me? Well then, sit by me tonight for movie night and you can tell me why exactly he is not being invited to Tony’s party.”

“I uh… I can’t tonight.”

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at you.

“Come on Ladybug. I haven’t seen you in days and we both know we haven’t had a movie night in ages. Don’t you love me anymore?”

You unsuccessfully hid the squeak that escaped at his question. The pout he gave you told you that he was joking and not actually acknowledging the fact that you had been head over heels for him for way longer than should be allowed. Just as you tried to come up with anything at all to say, Wanda covered for you.

“She has a date with the Boy Toy.”

He seemed to accept that answer.

“Fine. But I expect you to attend the next one, Bug. Better not keep the Boy Toy waiting now.”

As he turned to head into the living room, the kettle started to whistle, and you let out a sigh of relief. When you finished making your tea and grabbing enough snacks to not have to leave your room anymore tonight, you turned to face them one more time.

“You two better help me find a damn good costume… I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

They giggled and high fived as you shook your head. On the way back to your room, your mind drifted back to Loki. It was time to move on. At the mention of you dating someone, there was zero trace of jealously or emotion in his face. He didn’t see you like that and he never would. You had a guy that showed genuine interest in you and freely let you know as well. There was no wondering if Chaos wanted something more with you than a casual chat online. Meeting a stranger in person couldn’t be any safer than in a high security tower surrounded by the Avengers.

You took a sip of your tea and smiled at the flashing light on the tablet on the couch beside you.

I hope your silence isn’t an indication of a poor assessment…

Sorry! No not at all! I just stepped away for a minute to get something to eat. Although it is fun to make you sweat it out a little…

To say I’m relieved is an understatement, Dove. I thought maybe I had made you uncomfortable earlier.

Quite the opposite actually. It sounds like the perfect date to be honest. I’m quite the cuddler when given the chance. In fact, I’m curled up with a blanket and a hot tea as we speak…

Then I shall be jealous of said blanket and mug since they get to cuddle with you instead of me… Since we appear to both have the same thoughts as to what constitutes the perfect date, does that mean you find my skills adequate?

I suppose… 😊

So, Chaos, if you’ve already put thought into the two of us on a date, does that mean that you might want more than just exchanging messages online?... now I’m the one worried about being too forward!

As the bubbles appeared and you waited for a response, you started to regret being so blunt with your questioning.

Darling, I’ve wanted that longer than I care to admit, so no you are not being too forward. I’ve thought about breaching the subject of meeting you in person for some time but could never gather the courage to do so. I’ve honestly never had a connection with someone truly as strong as I feel with you. Is a face-to-face meeting something you might want as well?

Absolutely. I’ve been nervous to bring it up too. I didn’t want to assume that the connection was mutual and end up embarrassing myself. I’ve made the mistake in the past of letting my heart get involved to find out too late that those feelings were not returned. It’s not something I wish to go through more than once.

Dove, I can assure you that is not the case with me. I assure you that any feelings you may have developed are returned tenfold. I have never seen your face or heard your voice, yet you have my heart… Does this mean I will soon get the opportunity to see the effects of this blushing and swooning you speak of with my own eyes?

That is really good to hear and I guess I need to start hiding such effects now… So … there is a reason for my line of questioning actually…

Oh? It that so? Please continue…

I’ve actually been given an invitation to a party at Stark Tower next weekend being hosted by the Avengers. Since we did meet in an Avengers chat room, it seems kind of poetic that we meet up at an event hosted by them.

It really is poetic isn’t it? I’m aware of the event you speak of though I hadn’t planned on attending. I would be willing to reconsider however if I knew that you were in attendance as well. Is it a masquerade ball in fact, is it not?

Yes, everyone attending is expected to be in costume. If I was not only in attendance, but there as your date, would it be enough to help you reconsider?...

More than enough, My Love.

Well, it’s a date then 😊

It would be my honor, Dove. There is still one matter to discuss. If we are both in costume, how exactly will I know when I’ve found you?

Would it be too cliché to attend as Cinderella and Prince Charming? It is a ball after all.

Not at all. In fact, I find it to be quite a romantic gesture to meet my princess for the first time dressed as her Prince Charming. You deserve to have your fairy tale moment, Darling.

So, it’s settled then. Next Saturday. Do you need me to get you put on the guest list?

That won’t be necessary. You aren’t the only one with connections, Love.

#loki fluff #loki smut #loki angst #loki fanfic #loki fandom #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #marvel

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clockworkowl · 2 years

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Not me ugly crying at Ghostbusters: Afterlife because of how wrong everybody did Egon.

(I mean I was prepared to be maybe a little teary at the beginning because he was always my favourite ghostbuster, and I’ve always known from the trailers that they used Ramis’ and thus Spengler’s death as a plot point to hang the ‘next generation’ angle on. Since a passing the torch angle was what Ackroyd had been trying to pitch even before the wasted all-female reboot, but fuck did they go tragic hero on the back plot.)

Also 12-year-old me was like 1000% Phoebe, and I hope they do end up doing a future film where she and Podcast become ghostbusters because they are awesome.

Spoilers under cut (because I am about to go on a whole rant about why I am never going to forgive Ray Stanz, and how none of us deserve the superhuman courage and internal strength of Egon Spengler)

He sacrificed everything, literally everything, to save the world.

He gave up respect and his good name. The whole town thought he was some lunatic to be laughed at to the point that they just kept on making jokes about his ‘weird’ habits to his child and grand-children when they showed up after his death. And maybe that didn’t upset his daughter because she was so angry at him for being absent, but they didn’t know that, and it clearly did upset Phoebe. How much disrespect do you have to have for a man just because you don’t understand him to talk shit about him after he’s dead to his own family? He probably partially cultivated that persona to keep people away to protect them because the farm was dangerous for multiple reasons.

He had to give his family. His daughter hated him, he never got to know his grandkids, which is doubly sad because Phoebe is so much like him. The unknown wife probably wasn’t a big fan of his either, and all of this feels even sadder because Egon was clearly not a person who was comfortable with romantic or sexual relationships. He was likely somewhere on the autistic spectrum as well, but I had always assumed he was an aroace; so for him to have found someone that he wanted to pursue some form of relationship with, gotten married and had a child, that’s not an insignificant thing for him to have sacrificed. And those people didn’t trust him. (Presumably Callie didn’t know one way or another, only that he left. But one would expect that his wife would have known who he was, what he’d done for a living, how he’d saved New York City from very real supernatural shit. And it’s unclear whether he said anything about why he was going to Oklahoma and didn’t want her or Callie to come and she didn’t believe or trust him either or he didn’t because he was unable to trust in her to do so because no one else did. Both versions are incredibly sad and it doesn’t seem like she ever told Callie anything other than that he had abandoned them to go be mentally ill on a farm because she seemed to know nothing about the man he had been. ) It’s also very clear how much of a sacrifice this was for him.

And in the end, he sacrificed his life, and died alone. This is the most gut-rending thing of all, because not only did he die having to shoulder the enormity of trying to save the world again all by himself, but because he almost certainly died because he was forced to fight for the world alone. That no one believed him, that his friends and coworkers, the men who had all gone through not just the experience with Gozer, but also Vigo with him would turn their backs on him. And even more than that, that Ray Stanz would call him crazy and turn him away. That is the greatest betrayal of all, because of everyone Ray is the one person who is more likely to believe in this shit without even the greatest amount of backing evidence, whereas as an actual man of science, there is no way that Spengler would be convinced of something like this without an extremely strong case, and yet Stanz just fucking turned his back on him.

(And sure after Phoebe called, he brought Venkman and Zedmore to the climactic scene to help save the day and make sure that Egon’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, but that wouldn’t have been necessary if he hadn’t left him to rot by himself.) He died because it was never a one person job. He had to give up his family because he couldn’t keep them safe by himself and if even his closest friends and fellow experts didn’t believe him how would there be any hope of average people doing so. Because he gave up his family Callie, Trevor, and Phoebe were never going to be able to defeat Gozer by themselves because they didn’t have the experience or any of the knowledge of how to truly solve the problem. Phoebe had what 3 days of busting under her belt and only 1 ghost on top of being 12. )

All this means that when you really look at it, Egon did all this knowing that he was sacrificing everything and condemning himself to buy some limited amount of time for the world and knowing that without anyone else to help or to carry on that work he could never really save the world either. Instead he resigned himself to it because he couldn’t bear not to do what little he could to give others and his family the world as long as he could and maybe hope that someone would believe him and help before it was too late.

As for the others showing up to save the day, (or spare Egon’s ghost from having to literally face the futility of his sacrifice to save his family from the end of times) this is probably why this scene feels forced and a little flat, because of course the other 3 have to show up to save the day, do their little cameo and say goodbye to Ramis and Egon’s ghost, because it’s expected by fans and because the plot has forced it to maintain enough realism to buy the stakes. It is touching, but at the same time, Murray doesn’t even seem fully in Venkman and Ackroyd feels stiff, Stanz less contrite or affected by the truth than he should. Oddly Ernie Hudson doesn’t just sell that he is still 100% in ltune with his character after all these years, but he makes Zedmore the only one who feels like they spent any time contemplating the mistake they made in turning their back on Egon and what that cost him. The others never really feel like they understand that they kind of aren’t the heroes for just showing up making referential quips and avenging their fallen comrade after having been one of the reasons he needed avenging for n the first place.

Janine kind of confuses me because she clearly stuck with Egon and was supportive, but also seems to have thought him mad and didn’t even really try to intervene or defend him to the family when they show up to claim the farm. Even so this makes her a better person and friend than the other 3 ghostbusters.

Out of the fictional universe of film this was probably the best plot device to make a third movie and create an opening to carry it forward into the future if they decide to given that Harold died and that limits what they can do, but in universe holy shit does it make you just want to punch people on Egon’s behalf. Like I am never going to forgive Ray Stanz.

#ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters #egon but not forgotten #egon my beloved #ray stantz #winston zeddemore #peter venkman #I will never forgive you Ray Stanz #we do not deserve Egon Spengler #I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to actually rant about this

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gooddaykate · 4 years

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You Ain’t Woman Enough

Frankie Morales x Reader

Word Count: just under 4400

Tags: Pining, Fake Dating because Frankie has an annoying coworker, cursing, my roughly unedited terrible writing, I don’t think there’s anything else?

A/N: Okay, y’all. I wrote a thing. It literally would not have been finished without the constant support of @rzrcrst. I’m just going to put this here and yeet myself into the void. Let me know what you think. Or not, it’s whatever. Gif credit to @pascalplease (let me know if you don’t want your gif used, sweetie)

The bar was crowded and loud, but you still heard Frankie’s quiet curse as he pulled his cap further down over his eyes.

“You good, Frankie?” you asked with a nudge of your shoulder.

He huffed and curled in on himself more. “You remember me telling you about that girl I work with? The one who works the gate?”

How could you not? He had complained about Kelly almost as long as you’d known him.

When Frankie and his baby girl had moved in next door six months ago, you were fast friends. He had moved to the Rockies to be closer to his parents. He got a job at the small airport to fly the puddle jumper planes for the celebrities that came and went in Aspen. It was easy to fall into a camaraderie with him, talking shit about the people who came to play in the ski town you both worked in. It was just the two of them, and it was easy to offer help. Whenever he needed someone to look after his baby, you were the first to step up. He was quiet and kind, and always willing to lend a hand in return. He’d helped fix leaky faucets and a broken water heater. You hadn’t shoveled your own drive since you’d started watching Rosie for him.

You’d lost track of the number of times the two of you had sat in one of your living rooms just talking after Rosie was down for the night. You quickly learned that you could trust each other with the truth, so you shared everything. You talked through your quiet fears together. He knew about your relationship with your family and how you felt you needed to be close enough that they could visit, but far enough that they wouldn’t. You’d learned about his brothers, Pope and Will and Benny, and his time in Delta Force and the ptsd that it had given him. He had held your hand when you told him about the college boyfriend you’d had, the one you still had an open order of protection against. He had told you about how he used to cope with the ptsd, how he’d lost his pilot’s license, and the divorce that came with. You were angry for him, but mostly Rosie, when he told you that her mom had decided she didn’t want anything to do with her, either, and left her at his friend’s place while he was out of the country. On one particularly quiet night, Frankie told you about another brother and a trip to South America and how nothing had gone like it was supposed to.

The two of you were as close as two friends could be. You didn’t have any secrets between you, apart from one. It was easy to fall for Frankie and Rosie both, and you knew you’d keep that to yourself for as long as you knew them.

Kelly was a constant talking point and source of frustration for Frankie. You had never met her, but to hear him talk about her was enough. She asked him out every time she saw him and constantly touched his arms and back and shoulders. One time she even took his hat off and ran her fingers through his hair. When you asked him why he’d let her do that, he mumbled something about just letting it be and changed the subject. Most often, he would end his rant about her with a ‘this isn’t fucking Wings.’ You’d usually just smile and move on. But Frankie hadn’t talked about Kelly in a couple weeks.

You raised your eyebrow at him, and he pointed. “Blonde in the red sweater.”

“Oh, holy hell. That’s Kelly? Does she live in the village?”

“No! She lives down in Aspen.”

You watched her as she scanned the bar, presumably looking for an open spot. Sitting in the darkest corner table would hopefully be your saving grace. When she passed over a couple seats at the bar and a few empty tables, something occurred to you.

“You don’t think she came up this way just to find you, do you?”

“Knowing her, I wouldn’t put it past her. Fuck.” Frankie took a large breath in and started talking. “Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you. I was hoping it’d never come up, but here we are. I got her to stop asking me out a couple weeks ago by saying I had been seeing someone for the last six months. And I may have mentioned it was you because I’ve got pictures with you and it was easy. And I know this sucks because we’re friends and all, but if you could just, I don’t know, hold my hand until she leaves? Please?”

You were stunned silent for a moment, and he couldn’t meet your eyes. Before you could respond, Kelly’s eyes found Frankie and she started making her way over.

“Shit, she’s seen you.”

You leaned in and took his hand. “I’ve got you, Frankie,” you whispered as you brushed a chaste kiss across his cheek. “Whatever you need.”

He raised his desperate eyes to yours in a quiet thanks, and you tore yours away from him to watch Kelly walk to your table. She was conventionally beautiful, with long blonde hair falling in waves down her back. Her jeans were so tight they looked uncomfortable and the red sweater she wore was cut low enough that you knew it was never intended as anything heat retaining.

You turned back to find Frankie’s eyes on you, eyebrows pulled low in concern. Without thinking, you raised your free hand to his face and smoothed the crease between his eyebrows before bringing it back down and cupping his cheek.

“It’ll be fine, Frankie. What’re friends for?”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything before Kelly had draped herself over him, making you jump and move your hand away from his face.

“Oh my god, Francisco! I didn’t know you’d be here! What a coinkydink!” She gave him an exaggerated wink and moved her body away from him, but kept her hands around his bicep.

His whole body was tense and his tone was clipped when he responded.“Yeah, well, I told you I was getting drinks with my girlfriend tonight, and that’s why I couldn’t go out with you. This is one of very few options, Kelly.”

“Oh, right. Well who’s got little Rosalina tonight if your neighbor is here with you?”

“We got a sitter,” Frankie all but mumbled.

Her eyes widened. “Wow, it’s the royal we, now?” she asked with an air of mocking incredulity.

She still hadn’t looked at you, or even acknowledged that you were there, apart from her emphasis on knowing that you lived next door to him. You gave his hand a squeeze and spoke up.

“Has been for the last couple of months, actually.”

She finally turned to look at you, a purse on her lips and heavy disdain in her eyes. You flashed her a smile and introduced yourself.

She held her hand out loose and palm down, like she expected you to kiss it. “Kelly.”

You gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Oh, I’m well aware. It’s good to put a face to the many stories I’ve heard.”

Kelly dropped your hand and draped herself across Frankie’s shoulder again, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Francisco! You talk about me at home? What does little Rosalina think?”

Frankie was three stages of red and trying to peel her off of himself, but she kept latching on. “Kelly, Rose isn’t even a year, she doesn’t think about you.”

She let him go and pouted, like she was the baby. “But if you talk about me-”

“I don’t talk to my daughter about you.”

You had to cover up your laugh with a startled cough. Kelly’s eyes turned to you as she sat down in the third chair at the table.

“So you’re the girlfriend, then?”

You laughed and squeezed Frankie’s hand. “Yeah, I guess you could call me that. I mean, he certainly does.”

“The prospect of seeing her makes it easy to get up in the morning.” He chuckled. “You know, besides having an infant in the house.”

Kelly hummed and rolled her eyes. “Right. So, Francisco, tell me, why is it just you and little Rosalina?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Kelly, that’s deeply personal and none of your business.”

Frankie brought you entwined hands up to kiss the back of yours. “That’s okay, cariño. I don’t mind.” He put your hands back on the table and turned to Kelly. “Her mom and I were in the process of getting divorced before Rosie was actually born. We just,” he trailed off and looked at you. You gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand for him to continue. “We just weren’t right for each other. About a month after she was born, I took a trip to South America, and when I came back a week later, I found out that she decided she’d rather not be a mom, either. She left Rosie and the completed divorce paperwork with my buddy’s wife and took off. I haven’t actually seen or heard from her, since. After that, it was a stupidly easy decision to move back up here. My parents live in the village, so they could help out with their granddaughter and I’d have a support system that was more than a pair of brothers. One of whom beats people up for a living.”

He shrugged. “It was the best decision I could’ve made.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

He smiled. “I moved back to Colorado and found her.” He squeezed your hand again. “I wasn’t looking for it, but I fell in love again. I was lucky. And I couldn’t be more thankful for that.I love her almost as much as I love my daughter.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you had to remind yourself that this was for show. Obviously Frankie didn’t actually love you, he was just telling Kelly that he did. As far as she knew, you’d been dating for six months. Of course you would have said you loved each other.

You figured that it would be easiest to just give the partial truth, so you smiled. This was the easiest part you would ever have to play. “I’m definitely the lucky one. He moved in next door and it was completely impossible not to fall in love with them. I’m still sure that I’m going to wake up and it will all have been some kind of dream.”

Frankie turned to look at you, and the amount of love you could see in his eyes made you suck in a breath. “Te quiero con todo mi corazón.”

You knew you had to swallow down the emotion that brought up, but damn, if that didn’t bring butterflies to your stomach. It was just too much, having Frankie talk about your nonexistent romance. The feeling of his hand in yours, every brush of his leg, all the lovely words he used to describe a love you didn’t share. You just needed to get away for a moment.

“You’re the sweetest. Right. Excuse me for a minute.” You leaned over to kiss his cheek, and met Frankie’s eyes with a sad smile and a silent apology.

Once you pushed your way through the mass of people hovered by the bar, you leaned on the counter and looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

“What the hell am I doing? Why did I agree to that?” You hung your head low and let out a heavy sigh.

The door opened and the loud sounds from the bar interrupted your thoughts. When you straightened up to leave, you took one last look in the mirror and noticed Kelly standing behind you with her arms folded across her chest. When you made eye contact, a slow smile spread across her face. The look in her eyes made you shiver before you turned to face her.

She took a step closer. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we? I know you’re in love with Francisco.”

A startled laugh bubbled up out of your chest. It took a moment for you to respond because you weren’t sure if she was serious. “Of course I’m in love with Frankie. It would be impossible not to be completely in love with him and Rosie, both.”

Kelly raised one eyebrow and smirked before continuing. “Oh, I know that’s true. But I also know that you and Francisco aren’t actually dating. You’re just his neighbor and occasional babysitter. You can drop the act.”

You blinked in surprise, eyebrows shooting up your forehead. “Excuse me?”

“I know Francisco isn’t seeing you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not following. How’d you come to that conclusion?”

Her eyes still hadn’t left yours, and it seemed like she wasn’t even blinking. “You know, when Francisco first told me that he was dating you, I was massively jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a huff. “You don’t say.”

She ignored you and kept talking. “But I started watching him. I came up to Snowmass and asked around. I’ve watched the two of you together. I’ve seen you with Rosalina. I know you’re not a couple. I don’t know why Francisco thought he needed to make up some girlfriend and then pawn it off on someone who he clearly has no actual feelings for.”

You were horrified. “You’ve been watching him and Rosie?”

“Oh, I just needed to see who my Francisco was spending his time with. Now that I know that I don’t actually have to worry about him having feelings for you, he can go back to being my Francisco. I can’t believe you’re still carrying a torch for him when he clearly doesn’t care for you.” She backed away and looked down at her fingernails. “I mean, come on, you’ve clearly been in love with him for longer than I’ve been watching.”

Kelly’s face was smug, like she knew she was in your head. But you were focused on the more important part of her little speech.

You started out slow, to make sure she caught that you’d understood her. “So, just to be clear, you’re admitting to actively stalking Francisco Morales and his daughter.”

“What, that’s not-”

“That’s what you’ve just said. You said you started watching him. That you have watched his home, and his daughter, and who they’re spending time with. You’ve asked about him in the town that he lives in. You made a trip out of the way of where you live, just feign accidentally running into him and to corner me. Did you go to his house before you came here?”

“I am not stalking Francisco. That’s not what this is,” she spluttered.

“Oh? Then tell me exactly what this is, Kelly.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, trying to come up with something. After a few moments of letting her flounder, she finally stepped forward and pointed her finger in your face.

“We work together! I’m not stalking Francisco! Even if that was true, you have no proof,” she seethed through clenched teeth.

A scary sort of calm washed over you. You had experience here. You could help Frankie and Rosie both.

“Get your finger out of my face, Kelly.” It took her a couple seconds, but she did drop her hand. If looks could kill, you’d have been dead three times.

“How careful were you to stay hidden when you were spying on Frankie’s home, Kelly?”

“That’s- I don’t-”

“That’s okay, Kelly. I have security cameras around my property. And we can certainly find testimony of the people you talked to. And I’m sure the airport staff would vouch for how uncomfortable you make Frankie on a daily basis. It’s easy enough to request a restraining order. Do you suppose that’s enough proof?”

Kelly’s eyes were wide and the fear you could see brought a slow smile to your face.

“We could probably even issue a protective order, since you have actually admitted to me, one of his child’s caregivers, that you’ve been actively stalking her and her father.”

Her eyes were panicked, and before anything else could be said, she was out the door. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter.

“What the fuck.”

A stall opened, and you startled. A young woman stepped out holding her phone. “I recorded that whole conversation. Do you want me to send it to you?”

Your brows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“I recorded what she was saying. Do you want me to send it to you?”

“Oh, uh,” you ran a hand down your face. “Yes, please. How much did you get?”

Her smile was sheepish when she handed you her phone. “Well, I hit record when she said she knew you were in love with him. I thought it was going to be a drunk girl confrontation that I could laugh about with my friends. Now I’m just kind of glad I’m a nosy bitch.”

You chuckled as you typed your number in. “No kidding. Thank you for having the insight to record, I guess. I don’t know what will come of it, but if he does decide to pursue something, we may need you to give some sort of statement.”

“All good. I figured. Just keep my number for if you need it.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and sent a comforting smile your way before leaving the bathroom.

You took a shaky breath and headed back to your table.

“What the hell did you say to her? She just took her bag and left, didn’t even say bye.”

You sat down and took his hand in yours. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You don’t have to do that anymore, she’s not here.”

“Frankie, what I’m about to say isn’t something nice.”

He interrupted you with a laugh. “I’d be surprised if you did have anything nice to say. She’s a lot.”

With a sigh, you looked down at your hand in his, and brought your free hand up to cover your entwined fingers. “No, Frankie. It’s really not good. Kelly…” you trailed off, unsure whether to sugar coat or just come right out and say it.

“Sweetheart, just talk. It’s me.”

Your eyes met his and you made your decision. “Frankie, Kelly has been stalking you and Rosie.”

The color drained from his face. “No. Kelly’s just a nuisance. She’d never go that far.”

“Frankie, she just cornered me in the bathroom to tell me that she knows we aren’t dating because she’s been watching you. There was another woman in a stall and she recorded it. She’s been watching me with Rosie and asking about you in the village.”

“Oh god, my baby. Would she have hurt my baby?”

His eyes were desperate again, but this time, holding his hand wouldn’t help. “I don’t know, Sweetie. I don’t know. You wait here, and I’ll pay our tab and we can go home so you can hold Rosie. You’ll be able to put your baby to bed and then we can talk about this more, if you want, okay love?”

Frankie’s eyes were glazed over with tears and he looked almost catatonic when you got back to him.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you up so we can start walking home. Just a few minutes longer and you’ll have your baby girl in your arms. It’ll be okay, Frankie. I’ll help you however you need.”

The short walk back to your houses was quiet, your arm around his. Every time you looked at Frankie’s face, you saw the fear in his eyes, and you knew that he was imagining the worst-case scenario when you got home. He was afraid that he was going to walk in and find his daughter missing. A part of you was also afraid you were going to find that.

When you walked into the door to see Taylor sitting on the sofa with Rosie on her lap, you let out a sigh of relief. You could see Frankie visibly relax, his shoulders releasing some of the tension he’d let build up on the walk home.

“Oh, you’re home early. Is everything okay?”

Rosie’s chubby hands were reaching for her father, and he moved to take her into his arms. You sent a subtle shake of your head to her, and she nodded.

“Well, Mr. Morales, she was an absolute delight, as always.”

Frankie only hummed in response, Rosie tucked into the crook of his neck, lightly playing with the curls at his ear.

You gestured over to the door and reached for your wallet. “I don’t know how much he pays you, honey, but this is all the cash I’ve got.”

Taylor looked at you with wide eyes. “I wasn’t even here for an hour, though! You don’t have to do that.”

You put both twenties in her hand and then raised yours in surrender. “Oh, no, shucks, it’s in your possession, now, you can’t give it back.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Okay, then. Thank you.” She turned to where Frankie was standing. “Bye, sweet Rose. Anytime you guys need me, let me know. I just love her to pieces. Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Morales.”

Frankie just nodded his head at her and went back to loving on his daughter.

“Thanks, hon. Have a good night. Drive safe,” you whispered as she walked out of the house. You locked the door behind her and turned back to Frankie. “You want me to hang out here for a bit?”

“Please. I’m going to put her down here in a couple minutes.”

You sat on the couch and tried to busy yourself on your phone, but your eyes kept drifting back to Frankie. He had Rosie resting on his shoulder just quietly rocking her in his arms. Her eyes were falling shut, but was fighting sleep because she’d startle awake every so often. Once she was out, Frankie looked at you. “Okay, I’m going to put her down. I’ll be right back.”

When he came back out to the living room, he sat down next to you on the sofa. “Okay. You said something about a recording?”

“Yeah, there was a girl in one of the stalls. She thought it was going to be something funny she could share with her friends so she started a voice recording.”

“Let’s hear it, I guess.”

You put your hand on his knee. “Frankie, we don’t have to listen to this right now. We can go over this in the morning, if you want. I don’t want you to lose sleep.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m already not going to sleep well. I’d rather just listen now.”

“Okay, sweetie,” you sighed. You opened the text and pressed play.

The tail end of your nervous laugh sounded and your stomach dropped. You’d forgotten that about what else Kelly had said. You just had to hope that Frankie focused on Kelly like you had.

“‘Of course I’m in love with Frankie. It would be impossible not to be completely in love with him and Rosie, both.’”

As Kelly continued talking in the recording, you just watched Frankie’s face. You usually didn’t have a hard time reading him, he was someone who rarely hid his emotions, but right then he just looked impassive.

“‘I mean, come on, you’ve clearly been in love with him for longer than I’ve been watching.’”

You could feel your face heating up.

Frankie reached over and paused the recording. “Is that true?”

You closed your eyes. “Frankie, I-”

“Dulzura, please. You have to know. How could you not?”

You looked into his eyes, but you still couldn’t make out the emotion in them. “Know what, Frankie?”

“Cariño, everything I said tonight,” he trailed off. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “Do you even know how much you mean to me?” he whispered.

“Of course. I help out with Rosie. We’re friends.” Just saying that out loud brought a lump to your throat. There were tears in your eyes threatening to spill, so you looked up toward the ceiling.

Frankie reached out and took your face in his hands, tilting it back down to look at him. A tear fell and he brushed it away with his thumb. “Dulzura, you mean so much more to me than just friends. Everything I said tonight was true. I wasn’t looking for love when I moved back here. I wanted a quiet neighborhood where I could raise my daughter near her abuelos. But love found me anyways.”

You could feel your lip quiver. “Really?”

Frankie smiled and brought his forehead to rest on yours. “Te quiero con todo mi corazón, mi amor,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Frankie. With all of my heart.”

He brought his lips up to place a kiss on your forehead. “You sure you want to do this, cariño? You know all my baggage. You know how tough it will be.”

You let out a watery laugh. “Francisco Morales, you are the easiest man to love. You are kind and selfless. You’re stubborn. You love that baby of yours so, so much. It was so easy to fall for you. I’ve loved you since that first night we sat and talked right here.”

“Funny, that’s the night I knew, too. And the first night I bitched about Kelly.”

You groaned and looked down at your phone. “It can wait, cariño. It can wait.”

You looked back up at him and smirked. “You haven’t even kissed me, yet, Francisco.”

Frankie hummed and brushed a bit of hair away from your face and smiled. “You’re right, I haven’t. You are so beautiful, cariño.”

He leaned in close enough that your noses brushed. “May I?” he whispered.

Your answering ‘please’ was barely audible, but he closed the distance anyway.

Frankie was right. He loved you, so everything else could wait until morning.

#Frankie Morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #i don't even know what to put here #don't mind me

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askaceattorney · 3 years

Text

(Video in Letter -- Strong Language Warning)

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: No, but that’s because my situation with jobs is different from most people. Because I’m Autistic, I rely on rehab to find a keep a job or else I wouldn’t be able to be hired or else fired on the spot, because I couldn’t pay attention or hear someone well one day.

The downside is that it takes forever for me to find a job. Most managers don’t want to work with someone with Autism, because it requires a lot of time to train me. On top of that, firing someone that works with rehab cannot be done on the spot. It requires a termination letter and a set date before they can officially fire me. For me, I also cannot quite on the spot, because I didn’t like a couple of people, because finding another job that will hire will be near impossible, especially since I live in a small town and require bus transportation, which is only open from the dead morning until 3 PM in the afternoon. My only other transportation is walking or else having someone at work take me to and/or from.

Don’t get me wrong, none of the jobs I’ve ever worked at were ones I disliked or hated, but that was because any issue I had I did everything I could to resolve it. To me, it’s not worth making a mountain out of a mole hill when this job and the bosses I worked with were willing to hire me when no other job would. If I have an issue, I talk to my boss about it and find a way to resolve it or else just be content with what I have. Believe me, there were colleagues in my former jobs that drove me out of my mind. There were even times when I felt tired and stressed from working to the point of tears. I just either resolved the issue or buckled down and kept going. It astounds me that anyone can just walk out the door because the job they were given was too hard or they didn’t like some people. Maybe it’s because I am limited to where I can work at and it’s also likely that any horrid job that is willing to hire any Dick and Jane will likely not hire me, since they can’t just easily fire me. Though, I have heard of how former employees at my old jobs just walked out, because it was too hard or something like that.

Co-Mod: Actually...yes. I didn’t take it out on my coworkers, but I literally walked out on my job once (not something I recommend unless absolutely necessary, by the way). I still wonder to this day if it was the right choice to make, but my patience, energy, and temper had all reached their limit at that point. I’m happy to report that I currently have a part-time job that I’m enjoying, so things definitely could’ve ended worse. If I’ve learned anything about jobs, it’s that they’re a complicated business. Still a lot more fun than unemployment, though.

Dear Gumshoe “Letty” Fan,

Mod Edgeworth: Oh, I can imagine.

Co-Mod: Funny you should say that -- I once made an image that combined those two things and shared it on this blog. Here it is again:

The Mod also made a pretty amazing jumpscare GIF in one of his letter responses:

I’ve never been too fond of horror games, but I could be talked into playing one involving the Badgers.

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: I’ve only played the Lego Batman and Robin on Xbox when I was still living with my parents.

Co-Mod: I think the game you’re thinking of is Lego City Undercover. I’ve never played it, but I have enjoyed my fair share of the older Lego games: Lego Star Wars, Alpha Team, and of course, Lego Racers. Racing games aren’t exactly my favorite, but Lego Racers was something I fell in love with.

Mod Justice: You beat me to it, bud.

In all honesty, LEGO City Undercover (and its Nintendo 3DS-exclusive prequel too) were amazing. Although, my favorite LEGO game is (and always will be) LEGO Dimensions. NOTHING can top that game which FINALLY featured some of my favorite franchises in LEGO form.

I mean, do you know HOW LONG I was waiting on a Doctor Who LEGO set?! I was probably jumping out of my COUCH and screaming when I got the news.

Thank you so much, Warner Bros. and BBC!

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: If you’re Dawsongfg, more than even I can count or keep track. Might as well be a hundred that I’ve deleted at this point.

(Video in Letter -- Strong Language Warning)

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: I liked 2:45 - 3:16. That one got me.

Co-Mod: I made it until 1:46 without laughing. I need some serious practice, apparently.

Mod Justice:

Alright, there were some good ones in there, don’t get me wrong. As for the others...

What the [CENSORED] makes you think these are funny?!

(Call me “too serious” all you want - I don’t understand how these can be that funny.)

(Previous Letter)

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: Don’t ask me why, but Tumblr has eaten up the second part of that letter. You should be able to get the full two parts on mobile.

(Previous Post)

Dear Honest Friend,

Mod Edgeworth: It truly is a sad world we live in that we can’t ever respect each other. Believe it or not, I also faced some toxic behavior and from Tumblr no less. I was once participating in an Ace Attorney Rewards tumblr blog where you get to vote for a character to win. We were allowed to make campaign posters and I made one for Gumshoe, calling Franziska, the opponent, a bitch. I also stated that I loved Franziska in the description, but just wanted to vote for Gumshoe. I made it clear that I only called her a “Bitch,” because I wanted Gumshoe to be an opponent worthy of going up against Franziska von Karma, knowing she would win. This resulted in me being blocked, because I was sexist. The stupidity was unbelievable.

I was also ridiculed for disagreeing with a post stating that Manfred von Karma was being abusive for calling Miles Edgeworth “worthless.” I was called an abuser defender. I can’t make this shit up. The only thing I said was that I didn’t believe calling someone “worthless” one time by itself should be considered abusive, especially if the context reads differently. Franziska has done much worse by comparison, but she gets a pass, because... she was raised by Manfred von Karma? I’m sorry, but calling someone “worthless” one time is nothing more than throwing an insult. Not to say Manfred von Karma was right in doing that, but losing your temper is not the same as being abusive. It can lead to abuse, but most people don’t often take it that far.

It’s amazing how quick people can get to calling other people names or blocking them without warning. Personally, I’m not one to block anyone for no reason. It should be considered a last resort. At the very least, warn the person you’re going to block before doing it and only do so after they respond. Never take the last shot. It’s very cowardly and it only proves yourself to be wrong. When you go so far as to call someone “sexist” for calling a female character a “bitch,” you’ve already lost the argument and you are no supporter for Women’s Rights. Those are my thoughts.

Co-Mod: Thank you for sharing this with us, and allow me to respond with some more honesty: You’re not the only one here dealing with ugly (sometimes discouraging) levels of fear and anxiety, or to have negative thoughts go through your mind like they own it. I've been dealing with a lot of that in recent days, mostly related to my job and career, and having a hard time believing that I’m strong enough to power through it. It should be no surprise, therefore, that I also advise reaching out to others when you need to, no matter how scary or pointless it may seem. That’s what others are there for.

I’m also glad to hear that our letter responses are still not only entertaining, but also encouraging. My main goal with this blog is to exploit the humor and worldly wisdom provided by Ace Attorney’s unique cast of characters, but if you’re able to feel a little better about yourself or about life in general while you’re here, then I’m all too happy to provide that extra benefit as well.

In regards to the rude and inconsiderate people you meet on the internet (and I’ve met a number of them myself), probably the best advice I can give is that internet trolls are, in reality, human beings like us, going through many of the same things we are, and possibly even worse. Getting upset is understandable, but like you said, respect is an important thing to keep in mind.

Except for the bots, of course. They don’t deserve any respect.

(Previous Post)

Dear Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: I use both, because both are Edgeworth’s. If Gregory’s sister had a name and sprite, who was also an Edgeworth, I’d totally use it.

Dear dawsongfg,

Co-Mod: I stopped thinking about that a long time ago. Let’s talk about this instead.

...Wait, what?

(Previous Letter)

Dear Anonymous,

Co-Mod: That’s a good point. Sheesh, I forgot how complicated that case got...

-The Mods

#Anonymous #Mod Post #Mod Edgeworth #Co Mod

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ahnsael · 3 years

Text

Got an update on brother-in-law this morning. He’s still in the hospital, possibly to be released on Friday (a week after the last potential release date).

He’s still on oxygen, but the oxygen levels have been reduced by 60% since last Friday and he is breathing well with the lessened supplemental oxygen. I texted him after my sis said he had his phone, but he hasn’t responded (but my sis, after I texted him, said that she was talking to him on the phone).

I told my sis that the casino staff with whom I work was rooting for him, and she said his response was “wow.” They don’t know him (some have met him when they’ve visited us, but not many, but they care about him because they know he’s family to me, but none of them are very familiar with him).

But things are definitely looking up on his end, which means things are looking up on my end mentally.

I am just sick and tired of people who don’t take COVID seriously. He literally almost died, and many others HAVE died, and yet I still have to fight people over wearing a mask because they’re wimps who think it’s hard to breathe with a mask on, who have NO CLUE how hard it can be to breathe when you have COVID. And I’ve had not only my brother-in-law, but two coworkers go down with COVID. These people who are what I refer to as “maskholes” are truly terrible people to spend time with. I may be vaccinated, but I have coworkers and other regular guests who have refused to get vaccinated, and I’ll feel bad for them if they get it, but...at some point your choices have consequences (both coworkers, plus my sis and brother-in-law, CHOSE not to get vaccinated, and wish they had done so).

I am glad I have the next two nights off so I don’t have to deal with these people. I have to go in for a manager meeting tomorrow morning, and COVID is always a part of those meetings these days, but other than that I don’t have to deal with ANYONE until Friday night. I have plenty of food and beverage for the weekend, so other than this meeting (which usually lasts 30-60 minutes, but closer to 60 these days), I don’t have to go ANYWHERE and be around maskholes. Because even my local supermarket isn’t enforcing the masks other than signs outside saying that masks are required. Someone walks in without a mask? They just ignore it. And that PISSES ME OFF, but there is no other store around who is enforcing it, either, which makes my job harder because people say “Well, Smith’s isn’t enforcing it, so I don’t have to wear one.” And then I have to explain that the Gaming Control Board IS enforcing it, and the size of the fines that we get if they don’t wear a mask, and they literally reply with “I don’t care if you get fined. I’m not wearing one.” I despise being the mask police. It’s stressful when people tell me that they’re going to kick my rear end if they see me around town after I ask them to leave. I’ve got at least a dozen people who have told me that they are going to beat me up in the near future because they are too much of a wimp to wear a piece of cloth over their mouth and nose.And one of these days, one of these people are going to see me at the market and make good on their threat. This is the stress I deal with every night at work, and when I go shopping for food. But when fines have been up to $30,000 PER PERSON not wearing a mask (the casino gets fined, not the individual -- we literally got a $30,000 fine because someone took their mask down for two seconds to speak, and put it back on), we’re fighting a losing battle in this VERY Trump (formerly Red, but now full-blown Trump idiocy) area of the state. Let me put it this way -- I live in Nevada, which became a state during the Civil War, in an effort for Nevada to support Abraham Lincoln. But I live around a bunch of Confederate flag-waving fools who think that celebrating “heritage” doesn’t include the heritage of supporting slavery. Despite my brother-in-law’s situation (and I’m glad he will apparently survive), maybe if more people catch this virus, word will get around that vaccines WORK, and that despite the side effects (both doses kicked my butt, the second worse than the first), it’s a LOT better than suffering the effects of this virus. And I’m not actually wishing COVID on anyone. But as many more people are getting it now, maybe they can convince their friends that the vaccine is a better way to go.

#COVID-19 #coronavirus #COVID #I had a guest last night who REFUSES to be vaccinated #and she was in close contact with someone who was infected #and was ordered to isolate for 10 days #and she feels like this was unfair #because SHE wasn't sick she felt it was okay to put other people in danger #because it 'wasn't her fault'#I remember hearing about people during WWII buying bonds and saving grease and doing other things for the war effort #most Baby Boomers (the generation after the one I just mentioned) wouldn't lift a finger for the greater good of the nation #What a bunch of selfish jerks (not all of them of course)#but Baby Boomers will NEVER be considered a great generation #bunch of entitled pricks

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yandere-society · 4 years

Text

The Ultimatum

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day has rolled around once again, and just like last year, you plan on spending it with none other than your emotional support dog. What you don’t know, however, is that you have an unexpected visitor awaiting for you at home.. and not only does he have a loaded gun on his hip, but he also has your beloved pet in his lap.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 6,000

Admin: @tatertotthethot

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, signs/mentioning of mental disorders such as: anxiety, depression, PTSD and dissociation; Mentions of gang violence; Depictions of gore; nonconsentual kissing (nothing sexual); no dogs were harmed in the making of this…

“Here you go, guys.” You said as you handed the couple across the counter their drinks. You returned their smiles and bid them a good day, but as soon as they turned away and linked their fingers together on the way out, your expression settled into one of disdain.

Baley, your manager, noticed it. But like always, she chose to ignore it. She’s very much use to your secretive, albeit bitter distaste towards romance. She’s been working along side you for two years now, and knows that you’re a big advocate for holiday decorations. You’ve decked the place out on Halloween, thanksgiving, Christmas— even fucking Saint Patrick’s day. But for Valentine’s Day, all you did was slap some heart shaped stickers on the window and didn’t even look too happy to be doing that, either. But she’s never been one to push.

“Guess what I’m doing this evening,” She hinted, hanging the ‘closed’ sign on the door.

“Hm?” You asked, having zoned out while rinsing your shot glasses out.

“I’m gonna eat the rest of my edibles and read some alien erotica.”

Not expecting anything less from her, given her personality, you only choked out a laugh and shook your head. It’d be more amusing if you knew she wasn’t kidding. Baley has a weird obsession with aliens and you never took her serious about it until you bought her a tentacle dildo as a gag-gift on her birthday, and instead of laughing about it and going off into a banter like you were anticipating, she started screaming and jumping up and down like you just handed her the last Golden Ticket to the fucking chocolate factory.

“What about your boyfriend?” You asked, forcing yourself to engage in conversation to keep you from spiraling.

“He’s out of town. So I’ll be thinking of him as I read about the alien king abducting me and using my tenta-holes—“

“Never mind.” You cut her off, trying to let that lighten up the mood. You appreciated the effort, but it didn’t work. You just wanted today to be over.

It’d be a whole lot better if only you could tell her the truth and come clean about your past. But it’s not like she’d believe you, even if you had the guts. But in all honesty, her fantasy about alien abduction was more believable.

You’re a barista making $10 an hour, living paycheck to paycheck and inhabiting the house your grandmother left you in her will. You have no car, you rely on public transportation; all your clothes are from goodwill and when you’re not working at this shop, you spending your life in confinement of those walls with your dog, as a recluse.

If you even dared to tell Baley that, just three years ago, you were living in a million-dollar mansion in South Korea, and had a luxurious wardrobe from big-name designers and that you didn’t even own a pair of fucking socks that were under $100.. she’d look at you as if you were the alien. She wouldn’t entertain the bigger half of the story, about how you were engaged to a man who’s now serving a life sentence and could possibly be put on death row for committing a robbery that left one of the international banking systems short 23-million won— which would amount to be approximately 20 million dollars in America... you would’ve lost her at the word Fiancé.

It’d be easy to prove, though. Your associations to the crime may not show up in your background check, being as you’re back here in America and was never detained, and the news isn’t relevant enough to circulate here. However, a simple google search would reveal it all, even with pictures of you two in public.

But not even you wanted to look up his name to know what was going on with his case. You were still ambient to forget about him, in a way. You wanted to ignore his existence. You fucking loath that man.. you swear, you do.

You had fallen back into a brooding silence again without even meaning to, and although you were busily cleaning up off muscle memory, you were detached. He still has that effect on you. And truth be known, the first year you spent in lonesome isolation after leaving Korea was just a change of scenery but not very different from the lifestyle he had subjected you to. But even still, it was so much better than living with him at the estate. And now, with your dog Sweetpea there, you feel safe again. At least you were in the same place you grew up, and felt closer to your grandmother—

Fuck, you missed her so much. He wouldn’t even let you visit her in person before she past. The man owned his own private jet and it never had any maintenance problems until the one fucking night you needed to go back home. You only got to speak with her on the phone, and bawled your fucking eyes out and spewed out an incoherent apology just hours before her heart gave out. That’s when she told you that she left you the house, and how sorry she was for kicking you out of it because you didn’t pursue the career field she wanted you to go for.

If only they would’ve arrested Taehyung a month prior, you could’ve been there for her. You could’ve hugged her and the two of you could given each other the apology you both deserved.

“Hey..” Baley’s voice suddenly came to your left ear, the only one that you could actually hear out of. Your right one, despite being 80% deaf even with a functioning hear aid, was faintly ringing from the emotional tangent you had accidentally drifted into.

You looked over at her, and broke down. Although she could never fully understand, she still gave you an empathetic frown and was pulling you into a hug before you could sputter out an apology— not that there was any use for one.

You had secrets that still haunted you, and will always impair your daily life— much like your botched eardrum and this shitty device you spent way too much money on. That’s another thing you only had Kim Taehyung to thank for, along with your fucked up shoulder.

You had to carefully elevate your arms but eventually returned the hug and cried a little harder, not able to help it. Sweetpea was a great reciprocate for affection and did a swell job with distracting you, but as far as human comfort goes, you haven’t had so much as that in.. well, seven fucking years. Tae was always big on affection, and also comforted you when you needed it. But it was redundant and didn’t have a sincere effect, being as he was the very one that initially caused the hurt it derived from.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, I never do... but I want you to know that I can see how strong you are. You’re doing a great job at making it through each day...” she muttered, rubbing your back as it shook with each silent sob. You felt bad when you heard her own voice beginning to thicken, but that was no surprise. She was a sympathizer and a little bit emo in general. Seeing others cry was enough to jerk a tear out of her, and you loved that about her. She’s a weirdo, but she’s pure, and she’s very good hearted. You could even say that you may have deeper feelings for her as well, and they may even be mutual, but you were no good for her. Hell, you were already putting her in enough danger just by being an employee at her shop. If you were to let your relationship stem past being friendly coworkers, or even hung out with her outside of work, that could pose an actual threat to her safety.

So, even though you wanted to lengthen the embrace, and longed to tighten your arms around her even more, you pulled back and wiped at your face, giving her a weak grin and a nod instead.

She squeezed your shoulders one last time before taking a step back, recollecting herself.

“You go home. I got everything else.”

You sheepishly nodded again, thanking her one last time before collecting your things and booking it out of there. Had you not felt so broken and defeated in that moment, you would’ve refused. But her show of affection triggered a deep, dire need to give and be given more comfort.

Fortunately for you, though, you had a special someone for that. Your dog is the only living creature on this planet that can be trusted with the revelations of your past. She’s the only reliance you have for receiving unconditional love and support without any judgment... probably because she doesn’t even understand what the fuck you’re saying half the time, nor can she repeat the shit you say, but as far as comfort goes, it’s always a guarantee.

— That’s just in her nature, like most pets. Pitbulls, however, are very sensitive and attentive to certain emotions— especially depression and anxiety. They’re just as good with protecting their owners, as well as they are with babysitting them. Everyone knows pitbulls have a notorious and misguided reputation for being aggressive. But little do most know, before dog fighting became a popular thing and defamed their personalities, pitbulls were primarily referred to as ‘Nanny dogs’. They’re great with babies in general, and very domestic and charismatic by nature. But despite being big, loveable goof balls themselves, they can literally sense stressful emotions and will know what type action to take in order to sedate them.

Sweetpea may not have professional training and certification but it is by her true nature and personality that you call her an Emotional Support Dog. When you’re having another one of your episodes— panic attacks, senseless paranoia, nightmares— she’s running to your aid and doing anything she can to distract and get you to play with her. When you’re depressed and spiraling into another breakdown, she licking at your face and sitting in your lap, not even seeing the problem with her being three times bigger than the average lap dog—

“Kneehemplamaforseeking?”

You sucked in a breath and blinked over at the PetsMart employee, smiling a few away from you. You probably looked lost, and in a way you quite literally were. You hardly remember walking in the direction of this store, let alone entering it. But this a common thing for you, so you easily just went on about your way despite the sudden worry of missing your bus... again.

“I’m sorry, what’d you say?” You had asked, turning your good ear towards her and watching her lips move.

“Do you need help looking for something?” She repeated, carefully annunciating her words this time, now that she could see the device in your ear. In today’s age, most people mistake it as a bluetooth— which has unknowingly saved you from accidentally talking to yourself in public, more than you would know.

You shook your head in response to the lady, and checked the time on your phone. You had 30 minutes left, thank God.

“No thanks. I’m just here to get some treats and waste some time before my bus comes. It’s windy as hell outside.”

“Ah, it certainly is,” she agreed, making her way to the next aisle. “Be safe out there!”

“I’ll try.” You muttered to yourself, grabbing a bag of bacon strips off the shelf— the very thing you had ultimately came for. It should’ve taken you no more than 5 minutes to grab and go. But it wasn’t uncommon for you to take much longer and aimlessly wonder down multiple aisles only to get one or two things from the same aisle, though. You do it at every store you go to, if you can stand to be outside of your home or away from work.

After checking out, you made it a mission to stay present until your bus came. By the time you got home, you were more stable.. up until the bus driver— a sweet elderly man who’s been transporting you on this route for last couple of years, handed you a rose on your way down the stairs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, young lady.”

You had the strength to give him a genuine smile, but as soon as you stepped off and the doors closed, and the bus engine picked back up and left you with a gust of wind, you broke again.

Taehyung always gave you a bouquet of blood red roses for Valentine’s Day. He knew you were a sucker for them. And you still are, but sentiment wasn’t the only emotion to come now. They brought on an ache. A pain. A worry. A twinge of longing, but a fuckton of resentment.

You wanted to throw it on the ground and stomp at it.. better yet, you wanted to set it on fire and watch it burn while smoking a much needed cigarette. But first, you need to see your dog. You know she’s just as anxious to see you.

You trudged up to your door and was quick to unlock it... but frowned when you didn’t see her on the other side. Maybe it was because your ears were ringing again from how worked up you’d just gotten. But usually, the mere sound of your key twisting at the lock would have her running to the and practically beating it down, and you’d opened to see her gleefully wining out and wagging her tail.

But she wasn’t there.

“Sweetpea?” You called out, making it a point to swing the door shut behind you. Still, nothing—

Whimpering. You heard her whimpering and your head snapped over to the hallway. Your heart began to race. Your bed door was open, as always, and you could hear her in there but she wasn’t coming out. Only whimpering for you to come to her.

Fearing the worst, thinking perhaps she’d hurt herself to the extent that she couldn’t move, you barged down the hallway and listened with a sickening sense of uneasiness as her whimpering turned to muffled howls.

“Sweetpea, wha—“

You screamed. Sheer horror and white-hot adrenaline erupted through your veins and scorched your nerve endings, leaving you numb in the limb to the impact of the floor beneath your kneecaps. All you could feel was the volcanic eruption of despair in your chest and the strain in your diaphragm.

Sweetpea was okay, but very much in danger. She had a muzzle on, and her big, canopy-like ears were peeled back and her big, doughy eyes were wildly beading dead at you as she struggled and pawed at the carpet, watching you fall to you fall out. She was so worried to get to you but she couldn’t, do to the death grip of the man who was holding her by a leash. She couldn’t even interpret the lethality of the weapon that was also aimed at the back of her head— a glock you specially recall being the weapon of choice when Taehyung pistol whipped a man’s head open before emptying all twelve rounds in his magazine into his face.

Now, all you could envision was the same being done to that sweet face and big, bulbous head.

You screamed out and wailed even louder, not even looking at the intruder or registering who it was. Because you already fucking knew and in your mind it was too late.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roared, making you and Sweetpea flinch. You stopped screaming but your breath was ragged beyond your control. Your vision was bouncing between his fierce scowl and Sweetpea’s fearsome one. You dove forward, intending to crawl and beg but two pairs of shoes stepped out from where they’d been standing behind the door, and their hands gripped you by the biceps before hauling you up to your feet. You didn’t even try to resist them. You knew better than that. But fear still had you discombobulated and speaking out to yourself, feeling incredibly dizzy and disarrayed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

“You’re not dreaming.” Taehyung snarled, palm itching to slap some sense into you. But even within the three years he’s spent in bitterness, it didn’t change the morality he did have in relations to you. He’d never hit you out of anger.

But then he realized the real reason why you were saying that, when your knees suddenly gave out and the hold his men had on you became the only thing keeping you up right as you fainted out. He didn’t realize you still had that problem, and it hurt him to see that now.

Back when he had you in his possession, you had accidentally witnessed an execution down in the basement of his mansion. It was the first time you fainted, a d your body came toppling down a good ten-or-so steps, which were made of cement, and you were lucky to have only broken your nose and dislocated your shoulder.

Guilt crashed over him, suddenly. He meant to terrorize you in a way that wasted little time to gain submission, but he didn’t mean to trigger your PTSD— although he knew it was likely. Given the resolve, he put the gun back in its holster and stood up, beckoning for Yoongi to take the leash. Jungkook easily held you up by the waste and waited to pass you off to your fiancé before bringing your wrists behind your back. You slowly came to as he did so, and your head lolled back up only for your entire body to snap back into attention all at once, now that you were face to face with the Devil himself.

“Come on, you fucking idiot!”

Your head snapped over and you began to panic again as Yoongi fought with your, trying to drag her over to her cage by the leash. She was putting up one hell of a fight and audibly wheezing from the choke, her eyes now bulging as she looked at you.

You bucked against the both of them, your maternal instincts causing you to go feral as you saw red.

“QUIT! YOU’RE FUCKING CHOKING HER, YOU FUCKING PRICK! PICK HER UP!”

“She’s too squirmy!” He shouted back, the shock of your outburst causing him to lose tension and Sweetpea lunged the both of them forward. Tae was shouting at Jungkook to hurry with the restraints and squeezing you tighter, but you were kicking and flailing like a fish out of water now.

“MAKE HIM STOP!” You cried out, but was forcefully silenced by the gigantic hand that grabbled around the entire bottom half of your face— including your nose. Having been in this situation before, knowing his antics, you knew he wasn’t going to let you breathe again until you did as told. So you were forced to settle down but was still desperately pleading with your eyes, crying as your dog continued to heave against the menstruations.

“Yoongi, for fuck sake, the dog is 50 pounds. Just pick her up and put your in the kennel.” Tae stressed, eyes still locked with yours.

With a grunt, Yoongi tackled your dog and trapped her in a bear hug, snatching her up off the ground. You wanted to scream at him again but you were actually starting to struggle for oxygen, chest jolting with an involuntary attempts to inhale.

“Alright, they’re on. I just gotta link them.”

Tae’s hand finally dropped and you hacked out, swallowing as much air as you could. Now that Sweetpea was safely in her cage, you had time to worry about your own safety, but the look on his face wasn’t giving off such a merciful vibe.

“You do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I won’t fight back... but if you hurt my dog—“

“If I hurt your fucking dog, it’ll just be tough shit for you. I’ll still do whatever the hell I want and unless you need me to prove that, I suggest you stop with ultimatums..” he chuckled, but it sounded so cold and twisted. He was on the verge of snapping, and was fighting to keep as much composure as he could right now, for your sake.

But he was on a heist right now, you readied yourself for the unknown when he punctuated his sentence by grappling your throat with the same, vandalized and accessorized hand he just smothered you with— fingers digging in at the sides. Your breathing was once again constricted and your eyes reddened in strain, your voice dying out.

Tae may not beat you, but he knows your worse fear is dying by suffocation. Hence, why he’s so big in breath play.

“Can you?” He reiterated, snarling his teeth at you and revealing the top and bottom pair of golden, fang-shaped plates framing his pearly white canine teeth. Back in the day, you found them so extravagant and tasteful, but now you found them all the more threatening.

He waited until your eyes began fluttered back before letting go again, and Jungkook’s body was the only thing that saved you from falling back. You never understood why, but for some reason, Jungkook was the only person Tae allowed to be in closer range of you, even when it wasn’t necessary. He even reminded you of that when Yoongi had stepped a little too close and Taehyung shot a glare over to him that had him taking a couple steps back. But Jungkook was apparently free to stand there, holding you up even as you regained your footing. You feared that one day it will all make sense, but for now, you were thankful that he was there to at least to save you from collapsing.

It’d be great if they weren’t even fucking here, at all.

“Go put the kennel in the car— not on the seats, though. Hobi will kill me if I fuck up the interior.”

“Please let me rehouse her.” You begged, cringing as his eyes returned to you. They looked even more colorless than before. “I’ll come with you, but I don’t want her there with us.”

“She’s fine. As long as she doesn’t shit and piss everywhere and doesn’t chew any of my shit, or try to attack me, I’ll let you keep her.”

“You were just holding a fucking gun to her head, Taehyung. Please let me rehouse her. My friend Baley will take her. All I gotta do is leave her in the cafe with a note— I have the keys. I’ll even let you write the fucking note yourself and we can go...” It was significantly getting harder to speak, now that your airways were irritated and your unsteady emotions were only making it worse.

You had already accepted your fate, but had a twinge of hope left that he’d at least hear you out on that request. His features had softened into a crestfallen display of guilt, and remorse. But your faith in him shattered all over again when he stubbornly shook his head and reached for the gun again. You were just about to throw another fit until he pulled the magazine out and showed it to you.

It was empty, until he pocketed it and pulled out a fully-loaded one and clipped it into place, before putting it back in the holster.

He tricked you, and although it was still pretty fucking evil, you were relieved. He never intended to shoot her and wouldn’t have been able to, even if his finger applied enough pressure on the trigger. But you were still very much in the midst of an abduction, and you still hated this man for what he was doing to you now.

“Why are here?” You croaked.

“To come get you and our new pet,” he announced, faking the enthusiasm before reinforcing his glare. “I’m... incredibly pissed about the fact that abandoned me.. but even more so offended by the negligence to stay updated.”

His eyes then caught the flash of a blue light at your ear. Your hearing aid was dying and faintly peeping in your ear. The remembrance had his entire demeanor shift to a sullen one, like a switch.

“But at the same time—“ his voice had fallen into a lower pitch, almost to the point of being a whisper as he stepped closer and easily molded his hands around your face. You suddenly felt fragile, but not in a way that made you giddy, like it use to. Now, you had to swallow down the bile in your throat and fight against the nausea as his suddenly lips came near.

“—It’s really hard take that out on you, when I can’t even blame you for it. But It’s been three fucking years, honey. Three. How could you not even have enough concern for my well being, to not even send a fucking post card? Did you really think you‘d never see me again, and that you had snuck away from me? I knew what you were doing, and where you were going before you even boarded your fucking flight.”

“You’re suppose to be in jail. I thought you were letting me go.”

“First of all, you didn’t even know the original plan to think that it had failed. All my charges have been dropped and the suspicion of my involvement dismissed. Namjoon has been found guilty and is now serving that sentence, like I had initially plotted from the beginning. You never knew shit to fucking assume anything!”

You glared at him despite the jolt that came with his drastic notch in volume, and not your tongue as he went on.

“But I did allow you to leave the country, but only to give you space and to let you touch base with... whatever the fuck it is that you still find valuable here. I didn’t think I’d have to clarify the circumstances of your stay, but for you to not even reach out.. and the fact you got some shitty, minimum wage job on top of it all, when you still have access to the saving account I’ve put in your name.. You really thought we were over? You haven’t even checked the news articles to see any updates on the case. I’ve been out for a week!”

He was still holding your face but his hands were shaking and the pressure was increasing again. He always pulls back and regains control over his temper before inflicting harm, but it’d be foolish to not expect him to one day lose that control. He’s hurt you on ‘accident’ before. He’s slaughtered many people, more than you’ll ever know to keep count. Nothing is sacred.

But now, you are a lot more contempt and able to tolerate the fear of him hurting you on impulse, being as Sweetpea was out of harms way and no longer in the room. You were still shaking though and had closed your eyes, bracing for it. But the jerk of shock only came when his suddenly lips covered your’s, and Jungkook finally backed away.

The kiss only lasted about three solid seconds before he pulled back, and was heavily panting through his nose. You dared to look up and caught a glimpse of the physical pain marring his features. His eyes had gone watery and his jaw began ticking like a time bomb, nostrils flaring and chest rising. He pressed his forehead against your’s and snaked his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, trying to fight off his own sobs and choking on them more and more with each second.

“You hate me.. you haven’t even missed me.” His voice was so thickened by his emotions that it deepened the natural richness he already had, making it sound contorted and almost inhuman. A tear dropped down his nose bridge and hit your quivering lips, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fight back the heart wrenching burn it inflicted on you.

How could you still feel anything for this man? It can’t be. It just fucking can’t be..

But it was. You were so bewildered and petrified by the oncoming sympathy that it stunned you into a froze state of shock. He kissed you again, thinking it was a show of fear for own safety— and he was right to interpret the fear, but it was with different cause. He was steadily conjuring up feelings that you wished you could’ve watched burn, like you had intended to do with the rose your bus driver gave you. But here you were, heart bleeding for him.

You still didn’t reciprocate the kiss but it brought on more involuntary anguish.. you cried harder and so did he, and as he leaned your head back to kiss at your neck, you stared in perplexing awe at the gigantic bouquet of roses sitting on your nightstand.

“It’s okay. I‘ve missed you too fucking much to punish you now.” He calmed, and took a good 30 seconds to regain his composure. There was still a groggy undertone in his next words, but once again, he was back in his domineering mindset. “But I ain’t cutting you that much slack.”

You yelped when he suddenly shoved you back, straight into Jungkook for the nth time. He heatedly wiped at his eyes and stepped back, and it was the first time you took in how much more muscular and rigid he’d become over the years.

Before, he was a lot more slender and you’re certain that the very shirt he’s wearing now use to be at least 2 sizes too big on him before.. however, the black silk was skin-tight and clinging to the humps of his biceps, and straining around the buttons between his pectorals. His skin was more pale than ever before but now you could see a tattoo curving along his temple, arcing aside the edge of his pierced brow. The word that was written in elegant, cursive writing made your heart palpitate and your stomach twist even more.

Honey. That was your signature endearment. That was the name you’d given him in place of your real one the very night he met you, and asked for it.

This crazy motherfucker really is obsessed with you. How he can lie to you, deceive you, punish you and drive you fucking bonkers and stalk you down only in the act of what he calls love.. and for it to actually be a form of true—albeit dangerous love, was beyond you.

The scripture on his handsome, albeit matured face distracted you for a few seconds. You snapped out of it when Jungkook suddenly hauled you up by the midsection and slammed you down on the bed, pinning his hand down between your shoulder blades and rendering you defenseless.

“What are you doing? Taehyung! Please! Get him off of me!”

“If I could trust you to stay still, I would.” His voice was neutral again, despite a offhanded sniff. You struggled to look back, but it was no use as he was standing out of view.

“Stay still for what?”

“Do you still have your ring?” He asked instead, ignoring you.

“It’s in my nightstand drawer. Now tell me—“

“Told you she kept it,” Jungkook finally spoke— and just like it was back then, it was a very rare occurrence for when he did speak on your behalf. That’s another thing nobody else dared to do, unless asked. But knowing that he was the one stalking you for Taehyung made you all the more disturbed with him.

“Fucking creep. You’re hurting me!” you screamed at him, and he had the audacity to increase pressure. Tae said nothing, nor did he stop his friend from retaliating.

“I also know about your little affair with your coworker. Since when did you start swinging both ways?”

“What are you talking about?” You growled, and he only snorted in response.

“She knows you like her. She knows you stare at her ass every time she bends over and that you bend over on purpose to make her look at yours. She knows you like it when she slaps it.”

You, one again, went unmoving.

Jeon Jungkook is her fucking boyfriend.

“What does Jk even stand for?”

“Jackson. But he doesn’t like to be called Jackie, and you know how I am about nicknames. So I call him JK.”

“Don’t you fucking hurt her, Jungkook. You leave her alone. Tae, don’t you let him—“

“Don’t you worry about me.”

“BALEY?!”

Baley walked into view, an unreadable expression on her face. The mere realization of what was happening finally over filled your mental tolerance and you brain suddenly launched you away from reality.

The beach. You were at the beach with your cousins, all of you a little over the age of 18. You were on spring break your senior year in highschool and talking about the future. Graduation. Prom. College~

“She’s zoned out.” Baley said, and Jungkook finally let go. You were indeed paralyzed and had completely dissociated, talking to yourself. Taehyung, with a fully-loaded syringe in his hand, leaned over to look at your face. Your pupils were dilated, eyes stargazing in general, lips softly moving as you babbled nonsense. He hated knowing that it was coming to this, but he swore he’d earn your forgiveness.

“I’m gonna get your ear fixed.. or at least get you a better device. We’re gonna be okay. We’re so fucking rich now, I don’t even know what to do with all our money— only to turn it into more. I won’t have to work as much. We can get married, have the best fucking honey moon we can imagine. We can get started on a family. I’ll win your dog over, too. I promise.”

He sank the needle into your bicep, and you didn’t even flinch. Only blinked in rhythm as a tear fell.

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.” You incoherently muttered, having said that to your friend, Jessica, on the beach.

It was insensitive, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin at that. Whatever memory you were reliving at the moment, was quite sometime before you actually began your classes for such profession. He bent down and kissed your cheek one last time as he injected the entirety sedation serum into your system and pulled it out. But you were oblivious to it all.

“I think I’m smart enough...”

”You’re very book smart, baby. But you’re probably gonna drop out after three semesters and become a bar tender at a strip club, because you’re not fit to be a homicidal investigator. You’re too soft.”

“I’m not..”

“You sure?”

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.”

“Well, you’re gonna become my wife before you become anything else.”

“Ew, don’t even play like that. You’re my cousin.”

“Jeez..” Baley muttered. “You really have driven her a little bat-shit, huh? This is way more disturbing than I anticipated—“

“Babe, lets go sit in the car. Come on,” Jungkook hurried, pulling her out of the room.

Taehyung continued to whisper sweet nothings into your deafened ear, but the last night you heard before it all went blank was the perfect, bittersweet saying that bidded you goodbye for the night.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.”

#yandere society #bts #kim taehyung #yandere bts #yandere taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts x reader

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 5 years

Text

Gibbous Chapter 7

Chapter Title: J is for Jerk

Summary: Virgil's life is actually going good for once, Roman aside. However, of course something comes down to knock down the metaphorical house of cards, that something's name being Jerad.

Word-Count: 6046

Warnings: Crying, Death Mention, Gaslighting, Verbal/Physical Abuse, Panic Attack

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AO3 Link

A/N: Hello everyone! I told myself I'd update this fic on my birthday and well here I am! *inserts The Emperor's New Groove gif of Kuzco going "This is my birthday gift to me! I'm so happy!"*

Many thanks to @theeternalspace for listening to my numerous rants about this chapter, reading over this chapter like three times for me and being a patient, encouraging friend. And also thank you to everyone who has left such nice comments on this fic in recent weeks, I appreciate them all <3

Also a majority of this chapter's events take place before Chapter 5 just to clear things up.

Roman aside, Virgil’s miserable attempt at life was...far from miserable at the moment. He actually liked his job, for one. His coworkers were friendly and he found sorting books and putting them away weirdly soothing. He had three actual friends. Something he was still reeling from.

Still, even with these good things his mind was prone to worry. It was annoying. He knew he should be grateful, that he should enjoy it while it lasted. But anxiety isn’t known to be bend to rational thought. That was sorta the whole point of anxiety.

He tried ignoring the impending sense of doom. It had to be just irrational nonsense and nothing more. Except it wasn’t. Something came, carelessly knocking down the tower of cards. That something’s name was Jerad.

Virgil was like 75% percent positive that the letter J in Jerad’s name stood for jerk. Though, Jerad was deserving of a variety of more explicit, foul names than jerk. Virgil, having a healthy fear of death, chose not to disclose them to Jerad himself. Instead, he thought about them, silently, in his head.

But…he wasn’t a jerk all the time; hence the 75%. For as much as Virgil complained about his roommate, Jerad wasn’t that bad of a guy. When he wasn’t drinking or blasting his music of course. It wasn’t like Virgil was in a position to confront him about either of those things.

Jerad let him go late on paying the rent more times than he could count. Hell he wouldn’t have a place to live it wasn’t for Jerad.

He’d been almost eighteen and panicking. When he turned eighteen, he’d be kicked out of the foster care system. While Virgil hated the system, but it ensured him a place to stay and food to eat. Soon that’d be all on him to figure that stuff out. For such a small amount of space, apartments were ridiculously expensive. There’d be no way for him to rent an apartment without resorting to having a roommate to help pay the rent.

It was something he dreaded, because it meant he had to coexist with a virtual stranger. Which really wasn’t different from drifting from foster home to foster home. It still didn’t mean Virgil was fond of the idea.

When Jerad caught a whiff of his dilemma, he’d came to his aid.

“My roommate Robby left me to pay the rest of the lease on my own—skipped town, the bastard. I figure, you can have his room as long as you pay your part of the rent. Whattaya say?” Jerad flashed a grin.

“U—uh sure.” Virgil stammered, “thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me, it’s what anyone would do.” Jerad laughed, patting Virgil’s back.

Virgil flinched a bit at the action. He didn’t like how Jared patted his back just a little too hard. However he kept his mouth shut. After all, the guy had just offered him a place to stay. Jerad kept rattling on about details for the apartment, appearing completely ignorant of Virgil’s discomfort.

At the time, he knew Jerad as his friendly-but-annoying-at-times coworker. He had no reason to assume otherwise. Especially when Jerad did such nice things like furnish the apartment with a new couch and refused to take Virgil’s money for it.

Sure, sometimes he used those nice things against Virgil when they got into an argument.

“Well since I was the one who brought the couch, I think I reserve the right to watch TV whenever I want to!”

But he was always quick to apologize a day or two later. Such as the incident that happened when Virgil arrived home from the werewolves’ house the first time. Jerad had been drunk that night, yelling and accusing of Virgil attempting to skip town.

Virgil had been terrified. How was he going to explain to Jerad he might not have a job anymore? It was one thing to pay rent late, it was another to have absolutely no money at all. What was he supposed to say?

“Hey, uh, I kinda got kidnapped by werewolves and spent a night locked in their basement, sorry about the inconvenience?”

It sounded laughable to his own ears. Hell, if he hadn’t experienced it himself, he wouldn’t believe it. It was crazy. Paranormal sightings in the city hadn’t happened in the city for years. It was unlikely anyone was going to believe his story. He’d look like the boy who cried wolf, literally .

There was also the fact that he could possibly hurt Patton in the process and…he didn’t want that. Not after anything he’d done for Virgil.

He had to come up with a story that was more believable than that. A lie, essentially. Lying was not Virgil’s forte. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like how it made his stomach churn and his mouth dry. But there was no damn way he was telling the truth.

He paced the narrow length of his room, hands pulling at his greasy locks of hair. A story, a story—what he could possibly say? He got drunk and woke up three states away with no idea where he was? No, no that’s unbelievable. Jerad knew he wouldn’t pull off a stunt like that.

Virgil would have maybe one or two drinks. But never enough to get him flat-out drunk. He disliked the loss of control that came with being tipsy.

Still, Jerad tried his best to pressure him otherwise. Sometimes when none of his other friends were available, he dragged Virgil to bars to be his drinking buddy for the night. He had to come up with something else.

Could he tell the truth and just conveniently leave out the fact they’d been werewolves? Would anyone believe that complete strangers would do such a thing? Virgil wouldn’t.

Amnesia, maybe? A fib about how he got whacked on the head so hard that he completely lost all his memories? It happened all the time in novels and movies. Real life? Not so much.

Virgil let out a pained groan, collapsing onto his bed. He couldn’t think of anything that would satisfy Jerad. Even telling the truth was sure to earn Jerad’s ire. He’d accuse of Virgil of telling a lie even then. There was only one thing that Jerad would believe. It was the very thing he’d accused Virgil the night before.

His chest tightened at even the thought of it. It was just like any of the other explanation he’d thought of telling Jerad; they were all fake. So why was he more conflicted using that one than the others? He hadn’t even denied it when Jerad had brought it up a second time.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, alright?”

Jerad hardly remembered anything when he was plastered. There was a good chance he’d forgotten about the whole interaction from the night before. But there was always a slim chance that he hadn’t. Virgil didn’t like taking that chance.

Okay, he skipped town. That was his story. But why did he skip town? What had made him come crawling back? Think Virgil, think!

His doorknob rattled as an outside force tried turning it open. Jerad. Virgil sat frozen for the few seconds it continued to jingle. He was relieved he’d had the foresight to lock it in the first place. Virgil knew that his thin wooden door was hardly any protection against him and Jerad, a former star high school football quarterback. It was really only a matter of time until Jerad broke through and beat him to a pulp.

Except that didn’t happen. Jerad would never beat him to a pulp—or he’d at least never done it before. There could always be a first time. That didn’t change the fact that Jerad had physically hurt him before. It was only a bruise, here and there.

Drunk Jerad forgot about his own strength sometimes. Sometimes a friendly slap on the back wasn’t so friendly. Still, Virgil had worse. He still had scars left over from high school bullies and the few bad foster parents he’d endured. He never had any lasting marks from Jerad. Only bruises that faded into oblivion.

“Hey Virgin, you awake?” Jerad asked through the door.

Virgil exhaled sharply at the nickname. Jerad wasn’t the first one in his life to call him that. The high school bullies had really jumped on that one. His name Virgil sounded similar to Virgin—hilarious. Truly, comedy gold.

He’d asked Jerad once to not to call him by that. The other had laughed.

“Oh, don’t be such a pussy!” Jerad said, taking a swig of his beer, “It’s true isn’t it?”

“Well yes—”

“Then I don’t see the problem with me stating facts,” Jerad shrugged his shoulders, “Tell you what? I’ll stop calling you that once you find a hot chick to hook up with.”

That interaction with Jerad left a bad taste in his mouth. It was true—Jerad and the others were just stating a fact. Virgil was a virgin. He wasn’t ashamed of it. But he hated how they said it—like it was synonymous with loser. Worse, he was somehow lesser for it.

There wasn’t anything wrong with being a virgin, was there? Or being repulsed by the idea of sex. There was a term for that. Asexuality. He had come across it on Tumblr. It’d been a relief to know he wasn’t the only one. He hadn’t told Jerad. There was no use when he already knew what his response would be.

He’d laugh and tell Virgil he’d change his mind. Or that he was just imagining he was that way. The last one was what Virgil feared most. What if he was just making it up?

Virgil shoved those thoughts away, taking a deep breath. Shit, how long had Jerad been waiting for an answer behind the door?

With a trembling hand, he reached for the door. He unlocked it before swinging it open. Jerad stood there, grinning. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

“Hi, Jerad,” Virgil said, attempting to keep his voice level.

“You’re really here…” Jerad’s grin grew wider, “I thought you coming back was a dream or something.”

“About that—”

“Oh boy you missed the wildest party ever—I’ll tell you over breakfast, my treat!”

He swung an arm over Virgil who allowed himself to be dragged outside his room, outside the apartment. He’d been too shocked to protest. He doubted he could wiggle out of Jared’s ironclad grip even if he wanted to. Was Jerad after last night really taking him out to eat? Apparently so, as the two walked through the doorway of a cute breakfast café.

Jerad rambled on the party, but Virgil could hardly focus on his words. He nodded at all the right parts, giving the façade he was listening. All he could hear was the thrum of his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

He moved his food around the plate, merely giving the impression he was eating. Virgil never had much of an appetite but he definitely didn’t have one at the moment. His plate was gigantic. Bigger than the typical American restaurant serving, which was already impossible to eat in one sitting. There was a stack of steaming buttermilk pancakes dripping with syrup. A bowl full of fresh fruit. Lastly, there was also a plate with sunny side up eggs, bacon and sausage. His stomach turned to knots just looking at it.

Virgil, not wanting to take advantage of Jerad’s generosity, had tried ordering the cheapest item on the menu. Jared laughed and told the waitress to disregard that. Virgil didn’t correct him when the waitress looked over at him for confirmation. He gave only a feeble nod, his gaze falling onto the checkered tiled floor.

“You’re my friend, Virgil. No need to go starving for my sake!” Jared laughed, giving him a light punch on the arm. It was just a friendly tap, he knew Jared didn’t mean anything by it. He still tensed up when he saw that hand coming towards him.

Virgil had chuckled weakly in response.

He hadn’t taken a single bite of his meal. He felt guilty—Jared had paid for it and he couldn’t even muster up the appetite. He was too busy thinking about how he was to break it to Jared he probably didn’t have a job anymore. Jared often let him pay his rent late—sometimes allowing Virgil to go without paying that month’s rent at all. But this was different. What if he couldn’t find a job? Would Jared throw him out on the streets?

“Hey Virgil, mind sharing a piece of your sausage with me?” Jared asked, jarring Virgil out of his thoughts.

Jared had gotten the same dish as Virgil. In fact, he still had some of his own sausage left. But it wasn’t like Virgil was going to be eating his anytime soon. Virgil nodded, sliding the plate closer to Jared. The other man dug into it, without saying a word of thanks to him.

“Y’know, you’ve been really quiet, V-Man,” Jared said, mouth half full of food, “What’s up with you? Are you constipated?”

“N—no, I just,” Virgil hesitated, “Why aren’t you angry? Weren’t you mad last night?”

Jared’s eyes darkened and immediately Virgil regretted his words.

“I was drunk, Virgin . You know I don’t mean anything when I’m drunk,” He scowled, “Sure I was worried. I thought maybe you pulled the same shit on me as Robby. But I wasn’t angry.”

“You weren’t?”

“Of course not, especially since you came back!” Jared’s eyes brightened once more.

Virgil bit his lips, “Jared, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Now, now none of that chicken shit!” Jared interrupted, clasping Virgil’s shoulder, “I gotta go to work soon, but whataya say that tonight you tell me where you’ve been? We can go hit up a few bars and get fucking wasted.”

“S—sure.”

“A—awesome!” Jared said, mocking Virgil’s stutter, before breaking into a fit of laughter.

Jared never accepted Virgil’s apology or really allowed him a chance to explain. It was probably best, considering Virgil himself didn’t know how. He did allow Virgil to stay at the apartment. He had even been the one to encourage Virgil to go back to Kirby’s to get his job back there.

“C’mon Virgey, man up! Give some sob story about your mother being in the hospital and the old hag will eat it up.”

Virgil clenched his teeth, “Yeah, Jerad, I’m sure that’d work great except my parents are dead .”

“Oh right,” Jerad said, having enough decency to look a bit remorseful, “Well, make something else up then!”

So sure, Jerad was a jerk that played loud music. He was also a jerk that shared his apartment with Virgil and occasionally did nice things like buy him breakfast. So he couldn’t be that bad of a guy, right? Or so he thought.

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

Virgil’s first mistake had been falling unconscious on the couch. It wasn’t even that comfortable, with its’ broken springs and sunken cushions that smelled like liquor. Even his lumpy mattress was a step up to the couch. Really, fifteen paces and he could collapse on his bed within the security of his room.

Fifteen paces, however, seemed impossible to an exhausted Virgil. He worked a full day running on only a few hours’ of sleep in the last 48 hours. It happened when you were an insomniac. Virgil scraped by with copious amounts of coffee. Caffeine always gave him a pounding headache, but it was better than being a literal zombie. He should’ve known all that caffeine would result in a crash.

Virgil shuffled inside his apartment, lasting a few steps in before his vision swarmed. He swayed, his body dipping downwards in a vertical dive. ‘ Oh, I’m falling ,’ He realized belatedly. His last thoughts hoping he made contact with the couch rather than the floor.

“Virgil!”

Someone called his name. He made a sluggish attempt to move his limbs, still fraught with fatigue. How long had he been asleep? It felt like forever. His subconscious threatened to drag him back into its depths. But alas, it was not to be.

Something shoved Virgil off the couch, causing him to collide with the cold hard floor. Virgil let out a groan. The sharp pain coursing through veins jerked him wide awake. A ravenous laughter roared above him. Jerad.

He must’ve shoved Virgil as a joke. That was all there was to it. Nothing to get worked up over. Still, Virgil was on the couch. Jerad’s couch. Jerad was going to yell at him for hogging the couch when he had a perfectly good bed to sleep on--

Virgil’s breath hitched.

This should’ve been where he stammered an apology to Jerad before fleeing to his bedroom. Like he’d done plenty of times before. Except in the midst of Jerad’s laughter, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Without thinking, he pulled it out. That had been his second mistake.

Because it was a text from Patton. The werewolf sent him an outdated meme. Like one might find from a cringey Facebook meme-page frequented by soccer moms and elderly people. But it was from Patton and Virgil couldn’t help the smile that curled across his face.

“Aww Virgie, who you texting? Did you finally get laid?”

A hand snatched the phone away from his grasp.

“Hey give it back!” Virgil lunged toward Jerad, but the former football quarterback easily sidestepped him. This caused Virgil to crash hard into the coffee-table. Virgil stifled a curse as he rose up.

“What? Afraid I’ll see some embarrassing sexts?” Jerad rolled his eyes, his thumb flicking across the cracked screen. His smile dissipated as he scrolled further and further into the text conversation.

“Virgil, what the hell is this?”

Oh no . There wasn’t any reference to Pat being a werewolf was there? Aside from memes, there wasn’t much on there as far as he could recall.

“It’s a text conversation with my friend Patton.” Virgil swallowing, trying to push down the fear that threatened to engulf him.

“Steven Universe? This guy watches little kid shows? Are you friends with a five-year-old?! C’mon this is paaaathetic .”

“Jerad, please give me my phone back.” Virgil begged, reaching for the phone but Jerad held it high above his head.

“Nah, this shit is hilarious. I can’t believe this guy really thinks he’s your friend!”

“Thinks? Jerad, he is my friend.”

But his roommate just laughed as if Virgil told a joke.

“Psh, yeah right. You’re telling me you’re friends with a guy that thinks puns are funny?” Jerad rolled his eyes, “Like this one, ‘don’t go bacon my heart’?”

“Jerad, give it back!” Virgil growled, his eyes shiny with righteous fury. It was one thing when Jerad teased him. It was another thing entirely for him to attack Patton. It didn’t matter the werewolf wasn’t there to hear it. It also didn’t matter he’d have no idea unless Virgil told him. Virgil’s vision still went red.

He hopped on top of the coffee-table, using the added height to make a better grab for the phone. Jerad leapt out of the way, finding the attempt amusing. They began a chase around the cramped apartment, no doubt causing a ruckus for their neighbors to hear. Jerad continued reading the texts in a mocking, shrill voice. It only drove Virgil angrier, making his reaches more frantic.

They had ended up on their apartment balcony when Jerad suddenly halted. Virgil almost ran into him, stopping just in the nick of time. All signs of teasing had left Jerad’s face. It was blank and it was honestly starting to frighten Virgil how he kept scrolling up the text conversation with a blank look on his face.

“Um,” Virgil began nervously, “Jerad, dude, you okay?”

“Are you planning on fucking leaving me without warning, like Robbie?” Jerad demanded.

Virgil took a step back, “What? No!”

“Then what are these texts?” Jerad demanded, before reading them out in a disgusted tone.

Hi Virgil! I noticed some new apartments going up a couple blocks away from the library. They look super cute! It’d only take you five minutes to walk to work!

I heard there was a shooting near your apartment last night, u ok?

Your landlord should really take care of that, it’s a safety hazard!

Wow, I’m sorry to hear that. Your roommate should be more considerate and not play his music so loudly.

Shit . Shit, shit, shit. He’d forgotten about those texts. Patton was unusually concerned about Virgil’s safety. Or at least, Virgil wasn’t used to other people caring for him in that capacity before. He’d been trying to encourage Virgil to find a better living situation for weeks now. Which was great, except Virgil couldn’t do it for a multitude of reasons.

Finding a new apartment would most likely involve finding a new roommate. As Virgil sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to afford an apartment by himself. He couldn’t move in with Remy because the vamp lived on campus. The werewolves’ house was also a no-go because Roman. And besides Jerad would be so upset after everything he’d done for Virgil.

Of course Jerad would come across those texts. Virgil was certain he must’ve broken a mirror or something to deserve this amount of bad luck.

“Dude, I swear it isn’t like that,” Virgil protested, “Patton, he’s just been concerned that--”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit! Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?”

“W-what?”

“He’s manipulating you--duping you into thinking I’m the bad guy when I’ve been the one helping you longer than he has! I’ve let you skip rent a few times, let you use my couch, my TV and you’re really gonna listen to him? What has he or anyone else have done for you?”

“It isn’t--isn’t like that! Patton, he--he offers good advice, he’s just looking out for me! So is Remy. He helped me get a new job--”

“A new job?” Jerad asked, “why didn’t you tell me you had a new job?!”

Virgil just stared at him, stomach sinking. He told Jerad this weeks ago. It’d taken a lot to tell him, and Jerad, he hadn’t--he didn’t retain any of it?!

“Why do you care so much?” Virgil snapped, taking a step forward, “I’m still paying rent regardless of where I work or who I hang out with.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you, that’s all! Don’t you think it’s a little sketch that after you got a little new job, Virgin--”

“My name is VIRGIL,” He snarled, “and if you’re keep acting like a jerk about this, maybe I should just move out!”

Virgil wanted to rip Jerad into shreds and not just with words. Oh no, words weren’t enough. His fists itched for violence, to be red from his roommate’s blood. It scared him how close he was to murdering the 6’4 former quarterback. ‘He deserves it, ’ A little dark voice in his head whispered, ‘He belittled your friends.’

Worse yet, he shouldn’t have said those last words to Jerad. It’d been his third mistake.

He knew it by the way Jerad clenched his teeth, his eyes trailing towards the edge of the balcony. Jerad glanced back at Virgil’s phone and then back at the streets below. He took a step towards the balcony railing.

“No!” Virgil screeched, rushing forward. He snatched his phone away from Jerad right then and there. For a triumphant moment, he held most prized possession in his grasp once more. Then a hand clamped down on him, onto his wrist and he yelped in pain. Jerad. He tugged uselessly to free the grip with his other hand. It was no use. Jerad was so strong, and oh my god he was going to kill him, wasn’t he?

“Jerad, please!” He called out, but his roommate remained resolute in his fury.

He squeezed Virgil’s wrist tighter, attempting to force him to drop his phone. But Virgil refused to let it go, even as tears pricked his vision. It only angered Jerad further. He threw Virgil against the balcony railing. Virgil cried out as Jerad practically dangled him over it, towards the cement sidewalk a hundred feet below.

For one terrifying moment, Virgil thought he’d be sent airborne, flying rapidly downwards to meet a grisly death. It’d be so easy for Jerad to do that. He could get off scot-free, claim Virgil’s death was a suicide. The police would believe him. After all, Virgil was such a nobody that no one would care to look further into it.

With those thoughts swishing around in his brain, he let go of his phone. He watched it fall. Down, down, down until it made brutal impact with the ground like a rocket failing to launch. Jerad released his hold on Virgil. He fell, stomach plummeting as his arms waved wildly in the air. He swore he was falling to his death. Instead his back made impact with the floor of the apartment balcony.

Virgil didn’t stay there. He jumped up at once without sparing a second glance to Jerad. Heart in his throat, he fled the apartment. He ran out of the apartment building, his legs feeling like a pair of unstable Jenga towers; ready to topple at any moment. He kept on running though. He ran until he arrived at the smattered remains of his phone. He collapsed to the ground, hands reaching forward. As he gathered the pieces into his hands, a pathetic wail escaped his lips.

Everything became one dizzying, gigantic blur after that. Virgil placed the broken phone pieces into his jeans pocket. He remembered that. He must’ve stood at one point, cradling his injured wrist with his other hand. He didn’t know when he started running. It just happened. He ran off, heading to a destination he himself wasn’t sure of.

Each breath felt like a struggle, his lungs straining to take in oxygen. The world looked like he stepped into a watercolor painting. Except it was a ruined painting, all the colors running together to create an ugly blobby mess of something meant to be beautiful.

One thought echoed in his mind on repeat. He pushed to keep moving forward, to get as far away from Jerad as possible. He had to put distance between him and Jerad, because what if the ruined phone hadn’t quelled Jerad’s anger? What if he ran after Virgil and beat him to a pulp until he felt sated?

He knew he shouldn’t fear such things. Jerad was a jerk, but he wasn’t that bad. Even he wouldn’t dare resort to murder...right?

However in the midst of the moment, all of Virgil’s fears sounded like believable, feasible things. Even if Jerad didn’t chase after him, there was no way he could return to the apartment tonight, if ever. Even just to collect his meager belongings. Oh god, he left not only his wallet but his hoodie behind in his panic. The hoodie was the last thing his parents had given him--the last thing he had of them.

He choked, almost running smack into a brick wall. He regained his balance halfway, stopping mere inches away. Why had he gotten so angry? Stupid, stupid. He shouldn’t have done that. It was his fault. Virgil could control his temper, whereas Jerad couldn’t help it. Now his phone was broken and he had nowhere to stay for the night. He had no money, no way of contacting the others.

He was going to end up sleeping in an alleyway. A cold, damp alleyway where muggers lurked and he was going to die. He couldn’t count on Patton popping up to save him a second time. He was so weak, so feeble and idiotic, maybe he deserved to die that way. Somewhere in the midst of these erupting volcanic thoughts, he ended up slouched against the brick wall.

Breathe. He needed to breath! But the air around him felt like sulfur poisoning his lungs. Black dots invaded his vision, his head feeling increasingly fuzzy. He was going to pass out. No, he couldn’t allow himself to do that.

He forced himself off the ground, fighting gravity to remain upright. He ran forward in blind panic. It didn’t matter what direction he went, all that mattered was that he kept moving forward. In his state, he could’ve easily ran into the street and got hit by a car. He did indeed run into something. Thankfully it was not a car. Still, the collision sent him reeling backwards, falling towards the cold, unforgiving concrete.

“Holy shit!” Someone cried out, their hand catching his bruised wrist last second to stop his plummet. Virgil hissed at once from the pain the touch brought.

“St-stay back!” Virgil said, stumbling back until he hit the brick wall of a building. Tears obscured his vision, turning the person into a distorted, twisted shadow being.

“Virgil, whoa hey. It’s me, it’s okay.” The stranger insisted, drawing closer. Virgil shook his head, taking up a defensive, curled fetal position. Jerad. It had to be. Virgil wasted too much time lingering in one spot and he paid the price.

“I’m sorry--I--I sorry, I shou-shou-shouldn’t--” He trembled, waiting for a blow that never came. Instead, they fell down beside him, giving him some space.

“Shhh, deep breaths,” They instructed, “One breath in at a time, okay? Can you do that?”

He tried, failing miserably, “N-no--I can’t--sorry--”

“Hey, hey, hey,” The person hushed, “no more of that. You don't need to apologize. You’re okay, okay?”

“But--but I can’t--” Virgil stuttered, sobs scraping against his throat like jagged pieces of broken glass. No scratch that. It felt like the broken, sharp pieces of what once was his cellphone.

“Shit--hey, I’m gonna just--is this okay?”

An arm slung around his shoulder and Virgil tensed. He was waiting, expecting it to wrap around his throat to choke him to death. But it wasn’t a forceful, bullish grip like he expected. No, it was a light, tentative weight--loose enough for Virgil to escape if he needed to. Virgil sniffled, finally risking a look up. Knitted eyebrows behind dark shades met his gaze.

“Remy?” He whispered.

“Hey there, Virgil,” He smirked thinly, “it’s me, ya boi.”

Virgil kept staring with his mouth agape. It was Remy, it was really Remy and not...him. No way this was real. No way he actually ran into Remy in such a sprawling, densely populated city. Maybe he blacked out, Virgil thought as he started laughing. It was all too much. The pieces of his broken phone digging into his thigh, Jared, his accelerated heartbeat that threatened to send him to cardiac arrest. Everything. And now Remy? Remy is here? It was too much.

“Um, Virgil?” Remy frowned, “You still with me?”

Virgil didn’t respond, still wheezing with laughter. He wanted to sob. He wanted to scream. He wanted to keep on running without ever stopping. He didn’t do any of those things. He just sat there as he laughed, gasping for breath. It sounded weird to him; too high-pitched.

Was Virgil sure he was laughing? Maybe it was Remy. Maybe he decided Virgil no longer worth his time. He was pathetic, an anxiety-riddled loser who was going to die alone and forgotten. He didn’t deserve the kindness Remy offered him, he hadn’t done enough to pay it back.

A voice tried talking over the choked laughter. Their words came out stilted and hesitant. It couldn’t be Remy speaking. The vampire was too confident, self-assured in ways Virgil could never be. Virgil’s lungs burned, he noted distantly. They felt like a tiny microscopic arsonist climbed inside of them and set them on fire. Would microscopic firemen come to put it out?

He knew he had better things to worry about. LIke the possibility that he was in a coma and everything leading to this moment wasn’t real. Remy wasn’t a vampire, just a normal, human work acquaintance. Patton hadn’t saved him from the mugger. In fact, he was probably just a fabrication of Virgil’s mind. So were Roman and Logan. Yup, that had to be it. The mugger had actually shot him and Virgil was in a coma. He was lying unconscious in a hospital bed racking up hospital bills. God, maybe he should just stay unconscious. Have them pull the plug to his miserable existence.

But he didn’t really think hard about these things. Not when he was too busy thinking about microscopic cells wearing fireman hats.

Virgil’s vision went black. For a moment he thought he died, or at the very least went unconscious. It took his exhausted, panicked brain a hot second to realize he was squished against Remy’s black leather jacket.

The vampire had wrapped his other arm around Virgil, embracing in a full-on hug now. It should feel threatening, suffocating even for Virgil. But it was Remy , his heart cried out. Remy who liked the same music as Virgil. Remy who brought him Starbucks. Remy who encouraged Virgil to venture out of his comfort zones.

Even now, he held Virgil in a loose, relaxed grip. As if his aim wasn’t to restrain or throttle Virgil but to comfort.

Virgil didn’t trust like that. He took a deep breath--or well, he tried. It spluttered into a coughing fit. He mustered on with his plan. He pushed away, scrambling backwards from Remy. It hurt more than it should have to do it. He felt all warmth leave his body at once. Remy didn’t fight it. He didn’t pull Virgil back, yanking him back into the embrace. He let him go, simply watching him. Remy’s shades pushed up against his messy bangs, no longer covering his red eyes. Virgil squinted up at him. Huh. Had Remy’s eyes always been red? Virgil had never noticed before.

“Virgil--”

Remy didn’t finish. Because by the time he opened his mouth, Virgil already dove back into the vampire’s arms. He pressed his face into Remy’s chest, his whole body trembling as a low, strained whine emanated from him.

Remy, for his part, just hugged him back. No words, just tactile comfort. It was exactly what Virgil needed. His adrenaline fell away from him, like bathwater rapidly disappearing down the drain. His rapid, frenetic thoughts halted to a slow, sluggish trickle. His limbs grew heavy, his grip on Remy’s black leather jacket slackening. He was going to lose consciousness soon, he drowsily realized. Weirdly enough, he wasn’t as afraid of that happening as before.

Remy whispered a question and Virgil nodded. He didn’t know exactly what Remy asked. It had something to do about if Virgil thought it was okay to do something. It didn’t matter what that was.

The words could’ve been anything and Virgil would’ve responded the same way. Because Remy was safe, he was good and most importantly, he wasn’t going to hurt Virgil. Not yet, anyways. With that reassurance, Virgil finally let go of his remaining frays of consciousness.

#thomas sanders #sander sides #virgil sanders #remy sanders #kat writes #werewolf au #gaslighting tw #physical abuse tw #panic attack tw

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pcttrailsidereader · 4 years

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The Scariest Encounters Women Have on the Trail are with Men

One of the more chilling episodes in Wild was when Cheryl Strayed encountered two hunters in Central Oregon, one of whom made her rightfully uncomfortable . . . “She’s got a really nice figure, don’t she?” the sandy-haired man said. “Healthy, with some soft curves. Just the kind I like.” And it got worse. In the end, she was able to extricate herself but not without considerable anxiety.

Natasha Carver in “Walking Down a Dream” from The Pacific Crest Trailside Reader: California shares a story of camping near a road. A car stops late at night. Natasha and her hiking partner feel very exposed and very vulnerable. Indeed, the scariest encounters women have on the trail are with men.

This article, taken from the Daily Beast, focuses on the AT . . . but, in general, the issues are . . . sadly . . . the same.

By Melanie Hamlett, the Daily Beast

As a 30-year-old nurse who works with terminally ill patients, Julia (who prefers to remain anonymous) asked herself one day what she would be proud of doing if she too were given a diagnosis of only six months to live. Shortly after, she left Pittsburgh to start hiking the 2,190-mile Appalachian Trail—a highly coveted peacock feather in the cap of outdoor adventurers. But this epic odyssey from Georgia to Maine proved to be far more challenging for Julia and over a dozen women interviewed for this piece because of one factor.

Their being female.

It’s no surprise women experience annoyances like casual or even outright sexism in the outdoor adventure world, but on the Appalachian Trail some are facing more traumatizing problems like stalking, sexual harassment, and even assault. Last May, the unthinkable happened—a brutal murder.

People had been warning local officials for six weeks about James Jordan, a violent “fight angel” who is currently being tried for murder in Virginia. In April numerous hikers reported disturbing behavior, including being verbally assaulted by Jordan and even threatened with a machete. He was later arrested on multiple charges, including possession of weed, and was ordered to stay off the trail. In May he returned anyway and allegedly threatened to pour gasoline on four campers and burn them alive in their tents.

He later chased two of them down the trail before finally giving up. When he returned, he allegedly stabbed Richard S. Sanchez Jr. to death, then chased Sanchez’s female hiking partner down the trail and stabbed her. She only survived because she played dead, then ran down the trail for help once he left. Jordan was found and taken into custody early the next morning. This tragedy became a traumatizing reminder that even in a majestic wilderness sanctuary like the Appalachian Trail, America is a violent, scary country, especially for women.

As a frequent solo traveler and former professional wilderness guide, I’m a huge advocate of women exploring the world, especially alone. It’s empowering as hell. I’ve never let fear (or too many episodes of Law and Order SVU) deter me from solo adventures. The point of telling the following stories isn’t to scare anyone off the trail but rather to educate women on how to protect themselves and to ask should-be male allies to stop turning a blind eye. Until the outdoor industry, which prides itself on being quite woke-ish, is ready for its own #MeToo reckoning, women won’t feel safe.

“Women have no way of knowing who will be the next James Jordan versus who’s just an awkward dude or entitled asshole.”

The Appalachian Trail is a microcosm of American culture but with far higher stakes. Statistically, women are way safer on the trail than on college campuses or in even their own homes. There’s only one rape reported (....reported) every few years on the trail and the chance of getting murdered there is 1,000 times less than in America as a whole. And yet, the absence of deadbolts to lock oneself behind or of multiple witnesses around to deter violent men from attacking us means the occasional trail creeper can be a million times scarier and more dangerous. The only thing protecting a woman alone in a tent from that sketchy stranger she previously encountered on the trail or the seemingly cool one she’s been hiking with for weeks is a thin piece of nylon. “I physically ran into a bear,” says Julia, “and I’d take that over running into a crazy drunk dude any day.”

Despite having overwhelmingly great experiences with trail men, all of the women I spoke with encountered men, especially older white ones, who either made sexist, condescending comments or made them feel unsafe. “I even got ‘smile more,’” Julia says. “It’s exhausting.”

Surprisingly, even woke-ish/feminist-type men creeped many of these women out. Julia said one of her first hiking partners, who seemed progressive, asked to rub her legs. Later, another one repeatedly hit on her and made her feel unsafe. The other guys in her group eventually sided with her and ditched him, but only after she showed enough evidence, like his unnerving texts. The men just didn’t see it, she says. “I’m thinking, how the fuck do you not see this guy is a creep?” Later, while hiking alone, a random guy aggressively probed her about where she was going and who she was with, then found her 200 miles down the trail and threatened to come into the women’s tents while they slept.

Hilary York, a 30-year-old piano technician from Denver, felt a bit gaslit by should-be allies. There were only three men who made her really uncomfortable during her 2,190 mile trek, two of them sketchy enough to scare even the men away. But the third was “your standard hippie type” who undressed her with his eyes and was clearly looking to hook up. When she told her guy friends he made her uncomfortable, they thought she was being dramatic and overly sensitive. Her female friends, on the contrary, unanimously agreed he was creepy. “I think the most frustrating thing is having your intuition downplayed,” says York. Which is why she turned to Facebook.

Most people go into the woods hoping to escape the traps of modern life, especially social media, yet women on the trail don’t always have that luxury. York says an Appalachian Trail group for women on Facebook has become a priceless space that helps women feel as comfortable, safe, and empowered as possible. The moderators are careful not to allow any man-bashing or vague accusations.

As a woman who’s worked almost exclusively in male-dominated industries, namely the outdoors, comedy, and film, I too have relied on whisper networks to feel safe, which is what this women’s FB group does. York says this group was quite critical in getting important information out about James Jordan when rangers couldn't. Oddly enough, the FBI is in charge of crimes committed on the AT because it’s administered by the National Park Service. Some hikershave criticized the FBI for failing to warn or protect everyone from a man they knew was dangerous.

There are a lot of men out there scaring the shit out of women in other ways, which is why we need men to be more thoughtful, pay attention, and be better allies. The stakes are too high in the woods. Women have no way of knowing who will be the next James Jordan versus who’s just an awkward dude or entitled asshole and relatively harmless. Women have to assume the worst.

Since York hiked with a man and has a solid poker face, she felt lucky compared to the “kinder-faced, solo female hikes.” Kristin Forster, a 28-year-old pastry chef living in Hamburg, Germany, had previous experiences with a stalker on the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail), so she knew how to handle sketchy dudes—be nice and calm but don’t answer their questions. But stranger danger wasn’t her problem in the end.

“Other hikers along the way also promised to back Cowan up and help her. But when it came to actually doing anything, none stepped up.”

For eight weeks Forster hiked with a trail partner who seemed chill and supportive. Being on the trail, she says, means you get closer to people faster, especially during extreme weather situations. Like me and my coworkers when I guided on the trail, Forster and her hiking partner would have to snuggle to warm up on brutally cold, rainy days. During one of these times, she felt his dick in her back. “That’s when it got weird.” She doesn’t blame him for getting a boner at all. But when she casually reminded him that she had a boyfriend back home, he flipped a switch and started mocking her and being super mean. She eventually left him because he made the trail so intolerable for her.

Beth, a 39-year-old consultant who’d rather remain anonymous to protect her safety, hiked with a seemingly cool guy for 10 days before he started to attach himself to her “like glue,” hovering over her constantly, even when she needed alone time. She tried to hike ahead several times, but he’d always catch up. After Beth reminded him she was in a committed relationship with a guy back home, he started making comments on her appearance and how attractive she was.

One day he walked up on her changing clothes in one of the shelters, despite her warning him, saw her full frontal naked, then got defensive that she was upset. “I was completely humiliated yet I convinced myself it wasn’t a big deal,” she says. She eventually decided to ditch him for good. Afraid of his reaction to feeling rejected, Beth waited until they were at a hostel in town with the safety of people around to break the news. “His face literally blackened.”

She felt safe once the trail logs were showing him 2-3 days ahead of her. Then she ran into him. He admitted he’d seen her name registered at a hostel and had taken a “zero” day (zero miles) to wait for her. Panicked, she ran after another guy hiking by, told him she was being stalked, and asked if he’d let her hike with him for a bit. Her stalker passed them shortly thereafter and was never seen again. Beth and her new hiking partner, who became a dear friend, hiked all the way to Maine together.

“As women we are programmed to be nice and polite,” she says, “and I actually found it harder to advocate for myself because I had gotten to know this guy.” Other men have since tried to attach themselves to her on long-distance hikes, but she’s learned how to protect herself sooner. “A lot of men on the trail are desperately lonely and will prey on women who come across as sweet and compliant,” she says. Especially if you don’t set firm boundaries out of the gate.

Jessica Cowan, a 38-year-old freelancer from Ohio, set out on the AT alone, assuming she’d find a “tramily” (trail family) like everyone talks about. But she never quite fell in with a group hiking her pace. When she met her stalker, who we’ll call Doc, he seemed charming, generous, and cool. Although she made it clear she had a boyfriend and wasn’t looking for a trail fling or a relationship change, he eventually started to express interest and asked about her relationship. “I found his behaviors really, really creepy, but when I talk about it, nothing I say sounds incredibly creepy,” she says. “I don’t know if it's an overreaction on my part… or if I’m gaslighting myself.” She was even hesitant to use the word stalking when telling this horrific story.

When crashing in shelters, he’d try to scoot his mat next to hers to sleep, wouldn’t avert his eyes when she announced she was changing, and even got caught staring at her when she was using a privy one day. After seeing Doc go on some hostile rants over the smallest things, she knew he was truly unstable. It was another woman briefly hiking with them, a psychologist, who helped her realize he was obsessed with her and that she needed to get a lot of miles ahead of him.

After that, Cowan tried everything to keep distance from Doc. She “slack-packed” (paying someone to drive her gear up the road), pushed her body to the limit, day after day, and even bought a new tent with wildly different colors to camouflage herself. Whenever she thought she was far enough ahead of him, another hiker would say he was nearby. Doc eventually caught up to her at a hostel after paying someone to drive him up the road.

Cowan finally filed a police report so they’d at least have him on their radar. Hostel workers promised her not to welcome him, but in the end, only one kept his word. The rest gave him the benefit of the doubt. Cowan thinks it was just easier to take his money. Other hikers along the way also promised to back Cowan up and help her. But when it came to actually doing anything, none stepped up. Despite her having mostly pleasant encounters with men on the trail, their blind-eye approach was disappointing. “I think a lot of men are guilty of taking that path of least resistance.”

Cowan did keep her boyfriend, Cowboy Knueve, apprised of the situation the whole time. “You have no idea how much sleep I lost,” he says. “I was sitting home worrying about her and this asshat.” Right after Cowboy dropped her off at the beginning of her hike, James Jordan murdered one hiker and wounded another on the trail in Virginia. “I knew how important this whole thing was for her,” he says. “It just pissed me off that he ruined her trip.” Even though Cowan told him she had it handled, Knueve finally drove 700 miles to make sure.

Knueve stayed with Cowan at night and ran shuttles for fellow hikers during the day while she hiked. He says he met at least a half a dozen women who’d done a lot of night hiking and “busted their ass” to get away from this same guy. Cowan and Kneuve tried to warn everyone about Doc.

One day they actually saw him at a campsite, so Knueve decided to confront him. Having googled the guy, he knew he was a multiple felon and had been charged for unlawful imprisonment of a woman. “I wanted to spray the man and kick him until he’s tired…. but I didn’t want to go to jail.” Instead he told Doc he knew he was stalking women and harshly warned him to stay away.

“If anyone fucks with me on the trail this year, I’m gonna punch you in the fucking face and carry the fuck on.”

Before leaving to go home, Kneuve drove Cowan 200 miles up the road to give her a safe distance from Doc. Shortly after, though, they picked up another hitchhiker and she was running away from Doc. That’s when Cowan realized this just wasn’t fun anymore. “I should only have to worry about where I’m getting water and where I’m gonna sleep,” she says. “Not if he’s gonna turn up.” She made it a few hundred miles farther, but finally gave up. Instead of enjoying any hard-earned sense of accomplishment or pride for hiking one thousand miles, Cowan couldn't feel excited about her milestones. It all seemed pointless. “I felt like I was running for my life every day.”

“I encountered a lot of promises of support that didn’t really hold up. Except for my boyfriend, I didn’t see anyone else confronting him or calling him on his bullshit. I think they all just wanted to stay away,” she says. “Especially after the murder.” She’s still amazed that one man could affect hundreds of miles of hiking for so many people. More than anything, Cowan hopes this story will lead to men stepping up. Or at the very least, believing women.

Having solo hiked the Appalachian Trail before, Missy Barger went into her 2019 hike already prepared to play by different rules than men have to. “We have to be hyper aware, but also not jump to any conclusions,” says the 49-year-old photographer from Boston. She watches men closely but plays it cool, never giving them hugs or smiling too much. “And men?” she laughs “Well, they... just get to hike!” Being older, more experienced on the AT and more confident than a lot of her twentysomething female peers, she knows she’s regarded as “one tough motherfucker.” That usually “keeps guys off” her. And yet, despite all this, even Barger ended up with a stalker.

She’d been camping right down the road when the murder happened, so she was even more careful this year. “An odd person doesn’t strike me as different. We’re all odd… cuz we’re out here,” Barger says. But when a guy, who we’ll call Bear, started going on aggressive political rants and undressing in front of her, she knew it was time to bounce. The next day he popped up on her path and wouldn’t let her through. When he appeared a third time and started to verbally assault her, she and her “tramily” hiked four hours in the middle of the night in the pouring rain to get away. They later reported him to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC).

In the end, Barger had to skip the whole state of New Jersey and half of New York to get away from Bear, but she went back and completed that section later. This detour and return trip cost her nearly $600. Whether it’s the actual price of shuttles, extra nights in hostels, a new tent to camouflage yourself or the emotional burden of fearing for your life, the “female tax” is a hefty one, even in the woods.

Luckily, Barger found great male allies, like Eric Bellavance. This 51-year-old heavy equipment mechanic from Boston and trail vet waited to pursue a romantic relationship with Barger until after they completed the trail. One way he believes men can be supportive of women is to use more self-restraint than they might back home. “You want to be extra aware of being creepy. It’s that simple,” he says. “If they’re whipping off their clothes, just turn away and start doing stuff,” he says. Give them their privacy and space when they need it, keep your distance, and don’t touch them, he says. While Bellavance thinks most thru-hikers, by a certain point, become acclimated on how to interact with women and not freak them out, there are still those who do whatever they want because “it’s kinda lawless” on the trail. “They’re out here because society won’t tolerate their behavior back home,” he says. “We’re all out here because we don’t fit in society.” But this lack of social codes and rules is exactly why women need men to be more careful and step up.

Bellavance says some day-hikers and locals will hang out on the trail and wait for solo women to pass by, just to prey on them. Warning others or reporting them to authorities is one thing men can do. Sometimes he says hikers have to take trail justice into their own hands, though. Last year a section-hiker touched a woman in her sleep at one of the backpacker hostels, so Bellavance and his friend tracked him down and threatened to kick his ass if he did it again. When another male hiker exposed himself to a woman on the trail, Bellavance welcomed her to hike with them.

“We are asking men in the outdoor industry to listen, believe us, step up, and use your privilege to call out other men.”

“I look at it this way—it’s already hard enough, women don’t need any shit from men.” Bellavance lets spooked women latch onto him when they need to since women are way less likely to be approached by a guy when they’re already with one. He never asks women for their phone numbers, real names (most go by a trail name), or social media handles because he knows men are harassing and stalking women online too. When Barger hikes solo, a lot of men ask to be snapchat friends. “Fuck, I just want to hike,” she says. “I have to have extra guardrails up when I post on social media.”

In general, Barger has run out of patience for men’s bullshit. “If anyone fucks with me on the trail this year, I’m gonna punch you in the fucking face and carry the fuck on.” She refuses to be scared off by men and encourages other women not to be either. To help protect current and future female hikers, Barger is very active on FB groups.

Unfortunately, those groups aren’t always safe either.

Shilletha Curtis, a writer from Newark, New Jersey, plans to hike the entire Appalachian in 2021. As a Black woman and a lesbian, though, she’s not sure who will have her back out there, as she’s already faced harassment on her trail day hikes. In a co-ed AT Facebook group, white men have already been harassing her about her recent publication, some posting “Hikers Lives Matter.” The male FB administrators have accused her of race baiting when she talks about racism on the trail. “We need to make these groups a safe space for everyone, not just white members, as Black people do hike.” Latrina Graham’s powerful essay about being a Black woman just trying to hike goes even deeper into this huge problem.

Until white hikers, particularly white men, do more to make the trail safer for everyone, what do the rest of us do? Not hiking isn’t an option, nor should it be. Most women I spoke with agreed that the best way to stay safe is to trust your intuition and to avoid gaslighting yourself or being too “nice.” Always sign guest books as two people or use a male/ambiguous name, invent a “dude backstory” about a “friend” that’s nearby, and never post photos at recognizable spots on social media. Obviously it’s #notallATmen making women’s lives hard... but it only takes one.

We are asking men in the outdoor industry to listen, believe us, step up, and use your privilege to call out other men. That’s what will help us feel safe. We are tired. We need your help.

Because we belong here, too.

#male predators #females on the trail #safety

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severalspoons · 4 years

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Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 19

I like this episode even though the villains here are a real letdown after the Gung Ho Guns. I’m sure none of you are surprised.

Poor Meryl is still having nightmares about the hole in the fifth moon. It’s affecting her performance at work.

Of course Meryl’s obnoxious coworker’s name is Karen.

There’s a very 1990s contrast between our smart, brave, somewhat androgynous looking heroine and this Barbie-doll-pretty, makeup and high-heels wearing, and of course much taller lady. “That attitude gets all the dangerous jobs...there’s no way you’ll ever achieve womanly happiness.” Just pretend to be incompetent and then you’ll get a man and be happy ever after. ::retches into the closest receptacle::

“How did it make you feel?” ...Really?

Millie sounds so excited about being punished by cleaning the window. I’m telling you, she’s a literal ray of sunshine.

Late 20 times in a row? Millie must have the worst case of ADHD and no way of waking herself up in the morning. Someone get that girl an alarm clock.

Meryl, your fake anger is even less convincing than usual.

Karen: “It’s no use...there’s just some girls who’d risk their lives.” What’s it to her? Does she actually want to “help” Meryl, or just act superior?

Wolfwood is awful at desert travel. Vash was either brave or suicidal to journey with him. Wolfwood blames Vash, of course.

Okay, I can see why @badwolferosewrites thinks they’re fighting like siblings. If said siblings were on a synchronized swimming team or something. Great comic relief.

Vash says he wants to go to a different town than their ultimate destination. A town where trouble is about to be brewing. This is why I think Vash has the plant equivalent of a “spidey sense” for trouble. How? Headcanons welcome.

Meryl sounds almost proud of Vash and his reputation.

“That’s ridiculous! When I saw him, he was weeping and eating piles of donuts at the same time.” Classic line. Vash must have been miserable. Why was he eating his feelings this time?

The radio announcer sounds like Vash did when he was trying to run everyone out of town a few episodes back.

“It’s not like it’s anything new, this kind of thing happens all the time. Even the most peaceful folk take up arms all the time if someone happens to threaten or kill a family member.” Wolfwood describes Gunsmoke in a nutshell. Being only human, he just accepts it and moves on with life. Considering that this happens in every town, pretty much all the time, and Vash takes responsibility for all of it, how does he decide where to intervene, and how does he make peace with the fact he can’t be in multiple places at once? (Or does he?).

“I’ve always had my suspicions you were no mere mortal, but I never imagined you were actually...a cat.” XD And of course Vash runs off and leaves Wolfwood with the tab. Rude.

“Let’s enjoy the peace while it lasts.” Famous last words. Millie knows it. But even for dramatic irony, that was fast.

Vash is such a sweetheart that even the Grumpiest Old Man is glad to see him. <3

I love how everyone gathers around the site of the sandsteamer crash and hostage situation as if they couldn’t be pelted by stray bullets any time. As if it were just a show to them. Wonder how often they’ve observed scenes like this?

lol at Wolfwood still eating that pasta he couldn’t afford, and yes he 100% deserved that punch in the head.

Did Meryl just shoot Millie’s gun with her foot?! Badass. When/where/how did she learn how to do that? Now there’s a fic I would read.

I love this SpiderVash moment:

Vash certainly hasn’t skipped working out his back muscles. 0.o

I love how utterly blase Vash’s voice sounds while singing about an ocean of blood and genocide. It’s more intimidating than if he were screaming and growling about it.

...OK Wolfwood, you can eat that noodle now.

Nice rocket launcher, but don’t you think that’s overkill?

Best Wolfwood quote. Actually, one of the best quotes in the anime. I think he’s right. That said, this only supports Vash’s idea that we shouldn’t be the ones to decide who lives or dies.

You know Wolfwood’s troubled by the way he looks like he’s smoking, but the cigarette just dangles out of his mouth. We saw him do this in Episode 11 while deciding whether to go after Milly and the runaways.

“You people aren’t human!” That sounds like Steve... (Even on Earth, dehumanizing people like this is one of the most common ways we justify killing people, or locking them away permanently).

TBH, I don’t think Vash is very convincing. No moral or emotional arguments, just pleading. And letting himself be beaten up. I don’t get it, why does that work?

“You could never understand how I feel?” Wanna bet? In some sense, Vash feels responsible for everyone on Gunsmoke almost as if they were his children, and he watches them kill each other every day.

“The twelve idiots, myself included, were set free.” Ha.

“You’ve got to learn to take care of yourselves. Luck and persistence won’t last forever.” Then you’d be pleased to know how the insurance girls got themselves out of trouble this time. As for Vash, he additionally relies on cleverness, reflexes, using his reputation to manipulate people, and gunslinging skills.

...Um, Wolfwood, surely your mission isn’t over. Where are you going?

Aw, Meryl actually being nice to Vash for once. The ensuing conversation is pretty awkward, though. Not even a friendly greeting? Poor Meryl. There continues to be 0 visible chemistry between them.

#liveblog #liveblogging #trigun #trigun anime #meryl stryfe #milly thompson #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #vash has a spidey sense #kuroneko #gunsmoke #these characters have tells #vash eats his feelings #wolfwood freezes mid-cigarette #meryl is badass #badass meryl stryfe #meta

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neontigrr · 4 years

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damn rylan, back at it again with the loveable idiots — hello everyone & meet natalie, 29, devil’s disciple and sad sack of shit. she’s a recovering addict and an artist, part-time waitress at hale’s diner, part-time gardener at greer’s greenhouse, full time nerd and tiger enthusiast. find her info, facts & wanted connections below!! TW: DRUG ABUSE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, OVERDOSING.

BIO:

at ten she’s a spark begging to be ignited. a kid with a bright imagination, but her parents aren’t happy. school is hard for the girl who’ll spend hours covering textbooks in flowers — why should two plus two matter, she thinks, when i can make the paper bloom into whole gardens, full of creatures staring back at me, when i can create my own world? her parents have never been the kind to waste their days daydreaming. they look at their youngest daughter and think: where does she take it? all this carefree passion of hers, where does it come from? she lacks her father’s disposition for numbers, how clinically pristine they look when lined up one after the other, and how satisfying they feel when preceded by a plus sign on a bank invoice. she has none of her mother’s backbone, the way she carries herself as if pure, molten gold flew into her veins — staring everyone down, making herself taller. she seems to only have eyes for fleeting things, mundane passions: for her colors, for the music of a guitar, for the way the desert sand blows into her hair at sundown. come a couple years, all she has eyes of is the boy playing his guitar among the wrecks of a car parts graveyard — says his name is elvis and she knows that isn’t true, but in las vegas, somehow, you can make yourself be whoever you want to be. she smiles, and says her name is tiger instead: in another life, perhaps, she was fierce and with a bite.

at seventeen she’s golden spotlights on the vegas strip. atomic bomb waiting to explode, all summer glare and midnight rides into nowhere: it’s her and elvis in his daddy’s car and it feels like they could conquer the world, if they wanted. he sings to her, she dances for him, characters straight out of a ‘50s song, loaded with a naivety that tastes like the american dream. no time for overbearing parents, no attention paid in school: it’s just them, skin on skin, flowers blooming from her fingers in spray paint over abandoned buildings. this could last forever, she thinks, she begs, she prays: a life like this could last forever. (a life like this drains the best of her). elvis was born to be a king like his namesake, and he’s got dreams of fame and glory that don’t contemplate her presence. street artists never become rockstars, and she has time for nothing more than the creatures lunging out of her fingers, onto the paper. she’s skin and bones, ink and notes, like she could live off of music and drawings alone — and him, always him, a golden god, a forbidden hymn. the night he signs his first record deal she grabs her inks and her pens — draws a present on his skin, a crown for the king to be. and as she draws, she prays: that their dreams can be true, that this is not a happy chorus in a ballad, but a rock opera, a discography for the ages to come. she prays for him like a beggar at an altar: and maybe there’s magic in that crown she draws, there’s truth in the prayer she pours into it. he wins his dreams and leaves her behind: prayers always require sacrifices.

at twenty-two she’s broken lightbulbs under strangers’ feet. she’s shards of glass she could cut people with, but it’s herself she harms; see, elvis’ gone but there’s tons of friends in his place. there’s mary jane, addy, crystal, lucy and all her diamonds. vegas is a wonderland, a new high hidden ‘round every corner, and kind people willing to hand ‘em out like candy to an hazy, improvised alice — the drawings grow darker now, shadows with caved-in eyes and hollow chests. the colors don’t come the way they used to, and when they do they all look like a shade of nightmares — blood red, nausea green, despair blue. she looks for answers in his songs: on the radio, in her mind, she swears he still sings about her. has to follow him to the middle of the desert, to a festival where he stands on a stage and people swear he looks just like the real thing, the king himself. she doesn’t see him, though, but a hole where all her strength used to be, the us against the world turned into the open jaws of a ravenous monster: us against the world, and then the world collapses. wonderland turns to the land of nightmares, and the needle, it is her salvation — down the rabbit hole, she thinks, and someone must come out on the other side. either her, or the ghost of her. either her, or her evil turned to flesh. there is no white rabbit but a man — a good man, a honest man, with an inclination to fixing broken things. he helps her up to her fit, treats her alike his daughter and his sister, and when he begins asking her to help fix the remains of a broken bike, she begins to wonder whether he isn’t trying to fix her, too. sometimes he calls her tiger and she remembers when she fancied herself a wild and untamed thing, escaping cages, just following her instincts. under the heat of the south-west sun, she smiles. maybe all tigers were lost creatures at first.

at twenty-nine she’s neon gas begging to be lit up. there’s a tiger on her forearm, hides the scars of a previous life. there’s always ink under her fingernails, sometimes it seems it shines in the dark. charming has become her home: the devil’s disciples, her family. the bike she’d begun to fix with the man who helped her now bears the name of tempest, and she rides it out with the devils letting it add to the spirit in her heart — wild, untamed, free. her family becomes charming, becomes the devils, becomes rett, lani and rowan. she’s made herself a home in the sand: an old garage, turned inside out, now overflowing with flowers and colors, sparkling gems and drawings hanging at every corner — and a canary, otis, that sings her to sleep every night. she’s called it dustland, a sort of mythical place at the edge of charming, willing to welcome all the broken, all the wounded and the lost. but she loses herself too, now and then. at times she looks past the profiles of houses and buildings, and knows there’s a den of wolves in there, which hold the key to that rabbit hole she once lost herself in. at night, when the desert gets cold and her bones don’t feel anything like a tiger’s — she swears she can hear the wolves howl, beckoning. when she does, she turns to the ink to remind herself of how life was drained out of all shades, because of the needles in her arm. sometimes it’s enough to keep her breathing to the night. sometimes.

ABOUT:

• ‘heart over matter’, because she barely ever acts on anything other than pure instinct. • she lives in a refurnished garage on the edge of town, and she’s given it the name of ‘dustland’. it’s full of trinkets and good luck charms, colors and drawings hanging on every corner, flowers, healing gems and her bird, a pet canary named otis. it’s a big enough place to hide people who need to lie low for a while, people who need to get patched up or goods that need to be out of the radar of unwanted visitors. • the above mentioned ways the dustland has been used before are also some of the biggest ways in which nat contributes to the mc. she’s not much use in a fight, but is resourceful enough to always find ways to help and prove her belonging in the club, be it by smuggling goods, helping the wounded, whatever it’s required that doesn’t imply bloodshed. • when she isn’t working, you will find her drawing on virtually any available surface. she tends to create beautiful, meaningful portraits for the people she loves the most too — they’re all some sort of surreal, odd watercolor portrait. • she has several tattoos other than the devils’ one, the most prominent one on her right arm: a big, colorful tiger she got about a year since her arrival in charming. it was a drawing she made channeling the nickname rett had given her, and it was inked by none other than the original nat, natalia ballard. • she’s a vegan, and a creative cook — she loves creating elaborate salad mixes and cakes with unexpected ingredients (flowers, herbs, peculiar fruits she seeks out at farmer’s markets, etc). • her bike, tempest, is a bike she and rett fixed back up while he was helping her get clean. it’s a little old and rusty, but still fights to this day (and nat finds the symbolism in it lovely).

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

coworkers/superiors at either of her two jobs (hale's diner/greer's greenhouse). someone from the gang who knows her / elvis / any of her friends, since they were all pretty involved in the drug dealing business. someone from the gang who might tempt her with substances again. fwbs (none of these will become actual relationships because she's taken, in that sense, but it might be a fun, or even relatively toxic, dynamic until then). people within the mc she's closest to — sibling figures, people who have a special connection with her, people who can't stand her, people who will often ask for favors such as hiding someone at her place or smuggle something somewhere. neighbors of sorts (she lives on the edge of town, in a garage basically in the desert, but there could be someone in the neighborhood who occasionally drops by for a coffee or something). friends from the auto shop! her bike, tempest, is an old thing she put back together with the help of rett, but it still needs constant care. i'd love for someone from charming auto to be telling her this bike needs to move on to its next life, ngl. enemies (it's rare for nat not to be well-inclined towards someone, but sometimes she gets a bad vibe from people and will turn stone-cold to them, and that's a dynamic i'd very much like to explore). some sort of trainer who might help her grow at least some fight in the physical sense. + literally anything, i'm down for whatever dynamic so just hit me up!!

#charming.intro #FILE / mister cut me some slack.#drug abuse /#overdose /#when will i chill it with the idiots w good hair? never !#anyway nat's an old muse of mine #and means a lot to me #so i'm excited to bring her around <3

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whirlybirdwhat · 5 years

Text

Its been awhile since I Rambled so guess what y'all are getting tonight!

Today’s topic is going to be Family; specifically, the family dynamics/examples in One Piece.

In the first two ‘arcs’, Shells Town and Orange Town, there isn’t a single mention of family beyond ChouChou (a good doggy) and his owner, and even that is less familial and more Pet-owner friendship, obviously. Instead, the arcs focus on introducing characters (Luffy, Zoro, Nami) and establishing world building and themes of the story - This is what the One Piece is, This what the series is all about, dreams and chasing them forever.

It isn’t until Syrup we get a mention of family, and even then its just Usopp’s lack of one, as he has a dead mother, and a faraway father. The most important aspect of this is that Usopp doesn’t really know his father beyond a role model.

It isn’t until the Baratie and Cocoyasi Arcs that we see any importance placed on ‘family,’ which is little over 40 chapters into the series.

And so BOOM - another major theme is introduced into the series, subtly tying into the main theme (Dreams and chasing them) and etc.

I personally however like how it was introduced behind everything else because you eventually become completely blindsided to how important family is in One Piece. And not just any family - the family you choose which is simply awesome!

So lets start looking at these family’s shall we?

All of these families are really diverse in their dynamics, so lets start with the easiest example - Usopp, who has none.

As previously stated, Usopp’s mother is dead, and for all we love Yasopp he pretty much ditched the kid. So - an example of a lack of family and how that influenced Usopp, without him turning into a ‘woe is me, I hate my dad’ character which can be common trope in fiction. Pretty interesting if you ask me.

Zoro can also be seen to have no family, and unlike Usopp, he never appears to have had any in the first place (Wano Arc may explain), and, yet again, doesn’t fall into a common trope for this.

Moving on, the next family relationship seen in One Piece is Sanji and Zeff, which is incredibly heart warming to me. Classic Single Dad trying to get his son to move out trope lol. More seriously, this is another family dynamic that we see -

and very different from the next person, Name, who has no parent at all and when she did, she had a single mother. Bell-mere is an amazing example of a mom struggling to feed her kids and literally willing to do anything for these two girls she found in the wreckage of a battle. Bell-mere is also one of the few examples of some kick-ass moms we see in the series.

While One Piece follows the ‘kill the moms/absent mom’ trope they do make them awesome characters who definitely did not lie down and take their deaths nicely.

Nami’s arc is also the first time we see a sibling and also the first time we see the sibling get wounded in front of another hi ace , and begins to add value to the found family theme.

Because Nojiko chose to be Nami’s sister. Bell-mere chose to be Nami’s mother. Further back, Zeff chose to be Sanji’s father.

And then we meet (rip) Ace, who appears to be a blood relative of Luffy’s, adding importance not only the family we choose but the family we have. Of course, this is debunked later, but it definitely reinforces the ‘I love my family’ thing we have going on (Hey have you seen my baby brother - that's my kid brother - don’t hurt my brother - have I said Luffy’s my brother yet - Ace, Alabasta, pre death)

Oh! And we can’t forget about Chopper’s lovely parents who love him despite the fact that he’s not even human, (I salute you old medical people) and Vivi’s father who clearly adores his daughter and is very proud and supportive of her?

Alright.

And then there were four.

Robin and Franky’s backstories happen at the same time and are vastly different yet incredibly similar.

Robin’s story is about losing family, even the family you had for but a few days (Saul) and eventually reclaiming a family for yourself. She is also one of the few characters who have a biological relative.

Franky’s story is about the continuous gain and loss of the same family. He started out with nothing - his parents threw him overboard for gods sake - but then he gained Tom, Icebarg, and Kokoro, and the frog (I forget how to spell his name oops) and formed a relationship with them... only to lose them again when Tom died and then gained them again along with the Franky Family.

His story is also very cool because, unlike the others, he was the leader of his family and not the one relying on the others. Also unlike the others, he lost his family when he was an adult.

Now - what are the similarities between the two, you may ask? Well, for one, they both inadvertently caused the death of a loved one (Robin, Saul and Franky, Tom). Their biological family was either abusive (Robins Aunt, Franky Parents for throwing him overboard) or absent (Robin’s parents as explorers, Franky’s for abandoning him), yet their ‘first’ found family was people who were part of their career - the shipwrights for Franky and the archeologists for Robin!

Essentially, the message here is your work, your job, your coworkers can be your family too - it doesn’t have to be someone who fills a familial role specifically!

Lastly we have Brook, the Sanji situation and Luffy - Jimbei’s will come at a later date once I get the hang of his backstory and character.

Brook first - he lost it all as an adult. Thats essentially all I have to say, as we know very little of his childhood. But as an adult he lost the family he created, the Rumbar pirates, and Laboon, proving that not only can adults make their own families but they can lose it too - different from the rest of the then teenage straw hats.

His family is also similar to Chopper’s as species doesn’t matter to Brook - he loves Laboon as if he were a dear human friend.

Which is just sweet yknow?

The opposite of Sanji’s biological family, who are assholes. This is great family dynamic because it proves that only the people who you think of as family, are family, and not every family is kind and loving. Which sucks, but is an important thing to realize, as it contrasts all the other messages we have had so far from One Piece!

Then we have Luffy. He is one of the few characters with living biological family - and one of the few who just doesn’t care. Luffy hits the mark of every box in a way - he’s lost family (Ace, Sabo), he has absent parental figures (his mom, whoever she it, and Dragon) actual parental figures (Dadan, if you want, Makino, and Shanks at least as a role model) family by choice (His brothers) abusive yet weirdly loving family (Gramps) and self sacrificing family (Rip Ace)

Whats important though is how it effects him - specifically in Marineford.

He does all of that for family, feels like he would die if he didn’t, and built his own family out of the Strawhats. With Marineford, the theme of family, chosen family, was emphasized and finally hammered in.

tl;dr The Straw Hat Pirate crew and One Piece in general has a wide array of characters with diverse families, all who influence the characters by their absence, presence and actions one way or another, and help bolster the subtle theme of ‘found family is important’ in One Piece, especially with the Marineford arc (Rip Ace). It is also important to note that most of the characters. gave up the family they had to be with their family in the Strawhats, which wow, my heart.

Anyway, that's it, this is long so I'm not checking it for errors, have fun!!! I just needed to say something about how how I love those family dynamics in one piece

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ravensroleplays · 5 years

Text

Samantha Lawrence had made a lot of poor decisions throughout the course of her life.

The fact that a stupid, smiley Bendy mask was the closest thing she had to a face at the moment was testament to that.

But of all the mistakes she had made, she would definitely count trusting in Alison Pendle to be one of the worst.

First off, the voice actress-turned-ink angel had had the brilliant idea to rope Thomas Connor in to their little circle. Sammy had never hated the mechanic per se, but he definitely wasn't someone she'd consider a friend. Sammy knew she wasn't always the most chipper person, but Thomas' almost perpetually grumpy attitude just turned her off. Plus, if she was being honest...she was a bit jealous of him. Despite his transformation into a cartoon wolf, he still had family who loved and accepted him the way he was.

Which led to the second point--not too long ago, Sammy had learned that her mother was still alive, and living in a home not too far from the town. Abigail Lawrence had never approved of, well, pretty much anything her daughter did, since she was a child, so why would she accept her now that she was an ink creature?!

Samantha had told Alison this, warned her that it would likely be a bad idea for her to go talk to her mother, but Pendle had pressed on. And, like an idiot, Sammy had listened. Which was why the former music director came storming outside after the visit, angrier and more hurt than she could ever remember being in her life. She was just glad Alison wasn't there--if she saw her any time soon, she'd likely have a few choice words for her ex-coworker.

But Thomas was there. He raised an eyebrow as he saw Sammy exit.

"It went that bad, huh?"

"NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, MONGREL!" She snapped, before shaking her head. "Why did I ever listen to that little...?!"

"Because, as misguided as her approach might have been, Alison's just trying to help." Thomas said matter-of-factly. "She cares about you. And, as much of a pain in the ass as you can be...so do I." He only just managed to avoid putting his hand on her shoulder as he continued. "Look, I know you probably don't think much of me, and we didn't go through the same things, but we were both stuck in that almost literally goddamned studio for decades, going through all kinds of hell." He gave her a meaningful look. "And you're not alone anymore."

Sammy was quiet for a moment or two as she allowed herself to calm down a bit, letting out a shaking sigh.

“I…told her everything. Mother then went into a huge tangent about ‘where my life choices got me’, and we had an argument. She then…” Sammy’s breath caught in her throat as she tried keeping herself together. “She finished off by saying that whatever I am now…I’m not her daughter.”

A sympathetic look actually crossed Thomas’ face.

“Lawrence—I don’t know what to say.” Sammy shook her head, crossing her arms.

“Please, I’m an adult. I think I’ll live. Besides—I guess it’s just karma. I was never the best person, even before I started worshiping a demon.”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU DESERVE TO BE REJECTED BY YOUR OWN FLESH AND BLOOD!” Thomas exclaimed, probably a bit too loudly. The faceless ink woman started a bit, and Thomas could tell he’d gone a bit too far. Clearing his throat, Thomas tried to calm down. “Okay, so you made mistakes in the past. A lot of mistakes. Who among us hasn’t? But that’s the key word…’in the past’.” This time, he did put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder.

“Lawren…Samantha. You were a victim, like the rest of us. You did what you could to survive; even if it was misguided, like the rest of us. ‘sides, my hands aren’t exactly clean, either…I don’t even remember how many of my former coworkers I mowed down in there.”

Sammy looked over at his hand, raising a nonexistent, yet somehow still there, eyebrow, under her mask as she said

“Could you please not…?”

“Right, sorry.” Thomas moved his hand quickly before continuing. “Point is, you’re still healing. And yeah, you’re still all inky, but honestly? I think the most important thing right now is to get your mental health together. And if what Alison said is true, you’ve already come far.” The mechanic-turned-cartoon wolf gave the former music director a surprisingly warm look. “You should be proud.” Sammy felt a lump forming in her throat.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “That…actually means a lot Conn…Thomas.”

He gave her a small, but genuine, smile.

“Anytime.”

#mun's writing #batim drabble #samantha 'sammy' lawrence #thomas connor #okay to reblog

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ijaws · 5 years

Text

@oh-just-hazel

Racism

I agree. Reverse Racism doesn’t exist.

Racism exists. There’s no ‘reverse’ or cute little terms to replace it like Racial Prejudice. Hell, Racial Prejudice falls under the definition of Racism in every single dictionary I could find on a quick google search. I’m sorry, but if you provide any sort of Racial Discrimination, Prejudices, or Racial Superiority Propoganda you’re 100% racist. There’s no if/and/or ‘but’s about it. I don’t care what skin color you are.

If you say that you can’t be racist because you’re a minority you’re delusional or brainwashed. If you discriminate or are prejudiced against anyone based on their skin color, you are no better than or different from a White Racist. None. You are BOTH equally wrong and I will treat both as you should be treated. As racist scumbags who don’t deserve to breathe the same air I do for being such braindead human beings that shouldn’t have the right to procreate.

Black person expressing Racial Prejudice = White person expressing Racial Prejudice

There’s no difference. They are both equally shitty people and if you defend that Black Person then you are literally advocating for Black Racism. You are actively defending racist behavior. It would be NO different than me defending a White Racist.

Source Material

I’m going to clear up my position on this subject. If you do not believe me on here, then look through some of my other posts regarding Ariel.

I believe that if a character was created a specific way with specific traits that those specific traits should stay the same with every depiction of the character onward. Now there can be adaptations of the character, and there is nothing wrong with that, but you can’t take a character named Jimmy and make him a woman and still call him Jimmy. You can’t take a White Character named Jimmy and make him Black and still call him Jimmy. That’s not how that works. Jimmy, if he was established as a White Character, is, well, White. Jimmy isn’t Black. The same goes for a Black Character. Let’s say that Micheal is Black. You can’t take Micheal and make him White and still call him Micheal. That’s not how that works. Micheal ISN’T White. Micheal wasn’t established as a White Character.

So if you established Cinderella as a White Princess, then she is a WHITE Princess. If you establish Snow White as a White Princess, then she’s a White Princess. If you establish Belle from Beauty and the Beast as White (eventually a White Princess) then she is WHITE. If you establish Tiana is a BLACK Princess, then she is a BLACK Princess. If you establish Mulan as an Asian Warrior Princess, then she’s an ASIAN Warrior Princess. If you establish Pocahontas as a Native American Princess, then she’s a Native American Princess. If you establish that a character is Gay, then that character is a GAY character. If you establish that they are a lesbian, then that character is a lesbian character.

If you establish Ariel as White with Red hair and Blue eyes, then she is WHITE with RED HAIR and BLUE EYES.

Ariel does not have dark eyes, african hair, and dark skin. Pocahontus doesn’t have pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes does she? No. She doesn’t. Therefore if I changed Pocahontas to have pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes would she still be Pocahontas? I want to answer this. Like. Legit. Would she, or would she not, still be Pocahontas? If she isn’t then you are racist just like how you’re trying to point me out as racist.

“Her story revolves around her being Native-” Oooh, okay. So that means I can go and make Falcon from the MCU into a pale skinned, brown haired, blue eyed White guy? After all, his race doesn’t matter too much to his character. It should be PERFECTLY acceptable for me to change his race then. Oh, what about Colonel James Rhodes? AKA War Machine? You know, Don Cheadle’s character. I can go and change his race right? That’ll be perfectly acceptable, right? After all, him being Black does nothing to story and isn’t important to HIS character.

Oh, I can’t do that because it will be Whitewashing? Then why is it okay for a Black Person to take the role of a White Person where the race doesn’t matter then? Isn’t that Blackwashing? Oh, so Blackwashing isn’t a thing because there’s been oppression in the past that no one alive today has the power to do anything about yet somehow we have to pay for something that neither you or I was a part of? Silly me. (Yeah, all that was sarcasm)

Either it is okay for everyone to disrespect culture, established characters, and the authors original intent and depict any character however they want to treat them no matter what race they are, or no one should be allowed to do any of that and they should respect source material and author intent.

I will be 100% convinced that if you continue to play around with words and weasel your way into justifying the erasure of Classical White Characters that you are 100% trying to establish a double standard and perpetuate a double standard. You will be trying to say that it is okay for POCs to do something and White people can’t. That you are trying to say that POCs can take whatever role they want and if White People say anything in protest that they’re immediately somehow racist. I’ll COMPLETELY ignore the fact that if you, yes you, did the exact same thing about a White Person taking a POC role that you somehow aren’t racist when I would be when it comes to White Characters.

Do you not see how fucked up that is? I am not racist. I don’t care about skin color. I have lived in Italy, Japan, and multiple different states in the US. Hell, I’ve actually experienced racism as the victim in Japan (it could have been xenophobia though), and I have experienced racism in a Black Majority town that I used to live in. (There were 3 Black People to 1 White/Other person. I was lucky to get a job in that town according to my Black Coworkers. The GM of the company I was working for didn’t like White People. A lot of companies there were like that.) However, I learned about other cultures by witnessing them first-hand and came to respect them.

My mother and father taught me that people were people. It didn’t matter what they looked like. My mother and father told me that racists were disgusting and slavery was completely wrong. The told me that hat if they ever caught me picking on someone because of their skin color I was going to get the beating of my life. (My Dad told me that one actually.) My Dad went into the US Military and that is where I met people of all sorts of ethnicities and nationalities. I NEVER experienced racism until I got back to the US after being overseas collectively around 8 years. In DODDs Schools (Military Schools), which I was in for nearly all of my education, my classmates were the children of Military Parents like I was. In the Military, the US Military anyway, you can be punished for something your kid does. You can get in severe trouble. That’s why I feel a majority of my classmates were well behaved. I rarely saw fights, everyone was very chill, racism was nonexistent (We could openly make race jokes with each other and we’d all be chill pretty much. None of us gave a fuck.), and the teachers were badass af. Obviously a majority of them had been prior Military individuals themselves.

Besides that, when I was overseas a majority of my friends were people of color. Black People, Asians, Middle Eastern Kids, etc. Hispanic. I had friends that came from all over the place. Yet, if I was racist, why would I want anything to do with them? If I was racist why would I condemn Whitewashing? If I was racist why would I advocate for a Disney Princess from Africa based on Afircan Culture? If I was racist why would I condemn the Alt-Right, the KKK, Nazi’s, Hitler, and the Ayran Brotherhood? If I was racist then why would I, if I had the power, go back and try to prevent slavery from even happening? If I was racist why would I be wanting Marvel and other Movie Studios to be making MORE POC movies on characters like Borther Voodoo, Static Shock (LOVED that show as a kid holy fuck), John Stewart, Steel (Henry John Irons. He looks cool af), SPAWN!!! (I heard they’re supposed to be doing a new movie but I dunno. I’d be excited either way.), etc.?

Why would I want any of that? Tell me. I REALLY want to know how I’m racist.

Is it because I want a classical White character to STAY WHITE?! Wouldn’t you want Black characters to stay Black?! How are YOU not racist for that when I AM?! The double standards are REEEAAALLLY starting to piss me off here.

Bottom line is that I’m not racist for wanting a character to stay true to their source material.

If I am racist for wanting Ariel to be White, when she was depicted as White in both the 1839 Publication in DENMARK and the 1989 Disney film, then you HAVE to say that Black People who are racist for wanting Blade to stay Black as he has been since the ‘70s… Fair is fair or there’s a double standard… Or you have to admit that White people, oh, I dunno, are just getting pissed because they’re having every single character that they love systematically replaced by POCs, essentially altering the characters they love completely.

I also want to point out that people were mad about this stuff too.

Hunger Games got the cat wrong in the movies. People made such a huge deal out of that they went back and fixed it. Here’s the cats.

People were also about the Percy Jackson movie when they got Annabeth’s look wrong. Annabeth is a REALLY tan girl with really bright blonde hair and gray eyes. This is who they cast as Annabeth…

A majority of us are feeling THIS way about Ariel. It’s not because she’s Black. It’s because she looks NOTHING like fucking Airel. Where’s her red, full, flowing hair? Where’s her bright blue eyes? Where’s her pale skin? Where’s the fucking resemblance to ARIEL??!?

Article

I can destroy that entire article with just a few observations.

Aladdin (1992) - There were quite literally no white people in this film and it is still one of the most widely celebrated Disney Films of all time. Jasmine, Aladdin, Jafar, and even Genie are not Whitewashed at ALL. I’m talking appearances here. Voice Actor skin color is meaningless. People who make a big deal out of that have mental issues. Jasmine is still portrayed as extremely beautiful and she IS a Princess! It states that in the movie. The Princess and the Street Rat. Honestly, it was one of my favorite movies as a kid! And I’m WHITE! Sure, this movie taught people that WASN’T beautiful and valuable because she wasn’t white and that she WASN’T a Princess because she wasn’t White.

Pocahontas (1995) - LITERALLY showed a White Man falling in love with a Native American. Pocahontas who is an actual Princess as she’s listed as one of the Princesses in Disney's Princess Lineup. Guess what… Pocahontas is NOT White! -Gasp- A WHITE man fell for a Princess that WASN’T White?! I thought that in order to be beautiful and full of value as well as a princess that you HAD to be White?!

Mulan (1998) - Another one of Disney’s top most celebrated movies of all time with not a SINGLE White Person on screen! (It’s almost as if White People in general aren’t racist or something.) It was a story about female empowerment at this point and that you can be a badass Warrior Princess AND be beautiful as well! Oh, and guess what, she wasn’t white either and she’s a princess too… Weird… I thought that Disney was trying to indoctrinate young white people that only White Women could be Beautiful Princesses.

Tiana (2009) - ….. Do I even need to say anything here?

Yes, the power of Folk Tales is their adaptability over time, but, again, if you’re doing, you know, a REMAKE and not a fucking ADAPTATION then why the FUCK would cast someone that wasn’t ACCURATE to the fucking REMAKE?! I’m literally losing braincells here trying to dumb myself down to understand this stupid ass shit.

White Culture

Culture / cul·ture /ˈkəlCHər/

noun

1. The arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively.

"20th century popular culture"

Synonyms: the arts, the humanities

2. ------> The customs, arts, social institutions, and achievements of a particular nation, people, or other social group. <------

"Caribbean culture"

Synonyms: ----->civilization, society, way of life, lifestyle; More<------

Tell me. What were English, Scottish, Russian, Polish, French, and Scandinavian People were before they began their colonial eras? Hmm…? Oh, that’s right… They were White. How many Ethnicities of Europe are there? Well from what I can tell there’s White People and Mediteranean people. A majority of the continent, though, is inhabited by White People while Mediteranean people tend to be situated, obviously, along the Southern Coast of Europe.

Generally when you think of a region you associate it with its people. In Asia you immediately think Chinese, Japenes, and so on. Why? Well look at the populations and their culture. They inhabit a majority of the land nearly, except Russia as it spans both continents, and have the largest population on this planet. You don’t typically think of Middle Easterners and Indians as Asian even though they are. Are Asians now guilty of what White People in Europe are then? They had too many kids and established themselves as a Majority in Asia? The horror! Look at Africa now… When you think of Africa you don’t tend to think of White People or Middle Eastern People. You think of Black Africans with rich culture and lands. Even though the VERY South and North African regions of the continent are White and Middle Eastern looking. (White in the South. Middle Easter in the North.) You don’t tend to think of Egyptians as Africans either when you think of Africa.

With that being said, every culture on this Planet and its people tend to group together. White People, Black People, Native Americans, Asians, etc. You tend to group with who you’re familiar with and who look like you. You’re more empathetic with them. I’m pretty sure you could have a Korean and a Japanese person in the US and they’d gravitate towards each other because of their similarities. Same with White People. Collectivism happens. When people identify themselves they say they’re Asian, White, Black, Latino, etc. What do you associate with when it comes to White People? Oh, that’s right. Americans and Europeans. That’s where a majority of White People are located. White People also have their own cultures like Asians and Africans do. Therefore if you can say that something is a part of African culture, then you can say that something is a part of White Culture as well.

This is how that works. “Whiteness,” is its own topic. It has no standing in regards to the topic at hand as it has nothing to do with what we are talking about. We are talking about collections of peoples and nationalities. White People are a collection of, you guessed it, White Individuals and their cultures.

England, Scotland, Russia, Polish, Scandinavia, Germany, Switzerland, France, Ukraine, Austria, Hungary, etc. All of these countries are essentially White Populations. White People. They ALL have their own cultures and beliefs… The bottom line, though, is that they’re White. They LITERALLY are White People. Collectively they are White People. Therefore, White People are a thing. I am white. I consider myself a White American with ancestry from Northern Europe. I consider them, as well as other White People as part of my kin. MY people. WHITE PEOPLE. Therefore, White People have culture. Hell, we have a fuck ton of cultures. In America it may not be this way because America is a bit complicated to explain, but there you have it.

This is exactly how Black People look at themselves and their ancestors from Africa. Same with Asians, South Americans, etc.

History

“When whites talk about reverse discrimination, I feel that they are making a silly argument because what they really want to say is that we, people of color, have the power to do to them what they have done to us from the 13th century.

But If you think about it, reverse racism is actually kinda great. Because if it did exist, it would mean we lived in a society in which all racial groups have an equal amount of power. But we don’t.”

Quick question. How old are you? I assume you’re not 800 years old. Do you know anyone in your family that is 800? No? What about 500? Any friends or family? No… hmm… what about 200? No? What about 100? Maybe? Interesting. Well… I’d like to personally tell you that no one in your family, or your friends, have experienced slavery, oppression, unless they’re basically 60 to 100 years old, and that you’ve lived a pretty privileged life. (If you do not believe you’re living a privileged life here, in 2019, I swear I will not be able to take you seriously. Even the poorest people in Modern Countries have it better than nearly every Human in History. That’s not an opinion either.) White People haven’t been doing anything to you or your family. If you’re scared of the people that came before us, don’t be. They’re dead now. Everything’s fine.

In all seriousness there is no such thing as reverse discrimination. There is ONLY discrimination. Also, I refuse to be held accountable for what my ancestors did. I have no control over that and I should NOT be fucking forced to pay for their mistakes. If I am to pay for their mistakes then I should be fucking praised for my ancestors that faught against Slavery and Oppression.

Also, really? No POC alive has felt anything remotely as bad as it was at LEAST 150 years ago. No one alive has been a slave. Now there may be some older people out there that witnessed oppression that was protected under the government, but can we look at who was marching along with MLK..? Can we also look at who fought in the Civil War? Can we also look at the people who were slogging through Europe to kill Nazis?

As for the reverse racism comment… Jesus I’m not even gonna really touch that.

I would touch on power, but I am having a strong feeling that you’re one of those types that believes in White Privilege, and how the US Govt. is still skulking around the shadows being racist allowing young Black People to be killed and that they DiDn’T Do AnYtHinG WroNg. That the cops literally just want to shoot Black People just because they’re Black and blah blah blah. I won’t even get into that subject because… holy fuck that’s going down the rabbit hole. I’d NEED to do some drugs to stay sane if we talked about that shit.

The Most Important Point!

You’re right. They’ve already cast the wrong actress to play Ariel. It blows… I wish that they would have actually made a film based on ACTUAL African Culture while also taking place off the coasts of Africa itself. You could have had extremely accurate casting choices, no white folk (cause we all know how White People are racist White Devil Colonizers.), and an original story to tell. What would seriously be the best part about ALL that would be the fact that Black Kids would have an ACTUAL tale about their ACTUAL historical culture that would be THEIR OWN! It would be ABOUT them! It wouldn’t be a tokenized White Character you know?

Also, do you not understand how Tokenizing and Pandering is insulting to POCs? Why casting Ariel this way is an insult to you?

Do you realize that by doing this Hollywood is essentially telling you, POCs, that this is all you’re ever gonna get? That you’re never going to get any roles or movies that are really YOURS… You’re not going to get original Black Stories, you’re not going to get Original Black Characters, and that all you’re going to get is what White People hand out to you? That all you’re ever going to get is second-rate characters? Doesn’t that piss you off? It would piss me off. Why would you even defending a casting choice like this when you should be DEMANDING an original story with original characters about LEGITIMATE BLACK CULTURES?!

Oh, is it because of the whole FUCK WHITE PEOPLE thing? An entirely petty, small minded, mindset focused on prolonging racial tension and racism rather than ending it? Cause, you know, you don’t solve hatred with more hatred. You don’t fucking solve culturual appropriation with MORE cultural appropriation. You don’t solve racism with MORE racism. You don’t solve sexism with MORE sexism. To be honest, you would have thought Black Panther would have taught you that lesson…. That’s Ironic. You do know Killmonger was wrong and T’Challa was right, right?

I dunno. I ranted a lot longer than I thought I would have and got a lot deeper than I thought I would have. Oh well. It’s gotten to the point that I feel like we’re both talking to brick walls while each of us think we’re right while the others wrong. I personally feel that I’m living in reality, but that’s just me… mostly because I haven’t been reading propaganda pieces but… yeah… The signs were when you started bringing up reverse racism… I kinda shoulda back off at that point but yeah…

Lastly, you literally can’t whitewash a character that’s been white for 200+ years to begin with… so…

Oh well… I’ve given this my last horah… Oh well…

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