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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

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Dream SMP Recap (June 21/2021) - Prison Podcast: Ep. 1

Techno and Dream start a podcast together. Divine intervention occurs.

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VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Technoblade

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- Ponk commits arson

- Foolish works on Las Nevadas in a Batman skin and gets Slime a slime

- Techno and Dream are together in prison. Techno asks if they ever get fed and Dream tosses him some potatoes that he’s been saving. Sam hasn’t been there in two weeks

- Dream tells Techno they torture him

Techno: “You’re getting tortured?”

Dream: “Yes!”

Techno: “Bro I cannot relate at all. That is a you problem. Maybe I’m just like their favorite prisoner so they don’t do that.”

Dream: “They haven’t even been here since you got in here!”

Techno: “That --that could -- also po-- maybe it’s ‘cause they just know that I’m their favorite prisoner. They don’t even have to check up on me ‘cause I’m just so obedient.”

- Dream walks over to the lava

Dream: “I have been in here! For months!”

Techno: “Oh yeah!”

- Dream tosses a potato in the lava

Dream: “Does this hurt you?”

Techno: “...I mean a little.”

- Dream throws another

Techno: “How many of those do you have to be throwin’ them away, man?”

Dream: (mumbling as he walks back) “O-okay well I don’t have that much [unintelligible].”

- Techno comments on how wasteful the Netherite block floor is. He wonders how long it takes to punch through it

- He asks what Dream does for fun. Dream says nothing now. He tells Techno about how he used to have a clock that he’d throw in the lava to get Sam to visit. Techno thinks it sounds like Dream was vandalizing his own property

Dream: “It was something to do, but now there’s nothing.”

Techno: “Well, at least we can hang out and be friends.”

- He starts going up to Dream and bumping them

Techno: “Friendsss.”

Dream: (walking away) “Personal space!”

Techno: “Frie -- bro what personal space! We’re locked in this tiny room!”

- Techno goes over to the lava wall instead

- Dream spends most of his free time writing his diary. Techno asks if he’s published anything to Wattpad

Dream: “...No...”

Techno: “You hesitated.”

- Techno asks for Dream’s pen name. Dream insists he’s never written on Wattpad

Techno: “So it’s a different website, is what you’re saying.”

- Dream instead wants to focus on getting out of prison. Techno asks for his ideas, but Dream says it should be Techno with the ideas

Techno: “Eh, yeah, I’ll get to it later man.”

- Techno encourages Dream to have a more optimistic outlook. Dream says that at least he’s not been tortured since Techno’s been here

Techno: “You gotta go with the flow!”

- Dream walks over to the lava

Techno: “Not that flow -- not -- not that flow. No -- no, don’t go -- don’t go into that flow!”

- Dream steps into the lava and sets himself on fire, then goes over to the water to extinguish it

Techno: “That’s the better flow right there.”

Dream: “See? It’s -- it’s exhilarating.”

Techno: “That’s just -- I would not recommend that. That is not healthy behavior, alright. I think you should see a psychologist.”

Dream: “WHERE?!”

Techno: “I dunno, what kinda prison is this? They don’t have psychologists?”

Dream: “They don’t have anything! They have torture --”

Techno: “I’m startin’ to think they don’t care about our human rights all that much. You were sayin’ you were getting tortured? Who’s been torturing you?”

Dream: “Quackity!”

Techno: “Yeah, that adds up.”

Dream: “Every day!”

- Dream says that Quackity’s torturing him for the revive book, and Techno asks more about how the revival process works. Dream explains that to revive people, he gets a book and then burns it

- Techno asks if it’s an incantation. After learning what ‘incantation’ means, Dream says it’s something like that. He isn’t sure how Schlatt got it in the first place, but he memorized the book and can recreate it

- Techno suggests Dream give the knowledge to him as insurance, but Dream refuses, as they might go after Techno. Techno asks to see the book, but Dream still doesn’t

Dream: “This is like the house situation all over again.”

Techno: “Oh yeah...well on the bright side, you’re not homeless anymore!”

Dream: “True...this is -- to be fair, I did say I had a giant house. This is pretty giant.”

Techno: “It is filled with redstone! I didn’t think you were telling the truth, but here you are. Here you are...how much is rent to live in this boiling cell every day?”

Dream: “It’s...free.”

Techno: “God, that’s incredible.”

Dream: “Except for I get tortured every day!”

Techno: “Well I mean, California rent prices are basically torture so, you know, you take what you can get man, come on.”

- The subject returns to how they haven’t been visited in two weeks. Dream asks what they’re going to do when they get out, but Techno hasn’t thought that far ahead

- Dream writes in his diary that Techno admitted he has a house

- Dream asks Techno about life. When Techno isn’t in a cell, he usually trains to find new forms of combat to get ahead in the arms race for the fight against government

- He also plays golf

- Techno hasn’t spoken to Tommy, hasn’t seen him. He thinks Tommy stole some things from his house a while ago

- Dream then asks how his horse is doing. Techno tells him about his pet foxes and Steve (who is going to break him out of there any second)

- Dream writes these down in his book because it’s hard for him to remember things

- Dream asks who’s feeding his pets. Techno says that Steve can feed himself and it’ll probably be fine for Carl to find grass

- Techno pronounces it as “gif”

- He asks if Dream would like to start a podcast. The Prison Podcast

- Dream wonders what would happen if he tried to revive someone who wasn’t dead

Dream: “What if I try and revive you? What if it goes wrong?”

Techno: “Maybe there’ll be two of me. And then we can be double friends. Wouldn’t that be nice? Two Technoblades?”

Dream: “Well, doubles the likelihood of me getting out of here, but...”

Techno: “Exactly, exactly. The next time they come to visit us in prison, there’s just gonna like be thirty-five Technoblades. And when they try to torture you, I can be like a human meat shield and just wave after wave of Technoblades swarms them and just beats them up.”

- Techno’s okay with trying it, so Dream writes a book and burns it. When they turn around, though, it’s DreamXD who appears

- Techno remembers XD as the person who broke his table, some sort of god

Techno: “You cloned the wrong person! Dream, you fool! Look at him! ...You know that’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you -- how come God looks exactly like you? That feels like a question that should’ve occurred to me earlier.”

- Dream doesn’t answer, confused, but asks what they should do. Techno tries talking to him

DreamXD: what are you doing

Techno: chilling

DreamXD: what do you want summoning me

Techno: yo can you grant a wish

DreamXD: one

Techno: i want a bell

- DreamXD gives them a bell and leaves just in time for the sellout timer to go off. Dream is outraged that Techno would spend their wish on a bell and goes over to stare into the lava while Techno enthusiastically rings it

- Dream wonders what Sam and Quackity will say when they see the bell. They try standing next to each other in front of the bell to block the view

- They can’t summon DreamXD a second time

- They talk a bit more about the books. Dream gives Techno some potatoes (in Techno’s inventory he also has four books by Dream, one of which is titled “information”)

- Dream asks about why Techno rings the bell. Techno says it’s about the rituals, and Dream comments that he put a bell in Church Prime (“which is not to be spoken of here”)

- Techno asks if Dream can even get Twitch Primes and claims that Dream is a heretic due to not being under contract. Dream isn’t profiting off of anyone

- Dream has 51 potatoes remaining

Techno: “So uh...got any friends? Hang out with anybody? You know, before the whole thrown in prison thing?”

Dream: “Not really...I did, and then they...turned against me.”

Techno: “Ah. I know that feeling man, I know that feeling.”

Dream: “Just being betrayed by your closest friends...”

Techno: “Ah yeah, happens all the time. Every Tuesday, really.”

Dream: “I’ve been visited by a few people.”

Techno: “Pog, pog. Did any of them like, not try to torture or kill you?”

Dream: “...Yeah?”

Techno: “He hesitated.”

Dream: “Well...Sapnap didn’t torture and kill me, but then he said if I get out of here, he would.”

Techno: “You GOTTA raise your standards, man. You gotta raise your stand-- you’re just getting treated like dirt out here, man. That is just sad. That is just sad! You gotta meet some new people, man.”

Dream: “I think BadBoyHalo treated me the best, probably.”

Techno: “BadBoyHalo, you say?”

Dream: “He treated me the best, probably, when he visited me before.”

Techno: “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s like a cult leader or something, actually, I hate to break it to you.”

Dream: “Wait, what?!”

Techno: “Yeah, there was like this Egg thing...I wasn’t quite clear on what was going on.”

Dream: “That was months ago! He visited me like four months ago, five months ago.”

- Techno talks a bit about how he attacked the Egg cult, “big crossover episode.” Dream asks when was the last time the two of them -- Dream and Techno -- spoke. It was Doomsday, a while ago

- Dream asks about current events, but Techno isn’t the best person to ask about that. Tubbo has a new commune called Snowchester that Techno’s still a bit suspicious of

- Dream asks how Ranboo is. Techno offhandedly mentions that Tubbo might have nukes, maybe as a hobby. Maybe the crater was just Tubbo trying to scare him

- Dream doesn’t know a lot about the outside world. Ranboo used to visit a lot -- the most of everyone until Quackity -- a while ago, but then he stopped. Sapnap, Ranboo, Tommy, Bad and Quackity all visited

- He then comments that Techno seems to like potatoes. Techno asks how Dream knows Ranboo, which Dream says is “a long story.” Then Dream says he doesn’t know Ranboo that well, he just visited a couple times

- Dream asks about the plan to get out again. Techno says that even with the mining fatigue, they can still break blocks. But most of the blocks would set off the alarms, so he suggests the block beneath the toilet

- Even if they break the blocks, there’s an Elder Guardian beneath the cell

Techno: “I can take him...hey, how ‘bout I jump in there, I start beatin’ it up, and if I somehow die despite my elite martial arts prowess, you can just bring me back and I can jump in again and keep beatin’ it up, and then if I die you can just bring me back and I’ll jump in and I’ll keep beatin’ it up.”

- If people come to check on them, one of them can be the lookout

- Techno directs Dream to start punching the block for 24 hours, promising to feed potatoes to him while he punches if he gets hungry

- Dream starts punching

Techno: “What are they gonna do if they catch us, put us in double jail, man?”

- They continue chatting as Dream punches, wondering why the icon for the mining fatigue effect is a spoon. Dream talks about the cat they used to have in there. Eventually the sellout timer goes off again.

Techno starts ringing.

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Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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baya-ni · 3 years

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The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

#and scene #i was up till 4am writing this instead of doing my hw #bc i hav Opinions dammit #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 meta #sk8 theory #queerbait

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potteresque-ire · 3 years

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This post is Part 4 of the five-part meta series on the Zhang Zhehan (張哲瀚) Incident, based on what has transpired up to 2021/08/22.

1) The 2nd Sino-Japanese War (1937-45) & the Yasukuni Shrine 2) Post-War Sino-Japanese Relations; “Every Chinese should visit the Yasukuni Shrine” 3) The Summer of 2021: The Brewing Storms for One 4) My Thoughts on Zhang’s Incident, Part A 5) My Thoughts on Zhang’s Incident, Part B

4) My Thoughts on Zhang’s Incident, Part A

Now, I’m finally going to dive into Zhang Zhehan’s incident. They’re, of course, my personal opinions, based on what’s known until 2021/08/22, and I’m talking about them not as a turtle, not as a Gg or Dd fan, not as a fan at all—but as … me. A Hong Konger, half-way American, and representative of neither.

I should start with a confession.

While, in the parts before, I wrote as if there were signs enough that I could see this coming, that I could see Zhang being handed the severe punishment that he had… I actually didn’t. I thought it would stop at People’s Daily critique of Zhang’s apology letter posted on August 13th, and Zhang would lose his endorsements, be forced to lay low for a while. I didn’t expect the all-out invisibility campaign the would happen, including the removal of his already-aired, groups projects such as Word of Honour (WoH 山河令).

Do I feel Zhang made a mistake? Absolutely. I agree with his self-assessment in his apology letter that he had been ignorant and careless. I’d add this as well: he had likely suffered from a certain degree of arrogance. When previously asked by his fans to remove from his Weibo a photo he took of a car painted in a manner reminiscent of WWII Japanese War Planes (and with a Rising Sun flag), that should’ve been a reminder, a warning enough for him to refrain from posting similar materials online. Being politically insensitive as a public figure in China is dangerous, and often costly. And one has to be really, really, insensitive politically, and very, very out of the news cycle, to be unaware of the tension in Sino-Japanese relations in the past decade, with the Yasukuni Shrine being at the epicentre of that tension.

A photo posted on Weibo by Zhang, later deleted at fans’ request and re-surfaced online during this incident (Left). The Nakajima Ki-84 fighter jet, used by the Imperial Japanese Army 1943-45 (Right). (Source)

But ignorance, carelessness and even arrogance are not crimes. These are corrigible traits; late 20’s may be not-so-young for an idol, but Zhang was young when he visited the shrine and took the photos in 2018. He’s still young now, having just reached 30, with lots of years to grow.

From a practical standpoint, I also fail to see Zhang’s behaviour as causing more actual harm to anyone than as the Global Times Network (GTN) piece.

Zhang’s photos had never been widely circulated before the incident. The location at which they had been taken was also not obvious to those who haven’t investigated, or haven’t visited the Yasukuni Shrine. In contrast, the large quantity of photos in the GTN piece, their portrayal of the shrine’s right wing visitors, can arguably be said to be more visually offensive, if visual offensiveness is sufficient to be hurtful, if The Reporter of the GTN piece had, indeed, had his heart sunk just by the sight of the sakuras on the shrine grounds planted by the descendants and friends of those enshrined (reminder: overwhelmingly not war criminals), as he had described in the article.

To put it in Chinese state media lingo, the GTN piece could arguably be said to have done more to 冒犯國人情感 (“offend the feelings of the country’s people”) (from People’s Daily critique piece against Zhang) and 輕佻地傷害中國人民的情感 (“flippantly hurt the feelings of the Chinese people) (from 中纪委 Central Commission for Discipline Inspection’s critique piece) than Zhang’s photos.

A thing to mention, perhaps: the phrase “hurting the feelings of Chinese people” (and its close cousins) has somewhat of a ... celebrity status among Chinese politics watchers, with ample articles and statistics dedicated to it for the sheer number of times it has appeared in China’s foreign policy materials, as well as the multi-purposeness of its application. Another example of “hurting the feelings of Chinese people”: an English Mercedes-Benz ad, posted on Instagram (a blocked site in China), featuring a quote by Dalai Lama. The phrase has become a bit of a joke in anti-CCP communities, not because the feelings of Chinese people aren’t legitimate or important, but because a regime that doesn’t allow voting, that suppresses the freedoms of speech and press, is hardly an expert on the feelings of its people.

An entertaining infographic about China’s “hurt national feelings” (high-res version). Japan has consistently ranked 1st in the number of times it has hurt China’s national feelings (upper right corner).

And, speaking of “flippant”, I find flippant perfectly described the tone of the GTN piece, which I, as a reader of Chinese descent, was perhaps even more embarrassed by than the fact that The Reporter visited the shrine. The Reporter admitted he already had a “fight-picking heart”, had chosen to act confrontationally; the article he’d write later reflected that, was filled to the brim with bravado. However, as I mentioned before, he never did what would’ve mattered if he had elected to fight, made the cause of his troublemaking clear—he had said nothing about the war criminals, or the revisionist material in the museum. Statements of protests needn’t be physical or violent; they simply had to be communicated, and to the right audience—which doesn’t include his translator, or the staff at the Yasukuni Shrine.

The American tourist could’ve been a potential target; wouldn’t it be interesting to find out what they knew about this piece of history, how much they knew about the controversies surrounding the shrine? But The Reporter only told them Americans were not welcomed—a statement automatically doubtful by the presence of … an American next to him. If The Reporter’s account were true, then, to the staff, the tourist who interacted with him, The Reporter behaved just like … a passive-aggressive, very rude Chinese tourist. He had scored zero victory for his cause—if he did have a cause—during his visit.

If the defence was his fight-picking heart, no one asked Zhang if he had harboured a fight-picking heart when he had visited, taken the pictures.

That’s double-standard. That’s hypocrisy.

Personally, I would’ve left out the Yasukuni Shrine from my Tokyo itinerary — as much because of the two thousand war criminals there, and the 2 million+ not-war-criminals there who deserve respect and peace. If I’m not a descendant of those enshrined there; if I’m not worshipping; if I lack deference for the shrine and the Shinto religion it represents, then, I have no business to be at the Yasukuni Shrine.

There are beautiful sakuras all over Tokyo.

Sakuras along Tokyo’s Meguro River (Source)

Okay. Back to Zhang. I personally believe he made mistakes. Do I feel, then, that Zhang’s punishment was appropriate, or was it too much?

As someone whose family was mostly spared from the pain and suffering caused by the acts of the Imperial Japanese Army during the 1930s and 40s, I don’t think the answers to these questions are up to me to decide. It’s inappropriate for me to decide.

But I’ll follow my answer with this question: whoever are deciding now, are they the people who should be deciding, whose lives have been truly impacted by the war? Those screaming on social media that Zhang is a traitor, a 漢奸 hanjian—a term originated from the KMT and Sino-Japanese War era to refer to persons who have illicit relationships with the enemy of, specifically, the Han Chinese ethnicity—those wanting to destroy not just Zhang’s career, but Zhang himself … do they really believe visiting, taking photos at the Yasukuni Shrine are acts enough to warrant those accusations, bearing in mind that treason is, perhaps, the most unforgivable crime in China?

Is Chairman Mao, a Han Chinese, a hanjian when he thanked the Japanese prime minister? Why not? What he said could’ve been out of pragmatism, but did he hurt the feelings of the Chinese whose family had died from Japanese military brutality during the war, of the comfort women who, at the time of the meeting, were still living in significant numbers? Why, when a post quoting Mao’s words in defence of Zhang surfaced several days ago, the vast majority of online reactions was “here goes another brain-disabled fan”, until one netizen whispered it had actually been spoken by a Great Figure, without naming, without daring to name the actual speaker of the quote?

Why have those quotes been buried in the graves of the Chinese internet?

And the netizens who went on to “dig up”, spread unsubstantiated rumours about Zhang’s being 精日 (short for 精神上的日本人 “Spiritually Japanese”), being a secret right-wing Japanese, even—were they patriots or were they cyberbullys? Were they out to defend their country, or were they out there torturing someone they didn’t like for their own enjoyment? For their own potential gains?

They called Zhang a 行走的五十萬 “Walking 500,000” — the number referring to the sum of money (500,000 RMB, ~ 77,000 USD) the Chinese government rewards someone who reports, offers tip-offs on a foreign spy. If Zhang’s family happens to be Japanese too, they said, the reward could be 500,000 * n !!

An Anti-Spy Law (反間諜法) advertisement. 12339 is the phone number and website for reporting / making tip-offs on foreign spies. (Source)

One would say, of course, that these netizens were only joking.

But are jokes jokes if they can ruin someone for good? Same goes with every one who attempted to connect whoever, whatever they didn’t like with Zhang, @ ing the state agencies on the Weibo posts to call the latter’s attention to connections, wishing for the government and the platforms to remove these whoevers, whatevers along with Zhang.

These whoevers, whatevers have included: Zhang’s former work associates; CP supertopics; Danmei and Dangai; Dangai dramas before WoH; actors involved in Dangai dramas before WoH; supertopics of these actors; the fans of these actors; fandom in general …

(To the Anon who asked: this is how the rumour that all CP supertopics may be removed came about. So far, there are no evidences that the invisibility campaign related to Zhang is heading in that direction.)

These “soft reporting” attempts—soft, in the sense that they were reporting to the state agencies, but not using the state’s formal system—conjures a scene like this in my mind: a class of small children, all with little to no power on their own, pointing their stubby fingers to whoever they don’t like in front of who they perceive as absolute authority. “But (S)HE did this!! “ screams a child who tries to borrow the teacher’s “knife” to take down their enemies, not understanding what it’ll mean to themselves if the teacher does yield to their demand, does punish their “enemies” based on their words alone: that the child can themselves will be punished when another child points their stubby fingers at them.

Perhaps, here’s the resemblance of the scene: when absolute authority exists, critical thinking tends to go wayside, even if the capability to critically think exists—because what’s the point of thinking? The opinion of the authority is the only thing that matters in the end. Mob mentality and actions take over: mobs of not only netizens, but mobs of companies, mobs of platforms.

And so, when it rained for Zhang, it poured.

===

The Zhang Zhehan Incident Meta Series:

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 <- YOU ARE HERE PART 5

#pie metas

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prettywordsyouleft · 3 years

Text

The Trial Period - Part 1

Summary: When the perfect studio space comes up, you leap at the chance to take it. Except, so has Park Jinyoung, someone you have hated for the past three years. Given three months to share the space before deciding who will claim it, can you push Jinyoung out by the end of your trial period, or will you find that the tactics you both use leads to something unexpected?

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x female reader

Genre: romance / suggestive / enemies to lovers au

Warnings: (overall storyline) heavily suggestive/bordering smut content, light cursing now and then. This part: none.

A/N: This series came together from an idea I had and a prompt for Idea Starters (will be shared in part 5). Whilst I know I’ve written a lot of E2L with Jinyoung, this is a story where I pushed through my usual boundaries with mature content. I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 2140

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“He’s impossible, Georgia!” you exclaimed to your best friend over the phone the following week as you arrived outside the studio building. “No matter how much I’ve tried to communicate with him over the last several days, Park Jinyoung is like an immovable ox. He’s the most stubborn creature to walk on this Earth!”

“And a good morning to you too, Y/N,” a bitter greeting injected your call, and you stopped walking, watching Jinyoung move into the building ahead of you with a single hand raised. You grumbled incoherently.

“Did you hear that?!”

“At least he said good morning, Y/N,” Georgia commented before sighing. “You also told me that the deposit was at the top end of the budget if you solely took this studio. Halving the cost is a good thing for your first studio. Think of your business goals, not the insufferable Jinyoung.”

“I’d rather pay double than deal with him in my space.”

“I don’t even get why you hate the man. He’s gorgeous.”

“Having good looks doesn’t change a vile personality,” you announced loudly as you walked in, noting the way Jinyoung’s jaw tensed. You smirked. “We’ll never agree on anything.”

“To be fair, we both agree that neither of us wants this,” Jinyoung mentioned, and you shot him an imploring look. He shrugged, unphased. “At least that’s a start. Also, morning Georgie!”

“Don’t greet my friend!” you breathed exasperatedly, groaning when your best friend giggled happily in response. Hanging up the call with a muttered agreement to call back later, you stared at the numbers descending on the elevator panel, tapping your hand on the top of your wheeled luggage bag.

When the doors open, Jinyoung gestured for you to enter the space first before climbing in too, whistling jovially to himself as the doors closed.

For a moment, you wondered if you were being overly dramatic towards Jinyoung. It wasn’t in your nature to openly dislike someone or wish them misfortune. More often than not, you were a people pleaser, aiming to keep your reputation unmarred. But there was something about your neighbour that made you forget all about your high standards of personal etiquette.

Over the past three years of knowing the man, you could easily count the altercations you had endured with him on both hands twice over. From simple noise complaints to more in-depth unfortunate incidents, you had faced it all. He was a nightmare in every aspect of the word, and knowing you were here to decide on how to divide your dream studio space in half today was gutting.

You didn’t want to accept that a mere partition was all there would be between you both.

The doors finally dinged open, and Jinyoung strode out, spinning around to stop your exit. “Oh, that’s right. Didn’t you have two luggage bags with you at your car?” he asked sweetly, and you glanced down, noting only the one. Gasping loudly, Jinyoung waved brightly at you after tapping the G button on the panel.

“He waited that long to tell me?!” you exclaimed when the doors shut, clamping your eyes shut as you let out an infuriated cry. “I’ll never give him the benefit of the doubt again!”

Hurriedly, you fetched your second suitcase, grateful no one had noticed it in the parking lot before dashing back into the building. And then you took the elevator up to the eighth floor again, panting out of breath by the time you reached the studio.

Mr Morris nodded sternly. “Now that we’re all here, how about we get this underway, hm?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your precious time,” Jinyoung responded, shooting you a triumphant smile and moving into the room behind Mr Morris. You continued in after them, trying to control the wheels on one of your luggage bags. You didn’t realise the pair had stopped, and you banged into Jinyoung’s back, gripping onto his waist and yanking on his shirt to balance yourself.

Once you were upright, you noticed how dishevelled you had made Jinyoung look, and the hiss that left him when he hastily tucked his shirt back into his jeans was only audible for you. It was when you watched this action that you realised the small tear in the seam on his shirt.

Should I tell him? you wondered inwardly, chewing on your bottom lip. As a fashion designer, you could easily repair the damage. But with the way he had intentionally made you late for your walkthrough, you decided it wasn’t worth mentioning it to him.

You suppressed an elated grin and turned your focus back to the discussion at hand.

“As you both know, there’s a loft and a storage room. I think it would be fair if it’s one each. What do you think?”

“As a photographer, I could do with the enclosed space to create a dark room,” Jinyoung suggested, glancing over at you to ensure you had nothing to dispute over it.

Of course, you did. “The storage space is almost double the loft area! I have a lot of fabric to store here.”

“So, invest in shelving and make use of the high ceilings.”

“I want extra floor space so I can set up my sewing area away from my other work areas then,” you compromised, and Jinyoung eyed you as if you had sprouted an extra head.

Before he could argue, Mr Morris nodded. “I think that sounds fair. So, we’ll run the partitions across from this beam here to the far wall. That way, the loft and storage rooms are allocated on your individual sides. The only things you’ll have to share are the bathroom, kitchenette, and the front door. How does that sound?”

“I’m sure Y/N will agree since she gets the better end of the floor plan, but as a gentleman, I’ll concede for the next three months,” Jinyoung announced graciously, though you knew the underlying tone was anything but accommodating.

Still, you smiled as fondly as you could muster at Jinyoung and patted his shoulder. “How kind. Thank you.”

“See, you’re both off to a good start already,” Mr Morris observed, grinning at his statement. “I’m sure you won’t even notice the other is there in no time.”

“Could you turn down your music?!” you yelled out, heaving in a deep breath after slapping your hand down on your desk in annoyance.

“I would if you weren’t so loud,” Jinyoung remarked, and you stood up, stalking around the partition and into his section of the studio.

Placing your hands on your hips, you glared at him. “I am a fashion designer. You knew this when you signed the co-lease. Sewing machines are a given, Jinyoung.”

“Is having you in my workspace a given too? This is the third time you’ve stormed in here today.”

“Well, you are so persistent in driving me insane. What am I meant to do?”

He smirked, not lifting his eyes away from the professional camera he was setting up for a photoshoot. “The feelings mutual, sugar.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you like to hear what I’d really love to call you then?” Jinyoung answered and finally lifted his dark gaze to meet yours. “I’m sure you’d prefer sugar.”

“I’d prefer to never see you ever again.”

“Look at us. We can agree on more than just one thing now, Y/N!” he said sarcastically before waving you off. “I’ll put some headphones on for now. I have a client in an hour, and you promised you wouldn’t sew during that time. So, if you need quiet, sugar, I best give it to you.”

“I’m about to go back on my word,” you replied through gritted teeth, shifting into your side of the studio and flopping down at your desk. You couldn’t even concentrate, but you knew you had a schedule to stick to. The launch of your first clothing line was in four months, and you had to impress the investors with your preliminary pieces in half that time to ensure you would receive the space in a local boutique store for the winter collection. It was too big of a deal for you to allow Jinyoung to deter you.

Swallowing down your annoyance, you got back to sewing.

By the end of the working day, you were more than exhausted. You hadn’t been in your new studio for more than three days already, and you felt as if you had worked two weeks straight. Rubbing at your neck to loosen a knot, you headed towards the elevator, not even caring that Jinyoung sped by you without so much as a farewell.

It irked you, however, when he didn’t hold the door for you to join him in the elevator. Bashing the button, you grinned when the doors sprang open again, and you stepped into the small space with the agitated man.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” you spoke, voice thick with sarcasm.

“You’re welcome. God forbid the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me loud and clear,” he replied monotonously, glancing at his phone as if you bored him.

Gaping like a fish, you finally snapped your mouth shut when the doors opened to the bottom floor and stormed out towards the exit, looking at your car and then over the street at the twinkling lights outside Pandora.

Knowing you shouldn’t, as you had an early morning start, but equally acknowledging how wired you were, you stalked over the car park and the street in between, entering the bar Georgia owned and let out a breath in relief when you saw BamBam was working the front counter.

He grinned when he spotted you. “It’s a worknight, Y/N.”

“Desperate measures,” you muttered, waving to your friend who prepared your usual drink without asking for your order. You rejoiced when BamBam slid it across the counter to you. “Thank you!”

“Georgia not in tonight?” another voice asked, and you turned your head jarringly, rolling your eyes dramatically at the man beside you. “I have a business plan to discuss with her.”

BamBam laughed. “She’s out on a date, Jinyoung. The usual?”

“I don’t know. I had hoped to chat with her instead.”

“When will you learn to separate my friends from yours?” you asked, and Jinyoung didn’t even look in your direction, taking the glass BamBam had prepared for him anyway. You tapped Jinyoung on the shoulder, and he finally let out a loud groan.

“We’re adults, Y/N. You can’t keep Georgia to yourself as if she’s your favourite toy in the kindergarten toybox.”

“Did you just refer to me as— you arrogant asshole!”

“Spill it all off your chest, sugar. I’ll take it tonight,” Jinyoung offered, raising his glass at you before leaving the counter and heading over to a booth.

You didn’t hesitate to follow him over, taking a seat across from him. “We clearly need to have a chat.”

“Why do you think I’d like to have a chat with you?”

“Because our arrangement is only going to drive us both insane.”

Jinyoung smirked, lifting the drink to his lips. “I’m glad you acknowledge your presence in my world.”

“Neither of us like the other. We never will.”

“Fair call.”

“And we both have the same goal of taking over the studio in full as our own.”

Jinyoung nodded. “Preferably sooner than later.”

“Alright then,” you said, and Jinyoung glanced up at you curiously. “I propose how we deal with this.”

“I give you the money for your deposit in cash tonight, and you move out by the weekend? I’d love that,” Jinyoung suggested, and you laughed heartily. He rolled his eyes. “It’s a good deal.”

“I have a better one.”

“I’m not leaving, Y/N.”

“I vote we each give the other a run for their money,” you announced, and Jinyoung placed down his glass, leaning back in his seat to fold his arms across his chest.

“I’m listening.”

“Bring it on. Try your best to remove me from the studio without breaking any law or my belongings.”

“What if I break you?” he challenged, his dark eyes alight with amusement.

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“Really? Because I already annoy you so much as it is. If I unleashed myself, you’d be begging me to pay out your share of the lease in a week’s time.”

You nodded along loosely, your lips curling up in a wicked smile. “Is that so?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Y/N. I’m not the kind of opponent you’ll like to have.”

“I guess I’ll just have to find that out for myself. I’m going to make you leave my studio, no matter what it takes,” you stated, holding out your hand to Jinyoung.

He didn’t hesitate to take your hand, firmly shaking it. “May the best person win.”

_________________

Part 2

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

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bluearson · 3 years

Text

Double Trouble

Request: I see your requests are open and you write ✨ soft Dabi ✨ can we get a little smth for Dabi with an s/o who has a water quirk that sooths his burns to further soft dabi supremacy 🥺 (thank you for all the fantastic fluffiness you have blessed us with 💕) The day started off ordinary. The sound of music filled your ears as you patrolled around your self-claimed “turf”. Life was easy, a little dull but the life of a vigilante with no loyalties was not always boring. Then you saw him, hiding away in an alleyway. He was tall, beautiful even you might say. The scars that littered his body looked painful. You felt almost sorry for him, a quirk that his own body can’t handle. You wanted to help him.

Feeling confident you strode up to him, “Sir?” You spoke out to him. He was almost like a feral cat, he shifted his weight quickly onto his other foot and extended his left hand, blue flames appeared between his fingers. It was like a reflexive survival instinct. Your reflexes were faster than his though, you pulled the moisture out of the air and snuffed his flames out. He watched in disbelief as steam bloomed off his hand. “That’s an impressive quirk you got,” He croaked. “So, what are you? A pro hero?” There was an malicious edge laced into the words he spoke. “I wouldn’t want to rope myself in with such close-minded people.” You scoffed, “I’m better than that. I’m my own boss.” You crossed your arms over your chest as you eyed the flame-quirked stranger. He only grunted in response as he looked you over. You felt like he was scrutinizing you under his eye. “If our paths cross again.. I think I’d prefer having your help.” He was gone before you could even say goodbye. Even though he hadn’t made the best first impression, neither did you. You weren’t sure how to feel about the next time you met him. At the very least you hoped that you wouldn’t be on the wrong side of his flames a second time. You shuddered at the thought. You caught a glimpse of him walking down the street together with a girl much shorter than him, she rather cute. You wondered about what relationship they must have had. They seemed like good friends at the least. She was very animated and clung onto his arm as they walked together. Secretly you wished you could be her, clinging to his arm as you strolled through the city. That was another fantasy to write about in your journal. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been infatuated by someone but man.. you really wanted to be at his side. The universe seemed to have enough of punishing you when one day you heard a voice calling out to you, you looked over your shoulder as you took a long swig of water from your water bottle. You flashed the familiar figure a smile as it came fast approaching. “I missed you.” “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long, sweetheart.” He teased. “I like what you have to offer. I think we could make a pretty good alliance.” The words sent your heart a fluttering. Alliance? He wanted to form an alliance with you? “I would like that..” You extended your hand to touch his forearm, looking up at him as though you were asking permission to touch him. Your fingertips grazed his skin softly. When he didn’t move away you allowed your hand to settle on his rough skin. “Does it ever hurt?” You asked as you examined where the stables met his skin. “Sometimes.” He answered quietly, as though he was sharing a secret with you. “Do you have somewhere we can discuss this privately? I hate being out in the open too long..” He rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes darted around. “Yeah I have a little hideout where I make deals.” You turned on your heels and made a beeline for the hideout before you could even see the look on his face. Once inside you fastened the series of locks that prevented squatters from breaking in when you weren’t around to protect your secret base. You told your new partner all about your quirk, nearly professing that you held a flame for him once or twice as you tried to explain how useful you could be to him. You had experience teaming up with criminals before. Together you were a force to be reckoned with, especially since you could stay hidden as you supported Dabi from the shadows. You began to notice he’d start doing little things for you. You even took note that his arm stopped sizzling as much after a fight, usually you tried your best to keep up with him but there was only so much you could do while trying to not seem like a shady person carrying around several gallons of water. Still you felt like your efforts were always appreciated, even if they weren’t up to the standards you wanted every time. You lived for the way he’d pat your head as steam rose off his arm. The way he’d smile at you even for a brief moment. “I love you.” You said to him one day as he smoked his morning cigarette. You were enamored by him, utterly and totally captivated by everything he did. “I’m glad we’re apart of each other’s lives.” You quickly added. The raven haired villain took a long drag before exhaling the smoke, you watched as some slipped through the staples in his face, it looked as though he was a dragon breathing fire. “I’m glad you’re around.” He tore his eyes away from yours and you felt a little deflated. You wondered if there was ever a chance he’d see you as something more than just his “sidekick”. You wanted to ask him if he was single or not, about that girl you saw him hanging out with all those months ago. It never seemed like the right time, nor the right place. You didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Things didn’t change between the two of you after your little outburst. You still couldn’t push your feelings aside for him, no matter how hard you tried. “Dabs, do you try to push me away because you don’t think I can be a good villain?” It had been on your mind for a while, the way he seemed to keep you at arms length even though you both shared a common goal. “You don’t need to protect me if that’s what you’re trying to do. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and holding my own.” Your eyes searched his for an answer, for a glimmer of emotion under the tough guy act he held in public. You knew him long enough to see right through him. Every mask he wore. Every layer he tried to mask his true feelings behind. You wanted to tear all those walls down for him, to hold him in your arms and play with his hair. To be vulnerable with each other and raise hell together. If he wanted to watch the world burn you’d gladly fan the flames of his ambitions and further his goals. You wanted to see him succeed in everything. For the world to know that there was nothing that could stop him with his partner in crime by his side. He just stared back into your (E/C) eyes, a sad look washed over his face. He couldn’t just say you didn’t understand, you knew about his ideologies. You supported him with every fiber in your body. He cupped the side of your face, rubbing his thumb against your smooth skin. For once he didn’t have a snarky comeback to bite back at you with. You two just stood there, staring into each others having a silent conversation. It felt as though you two were trying to telepathically communicate with emotion what words couldn’t possibly convey. It lacked the power to truly grasp the full breath of the things you wanted to tell each other. Dabi pressed his forehead against yours, “I don’t ever want you to act recklessly because you’re following behind me. I never want you to get yourself hurt trying to keep up with me.” He paused, and brushed a lock of hair out of your face. “I know my own limits, and I know when I’m pushing myself too far. You don’t need to worry about me like I’m some.. fragile kid. I’m not made out of porcelain. I’m made out of flesh and bone, muscles.. and I’m a lot more sturdy than I might look.” You laughed lightheartedly, trying to lighten the mood. “I appreciate the fact that you’re looking out for me Dabi.. but I can only do so much if you keep me at arms length. I want to be your equal.” “You always were.” “Then let me in. Open up to me. Talk to me for fucks sake.” “I think actions speak louder than words. Words get jumbled.. twisted.” He tore his eyes away from yours as he looked off into the distance. He seemed so far away and you let him have his moment to reflect. “You’re too valuable to me. You help the pain stop. I’ve gotten too used to it Y/N. You know you’re really cruel sometimes..” He toyed with a lock of your hair. “You’ve got me hooked on your special little treatment and now I can’t stand the thought of you no longer being apart of my life. You’ve made yourself essential to my personal comfort.” You pulled him into a hug, squeezing him gently as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heart. It took a moment before he wrapped his arms around you in kind, his body was warm. “How do you think I feel?” You chuckled as you shook your head, “I’ve always been fascinated by you Dabi, ever since the first day I met you. I’ve never been able to get you off my mind for even a single second to myself.” “Damn..” You felt a rough kiss being planted onto the of your head. “What did I ever do to deserve someone like you in my life?” He chuckled. “Don’t ever say I never loved you. You just weren’t looking close enough. Too caught up in your head to realize I’ve been saying it ever since I agreed to let you into my life.” You said nothing as you simply enjoyed his embrace. Drinking in his scent as you let his warmth envelop you whole. “Wherever you go, I’ll be close behind. Damn all the consequences. There’s no place in this world I’d rather be than with the man I cherish. I trust you with all of me, Dabi.” You planted a kiss on his cheek. “When you’re finally ready to entrust all of you, your baggage, scars, and whatever else you’re hiding away from. I’ll be there, to help ease your pain.” You took his hand and raised it to your lips, planting a firm kiss into his skin. Taglist: @some-kindofgnome @humanitiesstrongestchicken @hecatve @axerrri

#Lighting the Bonfire #Dabi #Dabi bnha #Dabi x Y/N #Dabi x Reader #Dabi fanfic #soft Dabi

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lunarfly · 3 years

Text

Ok so I decided to finally post the promised: defending Romione (🥺💗💕💖💞💘) against Dr*mione (ಠಿ_ಠ) shippers.

So I've read a few posts about Dr*mione shippers, talking about why their ship is amazing (which had nothing to do with canon btw) and bashing Ron (for no reason) and I'm literally shaking out of anger.

Here are my thoughts:

1. "Ron is too dumb for hermione"

Stop- Just-

Stop.

RON IS NOT DUMB.

Yes, he might not be very interested in school subjects, but 👏 that 👏 doesn't 👏 mean 👏 he 👏 is 👏 dumb 👏.

He is actually very smart! He beat McGonagall's chess game, he is logical and quick-thinking. There's MANY examples of this that I won't name right now, but it's a canonical fact. Ron. Is. Not. Dumb.

And consider he was dumb. So? Would that stop Romione from happening? NO! Hermione didn't mind Ron not being smart. She was just upset that Ron was lazy and wouldn't study anything until the last minute. She wanted to get both Harry and Ron to study according to a schedule.

Is it clear? Intelligence doesn't determine love.

**And this is something that confuses me. This doesn't have anything to do with the point, but why does nobody realize that Harry isn't much smarter than Ron? Yes, he was better at DADA but that requires TALENT, not intelligence. And I'm pretty sure we all know that Ron is talented as well (hopefully everyone realizes that). Nobody uses the fact that Harry wasn't intelligent against Harmione, but everyone uses the fact that Ron wasn't intelligent against Romione. The double standards tear apart the fandom.

2. "Ron bought hermione perfume and Draco could get her something better."

Soooo, you're saying that just because Ron didn't have the money that Draco had means that Hermione didn't deserve Ron?

Wow, this just says a lot about you dr*mione shippers. You only care about the money that Draco has, not his personality. You don't like Ron because he's poor (and I know how FanFics give the "kind Draco" Ron's canon personality so the only "problem" with Ron is his looks and lack of money). And you don't see Hermione nor Ron the way they are. This "point" of yours is literally stating that Hermione should be a gold-digger and get Draco because he can get her the expensive presents that she deserves. Yikes.

3. "Draco can understand the emotional side of Hermione while Ron can't."

Wait

What?

WHERE DO YOU GET THIS IDEA FROM-

Draco is only EVER concerned about his own self, he is a NARCISSIST. He would NEVER care for someone (let alone Hermione) as purely and truly as he cared about himself. He didn't even care about Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson etc. He was selfish. The only reason he could express his emotions was because he had to go through a lot since he realized that killing Dumbledore wasn't as easy as bullying Hermione. This would never ever work.

And even if Ron didn't understand her as much, he STILL comforted her. Take the beginning chapters of The Deathly Hallows as an example. You'll see.

4. "Ron is too immature."

I need help.

Of course Ron was immature when he was 11!! Yes, he acted immaturely many times, yes, he made many mistakes, but guess what? He changed! He changed for Hermione!! Draco didn't change at all, not for Hermione, nor for anyone else. He remained the same bratty bully.

If you could reread the books and read prisoner of azkaban vs deathly hallows, you will definitely see how much Ron has matured. He doesn't argue with Hermione anymore, he comforts her, he's there for her. Yes, he made a mistake but he was manipulated by the horcrux! We don't blame Ginny for what tom riddle's diary made her do, do we? So stop blaming Ron!

Anyways, I think if dr*mione shippers have read the books, they'll know what I'm talking about when I say Ron changed for Hermione. I honestly don't know how you could miss Ron's character arc.

5. "Ron would be jealous of the brilliant Hermione."

What?

If I remember correctly, the reason Draco bullied the trio was because he was jealous of them. His jealousy turned into a 7 year torture for the trio and now you're saying that Ron is the jealous one? Please.

But anyways, Ron has been jealous of Harry and has made a few mistakes. But there are reasons behind them and I can defend him for each of these with arguments other than "everyone makes mistakes" (cough cough* Draco stans* cough cough).

First of all, Ron has admitted being jealous of Harry's fame because he lives with 5 older brothers who outshine him. But that's not really a mistake because he never let it get in his way. There were only 2 situations in 7 years when he left Harry out of jealousy but I think these have different explainations.

No1 Ron left in goblet of fire. I think the real reason that Ron let his jealousy get in his way this time, was not only because Harry got to participate in the tournament which could bring him eternal glory, but more likely because he was disappointed that his own best friend didn't even tell him that he was entering and didn't even help him participate (which wasn't true, but Ron thought so back then).

No2 Ron left in deathly hallows. This one was 100% because of the horcrux and I think we should all accept this by now and stop hating on Ron for being affected by dark magic.

And just like that, Ron never let his jealousy get in his way of friendships. I can't think of a situation where Ron is jealous of the brilliant Hermione so if you remember, please let me know so I can argue against it. <3

6. "Ron and Hermione would break up and remain friends, it's easy to imagine because they didn't have a strong relationship."

This was actually said, someone actually said this-

I'm just going to say that Ron and Hermione are happily married to this day (which definitely proves that their relationship is strong) and give the dr*mione community a moment of silence.

7. "Ron didn't do anything for Hermione and was just a jerk."

Coming from a person who has read and reread the books multiple times, I can assure you that Ron did many things for Hermione.

Of course, he was immature at first, he was mean to her, but slowly he started seeing more of the good in Hermione and started changing for her.

And even when he was immature, he still cared about Hermione and would protect her no matter what.

Let's remember how many times rubbish Ron stood up for Hermione against the brilliant bully Draco. 🥰

Let's remember how cowardly Ronald faced his fears of spiders to help Hermione (and the rest of the school, just how jerkier can he get?). 🥰

Let's remember how ridiculous Ronniekins stood up for Hermione against sensational Snape and got himself into detention (oh yes, this is the book version of the movie moment where Ron agrees with Snape about Hermione being an 'insufferable know-it-all'). 🥰

Let's remember how rotten Ronny comforted Hermione when she was worried about Hagrid and Buckbeak (and he even let her hug him and cry on his shoulder, how rude). 🥰

Let's remember how revolting Ronald sacrificed himself to save Harry and Hermione in the chess game. 🥰

Let's remember how horrendous Ron attempted to hex Draco when he used a slur that was meant to offend Hermione. 🥰

Keep in mind that all of these were done when Ron was still immature and still argued a lot with Hermione.

And these aren't even all.

8. "Ron and Hermione have a loveless marriage."

What the-

I'm sorry, I'm trying to be respectful here but this is crap. And the fact that the person said they also had "proof" from the c*rsed ch*ld but didn't want to spoil it-

As much as I hate the c*rsed ch*ld, I can tell you that it did its job portraying Ron and Hermione's unconditional love. Even in alternative realities, where they didn't get married, they were still in love.

And why would you even think that Ron and Hermione would marry and have kids if they didn't love each other? I need explainations.

Next.

9. "Ron never listens to Hermione."

I'm sorry, what? I'm genuinely confused??

What do you even mean by this? Yeah, they used to argue a lot, and? Ron thinks Hermione is brilliant and wonderful and he follows her advice. I can't recall a moment where Ron won't listen to Hermione, doesn't agree with her and ruins her plans. Anyone else?

Since this one is a big mess and a confusion, I'll move on to the next one until someone explains the points and arguments.

10. "Draco could make Hermione laugh while Ron couldn't."

....

Do I really need to say anything for this one?

Ron was the funniest one from the trio, that's why Harry enjoyed his company so much! Don't you remember the line in goblet of fire where Harry thinks about how much he misses having Ron as his best friend, because without him there's less fun and less laughs? I do.

But what I don't remember is finding Draco's sense of humor funny. I'm sorry but his intellectual level is almost as low as Crabbe and Goyle's. His insults are none other than Potty and Weaselbee, he only got 3 O.W.L.s and all of his jokes were stupid and dumb and their only purpose was insulting people he was jealous of.

These fanfics have rotten people's brains...😬

Anyways, I'm going to stop here. I've delayed this post for very long and I'm so excited to finally post it!

I read a book on wattpad by a dr*mione shipper and it was nothing but a giant headache. That's where I got all of these statements from. Most of the garbage in the book revolved around Draco and Hermione being inseparable and getting over all obstacles (wth) and other stupid stuff like that which really annoyed me. The book was called "why we love dr*mione" and it was by Bittenwizard. You can read and enjoy! Trust me, you'll have lots of content to post about after that 🤠👍

*I always try to be respectful to all ships, but sometimes some of them really anger me because the ships are either toxic or the arguments are plain trash. I'm sorry if I offend anyone.

Thank you for reading this. If you're a dr*mione shipper, I hope I've convinced you to give up the ship or come up with better arguments for it.

If you're an anti-dramione I hope you enjoyed the post. I'll delight you with more anti-toxic-ships content. :)

Thank you once again! <3

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

The Tower: Happily Ever After - 2

The Tower: Happily Ever After An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist | Character Refrence PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1849

Warnings: Pregnancy and minor language on chapter.

Synopsis: Almost 40 years after Elise Cooper first crashed into Natasha Romanoff outside the library at Columbia University, she and the Avengers are adapting to a near-immortal life together with their large brood of children. Yet things aren’t perfect. Life is moving on without them and they’re starting to discover who isolating being immortal can be.When Angela comes and asks Thor to take the throne of Asgard once more, the group leaves Earth in the hopes that they will find their Happily Ever After there.

Chapter 2: Anger Issues

When Marya returned home from school that day we were all ready to meet her. Marya was sixteen years old, a little taller than I was, with dark hair and light brown eyes - just like Bruce. Those weren��t the only things she’d inherited from her biological father. She was extremely intelligent and had been skipped ahead a grade in school. There had been talk about skipping her ahead more than that, but it wasn’t something encouraged in schools due to the strain it has on children’s emotional and social development. So instead she was finishing up high school with her peer group while taking college courses as electives.

She also had her own little green problem.

Her powers worked differently from Bruce’s. She could turn into a hulk, and that transformation could be triggered by extreme negative emotions - not just anger, but when she was really sad or anxious too. Unlike Bruce though, she never had to worry about sharing her body with another person. When she changed she was always herself and generally she had such precision control over the transformation that she could do it on command, much as Bruce could after the bonding ceremony all those years ago.

She looked around suspiciously at us as we called her over to the couches by the large window, typically the place where we had family meetings. It was usually where we spoke to the kids if they had done something they probably shouldn’t have. We took an approach with our parenting where they didn’t usually get in trouble for misbehaving. Rather we tried to think of a real-world consequence for what they’d done. For example, if they were fighting they had to sit down and listen to each other’s grievances and then work out a way to both come to an understanding about how the other feels and try to make each other feel better. It didn’t always work, but we figured it was better than arbitrarily making them go sit in the corner. So it made sense that she’d think she was in trouble for something.

“What’d I do?” She asked, dropping her backpack on the ground while she stood looking at her gathered parents.

“Why don’t you tell us?” Sam teased. “And we’ll tell you if that’s it.”

“I’m not falling for that,” Marya snarked, folding her arms across her chest.

“Honey, sit down,” Steve said, gently. “You’re not in trouble. We just need to tell you something.”

Marya sat down carefully, looking at everyone with deep suspicion. “Is someone else pregnant? Are you trying to populate Earth with just our family?”

“No,” Clint laughed. “What the hell?”

I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, honey, I sometimes think the same thing,” I said. “But that’s not what this is.”

“Your Aunt Angela came to visit today,” Steve explained. “She’s giving up the throne of Asgard.”

“Does that mean Riley’s going to be queen?” Marya asked, looking over at Thor. “I can’t believe my sister’s going to be the queen of a whole other planet.”

Thor shook his head. “Riley is still too young to rule by Asgardian standards. My people - our people - would consider that the equivalent of having Zak as their king. I have to step up and take the lead.”

“Which means, we are moving to Asgard,” Steve finished. “I know that...”

“What?” Marya yelped, interrupting Steve as she blinked at us. “When?”

“Within the month,” Steve said.

“But I have school!” Marya shouted. Her fists clenched and she started to turn green at the edges. “And what about my friends? You can’t just take me away from everyone I ever knew!”

“Mar,” Bruce said, gently. “Deep breath. Get that under control.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel!” Marya shouted, slamming her hands on the coffee table and sending a large crack through the heavy wood. I jumped a little, startled at her violent reaction, and the green started to creep into her arms starting at her hands, making her muscles swell and double in size.

Sam moved forward and crouched in front of his daughter, taking both her hands in his and looking into her eyes. “Marya,” Sam said with a gentle yet commanding tone. “I know you’re upset, but you need to talk about this rationally. If you can’t talk about it, you’re gonna have to go to your room to cool off first.”

She started crying and pulled her hands out of his. “It’s not fair!” She cried. “I don’t even get a say about whether or not you take me away from my friends. My whole goddamn planet?”

“Honey,” Steve said, wrapping his arm around Marya’s shoulders. “I know this is tough. I really do. But we’re partially doing it for you.”

“I don’t see how taking me from my friends is somehow supposed to be good for me,” she grumbled.

“Alright, kid,” Natasha said. “I’m going to give you some harsh truths here. You’re going to lose them anyway. Maybe not all of them anytime soon, but the ones you would have kept in your life you’d have had to watch age and die. Just like we all have done and are with our friends and family. We want to save you what’s happening with Rose. We don’t want you to have to fall in love and then watch them fade out while you’re stuck looking like you can’t buy a beer.”

Marya started crying harder and fell into Steve’s side and Wanda glared at Natasha. “You didn’t have to be so harsh,” Wanda snapped.

“Well babying her wasn’t doing it either,” Natasha argued. “She needs to hear it. She might not like it, but going to Asgard is what’s best for her.”

“Can’t I even finish school?” Marya begged. “I could stay with Eddie - or Rose. Or one of my friends. And then… then I’ll come.”

“There will be school for you on Asgard,” Thor said. “And it will teach you things that far outreach anything any of you have learned on Midgard. Riley and Pietro both attend and they learn of the world tree, and alien languages, advanced mathematics, and magic. You are already holding yourself back to fit in, daughter. You would never have to hide any part of you in Asgard. Not your intelligence, and not this -” he tapped her arm where it was still tinged with green.

“And I’ll make it so you can talk to your friends here. We’ll set up a line of communication,” Tony added. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure my kids don’t go without Tumblr and Instagram. Imagine how many followers you’ll get posting selfies in Asgard.”

“I already have a tonne of followers, dad,” Marya sniffed. “I’m a Skjodbærer.”

“Yes, you are,” Tony said. “And don’t you forget it. The whole universe is yours.”

“We’ll make sure we come back to visit,” I said. “We all still have friends here, and places we like to spend our time.”

“Yeah, who’s going to annoy Katie-Kate if I’m not around?” Clint joked.

Marya let out a small laugh that was still more tears than actual laughter. “I’m sure she’d hate not being annoyed by you.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Clint said and patted Marya on the thigh.

“We aren’t doing this to punish you, Mar,” Sam soothed. “I promise. We’ve all been talking about this for a long time, and we were going to wait, but your dad can’t anymore. He has to go and rule his kingdom. And sometimes we have to give up what we want to do for what we need to.”

Marya let out a long slow breath and nodded. “I know. I know, dad. They’re still my friends though and I’m still sad about it.”

“I know,” Wanda said. “Being sad is normal.”

“Can I have a goodbye party?” Marya asked.

“Look who you’re talking to,” Tony teased. “The biggest.”

She sat silently for a moment and nodded again. “If I really hate it, can I come back again?”

“You need to give it a proper chance,” Steve said.

“I will,” she assured him. “I just… I don’t…”

“If you really hate it, you can come back,” I said, cutting Steve off before he had a chance to reply. “We won’t like it, but our kids being happy and healthy is the thing we want most. We just think… in the long run, this is the best option for that.”

“I know,” Marya said. She looked around at anyone and kicked at her bag. “Can I go now?”

“One thing first,” Steve said, tapping the table where she cracked it. “What are we going to do about this?”

Marya sighed and looked at it. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“And…?” Steve pressed.

“And… I’ll go see if I can find someone who can repair it. If I can’t, I’ll shop for a suitable replacement. And… and I’ll volunteer at the soup kitchen for the Sundays before we leave as a stand-in for the fact I don’t need to earn money to pay for these things.”

“Good girl,” Steve said. “Dinner will be at 6.30.”

Marya stood up and grabbed her back. “Okay.”

“Marya,” I said. “We love you.”

She smiled a little and nodded. “I love you all too.”

We watched her disappear up the stairs and Bruce sat back and ran his palms over his scalp. “I really need to help her deal with her anger.”

Bucky patted his arm. “It’s usual teen stuff. We’ve seen it before -” he gestured to me “- we’ll see it again.”

“Yeah, but when any of the others got upset we didn’t have to worry about them breaking the building,” Bruce said.

“Umm… do I need to remind you about that tantrum Riley had that meant we had to remodel her room,” I said.

Bruce chuckled and nodded. “Right. I guess.”

“It won’t hurt to work with her more,” Sam said. “But don’t think that her having a temper is on you. She’s hyper-intelligent and smart kids often deal with anxiety because they’re always thinking ten steps ahead about all the potential terrible outcomes.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony snarked.

“Yes, Tony, you’re a genius, we all know,” Bucky teased.

“I do not like that I am the reason for her distress,” Thor said. “We could always go back to how it was before Angela took the throne.”

“And barely get to see you?” Clint said. “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“That’s not going to happen, Thor,” Steve said. “We’ve been talking about this for a while. It’s time. Sometimes kids have to move because their parents are. It’s not fun for them. But she will adapt and it is better it happens sooner than for her to fall into this society's expectations for when she should be doing things.”

Thor nodded, though he didn’t look completely convinced.

“Alright,” Clint said, clapping his hands. “Enough about moody teenagers. We have a lot to work out.”

“It’s going to be a big change,” I said. “But we’ve gotten really good at those, and in my experience, they always worked out for the best.”

// NEXT

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ohnobjyx · 4 years

Text

Taking care of you

Hi, guys! I initially wrote this post for an ask, but it got too long to be included, so I separated it in another post.

Disclaimer: fake info.

I’d like to highlight the moments they take care of each other. It must be because of how my own relationship works, but I really feel there’s something real between them when I see them just caring for each other.

Dd taking care of gg

From gg’s angle, I think the biggest clue is not just him taking care of dd, but letting himself be taken care of. From my experience, a independent, proud and competitive person like gg admitting that he doesn’t want to do something, asking for help or letting others defend him like dd does, shows a great deal of trust in the other person. He trusts the other one to do the right thing, to say the right words. And that’s present from start to finish in all of their events.

In the Thai fanmeeting (0:13-0:40 here), when asked a difficult question, gg and dd both said: “you answer”. Gg said in a very low voice “I don’t want to answer”, so dd inmediately turned to the reporter and thought of an answer. However, his answer was too short, so gg jumped in to complete it. Gg is perfectly capable of taking care of himself in events and interviews. He has done so before and continues to do so. However, whenever he’s with dd, he relaxes more, and lets dd take the reins or even asks him to (he asked him in this segment, but dd always rushes to defend him if needs arises, like the “you look at the waist” or the “why rush into marriage” moments). That doesn’t mean that he just disconnects, but remains attentive so he can help dd too if necessary. The way they rely and complete each other is really cp goals.

In CQL bts (the scene of the boat), dd keeps peeling lotus seeds for gg and giving them to him. Gg just naturally takes the seeds from him, and when YB hands him another stem, he just hands it to dd. If it wasn’t dd, just any other coworker, I don’t think gg would bear to just sit there and have another person peeling lotus seeds for him. He’d probably peel them himself, because that’s the “polite” thing to do. However, there’s no such need with people you’re really close to, and gg just sitting there speaks volumes of their closeness to each other.

(And note that when YB asks dd to pass him a lotus seed, dd just throws an unpeeled one to him, and YB has to peel it himself, because dd is only peeling lotus seeds for gg. Dd’s double standards).

In TTXS 11th anniversary, dd brings gg as his special guest. Gg says: “wang-laoshi please take care of me”, and dd answers: “I can’t even take care of myself”. But in the episode, he never leaves gg’s side, slows down the dance so gg can follow and jumps in to dance himself when gg is asked to and uncomfortable to say “no” (note that he also defended gg in the Thai fan meeting interview, when the reporter asked if gg could dance for them, dd was the first one to answer “no”)

Gg’s hearing is quite poor, so he often misses hosts’ questions. Dd is used to it by now: sometimes gg doesn’t even needs to ask him and dd will already be turning to him to repeat the question to him. I can think of at least three times that dd helped him like that: (1), (2) and (3)

(In Tencent Awards night, gg didn’t even hear the host telling him to stay for a bit, and only stopped after seeing dd. He didn’t hear anything the hosts said either. What is remarkable is that dd started to explain as soon as he turned. How did you know that gg hadn’t heard anything if you were facing the other side, dd?)

In Nanjing concert (191101), gg had a infection in the throat (faringitis). He could barely talk in the practice, and it’s part of the reason he’s much more silent in that concert. His throat was bothering him at the end of the concert, when they were both singing WuJi, so dd just simply sang his lines for him, hitting the high notes even though his voice isn’t suited for them. He continued to sing the leading voice of the song, just so gg could rest his voice. Gg’s reaction is so sweet too (his surprised stare, their smiles, gg nodding his head giving his thanks... judge for yourselves). He was smiling much more afterwards too.

Gg taking care of dd

But of course, gg also takes care of dd. As I’ve said, this goes to them both.

We’ve the famous knee pads moment in the 9-minutes boat video. Gg notices injuries in dd’s knees and looks very sad when he asks “b-but these are new injuries?”. They even bicker for a second, but gg keeps looking at dd’s knees and out of concern asks him to wear knee-pads. We all know that more than a year after that, dd is indeed listening to gg’s words, even though at first he laughed at them and asked “who would wear knee pads?”.

In the same 9-minute boat video, gg also asks him “I heard yesterday was so hot that an extra fainted... how were you?”. From my pov, this video allows us a small glimpse into how they interact, and by dd’s answer I think it’s usual for gg to be caring and attentive of dd. Even when they are playing and joking around, gg keeps in mind dd’s health, like when he said “yes, I’ll let you off since you haven’t slept for 2-3days and that’s sad. Rest well, please” here.

I don’t even think gg was thinking of anymore than just friendship with dd at that moment. But it already started to show that he cared a lot about him.

There are also multiple instances of gg taking care of dd’s throat. For some reason, it seems dd is very prone to colds and coughs (he once said he was the kind of kid that got sick every season, and I don’t think the idol life workload is doing anything to fix that).

Bxg digged out that gg gave dd a certain brand cough drop in the Thai fan meeting (and it’s the same one he was sharing with the other hosts in SDoC). Then we jump at Tencent Awards night. Gg sees that dd has something candy-like in his mouth and inmediately asks: “does your throat hurt?”. The amount of knowledge necessary here: as his cohosts from SDoC demonstrates for us, when we see a friend eating a candy, it’s more normal to ask “oh, you’re eating a candy?”. But gg inmediately knows that it’s a cough drop, most likely because he knows that dd doesn’t like sweets and snacks and he gave him those. From there, we jump to gg’s worry about dd “does your throat hurt?”.

In TTXS episode with gg, at the end, when they are eating meat skewers, gg advises dd to eat less of them: “they have black pepper, it’s bad for the throat”. For me, it’s a sign of how gg takes care of dd in a more domestic and daily basis. The comment is taken naturally by dd, as if he’s used to it.

(Actually, I’d like to know what gg has to say about dd eating so many spicy hotpots with his cough. In traditional Chinese medicine, “spicy, sweet, oily and alcohol” are the four prohibitions for people who want to take care of their voice and their throat. By gg’s comments and the brand of cough drops he gives dd, I’m almost sure he wouldn’t like dd mistreating his throat like this).

I’m sure most of you has noticed the next one, but gg always clears the seat for dd. He did so in Nanjing fan meeting, and took the papers and the pen away so dd didn’t sit on them, and again cleared the seat next to him in Tencent awards. So when gg wasn’t sitting next to him in w/ibo night, dd simply sat with a water bottle behind him, and gg noticed when he sat in dd’s seat later, when dd had left.

(It’s also interesting to analyze gg’s movement in Tencent Awards. Everyone in that sofa where sitting widely apart from each other, so a pen placed next to gg shouldn’t bother dd if he simply took his seat keeping the same distance everyone was keeping. But gg assumed naturally that dd would be sitting next to him).

(At the left, an actress who is rumoured to follow other actors cp’s, and was seen observing gg and dd that night quite closely).

Also from Tencent Awards night, dd was confused as to how to leave the stage, which gg kindly points him the correct way. The same thing, though much more subtle, appears again at the w/ibo night, when with a glance from dd, gg points the way with his fan for dd.

Gg also cares about dd’s career. In c-culture, connections and relationships with important people play a large part in your success in any industry. So at first gg was standing between ZLY and dd, but when he noticed ZLY talking with dd, he just gently pushed dd towards her, so they could chat.

This is why I don’t really believe in the famous video of a “jealous gg moment” (when they got off stage and were walking down the stairs, dd looked at ZLY, and that glance was supposedly seen by gg, who stormed off, leaving dd behind). I think gg didn’t react like that because of dd (though he did look at him), but because someone signaled him from afar.

Dd even waited for ZLY to get on stage, and offered his help to her because she was wearing a long dress. This was also seen by gg, who turned to check if dd was following. If this moment didn’t get a reaction from gg, and he doesn’t react poorly when they both chatted at his side, I don’t know why dd just looking at her afterwards would sit so badly with gg (and we get back to the fact of ZLY being married and with a baby).

At the Nanjing concert, in the first day, when gg and dd were singing Wu Ji, there were some problems with their earphones. You can actually see them trying to fix it from here. However, dd ends up taking off his, and there’s a moment of silent communication, where I think dd was asking gg to cue him the start of the next part of the song (which is dd’s). From here, you can see gg keeping up with the beats of the song, and see him pointing with the mic towards dd when is his turn to start singing.

I particularly love this Wu Ji interpretation from them, because it’s first dd asking gg for help, and inmediately after, dd taking care of gg.

They rely on each other, trust each other and they move around each other like the other one is meant to be in their personal space. Neither gives or receives more help from the other, they are in an equally balanced relationship. Now you can take this and compare it to real relationships you know of to get your own conclusions about whether it resembles a romantic relationship or a strong friendship.

#yizhan #bjyx #taking care of each other #bts #mainly #191228 #191101

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not-safeforsanders · 3 years

Text

Mutual and Unresolved Affection

Send me your tropes and I’ll write u a fic cos we need more fluff.

Ship: Anxceit

Word Count: 5427

Warnings: Alcohol mention!

Kink List: Losing virginity (?), Accidental arousal.

Trope List: There Was Only One Bed, Mutual Pining.

Plot: Virgil doesn’t like New York City, but he does like Janus, and now he’s got to spend seven days in the same bed as him.

18+ ONLY. Ageless blogs and minors DNI

Virgil hates the prospect of travelling. He thinks there’s very little reason to travel, he likes being in the same places where there are stability and repetition and the same street corners that he’s perpetually used too. Which is interesting because he moved states for university, the outlier is if you hate your parents then there’s a time to re-familiarise yourself with a new city.

And for the past three years, he hadn’t moved out of this city, not so much as a train ride or a visit to the next town over. He likes the one-space situation. The world is too big, he is very small, and he does not like being lost.

Except Janus had insisted on him going on this trip with him. Third-year arts course get to take a trip to New York to visit an array of art galleries and museums over a one week period. Virgil had said he couldn’t afford it, and the idea of being in a city that is known for never sleeping, actively disgusted him. “But it’s such a good chance, Virgil! You need to live a little!” His best and only friend had insisted, bordering on pouting in his attempt to sell the idea to him.

It worked, it took two days, but Virgil agreed. Janus paid for himself and half of Virgil’s, and then they’d spent an entire day on travelling with some of their classmates and tutors, to get to a hotel that definitely smells like alcohol. They were all sharing a room with one other person, and obviously, Virgil had clung to Janus as his lifeline to some sanity. They’d taken a keycard each and headed to the fourth floor in a very cramped elevator, gotten too their room and pushed open the door.

Virgil was already really tired, he could’ve done without the realisation of the fact that instead of twin beds, they’d been given one big double bed. He rests his head against the wall with a soft sigh and takes an exhausted breath in immediately after, shaking his head. “Don’t even say it,” he mutters to Janus, who looks mildly amused.

“But there’s only one bed!”

“I’m going to hit you.” He rests his suitcase against the wall and sits down to undo his boots. “I’m too tired to even care, I just want to sleep.” He pulls his shirt over his head and leans down to his suitcase to pull his sleepwear from his suitcase. “Unless you sleep naked in which case you’ll be on the floor.”

“You wish,” the blond snorts, sitting on the other side. He ducks his head behind his hair as he leans down to grabs his own things from his suitcase, but he’s only half paying attention to the contents. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks as his smile slips from his lips. The idea of sleeping in the same bed as Virgil would have excited him in absolutely any other circumstance. Not by accident, not when he’s barely communicated the fact that he likes the other man in a way that is distinctly not platonic.

He pulls out a pair of jogging bottoms, his eyes glancing over at Virgil as the other man slides his jeans off and folds them on the floor. Janus swallows a little, his heart skipping a beat in his chest as his gaze ghosts over the curve of Virgil’s ass and thighs, before tearing away to focus on getting changed. He doesn’t want to stare, less for himself and more because he doesn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable.

Virgil flops face-first on the bed once he’s in his pyjamas, hugging the pillow and burying against it like he’s willing it to eat him alive. He’d taken off his socks and Janus can’t help but notice that his feet look sore, thanks to very heavy combat boots he wears everywhere. For the aesthetic, he’d insist, Janus isn’t sure the aesthetic is worth that many blisters.

He pulls on his own vest and lies down on the bed, only just realising how tired he is. “Apparently we’re going out tonight, I think someone will probably knock on when it’s time.” Virgil makes a small groaning noise, muffled by the pillow, acknowledging the idea and how much he hates it in one. “Get some rest, V, I’ll wake you up when it’s time.” Virgil nods, tilting his head to the side so his cheek rests against the pillow, his dark eyes closing. Janus tries not to stare again, lying down on his side so he can resist the temptation, and soon he’s drifting off to sleep too.

They wake up as the sun is setting, dragging their bodies out of bed to take turns in the shower and get ready. “Where are we going again?” Virgil asks, his blackened hair curling from the shower water.

“I don’t think they said anywhere in particular,” Janus replies, trying to stop his curls from knotting around each other. “Sightseeing, but with alcohol.” His smaller friend huffs, leaning his head against the wall as he utters some quiet words of complaint under his breath. “Oh the horror, you’ll have to socialise and…” he gasps in exaggeration, bringing his hand to his chest in mock-terror “...enjoy yourself!”

“I am going to rip out your spine with my bare fucking hands, Janus Richardson, so help me G-” a knock at the door cuts Virgil off. “We’ll be out in a minute!” He curses under his breath and shoves on his hoodie, bending down to stick his feet into his boots. Janus is grinning a little as he reaches for his denim jacket out of his suitcase.

“I really love the fact you own the same outfit twelve times.”

“I wasn’t joking blondie, I will kill you.” The grin does not shift off of his face as he pulls on his beanie and steps towards the door. He doesn’t mention that Virgil kills him a little bit every day, whether it be from the skintight jeans or the way that Janus knows he has feelings he can never find returned. He’d made peace with that, if nothing else he’s glad to be Virgil’s friend, that’s still important, he wouldn’t ever think it made him less important to Virgil. But it still aches.

“Come on gloomy guts, lets go get drunk.”

There are forty students on this trip, and Janus and Virgil have managed to lose the other thirty eight. Janus has managed to lose most of his coherency too, leaning against the brick wall outside to try and keep himself upright. “Do you mind sharing a bed with me?” He wonders aloud. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable does it?”

Virgil looks up at him incredulously around the cigarette smoke pouring from his lips. “I feel like we have bigger fish to fry right now.”

“I never have bigger fish to fry,” Janus hummed. “Your comfort is all I ever think about,” he looks tired, his beanie slipping down his head and his curls falling into his eyes. Everything about him appears as unstable as he suddenly feels. Virgil falters, unsure how on earth he should respond to that, instead he just holds out the cigarette for the taller man to lean up and take from his hand. “We should just go back to the hotel, I’ll text the tutors to let them know we didn’t trip and fall down a drainpipe.”

He takes a step forward and tries to recount their steps back to the hotel. It starts raining at some point. Virgil tugs the hood up to but Janus barely notices. He flicks the end of the cigarette into an ashtray on a passing bin, focuses on the way the night swallows up the streets. He keeps saying he needs to quit, but in reality he, nor Virgil, could care less whether or not they live or die. The whole world is in hot water, and he’d grown up with the idea he’d be dead before thirty. It helps to keep his standards for life low, that way he’s either right or very pleasantly surprised.

Which is probably why he’d never so much as mentioned his affections for Virgil.

Still, it’s not as if he doesn’t enjoy life, that’s why he’s drunkenly recalling the layout of this area, half conjuring scenarios in his head where he has something funny to say. He doesn’t say anything. Virgil notices, he looks a little worried as Janus trips over his own feet and sighs, but otherwise doesn’t find a conversation anywhere. He puts it down to concentrating on finding the way back to their hotel.

But once they get there, he realises that Janus looks pale and upset, leaning against the metal of the elevator wall as they head upstairs. He still doesn’t speak, but he’s clearly thinking very hard about something, Virgil clears his throat a little, and the blond snaps out of his thoughts, a ‘huh’ on his lips, eyes wide in some shape of surprise, like he’d only just noticed where they were. The elevator opens, and they both step out. “Are you alright?” Virgil asks quietly.

“Drunk,” Janus replies, with a weak laugh.

“I can tell,” he offers a small smile, grabbing his keycard out of his pocket and opening the hotel door. Their clothes are wet, and each toe off their shoes, leaving them up against the wall. Janus glances over at Virgil as his hoodie is discarded to the side; and what he doesn’t know is when he turns around his friend glances up to speak to him but instead admires the way his muscles flex as he pulls his wet shirt over his head. Virgil knows Janus is attractive, has known from the moment they met, but there’s something about the light dampness to his skin as he slides his jeans down his firm thighs that wrenches something else through him.

He busies himself getting changed, puts it down to a little too much to drink, and promptly slides under the covers of the bed, his eyes closing. A moment later, Janus slides in beside him, their backs to each other. Neither of them speak, Virgil switches off the light, and they sleep.

Two days into the trip, Virgil really can’t put it down to alcohol. Janus forgets his clothes and comes out of the shower, skin a little damp and a towel wrapped around his waist, a small apology on his tongue. Virgil is very glad that he’s lying on his stomach. He notices that Janus has an ouroboros tattoo just under his collarbone, and for the first time in his life he considers whether or not he’d like to run his tongue over it.

Four days into the trip, Virgil is reading a book in bed, Janus slides in next to him and starts reading over his shoulder. After a little while he sinks down into the bed and rests his head on his friend’s shoulder, Virgil feels his heart skip a few beats in his chest. When the other man falls asleep, curled up beside him, Virgil shimmies down as carefully as possible, he falls asleep with the blond’s head on his chest.

The next day Virgil wakes up with Janus half on top of him, snoring softly, his cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy, his hand periodically twitching from where it rests beside Virgil’s waist. The dark-haired man leans up to push some of his own hair from his eyes, looking down at the body wrapped around his own. In his head, he can imagine Janus waking up and kissing him, which isn’t a thought he can say he’s had in a while; he hadn’t thought about kissing Janus since...well since they met. He’d thought he was the most attractive man in the class, but Virgil had never seen himself as nearly attractive enough for him. He hadn’t even thought they’d be friends.

At some point, that physical attraction had just melted away. Or maybe it hadn’t.

In his own daydreams, Virgil can imagine running his hand through Janus’ hair and tugging a little, can imagine their tongues sliding together, can imagine feeling his heartbeat. He’s used to telling his best friend he loves him, but something about saying it in that situation has a flare of warmth opening up in his body. He remembers the sight of Janus as he came out of the shower, water running in little droplets over his collarbones, the trimmed blond curls just below his belly button.

Heat pricks at Virgil’s skin as, without meaning too, he imagines sliding his hand below the waistline of that towel, or his jeans, or pulling his shirt off of him. The blood in his own body seems to simmer beneath his skin, and he has to take a deep breath in to direct his mind absolutely anywhere else.

Janus stirs suddenly, his body stretching out with a muffled sound of exhaustion. Virgil smiles down at him as his eyes peel open, sleep clinging to the corners of his eyes. “Sorry,” he mutters lazily. “You’re very comfortable.”

“I’m glad,” Virgil replies, voice barely a whisper and scratchy from dehydration. “I need to pee, though, so could you stop being deadweight for a moment?” The taller man snorts, rolling off of him and lying back on the bed. As he stretches out, his biceps tense and his shirt rides up, and Virgil has never felt like he’s needed to tear his eyes away from someone before, but these past few days have been handing him a series of revelations that he has no idea what to do with.

He closes the bathroom door behind him, and actually uses the toilet. Afterwards, he stands in front of the wall-length mirror as water from the tap runs down the drain wondering if there’s absolutely any part of him that Janus could be attracted too.

He brushes his teeth, but he can’t look himself in the eye.

As he exits, Janus sits up off the bed. “You take forever dude.” He slides to the edge, Virgil’s gaze catches his long enough to blush. “My turn,” he brushes past him to the bathroom, Virgil just snorts but it sounds exhausted, and he hates the way it sounds. He doesn’t know if Janus notices.

He tries to take his mind off the slowly-becoming-inescapable realisation that he may actually love his friend both sexually and romantically, but suddenly he’s very aware of how little he owns that he hasn’t shared with the other man. The past three years of his life has been a joint effort and it takes looking for something that doesn’t remind him of Janus to find that out. That just makes him feel worse because he should’ve noticed how much the blond does for and with him by now.

The bathroom door opens and he jumps. Janus’ hair is still a mess, the curls fluffy and tangled, he grins and flops down onto the bed face-first, before lying still. “I don’t want to do more things today, I just want to lie in bed.” Virgil resists the urge to reach out and run a hand through his hair in bid to sort out the mess.

“Can we just stay in bed today? Do what we want?” Janus lifts his head and grins. “One of us could pretend to be ill?”

“You should win a geniusness award V.”

“That’s a bit much.”

“And I’m utterly sure perfecting your eyeliner and straightening your hair and wearing combat boots with chains on them are not.”

“No those are the basic standards for looking good.” A knock at the door interrupts the conversation, Virgil coughs very loudly, sliding under the covers. Janus rolls his eyes and slides off the bed. Virgil closes his eyes and rolls over onto his side, feigning being sleepy.

“...Yeah, he’s probably just got a cold, but he’s feeling quite sick, he’s definitely got a temperature, but I gave him so cold and flu medicine...” he hears Janus explaining their fake situation. “...Yeah, he should be okay, really, he just needs some rest...” Virgil hears the muffled voice of one of their tutors and then the door closes, and locks. Virgil doesn’t really want to move, so he feigns being asleep, although the small smile on his lips gives him away, if the fact a person can’t fall asleep that fast hadn’t.

“You’re a terrible actor.” The bed dips, and Virgil grins, still not opening his eyes. Janus peels back the covers, and the smaller man who is curled up a little ball on his side, assumes he’s getting in the bed. Until, suddenly, he feels Janus’ hands digging in against his side. He squeaks, squirming and trying to fend off the larger and stronger man. Virgil rolls on his back, trying to lean up to tickle Janus back but is far too busy squirming beneath him. “St-Stop-ah-Janus I sw-fuck off!” He tries to push the other man away, to next to no avail, and gives up, laughing and squirming beneath the other man’s touch.

Finally the blond gives in, resting his body above Virgil’s as they both try to catch their breath. Just as they’ve both stopped laughing, they meet each other’s eyes and find themselves in hysterics once more, caught up in just how childish this whole situation is. Virgil’s giggles are stifled against his hand, but then he hiccups and he’s off again, cheeks flushed as he tries to hide his face. He feels so warm, physically and emotionally. It’s not until they finally cease their laughter that Virgil even realises Janus’ knee is pressed into the space of the bed between Virgil’s knees, previously in effort to keep him pinned down against it.

He sucks in a shaky breath at that thought, the laughter ceasing. Janus’ grin slips a little too, as though worried by the change in demeanour. “That was fun, I don’t think I’ve had a tickle fight in a few years,” Virgil tries to speak normally, but his voice is scratchy from the laughter, and a whisper from the sudden flush to his body.

“Me neither.” Janus moves to kneel up and that seems to be even worse because he’s basically sitting on Virgil’s leg. “I didn’t realise you were so ticklish.”

“I’m not,” Virgil deadpans, with a completely straight face.

“Oh yeah?” Janus grins, slyly.

“Don’t, wait, I take it back-Jan!” Virgil weakly bats off the hands sliding up against his ribs, but the movement doesn’t just tickle as his shirt rides up and a wisp of air brushes against his skin. He takes a very sharp breath in, as one of Janus’ hands plant themself beside his head and the other slips up his shirt. It’s platonic, he’s sure the movement is utterly platonic, but he feels the palm of the other man’s hand against the skin of his ribs and his nails catch against him. It tickles, he laughs, but he feels the movements like shockwaves through his body as his hands comes up to push Janus away but after half a second all he’s doing is gripping a hold of his vest. In his mid-second delirium, his eyes catch the tattoo on Janus’ collarbone, the snake in a perfect circle over his left breast.

His own back arches at the incessant tickling and Janus’ body is just a little too close, he’s half-laughing, half-crying and very aware that he can feel the other man’s body heat radiating against his skin. Janus is grinning above him and his dips his head a little as his arm aches. Virgil can feel their bodies resting to each other, Janus’ fingers dig in and his body jolt upwards, his hips rocking against the other’s thigh.

The touch slows, they’re both blushing, Virgil lifts his hand up, dazed and drunk on dopamine, to brush Janus’ hair out of his eyes. His fingertips trail against faded scars on the side of his face, his eyes following his own movements before he’s looking up at his friend. Janus’ face is soft, his bright eyes meeting Virgil’s, lips pressed in a small smile. “Didn’t mean to work you up,” he whispered.

“Huh?” Virgil asks, a little out of it. Janus shifts his thigh so it’s pressed between the other man’s hips, which jerk almost by autopilot. He’s half hard and he’d barely noticed before but he can’t escape it now.

Virgil doesn’t really know how to react, his initial impulse to panic but suddenly Janus’ face looks a little hungry and he understands, with a hint of incredulousness, and moves the hand on his friend’s face to tangle through his hair. Their lips meet a little too hard, a little too fast, Virgil whimpers at the force and rocks his hips without a second of hesitation. He’s a little confused, very frustrated, and moans when Janus’ teeth sink against his bottom lips and tugs.

His hands wind through the blond curls and pull just a little, tilting the other man’s head back with the movement enough to press his lips, then teeth to the expanse of skin waiting to be bruised by him, burying his face in the crook of Janus’ neck. Their bodies by now are pressed together, both rocking against each other, their breath dissipating in the air around them in a series of gentle moans.

There’s something lazy in the franticity, both still wearing their clothes and grinding against each other like they’re just too desperate to pause. Janus’ body is warm and offers a nice pressure against him. He can hear the other pant against his ear, feel his muscles flex against his body and despite the fact Virgil is feeling so many emotions at once, he’s overwhelmed by the distinct relief that he experiences at the sound of his friend’s moans.

He tilts his head back and lets Janus kiss him again, but his own coordination is missing a beat because the inside of his mind is racing and his heart is beating so fast as it experiences euphoria it has never really felt before. He can feel Janus’ hard cock press against his hip through his sweats, he doesn’t know why it makes him feel dizzy, but it does. Virgil peels open his eyes to look up at the other man, his hands loosen their grips, their eyes meet, and Janus rolls his hips with some semblance of determination, just to see Virgil’s face entirely as he lets out a soft sound of pleasure.

Janus’ hand drags nail-first down Virgil’s side, before he leans up. They both looked wrecked, when Virgil looks at Janus he sees his hair all messed up and his skin is flushed, his cock tenting in his pants. When Janus looks at Virgil he sees someone struggling to breathe, aching to be touched. He moves his leg so that his body is between Virgil’s thighs, his hands falling to the waistband of his sleep pants. He glances up, Virgil nods enthusiastically. Janus feels a little like he’s unwrapping a gift as he pulls them down the other man’s legs and leans down without a second to spare to run his tongue along the length of Virgil’s cock.

The smaller man whimpers, his voice catching in his throat and dissolving into a moan as Janus takes him between his lips. “Fuck, Jan,” his voice comes out high-pitched as his hand runs through the blond curls and holds them out of his friend’s face so he can watch him. He tries to keep his hips on the bed but he can’t control the slight twitch of desperation. Janus pulls his mouth off and wraps his hand around the base of Virgil’s cock, stroking a little.

“Been a while?” He asks, teasingly.

“Could say that, yeah,” Virgil replies weakly, finding that it’s probably the wrong time to admit that he’s a virgin. Janus doesn’t press further, just grins and dips his head to take him in again.

Virgil feels like he’s going to black out for a moment, his hand involuntarily tightening in the other man’s hair as he moans. His head tilts back as little gasps leave him, his other hand gripping the bed sheets beneath him.

He feels his whole body tremble as his hips twitch, he’s not sure if he makes a noise because he’s too busy feeling like he’d just been dropped underwater. He’s fairly certain he forgets to breathe, and he knows when he’s finished coming down Janus’ throat he apologises for not giving more warning, but it all escalated so fast that he’d barely realised himself. Janus doesn’t mind, sucking at the head of Virgil’s cock just to get that soft whine out of him. He swallows and kneels up, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. “Not that I’m complaining, but that was fast.” Virgil buries his face in his hands with an embarrassed whine. Janus leans up with a smile on his face, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the other man’s fingertips. “Really has been a while, huh?” Virgil is semi mortified, his cheeks flushing even further as soft hands peel his own away from his face.

“Something like that,” he says softly. “Do you want me to…?” he realises, rather poignantly, he has no idea what he’s doing, maybe the worry showed on his face because Janus’ eyebrows furrow too.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course, I...It’s just I...uh…” he trails off, his face getting redder and redder by the second. “Well it’s just I’ve never...and I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I…” Janus breathes a sort of sigh of relief. “Sorry?”

“No, it’s fine, I was just worried you didn’t like it, you should’ve told me though, I would’ve gone a little slower.”

“No! It was good, it was...perfect.” Janus’ breath hitches, and it’s his turn to blush, he sits beside Virgil, who tucks himself back into his pants before moving to kiss the other man slowly. He can taste himself on Janus’ tongue and by principle he doesn’t like the taste, but primally he feels like he could get drunk on it. He pulls back. “You’re going to have to show me,” he mutters, pressing a gentle kiss to the other man’s lips before shifting back, his hand falling to his thighs and trailing upwards.

“Take your time,” Janus advises. Virgil slides his sweatpants down his hips with a little help, his hand wrapping around the half-hard length and moving his hand the way he does with himself. The blond shivers slightly, eyes flickering from the hand to Virgil’s face, their eyes meeting briefly. He’s already breathing a little faster, his heart hammering in his chest. Now he’s had time to catch his breath he’s just about realising that this is Virgil, touching him. His best friend.

That thought abandons, with all other thoughts, when Virgil ducks his head down to suck at the head of Janus’ cock, his movements careful and experimental. He takes him down inch by inch at his own pace. “Mind your gag reflex,” Janus warns, but Virgil takes him down and pulls back up, slowly finding a rhythm. His eyes fall shut as he lets the weight and feel overtake him. He gags a couple of times in the process, before using his hand and mouth in tandem. His dark eyes open and meet Janus’, the blond stutters out a gentle moan as he watches spit dribble down the smaller man’s chin.

He takes a little longer, and Virgil stops and starts as his body aches until determination overtakes him and he pushes through. His eyes shut again, the sort of way someone might doing exercise, in some ways he’s just as desperate for Janus to come as he himself is, like he wants that satisfaction.

Janus stammers out a warning as he feels his orgasm approach, but Virgil doesn’t even entertain the idea of pulling away. The bitter taste of come squirts into his mouth, thick and sticky on his tongue, it hits the back of his throat and he chokes just a little, but moves his head through the aftershocks of Janus’ orgasm with tears pricking his eyes from the sensation.

“Are you okay?” The blond rushes out hurriedly, Virgil nods as he pulls up, bringing his hands to his mouth to cough hard.

“Oh that’s gross I’m so sorry,” Virgil mutters.

“No no it’s okay, worse things have happened, come on let’s get you cleaned up.” Janus tucks himself back into his sweats and stands on admittedly shaky legs as his hand rests on Virgil’s back, guiding him to the bathroom. “Are you sure you’re okay? I should’ve given you more warning, here gargle some water, I’ll make you a cup of tea.” Virgil does not usually like being fussed over, but as he spits come out into the sink and washes out his mouth and hands, he finds the care the most comforting he’s ever felt.

“Was it okay?” Virgil asks, as he’s finally leaving the bathroom.

“You did great, I’m impressed.” A cup of hot tea is placed on the bedside table and Janus’ eyes find his own, still worried, still full of care, his hands coming up to Virgil’s arms as if checking for the millionth time he’s okay. “Was it okay for you?”

“Jan if you ask me one more time I’m going to rip out your jugular with my teeth.”

“Oh joy, we’re back to our regular schedule of sass.”

“Don’t make me hit you!”

Janus grins, shaking his head, he leans down to kiss Virgil gently, their lips moving slowly, much more calmly, a ripple of warmth makes Virgil’s head feel fuzzy. “I have a confession,” Janus mutters, his forehead resting against Virgil’s. “I’ve had a bit of a crush on you since we first met.”

“Good,” Virgil mutters. “I mean I thought I just wasn’t...I mean you’re so hot, with your blond curly hair and mysterious bad boy attitude and I just...you know, it’s like I made myself forget I was attracted to you because I didn’t think I stood a chance.”

“You stand all the chance, 100% chance, odds are in your favour.”

“Kiss me you moron.”

“I’m your moron,” their lips meet again, gently, and then again, and again, until they’re both grinning and falling on the bed. Virgil lies back and Janus tucks up against him, his head on his chest. “So...virgin?”

“Not anymore, clearly.” Virgil glances down at Janus before sighing. “Stop looking so fucking pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with myself.”

“Bitch.”

“Slut.”

“Living personification of the moment you dip a digestive in tea and it breaks apart and sinks to the bottom of your cup.”

“Ouch, you win.” Virgil grins, shaking his head, his hand playing with Janus’ hair as he lets everything that has happened sink in. He’d thought losing his virginity would feel different, somehow, but he doesn’t feel like he’s any different. He just feels like himself, but in the nice afterglow of his first sexual encounters, with someone he likes a whole lot. He loves Janus, he’s his best friend, so it doesn’t feel strange to consider that he loves him even if now he’s viewing it through a different lens. “Are we...dating now, is that how this works?”

“I sure hope so because I’ve gotta sleep with you again tonight.” Virgil rolls his eyes. Trust him to pick the most sarcastic, insufferable, annoying...his thoughts trail off as Janus leans up to kiss him gently. “Your tea is getting cold,” (...sweetest, most thoughtful, most handsome man in the world).

They spend the day kissing and drinking tea, and Virgil gets the hang of having a cock in his mouth in the space of twelve hours.

Day six comes and goes and Virgil is anxious to get home, although he’s sad that these memories were not made in a place, a room, that he could come back too. He’s got plenty more to make. He falls asleep that night wrapped up in Janus’ body, and wakes up early just to feel the expanse of his skin before they have to get ready to leave.

When they get back to their dorm, Virgil chucks his suitcase into his room and drags Janus in with him. He shuts the door, happy to be home, so happy in fact, that they won’t leave that room until the next day.

#not safe for sanders

110 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

starry night | chris beck

word count; 9241

summary; chris beck delivers flowers to you five times.

notes; this was originally called ‘candy cane lane’, but I changed it up a little.

warnings; none!

When Chris had started working in a flower shop, it was to pay his way through college. He was getting a degree in medicine and it wasn't cheap, and he needed a simple and easy way to make cash that wouldn't take too much out of him. He wasn’t big on anything social, and so working in a bar or restaurant didn’t seem like the best fit, and unfortunately for him, all the library jobs had been snapped up at the beginning of the year. Supermarkets were a no go, he hated the people that came through and how rude some of them could be, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get a job in a coffee shop.

Working those machines might as well be rocket science.

The little flower store on the end of his campus road had been hiring, and eventually, he’d become desperate. It wasn’t his usual gig, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, to begin with, but it offered decent money, reasonably flexible hours, and the boss actually let him study on shift when it was quiet, and so it actually gave him more free time than he had before getting a job.

Then, he’d started to warm up to it. It was always cool in the summer and warmer in the winter, keeping it temperate for the plants, and it always smelt good. He made friends with a man named Mark who came in every so often to buy new plants to study, he was becoming a botanist, and they bonded over the serene quietness of flower shops for studying and bad jokes.

Little old ladies pinched his cheeks, the tips were good, and it helped him clear his thoughts to be able to do menial tasks like spray the flowers with water every other hour to keep them wet enough, and to sit behind the cash registers. It was a simple Christmas present from said botanist friend that really inspired his passion, though. More of a gag gift, he was sure that was its intention, but he’d started to take it seriously. Chapter after chapter on the meanings of flowers, how to send hidden messages through plants, and something about the way of communicating in ways other than words had spoken to him.

After that, he’d been able to offer a service of sending messages through flowers. He’d become a more popular salesperson, and he’s shifts had increased, and he loved doing it. He loved the physical way that a message could be conveyed, beautiful explosions of colour to mean ‘I love you’ or ‘Happy Anniversary’, and so he’d started to invest his time in that. Nobody had been all that surprised when the older man who ran the shop had left it to him when he passed, not even Chris himself, and so he’d finished up his degree and started working at the flower shop full time.

Mark had taken on a part-time job there, as well as his internship in a clinical research lab, and they’d hired an extra hand at the register. It made him happy.

Less so, when he had an influx of orders overnight, and instead had to focus on building bouquets to be shipped instead of the garden expansion he was making, but happy nonetheless.

He was twenty-seven custom orders in, Mark already out running the standard bouquets for delivery, and he was stacking them by the garage door, wrapped in ribs and pretty vase-boxes, all ready to go. Licking the tip of his finger to flick the paper over, he let out a sigh, two sets of flowers on one page, his rows raising. It wasn’t unusual for there to be multiple sets on one order form, but as his eyes scanned over the list of preferences, scents and colours, as well as the messages they were wishing to convey, one of his brows rose up.

One request for the pretty set of pink roses and lilies that he’d loving crafted himself, a collection of flowers that signified an apology, and he was always happy to offer advice to any guys who came into the store to buy that set. It was usually a guy fresh to a relationship, messed something up by refusing to unfollow another girl on Instagram, or just saying the wrong thing in front of his friends, introducing a girl as his friend, that one always made him giggle. The second was curious, though, and it made his lips quirk up in a slight smirk at the insinuation of it. Red roses and tulips, a darker and more seductive bunch; new beginnings and early love, and he was willing to place his last dollar on it being an affair.

It felt even more sure when he noticed that the delivery address was that of an office block, and not a home address, a man’s name instead of a woman’s. In the personal notes section, there were no names, and so that was an option ruled out for getting to the bottom of the situation, but he wrote out gift cards, one with swirling writing for a heartfelt apology and the other with a sickly-sweet pick-up line and what he assumed to be an inside joke.

Curled ribbons and plastic wrapping, and the two bouquet were standing side by side for delivery, the van chugging as it was pulled back into the driveway, reversed up, and his blond-haired friend rounding the vehicle, looking utterly worn out, and it was only halfway through the day.

“You’d think it was Valentine’s Day, or something. This is crazy, it’s November!”

He took off his cap, running a hand over his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, before placing the embroidered garment with the company logo back onto his head. “I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up!”

“Oh, yeah? Is it the rest of the day off?”

“Uh, no.” He deadpanned, his friend laughing as he came to stand by him, and he motioned towards the collection. “However, it is a rather exciting combination. These two-” He tapped at the boxes holding them firm at the base. “-are going to the same place.”

“And that is exciting why, exactly?”

“Because one is supposed to symbolise asking for forgiveness and all that, and the other symbolises new love and beginnings and all that. They’re being delivered to an office block, not a home address.” It took Mark a minute to process it, and Chris watched the gears turn in his friend’s head, before his jaw was dropping, and he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, and you think it’s a.. y’know.” He only nodded, and he began to load up the other orders into the van, a printout sheet of new addresses and order numbers on the tags, the delivery sheets loaded onto a clipboard to be signed for at each location. The empty van was once again teeming with bright flowers and artfully arranged bundles. Securing them all down and making sure they wouldn't tip over or get crushed during the ride there, he was confident they were ready to go, almost all of them set up, before he was staring at the two he’d recently made once again, his curiosity getting the better of him. “You want me to try and find out while I’m there?”

He almost agreed, it would have been so easy, a simple way to put his questions to rest, but he was invested in it now, and so he already knew what was coming. “No, I’ll deliver these ones myself.

Mark only nodded, slamming and locking the back of the van doors, double-checking the hatches for fresh air were open to stop them from wilting in transit, and then he was back up into the main cabin. The loud sounds of disco music exploding from the van radio as he started it back up, reversing from the driveway and setting off on his next round of deliveries.

Scooping up the first set in his arms, Chris patted down his pockets in search for his keys, finding them in his left side back pocket, unlocking his car with a click of a button, and setting the first batch on the passenger seat. The second soon followed, and he used the seatbelt to secure them in place, rolling the windows down as he set off, programming the address into his SatNav.

It was a short drive, twenty minutes maximum, even with traffic, the tall and shining office building one that he was vaguely familiar with towards the inside of the city, harsh rays of winter sun reflecting off of clean glass windows, all the way up to the top floor, and it was so tall that as he stared at it, he swore the building was swaying. With a bouquet in each arm and the clipboard tucked under one, he backed his way through the polished glass doors, a company insignia printed onto the glass, and he almost wanted to check his shoes for traces of at the appearance of the clean white lobby.

Large tiles of marble flooring, specks of grey flickering throughout them, and white leather couches along some of the walls on one side of the lobby, a waiting room. The other had various coffee and tea machines, recyclable cups and sugar packets, as well as a range of fruits and muffins, and he wanted to scoff a little at the ostentatious nature of it all. The desk was empty as he finally approached, though he could hear chatter in the background, behind reflective glass panels that he couldn’t see through, one-way glass he assumed, and as he balanced the bouquets up on the counter, an older woman, approaching her fifties he presumed, came out, a wide smile on her face as she brushed down the material of her skirt.

“My, my, aren’t those beautiful? Unfortunately, I don’t think they’re for me.”

“Well, ma’am, unless you’re a ‘Mr Robert McKinley’, I’d have to agree.” She chuckled, nodding her head as she looked at them before picking up the phone, and typing in an extension. Lifting it to her ear, she balanced it there against her shoulder, smiling at him once again.

“I’ll just have his assistant come down to collect them and sign for them for you, lovely.” He nodded his head, turning away to be polite as she chatted away on the phone for only a moment, confirming that there was a package to be sorted out, and he twisted back to look at her as she put the phone down. Manicured nails tapped at the desk for only as second, an awkward silence forming, and one of the elevators let out a small ‘dinging’ sound as it was clicked into use, the numbers on the screen above the floor counting down, coming all the way from the twenty-eighth floor. “Would you like a candy?”

He jumped a little, turning back to look at the woman who had now sat down a little distance from him, behind the computer at the desk, and she turned to him, raising up a bowl of neatly wrapped candies, and placing it up on the glass counter for him to reach. He didn’t, but she was staring at him expectantly, and so he plucked the first one from the bowl, offering her a simple nod of his head, and tucking it into the pocket on his shirt.

When a chime sounded throughout the lobby, the sound echoing off of every hard surface, Chris’ attention was drawn to the clicking of heels on the smooth stone flooring. A pretty blouse that looked like it cost more than his entire outfit and a fitted pencil skirt that was sitting just below your knees, your were a professional vision. Except, your hair was a little messy, and there was a wide grin on your face as you typed rapidly on your phone, not even needing to look up to do the walk, but your expression made you look much more approachable than the usual businesswoman.

You clicked off your phone only a few feet away from him, looking up as your gaze went straight to the flowers at his side instead of him, but it gave Chris the chance to take you in just for a moment, and fully observe you, Up close, you were even prettier, soft skin and pretty hair that shined under the lights, and whatever the shade of lipstick was that you were wearing was perfect, because it suited you like it had been made for you.

You reached out, straight past him for a second, and the receptionist gasped, reaching for the bowl of candy, but you were quicker, your hand scooping up a little collection of the sweets and pulling them back, a sound of victory sounding from you, and she mumbled under her breath playfully, rolling her eyes and threatening to start hiding the treats before she ran out, but you only chuckled, unwrapping one and placing it against your tongue, lips brushing your fingers as you turned to him, and he forced his eyes away from your mouth, a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, wow. Check these out.” You turned to the receptionist, motioning to them, and she only nodded her head, the sounds of a printer firing up in the back room, and she disappeared to collect the sheets, leaving the pair of you alone. “For Mr McKinley?”

You leaned over the counter, snatching up a pen from the other side, and he only nodded, producing the collection sheet, and pointing out the spot that needed singing, the scraping of the pen on paper filling the silence as you signed in both boxes, handing it back to him and tucking the pen behind your ear. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away.” You grinned, unwrapping another candy, leaving the wrapper on the glass alongside the other one, a cheeky move he was sure you’d get reprimanded for by the receptionist who kept a beautifully organised and clean desk and foyer.

“There are two bouquets here, both with flowers that have very different meanings. Can I ask why?”

You hummed, staring at him for a minute as you chewed slowly, before swallowing the sweet in your mouth and smirking slightly. “I’ll answer your question, but only if you answer mine first; what do the flowers mean?”

Chris grinned, unable to hold it in, because he loved getting to talk about his passions, especially when he could show off a little in front of a pretty lady, and he nodded his head. “Pink roses and lilies are an apology, but red roses with tulips are for new love.”

“And do you have any theories?”

“Just the one, but I’m waiting for it to be confirmed.” He chuckled a little at the devious look that flashed over your features as you pulled the red roses bundle toward you, nose pressed into them for a second as you inhaled deeply, a little sigh leaving you afterwards.

“I’m trusting you here, but you’re cute, so I’ll tell you.” Heat rushed to his cheeks, head ducking for just a second, before he was looking back up to catch your gaze, brows raised as he waited excitedly, leaning in to meet you as though a scandalous secret was about to be told, and he supposed that’s exactly what it was. “There’s another receptionist, and intern back in there, fresh out of college, just a year below me, and he’s definitely fucking her.” You tapped a finger against the red roses, before your gaze was flicking to the second bunch, still by his arm as he leaned on the counter. “However, a couple of days ago he had a lunch date scheduled with his wife, and he missed it. I couldn’t find him anywhere, and I couldn’t find the intern either. Not hard to connect the dots.”

“Oh, so he’s covering both of his bases?”

“For sure.” You grinned, backing up a little bit to grab the second bundle, and adjusting them in your arms for balance. “Angie had probably realised too, and dashed in there to tell the girl that she’s got flowers coming.”

You were making your way over to the elevators, and he followed after you, pressing the button to summon the lift, and it hummed to life behind closed metal doors. “You know, since we just became partners in crime, maybe I should get to know your name?”

“Well, that was smooth.” You laughed, the doors opening up, and you stepped inside, placing one bouquet on the floor at your feet and holding onto the other. You caved, giving him your name as he placed his hand over the door to stop them from closing, ad he repeated the name to you, testing it on his tongue as he learnt it. He gave you his own in return when he asked, and when you said it back, his smile widened, already liking the way his name sounded coming for you.

You typed a code into the pad on the wall of the elevator, the screen flashing green as your programming was accepted, and he stepped back, grinning as you waved your fingers at him, the doors closing as you disappeared from view. He snatched up his clipboard on the way out, unable to contain the smile on his face.

Chris Beck hated making deliveries, but this one hadn't been so bad.

There was a genuine smile on his face as he stepped through the glass doors of the lobby, smaller and simpler bouquets this time, both matching and nothing special, but he’d tasked himself with delivering them personally because he’d recognised the name and address immediately, his encounter with the cute assistant he’d met only two weeks prior flashing through his mind as he’d insisted on delivering this order himself, Mark smirking and helping him gather the flowers as soon as he’d spilled all about you.

Now, he had two sets of pretty pink flowers in different shades, and a single red rose in a sleek plastic wrapping, all wraith ribbons wrapped around them were bundled in one arm, the other holding onto his clipboard, and the desk was once again empty as he approached. A bell, sleek and shining silver, and it was a new addition, definitely not present last time, and he eyes it suspiciously for a moment, before pressing a finger against the top lightly, just twice, a little ringing sounding out around the lobby.

A head of curly hair popped out from around the glass, much younger than the previous assistant, and wearing a much tighter skirt, and she grinned widely as she stepped forwards. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, fiery red hair and a wide smile, lips painted with red lipstick, and she seemed sweet, but far too intimidating for him to ever consider. Her heels were so tall that he wondered how she even walked in them, long and thin points creating the stilettos.

“Flowers?”

There was an eager tone to her voice, and he put the pieces of the puzzle together, assuming this to be the intern, his eyes flicking down to her name badge for a second, reading it as ‘Clara’. “For Mr McKinley. Is his assistant free tom come and sign for them?”

The woman paused, rolling her lips a little and nodding her head, a coy look on her features before sitting down in the chair and spinning in it to face the phone, lifting it up to her ear and dialling a short connection number. He didn’t seem to need to wait long, before she was summoning you, a ‘flower delivery’ to be claimed, and she was far too excited, only confirming his doubts that this was definitely the mistress. “She’ll be right down.”

“Fantastic.” He wasn’t sure she even processed his words, before her eyes were closing in on the flowers, and he ignored it, turning back to look at the elevator, waiting for the number on the twenty-eighth floor to light up, a number flashing over the screen. It paused on its descent this time, stopping at the eighteenth floor, and then again at the twelfth, and he assumed that somebody else had joined the journey for a short while.

When the doors finally opened, you weren’t built typing away this time, a grin on your face as your eyes swept over the entrance for him, and he waved his fingers again, straightening up from the desk.

“It’s my partner in crime, back again.”

“Missed you too much, just had to return.”

“Of course, you did, because I’m awesome.” You came to a stop before him, peering up at him through bright eyes, and he swallowed thickly, a little nervous but very excited, and he tried to remember any of what Mark had taught him, his friend being far better with the women than he was, and everything from the last-minute crash course he’d been given upon leaving the shop forty-five minutes ago seemed to have gone blank. “So, what really brings you here today?”

You gasped a little as he shifted to show you the collection, sliding the clipboard closer, and you were presented with a pen from him, floral patterning woven along the body, your thumb clicking it on to sign for them. When you passed it back, you shared a look with him, both of your glances flicking over to the intern who was still admiring the flowers, completely oblivious.

“Hey, Clara?” Her head snapped up, pale skin heating with colour as she flushed, and he suppressed a chuckle. “Mr McKinley is in meetings all afternoon, but he’ll want to approve these flowers. Can you put them in water, and I’ll call to have them sent up when he’s ready?”

She only nodded, more than happy to take a gift that she knew one of was for her into the back, hands reaching over to gather them all up. He almost missed it, watching as all of the flowers were taken, too busy watching the way you rolled your eyes at her when she looked away, fond but still a little cool, and he bit at the inside of his cheek to contain his amusement. It was just as she was leaving that his mind cleared, and he cleared his throat.

“Wait, wait, hold on!” She turned back, brows raised, and he reached over, letting her take a step forwards so that he could reach, plucking the single rose from where it was laying over the top of the two. “This, uh, this is actually for you.”

He presented it to you, your eyes widening a little, and you looked between him and the flower several times. His heart was in his throat, worry you were going to reject it, before you were giving him a different smile than he had seen yet, something softer and more endearing, and you plucked it from his hands, bringing it to your nose. “You’re just a big flirt, huh, Chris?” Your eyes fluttered for a moment, before you were looking back up to him through your lashes. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, honestly. I own the shop, the least I can do is give my partner in crime a pretty flower.”

You scoffed, but it was out of friendship and playfulness, not judgement or rejection, and silence fell between you both once again. The plastic in your hands wrinkled as you twirled it, wrapping the curled ribbon around your finger for a second, and letting it jump back into place when you let it go. “You busy? Got a packed store to run back to?”

Your question caught him off-guard, and he struggled to find words for a second, before clearing his throat and shaking his head. “No, uh, no. Clear day, actually. This was the last order.”

“So, you’re free for an hour or so?” Chris nodded his head, licking at his lips as he became a little nervous once again. “Well, why don’t I give you a tour? We’ve got some pretty cool stuff here, and I’ll fix you up with a drink from the coffee bar before you go.”

“This building has a coffee bar?”

“You bet it does.” You teased, turning on your heel as you took his question as acceptance, and he scooped up the clipboard, following after you as you made your way to the elevator, and this time when it opened, he stepped inside with you. As soon as the keypad lit up, prompting you to enter your four-digit authorisation code and make a floor selection, and you paused, finger hovering over the electronic selections. “What do you wanna’ see first, then?”

“You got an office?”

“I sure do.” You grinned, tapping for the twenty-eighth floor, and the machinery soon hummed into life, gears jerking smoothly into motion and soft music playing over the speakers in the background.

The ride was quiet, and he twisted his head as though the walls were interesting, just to take them in and hide the expression on his face as he watched you twirl the rose he’d given you between your fingers. There was a tag, one that he hadn't yet seen you read, and while all it contained was his number and a sign of his name, he was still a little nervous for your reaction to it, so he was glad to watch you place it onto your desk to be returned to later as you showed him around.

The building truly was impressive, large floor to ceiling glass windows on one wall of your office, staring out at the city below and giving a view so stunning and far that he could see all the way out to where the concrete faded away into greenery along the horizon, and he was a little taken aback by it all. Dipping the rose into a mug of water from the office kitchen, you promised to transfer it to a vase when you got home that evening, and you showed him all around.

Up and down on the elevator, proudly showing him every aspect of your workplace, and somewhere between the in-house gym and the coffee bar you’d boasted of in the staff food courts, you’d made him promise a tour of the flower shop sometime.

Way over an hour had passed in total, and he would’ve been more than happy to let that go on and on, for the rest of the day until the sun was setting, just to sit on the stools at the high tables at the coffee bar, getting refills on his coffee as he watched you drink herbals teas and chat about everything you got up to in the day, but your boss was paging you again to ask where you were, and he had his own job to return to at some point. You seemed hesitant at first, but had eventually divulged him with a guest security code for the elevator, logging him under your name, so that in future, he would be able to bring the flowers straight upstairs to you, and come and see you whenever he stopped by.

With a to-go cup in hand that had your number written on the cardboard holder, you’d escorted him all the way back to the lobby, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek as he stepped between the doors, waving a little with what he knew was a goofy smile, waiting until he could no longer see you as the metal doors slid shut to reflect his image back at him, before he was bidding the two women at the reception desk a goodbye, and pretending not to know that they were eavesdropping, because he was floating far too high to care right now.

Chris hadn't been surprised at all when the next batch of flowers had come through, because you’d told him days prior that he could be expecting another batch of apology flowers to come through. Your work had been busy lately, you’d told him so yourself the few weeks that had slid past since you’d exchanged numbers had been filled with an abundance of texts.

Sharing texts had rapidly become phone calls in downtime, exchanging social media and sending one another dumb jokes and funny pictures throughout your workdays. He knew that your job had been getting harder lately, the run down to Christmas making everything a little more difficult, and that you’d been swept off of your feet because your boss had been, too. Eight-hour shifts had become twelve, day through to night, never seeing the light of a winter day unless it was through the windows of your office as you worked, and he had a sympathetic guilt twisting in his gut.

Two bouquets to make up for the lack of time that your boss had been able to spare for either of the women in his life and you’d looked positively exhausted as you came out of your office to greet him at the top of the elevator. You had a frown on your face that barely lifted into a smile as you saw him, even though he knew you were happy to catch sight of him. The usual shade of lipstick that projected boldness and power was gone, your face free of makeup entirely, and styled hair now just pulled up into a bun.

He wondered how long it had been since you’d had a full night’s sleep.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you feeling?” You only shook your head, sniffling a little as you suppressed a yawn, before taking one of the bouquets from his arms, and inspecting it carefully.

“These are beautiful.”

“I put a little extra ribbon on them, just for you.” He winked, and that had earned him a little chuckle, glancing at him over your shoulder as he followed you through to your office, and placing them down on the cabinet near the doorway to be distributed when your boss had a free second to look at them. Chris felt his own eyes widen in shock as he looked around, the stacks of paperwork littered around the surfaces were astonishing, and there was other mess scattered among that.

Stationary littered the desk, clearly trying to get everything sorted, and almost every draw in the room was half-open, your heels kicked off by the edge of the desk and there was a clear spot against one of the walls where you’d been sitting, a patch clear with papers spread out around you, wording and statements on them that made his head spin as he looked at them. Business definitely wasn’t his forte.

You rubbed a hand over your forehead, cursing a little as you tried to find a pen that wasn't a highlighter, and he didn’t miss the crack in your voice as you scoured the paper stacks. Leaning down to pick one up from the dropped pen pot on the floor, and offering it to you. A little sigh passed your lips, before you were taking it from him, clicking it into action and signing your name on both of the forms to confirm the delivery, a simple ritual of habit by this stage, as he knew that even if you didn’t he wasn’t risking any legal action from you.

You rubbed a hand over your forehead afterwards, rolling your shoulders and shaking yourself down as you tried to hit that reset button on your mood, but it wasn't working, it didn’t take a genius to see it, and so he reached out, placing a comforting squeeze to your forearm, fingers slipping a little lower to latch onto your wrist loosely.

“Okay, you’re a little overwhelmed in here, huh?” You let out a weak laugh, glancing around yourself and nodding. “It’s time for a break. Take your lunch break now, we’re getting out of here.”

“I can’t leave, I have too much to do. I’ll just get something from the food courts, a sandwich, maybe.” You slumped down into your desk chairs, the wheels on it carrying you backwards slightly, and he placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head at you.

“You have to go. It’s doctor’s orders.”

“Which doctor?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, and he gasped a little, hands finding your own and pulling you to your feet, despite the whine that you let out.

“This doctor. I went to medical school, I get to give the orders. You, my dear, need one hour of rest and relaxation from your workplace, stat.” You started up at him for a second, seeming to weigh it out in your mind, but he wasn’t backing down, and he swore he saw that realisation click within your eyes, because you caved.

Slipping your heels on and grabbing your jacket from the back of the door, you logged your timeout of the building in the lobby with Angie, who cooed at you a little as she watched you go, a pitiful look on her face as she knew just how hard you were working too, before his hand was settling on your lower back.

A ten-minute walk, finding a table in a small pizzeria on the corner of a street, one that he’d been dying to try for months now, and a quick order, and you were slumping down tiredly against the table. The workload always increased at Christmas, sales shot through the roof, all the expansions of your company were filing for Christmas bonuses, parties, annual reports and then, of course, there were the usual rises and falls in statistics over the year that needed to be dealt with.

It was chaotic, to say the least.

Over a hot and freshly baked pizza, your selection of toppings, and a soda that made you wrinkle your nose from the fizziness within, you looked like there was a little more life within you when you’d been leaving.

You spilled it all to him, telling him every struggle you’d been facing, and while he didn't understand half of what you were saying, he was more than happy to just to listen. He couldn't offer much advice, or anything of the sort that might be helpful, but it seemed that just being able to talk to someone had made the day a little brighter.

The chill in the air and the biting winds had made you wrap your coat around yourself even tighter on the walk back to your work, but there was more of a pep in your step and a lighter tone to your voice, a little more chipper and slightly less drained as you began to make your way back across the carpark. His arm was sitting around your waist, keeping you pulled up to his side against the cold of the winter. Instead of guiding you over to the door, though, his first stop was his car, ensuring that you couldn't see what he had placed on the passenger seat until he was ready for you to see it.

Leaning yo back against the cold metal, he unlocked the car, making you promise to cover your eyes, and while making a few jokes about how you were sure this was how friendly guys would kidnap a girl, you did as he’d asked. You gasped a little at the rustling of fabric in the wind and under his hands, seeming to guess what it was before ever seeing the gift, because a wide smile spread over your features.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends, what do you think it is?” He teased, making you wait a little longer, and you dragged your lower lip through your teeth, a hopefully look spreading over what half of your face he could actually see.

“Flowers, maybe?”

“Then you would be correct!” Your hand fell away from your eyes, taking a second to blink back into adjustment of the rays the winter sun gave off, before you were brightening up even further at the bundle he was holding in his hands.

Soft petals in different shades of yellow, some duller and some standing out to shine like the sun, but it was a stunning bunch all over, and he’d been sure to pick the freshest and best-looking plants from each pot as he built the bouquet especially for you before leaving for his delivery. He let you stare at them for a second, running a finger over some of the petals, sniffling the collection carefully, and admiring each individual plant, before finally looking back up to him, a brow raising as you waited for an explanation on the plants.

“I just thought yellow was a bright colour. Nothing particularly special about these ones, I wanted to cheer you up.”

He scratched nervously at the back of his neck, and you hummed happily, bringing them up to admire once again, before letting out a happy little sound from the back of your throat, one that made his cheeks flush with embarrassed warmth, bringing a pink tinge to the pale skin. “Don’t yellow roses mean friendship?”

His stomach dropped a little, but he swallowed thickly, and nodded. He was impressed that you knew that, a random fact to know, but he almost felt like he was being friend-zoned by the statement, even though he was the one who’d given you the flowers. It was only a few days ago that he’d realised he might have feelings that weren’t going away any time soon, the original fascination and infatuation was becoming something a little deeper, he often found himself thinking of you when he was at work and filling or orders, or at home cooking, or even letting his morning coffee. You seemed to be on his mind a lot nowadays, and he was beginning to regret the yellow rose choice, worried he’d sent the wrong message. How ironic.

“Well, I’m really glad you consider us friends, Chris. I think you’re great, and I hope we’re friends for a long time.”

He tried to contain his disappointment, nodding his head as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Walking you up to the front door, both of the receptionists made a point of fawning dramatically over the flowers in your arms as you signed back in, exactly an hour later and perfectly on time for the end of your lunch break, but with a lot more joy and a rejuvenation for the work you were doing, enough to carry you through the rest of your day.

Standing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive, his cheeks were warm enough as it was, the attention you were getting front he not-so-discreet spying of the receptionists making him even more nervous, but if Angie and Clara were watching then that's their choice, because he didn’t have much left to lose, now.

Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he made sure that you were looking at him, a soft and shy smile on your lips as he thumbs smoothed over your skin, trying to reassure you without using words. “Chin up, sweetheart. You’re gonna’ be just fine, okay?”

“Okay, Chris.” You nodded your head, words whispered as you agreed with him, and when he pulled you a little closer, you tipped your head to meet him, his lips pressing to your forehead in a tender kiss, his heart leaping in his chest as you did. The elevator dinged, and he snapped away from you, both of you lingering for a moment longer, something unspoken laying between you, but it was broken as a colleague stepped out of the box, excusing himself as he squeezed past you, and the moment was over.

Waving goodbye, he wiggled his fingers in response to you, and he took a moment to himself to steady his racing heart once the doors had closed with you inside. He bid his farewell to the two women ogling him with wide eyes from behind the desk, trying not to let his nervousness show, to be confident like Mark had taught him to be, and it lasted all the way to the car, before he broke it with a ragged sigh and a little cheer to himself, immediately dialling his best friend on the car’s phone as he pulled out of the parking lot.

It was the kind eyes of Angie that met him as he stepped into the building, palms sweating a little and a shake to his breath, and the flowers in his arms were practically vibrating with nerves as he approached the front desk. Placing them down on the glass surface, she admired them quietly, taking a look at them all before he was being offered the candy dish that she usually had hidden, and he took a peppermint gratefully, red and green swirls along it through the clear wrapping, the festive theme of the late December days was shining through.

“Only the one bouquet this time?”

“They, uh, they aren’t for Mr McKinley.” He mumbled, unwrapping the hard sweet and shoving it wrapped into his pocket, placing the treat on his tongue and sucking on it lightly for something to do, sweetened mint flavours exploding over his senses.

“Oh, so these are a pretty bouquet for our lovely (Y/N), then?”

He could only nod, wondering absently whether or not sweat was beginning to physically show through his shirt, and just how fast his heart was going, because he felt like he was about to pass out. “I think she’s in a meeting right now, but I can get them sent up for her, if that works for you, my dear?”

“Can I just go and drop them off in her office? It’ll make a nice surprise for her to come back to.”

She considered it for a moment, mulling over the security risk and all other options, and he was ready to give up, before she eventually agreed. “Alright, but only if you tell me about the flowers. She’s been telling me all about the pretty bouquet you make with meanings, even showed me your website.”

“She did? She does?”

Pride flushed through his system at that knowledge, and Angie seemed to pick up on it, her face cracking in an even wider smile. “Yes, and they were all beautiful, but I don’t remember this set on there.”

“It’s new, I made it. It’s a personal one, I suppose.”

“It got a name, yet?” He mulled it over, staring down at the pretty bunch in his hands. Dark shades of blue and black, splashes of purple that were speckled with white, and he decided it resembled the night sky rather nicely.

“What do you think of ‘Starry Night’?”

“Very fitting.” She confirmed, and his heart managed to slow a little in his chest as at least one thing on his to-do list became sorted. “So, blue roses, but what are the rest?”

“They would be black pansies and gypsophila.” She hummed, continuing to fix him with that curious gaze, and he knew that wasn't going to cut it. “The blue roses are for mystery, and gaining the impossible. I dye them myself. Black pansies mean broken love, which, I guess isn’t totally suitable here, but combined with the gypsophila, it’s more like the chance of a new beginning, and not necessarily unrequited feelings.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“That obvious?” He grinned, knowing that his feelings may as well be lit up with a neon sign above his head. “You’ll get them to her after her meeting, then?”

“Of course, I will.” She took them over the desk, writing down a memo on her notepad so that she didn't forget, and he watched as the pretty bundle was carried away. “Did you leave a card, or do you want to write a note?”

“Just tell her to text me if she likes them?” She beamed, nodding her head, and he backed away, turning on his heel, a little disappointed that he didn’t get to give them to you himself, but simultaneously relieved at the fact, because he could feel his pulse racing right to the tips of his fingers with how intense it was.

You’d clearly had a busy day, because it wasn’t until Chris was shutting up shop that he finally felt his phone buzz, doing his last check over of all the systems and machines, when a text from you came in, diverting every ounce of attention that he had.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] so, do these flowers have a hidden meaning, or did you just put them together because they look good?

He grinned at his phone, shaking his head slightly as a laugh left his lips, and he leaned on the wall, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he thought out his response.

> a little bit of both.

It was a few minutes before you replied, this time, a photograph coming through, of you carrying your flower out of the building, setting off towards the elevators from your office, if he was depicting the background correctly.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] gonna tell me what it is, or do I have to google it?

He paused, not quite having got that far, and the relief of not having to explain his feelings or you before had drowned out the fact that he’d have to tell you at some point, and his heart was leaping into his throat.

He gave himself a minute, checking over the locks and windows to make sure everything was sealed up, setting the thermostat and setting the alarm, not yet activating it, but making sure that everything was done, right down to holding his keys for the main door in his hands. Locking up the building, he sealed down the metal guard, triple checking the padlock, and making his way to the car.

Engine on, heaters up, his lights being the last to flood the parking lot as he tried to man up, before finally bringing back up the unopened message, taking the notifications and opening his texts.

> long story short, I’m trying to ask you out. using flowers, because words normally fail me in times of importance.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face and just hoping that it was acceptable, his phone buzzing before he’d even managed to start up the car property for his journey home. His hand hovered over where it was laying on the passenger seat, considering whether or not to pick it up, before forcing down his nerves and reaching for it.

[stardust 🌌 ✨] friday night work for you?

He stared at the message for a few seconds, confirming that they were real, and he wasn’t just making it up because it’s what he wanted to read, before letting out a loud and victorious set of cheers for only him to ever know about.

> I’ll pick you up from your work at 5.

Chris was sitting in one of the white leather chairs that had been scattered around the lobby, shifting slightly awkwardly, nerves getting the best of him. He knew you wouldn't stand him up, but as the clock ticked over past 5:10 PM, he worried a little that you were trying to find a way to let him down, having decided that you’d changed your mind on wanting to go out with him, and he tried to steady his nerves.

Brushing over the flowers in his hands, he adjusted his grip on them a little, not wanting the plastic to become damp with his sweaty palms, and swallowing thickly again. Finally, the elevator doors chimed, and he let out a nervous sigh, taking a deep breath and sliding his eyes shut as he calmed himself down, certain that his heart no longer had a rhythm and was just beating erratically and rapidly like the seismograph in a disaster movie.

Twisting his head a little, he let out a deep breath, watching as you came toward him, looking far more casual than he had ever seen you ever had before. Jeans and jumper, a striped scarf that looked suspiciously handmade in the sweetest of ways, and sneakers on your feet instead of heels, dropping your height down by a few inches, and he was so used to looking straight at you, never needing to look down, that it caught him a little by surprise.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You looked a little flushed, sounded slightly out of breath, and he realised you must’ve been rushing, not stalling, and he felt a little calmer at that thought. Placing down the flowers on the chairs, he stood up properly, letting out a slow breath.

“Don’t worry about it. You look beautiful.”

“I thought I’d change, heels and pencil skirts are great for work, but not so comfy for a first date.” There was a bag on your arm, which he assumed your business-wear was stuffed in, and he gave himself a moment to take you in. He liked you better this way, you looked more like yourself, the version of you that he knew you to be from hours of late-night calls and texting, weeks of getting to know one another, both in-person and via messages, and the formal outfits he was so used to seeing you in were just a cover for the real you.

He realised he’d been staring too long, jumping slightly in his panic, before turning away and grabbing the bundle that he’d brought with him. “I brought you flowers. Not as special as normal guys, since I own the flower shop and it's not the first time, but I did create this bouquet design just for you.”

“I think it’s pretty special.” Your words were whispered, taking the bundle of flowers and bringing them into yourself to admire delicately, a combination of red and white roses, with green bells peppered throughout. “Okay, so, let me guess on this one.”

He only nodded his head, watching as you considered the bundle, licking over your lower lip and taking it hostage between your teeth as your thoughts whirled before his very eyes.

“White roses are innocence, right? Seems fitting for a first date. Red roses are romance, of course.” You smirked a little then, glancing up at him through your lashes, and he grinned, feeling totally at ease now that he was under your gaze. “What about the green ones?”

“Green bells. They’re for good luck.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll need any luck, you’ve pretty much already got me wrapped around your little finger, Chris Beck.” You adjusted the flowers in your arms, taking his hand with your other one, and lacing your fingers together, and he squeezed back in security as heat flooded over his face in a warm blush. “However, I do think it’s sweet, so I’ll accept it.”

“I wanted to do something Christmassy for you, but I didn’t want to go with any of the typical ones. Holly, mistletoe, poinsettia, they didn’t feel unique enough.”

“I don’t know, I think mistletoe can be good.” You leaned in a little, his brows raising slightly as your wide smile dimmed down, the humour of the moment changing, and his free hand found your waist, fingers playing with yours on the other, and he pulled you a little closer, taking the hint that you were laying down.

“Maybe just this once.” He teased, nose bumping against your own, and he could still taste the sweet honey on your breath from the herbal teas you were always concocting, warm breath shared between you. As your head twisted to close the gap, he became acutely aware of the lingering feeling of not being alone, the both of you jumping and snapping apart a little when the loud crashing of a mug on the floor sounded out loudly.

Two sets of voices cursing followed it, Angie’s and Clara’s heads both ducking down behind the desk as they looked at the mess on the floor, and his jaw dropped as he released the two had been watching on eagerly this whole time, and he’d been so wrapped up in you that he hadn't realised there’d been an audience all along.

He would’ve been embarrassed, had it not been for the way your face pressed into his shoulder as you tried to contain your laughs, and he found the amusement in it too, his arm slipping around your waist as he matched your laugher, shaking his head as he watched the two women try and clear up the split coffee and smashed mug.

“Hey, ladies, I’ll see you Monday!”

The popped back up, sheepish looks on their faces as they nodded, and he gave them both a little wave, letting you tug him along by the hand that was still connected to your own, towards the open doorway of the building, a chill rolling in. As you stepped out, a chill took over, and his hand slipped from yours to sliding around your waist instead, pulling you closer to him, and you guided him over to where your car was parked, and he was more than happy to simply follow.

“So, what do you have planned?”

“I thought something a little more relaxed would be fun. How do you feel about a tree lighting ceremony, and some street food?” You curled into him a little more, a happy sigh leaving you.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

Unlocking the car, he let you go, long enough to put your back in the trunk and lay your flowers out on the front seat, locking it back up as you deemed yourself ready to go. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, but just one thing, first. Something I’ve been waiting weeks for.”

His brows raised, lips parting to ask you waist it was, but your hand latched onto the front of his shirt, tugging him forward as you leaned up, and he groaned a little, a soft sound but vibrating through him as your mouth closed over his, soft and warm, lips pressing together, and a shock ran along his entire body. His hand slipped to your waist, one cupping your cheek as he pulled you a little closer, pressing you back into the car as your bodies came flush up together, and he felt like his legs were going to give out underneath him as you sighed out against his mouth, a breathy moan carried with it.

Twisting his head to the side, he barely pulled back for breath before he was diving right back into you, more confident and passionate this time with his movements. He took control, feeling the way you sagged into his hands as he did, lips working with yours in an intimate dance of their own making, slow and teasing movements, before finally he was pulling away, just far enough to press his forehead to your own as the two of you panted lightly, trying to catch your breath.

“Worth the wait?” He mused, feeling your breathless giggle wash over his lips, before you were leaning up just enough to peck his lips once more, and his lips were still pouted, chasing after you as you backed away for a second, before he was licking over them and cracking his eyes open to look at the adoring expression on your face.

“Definitely worth the wait.”

#chris beck #chris beck x reader #chris beck/reader #chris beck the martian #sebastian stan chris beck #sebastian stan the martian #sebastian stan #Seb Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #12 Days of AUmas

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gayregis · 3 years

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Honestly if you just wanted to revisit your thoughts on Eternal Flame and its homiesexual text/subtext, I would be delighted. I love that short story and I love hearing your thoughts on the stories aodnsjsjabsjx

fghjkl i just think it was a story very centered on geralt and dandelion’s friendship and it did so in a manner which exceeded the sort of generally accepted norms of “friendship” and went into “being gay for your best friend”

i mean the story literally begins by them both being dumped by their girlfriends, but not too upset about their relationship drama because they have each other for company now. they plan to spend the day and night together, and throughout the story they have the general geralt and dandelion friendship interactions - trying to get some food and drink, joking around, dandelion being overly dramatic or preoccupied with sex and geralt being mopey and unamused. when things go wrong and there is conflict in the story, they of course still are spending the day together and thinking of a way to deal with the problem. overall, the story is a look into day-to-day life of when geralt and dandelion run into each other and hang out.

another thing of note is how dandelion hypes geralt up during when they meet tellico-in-biberveldt’s-form, calling him the terror of strigas and werewolves and all, which is a nice and awarding description for a man whose job it was to kill some shit in a sewer last chapter. of course, it’s dandelion (overdramatic and flowery with language), and they’re close friends, so of course he is going to describe geralt as thus, but it’s a reminder of how positively dandelion views geralt and how he both doesn’t see him as repugnant for being a witcher (as is the case with many geralt encounters) and isn’t ashamed to have a witcher as his best friend (as would be the case with many others, who treat witchers like bad omens), and also since it’s dandelion, it’s telling that he doesn’t let his own arrogance get in the way of lauding his friend with his proud titles and descriptions. although dandelion is self-loving, he is not so overwhelmingly so that he would ever refuse to acknowledge or downplay geralt’s presence.

another thing is how, when geralt, dandelion, and biberveldt are visited by chapelle and the men of the eternal fire, dandelion begs geralt to not start a fight with them because it will end in disaster, and geralt refuses to promise him that, and when chapelle speaks to him, he is internally very aggressive and alert, very displeased. of course, he is geralt, he doesn’t love authority and he dislikes the eternal flame for their persecution of nonhumans... but the aggression he feels towards chapelle reminds me of the aggression he felt towards toruviel in edge of the world when she broke dandelion’s lute, or in season of storms when dandelion has a knife to his throat, it’s only when dandelion is afraid or hurt that geralt really gets aggressive.

but the climax of the story is geralt literally being inable to enact violence towards tellico for the compounded reasons of “i value innocent life too much” and “the embodiment of this value of life is my best friend” ...

the fact that geralt is pretty aggressive still towards tellico when he turns into him, but once tellico turns into dandelion geralt just... stops fighting and completely rules out any physical harm from the equation. he practically “gives up” the fight, it’s like tellico changing into dandelion was all geralt needed in order to be persuaded, because it’s the only form that he would listen to. after tellico switches forms to that of dandelion, geralt listens to him, and he also is not described as making any sudden movements, he doesn’t think as if he’s in a fight anymore, the narration is not that of a “fight scene” - something i recognize from when geralt is in a fight is that the prose switches to a certain point of view of his where his actions and options are narrated (e.g., in a grain of truth when he fights vereena, the sword of destiny where he fights the dryad scalpers). he instead hears tellico’s every word out, and “reluctantly nods,” and “says nothing.” he’s practically frozen compared to what he was prepared for just a moment ago when tellico took his form, when he threatened to carry him out of the city in a handcart.

and what makes it even more suggestive is that this wasn’t a random guess from tellico that “maybe if i take dandelion’s form he’ll lay off because they’re friends!” ... no, this was strategy that he came up with from literally taking geralt’s form and reading his mind - “i took over your thoughts, only briefly, but it was sufficient, do you know what i’m going to do now?” - tellico, after being in geralt’s form, immediately makes the decision to change forms into that of dandelion, because he knew geralt’s mind while he was in his form. that means that tellico read geralt’s thoughts only briefly but from this inside view of geralt’s mind, knowing what his greatest fears, loves, dreams, hopes, passions, regrets, etc. are... he thought it would save his life to change into dandelion, because he knew from geralt’s mind that geralt would listen to him in that form.

additionally, after this occurs, geralt... doesn’t tell dandelion in the falling action of the story. he had the chance to, when dandelion drew near, he might have smirked and said something like “don’t look too closely at his boots” (tellico-in-dandelion’s-form’s cordovan boots were sticking out of the carpet that geralt rolled him up in, so dandelion could have recognized them if he paid attention, since he seems to be so caring about his footwear as in the beginning chapter)... this raises the question why geralt wouldn’t tell him about what happened, why he wouldn’t communicate to dandelion about this, maybe warning him that tellico could change into him in an effort to evoke sympathy, or to break it to dandelion that his famous persona had been stolen for a little while. dandelion literally jokes and asks geralt why vespula was so surprised to see him, asking what was wrong with her (vespula was frightened because she smacked tellico-in-dandelion’s-form with the copper pan, but then saw dandelion coming down the road... double vision). geralt could have easily explained to him then, he had the perfect opportunity to say, “oh, dudu changed into your form and so vespula was scared for she saw two of you, [insert biting sarcastic comment here about how one dandelion is certainly enough, and how he would be scared seeing two of dandelion as well].” ... but geralt doesn’t tell him, and that makes me think that tellico taking dandelion’s form was a moment of emotional vulnerability for him, something that geralt doesn’t want to share or joke about, something that was uncomfortable for him. that makes me ask the question how geralt emotionally took that confrontation in the alleyway, what he felt about his own actions (or rather, inaction), and why he might be reluctant to share about that.

i think there is also this tension of the myth of the doppler being about the physical world, changes to a physical form, a form which is tangible and real. it’s not only that tellico evoked the image of dandelion, but that he was him - and the narration from geralt’s point of view seems to... lurk on a lot of not only physical characteristics that he noticed, but mannerisms and behavior that he knew instinctively as being those of dandelion. he describes his curly hair, his smile, his laugh ... the focus on physicality, body, face, and how one exists in the physical world, intimate details like those described just seem very out of place for someone who you’d only consider a best friend, a platonic relationship. one could argue that this is just standard narration for describing the changing of a form for a doppler, but the same style of narration was not given when dudu changed into biberveldt, or when he changed into geralt. additionally, things like smile, laugh, song, and style of flirting are very close and positive details, and other more “neutral” aspects like height and weight and clothes could have been described instead. this suggests that the most striking elements about dandelion to geralt are his curly hair, his insolent smile, his rippling laugh, his blue eyes, his song, and his flirting ... which are ... intimate to say the least

and of course the story ends with them going to a brothel! which continues these themes (two themes which dandelion always invites) of the comedic and the physical. what’s also striking to me is that at the very end of the story, dandelion asks geralt if he’s coming along or what, and geralt smiles to him and says he will join him with pleasure. geralt smiling is honestly a rare event (though it does happen, in dandelion’s character debut in the voice of reason he smiles at him), so i think it’s something to pay attention to. additionally, the line translated in the UK edition is “right, very satisfactory. geralt, are you coming?” and “i’ll come with pleasure,” which focuses on the words ‘satisfactory’ and ‘pleasure’ which are also words i wouldn’t relegate to being solely platonic.

additionally, this might be a bad take but i’m going to say it anyways because i’m gay so i can say what i want regarding lgbt themes ig: the ending of the story is that chapelle is actually a doppler who has taken chapelle’s form, since the real chapelle has died. tellico beseeches geralt, in dandelion’s form, to let him live and live amongst the people of novigrad, because he’s tired of being dehumanized and persecuted, and just wants to live in peace. there is a theme surrounding the dopplers as they are shapeshifters and chameleons, having to change who they are in order to blend in with the rest of society. again, this might be a bad take, but this kind of strikes me as an analogy for being lgbt, because when you are lgbt in a homo/transphobic society, you have to hide who you are and adapt your outward appearance into something that others will accept, and you are persecuted even though you are harmless and don’t mean to cause anyone trouble. of course, this could be a wider analogy about persecution and being marginalized in general (cultural assimilation, anyone?) and compring any marginalized people to nonhumans sucks (wouldn’t be the first or only time sapkowski went there, though), but ig as a gay person i found myself relating to the plight of the dopplers. the ending message of the story is also positive, something like there is hope and life in the world despite hatred (re: tellico’s ending to dandelion’s ballad) and the dopplers, the persecuted ones, are actually everywhere in society despite appearances that they’re not (not the best execution because you know figures of authority suck but whatever)

TLDR eternal flame is a little fruity to me because

geralt and dandelion want to be in each other’s company (as always)

geralt and dandelion’s relationship is again characterized by ability to be casual and comfortable in each other’s presence, working together through difficulty and conflict, and standing up for one another/being proud on the other’s behalf

tellico strategically takes dandelion’s form to evoke kindness and respect in geralt, and it works completely

geralt’s pov focuses on dandelion’s intimate physical and behavioral traits

geralt smiles and tells dandelion “i’ll come with pleasure”

vague lgbt themes about the dopplers

#ask #eternal flame #gerlion #geralt #dandelion #dudu #anon

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songsformonkeys · 3 years

Text

Digging Up Bones (whiskey x f!reader) - chapter 3

[Banner by the lovely @yespolkadotkitty ]

Summary: You work for the Statesmen as the head of their medical department. It’s your job to patch up anyone who gets back wounded and to work on ways to prevent them from getting badly wounded in the first place.

Agent Whiskey, in particular, seems to be more accident-prone than the rest and he never passes up a reason to come see you, whether for real injuries or imaginary ones. The two of you form a close friendship, which slowly turns into something more.

Then a British man with a headshot wound and a fascination with butterflies shows up in your emergency room and in the events that follow you’re forced to reevaluate just about everything you thought you knew about your partner.

Warnings: canon typical violence

Masterlist

Chapter 3

The following three days passed in a slow fashion. Not just because Whiskey was gone but the rest of the agents seemed to be staying out of harm's way as well. It was a bit boring, but that was something Tonic had taught you not to complain about out loud since it apparently made it sound like you longed for injuries and carnage.

On the bright side, the slow days gave you, Ginger, and Tonic time to begin interviewing the agents on base for their emergency folders for the Alpha-gel.

The three of you had realized that while the gel and the nanites healed the brain perfectly fine they still needed something to counter the retrograde amnesia, which seemed to be a standard side effect. The sample of agents that had needed to use the gel was still small and so you couldn't draw too many sure conclusions from it, but every single one of them so far had suffered memory loss. It had been Tonic's idea that reminders of a past trauma might jump-start the memory again. The results had been good but guessing and digging up past traumas had been painstakingly difficult and had taken up more time than ideal. So you had collectively decided that each agent should have a file or a folder containing their very worst memory and ways it could be triggered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Wednesday evening, you curled up in your armchair and called Whiskey. He picked up after three rings.

“Moonshine, “ he drawled, voice sounding a little tired.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you asked, suddenly feeling a little bad. It wasn't that late in the evening but maybe Whiskey had needed to tuck in early.

“No no, I was awake,” Whiskey assured you, “Just got home from a looong day at an art auction. I'm not sure if you've ever been but it is possibly the most boring thing I have ever done.”

“Yeah? What was so bad about it?” you asked, smiling to yourself. You would be caught dead before admitting it out loud but you had actually missed him these past few days.

Whiskey began describing his day. A soon as he began talking, his voice relaxed you. You pictured him walking around in a swanky hotel room, with a view of the big city, probably still wearing his hat. You were half convinced he even slept in that thing.

Whiskey told you about the auction and the few stuck-up people who had pretended not to understand his southern accent just to make him feel less than. Then he told you about the way he'd later wiped the smug smiles off their faces by actually bidding home the small painting they had been ogling.

“Champ might kill me for it, 'cause it cost a small fortune, but it was worth it!”

“What will you do with the painting?” you asked.

“Hm,” Whiskey said and you didn't need to see him to know that he was shrugging, “Dunno. Might hang it in my apartment. It's a beautiful painting, reminded me of someone special... Speaking of my apartment, have you finished the cake yet?”

You nodded, before remembering that he couldn't see you.

“Yes, Ginger and Tonic helped me eat the rest of it.”

You had been over to Whiskey's apartment the day after he'd left. When you'd gotten to work, his key had been in a white envelope on your desk and you hadn't been able to keep your curiosity at bay for longer than a workday.

The apartment hadn't been quite what you thought Whiskey's home would look like. It had been much neater and cleaner than you had expected, for starters. You had expected more of a bachelor pad but Whiskey's apartment was quite nice. It looked lived in but not messy. Each thing seemed to have its own designated spot. As you had walked around the living room towards the kitchen you had taken in the big, comfortable-looking couch and multi-colored knitted blanket that looked like it was homemade.

There had been a couple of books on art history resting on the wooden coffee table. You had stopped, slightly in awe, in front of the big bookshelves that covered a whole wall of the room. You'd never pictured Whiskey to be the reading type, but here was clear proof otherwise. You had scanned the titles of the books and the exceptionally wide array of subjects made you suspect that a lot of these had been read for previous missions. But there had been a whole shelf of fiction too and you smiled a little as you noted that a lot of them seemed to be old western classics.

You had found the cake in the fridge in the equally clean kitchen. The cake had been in a plastic container and Whiskey had stuck a post-it note with a smiley on the lid.

“I liked your bookshelf. And I borrowed a book from you,“ you confessed over the phone and Whiskey chuckled in response.

“Is that so? Which one, if I may ask, was it that caught your fancy?”

“Lonesome Dove.”

“Ah, a classic! Didn't have you pegged as a western girl, Moonshine.”

“I'm not sure if I am, I've never read any. But you had a lot of them and I thought...” You cut yourself off, glancing over at the book on your bed, “You had a book on human anatomy as well that looked interesting and one on make-shift medical treatment when you don't have access to a hospital. I didn't take those, though. It felt wrong to take so many books without asking...”

Whiskey chuckled again and the sound did weird things to your insides, or maybe it was the nerves of having just admitted to raiding his bookshelf.

“Darlin', if it makes you happy, you are more than welcome to help yourself to any book in that apartment”

“Really? But what if it's a book that you suddenly need?”

“Then I'll know perfectly well where to find it.”

You couldn't really argue with that logic, didn't really want to either because the prospect of getting to read all those books almost made you giddy.

“So besides ogling my books, what else have you been up to while I've been gone?” Whiskey asked and you proceeded to tell him about the work with the Trauma Folders, which Tonic so affectionately called them.

“You still haven't submitted yours either, by the way,” you told him. Whiskey didn't immediately answer. The line was dead silent for a few seconds and just when you were about to ask if he was still there, he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I know. I promise to get right on that as soon as I'm back, okay?” He sounded a little odd and your brow furrowed slightly. Whiskey cleared his throat again.

“Look, darlin', I'm pretty dead on my feet right now and as lovely as your voice is to listen to, I think unfortunately we gotta hang up before I start snoring on you.”

“Oh, of course! Sorry, I've talked too much.”

“Hardly,” Whiskey replied and his voice was warm and soft again, which eased the nervous knots that had begun forming in your stomach at his abrupt attempt to end the call. Usually, that was your role to try and say goodnight and his to try and linger. “I cherish every word, which is why I prefer to be awake for them. Call me tomorrow again?”

“Sure. Good night, Whiskey.”

“Good night, darlin'”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If the previous days had been slow, the following day was anything but, at least when the afternoon rolled around.

Ginger had called you about some very strange low-frequency readings coming from a church nearby in Kentucky. She told you that she and Tequila were gonna go check it out but that you should be on standby, just in case.

You told her to be careful. Ginger was excellent at her job but she was also one of your closest friends and you couldn't help but worry.

After you'd ended the call, you immediately set about preparing the emergency room and double-checking to make sure everything was there. Seeing as neither of you knew what the strange readings had been about, it was difficult to prepare for every possible scenario, and while you knew that the health effects of exposure to extremely low frequencies were being discussed in the medical community, no one knew exactly what the effects were.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed before Ginder called you again. You heard the sound of the helicopter in the background. She told you that they'd be there in thirty and that they were bringing someone in with a headshot.

“I'll get the chamber ready for him!” you told her

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later, on the dot, you watched as the helicopter landed and Tequila emerged, carrying a man in a suit. The man's face was obscured by the balloon containing the Alpha-gel but his clothes looked expensive.

“Entry point?” you yelled, over the sound of the helicopter as you waved for Tequila and Ginger to hurry inside.

“Straight through the left eye,” Ginger replied and you winced. The left temporal lobe would be damaged, for sure, maybe part of the occipital one too. You were confident that the nanites would be able to rebuild the brain matter but with the temporal lobe damaged you worried that the memory loss might be even more extensive than what you'd seen before and you wondered if it would affect his speech.

“Exit point or is the bullet still in there?” you asked.

“The bullet went all the way through as far as I could tell. Not sure what he was shot with though so we'll have to scan to make sure there's nothing left in there.”

Said and done. When you got down to the medical rooms you first put the man through a thorough scan of his skull. Just like Ginger suspected, the bullet had gone straight through and it luckily hadn't left anything but damaged tissue in its wake. Tequila helped move him over to the nanite chamber. Carefully, you removed the Alpha-gel balloon and quickly closed the chamber around his head.

“What happened?” you asked as you sat down in front of the computer and began tapping away at the keyboard, starting the machine and readying it for the healing and rebuilding process.

“We have no idea,” Ginger said. “We found him like this outside the church, no sign of who had shot him. Inside the church, however...”

“What?” you asked.

“Inside was a total fuckin' bloodbath,” Tequila supplied, “Whole congregation just...slaughtered.”

You looked over at the strange man.

“You think he did it?”

Both Ginger and Tequila shrugged.

“We don't know. But he's got blood on him that isn't his own and there was no gun in his hand so he clearly didn't shoot himself, which means someone got away from that Church alive.” Ginger reasoned, “And there's one more thing..”

She pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of her jacket. The left glass was shattered.

“He was wearing these. These aren't normal glasses, which means he's not a civilian. And his watch... he's some sort of intelligence. I'll dig around and see if I can find out whom he belongs to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You called Whiskey again that evening. He sounded more awake today but you could practically hear the frown on his face when you told him about your strange new guest. He was not happy.

“He's an agent?” he asked.

“We think so. Ginger is running some tests on his glasses and his watch to see what we can figure out but so far we have no idea whom he's working for. So we just have to wait for him to wake up and see how much he remembers.”

“I don't like this,” Whiskey stated. “Not one bit. If he's intelligence, he's dangerous, Moonshine. You shouldn't be alone with him, not under any circumstances!”

“I won't,” you reassured him while rolling your eyes. “Agent Tequila also has an over-protective streak and has, therefore, put himself on guard duty until further notice. I've had him looking over my shoulder all evening.”

You had found it somewhat annoying but Whiskey had instantly calmed down upon hearing that bit of information. He told you to promise to listen to Tequila on this, which you reluctantly did. You didn't tell Whiskey that if the arrangement continued, you would have to come to some sort of agreement with Tequila on how close was close enough for protection. You couldn't have him reading over your shoulder all day long or you'd go stir crazy.

Whiskey continued to ask you a bunch of questions about the strange man and you couldn't answer a single one. He asked you about the signal too and you couldn't give him any answers to that either. It was all Ginger's area of expertise and you told him as much.

“Sorry, darlin', just wanna make sure my favorite girl is safe until I get back.”

Whiskey's words made you smile stupidly, despite the slightly patronizing undertone of them. You would like to think you knew how to take care of yourself, especially around your patients. But you did enjoy it when Whiskey called you his favorite. No one else had called you their favorite before.

After a few more minutes of chit-chat, you both said good night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, your patient woke up.

It had been decided the day before that Tonic and Tequila would be the first ones to greet him. Tequila because of the whole bodyguard business and Tonic because he was by far the one who had the most experience with calming people in shock and panic. You had only sulked a little when you'd sat down the desk on the other side of the one-way mirror showing you the stranger's cell. You turned on the cameras in the other room to record the interaction before leaning forward over the desk to watch.

As anticipated, the man was more than a little freaked out by waking up in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces around him.

“Where am I? Who are you?” he immediately asked and you raised your eyebrows as you noted his British accent. The stranger tried to scramble off the bed where he'd been lying. Tequila took a step forward but Tonic quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“You are in a hospital,” Tonic told the frightened man and gave him a calm smile, “My name is To...Tom.”

“A hospital? What happened?” the stranger asked.

“We were hoping you would be able to tell us. You were in some sort of accident and when we found you, you were unconscious.”

Unconscious... that was definitely an understatement to describing having had one's brains blown out through the back of their head.

“Do you remember anything of what happened?” Tonic continued.

The British man looked around the room with wild eyes but he was already calming down a bit. While you were a bit jealous that Tonic, or Tom apparently, was the first one to get to talk to your new patient you had to admit that it was a privilege to get to watch him work. Tonic continued talking to the man and answering his questions by saying just enough to calm him but not enough to confuse him.

You found out that his name was Harry, but he couldn't remember his last name. He was from England and he thought he was 23 years old, which he most definitely was not. You caught Tonic and Tequila exchange a look as Harry told them his age. If Harry couldn't remember anything beyond his 23rd year then you estimated that he had forgotten more than half of his life. And since he wasn't one of your agents, you had no idea how to bring those memories back again...

Tonic and Harry spoke for a while longer and Tonic told him about his injuries. He also told harry about the memory loss. Harry didn't believe him until Tonic guided him over to the one-way mirror separating you from them and let Harry have a look at himself. You stood on the other side of the mirror and could watch as realization dawned on Harry. His breathing immediately sped up again and he was beginning to panic.

“Harry,” Tonic said calmly, “Harry, I'm gonna need you to breathe slower with me, okay? We've seen this kind of memory loss before and we will do our very best to help you recover the memories you can't remember right now”

“Think of it as one hell of a hangover,” Tequila supplied and Harry gave him an incredulous look.

“Hangover?” he asked in a weak voice “I look old enough to be a grandfather and I don't remember any of it... I don't think anyone has ever been drunk enough for that kind of hangover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonic and Tequila handled the whole ordeal in a way that made you proud to call yourself their colleague and they stayed with Harry for most of the day, talking and explaining. Harry listened patiently and you had to give him credit for taking the situation a whole lot better than some of the Statesmen who had gone through the same thing. He was scared and worried, sure, but he managed to keep his panic in check and asked Tonic a whole bunch of relevant questions.

You wished you could have stayed and watched all afternoon but eventually you had to go back to your own office and begin typing up your report.

You had barely gotten two paragraphs in when your phone started ringing.

“Moonshine?” Whiskey said as soon as you picked up and you could immediately tell that something was wrong. He sounded scared. There were car horns blaring and loud crashes in the background.

“Yes. Whiskey what's...”

Whiskey cut you off before you could finish your question.

“Where are you?” he asked and when it took you a fraction of a second too long to answer, he repeated the question, “Moonshine! Where are you?”

“I'm in the office. Whiskey what's wrong?”

“Good! Whatever you do, stay where you are! There's something in the air! People are killing each other!”

“What?” Before you could say anything further, your door burst open and you screamed from surprise.

“Moonshine!” Whiskey yelled, panicked, as Ginger stormed into the office and pushed you out of her way to get to the computer. She began tapping on the keyboard and you watched as she pulled up live feeds from several cameras around the country. Your mouth fell open as you watched the chaos that filled the screen.

“MOONSHINE!” Whiskey yelled again and you realized you hadn't answered him.

“I'm fine!” you quickly assured him and you heard him exhale loudly. “Ginger just showed up. What the hell is going on?” The last question was aimed at them both. The quality of the feeds wasn't the best but there was no mistaking what was going on. All over the country, people were killing each other.

“The fuck if I know,” Whiskey said at the same time as Ginger supplied the slightly more helpful “It's the same signal! It's the same low frequency as we picked up from the church. But this is all over...well the world”

She turned and looked at the phone in your hand.

“Is that agent Whiskey?”

You nodded but then froze as you heard a banging noise on the other end of the line, which sounded much closer than the previous ones. You heard Whiskey curse.

“Whiskey?”

There was another crash and he cursed again.

“I'm sorry, darlin', I seem to have a visitor. I gotta go.”

“Whiskey,” you begged and you heard your own voice break as you spoke his name.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll deal with this and then I promise I'll come right home to you. You just promise to stay inside and stay safe, okay?”

What about you? you wanted to ask, but Whiskey had already hung up.

“He'll be fine,” said Ginger, who must have seen the expression change on your face. You nodded. She was right. Whiskey was an excellent agent. He would be fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He would be fine. You managed to convince yourself of that up until about an hour later when the office phone called. You were too busy clutching your own phone, waiting for Whiskey to call back, to pay any attention to the other phone so Ginger picked it up and answered. She exchanged a few cryptic comments with the person on the other line before ending the call by saying:

“We'll be ready for him.”

After she'd hung up the phone she turned towards you.

“Whiskey's on his way back. He's been stabbed but according to the pilot, he's stable. They're flying him back now. “

#whiskey/reader #whiskeyxreader #agent whiskey #kingsman golden circle fanfiction #kingsman golden circle #my fanfiction #female reader

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angelicymp · 3 years

Text

Perhaps a little coaxing is needed...

Good evening my literary friends,

I am hoping to find a suitable partner for specific cravings and ideas I have in mind.

My introduction will be brief and a bit more to the point than usual. I am quite thorough and detail-oriented when it comes to being a writer, including some of my rules and preferences. However, since I believe it to be quite a hassle to go through every point I’m making, my ad will be a bit more compact.

A brief recap: You can call me Imp; I am in my twenties and a student, striving to become a part-time freelancer as well. My main hobbies are photography, traveling, drawing and of course, the art of writing. Currently, I reside in Europe, so my timezone could differ from yours, unless you are also from a similar region.

Be sure to read through my ad to see if we’re compatible. Too many times I’ve encountered cases where the inquirers skimmed through all of the info and upon messaging me, were surprised to learn that we weren’t a match from the beginning. So if you haven’t properly read my ad, I’ll know. I’d like to urge everyone to stick with it so there won't be any misunderstandings and not waste everyone’s time.

————————

 Me, myself and I

(art by: Ayami Kojima)

♦ Nickname: Imp

♦ Experience: 12 years and counting

♦ Style: 1:1 with the inclusion of doubling

♦ Rating: Mature

♦ Roleplaying Platform: Email and Google Docs

♦ Chatting Platform: Email, Google Hangouts or Discord

♦ Pet peeves: Slice of Life

 After finishing the game of Resident Evil 8 Village, I was struck by yet another muse.

I am currently looking for either a pre-existing canon inspired roleplay, or, something completely original. Be sure you are above the age of eighteen, preferably 21 and upwards. I will not accept any inquires from minors - this is not negotiable.

What to expect

♢ Content: Mature. I am more interested in darker things like horror, occultism, the supernatural, you can maybe guess where I am going with this. My limits are few, safe for a couple of minor pet peeves that I have, I am pretty much open to some experimentation; such as violence, gore and sexual themes. When it comes to heavy scenes, I will not fade to black, unless it serves no purpose to the story. Not a huge fan of censorship. However, I will not force or push my partner into something they are not comfortable with. If you want to know the extent to how far I am willing to go, what sort of content, or how graphic my writing will be, you can ask me directly.  

♢ Rating: I have little to no issues with delving into more sensitive topics. Since reality is often stranger than fiction, it is very interesting to explore all sides of human nature, including the less comfortable subjects such as psychology, crime, etc. But I also like to remind that this is a world of fiction and no one in their right mind would condone such things in real life. The world of adults is not easy to handle, but it sure is interesting to explore. So if you are a gentle soul and can’t take the heat of more serious moments within the roleplay, be it a character going through trying times, etc; this might not be ideal for you.

♢ Writing: My texts are considerably lengthy, detailed, and elaborate. Third-person is usually my preferred way of playing my character unless there’s a special case where an exception can be made. Word count usually fluctuates, though I have a standard form of 400-500+ words per reply. It also highly depends on the given situation.

♢ Romancing: I admit to being a hopeless romantic. There’s nothing more enjoyable than witnessing good and powerful chemistry between two characters. Preferably I go for the usual MxF pairing dynamic but I am also open to FxF and MxM, should it feel more fitting. While doubling, I can write the character/love interest to my partner’s desire, but I always aim to stay true to their personality and character. I hate nothing more than forcing characters into a relationship, especially if there’s no spark, so I won’t respond well to being pressured into letting characters act out of their personality. It’s just not realistic. As for smut, or what have you, I have no issues with adding a few spicy scenes, sometimes even drawing them out of our pleasure. When there is, however, a running theme where sexual themes are taking the focal point of the plot, it can become quite boring. It is never the center of any of my roleplays, so be warned.

♢ Plotting: I am fairly quick when it comes to building new characters, concepts, premises, storylines, backstories, etc. It allows me a certain latitude. Feel free to communicate your ideas and thoughts with me. I am happy to chat, even when it doesn’t involve the roleplay directly. Though this is a hobby, I am still extremely passionate about good storytelling and interesting character arcs. I hope to meet someone who is just as enthusiastic and willing to put in the same amount of effort. If it’s only me who’s pulling all the weight, I will lose interest and feel forced to end the correspondence.

No gos

♦ Won’t do: Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Bestiality, Scat, Vore, Toilet Play, etc. I am sure you can also think of many other strange fetishes that have developed over the years spent on the internet.

♦ Won’t write: The idea of supernatural beings trying to fit into human society. The typical bully x victim storyline. The run-of-the-mill vampires vs werewolf plot. BDSM centred stories. Slice of life. Flawless or excessively flawed characters.

What I expect

♢ Literacy: You should at least have a decent grasp of basic grammar and coherency in your spelling.

♢ Flexibility: Since we all have lives outside of the roleplay, we both need to be flexible. Sometimes our schedules may differ, and if life is currently intervening, we can take things a bit easier. Plus, I can’t always respond every second of every day, either. This should be considered a hobby and not a job. If a hiatus is on the rise, there is no problem with putting things on ice until things clear up.

♢ Experience: And by that, I don’t mean how many years you’ve roleplayed, rather the experience that comes with age and emotional maturity. Especially if you want to write stories with grit.

♢ Open to doubling: Quick explanation. Doubling is when we play two main characters each. The dynamic is as follows; I write your chosen love interest against your main character while you do the same for me.

♢ Long term: Only long-term partnerships.

♢ Sharing the spotlight: Don’t forget, this is all about you too! Let me know all your specific cravings, interests, or wants that you want to be included into the roleplay.

Cravings

♦ Urban fantasy: Supernaturals, demons, spirits, vampires, you name it. I’d be more interested in something original and unique, especially when it comes to vampirism and demonic entities.

♦ Dark Sci-Fi: So this is a bit inspired by Resident Evil. A world where monsters become a vicious reality, generating fear among the people they come in contact with. But as it turns out, these monsters are not supernatural, but rather infected or mutated by a virus that cannot be explained.

♦ History, mythology, and folklore: An interesting take on the historical timeline, where legends and myths were once a reality. However, their existence was greatly misrepresented in the storybooks, sometimes even completely distorted. Our characters could be accidental time travelers who have been sent from the future to see it with their own eyes. Inspirations are mostly Slavic, European, and ancient folklore from all over the world.

♦ Crime with a dark twist: Mafias, organized crime, and corrupted politicians run this town. All of them have one thing in common. A particular drug that grants humans superhuman abilities; but at a cost. The drug will turn force the users to reject their humanity to instead embrace their monstrosity.

Canon & Fandoms

♢ Castlevania: Rather the original games than the Netflix series. But I am also not opposed to tackling the Netflix universe.

♢ Devil May Cry: Every game is game. Except for the reboot. Never played that one.

♢ Invincible: Not so invincible.

♢ Resident Evil: Village is one of the best games I’ve ever played. Periodt.

♢ Harry Potter: Next gen anyone?

————————

If you made it this far, I am glad you managed to hold on, lol. If you found what I wrote, agreeable and have a similar interests to mine, feel free to message me on this email adress.

You can also contact me via DM on my Tumblr blog, though preferably, I would rather be more receptive on Email since I am more active there. And it’s a lot more personal as well.

Email: [email protected]

Hope to see you there.

I wish you all a lovely day my fellow readers!

-Imp

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rechoired · 4 years

Text

A problem with the Tales Of Arcadia community

First and foremost, I’d like to ask anyone taking the time to read this to please read the post all the way through before commenting on the matter. There is a lot of dirty laundry to unpack here, and some points will be building off previous ones.

I’ll get right to the point. Most everybody in the Tales of Arcadia fandom will have heard of the blog imthegingerninja / ginger-le-gay. She is one of the most well-known ToA-centric blogs, after all. (If you’re wanting to avoid her on Twitter as well, her account is Margaret Bell, or @The_Book_Bell.)

This is your PSA, TOA fandom: Ginger is a toxic, manipulative person.

This is not a claim I like to make lightly, but it’s long overdue that this issue is properly brought up within the fandom.

I’ve seen so many people wonder why the Tales of Arcadia fandom is so small. Well, I and many others very strongly believe that Ginger is one of the main reasons for that, if not the main one. To make matters easier, I’ve tried to break this down into some main points. So let’s take a look at how Ginger falls under this category.

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT look at this post as an excuse to harass Ginger or any other blog mentioned here. This sort of behavior is NOT acceptable. The point of this post is to educate those who may not know the extent of her harrowing behavior, nothing more.

1. Dishonesty and Death Threats

[EDIT: Shortly after this post went up, she started blatantly lying about me to try to cover for herself. You can see those lies being easily disproven here]

Ginger has been kicked from at least three Tales of Arcadia servers, all for similar reasons of violence. While I cannot provide screenshots as I am no longer part of the servers they were in, there are multiple witnesses that can verify the disgusting behavior she engaged in. The one I saw specifically was her saying that certain members of the fandom should be gathered up and hunted for sport, among other gross things. (Elaboration of why can be found in point 3, though it still doesn’t excuse this kind of talk)

Here is some points made by another blog that also sums up similar issues with Ginger, though:

While there were multiple instances of her inciting violence towards others, this is unfortunately one topic I cannot provide specific screenshots for at this time. But I will add them in as I can find them. That being said, I want to move to the dishonesty, something I do have a screenshot for.

While you could argue that people sometimes notice the similar things, this is far too close together to be considered an “original find”. The reblog button is there for a reason, but she instead decides to steal the OP’s premise and present it as her own original thought.

There have been a couple other blogs that have confirmed that their theories and analysis posts were often stolen and presented as Ginger’s own as well, to the point where they stopped bothering even making such posts, as the above blog points out. (Out of respect for their privacy, I will not be naming these blogs. Say what you will about that possibly weakening my point, but if she’s willing to so blatantly steal from that person shown above, it shouldn’t surprise you that she’s so willing to do it to others.)

Theory-making and analysis posts aren’t as solidly “original content” as a piece of art or fanfiction, sure, but it’s still common fandom courtesy to give credit where it’s due. Ginger has intentionally avoided extending that courtesy far too many times.

2. Hypocrisy

Most of this is going to be about past Merlin vs. Morgana drama, though there are also words to be said for the incredibly shaky relationships she forms with “friends”.

But first let’s talk about those wizards.

This is a topic I’ve tried to approach with Ginger before, but she borderline refused to acknowledge any of the points I was trying to make, and when she did, I don’t know if I just wasn’t being clear or what, but it honestly looked as though she was purposefully trying to misunderstand what I was saying in her bizarre responses. (To be fair, I was sending messages out of anger because she vagueposted about a blog I admired, calling them a “disgusting creep” because of them simply saying they’d hoped Jim and Merlin would be able to actually bond at some point... Not really a justifiable reaction to such a harmless thought, in my opinion. But my point is, I recognize that the circumstances may have clouded my ability to vocalize my thoughts clearly.)

That aside, we should first acknowledge this post Ginger made to save face after having gotten some backlash about hate-train related things (Side note: I couldn’t find the original post, so this is a screenshot I got from someone else. I did not add the writing. The text underneath it should still be slightly readable, I hope.):

Taken at face value, this is a very reasonable post. I think everybody would and should be able to agree on it. Hate-meme him for fun, sure, but don’t actually harass or insult others over a fictional character. Simple, right?

Apparently not, because Ginger’s done loads of that to others. Probably why the “LOL” was added in, I bet.

This post confused me. First of all, exploring dark topics (”angst”, as you put it) has never been a rare occurrence, every fandom has that content, most in heavy abundance. I’ve noticed no staggering difference in volume of this fandom compared to others I’ve been in. People enjoy angst not because they think the character “deserves to be in pain”, they enjoy a fictional blow to their own emotions. There’s lots of different reasons people like angst, but it’s barely ever been out of a genuine hate for whatever character’s the focus, from all the things I’ve seen. Your own friends have indulged in Jim angst and body horror posts before, does that mean you think they’re awful people? I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain something like this.

Also, way to basically admit you think all Merlin stans get off on child torture. So much for “If you like Merlin as a character, you’re valid”, am I right? God, what a mess of a post. (It’s been very recently deleted, which makes me wonder if she got more backlash on it, but just... wow.)

Let’s look at another one.

Again. Vagueposting about someone specific, I’d wager, since most of the people I’ve seen comment on this topic either think both characters are morally gray, or hate both.

But of course, when it comes to Morgana, suddenly excusing bad behavior can be justified. Ginger can call someone a disgusting creep because they want a familial bond between Jim and Merlin, that’s just wrong, but pushing the Mom-gana narrative with the genocidal abuser and Toby is completely fine, folks.

(Note: I would like to point out that I really don’t care about what theories and hopes people have for Morgana. You should be allowed to love that character in any way you want, same as I would say for Merlin. My issue with these examples is the completely brazen hypocrisy in which these two characters are treated. You’re obviously allowed to love Morgana without consequence, but the same should be said for any character of the show, and yet it’s not.)

The most obvious instance of this double-standard is well observable here, I believe:

... I think this mostly speaks for itself. Sorry, but this is very blatantly trying to excuse Morgana’s actions, here.

Oh hey, remember that post about Ginger saying that liking Merlin must mean you want to see Jim in horrible pain?

Say anything similar about her with Morgana, and suddenly she takes issue with this line of reasoning!

I’m sorry, but if you can’t take this sort of thing, then you shouldn’t be dishing it out. One of your own friends is still getting hate over the simple fact of liking Merlin, and all this mentality is exactly why.

Let’s look at one more.

Fun fact! Morgana horrifically abused somebody for centuries, tried to kill multiple kids, took horrible advantage of Claire (probably traumatized her), and canonically wanted to genocide humanity, not to mention all the OTHER murders she's committed, both directly and indirectly.

But somehow pointing any of this out “doesn’t count”. This is why the fandom keeps saying more and more things like this:

And this:

I could be going through her constant hating on Merlin and people who like Merlin for days straight, but I hope you all get the idea by now.

Again, I would like to just reiterate: You can like whatever character you want for whatever reason you want. The problem with this case is the hypocrisy and mistreatment of others, not your taste in characters.

Now interestingly enough, she’s lately been singing a different tune about the guy, switching from the “I hate Merlin I hope he dies!!!” mentality to “Oh he should get a redemption arc too :)” sort of thing.

I’m highly convinced that the only reasons for this “change of heart” is because of the constant backlash she was getting for the obnoxious amount of hate posts being thrown around all the time, but also because Aaron Waltke keeps tabs on the fandom more lately, and has spoken himself about Merlin not being a villain.

I could go on about this point forever, but I think I’ll just leave the Merlin topic with this post going through the hypocrisy of the Merlin Hate Train. In fact, here’s two just for fun.

Now onto more real-world focused areas of hypocrisy. One such instance can be found in Ginger’s Janus Disorder server.

Just take a look at this post.

While the offender in this case isn’t Ginger specifically, it still takes place in her server, and she made no moves to enforce her “No discourse” rule. All over... what? A random kudos on a fanfiction that’s not even about anything controversial since all characters involved are adults? I immensely don’t understand the point of why this ever had to be an issue, or why nobody spoke up about how ridiculous this is.

I’d also like to point out a certain user called firecat17. For some quick context, waaay back in the Kung Fu Panda fandom (around 2018), this user had been harassing people and saying incredibly vile things, a person of which Ginger had a bit of a feud, but firecat’s anon threats had gotten to the point where Ginger ended up having to block their IP.

Obviously, the user firecat was the one in the wrong, here. (Also, the irony in this comment is through the roof...)

Interesting point there, Ginger. Sure would be nice if you practiced what you preached.

Why am I bringing this random old drama up, you may ask? Well, it just strikes me as strange that someone who was so vile to Ginger is suddenly on her okay-list again, sending her asks and getting casual responses as if nothing ever happened.

To be fair, there is the possibility that they worked out their differences in private. But given the severity of the kinds of words being exchanged, I would still find that rather suspicious.

When someone who’s said things so vile can be so easily forgiven, yet something as harmless as leaving a kudos on some random fanfiction is considered grounds for harassment, it’s obvious there’s no stability or room for trust among this group of people. Unsurprising when there’s been several instances of this “friend group” turning on each other.

If you think you’re somehow different, that your “friendship” with Ginger or the others is more valued than that, then I’m sorry to burst your bubble but it’s likely not true. She’d throw you under the bus at the hint of you doing something she deems problematic, as it’s happened to multiple blogs before you.

3. Demonization of and insensitivity towards s*xual abuse victims

(This topic is one that’s hard for me to talk about, being a victim of CSA myself, so I’ve gathered some different sources to do most of the main talking for me. I tried to form more commentary on this myself, but I get too emotionally charged in my responses, and I don’t want that to cloud any reader’s perception of what I’m trying to communicate here, so I’ll try to keep most of my comments brief on this one.)

One thing recently brought to my attention about Ginger and her squad that especially bothers me is their rashness in labeling people p*dophiles and p*do apologists. If these claims were true, then I wouldn’t have a problem with it.

But these people are accusing others of these horrible things and threatening them on the sole basis of fictional content.

Now before you fly off the handle at me, let me be very clear: I absolutely understand that there are gross people out there who use the “It’s all just fiction” argument to hide their actual, pr*datory behaviors. (We’ve all probably seen at least one or two neckbeard memes of that caliber)

But like it or not, exploring traumatic themes through a fictional lens is something that has been studied and proven to be a genuine coping mechanism for some. It’s not something that works for me, but I knew a few people from past therapy groups that it worked surprisingly well for. Bringing a trauma into a controlled environment and processing it through fictional means can and does help some victims deal with what they went through.

It’s important to understand that not everyone processes their experience in the same neat, little boxes you have laid out as the only “acceptable” ways of coping. Trauma fiction and expressive arts therapy are commonly used by victims, and it does help some people, whether you like it or not.

I’m already dragging this on too much, so here are some sources for better-worded information on the topic (Warning: Most of these deal with highly sensitive themes such as gun violence and s*xual abuse.)

Source 1 - Source 2 - Source 3 - Source 4 - Source 5 (pages 61 onward, specifically) - Source 6 - Source 7 - Source 8 - Source 9 - Source 10 (and believe me, if those all don’t satisfy you, I can easily supply more.)

And this quote from source 9 I think sums it up best:

“Fiction works differently. My imagination gives me a framework to process the grief and terror and the consequences, even when I myself have not found any resolution. It allows me to enter my own traumatic experiences sideways and linger inside them, if I know I can give them to characters who might be lucky enough to find the antidote: love, connection, community, family. In other words, I can enter — and exit — the trauma loop through stories that are not exactly the same as mine.

This goes for the reader also. Recent studies periodically assure us that stories — literary fiction, hardcover books, even the simple act of reading — promote empathy. We rarely have identical experiences, so fiction is how we practice linking our similar or parallel realities so we can feel them. This seems particularly useful in our current society, where we are all so separated, and are working so hard to block the violence that keeps happening to us from our minds.

Fiction connects us, and it can also contribute to our healing. When we see ourselves in worlds we don’t live in, like The Handmaid’s Tale or The Color Purple, sometimes, that very different violence helps us finally process our own. Because as much as our memoirs and testimonies are brave and validating, fiction does not just mirror our truths so they are safe to experience; it also helps us endure the aftermath. Because long after the immediate experience is over, survival struggles onward, in every moment of our daily lives.”

While most professionals have in the past advised that victims keep their trauma-related works more private, to only show it to your trusted friends or family, the fast-growing use of the internet has led more people to sharing it in an online platform, which is not unexpected behavior.

I unfortunately don’t have the screenshot of the original post, but there was a post made some time back literally telling a fandom member to go and hang themselves over this garbage. A survivor of s*xual abuse, no less. And to top that off, one of Ginger’s squad @emmy-puff commented in support of that violent post, as well as blatantly misgendering the target of it. While, again, I was unable to get screenshots, there are multiple witnesses to this instance, one Anonymous even having called them out on it back when it happened. (I suspect that Emmy deleted that answer due to how bad it made them look.) If anybody reading this has screenshots of the initial post or the ask that came of it, please feel free to share.

I don’t care who you are or who you’re talking about, if you use misgendering someone as a way to hurt them, then you are an insult to the trans community. That is an awful thing to do, and you lose so much credibility if that’s the only thing you can fall back on when getting in a fight with someone. While this post isn’t about Emmy specifically, this is exactly the kind of hateful rhetoric that’s being encouraged in the environment Ginger’s made.

Another thing I would like to point out on this matter is an instance that happened in the ToA fandom a couple years back. I, again, don’t have screenshots available (I believe the original post ended up deleted) but the post in question caused enough of a fuss that I’m sure a few people must remember it...

A while back, there was an artist that posted uncensored, untagged r*pe art of Aaarrrgghh, Gunmar, and Jim in the main Trollhunters tag. As you can imagine, this infuriated many people. Many of which are among the list of those who’ve been labeled “p*do apologists”. Almost the very minute that post showed up in the tag with no trigger warnings of any kind, the fandom immediately got on OP’s tail about it, because they all shared that basic understanding of “This is a traumatizing subject for many people and they should have the ability to avoid it”. If the people you’ve labelled as pr*dator supporters were really as awful as you say they are, they would’ve jumped to that person’s defense, too. But they were completely against OP’s horrible lack of consideration of survivors, right alongside the rest of the fandom.

Am I saying you have to like trauma fiction? Absolutely not. Are there people that make trauma fiction that are actual pr*dators? I’m sure there are. But those people would be that way whether trauma fiction was out there or not. Gross people have existed and will always exist regardless of what media is out there.

I deeply understand the controversy, uncertainty, and stress that surrounds this topic, I promise you, I do. But the fact of the matter is, some people actually do use trauma fiction and expressive arts therapy as a way of coping, as has been observed in people even from ages as young as 5. To say otherwise is blatantly untrue. This isn’t a matter of opinion or morals, this is plain, studied facts that you cannot change about human psychology.

Nobody should ever have to go through something as horrible as s*xual abuse of any kind, and I know how deeply upsetting it can be to see certain images or stories with those themes in play. Those users with a sense of decency and understanding for fellow victims will tag their posts with the appropriate warnings. After that, it’s up to you to filter out what you don’t want to see. You curate your own internet experience, and it’s just plain irrational to try and harass everyone into conforming to your rules. While it’s an 18+ blog’s job to make sure to tag and label their content appropriately, it is your job to block the things you don’t want to see, whether you’re an adult or a minor. It is YOUR job to blacklist content that you know will upset you, because it is always going to exist on the internet, and any internet user needs to know and understand that. Multiple times I’d seen people going off about posts that were already appropriately trigger-tagged. If you don’t have those upsetting tags blacklisted by now, then the fault is mostly on you in that kind of case, not the OP.

Before I end this topic off, just one more example of blatant disrespect towards victims:

I’m sorry, but the absolute nerve of comparing some random fictional character you’re petty over to an actual pr*dator who’s terribly hurt real children is just awful. Imagine how insulted one of Onion’s victims would be if they saw that. Lord.

Ginger claims to care about victims, but she’s made it abundantly clear that she only cares about those that behave the way she think a victim should.

4. Ableism

I’m going to just show a couple posts here and let them mostly speak for themselves.

Just... my God. You looked at the definition of psychopath and decided that was enough to give you qualification to speak like this about it? Do you realize the extensive work and study of human psychology goes into the diagnosis and understandings of psychopathy? Not to mention, you just admit to thinking people deserve hate because of a mental disorder they legitimately have no control over? I’m sorry, but that is just cruel. Demonization of the mentally ill is not cute or funny. Next.

While I’m still annoyed with Emmy’s transphobic treatment of another user mentioned earlier, they make a very solid point in this instance. (The first post they referenced has since been deleted, but here’s the second one speaking out against the ableism.) I feel I don’t need to add much to this, as these points have already been argued very well by users better qualified to speak on the subject than I.

5. Manipulation tactics

This part is more observations of two kinds of abuse tactics Ginger appears to demonstrate, using the above as points of reference.

First, there’s DARVO.

Then, less formally, there’s this good point about online cult mentality.

Before you say anything, obviously I don’t think Ginger thinks of herself as some sort of deity. While it could be argued that she considers herself a point of authority within the TOA fandom maybe, I haven’t seen enough of this to say for sure how far that goes. So that point can be ignored, because it mostly doesn’t apply in this case. (The “Dictating parts of your online life” might also not apply, but I can’t say for sure as I haven’t gotten any confirmation of that sort of thing in Ginger’s group.)

But there are grains of truth in the other four points, especially that last one. Plain and simple, she’s made people afraid to speak their minds about even harmless things such as character analysis.

Ginger is someone who can’t seem to comprehend different viewpoints and life experiences. She’s extremely unsympathetic towards people she doesn’t understand, as can be observed in above examples. Assuming malicious intent from everybody you can’t understand is a dangerous and hurtful mindset to have, for both you and those who you unnecessarily scorn.

There are a few outcomes I’ve speculated should she ever come to see this post.

1. She will ignore this post completely, pretending as if it doesn’t exist

2. She will dismiss me as being some sort of horrible person, a p*do apologist or something of the sort (despite being a victim of that myself, clearly she doesn’t care about who’s actually been hurt by real p*dos or not if they don’t conform to her narrow worldview), and claim nothing I’ve said bears any meaning, despite the extensive evidence I’ve provided.

3. She will get people to try and attack me.

4. She will actually address these points in a tactful, mature, and serious manner instead of her usual act of trying to dismiss everything at the slightest hint of non-conformity. (The least likely outcome, but one can dream.)

I could add to this post all day, but it’s long enough as it is and my focus was on getting the main points out of the way. I understand that I lack some of the receipts necessary to back myself up in a few parts, but I know that many other fans have bared witness to those things, so I know there will be at least some people who’ll know what I speak of is true, and that’s good enough for me.

That being said, if anybody has screenshots of the instances I wasn’t able to provide for, it would be greatly appreciated if you could add them into the conversation.

!!!-If you have screenshots, but are too uncomfortable to get involved in this, then you can private-message them to me and I would be grateful and more than happy to add them in while keeping you completely anonymous.-!!!

(I've removed the section with all the tags, as I recognize it was probably going overboard. My goal was just to spread information, not to try and involve those tagged, but I understand how that may have gotten lost in translation and made people uncomfortable. Also, it apparently was showing up multiple times in people’s notifications when I only tagged people twice, so I’m not sure why that glitch happened, but I apologize for that annoyance as well.)

Now, to end us off, my responses to questions or angry comments I’m probably going to get:

You don’t even have all the evidence! How are we to know you’re not just lying about some of this?

Admittedly, I don’t have as much screenshot proof as I would like, that’s true. But for most of the instances I couldn’t provide for, there were other witnesses to her bad behavior. I don’t really have the need to lie when there’s already a lot of knowledge out there of the bad stuff she has done. Nor do I really have the emotional investment in this fandom anymore to lie for the pointless reason of causing drama.

Why post this on a throwaway account if you think people are on your side?

I just don’t really want my main blog associated with TOA anymore, to be frank.

You tagged a bunch of people, so you must be trying to get them to attack Ginger!

No. I tagged a bunch of people because I think this information should be heard on a wider scale, considering the position Ginger has in the fandom. I don’t want her or anybody else to be attacked, but her negative impact on this fandom deserves to be acknowledged.

Again, I don’t think Ginger or any of the others deserve harassment or cyberbullying or anything of that manner, that’s kind of what this whole post is against. And it just hurts the situation more than it helps it. What bothers me is how she’s never apologized for or even once acknowledged the gross way she’s treated people. While she might be more low-key about it now, she still treats people who don’t deserve it like garbage. There are still several people upset about the damage she’s caused to this fandom, rightfully so. I wouldn’t be so loud about making this post if I didn’t think it was something worth drawing attention to.

Thank you for reading.

#TrollHunters #3Below #TOAwizards #Tales of Arcadia #TOA

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