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jackmfvegas777 · 3 years

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Trans Guy Tips #4; Socially Transitioning

Now this one is a tricky one, and it's a situation almost every trans person has to go through at some point in their life, unless they stay in the closet for life, but if you're planning to come out, and you don't know how to approach the situation and don't know how to judge if it's safe, I hope I can be a reliable guide for you on this journey.

This is usually the first step in any trans person's journey, before they physically transition, (which some don't as well). However here we're talking specifically about trans men.

So while some of the things I say could apply to trans women, always remember I'm writing about trans men from a trans man's point of view, so that's the targeted demographic here.

Once I learn more about trans women's struggles and things they go through, since I don't have the personal experience of it, I will definitely write trans women articles as well, and as well non-binary people.

So let's begin, with a list of important things to keep in mind whilst coming out to the world or at least to your family and close friends.

1. Safety is everything.

Always no matter what.

A good way to test if someone is going to be safe to come out to, is to casually bring it up in in a conversation topic, something like "What are your thoughts on lgbtq people, or specifically what are your thoughts on trans people?"

If they become aggressive and violent about it, and start being transphobic or defensive or any of the signs of bigotry, do not and I mean do not come out to them yet.

If it's a parent, I'd suggest at least wait until you're of age to move out, or have moved out, to come out to them. Sometimes people will get verbally and physically violent towards you if you come out to them and they're not accepting of it, so the most important thing is to always judge the reactions of people, and if they react well, then you can come out to them.

2. Always choose trustworthy people to keep your secret whilst you're in the closet.

There's been a lot of people who trusted idiots who they thought were their friends and they ended up outing them to the whole school they were in, etc. etc. But there was a lot of stories about this happening multiple times.

Make sure the people you tell would take the secret to their grave, especially if you're in an abusive household and can't come out for fear of violence.

3. If you're in a very abusive household, especially one that's openly homophobic and transphobic, as hard it is, please wait to come out as long as you possibly can until you have a place of your own and you're safe for sure.

A lot of people have been known to kick out their own children on to the streets because of them being LGBT, or do much worse...

Now of course these are some of the worst case scenarios, but being LGBT you always have to think about every bad thing that could occur so that you can prevent it.

4. When it comes to actually coming out, I would always recommend bringing a good friend or close family member who supports you, so that you have backup, not only for them to chime in and tell their piece and defend you, but just them being there makes the other person not want to be as violent towards you, because they fear what others will think of them.

If you're coming out to an extended family member or anyone, don't trust to do it alone, always bring a good friend.

5. One of the best ways to come out that I've seen are ways that are jokey and hilarious!

It seems to smooth over and make it a much more pleasant transition for everyone, and usually even homophobic people won't get too mad, they might even laugh!

I've seen people bake cakes with the words "Surprise I'm gay!" on it, things like that.

Just little cute things that are nice to do for your parents or people you're coming out to, but make it a surprise and that you're actually lgbt!

Now remember though, always follow the first rule and make sure safety is priority, but if you know you're safe, but you're just not sure they understand, starting out with jokes helps a lot.

6. The second step you should do after coming out is always try to explain your side of the story.

If there are people who don't let you get a word in, let them know that you have important things to say and that they need to listen to you and then they can say whatever they need.

Explain how it feels to be trans, explain why you know you're trans, of course you shouldn't have to ideally, but unfortunately a lot of people won't understand unless they're given more information, as the subject is completely foreign to them.

I know my grandma specifically reacted so well, all she did was ask me questions about it, and once I answered all her questions, she hummed in satisfaction and she never questioned it again and completely accepted me.

And a lot of times you'll get people who are pretty neutral, people who will call you by your chosen name and gender but don't really totally care as much as you want them to, but they still go along with it and just kind of assume you know what's best for you, which is a really kind thing really.

I've had a few people react neutrally and it's actually relaxing, there's no pressure put on for being gay, either over positive or over negative. but I have to say as a trans person and gay person, and grey-ace person, I love the people who ask questions the most.

I don't mind answering, and it means they're trying to learn more about something they don't understand, which means they have a huge heart and huge open mind.

Some people may get annoyed at the constant questions, but I absolutely adore them.

To me, every time someone asks about me, they're showing interest in my life and my feelings.

7. Next the scientific method.

Look up on any scientific article anywhere, and you'll find studies done on trans men and women's brains.

It was shown factually multiple times, over and over, whenever they repeated it it did it again, that trans men have the same brain structure as cis men, and trans women have the same brain structure as cis women, and non-binary people have somewhere in the middle. This was factually proven, you can look it up, so if they try to use science to defend against you, educate that that science is actually for LGBT rights and has explained how it works even.

8. Try to be gentle when it comes to pronouns.

For a lot of people, especially people of foreign languages where some languages don't have genders, or will have different genders, or other things like that, or even just English speakers that aren't used to saying 'they', or your family not being used to your pronouns yet.

It can take a while, and I know it's frustrating, it could take even a few years for them to finally get it right every time.

It's not supposed to be an attack towards you, it's genuinely hard to reprogram yourself when you think someone is one thing your whole life and then it turns out they're the other thing! So be sure to be gentle with them while they're practising, remind them every time they make a mistake, but remind them gently, as they are trying to do the right thing, they're just slipping up due to habit.

In general, be patient with non-lgbt folks, if we're mad at them, it just drives them away, rather than driving them toward us to help and assist us.

We should be grateful for our allies.

9. Once you've come out and your parents probably still have questions, I would recommend sitting down and having family night where you read together some good articles about transgenderism, and LGBT+ in general.

If they're not familiar with it, this type of education can help them a lot to understand the terminology and how to address you, and basic respect for trans & lgbtq+ people.

Overall it's a learning experience for both of you, and it would be amazing to do if they're willing to learn.

Remember that it's a journey for all of us, and everyone has a lot to learn.

10. When selecting your name, I have one piece of advice/a question for you; "Does it spark joy?"

The most important thing, it doesn't matter how odd sounding it is, or differently spelled it is, or whatever your name is, if you enjoy your name, that's what matters.

Always pick the one that calls out to you.

And it's okay to change it from time to time, people need time to figure out who they are!

And with that, I conclude my fourth part!

I hope you were helped by this in any way, and thanks for reading.

#trans man #transguy #trans boy #transgender #trans ftm #ftm trans #trans male #ftm #ftm tips #transgender tips #transgender guide #ftm guide #lgbtqa #lgbtq #lgbt #trans guy tips #social transition #trans guy guide #coming out

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angsty-nerd · 3 years

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Meta: Echo’s Big Fight in 3x09

Let's talk about the Big Echo fight. Because wandering around in the fandom this past week, I’ve seen a lot of very specific conclusions as far as what they were or weren't arguing about, and I’m not sure my take on that scene really aligns with other folks. So let me try to break it down a bit and give y’all an alternative perspective on it.

To start with, the scene opens with Max on edge because they're breaking and entering. Liz is singularly focused on the mission, and he's kinda freaking out. Instead of responding to his concerns, Liz gets straight to business.

"Ooh, ooh, this is interesting. Heath left Genoryx two days after I did. Must have realized he didn't need to be working underneath their corporate thumb."

Liz is kinda projecting here. Heath never once displayed any discomfort with Genoryx as a company the way that she did. He wanted her to stay. He wanted the resources there. We know these things as an audience, and Liz would too if she was thinking through the big picture at this point in time.

Max, on the other hand, doesn't know any of that. Here's what Max hears from Liz: he hears surprise. He hears Liz acknowledge that this is unexpected news. And right as he’s processing this unexpected reveal...Max sees Heath's Wild Pony t-shirt.

Weird coincidence #1 from Max's POV was Heath (the guy who is currently so pissed at Liz that he won't take her calls) supposedly rescuing Liz's science out of the good of his heart so that Genoryx doesn’t get their hands on it? This doesn't add up.

Weird coincidence #2 was Heath quitting Genoryx - a decision Heath made that Liz wasn't expecting.

The Wild Pony t-shirt is now the 3rd thing that doesn't add up. And if the t-shirt clue isn't adding up for you, see my post about it here:

The T-shirt is strike 3 for Max. He can't really pretend that he's not suspicious of Heath anymore. So he broaches the subject with her.

"How much do you know about this guy, Heath? How close were you?"

Max is feeling uncomfortable and looking for more information. He's trying to make the clue make sense. Why would Heath have the T-shirt? Does he have a connection to Roswell that Liz doesn't know about? And Liz doesn’t listen.

"This isn't the time to be jealous about a boy I met."

For all that Liz is clinical and on mission, she jumps very quickly to assuming that Max is NOT on mission. Yes, Max is inherently more emotional than she is. But throughout the episode he's been asking questions about Heath and NOT JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS. That's one of the keys to me here. Max really is trying to give her the benefit of the doubt about him.

At Liz's house, he asked about "the boyfriend" but he wasn't doing it in a jealous or judgy way. If anything it could almost be interpreted as concern. He started with "were you happy" and only when Liz kind of metaphorically admitted that any happiness was a façade...that's when he brought Heath into it. And yeah, Liz says that he impacted her life and helped her grow, but she didn't exactly express romantic feelings that would make Max jealous. So when she basically jumped straight to the jealousy assumption instead of actually discussing this with him, he starts getting worked up. Because she is not hearing him. She is not acknowledging that the facts they have found during this investigation are not adding up. So he is honest and blunt about what he's thinking.

"I'm just saying it's possible that he took your one-of-a-kind alien spores and quit, so that, just like you, he could use the research himself, free of Genoryx."

Max is the one who brings the science into this conversation. Not Liz. And he's not criticizing or questioning HER application of the science. He's questioning the trustworthiness of Heath. Because the lies are starting to jump out at him like a friggin’ neon light.

BUT — now that he's specifically brought up the science, he has her attention. Because Max questioning her science is HER sore spot. So what does she say back to him? Something kinda judgy.

"That grand trust speech certainly had a short shelf life."

Side note: I really don't think there actually was a "grand trust speech" in this episode. I can think of a few scenes where there might have been an opportunity for one. In particular during the milkshake scene when he admits to saving her tapes. But they actually don't talk about trust in that scene. They talk about having hard conversations. They talk about moving forward instead of looking backwards. But they don't talk about trust. My guess is that there might have been content cut for time at some point in this episode, that may have included some grand declaration from Max, but that's really just speculation on my part.

Regardless…Liz's response to Max bringing up the science is to basically accuse him of not trusting her. Which is not what he was saying. He was not questioning her use of the science. He was questioning her trust in Heath through the context of her science. So he elaborates on what he IS saying, and as he does, he's getting more and more worked up...because this does relate directly to his personal fears, and, frankly, his buried trauma that he's never properly addressed.

"I trust you. Okay? But I don't trust some guy I have barely met with a secret that could endanger me, could endanger my family and break the frickin' Internet if it came out."

Max doesn't know Heath, and he doesn't trust Heath with a secret that could endanger Michael and Isobel. His emotions are escalating, because now he's thinking about the science that scares him in the hands of a guy that all signs points to being potentially untrustworthy, and he's triggered.

BUT he doesn't back up his argument. He doesn't point out the very specific evidence he's identified that Heath is probably lying to Liz.

And Liz is inherently reactive and sometimes overly defensive (see 1x09 list of Liz's flaws). So even though he's focused on Heath, she immediately reacts defensively and takes it as a criticism of HER.

"You think I would let myself be conned?"

"No, I think you came out here looking for a partner, and it could blind you."

*deep breath* and this is where it starts to get personal. And rough. Max isn't entirely wrong here. But he also kind of is. Liz didn't choose Genoryx for partnership. She was looking for resources, freedom to do the science she wanted to do, and to save her father from deportation.

But partnership? Yeah, Liz wanted that. But she wanted that from MAX. She was looking for partnership in life, not in science.

And now that Max has thrown that direct criticism out there, Liz is going to throw a bomb right back at him.

"Just because you sabotaged me when I thought you were mine does not mean that Heath would take the same path."

Ouch. This is the hardest line in this whole scene for me to work with. Because it is combative. And purposefully hurtful.

BUT…she is NOT TALKING ABOUT HER SCIENCE. She has not said a single word about her science in this argument. She moved past that. She had the epiphany that she was wrong and she apologized (3x03). That is in the past for her.

This argument, for Liz, is about betrayal. This is about her believing that they were going to be partners and move their lives forward together (2x12), and right when she believed in that future, Max made another massive decision that directly impacted her life (just like he did in 1x13) instead of working with her to make big decisions together.

"And just because you changed the wallpaper doesn't mean you've mended your blind spots."

I really hate this "change the wallpaper" line. It feels like they're mixing metaphors. Liz called her life a commercial. Max is saying that she's changed her decor. Like...pick one and stick with it.

That aside… I think this barb is about her arrogance. Earlier in the scene, she seemed baffled at the idea that Max believes she could have been conned by Heath, because Liz is used to always being the smartest person in the room. She thought she was smarter than Diego and he figured her out. She believed her lab was secure, but Diego (possibly) got in. Sometimes, like most scientists, Liz is so bogged down in the complicated, brilliant details she’s thinking through, that she misses simple things that contribute to the big picture. And I think that's what Max is getting at here. In her arrogance, she believes that she can control the Heath situation. But she's not acknowledging the human factor here - that Heath is a person who may have his own unspoken ulterior motives driving him. Just like Diego did. She's just not seeing what Max is seeing.

BUT - again I'll say. Max is also not communicating the scope of the evidence he is collecting. They're both wrong here.

"I have learned my lessons, but you... oh, my God, you sound an awful lot like the guy who blew up my lab. So forgive me, but you're making it perfectly clear why I felt like I had to go and change the wallpaper."

This is the only line where Liz even comes close to talking about her science, but again, she's talking about his betrayal. She's talking about him undermining their partnership. She's talking about her need for a change of scenery from HIM.

And that’s when Max blows out the safe and they put the fight on hold to finish their investigation.

But, to sum it up…the fight was all about trust and betrayal. It was necessary for them to work through it, though frankly? I wish they could have finished the discussion. Because instead of them coming to some sort of peace with their trust in each other, the truth came out about Heath, Liz realized that she was wrong, she apologized, and they moved forward together, on mission.

I can’t help pointing out though…after the fight and Liz's epiphany about Heath, Max and Liz spent at least 15 hours in a car together. And I'm sorry, I refuse to believe that they didn't talk about anything important for 15 hours. Fic writers assemble? 😆

Many thanks to @ober-affen-geil for doing a quick review and checking me on opinions vs facts. Very important.

And for my next trick… road trips, life choices, and Robert Frost! Coming soon to a Tumblr near you…

#rnm echo #rnm season 3 #roswell new mexico #max&liz #my meta #max evans #liz ortecho #rnm meta

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headinthestaticsky · 3 years

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The Dusk Calls for me: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 15 FINALE

AUTHORS NOTES: This is a long one folks... hope you like it.

ALL THE CHARACTERS IN TWILIGHT DO NOT BELONG TO ME! ALL RIGHTS GO TO STEPHENIE MEYER!

WARNINGS: Violence

“Before you slip into unconsciousness I'd like to have another kiss Another flashing chance at bliss Another kiss, another kiss.”

Crystal Ship by: The Doors.

POV: BELLA’S

I slowly opened the ballet studio doors, I peaked around each side of the room before entering. It was quiet, and I didn’t see mom anywhere the entire room was void of people.

“BELLA? BELLA? WHERE ARE YOU!?!”

I knew it, I knew Fleur was wrong... mom was here!

“MOM?”

“BELLA!”

“I’m coming mom!”

I ran to the end of the studio and opened the door, my heart sunk into my stomach... It was a TV, of an old home video mom took of me when I was a kid.

“Oh there you are! What are you doing in here?” My mom said.

“Mommy, I suck.” I said back to her, she gasp.

“You do not suck!”

I heard a laugh, it was deep, my blood had run cold, I knew who that voice was. My breath had started to stutter, but I face him. His body was imprinted on every mirror in the room.

“That’s my favorite part... You were a stubborn child weren’t you? Hmm?” James walked up to me, he petted the side of my head before pushing me against a wall.

“S-she’s not even here.”

“No.” He pushed his face closer to mine, breathing me in.

“I’m sorry... but you really made things too easy for me... so to make it up to you. I’m going to make a little film of our time together. I stole this from your house... I hope you don’t mind. And... action. Oh, this will just break Edward little heart.”

I glanced up, I thought my mind was deceiving me... I saw Fleur, she was holding a rock in her hands. She brought her finger up to her lips and silently shushed me.

“Ed-Edward has NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.” I said, I pushed myself up but I was pushed right back against the wall.

“Oh but he does, his rage will make for a much more interesting sport than his feeble attempt to protect you... and let’s continue.

“HEY!”

James turned around, before he could say anything a rock was thrown right at his head. His skin had a slight crack in it... he looked pissed. When he turned back around to me I sprayed him in the eyes with my pepper spray. I took off Fleur waiting for me halfway in the room. She grabbed my hand and made a rush to the door but James jumped right in front of us. He grabbed me and threw me into a glass podium. He then turned toward Fleur, a deadly look was in his eyes.

“BELLA!” She screamed.

POV CHANGE: Fleur

All the fear had left my body as soon as I saw him... it was as if adrenaline had taken over me. I threw that rock with all my might, hoping to damage him in someway. I saw the slightest crack on him, and I got him to divert his attention toward me for a second. Bella and I then ran for the door but James got in our way. He threw Bella into a glass podium and then turned around to face me. The fear still didn’t enter my being, I was beginning to wonder if I had a death wish at this point. Before I could react James grabbed me by the back of my hair and turned me around to face the mirror. He slammed my head into the floor. He lifted my head back up and made my look at my now bloody appearance in the mirror.

“Jasper... he is just as pathetic as Edward... he left you this, fragile, idiotic human... He didn’t have the strength to turn you. You make this hunt much more...fun.” He licked the side of my head, drinking my blood in the process.

“You think your so amazing? I’ve seen the way you hunt and track people... It’s mediocre at best.” I spat back out, I could hear Bella groaning in pain in the background.

“How have you seen me? If I sensed you were there I would’ve eaten you up too.”

“I’ve had dreams, I was in that slut of your’s body Victoria... I saw how you hunted, it’s pathetic.”

“...You’re lying...”

“Oh yeah... does this sound familiar to you?”

“It’s always the same, inane questions. Who are you?”

“What do you want?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“James... let’s not play with our food.”

“How in the hell could you be able to do that...You’re human, nothing more, nothing less.” James said, his grip tightened on my hair, he teeth were clinched. He was seething in pure anger.

“That doesn’t matter...” I said my dark brown eyes glaring back up at him through the mirror.

“All I know is Jasper is going to kick your ASS!”

James dragged me away from the mirror, bringing me to Bella. He then set the camera down and grabbed both of our legs. Breaking them instantly Bella had started to scream but I held it.

“It doesn’t hurt...nothing is cracking... nothing has broken.... I will not give him that satisfaction of him knowing he hurt me.” I thought.

“Tell them how much it hurts.... tell them to avenge you!”

“NO EDWARD DON’T”

“That means you too...tell poor ol’ Jasper how much it hurts.”

I didn’t budge, he then let go of Bella’s leg and grabbed both of mine, He hurled me threw me through one of the mirrors. A large piece of glass was impaled into my side he then dragged my through the glass, my back getting cut along the way. He then dropped me and turned to go back to Bella but before he could someone had knocked him out of the way. I then heard a bang against one of the mirrors.

“You got here first... because your fast than the others... but not stronger.” James said.

“I’m strong enough to kill you!” He then kicked James back, I couldn’t tell where though. The room was starting to spin, It felt like I was floating. I could tell who it was though it was Edward, he looked between Bella and I not knowing who to go to. He turned his head to me before muttering a “I’m sorry Fleur” to me.

This was it, I was going to die here...Edward was going to take Bella and leave me here. I saw him jump up in the air toward a window but James had grabbed him and drug him and Bella back down to the ground. I was gasping at this point, the pain and loss of blood was starting to take it’s toll on me. I heard Bella scream in extreme pain, I knew James had bitten her right then and there. I couldn’t even say anything, I had blacked out. Muffled screams and voices had come into my sense of hearing. I woke up after being shaken by someone.

“Hey, hey, darlin, look at me. You’re going to be fine.”

“J-jasper?” I said... I didn’t recognize my own voice, it was weak and frail.

“Yeah, it’s me... you need to stay awake for me okay? C’mon let me see those beautiful eyes huh?”

My eyes opened slightly I could see the blurry image of a fire with Alice, Dean and Emmett fighting for something to go in it. I felt a gigantic pressure on my side and hissed. I began to fade out again.

“Hey, hey... c’mon keep your eyes open... you have to stay awake! You can’t forget about what you told me in your room that night...

I weakly grabbed his hand, squeezing as tight as I could.

“Jazz, y-you need t-to go... my blood, you can’t be comfortable right now. He ignored me and continued in on his rant

You told me you’d live... that no matter how much you got hurt... you would live, you would still be human. You can’t break you promise on me now... you need to stay awake. Fleur? FLEUR!”

My world faded to black again, the sound I heard was the beeping of a machine, it smelt like I was in a hospital. My eyes twitched and I heard rustling on the side of the room.

“Petal? Are you waking up?” It was my dad’s voice... relief filled my body, he was okay. I finally opened my eyes, they were burned by the bright fluorescent lights in the room.

“Dad?”

“Hey petal, you feeling okay?”

I tried to sit up but, a stinging sensation on my side made me lay back down.

“I’ve been better.”

“When I got the call from Jasper, my heart dropped... I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” Dad said, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly.

“I’m here... just a little beaten up right now.”

“Jasper has been here ever since you came in, he hasn’t eaten or drunken anything... in 3 days. I’ve tried to get him to eat something but he would budge. You picked a good one Petal, I’ve never seen so much dedication for someone before.”

“So, you aren’t mad at him?”

“Not at all, Edward on the other hand... he needs some work.”

“A lot of work you mean.”

He chuckled

“Yeah, you got that right.”

“Is Bella okay?”

“Yeah she’s fine... she told me what happened. She said you were chasing her down a flight of stairs in the hotel when she tripped dragging you down with her... and then you both went through a window! Do you remember any of this?”

“Nope, none at all.”

“They said you lost a lot of blood due to a piece of glass stabbing you on the side, it was close to hitting the side of your lung. You got stitches over there.”

“Oh, that explains the pain then.”

“Yeah...”

“I can’t wait to go home... I miss it there... and I miss my bed too.”

“The rooms ready for you Petal.”

The hospital room door opened, we both looked up and saw Renee looking in on us.

“She wants to see you.” She then closed the door behind her, not even acknowledging me.

“Well I see she hasn’t changed much.”

“Yeah... not at all.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with her dad.”

He turned and looked at me, and then he smiled.

“It’s worth it for you.”

“I love you dad.”

“I love you too.” He then left, leaving me alone in the hospital room with Jasper.

“Hey Jazz.”

“Hi Darlin.”

I opened my arms, inviting him in for a hug. He accepted the invitation immediately.

“I’m so happy to hear your voice again love.” We pulled apart, now facing each other.

“I’m happy to be alive, to be able to see you again. Did you guys get James?”

“Yeah, we got him, boy you should’ve seen Emmett and Dean... they were brutal.”

“I couldn’t of imagined how you felt... I’m sure my blood made you uncomfortable too.”

“You’re the one in the hospital bed... and you’re worrying about me? You did the same thing in the studio. You told me to leave, that you didn’t want me to be uncomfortable around all your blood. You are something special my love, purely amazing.”

“Of course I worry about you Jazz...I love you.”

“I love you too Darlin.”

TIMESKIP: Two week later.

Getting back to Forks was amazing, I never thought I would be so happy to see that small town again. The first week back was rough, I could hardly move, the pain was unbearable at times. The second week was a lot better but, Bella and I haven’t talked much since our fight. The tension was back... and I knew I couldn’t trust her anymore. She was too selfish, too self absorbed, she would risk me and everyone around her just to save herself and Edward. Rosalie and Alice visited me whenever they could and today, the were helping me get ready for prom. I didn’t think I would be able to go but, the pain in my side was nothing more than a annoying throb.

“You guys really don’t have to do this you know...”

“Yes we do, besides I picked out the dress and I want to see you wear it.” Rosalie said.

“I’ve always wanted to do your makeup and hair... and since I’m here, you can’t stop me now!” Alice exclaimed.

“Alright, alright, make me beautiful!”

A few moments had passed and my make up and hair were done, I was impressed. They really knew what they were doing. I quickly changed into my dress, this was the most beautiful I had felt in the past 2 weeks.

“You look beautiful.” Rosalie said, she looked at me through the mirror, a smile was on her face.”

“You better go, Jasper’s waiting downstairs with Charlie...”

“Okay, okay, thank you guys.”

We all three hooked arms with each other and made our way downstairs. Jasper and Dad sat up walking toward the stairs, they both smiled at me.

“You look gorgeous.” Jasper said.

“Thank you, you look great. Just ignore the cast... it’s a lot...”

Jasper wrapped his arm gingerly around my waist and kissed my cheek.

“You two have have fun, stay safe.” Dad said.

“We will dad.”

Rosalie, Alice, Jasper and I all made our way outside, Emmett and Dean were waiting for us.

The drive was nice, it gave me a sense f peace after everything that had happened to me. I wish I could keep this feeling this forever, I felt safe, loved. Jasper had helped me out of the car and guided me through the front of the building. We got our pictures taken and made our way inside... it was a bit chaotic. I looked around and saw Angela and Eric, she looked at me and waved happily. I of course, returned the gesture. I then saw Jessica with Mike, she was posing and taking pictures. When she saw me I gave her a thumbs and mouthed,”You look incredible.” She mouthed back, “you do too!”

“Come with me, love.” I heard Jasper say, he pulled my attention back to him.

I he pulled me towards the outside of the building, it was secluded. The lights from the inside and the gazebo gave it and warming glow. He turned to face me and grabbed my hands. He pulled my on top of his feet and then began to dance.

“This isn’t how I exactly envisioned this moment but, the one part I knew would happen is still here.” I said.

“And what would that be?”

“That I’d be dancing with you.”

“Looking you over, and you don’t know my name yet.

By the time you looked away I already knew I couldn’t fake it.

I got this need for you, forming in my beating heart.

I knew the meaning right away, when only yesterday were worlds apart.”

“I’m glad I got to be apart of it with you.” Jasper said

“I do too, the happiness you’ve made me feel, is always the best I’ve ever felt.”

“You brought me back to life, love.”

“And you brought even more life to me.”

“I think I may love you,

If you give my sometime,

Maybe you’ll love me too.”

“I got this need for you, if you come closer I can whisper in your ear.

And if you wanna walk away

I’ll tell you all the things I know you’d wanna hear.”

“You know... I was talking with Edward he told me some things about Bella.” Jasper said.

“What would that be?”

“Bella is in desperate need to become a vampire now.”

“Wow...”

“So I wanted to ask you... are you in desperate need to become one too?”

“ I mean... I would love to spend eternity with you but... it’s way too soon for me to change. I’m not ready to leave dad yet...”

“That’s a relief to here love.”

“If I were to get changed so soon... It would have to be because I’m about to die... I won’t do it any other way.”

“I promise I won’t change you unless I absolutely have too.”

“I’ll come closer,

To you if you

Come over

I know we’ll go farther

Farther with you

With you I’m in warm water swimming down.”

“I love you Jasper Hale.”

“I love you Fleur Swan.”

“With you I’m in warm water swimming down.”

Warm Water by, BANKS.

END OF BOOK 1

#jasper hale x oc #jasper hale #rosalie hale #jasper hale x reader #edward cullen #alice cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #carlisle cullen

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herbgerblin · 4 years

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A continuation of this and this.

This is very nebulous, because answering asks individually would be very time consuming. I was concerned that I’d accidentally go off topic, or that the way the asks were phrased meant that I’d have to jump though a lot of mental hoops before getting to the heart of the matter. So like, bear with me:

“Yes, but [insert retroactive justification here]”

The McElroys have made decisions, and who can—with the rapid growth of their franchises—afford to make better decisions. Like hiring a diversity/cultural sensitivity consultant to give them feedback before finalizing the production of their content. It’s disappointing when their intentions are not enough, or when the ramifications of their intentions come out negative. But the options to mitigate the damages are definitely out there.

“Enough about Lucas, imagine Kravitz...”

Imma be real with you, chief. The desire to turn attentions to what Kravitz’s design might look like, rubbed me the wrong way. Because 1.) it felt like handwaving away the issues that BIPOC were bringing up about Lucas in favor of something doing “fun” and 2.) like Lucas, Kravitz’s design has already been decided upon. Whether we’ve seen it or not, we have no baring on what he’s going to look like in the graphic novels.

It’s fun to speculate, but BIPOC have been made uncomfortable by the decisions being made by the book developers for years. And they are a large part of what made the franchise so successful to begin with. (I joined the fandom after the first GN already came out, so much of this is still fresh for me.) That’s not something that should be swept under the rug. A lot of folks have already reached their breaking points in term of support, and for others, that point is coming.

And like, I know Kravitz is probably going to be fine. But I’ve already braced myself for worse case scenarios. First worse case scenario is: he’s white/an abstract color/design and we lose an opportunity for positive black, gay, male rep. Second worse case scenario was this. I hate to say it, but he’s Schrödinger’s black guy right now. And as funny as that is, the fact that we STILL are dubious about the design decisions being made is cause for concern.

“Well, the cast already has a lot of people of color”

What often goes unrealized, is that that statement is always one step removed from, “Haven’t you people (of color) had enough?” And that is a dangerous mentality to have. The idea that we are one big conglomerate of non white people kicking and screaming about every little choice ever made. When in reality, we are different ethnic groups who have found grievances with different designs—and also the lack thereof—and we are trying to uplift each other. Everyone who has spoken up about this deserves the right to see themselves represented. And those who haven’t, shouldn’t feel like they’ll be glossed over if they do.

I appreciate the people who, instead of reacting immediately to my opinions on Lucas’s design and came running at me with speculation and inquiries, took the time to absorb what was being said, and sought out what other people had to say. I’m not some wise old guide who knows or understands the answers to everything. I’m a fan of a podcast who happens to be Black at the same time. My values may be different, but my desired fandom experiences aren’t.

Also, while we’re at it, here’s my paypal: paypal.me/everlastingrandom

#:0 if you're BIPOC feel free to add to this #This is open to be reblogged by anyone #herbgerb blerb #diversity #taz balance #long post #lucas miller #kravitz #mcelroys #the adventture zone

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lilydalexf · 3 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Audrey Roget

Audrey Roget has 10 fics at Gossamer, with some different ones at AO3, fanfiction.net, and her website. You might know her from her very good fics or as part of Musea, a collective that all wrote fic and posted X-Files fic recs. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas and The Shirt. Big thanks to Audrey for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)? A little, yes. Not so much by folks who were around in those days. I sometimes go hunting for beloved stories from the early years, both those I read and loved, and those I never got around to. I am always delighted to hear that later generations of fans have stumbled across my stuff, especially since I haven’t posted anything new in a number of years. It’s fantastic that both years-long fans and new ones are out there continuing to rec fic from all eras, and to maintain archives for fans yet-to-be born. What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general? It may sound corny, but the main thing I think of, and the thing that has ultimately been most valuable and lasting, has been the friendships. The feeling of having found a tribe – not just of TXF fans, but of other people who could be as enthusiastically engaged as I was (if not more so) with fictional stories and characters – was mind-blowing. Since I was a kid, I had often mulled over the books/movies/TV I loved and speculated internally about what happened off the page or off-screen, or created new stories for characters in my head. But, except for an elementary school phase where I and my two BFFs regularly played Charlie’s Angels, I hadn’t engaged in that kind of gleeful immersion in a fictional world with others until TXF fandom. My involvement in fandom followed pretty quickly from getting hooked on the show, so for me, it’s all one big ball of experiences. Even as my interest in/involvement in fandom has waxed and waned over the years, I’ve been lucky to remain friends with wonderful people who I originally connected with as fellow fans.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

My initial entrée to the fandom was through fanfiction. I didn’t get interested in the show until mid-season 5. Around the same time, I read an article in a zine called Might (co-founded by Dave Eggers) about this thing called fanfiction that people would write and publish online. At first I thought it was satire or a joke – the fic cited involved Wilma Flintstone and a polished sabre tooth, as I recall – but then realized this was an actual thing. So I figured that a show then at the peak of pop culture must have fanfiction, and I went looking. Early on, I scrolled atxc on a daily basis and downloaded stories. But I didn’t engage in discussions about the show on Usenet, since I only knew how to access it with my Earthlink email client, and I didn’t want to post using my real name.

Later, I set up a pseud address with Yahoo and subscribed to a couple of email fanfic/discussion lists, and stayed subscribed to those for years. There was also a period in there somewhere – of maybe only a year or so, when I think about it – when I’d often nerd out into the wee hours with other fans via IM chat groups. That was around the time the small writers’ collective Musea was founded, and we were active for several years after the show’s initial run. In the early aughts, I followed many authors to LiveJournal and eventually set up my own account and stayed involved in fandom that way, until it mostly dispersed as well. What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? In a word: Chemistry. I had casually watched a couple of episodes during the first four seasons, but I’m not a huge sci-fi/horror fan at heart, and the story lines didn’t immediately grab me. But I happened to tune into The Red and the Black in 1998, and BOOM. For the first time, the intense layers of emotion and attraction between Mulder and Scully really struck me – and then of course, upon further viewing, I realized it was unmissable, an essential element in the fabric of the show. As a wise woman once said, a switch had been flicked. Mulder and Scully’s magnetism was like nothing I’d ever seen, and though I eventually came to appreciate the storytelling, humor, production values, and other components that made the series so successful, watching those characters interact has always been what kept me coming back. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? I was part of a list-serv discussion group for The West Wing for a while, which was a fun melding of character and plot analysis with political discussion. Later, I got into the House, MD fandom, again mostly as a fanfic reader/writer. I was finding that other fandoms, unlike TXF, were more dispersed, the networks of people structured more loosely, if at all. There were fanfic and discussion communities on LiveJournal, and fanfiction.net was the other main hub for posting and reading, but if there was anything centralized like Gossamer, Ephemeral, or the Haven, I never found it. Within all those fan communities, as in TXF, there were partisans for various characters and pairings, and flame wars erupted over plot developments that outraged this faction or that. One main difference was that those other shows had larger, ensemble casts and more varied subplots. So on one hand, there was more opportunity to explore back stories and multiple perspectives. In House MD in particular, there were several entrenched rival shipper camps, which were about equally grounded in canon, rather than TXF’s central ship. I was less into TWW fic, but my impression was that readers were less militant about their pairing preferences than TXF or House fans. Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I was deeply fascinated by Greg House for several years. (And the love-hate chemistry between him and Lisa Cuddy was a strong draw for me.) House MD came early in a wave of TV shows centered on anti-heroes, and Hugh Laurie brought amazing complexity and thoughtfulness to the character.

Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (The Americans) are a lethal pair of antiheroes. The inherent moral conflict of a sympathetic narrative from their POVs, and the global political conflict they embody was TV catnip for me. The internal struggles at the hearts of those characters were so exquisitely written and performed, they completely fascinate me.

The West Wing felt so much like a show created specifically for me. I’m especially fond of story arcs and scenes that centered on CJ Cregg, Charlie Young, and Josh Lyman. Though I loved Martin Sheen’s human portrayal of Jed Bartlet, the fact that he was the President always made him a little untouchable in my mind. But CJ, Charlie, and Josh were basically hard-working functionaries who were ambitious and idealistic and funny and flawed, and they spoke to me. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I do continue to think about Mulder and Scully and watch episodes somewhat often. I’ll sometimes run a favorite episode as background when I want something comforting on. I read TXF fic pretty regularly, which can inspire me to go back and watch a particular episode or story arc I haven’t thought about in years. Just recently, I started listening to The X-Files Diaries podcast (@XFDPodcast, @admiralty-xfd), and that’s a fun dive into the characters, and how other fans react to and interpret episodes.

Every once in a while, a TV show or movie – and more particularly, the characters – will grab my attention and make me curious about how fanfic writers have interpreted the original material. Random example, I saw Singin’ in the Rain for the first time in a theatre a couple of years ago, and the chemistry of the three leads sent me to AO3 as soon as I got home. I also loved the first season of Mercy Street and found some well-done stories in that fandom. I usually peruse the Yuletide gifts every year and have been amazed by the sheer variety, creativity and cheekiness of the output. There are a bunch of other shows I’ve followed faithfully, and sought out fanfic – Broadchurch, The Killing, Agents of SHIELD, Elementary, The Good Wife. Although I’ve found some well-written stuff in those fandoms, I’ve rarely gotten the same charge from them as reading TXF fic. Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

syntax6 (@syntax6) – Universal Invariants/Laws of Motion. I’d also shout out to syn’s Hunter fics, too – well worth reading even for those who have never seen or particularly loved the show itself.

JET – I re-read Small Lives Awake every year around Thanksgiving time. Other annual holiday re-reads: Revely’s The Dreaming Sea and Jordan’s Through the Fire (both set at Halloween).

Amal Nahurriyeh’s Casey universe – the rare post-col fic that felt hopeful, made extra intriguing by a kick-ass original character. [Lilydale note: the series starts with Machines of Freedom and has lots of additional fics and snippets.]

Prufrock’s Love – Finding Rokovoko was genuinely terrifying and tender.

melforbes (@melforbes) – Seaglass Blue is a recent favorite, lyrical and bittersweet.

These are just a few (apologies to those that didn’t come to mind immediately). Fortunately for readers, there’s an astonishing number of authors who have written in TXF fandom whom you can depend on for a good yarn, insightful character study, and/or ingenious “fixes” where 1013 went awry.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Probably the two set in my own (former) backyard of Southern California: Enivrez-vous and Ravenous. I’d first read the Baudelaire poem that was the source of the former’s title back in university days, so I was tickled to be able to use a few lines as an epigraph. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? It’s not out of the realm possibility. I’d meant for “Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas” to be followed up with “And One Time She Did.” In fact, the idea for that never-finished story was what inspired “Three Times” in the first place. I have a couple of scenes sketched out and – unusually for me – even know exactly how to end it. Every year, November rolls around, and I think I should finish and post it…maybe in 2021?

Where do you get ideas for stories? Sometimes it’s from my environment. “Enivrez-vous” and “Ravenous” describe places that I’m fond of, that made me want to place Mulder and Scully there. “What Not to Wear” has that element too – I set it in Memphis as a tribute to a great trip there with a sister Musean. But WNTW was also inspired by a kink challenge in a years-ago LiveJournal thread, so sometimes ideas come from fandom discussions or even other fanfics. In the House MD fandom, a fic by another writer made me want to continue the story, and the author kindly allowed an authorized sequel. What's the story behind your pen name? I wanted my pseudonym to sound like it could be a real person’s name – or at least, maybe like a romance writer’s pen name – rather than an online handle. I also wanted to use a slightly obscure fictional character, to amuse anyone in the know. I had long had a bit of an obsession with Whit Stillman’s 1990s film trilogy, which started with Metropolitan; the 3rd installment, Last Days of Disco, came out the same year I started down the TXF rabbit hole: 1998. The central heroine of Metropolitan – who is mentioned in or makes a cameo in the other two – is Audrey Rouget, a lover of Austen and, eventually, a book editor. I altered the spelling of the last name as a nod to every writer’s companion, Roget’s Thesaurus. Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? I have a few close friends – from outside TXF fandom – who know that I’ve written fanfic. I don’t know if they know my pseud; if they do, or if they’ve ready any of the fic, they haven’t said so to me. They are fannish sorts themselves, but not really TXF fans. A smattering of other friends and family members know or could intuit that I’ve been a fangrl on some level for years. My boss, whom I’ve known for about 3 years, recently mentioned off-handedly that she was really obsessed with TXF “back in the day,” and I am DYING to know if she got involved in fandom, but don’t think I’ll ever work up the courage to ask.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? Most of the X-Files stuff continues to be generously and steadfastly archived by Forte at The Basement Office. The House MD stories and some TXF things are at fanfiction.net; same for AO3. If ever post anything new, it will probably go to TBO and AO3. I really ought to get it all together in one place, one of these days…

(Posted by Lilydale on April 6, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #audrey roget

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starrybouquet · 3 years

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On Seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG1

A note: I wrote a series of essays several weeks ago, when I was feeling particularly crappy. I'm not particularly proud of them--they're pretty dramatic--but they do explain several of my more personal fandom feelings. I know I don't always tend to be the best at explaining things on the spot, so I'm posting these with the hope that I can refer people to them the next time that happens.

Um, I mentioned they're a little dramatic. I'm really, really sorry about that. But hey, if I can't be dramatic on Tumblr, in fandom, where else is that gonna go?

But still - if you're feeling a little sensitive today, maybe you wanna skip this. Or not. Just a light warning. :)

This piece is on seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG1, but they aren't all Stargate-related. I'll be posting them in the next few days, hopefully.

To those of you who like s9-10: I have nothing against you. Some of you I know better, some less well. In general, though, I like you, you seem like fine people. This is not about you, I hold nothing against you for liking those seasons. In fact, I envy you. This is more a personal post about why I'm an idiot. If you want, feel free to scroll down past this. I won't be offended. I'd put it under the cut but I'm on mobile.

Okay. Why, hello, those of you willing to read this rant...

No matter how much I denounce and ignore it, I cannot get past the pain of seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG-1. I've never watched them in full. Seen a few episodes here and there.

I cannot, repeat, CANNOT stand the thought today. It hurts.

It's an old pain, and it's not just SG1. SG1 is just one of the highlights in a long line of books and shows that have repeatedly broken my heart by being SO GOOD and then taking an, uh, precipitous right turn, shall we say. Because a hard right seems too kind, and a precipitous drop too harsh.

I love SG1. I love love love it. I like the plots and I love the science, but what I really fell in love with was the characters.

I loved all of them. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if Sam, Daniel, or Teal'c had been on any other show, I guarantee you they would have been my favorite by far. Jack is just so...Jack that he has to be my favorite. That's SG1 for you.

I've never had super close friends. I have good RL friends, don't get me wrong. They're nice people. But we don't have much in common.

That's okay. That's been my experience forever--really nice folks who maybe didn't always get me or have anything to say to me, but were good, decent people.

And this is good. Really, it is. It's just that SG-1, for me, has always represented the promise that there *are* people out there that are your true friends, and you will do brave and brilliant things with them. It will happen.

It's naive, I know. But I haven't been able to let it go. Maybe someday. But not right now.

Which brings me to s9-10 of SG1. It hurts.

It hurts that SG1 scattered to the wind.

It hurts that they sent Jack away from a place where he was happy, where he'd found friends and meaning in life again, away to fucking DC. To be...what? A politician? I could write a whole post just about this. Actually, I have. I could still write more posts about it!

It hurts that Sam went to Area 51, and nobody seemed to mind, the 'Gate didn't spontaneously combust as we were always led to believe it would.

It hurts that Daniel's personality supposedly changed that much, in the absence of his friends. Though some of his lines are funny, they aren't the earnest, idealistic, thoughtful Daniel I fell in love with. I get the idea that new-look Daniel would roll his eyes at s3-8 Daniel, and beat up floppy hair Daniel. And floppy hair Daniel is my baby and anyone who doesn't appreciate his brilliance can face my wrath. That includes you, buff s9-10 Daniel, and also whoever decided/approved that change in characterization.

Really, the only one who doesn't hurt is Teal'c. Because it feels like he's moving forward, toward happiness.

So...here we are. Season 9. Mitchell, Landry.

I often say I hate Mitchell. Do I resent him for replacing Jack? Yes. I do. We can talk about plot reasons and all that, but at the end of the day, I was going to hate anyone who tried to be Jack.

This is true in real life, too. You can't try to be anyone else. You've gotta walk your own path.

Now, people say that I didn't give Mitchell a chance. I say that the way he was portrayed, in the few episodes I've seen, tells me enough.

I can think of lots of ways Mitchell could have been interesting. How would Daniel and Teal'c react to an old, actually bad tempered (not Jack bad tempered, actually bad tempered) hardass after eight years of their best friends leading them? Or--start with his actual character. Mitchell, he hasn't been at the SGC. Wouldn't he get some flack from the longtime team leaders of SGs 2-5ish? They'd be insulted, right?

Or we could've gotten a nice Daniel Teal'c episode arc and then we could've had one Samantha Carter as team leader, though we won't get into that.

Bringing me to my next point. Co-leads?? Seriously?? You're trying too hard, folks. Telling me Sam used to know Mitchell does not actually make me like him.

Same thing with Landry. Unlike Mitchell, I guess I don't really have an opinion on Landry. He's just....there? No character development for this man.

Anyway, back to the team.

One of the things I love about SG1 is how the humor and friendship was so damn natural. Other than a few episodes (Urgo comes to mind), the plots weren't intentionally humorous. They were campy sci-fi plots sometimes, sure. They were funny because Jack was funny, yeah. They were lower budget than some other sci-fi. But they were as serious as sci-fi gets. It was how the characters reacted that made it funny.

Similarly, we were never told SG1 were found family. We just Knew. Because of the way they acted with each other. Because of the way Jack would "order" them to do things.

And hey, by the way, they weren't always family. Sam used to be less willing to ignore Jack. Daniel used to be less willing to trust Teal'c. Jack used to be a little more stern.

So...they meshed together. Like all found families do.

Every time I see a photo of new-look SG1 in seasons 9 and 10, I can't help but feel that they're trying too hard. I don't get the family feel because they aren't a family, damn it. It doesn't matter how many times you *tell* me they're super close. One of the reasons the original team got so close is because they all needed each other. Jack was depressed, Daniel was grieving, Sam was alone and had lost her mom and wasn't speaking with her dad and had never opened up to anyone in her life, Teal'c was an alien fighting for freedom after spending 100 years essentially as a slave.

And partly because of that, by season 9? Daniel and Teal'c (and Sam, when she comes back) don't need a family the way they used to. They have each other. They have Jack, or at least they *should*. *Glares in angry at Jack in DC vibes*

So...they simply don't have the relationship with Mitchell they do with each other.

It'd be different if Mitchell needed a family. It's not that SG1 hasn't added people before--I think Jonas is a perfect example of this. He wasn't Daniel, and that always hurt. But he was young, and naive, and innocent, and he needed SG1 because he'd left everything he'd ever known.

And that worked.

Without needing family, Mitchell is just a coworker. He can be a friendly coworker. A friend. But if he wanted to become better friends, family, he needed to show depth and vulnerability. He needed to need SG1.

And he never does, from what I've seen and heard about and read about. Or if he does need SG1, he doesn't need them badly enough to show more than an occasional bout of thoughtfulness before returning to his normal pale-Jack-imitation ways.

Now, I don't know why that is. I lean toward bad writing. I haven't watched Farscape (it's on my to watch list) but it seems like Ben Browder is a fine actor.

So, seasons 9 and 10 are probably fine TV. I'm never going to watch them through, so don't ask. I've tried and failed and every time it just tears my heart a little more and I'm won't be doing it again.

Those seasons...they just lost everything I watch SG-1 for, and so...yeah. I feel the hate strongly. Not because they're bad--I think they're different, not necessarily bad. My hate is only because in creating those seasons, they tore down the parts of SG1 that I loved most.

So s9-10 show me a few nice hugs and laughs? That's nice. I like comedies, I do. However...that's not my Stargate. Not the one I love. I liked the sarcastic one, the one full of wonder, the one where they had to scrape and claw their way through the galaxy with naivety and courage and brilliance. The one where they ate together, fought together, died together, were resurrected together.

It hurts, man. It hurts when the things I love turn into something that's lukewarm. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

That's why we have fanfic. And, with any luck, I'll actually start that AU I've been talking about.

It's fanfic, and so it'll be my Stargate. The ending I wanted--which really wasn't an ending at all, more of a closure of one chapter of the story.

Damn, did that turn dramatic. Um, sorry about that, and also sorry for spilling my feelings all over you guys. Thanks for reading, if you got to the end of this.

#sg1 #stargate sg1 #fandom #sg1 meta #overdramatic fandom essays #my blogstuffs

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butterflyinthewell · 3 years

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To trans folks who are trying to set trolls straight about Chris-Chan’s gender: Your hearts are in the right place, but the trolls do not care. They will keep misgendering Chris to piss you off and screenshot your reaction.

Yes, I’m talking about THE Chris-Chan. CWC, creator of Sonichu.

(TW: this post will mention rape and incest.)

I know, I know… “But if we let people misgender Chris, what’s stopping them from doing it to other trans people?”

Nothing.

There’s nothing you can do, unfortunately. The thing with trolls is they aren’t here to learn, they’re here to frustrate, annoy and anger you. They throw out all kinds of little hooks by saying offensive things, or things that trick you, and it’s all a game to them when somebody bites the bait.

It wouldn’t surprise me if trolls are saying horrible things about autism, too. That’s more my lane and partly why I don’t dig too deep in the tags about this situation. Again, I stress not engaging with that to correct trolls. They don’t care, they want to offend you.

As frustrating as it is, take note of the people who use Chris’ current pronouns and recognize that there are people who make an effort to get them right. I’m sure the trans people reading what you say will see that and know you care to gender them correctly.

It’s possible Chris transitioned believing she can get with lesbians. It’s entirely possible she’s exactly the stereotype that TERFs rant about and her shitty behavior might be used in the future to argue their views. TERFs will be TERFs. Some of Chris’ trolls may be trans themselves.

As it stands, Chris presents as a woman, so I’ll use she/her pronouns unless she decides to present as non-binary or a man again. You’re welcome to do the same when talking about her. Don’t waste your time trying to correct trolls, just use Chris’ current pronouns and leave it at that.

It sucks, but that’s how trolls troll.

Moving on…

I wonder if Chris would’ve been a weird, harmless nobody if Mimms never took her photo in The Game Place.

This all started because her photo was taken without her knowledge or consent and posted on a forum, which ended up spreading to the wider web and…yeah.

Would she have been an internet sensation? Would she have transitioned? Would she be a known name on the web?

Maybe everything would’ve gone down the same, but without an audience to bear witness.

Regardless, Chris is a trainwreck of a person. I don’t say that lightly. She didn’t deserve the trolling and abuse she got, yet she isn’t innocent in this either.

I felt sorry for her at first because I’m autistic too and was bullied severely in high school, some of it included physical assault and attempted murder. I reacted to the constant name calling and mockery irl a lot like Chris reacted to her online trolls. I’m thankful that my most volatile years happened before I had internet access. I’m two years older than Chris. I had my own drama with trolls that lasted a few years, but I grew up a bit more.

But I digress…

Chris didn’t get the internet safety talk that I got before getting let loose online, and people took advantage of her gullibility, her autism, whatever mental illnesses she might have and her obsession with getting laid. She ignored warnings to the contrary and in some instances her mom enabled her while her dad tried (and failed) to reign her in.

At the same time, Chris has a history of being racist, ableist, homophobic and misogynistic. She ignores people’s boundaries even when they were clearly stated. She’s entitled and thinks everything bad is a conspiracy against her. She acts like the world operates on cartoon rules and can’t handle it when situations don’t turn out in her favor like she believes they should. It’s a strange view of “Anything I do is good because I did it, and anybody who tells me it’s bad or treats me badly is evil or a troll.”

How she comes across to others and how she thinks she comes across are incongruent with each other, and she refuses to take any correction. An example is the claw hand she used to do while railing at trolls. It’s clear she’s imitating stuff she saw in cartoons, but doesn’t grasp that it looks silly in real life. It leaves me wondering if she ever watched her videos back to see how she really looks before uploading them.

Chris did a lot of disgusting things of her own volition, like not leaving people alone, uploading that sexual drawing featuring Megan, using pepper spray without provocation and trying to hit someone with her car.

Trolls tricked her into humiliating herself and shared the results, like hacking into her email, sharing chats where she gave out embarrassing details about herself, prank calling her house and posting the infamous blowup doll video.

If you know “Christory”, you know what I’m talking about.

If you don’t know, it’s something that’s gone on longer than some people have been alive.

No side is innocent here. I don’t blame Chris for attracting trolls, they chose to go and harass her because she jumped when they poked her.

I’ve followed Chris’ story off and on since 2008, back when she was making her Sonichu comics and being awkward. I never participated in trolling her. I’ve only ever seen the aftermath of troll operations, but the things she endured were cruel. (The Miyamoto saga and the BlueSpike saga come to mind.) I looked her up to see if she was alive and okay. I sent her my AFBV message a couple years ago, but never got a response.

I wonder if this could’ve been avoided if Chris never got trolled and was supervised better while online. That’s where her parents failed her. I felt bad for her; she didn’t know how to conduct herself and kept falling for trolling schemes because she was so desperate to get a girlfriend. It’s like she ignored that little gut warning that says “hey, this feels like a trick” and it was like watching someone fall down the same hillside over and over.

But after what she did to her mom, I lost any sympathy I had for her. Yes, trolls have traumatized her and messed with her head for over a decade and that’s gross, but what she did to her mom was unconscionable. It’s indefensible. It’s morally abhorrent.

She had sex with (or possibly raped via coercion) her elderly mom, who may have dementia.

Chris’ autism was taken advantage of for years, and now she might’ve taken advantage of her mom’s dementia to harm her for the past month.

Think about that. There is no defending that. She finally did something she can’t just wave away or pay her way out of.

Trolls didn’t put Chris up to that, she did it all by herself.

Now she’s under arrest.

Time and again Chris has had run-ins with the law and got away with slaps on the wrist, but I don’t think she’s going to walk away from this so easily.

I hope this situation finally gets Chris the help she desperately needs. I don’t know if her dimensional merge stuff is a delusion from undiagnosed and untreated mental illness or if it’s a paracosm she’s chosen to live in and act out because she can’t handle how cruel the real world is. Please note that I don’t say mental illness lightly either, because I’m aware of the stigma.

At this point I think she needs a caregiver who will supervise her online activities and help her manage her finances. (She will likely resist this…)

Chris’ autism and whatever else she has going on appears to make it very difficult for her to see things from any perspective besides her own. I’m autistic too, so I understand this— sometimes I get this way and have to walk myself back to see other perspectives, or I ask people to give me their side of it to help me understand how they see it even if I don’t agree with their view.

Chris needed more guidance and reality checks growing up, but didn’t get them, and now she needs both more than ever as she faces the results of her behavior. If she is delusional, she needs help to navigate it and I hope she can do that away from trolls. She needs to face consequences for (possibly) raping someone.

I wonder what the legal system will do with her, and I hate that her life has come to this. It was so avoidable. 😞

Sorry, Chris…I hope you’ll get help now, and I hope Barb is okay.

#Chris-Chan #chris chan #swearing #long post #I couldn’t tag with the r word or the I word or tumblr wouldn’t show it in tags #I hope the warning at the top is enough.

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vallkyr · 3 years

Text

June: What a view

Stray Kids take a little vacation and Minho has a plan for how he and Jisung can pass their time.

Prompt: surreal mountain landscape

Characters: Lee Minho, Han Jisung, Bang Chan is mentioned

Pairing: Minho x Jisung

Rating: Teen and up audience

Warnings: mild wearing, thunderstorms

Genres: Romance, Slice of Life

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Minho and his obsession with butts (especially Jisung's), very vaguely set in the Alps because why not, Jisung can’t say no to Minho for the life of him

Word Count: 3.809

Writing Workshop Masterpost July: A morning at the pool

Hello, dear people. I've started doing a writing work shop with a few of my friends and will try to post my result here every month. I have no idea what the fics will be about since we take turns picking prompts. I hope you'll have as much fun as I do!

“Jisuung.” Oh god. He wants something. Minho always gets that specific tone when he’s about to ask for something he knows Jisung would otherwise turn down. Damnit, they just had breakfast with the others. Jisung was hoping for a quiet day in bed and a movie or two, but he highly doubts that’s what Minho has in mind. Minho wouldn’t use his please-I’ll-do-anything voice for being lazy in their hotel room. Jisung looks up from his phone, finding Minho kneeling on the bed right next to him and looking at him with a way too sweet smile. Mr. resting-bitch-face is up to something big. Fuck, this is going to be a tough one.

“I told you, I’m not holding your phone while you video call your cats. Get a tripod or something.”

As expected, the joke breaks Minho’s façade a little: he rolls his eyes “First of all: how dare you? My children will hear about this. Secondly, that is not what I was going to say.” Jisung raises his brow but decides to believe him. One horrible request is off the list, thank fuck. Feeling generous now that he knows he won’t be used as a stand, Jisung puts his phone aside. Whatever Minho has on his mind can’t be that bad, right? “I would like to go hiking with you.” Boy was he wrong.

“No.” And just like that Jisung is back on his phone. Fucking hiking. That’s what Minho is using his persuasion tactics for? This is supposed to be a little vacation for their group to get some rest after the tour. They came here to relax with their friends not to walk around without an aim for hours on end. How Minho ended up with hiking on his list of hobbies is beyond Jisung’s comprehension. Isn’t fishing already boring enough?

“Please?” With that Minho is back to his cute smile and honey dripping voice and Jisung can already feel his resolve crumble a little under the weight of Minho’s warm eyes.

Jisung groans. No, Minho is not going to wear him down on this. “Can’t you go with someone else?”

“I want to go with you,” Minho stresses and takes Jisung’s hand into his. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to see you move your sweet ass up the mountain.”

Does he really thing compliments are going to help him with this shit? “Chan-Hyung has a sweet ass too.”

Suddenly, Minho breaks into a laugh. Oh fuck, his laugh is way more effective at softening Jisung’s heart than all of Minho’s persuasions. “You want me to go hiking with Channie-Hyung and stare at his ass? Did you really think that one through?”

Okay, yes, well played. “I did not,” Jisung admits while starting to laugh himself.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

For fucks sake, Minho. “No, it’s boring and I hate moving.”

“It’s relaxing!” Minho tries to argue. It’s cute when he tries to convince Jisung of doing physical activities with wildly inaccurate opinions like that.

“If you think very hard you might be able to come up with a relaxing activity that doesn’t require us to go out into the middle of fucking nowhere.” For emphases, Jisung lets the fingers of his free hand slide along Minho’s thigh. Minho hitting his arm cannot stop Jisung from grinning. Considering the amount of time Minho spends with his hands on Jisung’s ass, he should really be able to take a dirty joke.

“Okay, how about this: You go hiking with me and when we get home again, I’ll make you a chocolate cheesecake.”

“Now we’re talking.” Jisung puts his phone down – it’s not like he had been paying attention to it anyways – and leans into Minho’s space. “When you say chocolate cheesecake do you mean chocolate mixed into the creamy part or do you throw chocolate chips into a regular cheesecake?”

Minho blinks at him. The little smile on his face tells Jisung Minho knows exactly he’s about to win Jisung over. Honestly, a chocolate cheesecake might just do the job. A little trip with his boyfriend can’t be too bad anyways, right? “I was going to make a regular cheesecake but with chocolate crust and put chocolate glaze over it.”

Fuck, that sounds good. “You’re a genius.”

“I’m aware.” Minho grins and leans even closer. “So do we have a deal?”

Jisung ponders on it for a moment. He still thinks hiking is going to be boring as fuck. Besides, he’d definitely prefer staying in their room, having dinner with the others and watching a movie together afterwards plus maybe some relaxing activities. But Minho seems really insistent on this. Maybe hiking will be somewhat bearable together with him. Plus, the cheesecake sounds amazing. Why stop at one cheesecake though? Minho might even agree to two if Jisung plays his card right.

“I don’t know…” Jisung turns his head to the side, away from Minho.

“Please?” Minho places his hand on Jisung’s cheek, turns Jisung’s face towards his own and puts on that same sweet smile again, which makes Jisung feel weak in his knees even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “We could watch Spirited Away afterwards, you know? Please Jisung…” Yeah, okay. He can’t say no to Minho’s smile. Jisung tries to lean closer and kiss Minho but is stopped by a hand on his chest. “Answer first.” Of course Minho wouldn’t let his guard slip.

“Okay. I’ll go.” Minho beams at Jisung before going in for the kiss. Yup, this is a good deal. Cheesecake, Spirited Away and a content boyfriend, what else could Jisung possibly need?

🏔️🏔️🏔️

“I should have demanded way more than a fucking cheesecake,” Jisung grumbles while fanning himself with his – Minho’s – shirt. Obviously he put on Minho’s shirt for this. He’s not going to get his own clothes sweaty for Minho’s nature kink.

“Come on.” Minho pats Jisung on the butt before continuing on without mercy. “Get your act together, we’re almost at the summit.”

Asshole. Why did he want Jisung to come along so badly? He really should have known Jisung would only slow him down. “You say that like we won’t have to go back home after that.”

“Well, we can spend some time at the top and rest a bit. That’s kind of the point, you know? Relaxing, enjoying the view and all. It’ll be nice, I promise.”

Yeah, sure, nice for Minho. “Not if I die before we get there. You’re way too fast for me.”

Jisung doesn’t have to see Minho’s face to know he’s rolling his eyes. Pretentious country folk. “Crybaby.” And now he’s insulting Jisung too. Really, Jisung should just turn around and leave. But he doesn’t have the energy for that and would probably get lost on the way back, so he quickly ditches that thought.

“Can’t you give me a piggyback ride?”

Minho turns around and raises his eyebrow at Jisung as though he just said something crazy. It’s ridiculous for him to react that way. By now, Minho should be used to far more obscure ideas. They’re part of the all-inclusive deal of being in a relationship with Jisung. “You’re too heavy.”

“Oh come on! Why the fuck do I date a person who willingly spends time at the gym if they don’t even carry me?”

“Are you saying that you want me to stop going to the gym?”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Minho laughs at that and finally stops. He turns around and beckons Jisung over. As soon as Jisung is close enough, Minho grabs his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s surprisingly sweet after all the bickering. Usually Minho just slaps his ass or gives him a quick kiss on the cheek after an “argument” like that. Jisung enjoys the little treat though. He lifts his hands to Minho’s hips and pulls them closer together, which lurs a little giggle form Minho.

After a while Minho ends the kiss and leans their foreheads together instead. Jisung sighs contently when Minho suddenly caresses his cheek. “Just a little longer. Okay, baby? I promise the sight is worth it.”

A little grin tugs at Jisung’s lips. “Maybe I like the sight right here better.”

“That’s it. I’m going alone.” Without any bit of hesitation, Minho turns around and starts walking again. As though their kiss never even happened. What a dickhead. Just when Jisung thought this trip was getting nice.

🏔️🏔️🏔️

“What a sight.” Minho beams while looking out into the mountain range. Finally, after what felt like a small eternity to Jisung, they arrived at the mountain top. After all the hassle, Jisung feels obligated to follows Minho’s gaze. Despite his earlier reservations, he has to admit Minho was right about the nature. He lets his eyes wander over the jagged mountains, the deep green conifers filling the valley, the lush grass underneath them and the little flowers scattered across it like stars in the night sky. Jisung has never seen anything like it. And he had no idea air could be this fresh. He closes his eyes and fills his lungs. Soft gusts of wind caress over his skin like silk. Jisung takes another deep breath and feels his entire body relax. Maybe Minho was right about that part. When Jisung opens his eyes again, Minho still looking at the nature. His smile is so bright as he enjoys the sight in front of them. Honestly, seeing Minho this content is really making the strenuous way up here worth it.

“Usually you say that while looking at my butt.”

Giggling, Minho turns away from his beloved sight and looks at Jisung. “And I mean it.” Minho pulls Jisung closer and kisses his cheek – the one in his face – before tugging at his hand. “There should be a table up there. We can take a break and eat lunch.” Jisung lets Minho pull him along. Sure enough, they soon come to an old wooden table with benches on the sides. The whole thing looks a little shaky from years of being exposed to the elements, but Jisung figures it will survive a simple lunch. He sits down on the bench cross-legged and watches Minho unpack everything. At the very least, his boyfriend had the decency to carry all their food since he already talked Jisung into this exhausting trip. Jisung hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he sees the food.

Jisung doesn’t know whether it’s the exhaustion or the breathtaking view, but the food tastes incredible. He leans his head onto Minho’s shoulder as they enjoy their lunch and the view. Sadly, they’re soon done eating and Jisung is already dreading hiking all the way down again. “Can I take a nap here?”

“No. I know your type of naps and I’d like to go back to the hotel before it gets dark.” Jisung would love to protest, but Minho does have a point with that. Which doesn’t mean Jisung is about to give up.

“You’re so damn cruel. You’re really going to make me go home without a nap?”

“Unless you feel like staying here all by yourself.” Damnit. It’s useless, Minho isn’t going to agree to a nap. Of course, they’re going to stay here for a while longer, but Jisung doubts the bit of rest will charge his batteries enough to survive the descent. How can Minho still be so unbothered? It’s like the hiking didn’t phase him in the least. No, Minho has energy for two. Jisung smiles when an idea hits him. He holds onto the table while moving to straddle Minho’s lap and sitting back on his thighs.

“What are you trying to pull?” Despite his obvious suspicion, Minho holds onto Jisung’s waist and gently caresses Jisung’s sides.

“I’ll earn myself a piggyback ride home,” he announces with a grin. Minho may be good at persuading Jisung, but the same is true the other way around.

“Not happening, Jisung.”

“You say that now…” He’s about to kiss Minho when he feels something wet on his back. For a moment he considers if Minho tried to purr water over him, but then more and more drops seem to land on his body. “Is it seriously starting to rain now?” Jisung glares up, finding a dark grey cloud right above them. “We should find somewhere to take shelter.”

“Knew it,” Minho mutters while squeezing Jisung’s butt. “Your ass is made from sugar.”

Jisung sighs. Shitty weather isn’t enough, of course Minho has a dumb comment to add. “That remains the worst pick up line you ever pulled and excuse me for not wanting to catch a cold.”

“Relax, I’m sure it will pass soon.” Of course, Minho stays completely unaffected. He pulls Jisung closer and nuzzles his face into the crook of Jisung’s neck. “Whatever happened to earning your piggyback ride?” Jisung tries to ignore the rain and go back to kissing Minho, which seems to work for barely a minute. The occasional rain drops become bigger and bigger and more frequent until a cloudburst breaks down on them and drenches them to the bone. They gather all their stuff accompanied with muttered curses of ‘What the hell.’ and ‘Fucking shit.’ As soon as everything is inside their backpacks again, they make a run for a group of trees, hoping that it will keep at least some of the rain away from them.

“That much on ‘It will pass soon.’ Fuck!” Jisung tries to shake off the water, which proves rather useless. They’re completely soaked. “What do we do now?!”

“Sit here and wait?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I knew we should have stayed in the hotel.” Jisung crossed his arms. Hiking sucks by itself and now they’re stuck up here in the rain? Shit. This is what he gets for not being able to tell his boyfriend no. Stupid handsome face and sweet smile.

“Maybe we should have checked the weather forecast…” That idiot really didn’t check the weather? Jisung can feel Minho’s gaze on him, but he refuses to turn around. Minho sighs behind him. Suddenly Minho’s strong arms wrap around Jisung’s body and Jisung finds himself trapped in a hug with Minho pressed against his back. “Baby, are you mad at me?” Yes, Jisung most definitely is.

“You’re going to need way more than Spirited Away and a chocolate cheesecake to make up for this bullshit.”

Minho hums in thought and snuggles even closer. “Ponyo and a chocolate cheesecake?”

“No, you idiot. Howl’s Moving Castle and a chocolate cheesecake.” Jisung can’t help but smile when he feels Minho tremble with laughter behind him. Fuck, he can’t be mad at his boyfriend when he’s adorable.

“This certainly explains why we saw so little people on the way up.”

Jisung groans. “How come we never realized that?” Now that Jisung thinks about it, it really should have struck them as weird that not a single soul was up here.

Minho leans over Jisung’s shoulder to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, baby. Next time I’ll definitely check the weather forecast. Now come on, if I remember correctly there’s a hut a bit further down the path.” They shoulder their backpacks and get going hand in hand. As though this shit wasn’t enough yet, lighting starts to flash in the distance. Just great. They go from walking to running, which makes Jisung’s hood bounce around his head. He laughs as he grabs it and tries to keep it in place while running behind Minho. More and more water splashes around his feet as they run, but at this point it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

Luckily it doesn’t take too long until a wooden hut comes into view. The final spurt towards it drains the little bit of energy Jisung still had. They almost crash into each other under the roofed over entrance. Jisung leans his head against Minho’s shoulder and tries to catch his breath again, which is difficult when both of them are laughing. With all the noise and his eyes closed, Jisung almost misses the rattling of the door.

“Closed,” Minho comments with a pained laugh.

“Of fucking course it is.”

“Stay here.” As if Jisung even considers moving. He leans against the closed door and watches Minho snoop around, lifting the doormat and pushing potted plants around until he triumphantly raises a key in the air. “Knew it!”

Jisung raises his arms and cheers as he watches his boyfriends unlock the door. They trudge inside and get rid of their backpacks. “By the way, are we even sure this is legal?”

“Would you prefer going back into the thunderstorm?”

Just in that moment, another lightning flashes outside. What a nice way to avoid decision making. “Fuck it. We’re staying.” Jisung throws the door shut.

Minho laughs before grabbing Jisung by his jacket and pulling him into a kiss. It feels a little like kissing in the shower with how wet they are. Except they’re usually far less dressed when they shower together. Minho pulls away with a smile. “I’ll see if we have towels or anything here.”

Though a little hesitant, Jisung lets Minho go and starts to get rid of his soaked clothes. There’s a small table pushed against one of the walls with three chairs around it. The perfect place to spread out their clothes. Hopefully they’ll dry until it’s time to leave.

When he hears footsteps, Jisung turns his head only to freeze right away. Minho is staring. He doesn’t bother with being subtle in the least. Well, Minho never does. Especially not if Jisung is almost naked. Minho fucking grins and wiggles his eyebrows at Jisung when their eyes meet. “There we have the sight again.”

“Shut up, give me a towel and get out of those clothes you’re going to catch a cold.”

“So demanding,” Minho complains. He gives Jisung one of the towels and slaps his ass as soon as his hand is free. Jisung wraps himself up in the towel and returns the favor of blatant staring while Minho sheds his clothes.

“Oh what a sight,” Jisung mimics his boyfriend, laughing when Minho starts to make a show out of it. Minho puts on an exaggerated sexy expression while stripping down piece by piece. In the end Minho even throws his shirt over to Jisung, who catches it and starts clapping. “We should get caught by rain more often.”

“I don’t need rain for this.” Minho grins before putting the towel around his shoulders. “We should probably let the others know we aren’t coming back any time soon. With how much it’s raining, we probably wouldn’t make it home before dark.”

“You’re planning to stay?”

“I could imagine worse than spending a night in the mountains with my boyfriend.” Minho places a kiss on Jisung’s cheek before getting his phone. They quickly call Chan to let him and the rest of their friends to tell them everything is fine and that they’ll return tomorrow before slipping into bed. There’s no wood to make a fire, so they snuggle up against each other underneath the blankets. Because he’s so tired, Jisung feels sleep clawing at him faster than usual. He fully wraps himself around Minho – almost like a koala – and closes his eyes.

“Good night, cheesecake-maker.”

Minho chuckles quietly. He sounds tired too. Very softly, he runs his hand through Jisung’s hair and kisses his forehead. “Good night, my favorite view.”

🏔️🏔️🏔️

Jisung groans and tries to turn away from the light that stings in his eyes. It’s way too early to wake up. At least, Jisung supposed that. He has no idea what time it is. What he does know is that he isn’t even close to being rested enough to get up and hike down this fucking mountain.

“Minho, can you close the curtain or something?”

Minho unlocks their legs and removes his arms from around Jisung’s waist. For a moment, Jisung thinks he’s actually going to stand up and close the curtain until he hears a low, rough voice from beside him. “You’re free. Go do it yourself.”

“Asshole.”

“Love you too.” Jisung pouts when Minho does a kissy face into his direction with closed eyes. Fuck, the asshole is cute and Jisung still can’t say no to him. Jisung immediately misses the warmth and comfort of the bed and Minho’s embrace when he gets up. Damnit. Just hurry and close the fucking curtain.

Jisung has already grasped both of the curtains and is about to pull them close when his gaze falls out the window. Is this really the same mountain range they saw yesterday? It looks like an entirely different world. The mountains emerge from thick layers of fog. The sun is just peaking out from underneath it, coloring everything in a beautiful pink-orange glow.

“Minho!”

“No.”

“You wanted to get a view so come here and look at it!”

Minho grumbles and rolls out of bed while keeping the blanket around himself. Of course, Minho would never willingly abandon the warmth of the bed. He waddles over to Jisung. He can barely keep his eyes open against the sunlight, but obviously he’s immediately able to locate Jisung’s ass and give it a firm slap before stepping up behind him.

“Woah…”

“Yeah.”

Minho brings his arms around Jisung from behind and wraps both of them up in the blanket. A little smile dances over Jisung’s lips while he snuggles back into Minho’s body. This is what heaven has to feel like. It’s so peaceful in this cabin. Everything is quiet and bathed in the golden sunlight of the morning sun.

“Maybe, but really just maybe, hiking wasn’t a bad idea after all.”

“Oh?” Minho places a soft kiss on Jisung’s neck. “Does that mean I don’t have to bake that chocolate cheesecake after all?”

“You don’t have to, you should want to. You still forced me to hike and caught me in the rain, you know?”

“I’m deeply sorry.” Minho sounds sly, amused, smug and anything but sorry, but Jisung can’t be bothered to get annoyed by that. There’s something soft and magical about the moment, about the scene stretching out in front of them like a door into a whole new world.

“Is this real?” Jisung whispers while letting the tips of his fingers dance over his forearm. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“Starting reality check.”

Jisung yelps when Minho suddenly pinches his ass cheek. “Ouch! Asshole!”

“No actually, that’s a bit more to the left.”

Jisung blushes. “Shut up. Please just shut up.” Of course Minho only grins stupidly when Jisung slides his hand into Minho’s neck and yanks him into a kiss. He’s a fucking idiot, but Jisung would give him or his weirdness or his stupid plans for anything in the world.

#kdiarynet #sk writersnet #Sandra's writing workshop #writing #Stray Kids #Lee Minho #Han Jisung #Minsung #Fluff #Established relationship #butt hunter Minho

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mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

Broken Things 14/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

Sleep eludes him. He’s up most of the night punching his pillows as though they’re to blame for his insomnia or he’s pacing around his room. Several times he opens his door and stares at Katherine’s room, wondering if he should knock and apologize or burst in unannounced and demand an explanation.

It’s not quite dawn when he finally gets dressed and hitches a couple horses to the wagon, grabs an axe, and drives over to the wooded area along the creek. He’s chopping away as the sun rises, already dripping sweat when he hears the faint cry of the rooster in the distance. He can smell the smoke from the cookstove from where he is.

After two trees have fallen, he needs to take a break to drink some water and have a bit of the jerky and biscuits he’s brought with him for breakfast. When he sees Melvin riding out towards him a bit later, he takes a final dipper of water from the bucket he filled before he left and picks up the axe again.

“Them trees aggravatin’ you this morning, or what?” Melvin asks, dismounting from Faithful Jenny and leading her over beside the wagon.

“We’ll need them for the new corral,” he answers, never taking a break in his swings. “Thought I’d get a head start.”

“You want some help on it?”

“Nope.”

“You know I’m not aimin’ to get in the middle of things-”

“Then, don’t,” Mulder interrupts. He stops chopping at the tree he’s on and gives it a firm kick. The bottom tilts and cracks at a sharp angle, but doesn’t quite break. He kicks it again, but it doesn’t budge this time. So, he kicks it again. And again. And once more.

Mulder stops and drops the axe. He bends over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He takes one glove off and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket which he uses to wipe his brow. It’s one that Katherine has monogrammed for him with her pretty little stitches. She gave it to him only a few days after settling in, telling him it wasn’t much, but it was something she could do to express her gratitude.

“What’d she tell you?” Mulder asks.

“Katherine? She didn’t tell me nothin’, though it’s not hard to tell she’s upset by something. And with you here hackin’ away at them trees, it don’t make it less obvious.”

“I’ve seen to it that she doesn’t want for anything, you know. I...I took her away from that godforesaken sod house, I gave her clothes and a room and a job to do and...and I’ve been kind, haven’t I?”

“Sure you have.”

“We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation on the porch last night and suddenly it just went all sideways and then she’s throwing around accusations like I think our marriage is a farce.”

“She said that?”

“Amongst other things, yes she did.”

“Well, I guess that is reason enough to come out here and take your frustrations out on them trees.”

“What else should I be doing? Talking in circles with my fictitious bride so she can hurl more baseless accusations at me?”

“If they’re baseless, why are you in such a tizzy?”

“Because they’re obviously not baseless to her, otherwise why else would she say that?”

“Hm.” Melvin strokes his beard into a point at his chin. “Womenfolk sure are complicated, that’s for sure.”

“You can say that again.”

“Did you ask her how she come by that notion about the marriage, or did you forget how to articulate?”

“Of course I asked her and all I got was some vague implication that I was somehow disrespecting her by hiring a surveyor to come out and make plans on the expansion. It’s not like she wasn’t aware that was the plan all along. You’d have thought it was a total surprise, the way she reacted.”

“When I was gettin’ hitched to Eliza, my Mama told me that the best advice she could give anyone startin’ out was not to let the sun go down on your anger.”

Mulder picks up his axe again and shakes his head. “Little late for that,” he says, choosing his next tree to fell. “The sun was already down anyhow.”

“You know you can be a real horse’s behind sometimes.”

“I am aware.” Mulder starts chopping again, swinging the axe at a cedar sapling.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then.” Melvin hoists himself up into the saddle on Faithful Jenny’s back and turns the horse to home. He stops and turns back, passing the wagon so he’s closer to where Mulder is chopping, but still at a safe distance. “If’n you aim to prove her wrong about your marriage, it may be best not to let her stay in her misery for too long.”

“She has nothing to be miserable about. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, apologies don’t have to mean you were wrong, they could just mean you’re sorry for the hurtin’. You’re forgettin’ already what she’s been through.”

“I have not forgotten.” Mulder shoulders his axe and glares at Melvin. “Should I expect you’ll be taking her side of things from now on?”

“I’m not takin’ any sides. Just remindin’ you that you’re the one brung her here.”

“And that means I need to shoulder the blame for every argument we have from here to kingdom come?”

“Tarnation you must have about the thickest skull in the entire state of Texas. No, it doesn’t mean you’re to blame for everything, it just means that you’re the one that’s plum fool enough to marry a lady you don’t hardly know from Adam except she’s been dealt a sorry hand and then you want to go get all high and mighty about what you done like you deserve a dadgum medal of honor. Either you wanted to help her because of the goodness in your heart or you wanted a nice pat on the back. Which is it?”

“I wasn’t looking for any commendations.”

“Well, good, ‘cause folks might get an idea then of your marriage bein’ a farce or somethin’ like it.”

Melvin turns Faithful Jenny away from Mulder and clicks at her to ride away. Mulder scowls at his back. He doesn’t know why he’s being treated so harshly and unfairly all of a sudden. He’s turned his conversation with Katherine over and over again in his mind and he can’t find the logic in her being so upset. The only thing he knows is that he will clear this whole damned creek of trees before he apologizes for something when he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.

↭

When Mulder doesn’t come to breakfast, Katherine feels almost sick about it. She doesn’t eat, just serves the boys their meal and pretends she has too much to do to sit down that morning. She’s sure they won’t notice anyhow, they’re always distracted with planning for the day most of the time. They don’t even seem to be concerned that Mulder isn’t there. Melvin is the only one that looks at her like he knows something isn’t quite right.

When Mulder doesn’t come to noon dinner, Katherine feels a bit exasperated. She knows by then that he’s been by the creek all morning taking down trees. While she once preferred her late husband’s habit of disappearing for long lengths of time after an argument, she can’t say it feels the same to have Mulder do the same.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that it takes her some time to realize that Melvin is washing up the dinner dishes. She jumps up from the table, mortified to have let that happen. Melvin waves her away.

“Go on, finish your dinner,” he says. “You didn’t hardly eat your breakfast, if at all. Let me do this. You can dry if’n you want.”

“I guess I’m just not very hungry today,” she answers.

“Well, I suppose I don’t got much of an appetite either when I got things weighin’ on my mind.”

She worries the wedding ring on her finger. It hasn’t escaped her that this has already become a nervous habit so quickly. To make better use of her hands, she grabs a dishrag and starts drying what Melvin has washed.

“We argued last night,” she says. “I suppose Mulder told you that?”

“He mentioned there was a disagreement of some kind. You may have already figured this out for yourself, but he can be as stubborn as an old goat sometimes.”

“Does he always do this? Avoid problems this way?”

“I haven’t known him to, but then again horse problems and lady problems aren’t really the same.”

“Should I bring dinner down to him, do you think?”

“I think he might appreciate that. If’n you think he’s stewed long enough with his thoughts.”

“I don’t know about him, but I think I’ve stewed long enough with mine.”

“Then you go ahead and do what you think is right.”

“I’ll pack something up right now.”

“Leave that dishrag with me so’s I can finish up here.”

Katherine drapes the dishrag over Melvin’s shoulder and starts to pack up some dinner to take to Mulder. She’s wrapping biscuits when there’s whistling and hollering outside. Melvin looks up and peers out of the small, square window above the wash basin.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Lord almighty,” he mutters, flinging water and soap suds from his hands as he turns and rushes to the door.

“Another panther?” she asks, following at his heels. “Should I get the gun?”

“Looks like there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?”

Katherine is out the door faster than Melvin, lifting her skirts as she runs across the ranch to where the men are shouting and the horses and wagon that Mulder had taken down to the creek are standing.

“What is it!?” she shouts. “What happened!?”

“He come rolling up just now and keeled over,” Jimmy says. “Felled right off the wagon.”

Katherine drops to her knees in the dirt where Mulder lays and immediately begins assessing his condition. His face is sunburnt, his skin is dry, his pulse is racing. She runs her hands over his head and finds a bit of a lump at the left side, but he’s not bleeding. His left shoulder is twisted under him at an unnatural angle. She looks up at the men standing over them.

“Should I run and fetch the doc?” Jimmy asks.

“His shoulder looks to be dislocated,” she says. “Which I can set back into place. And I believe he is suffering sunstroke.” She makes some quick determinations in her head about who can help best in what areas. “Melvin, go and fetch the doctor. Trevor, I’d like you to go in and start pumping water into the washtub. No need to light the furnace, we need it to be cool.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Trevor answers and runs off.

“Richard, can you find me some clean rags? Tear up some of the bedding I just washed if you have to.”

The other men leave quickly and it’s just Jesse, squatting low at Mulder’s feet and Jimmy hovering over her.

“I need you two to help me turn him onto his back,” she says, getting to her feet and kneeling again at Mulder’s left side. “Gently.”

Katherine holds onto Mulder’s shoulder and elbow to keep his arm in place as the men slowly roll Mulder onto his back. He groans softly and coughs once.

“Jimmy, you go down by his feet and just hold his ankles steady. I think he may already be in shock, but this still may hurt a bit and he might fight against the pain, but it’s best he be still.”

“What’re you gonna do to him?” Jesse asks.

“I’m going to be pulling the shoulder back into place, as gently as I can. Will you please hold him steady with a hand on his chest and right shoulder?”

When Jesse and Jimmy have their hold on Mulder, Katherine takes a deep breath and then starts to slowly draw Mulder’s arm up in an arc away from his side. As she pulls it up, she also pumps it softly until she’s reached a straight angle and she stops and looks from one brother to the other.

“Keep hold now,” she says. They nod their reply.

Katherine raises Mulder’s arm up, making small circles as she lifts from his wrist. Mulder groans again and he tries to kick his feet, but Jimmy holds steady.

“You’re alright,” Katherine says to Mulder, still drawing his arm up. “You’ll feel better in just a bit.”

Only moments later, Katherine feels the shoulder slide back into place and she lowers Mulder’s arm while cupping his elbow, bringing his forearm to rest across his belly. She feels his pulse again at his neck and shakes her head. It’s way too fast. His lips are chapped and white.

“Will you two be able to carry him in if we get him on a sheet?”

“I reckon we sure could,” Jesse says.

“Don’t move him until I come back.”

Katherine races to the house. She finds Richard at the linen cabinet in the dogtrot, ripping up pillow cases. She grabs one of the sheets and runs back to Mulder. When they have the sheet laid out the two men, under Katherine’s instruction, move Mulder onto it with as little jostling as possible. They lift from the sides per her direction and move swiftly to the house.

The wash room is not a large room, certainly not large enough to hold five people comfortably, especially when one of them is incapacited. She sends Trevor off to fetch her a glass of water with some salt in it and has Jesse and Jimmy lay out Mulder on the floor and then step away.

Quickly, and with nimble fingers, Katherine first unbuttons the suspenders on Mulder’s trousers. She then opens up all the buttons on his trousers and moves down to pull his boots and socks off. She pulls his trousers off and then calls out to Trevor to bring her the scissors from her sewing kit. When she has the scissors, she cuts Mulder’s shirt in half up from belly to chest so she can pull his right arm free and not have to move the left too much. With the remains of the shirt, she fashions a sling to hold his left arm.

She leaves his undershirt and drawers in place and then has Jesse and Jimmy lift him, sheet and all, into the washtub. The water doesn’t quite cover him so she pumps a bit more into the tub. Richard brings her the rags and Trevor brings her the cup of water and the salt tin.

“I just put a pinch of salt in,” Trevor says. “I don’t know if that was enough.”

“Thank you, that’s just fine. Will you do me one more favor and get me a spoon and one of the ash buckets? Just be sure it’s empty.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Trevor races out of the room.

Katherine kneels beside the tub and begins to dip the rags into the water and place them behind Mulder’s neck and on his forehead. She dabs his cheeks and jaw. Trevor returns with the spoon and the bucket. Jesse brings her a stool to sit on so she doesn’t have to kneel.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asks.

“Not at the moment. I’ll call for you when it’s time to get him out.”

“Alright, we’ll stay close by.”

“Thank you.”

Jesse closes the door behind him and she sits with Mulder, alternating soaking rags and patting his neck and face and spooning him salted water. His eyes slide open after a bit and roll around. His pupils are two different sizes, which worries her, and his gaze is a little disoriented.

“Mulder?”

“Where’m I?” he mumbles.

“You’re in the bathing tub. I think you may have had sunstroke and you fell from the wagon. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” She holds up three fingers and he blinks and stares at her hand.

“Three?”

“That’s good. How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Cold. My arm aches.” He reaches up with his right hand to try to touch his shoulder, but she catches his hand and holds it.

“You dislocated your shoulder, but it’s fine now. It’ll probably be sore for a few days.”

“I did?”

“I need you to drink a little water, can you do that?”

“Okay.”

Katherine lets go of Mulder’s hand and brings the cup to Mulder’s mouth. She holds the back of his neck to help him sip, but won’t let him take much yet.

“I’m so thirsty,” he says, trying to bring his lips back to the cup.

“I know, you just need to drink slowly otherwise it might make you sick.”

He finishes the cup of water, slowly, with her help. She puts the back of her hand to his cheek and then dabs at his face again with a soaked rag. He lays passively for some time, almost like he’s dreaming, but then he starts to shift and seems to gain more awareness bit by bit.

“You know, if you wanted me in my underthings, all you had to do was ask,” he says suddenly, smiling a little and turning his head towards her.

“I think we can get you out of the tub now.”

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 14 #MSR #AU

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strawberri-blonde · 3 years

Text

Grinchmis- George Weasley

Summary: George have never seen a single muggle Christmas movie but Y/n changes that.

Warning: Curse words and kissing.

It was really by chance that you attended the Weasleys Christmas. Mr Weasley had been fascinated with your work as a preschool teacher for the little muggles as he called them and one day when he was discussing with you about your work you had slipped on a sheet of ice causing you to fall and damage your skull causing a horrific concision. Instantly Arthur transported you both back to the burrow where Molly had given him the lecture of a lifetime before she fixed you right up. When you woke, you immediately thought that you had lost your mind because you saw a broom sweeping it’s self and a pot of hot water being poured in a cup, all on it’s on. Of course, you began to scream and ran out the door and it didn’t help that Fred, George, and Ron were flying around on their brooms sticks either. One could say you passed out but you would oppose saying that you “simply needed another nap.”

When you came to, Molly kept apologizing and apologizing while Arthur and the boys crowded around not knowing how to handle your reaction to the wizard world. At first you hand a minor panic attack then pinched yourself more than once to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Then as it all settled in, you glued to Molly’s side seeing at she was so kind and gentle. The older woman thought it was adorable and slowly explained some of the magical things and talked about normal stuff like family. That’s when you explained that when you bumped into Arthur you were on your way to your flat since school was out for the little ones for the holidays.

“So I guess we have to heal you quickly so you can get home for Christmas?” You blushed at her sweet words, then smiled while hiding your fingers in the long sleeves of the sweater that Molly had grabbed for you that had a letter ‘G’ knitted on the front.

“Actually,” you dragged out pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “My parents are in Fiji.” Molly’s eyebrows furrowed at your words. “Something about not wanting to spend another Christmas in London, so it’s just me.”

“You were going to spend Christmas alone.” You shamefully nodded your head as Molly continued. “What about friends.?”

“With their families and I didn’t want to bother them?”

“A boyfriend or girlfriend?” You instantly blushed at her words. “I don’t judge.” You picked up the tea pot and poured the hot water into the chipped teacup, watching as the teabag got soaked.

“No partner here.” Molly smirked at your nervousness and handed the milk over to you. To which you happily grasped in your hold.

“How about you stay for Christmas.”

“Ms. Weasley, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you can.” The older woman gripped your biceps in a loving comfort. “No pressure but I would love for you to stay.”

You let a smile take over and tilted your head. “Are you sure?” Molly nodded eagerly. “Because you already have a full house.” The older woman raised her hands in protest.

“You’ll stay in my oldest sons room Bill. He’s not going to be home until Christmas Eve. Then we’ll figure out where you will stay.” Before you could protest Molly placed her finger and thumb in her mouth letting out a whistle. She grabbed her wand and placed it against her throat. “Fred. George.” The loud noise of her voice startled you so. A gasp escaped your lips as you heard loud footsteps from the stairs along with arguing.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything?”

“Did you forget to hide it?”

“No it was you!”

“Boys!” Molly yelled at the two older men that looked to be near your age so approximately 22. Another thing that caught your eye was that they were twins; really attractive twins. “We have a guest.” The two gentlemen stopped shoving one another to get a glance in your direction.

Having their eyes on you made the nerves quite worse. You gripped the tea mug tightly in your hand and tried to advoid eye contact but the slightly taller twin caught your attention. And your cheeks began to burn bright red. “Boys this is Y/n and I need the two of you to be on your best behavior. George can you show her to Bill’s old room and Fred, I need your help in the kitchen.” The oldest twin with the green sweater let out a groan making George laugh.

“Why can’t George do it.” Molly looked at your gaze at her son and smirked before making a frown appear at Fred protest.

“Because I said so, now...” the older woman handed a pot of what looked like stuffing in Fred’s hands. “Get to work or no apple pie and George be on your best behavior.” The taller twin patted his brothers back then nodded his head.

Once his hazel eyes meet yours, you blushed again and walked over. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He smiled back and gestured up the stairs. “This way.” As George stepped on the first step he turned to you with a massive grin. “I was looking for that sweater but it looks better on you.” And that folks caused you to blush even harder making the crimson reach your ears. Noticing your flushed cheeks George started to develop a hint of red upon his pale cheeks as well.

—

Throughout the week you’ve gotten comfortable being around all of the Weasleys and even gotten to meet Rons friends Harry and Hermione. Being around them was a lot easier especially since they spent most of their time in the ‘muggle world’ as they called it.

The dining table was full as the Weasley and guests finished off the last of their desserts. You in fact had to cover your mouth as George wouldn’t stop whispering stupid jokes in your ear making it so difficulty to eat your meal. Molly and the other girls saw the little exchanges and couldn’t help but smirk at the cuteness. “Okay, well I guess it’s time for presents.” Aruthur stood up from the end of the long table gathering everyone’s attention and Molly stood as well to grab the gifts. You smiled at the family passing out gifts and cooed at the knitted scarfs Molly had made for her kids. Picking up your dirty dishes you excused yourself and brought what you could into the kitchen and started on the dishes. After a while Molly came rushing into the ‘heart of the home’ in distress. “What are you doing young lady?”

You quickly turned around and offered a smile. “I’m just washing the dishes Ms. Molly.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed your hands in hers. “Come on dear and open your present.”

“No.” You protested as she dragged you over to the table and you sat down letting her hand you the nicely wrapped gift. “I didn’t get you anything.” Molly shooker her head.

“Don’t worry about it dear. Your presence was enough.” You sighed in defeat but continued to look at her in plea.

“You might as well open it.” Ron laughed as Percy spoke.

“She’s not going to lighten up.” With that you stared down at the red wrapping and carefully opened it to reveal a green sweater with a golden initial of your first name. Tears swelled in your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

“Thank you, Molly and Arthur for this wonderful gift. This has probably been the best Christmas I’ve had in a while.” You stood up to hug the Weasley mother and in that sweet moment Fred had to speak.

“At least now she can stop wearing George’s sweaters.” You pulled away from his mom to glare at him jokily of course while a blush did make its way to both you and George’s cheeks.

“Shut up!” The tallest twin nudged his shoulder against Fred’s. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh I bet you don’t.” Charlie joked before taking a sip of his egg nog making the rest of the Weasley boys to laugh including Harry but the girls rolled their eyes at the none sense.

The night fall came quicker than you expected and you weren’t to excited. That just means Christmas is over and it gets closer to when you have to leave the burrow and join the real world again. Letting out a sigh you finished making your tea and started to make your way back to the living room where you would sleep that night since Bill was sleeping in his room with his wife.

As your eyes tried to adjust to the darkness you saw a large figure only a few inches away and you didn’t have time to react. You and the other person collided making the hot tea sink into your clothes burning your skin. “Shit.” Hearing that familiar voice you became nervous and instantly set the mug down and patted the Weasley twin’s chest.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/n.” He whispered out some foreign word and light sprung from his wand showing more of his handsome face. You were so caught up on his facial features that George must’ve thought that you couldn’t tell if you knew it was him.

“It’s George.” You shook your head and stepped back to reply.

“I know.” He furrowed his eyes then spelled to clean up the mess making you fall back into his arms. “You have a little hump on your nose while Fred’s is straight and he has smoother hair while yours is a little bit more textured.” George looked away with a blush. “You’re also a tad bit taller and have a nicer voice.” This shocked the both of you as you didn’t think that actually came from your lips while George couldn’t believe someone could tell the difference between him and his brother and that someone thought he had a nice voice. George pushed back a strand of hair and pulled you into the living room on the couch. Without thinking he lifted his sweater to to get rid of the wet clothing and you did the same. George tried to be a gentleman and looked away while you grabbed a blanket to cover yourself.

Smiling at each other you noticed the goosebumps on his arms and offered him some of the blanket. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” You rolled your eyes and scooted closer placing your legs over his lab and nuzzled your head in the nook of his neck shivering slightly at how cold his skin was. George let a smile take over as he rested his head against yours making you let out a sigh in comfort. “On the night of Christmas my family and I would watch one last Christmas movie and despite the presents and such that had to be one of my favorite things to do on Christmas.”

“I’ve never seen a muggle movie.” You popped your head up in shock while George couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction.

“That’s crazy.” You exclaimed. “Isn’t your dad fascinated with my kind.” George didn’t stop the laughter as he rested his hands on your lower thigh and upper calf.

“Yeah but he doesn’t just steal stuff.” You laughed at him then nuzzled back into his side.

“I wish I’ve would’ve known. I would have brought a movie and my small little tv.” George circled his thumb against your skin letting his brain run a mile a minute.

“Give me the location.” You narrowed you eyes and looked up at him.

“What?”

“I think I know a spell where I can transport those things. I just need those exact locations.” After several attempts and many of them being George grabbing random objects from your room like your clock, a sock, even a bra that you’ve had on the floor. Finally the wizard teleported your tv and your favorite Christmas movie of all time, ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas.’

To be honest George wasn’t really paying much attention to the movie. All of his attention was on you. Your eyes were filled with joy; and happiness radiant off you in waves. Your arm was wrapped around his waist while his wiped around yours and his hand settle upon your thigh. The warmth you both radiant for each other was so peaceful and kept you both content. You let out a laugh from the Grinch’s dog Max having his one antler.

George’s heart raced as he thought of not seeing you again as the movie continued to play the red head worked up the courage to ask you a question. “What are you doing New Years Eve?” That question alone had you in a fury because to be honest you didn’t know.

“Um, probably be at home.” George gulped loudly letting it echoed throughout the small household.

“That’s cool.” His voice broke up in cracks as his throat tightened in fear. “W-ell,” he coughed. “Well, if you don’t want to be by yourself Fred and I are running a New Years Eve party at the shop and I would like it if you could come.” You lifted your head off his chest and shifted your weight so you could stared directly into those hazel eyes.

“I’d probably be the only muggle there wouldn’t I.” George awkward stretched the back of his head before replying.

“I mean there will be some half bloods but yeah.” He say your expression and rushed his words. “But I wouldn’t leave your side and everyone would love to meet you I mean you’re so nice and smart and you’re funny when you think you’re not and you have got to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” You blushed at his words making George cover his mouth. “I’m sorry! If you don’t want-”

You cupped his cheeks into your hands and pressed your lips onto his. George didn’t respond at first from shock but quickly kiss you back with much need. You giggled into the kiss as he pulled you closer causing you to teasingly nibble his bottom lip. Without much thought George opened his mouth letting you slip your tongue into his mouth and you grazed it against his and pulled away making George extend his and you lick it slightly before pulling away all together and nuzzle into his chest. George tried to compress his not so little situation. “I’ll be there.” The Wealthy twin let a smile cover his features then pressed a kiss to your hairline and squeezed you more into him and finally started to watch the movie with the smile still onto his lips. It really was a good Grinchmis.

#hogwarts imagine #hogwarts #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley #george and fred weasley #fred weasley imagine

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remys-lucky-franc · 3 years

Text

Remy x MC (Queen of Thieves) - Kissing Prompt #14

This is the final ‘kiss prompt’ that I have on my request list. I’m sad 😔

I’ve really enjoyed working on these - this wee challenge got me back into the habit of writing regularly which is so nice as I’d been doing ‘sit and stare at a blank page’ thing for months, thank you for inviting me to join in folks.

Prompt #14 - a kiss so desperate that that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished - requested by lovely @mcira for lovely Remy

It’s a sort of a ‘good heist goes bad’ alt-version of the ‘first ever kiss on film’ heist from Remy’s S1. Also, I relocated it to Barcelona because Paris is too inland 😂

Written from MC POV.

Word count ~6100 (marked #long fic if anyone wants to filter it away - adding ‘read more’ isn’t reliable - don’t want to clog anyone’s dash x)

TW: drowning / broken bones

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[MORE]

[[MORE]]

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I curse, scrambling to keep my balance as the yacht lists suddenly to the right; my arms flailing, thrown backwards trying to grip at the doorway to stay upright. I collide with it and stretch my hands out to save myself as I hit the ground awkwardly: the crack from my arm makes me feel sick to my stomach. Furniture shifts. Decor clatters to the floor. Lights overhead flicker violently. What the hell was that noise? Something has gone very, very wrong.

—-24 hours earlier —-

Remy and I have spent well over a month on this con now, establishing and ingratiating ourselves with the obnoxious specimen that is Parker Vos. Ugh, even his name makes my skin crawl. Tonight we’ve met up for some drinks: Parker’s idea. Remy’s positioned himself between Parker and I at the bar of the plush cocktail lounge and I watch on as Parker charges his glass again, loudly laughing, clapping his hand on Remy’s shoulder. Remy clinks glasses with him, smile jovial, eyes full of myrth; swallowing down the liquor to perfectly conceal the bile I know is steadily rising within his throat. If there is anyone who dislikes Parker Vos more than I do, it’s Remy Chevalier.

Watching Remy work a con has been quite an experience. He knows instinctively what people want to see and hear - oftentimes even before they know themselves. He reads their body language with practiced ease and plays his part to meet The Gilded Poppy’s ends: a master of assuaging insecurities or fuelling egos. And I have never known an ego like Parker’s. He’s spent half of the evening acting like Remy’s his long-lost best friend, and the other half undressing me - his buddy’s ‘wife’ - with cold, soulless eyes.

Parker’s on his feet, moving to refill my champagne flute but I move my hand to cover the top, opening my mouth in a half-protest.

He grins at me as I giggle, “I shouldn’t - I’ve had too much already-”

Tutting and moving my hand away from the opening of glass, he pours another generous serving of fizz. I make a big deal out of rolling my eyes at him and exclaiming that’s he’s ‘such a bad influence’. Inside I’m far from smiling - I hate guys who behave like this.

Parker doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand, his fingertips trace my palm casually, an amused, self-satisfied grin spread over his face. I feel colour rising rapidly from my chest to the tips of my ears and Parker raises an eyebrow at me - clearly delighted that he’s gotten me flustered - but it’s not his touch or his gaze that’s set me alight. It’s the way that Remy’s eyes burn into me from the next seat, flecks of gold and green glitter like fire and the mask he wears is one that I can’t quite decipher, the only clue to his true feelings being the exaggerated bob of his throat as he continues to pretends he’s oblivious to the game Parker’s playing. I simper as I extract my hand from Parker’s to toast our glasses. I know Remy and I aren’t really married, but Parker doesn’t: this guy really has zero shame.

Remy’s seamlessly switched to wearing a playful smirk as he reaches across me, clinking all three of our glasses together, “Ma cherie, the bubbles are going to her head, Parker - look how flushed she is!”

His free hand reaches up affectionately cupping my cheek and I feel myself sink longingly into his gentle touch, his daring wink makes my heart stutter as Parker drones on, boasting about only ordering the very finest champagne for his friends.

A short time later, Remy excuses himself and he hasn’t even reached the bathroom before Parker has slid across to occupy his stool, angling himself into me just a little closer than could be considered appropriate. He’s such a snake, it takes all my energy to fix a sweet, naïve smile on my face when his hand comes to rest on my arm; the way his touch makes me feel compared to Remy’s is so stark in its contrast. He’s watching my face intently as he smirks at me - always bragging about his wealth and possessions, always looking for any sign that he’s impressing me.

He’s acting shocked that this is is the first time I’ve been to this particular bar, given that it’s one of Barcelona’s hot-spots, wondering out loud why my husband never brought me here before now. I sip daintily at my glass as I tell him this sort of place is generally outside of our budget, that it would only ever be somewhere that we’d come for a special occasion. As Parker nods, sacharrine-sweet condescension guising as sympathy, I think about how Remy was absolutely right when he told me he reckoned Parker gets a real kick out of feeling like the Alpha Male in any room and I lean into it. He’s back onto his favourite brand of champagne again - asking me if I ever tried it before tonight. I have, but I play along, feeding the narrative, telling him exactly what he wants to hear: Remy would be proud of me.

I shake my head wistfully, “It’s really delicious, it’s such a lovely treat to have something so decadent. I can understand it being your favourite, Parker - you have really good taste.”

He sighs, looking almost troubled, “You know it makes me sad that a girl like you can’t have everything her heart desires. I’ve got cases galore of the stuff on my yacht. I have it brought in directly from the vineyard just outside Epernay.” He pauses, quirking his head at me, “Say, have you ever been on a yacht?”

I think about what Remy’s always tells me about the best and most convincing cons: they stick as closely to the truth as possible. I feel a genuine smile blossom as I tell Parker about the little sailboat my grandfather had and how I loved spending time on it with him when I was a little girl. I can hear the warmth in my own voice and I know my eyes are sparkling as I think about those happy memories, but rather than ask me anything about my grandfather or my childhood, Parker patronises me and uses it as another opportunity to play ‘The Big I Am’. He chuckles as he tells me that wasn’t a real boat, then reels off what sounds like the manufacturer’s sales pitch for his top-of-the-range, fully customised yacht. Heaven knows, I really want to punch this guy but I nod, maintaining my rapt expression - all wide-eyed and utterly impressed. As he drones on, my brain wanders thinking how the same conversation would have gone sitting here with Remy instead.

Parker’s incessant boasting continues as he drawls about how much he would love to take me out on his yacht, “I think a girl like you would appreciate a boat like mine you know, and you’d look so good on it.”

Such. A. Creep.

I shoot him a rueful smile before biting my lip and looking down at the my hands. My fake wedding ring sparkles up at me under the low lights of the bar. I can feel Parker’s beady eyes on me watching my every move like I’m his prey. I fidget with the golden band and I know I’m working this con just right when he pushes my hair back from my face and tips my chin upward to look at him. A grin slithers across his face - poison hidden just behind the facade.

“Why don’t you come on the yacht with me this weekend, baby? You can have as much of this champagne as you like - I’ll show you how you deserve to be treated.”

I don’t have to fake being a little taken aback: I know it’s been our objective to get on that yacht, and I knew we were reeling him in, but the blatancy of his invite still knocks me off guard!

I glance towards the bathrooms and see that Remy’s making his way back across the bar. I use the shock of the invitation to my advantage, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I tell Parker, “Remy’s coming back.” I look up at him through my lashes and breathe, “Parker, I- I don’t know? It sounds amazing, but honestly, I’m not sure I should.”

Parker searches my dark eyes, voice smug, so confident that his charms have me falling for him; that he’s so irresistible I’d be ready to betray my husband with him, “I think you do know. You just don’t want to hurt Remy, because you’re a sweet girl. But I’ll make a deal with you, I’ll send you the directions to where she’s docked - and I’ll be there waiting. If you come...”, his thumb brushes across my lips and I draw in a sharp breath while my stomach lurches. His voice lowers as he stares at my mouth, “I’ll show you, I can give you everything you ever wanted and more besides.” Then he’s gone, quickly slithering back to his own bar stool, duplicitously clasping and shaking Remy’s hand as he returns, as though he didn’t just proposition his wife.

—-

Remy fumed about the audacity of Parker Vos the whole way back to the penthouse last night. And I thought he disliked the guy before... I’d hate to see how Remy would react if someone hit on his real wife because he is the most convincingly jealous fake-husband I’ve ever seen. And his attitude towards our mark got even worse when Parker text me with the coordinates for Port Vell Marina.

When we got back we debriefed Nikolai on all of the night’s events and came to the conclusion that me going to the yacht alone was not an option. I argued that I was more than capable of handling him but Remy was adamant that Parker was an entitled creep and it was too dangerous. Nikolai agreed with Remy, and when I huffed that he would trust Vivienne to fly solo, I have never seen him look more annoyed. He barked at me that he it was his decision, his responsibility and he refused to put any member of his team into that position alone, especially where there was no option for back up if things started to take a wrong turn. As much as I hated to back down, I knew from his tone that he was being completely honest and I should apologise and accept his decision. We spent the rest of the evening coming up with our next move - for Remy and I to arrive at Parker’s yacht together.

—-

We arrive at the beautiful Marina at Port Vell the following afternoon and I don’t have to feign how impressed I am. It is absolutely stunning - the sun dapples the turquoise blue waters while every gleaming yacht is sleeker and grander than the last.

Remy’s holds my hand firmly as we head towards Berth 26 where Parker’s imposing yacht is docked. Our play this afternoon is that I was heading out to meet Parker when Remy asked where I was going and I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to come along that didn’t seem strange or suspicious.

We reach the yacht and I see Parker. The irritate look on his face is replaced in an instant as he wraps us both in a friendly hug, before ushering us onboard. As he takes my hand to help me up the steps, he shoots me a look as though to enquire ‘why the hell aren’t we alone?’ and I drop my head like I’ve never been more deeply disappointed by anything in my life.

Remy has Parker chatting about the spec of the boat and I fear that he may never shut up about it. We spend at least fifteen minutes in the cockpit as Parker regales us with tales about how he got rid of his last captain, how he prefers to sail the yacht himself: bravado, bravado, bla bla bla. My cheeks hurt from the fake grin I have plastered across my face but I really lose the will to live as he places a captain’s hat on my head, cracking a joke to Remy about female drivers and saying that if I felt brave enough, he might even let me steer later. As we walk I ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ where appropriate, observing the ostentatious gold fixings and over-the-top ornate features and I conclude that no amount of money can buy you class.

When we eventually reach the sun deck, Remy raises an eyebrow at me, “Oh. Ma cherie, I think we may be intruding. Parker, were you expecting other company?”

I cringe as my eyes land on the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen, sat next to a bottle of the same champagne we were drinking in the bar last night. I know Parker is a truly awful person, but I can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. His cheeks colour lightly, clearly having forgotten that he paid someone to set this up for him and his mouth works hard at opening and closing for a few painful seconds before his brain catches up, “Oh! Those? A ‘friend’ of mine was supposed to join me a bit before you both arrived. Then I thought we could have some drinks together, all four of us.”

Remy nods, his expression neutral, but eyes sharp, “I see. And they’re running late?”

Parker shrugs, eyes flicking to look at me as he lies, “She cancelled at the last minute. Something else came up.”

Remy wraps his arm around me making a show of planting a soft kiss on my cheek, his sympathetic words juxtaposed to the smirk apparent in his tone, “How awful, cherie! Good old Parker’s been left in the lurch. And after going to all that trouble too!”

I grimace, “I’m really sorry to hear that, Parker.”

Parker clears his throat, snatching up the champagne bottle, “Yeah. I’ll grab us some glasses.”

As he heads inside, I dig Remy in the ribs with my elbow and hiss, “What the hell was that?!”

Remy grins, his face full of mischief, “It’s obvious that I suspect there’s ‘something going on’ here”, he gestures between me and the roses, “and if he knows I’m willing to fight for you mon couer, it makes you all the more attractive to him...”

Knowing he’s right, but hating it, I pull a face.

He winks at me, “Plus, your Remy wants to have a little fun making him squirm.”

—-

We set sail a little after two-thirty, and as the afternoon progresses, it’s not just Parker who Remy is making squirm. Aside from a variety of vaguely passive aggressive jokes about being stood up and dating disasters - at one point even suggesting that I set Parker up with one of my friends, Remy is possibly the most tactile he’s ever been with me during this con: his hand is either holding mine, on my knee, or touching my face at every given opportunity. And his strategy is working because every single time Remy’s hands are on me, Parker’s eyes follow.

I know it’s all for Parker’s benefit but I just can’t help the way my heart races when Remy touches me. I have to keep telling myself it’s just for the con - all a part of his strategy. I repeat it over and over like a mantra: ‘It’s just for the con. It’s not real. It’s just for the con.’ But it feels so good. So real. And I want him so badly my chest aches.

Part of my role on today’s outing is scouting out the location of the reel of film we’re trying to steal. We’ve long suspected that it’s somewhere on the boat. So while the men continue to drink and chatter, I excuse myself and head to the restroom, getting myself deliberately lost in the labyrinth below deck. I’m fascinated by the amount of cool and interesting stuff that Parker owns despite being an uncultured jerk. I wonder if he has any genuine interest in any of it at all, or if it’s entirely for bragging rights and to impress other people. The further I wander unrestricted, the more I marvel and get to wondering just how rich Parker actually is? It’s so unfair - he deserves pretty much nothing that’s aboard this floating treasure trove... Then I see it - a can of film inside a glass case! Surely that’s got to be it? I quickly check the case, it’s pretty secure and looks like it’s inbuilt to the wall cabinet?! That means... This must be it - the first kiss ever recorded... I beam from ear to ear as I think about how excited Remy is going to be when I tell him!!

Unbeknown to me, upstairs whilst Remy and Parker stand at the railing staring out into the glittering dark blue of the Med, Remy decides to lean a little further into his role of suspicious and jealous spouse. Remy subtly turns the conversation from small talk to a grilling before Parker even realises that he’s walking into a trap, “It’s a shame your friend couldn’t make it, Parker. It would have been lovely to meet the woman who’s caught your eye... You were hoping that the four of us could have drinks together, right?”

Parker nods, sipping at his glass.

“But you didn’t know I was coming?”

Parker laughs, deflecting, “Uh, yeah! I got that wrong, I thought you were otherwise engaged. I’m so glad you could make it, buddy! It’s always great to see you!”

Remy cocks his head to the side, face still open and neutral, like he’s trying to understand, ”Sure, I’m glad I could join. But I’m confused? You were planning on the four of us drinking that champagne, oui?”

Parker clears his throat, suddenly realising that Remy might actually not be as much of a mug as he’s taken him for.

Remy continues, face visibly hardening as he speaks, “From where I’m sitting, there’s no mystery lady, and no Remy? And - well - that just leaves you and my wife sailing around the Mediterranean with a bottle of champagne and a big bunch of roses, Parker.”

Parker waves his hands in the air defensively, “Wow, Remy!! Slow down - I don’t know where you think you’re going with this, but you’ve got it all wrong! You’re putting two and two together and getting five, my friend!”

Remy huffs a bitter laugh, his voice now dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, five? So, I have it all wrong that my wife was halfway out the door to come here, to be with you, alone? Seems convenient that your lady-friend mysteriously couldn’t make it at the last minute? The one I’ve never heard you mention before? Please, explain it to me, Parker. Because it looks to me like you’ve got designs on my wife.”

Parker stutters to find an answer for a second before the yacht jolts violent throwing both men to the ground.

—-

I cradle my arm to my chest and grit my teeth as I clamber back onto my feet, nausea washing over me as I try my best not to move it again. Safe to say I don’t need a medical degree to tell me I’ve broken something.

After that god-awful metallic grinding, groaning noise everything has gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The normal lighting has gone, but the emergency lighting has kicked in casting a sickly green hue all around. I need to get back up to deck, to see what the hell just happened, to make sure Remy is ok!

I move towards the stairwell door and as I wrench it towards me, I’m met with a rush of cold water that makes me gasp. Oh this is bad. This is really, really bad. I stare at the fast-moving seawater spilling in, swirling around my feet: I’m rooted to the spot as panic rises rapidly in my chest. I’m not sure how many seconds have ticked by when I hear the roar of my name. Remy. I can’t see him, but I scramble towards the sound of his voice and call out to him, “I’m down here! Remy! I’m here!”

Water is rapidly filling the space below deck as Remy throws open the door of the opposite stairwell. I lurch towards him, sloshing through it, my limbs twice as heavy and struggling to stay upright against the slippery surface.

Remy wades through the corridor to reach me, calling to me, “I’m coming, cherie, it’ll be ok!” As we meet somewhere near the middle his hands grasp my shoulders as he gives me a quick once over, brows knit together when he sees how I’m holding my quick-swelling arm, “Merde! Is that broken?!”

I wince, nodding. The pain radiates from my wrist making my fingers tingle and my head buzz. Remy’s got one arm around me and he’s gripping at the walls with his free hand, moving us steadily toward the stairwell he came down: the water’s around my waist now. He keeps repeating, ‘it’s ok, it’s going to be ok’, but his usually calm voice jitters and I’m not sure if he’s saying it for my benefit or if he’s trying to make himself believe it. We reach the stairwell and Remy ushers me through the door. The tilt of the yacht makes it hard to climb the steps, but we fight to ascend. Up. Up. Up. We’re around half-way when the yacht jolts unexpectedly again; Remy grabs for the wet handrail. Every muscle in his body strains to keep us in place, to somehow stop us from careering back down the staircase. I feel lightheaded from the way my damaged arm jerks as he catches us, but it’s better than the alternative of plunging back down into the murky water. We resume our climb and make it up the final steps together. Only at the top do I truly appreciate the incongruous angle the yacht lists to, and start to properly grasp just how deadly this situation could be. The sounds of straining metal and hissing water fill the space around us and I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been in my life.

 We scramble our way out across the badly-angled yacht, clinging to the side rails for purchase as we move: we need to get off this boat. It can’t end like this. In the time I’ve been below deck, dark clouds have rolled in and the rain pelts down on us. As we reach the side of the yacht, and I suck in a deep lungful of air trying to black out the pain radiating up and down my arm. Trying to steady my nerves, I tell myself, ‘We just need to get on the lifeboat, getting upstairs was the hardest part. Come on, you can do this - you can do this! We’re almost there, it’s going to be-’ But my silent pep talk is cut short and a sense of dread floods through me as I watch Remy surge around and around, a hand raking through his soaking hair as he yells,

“He’s gone! That bastard! He’s left us!”

Remy’s hanging over the side, trying to locate Parker, frantically yelling his name out into the dank, misty distance. But it’s useless - he’s long gone. Fresh panic rises as what that means sinks in: that snake abandoned us and the sinking ship. And he’s taken the only life vessel with him. A storm’s rolling in and visibility is poor. We’re miles from the coast without another boat in sight. The water this far out isn’t frigid but it’s still cool enough to catch hypothermia without the right clothing if you’re in it for a couple of hours - but we’re likely to end up in there because this yacht is going down. I’m not sure how long I could tread water for with a broken arm? I choke back my horror as I realise - I don’t think we can’t make it back. He’s left us out here to die.

Tears silently streak my face, mingling with saltwater and rain as I turn to Remy. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion, but he’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him, his hands shake and he curses as he pulls useless items out of one of the inbuilt storage benches, tossing them onto the wet deck behind him. I tug at his sleeve and rasp, “There’s no way off, is there?”

He refuses to meet my gaze, yanking his arm away from me, rummaging deeper, muttering in frustration. But I refuse to be brushed off, not now. I pull on his sleeve again, “Remy! Just, stop.”

He whirls on me, his usually smiling eyes are wild as they meet mine. And before I know what’s happening, right there on the deck of the part-submerged yacht, Remy pulls my face to his, mouth crashing desperately into mine. I gasp at the sensation of him. Rough. Passion-filled. Real. His lips spill every frenzied confession I ever wanted to hear and I’m losing myself in him; rapt in every disclosure. The surge of emotion between us swells my pounding heart and fills my soul, a choir with one refrain: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me. My body breaks into song - lyrical, a groan against Remy’s supple lips: rejoicing, dancing, dopamine-high. A million melodies, harmonies, symphonies rush through us as we cling to each other against the stormy saltwater spray. His touch is electric, flesh warm against my skin, deft fingers knotted in my hair drawing me close. Closer. So close I feel two heartbeats pulse through me like an orchestra nearing crescendo. I’m soaked, hurt and terrified, but somehow I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now, exalted in his arms. My hand grazes over the stubble of his jaw, the high arc of his cheekbone: my fingertips trace every beautiful feature, mapping every crease, every dimple. If this is our coda, if this is how it all comes to an end, I want to succumb remembering every delicious second of this kiss - every sensation, every caress, every breath, every poetic unspoken word. I want my finale to be us.

Our kiss ends breathlessly, foreheads touching: both unwilling to part. Remy’s lips hover over mine like we’re magnetised. Green eyes search my own as I gaze upon the face I love through dark lashes, trembling. I cover his heart with my palm - I never want to let him go. Seconds tick past that feel like minutes until he finally breaks away and I gulp for air. Bereft, my body aches for him.

Remy’s rifling through the storage benches again, items shoved from side to side, thrown and discarded until he shouts triumphantly, flare gun in hand! Slick hands fumble to load the cartridge, then he steps away from me, pointing the gun above his head, firing high. We watch as a plume of intense fire illuminates the sky above us, a beautiful SOS, hanging in the air before slowing making its descent to the sea.

The stricken vessel below us strains and groans as Remy grips my hand in his, “We aren’t going out like this, cherie.” He says it with such conviction and determination that my heart stutters. My eyes widen as he brandishes a life buoy at me. “There’s only one.”

Why am I not even surprised that a jerk like Parker went for 24-Carat light fittings but scrimped on the most basic of safety features and maintenance? I shake my head at Remy, fear threatens to take over, “We’re not jumping?!”

Remy exclaims, “We have to! We can’t stay on ‘til it sinks, it’s too dangerous! We need to get as far away as we can. We jump together and I promise you - I won’t let go of your hand. Ever.”

A cacophony of glass cracks and metal tears. Engineering crumbles against a backdrop of smoky neon as we huddle together at the edge of semi-capsized yacht. The rain continues to drive against us, and I understand why we have to jump, but I hate that it’s the only option. My hand fits inside Remy’s and he squeezes it tightly, my pulse racing as we count down together from three, two, one...

As we hit the cool water I cry out, pain seers through my busted arm and makes the world seem dull and frayed around the edges. Everything under water is eerily dark and silence rings in my ears as I plunge beneath the surface. In those seconds it feels strangely peaceful. Serene. My mind, so busy moments before, is a blank. An instant sedation - each nerve numb: novocaine static. It’s not until I feel Remy jerk at my hand, still firmly clasped in his, that my brain reconnects. I kick my feet and follow Remy upwards, breaking the waves, choking and gasping for air.

Remy manoeuvres the life buoy between us, urging me to take hold, his hand cupping my cheek, pushing back my sodden hair, eyes raking over me, “Are you ok??”

I cough and splutter as I nod my head at him: I’m fine. Remy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue with me either. He takes charge of getting us away from the yacht and I follow him blindly, feeling dazed, clinging to the buoy. Minutes later, the yacht goes under and the rapid movement of air and water sends pieces of debris swirling perilously to the surface. A watery scrapyard bobs around us.

I feel sick and dizzy and I’m so cold that my teeth chatter. Did anyone see the flare? Is help coming?

Remy repositions himself and wraps both arms around me as we float aimlessly together. I don’t know how long passes, but every so often he says my name and jolts me to keep me awake, and honestly, I’m trying, but it’s so hard to keep my eyes open. I tell him I’m trying, but I feel so weak. Remy says I’m in shock and I mumble, “That kiss was the best shock I ever had.”

I feel the rumble of his laugh roll through me, and then his lips meet mine again. Soft this time. Slow. Tender. His affection washing over me. I feebly smile and sigh into his kiss, his comforting warmth surrounds me. His touch is like a beacon in the bleak dark water, keeping me focussed, keeping me hanging on. The situation is desperate, but at least I’m with Remy.

As time swirls past us, I drift in and out of consciousness, pulled back a final time by Remy shaking me, “Listen!! Do you hear it??”

I startle and try my best to concentrate... Then I hear it, a horn blasting. Someone’s coming! They must have seen our distress signal. Remy’s swimming as fast as he can for both of us, moving our heavy, tired bodies in the direction of the sound until we finally see it. Remy yells until he’s hoarse, waving, whistling - anything to attract their attention. As the vessel approaches, I hear rough, deep voices yelling in Spanish but my head’s too fuzzy and it’s fast for me to understand. Remy is shouting back at them to take me on board first, and before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted - strong hands grip under my arms as I cry out for Remy. They pay me no heed: saviours in oilskins wrap me in a foil blanket, checking me over, patting my cheek and trying to get me to focus. I struggle to evade them, “Where is Remy?? You have to help him!!”

They won’t let me stand up, won’t let me move! Agitated tears blur my vision - they need to get Remy out of the water. And then I hear his voice and relief consumes me. The fishermen part to let him reach me, he’s dripping all over their deck and he looks so pale, but he’s here and we’re together. He throws his arms around me, clutching me close, face buried in my neck. We cling together, exchanging sweet words, counting our blessings and relishing the feeling of each other. A tall, thin, official-looking man wraps a second blanket around Remy’s shoulders, talking into his ear. Remy nods to him and then suddenly we’re moving below deck, to somewhere warm and dry. My good arm is around Remy’s neck, the other gentleman walks slowly by my other side, hand hovering to support me as my legs wobble. They give me a towel for my hair and large hooded sweatshirt to change into - Remy helps me and the feeling of the clean, dry fabric against my skin makes me want to weep. I sit on a makeshift bed, exhausted and sore, my head buzzing. Remy hasn’t changed into the fresh clothes they’ve left for him yet, he shivers but refuses to let go of my hand - as though he believes I might evaporate if he does.

The sailors tell us the coastguard is on their way and it won’t be long til we’re back on dry land. I can’t wait for my feet to be firmly on the ground. Remy asks the sailors for something to drink, but they refuse telling us not until we’ve seen a doctor. But Remy insists and eventually they relent, giving us both a large brandy. I swallow it down, grimacing at the taste and the burning sensation in my throat. I lie on my side, cheek pressed against a soft cushion, still shivering. I cradle my swollen arm to my chest, rising and falling as I struggle to come to terms with everything that’s happened today. Remy’s finally in dry clothes, and has crawled into the space by my side on the bunk. It’s going to take a while to process all of this, but it feels so nice to lie here with Remy gazing into my eyes, bodies close, to see him smile at me. I feel drained, but calmer now I’m near to him. I reach out and trace his features, just as I did when we kissed on the yacht a short time before; his stubbled jaw, the curve of his cheek, the little dimple that appears when he grins at me. He catches my fingers in his, and presses gentle kisses to my knuckles, to my palm, his other hand smoothing out my damp hair, “I promised you I wouldn’t let you go. We’re safe now. Your Remy’s here, it’ll all be fine mon coeur. ”

—- 24 hours later —-

Leon pats my knee affectionately as I slide into the passenger seat, “Ready to go home?”

I nod and thank him, as Remy reaches over the headrest, squeezing Leon’s shoulder, “Merci, Leon. Thanks for coming back to drive us.”

Leon meets Remy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, brows tight, looking perplexed, “It’s no problem. I still can’t believe Parker just... Left.”

Remy shrugs, “I can. Proves he was exactly the type of person we steal from.”

I sigh and scrub my hand across my face, “Except we didn’t steal anything from him, Remy. Everything’s gone. The film, lots of really amazing sculptures and artwork - all at the bottom of the sea...”

Remy shrugs, “But you and I aren’t at the bottom of the sea, and that’s what’s really important mon couer.”

And I know he’s right, but it just seems like such a terrible waste, that’s all. I suppose it might be better that no one has all of those treasures, than Parker hoarding them all and appreciating none of them. It was all just ‘stuff’ to him, for bragging rights, nothing more. Someone so shallow didn’t deserve any of-

Leon makes me jump, chuckling while reaching across me to clip my seatbelt in, exclaiming, “What’s this?!”

I glance down and see black Sharpie ink on my plaster cast. I lift my reset arm, and tilt my head to see it properly, there are two doodled little stick-people, one with my initials, one with ‘RC’, surrounded by sweet little hearts and the words ‘je t’aime, toujours ’ scrolled below. I feel my heart leap as I take it in. My cheeks start to colour as I stammer, “I don’t know- I- When-?”

Leon’s sporting a knowing smirk at Remy’s reflection, “To commemorate your fake marriage? Because there’s no need for you two to pretend anymore, right?”

I twist round in my seat to look at Remy who simply leans forward and cups my face in his palms. His eyes gaze into mine, face open and honest - no mask in sight. He meets my lips with a warm kiss as he confirms, “I’m done with pretending.”

#long fic #queen of thieves #remy chevalier #lovestruck #tw: drowning #tw: broken bones

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lligkv · 3 years

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what the world will look like when it’s over

Can’t Get You Out of My Head is the first Adam Curtis documentary I’ve seen. I gather it’s not the most successful demonstration of his method; it sounds like Hypernormalization or The Century of the Self are tighter in their construction, less effortful (count how many times Curtis says something like “But then it started to run out of control” in this one), and perhaps less frustrating in their narration. In the early episodes of this documentary in particular, it feels like Curtis is constantly presenting what’s being covered as the turn, the decisive shift in his narrative—the emergence of the American counterculture, the revolution of the “unit of One” led by Mao Zedong’s wife Jiang Qing to help her break the stalemate with the other revolutionaries in China into which Zedong had fallen in the 1960s, George Boole’s development of Boolean logic to describe human thought. And the whole thing feels longer and baggier than it needs to be. The early episodes devote much time to interesting individual narratives, like that of the Trinidadian British activist or sorts named Michael Freitas (or Michael X) or a trans woman named Julie in 1960s Britain; they also sprawl in a way that makes the overall argument a bit hard to divine. It’s not until the fourth episode that the shape of Curtis’s narrative becomes clear—that our age is the product of a struggle between a new, broadly liberal-democratic and capitalist image of individualism, a dying era of collectivist struggle, and older, more vicious systems of power, derived from the control of capital and expressed through the middle classes’ suspicion and viciousness toward the subaltern and toward each other, even as they remain subject to the power of oligarchs and billionaires.

Curtis also seems to play fast and loose with the facts sometimes. When he presents Médecins Sans Frontières’s founder Bernard Kouchner as an avatar of a theory of the “one world” of liberal democracy—the idea that we’re basically one world of individuals, enjoying certain human rights regardless of political orientations or ideologies, and that Western nations are duty-bound by virtue of their prosperity to intervene when other nations violate people’s rights—it seems a distortion of what Kouchner actually says in the footage Curtis includes: “We don’t care on leftist or rightist countries [sic]; there is no leftist and rightist suffering, and there is no possibility to split the world in[to] ‘good’ people or ‘bad’ people, ‘good’ dead and ‘bad’ dead.” Which isn’t to say Kouchner didn’t believe in liberal-democratic ideas—he may well have—but what he’s shown as saying has to do with the consideration of suffering as suffering regardless of a person’s identity or allegiance, which is a different matter.

This is just one of several moments when I stopped to wonder how secure I actually was in Curtis’s hands. But ultimately, I find the emotional history he lays out resonant. The age we’re living through now, in the 2020s, is indeed the product of certain fantasies of individualism and of a post-end-of-history, neoliberal “one world”—with no ideologies but capitalism and putative democracy—meeting age-old systems of power, acquisition, and control, and age-old features of the human mind and heart: resentment, prejudice, betrayal, jealousy, the need to be prosperous, the need to be free.

And Curtis’s work appeals to me for the same reason the writer Pankaj Mishra’s work does. He historicizes our underhistoricized time. What’s more, he does so in a way that’s especially rare to see in any mainstream media venue. Usually, when you want to understand the connections between, say, colonial-era empires and post-war welfare states, or if you want to understand what happened to turn Western societies as they were post-war to Western societies as they are post-financialization, you have to seek the information out on your own. It’s valuable to have someone in a place like the BBC willing to put the pieces of these narratives together. And willing to remind us of the events that are so incredibly easy to forget even in one’s own lifetime. Abu Ghraib, for instance, which pops up in part 6 of the documentary. That shit happened while I was alive. How often do I remember it? How many American sins get drowned out in the new ones that emerge every day of every month of every year? Or in the stasis that sets in when what was once novel, like the War on Terror or the invasion into our privacy represented by the Patriot Act, fades into regular life?

I was jotting down copious notes while watching the doc, as is my wont. The questions and thoughts that came up, in no particular order:

How do the elites of a given era impose their preferred ideologies? How are the structures of power we grow up with constructed, and how do those go on to shape our behavior?

Control, as it’s practiced by societies in the 21st century, often comes down to the recognition of patterns in human behavior—and their manipulation.

The loss of power, like that which was suffered after the collapse of Britain’s empire or in the slow hollowing-out of America’s manufacturing industry in the 20th century, leads to anger and melancholy that people can’t be expected to abandon. Does doing what you’re supposed to do bring you the happiness you were promised—or anything even resembling that happiness? When we’re living in a historical moment in which the answer is no, as is often the case today, we’ll need to watch out. It’s a sign people are being manipulated and abused.

Over time, the tech industry has come to understand that you can manage people en masse by collecting their data and manipulating the messages they receive in social media activity feeds and advertising—and you can make them feel like sovereign individuals at the same time through the very same means. In light of all this, will there ever be a revolution that actually changes the structure of power we’re currently stuck in? Is there a chance to alter this extreme individualism. on the part of people who are surrounded by political systems so enervated, by the supra-governmental system that is global finance capital—which politicians can’t control, and must appease and palliate—that they can’t respond to phenomena like climate change or meaningfully punish atrocities like wars prosecuted on false pretenses? Or are we stuck where we are, in a world that’s corrupt and exhausted? In nations whose governments depend on technologies of surveillance and myths of consumerist abundance or nationalist glory to maintain power, in the absence of any real vision for the future?

It all leads to some interesting takeaways. For one, the way culture reacts to politics and vice versa. As I was watching Can’t Get You Out of My Head, I was reminded of a conversation folks on the Discord server for the Relentless Picnic podcast had had recently about the strange things Richard Dawkins posts on his Twitter account. And it led me to think: when religious “caring conservatism” was in the White House, Richard Dawkins and his New Atheism, this brash repudiation of religion and its pieties, grew as a counterweight. When Obama and his technocratic regime were in power, with social media bringing on a wave of progressivism in popular culture and algorithms presenting us a fantasy of endless choice—much of which was a thin veneer over the same old shit: banks getting bailed out, forever wars going on, productivity rising while wages stagnated—we also got Jordan Peterson-types who claimed to speak to a human need for narrative, even in this point of stability we had seemed to reach, this recovery of sanity after the chaos that was the Iraq War and the financial crisis; who claimed we needed ideas and myths to animate and drive our lives, because they sensed there was something hollow and mendacious driving all this consumer choice, for all it seemed a symbol of our freedom and progress.

Of course, both Peterson and Dawkins are provocateurs, not intellectuals; I don’t mean to dignify the movements they led much, since in both the appearance of intellectual rigor or moral clarity often covered the indulgence of the worst instincts: immaturity, obstinacy, provocation for provocation’s sake, contempt for women and trans people. The New Atheists had a point, and could be absolute assholes about it; they ultimately could be as fundamentalist and dogmatic as any religious people. As for Jordan Peterson, his actual work, in the way of so many grand theorists, uses the appearance of profundity to cover something ultimately pretty banal. And he’s most known for grandstanding in the public sphere—refusing to use people’s pronouns, the usual conservative shit. But these movements do seem to reflect a countercultural response no less than 1960s counterculture reflects a reaction to the staid culture of 1950s America and the sins it covered up.

Which leads me to the question: what was the culture’s response to Trump’s administration? Maybe QAnon and Russiagate, as conspiracies—that is, actual narratives people inhabit to explain the world’s evils, and not just a vague need for them that they satisfied with Jordan Peterson’s light form of Stoicism or his theories of Light and Dark or whatever the fuck. And in that way, perhaps, once a countercultural movement—namely nationalism and Trumpian populism—actually seemed to have overthrown a regime, of Obama-era liberal technocratic management, culture and politics came to mirror each other, rather than standing in opposition to each other. Both became equally conspiratorial and unhinged; in fact, they merged. All the ruling myths and conspiracies mutate in kind these days: Trump’s garbage about draining the swamp, a cover for Trump and his family enriching themselves and Stephen Miller’s like getting to fashion the state they wanted, becomes QAnon’s garbage about rings of child trafficking and pedophilia and Trump, of all people, being their savior—all while actual trafficking and abuse perpetuated by Jeffrey Epstein and his ilk goes unpunished, Epstein’s death swallowed up by the state without a sound—becomes the liberal pundit class’s screaming about Russia: connections between Trump and Putin that were always conjectural to me, because no one who pled them seemed to feel much need to substantiate them.

Here again I feel like what were once centrifugal forces in our culture—between mainstream and the independent media, for example; between people in power and their critics, either in the media or at society’s margins—have collapsed into a single morass. We’re all in hell and there’s no way out.

In all this, what does Biden’s administration represent? Little more than an interregnum, to my mind. How disappointing to see not even a gesture toward forgiving student debt or raising the minimum wage in these first 100 days of his presidency. There’s been some progress in climate legislation, and progress in putting Stephen Miller’s deportation machine to a halt (though they’re also reopening several emergency shelters to accommodate more minors already being held past the mandated limits for keeping them in the custody of the Department of Health and Human Services’s Office of Refugee Resettlement). But there’s also been such triangulation on policy by the administration and its supporters and such complacency on the part of the media covering the administration, refusing to call them out on or even cover this. And how can the average voter respond but with resignation?

Ever since I read Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus near the start of lockdown, absorbing the picture of the world pre-World War II that’s presented in that book, I’ve thought we’re in the same sort of moment that Mann’s protagonist Zeitblom was in. There’s a crisis that’s passing over this whole planet like a wave or a seismic event, and no human intervention can interrupt it. We can only wait for it to pass—holding on to whatever’s to hand, waiting to see what the world will look like when it’s over.

#adam curtis #documentaries #thomas mann #jordan peterson #richard dawkins #pankaj mishra #the relentless picnic #conspiracy

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lizacstuff · 3 years

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Bölüm 45 asks

Plus a few asks from 44, and one about the fragman for 46