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#objects when in fact they are the absence of something in another object.

toocabaret · 1 year

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I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.

the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.

i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.

BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?

#i would like to point out that none of this is within gerri’s control #it’s like the only thing about herself that isn’t in her control #and that’s how she is sexualised #ironic when romangerri came from j and keiran lmao #succession #sorry long post #succession meta #gerri kellman #romangerri #kinda?#roman x gerri #gerroman #gerriroman #j smith cameron

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deakyjoe · 1 month

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Burnt Cake & Melted Ice Cream

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader

Category: friends to lovers, and they were roommates!

Summary: Gaz returns home from deployment earlier than expected.

Warnings: fluff, kissing, best friends to lovers, reader can’t bake, reader is a bit of a chaotic mess, that’s it I think

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: How am I supposed to pay attention to anything this man is saying when he’s got those big beautiful brown eyes? They’re distracting! Dedicated to @sofasoap who I asked ages ago for advice on this and then never actually got it finished <3

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The cake was burning.

You were blissfully unaware.

Blissful may have been an exaggeration. Unaware was not. In fact, you were entirely too busy cleaning up your living room for the arrival of your best friend and roommate whose plane was scheduled to land in two hours time. You were trying not to panic as you were nowhere near ready to welcome him home and certainly not prepared to leave to go and pick him up from the airport within the next hour. You hadn't even showered yet!

It was a regular thought in your brain about how it was possible for you to make your home such a mess when Gaz was away. It's not like he was regularly doing the housekeeping. But maybe his absence meant that there was no one to keep you in check.

So this happened every time he was on his way home. You'd sweat as you desperately tried to scrub away any evidence of your sinful sloth state while he was away. And hate yourself for leaving it to the last minute as always.

You were knocked out of your hypnotic cleaning state by someone at your front door. Not knocking. Just making a vague scratching sound against the wood. Your first instinct was to attack. In self defence of course. So you grabbed the item closest to you - a bottle of furniture polish.

With the metal tube gripped tightly in two hands, you made your way towards the door where it now sounded like someone was attempting to pick the lock. You desperately tried to remember the moves Gaz had taught you to ward off stranger danger. None of it was coming back to you.

So with the furniture polish held high above your head, and a scream ready to leave your lungs, you waited for the intruder.

You were pleasantly surprised when a familiar face emerged from behind the door and sent you the smile that made the edges of his brown eyes crinkle.

“Hey- what are you doing?” Gaz’s face dropped as he took in your attack stance, gaze flicking over the bottle in your hands back towards your open mouth.

Your hands fell back to your sides, your heart rate decreasing rapidly in relief. “I thought somebody was breaking in!”

“With a key?” He held up the little metal object for you to see.

You sniffed and folded your arms across your chest. “Picking the lock.”

“Ah, right.” He nodded in understanding.

You suddenly realised that he shouldn’t be standing in front of you in your home at that time. "What are you doing here? Your flight isn't supposed to land for another two hours! I'm supposed to be picking you up at the airport!"

Your best friend shrugged. "Yeah, I lied."

You frowned. "Why?"

"Wanted to surprise you."

"But I wanted to surprise you! I baked a cake!”

He unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. “Why did you bake a cake?”

“Welcome home present or something, I don’t know.” You sighed and looked at him properly for the first time, suddenly thankful he was home and healthy. "I missed you."

Gaz visibly relaxed. "I missed you too."

As the two of you embraced with a warm hug, you remembered what state you were in.

You pushed away from him and looked down at yourself. "Shit, I haven't even gotten dressed yet."

He reached out and playfully tugged on the hem of your shirt. "I like you in your pyjamas."

"Not exactly the prettiest sight to come home to though, is it?" You scoffed and slapped his hand away.

He closed the door behind him and kicked his bags to the side. "Do you think I care? I'm just happy to see your face again."

"You've got that photo of me." You countered, starting to walk back to the kitchen.

He followed. "Nothing beats the real thing."

"Well, I can agree with that." You said with a mock arrogant sniff.

With a laugh, Gaz thought about something. "You been wearing that t-shirt I gave you?"

"Yeah.” You glanced away bashfully. “Stole another one from your wardrobe too."

"Why?"

"First one stopped smelling like you." You confessed, stopping in your tracks when the distinct smell of burning hit your nose. You ran towards the oven, switching it off and wrenching the door open. Smoke spilled out in a black cloud. "It's all gone to shit."

Gaz looked over your shoulder. "It's okay. I wasn't very hungry anyway."

You knew he was lying. "You sure?"

"Yeah." He smiled softly at you. "Ice cream?"

You nodded, appreciating how he was sparing your feelings. "Ice cream."

Ice cream was always the solution for the two of you. Bad day at work? Ice cream. Terrible first date? Ice cream. Feeling down? Ice cream. It always worked.

As you pulled the piece of charcoal that was supposed to be a cake out from the oven, Gaz seemed to hesitate at the sight of the ice cream.

“Uhhh…”

You groaned. “What? Don’t tell me we’re out.”

“No, not out.” He paused.

“What then?”

He looked at you with apology in his eyes. "I think our freezer's broken."

“It’s what?!” You gasped, running to his side only to find out that he was correct. Everything in there was very defrosted. Including the completely thawed ice cream which had leaked from its tub into a large melted puddle. “Aw, shit.”

“It’s okay.”

You could’ve cried. “No, it’s not. I just wanted it to be all nice for you when you got home this time and look! I fucked it all up.”

“Broken appliances aren’t your fault.” He swung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close next to him, burying his nose in the top of your head. Physical affection wasn't uncommon between the two of you. It was, in fact, the back-up plan for when ice cream was out of the picture. “Besides, coming home to you is enough.”

“Shut up, Garrick.” You mumbled but didn’t push him away, instead choosing to wrap your arms around his torso to hug him closer to you.

“Let’s just sit down, order some food and watch a movie, yeah?”

“Alright.” You sighed, letting him drag you back to the living room when the two of you collapsed into the pile of cushions and blankets that you had failed to tidy up before his early arrival.

“Did a bomb go off in here or something?” Gaz looked around the room and took in the disarray.

“Was cleaning.” You grumbled into his shoulder. “Wanted it to be nice.”

“Mhm, you said.” He paused. “Do you always do this before I come home?”

“Yes.” You sat up to look at him again. “You deserve it.”

The two of you held eye contact for a few seconds, probably too long to be called platonic but you pushed the thought away. Until Gaz spoke.

"I thought about you a lot while I was away."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the possible connotations behind that broad statement. "I'm flattered. Thanks for taking the time out of your busy schedule to remember your best friend back home. Really appreciate it."

He shook his head. "No, I mean- I mean I thought about you all the time. All the time."

That caught you off guard.

"Really?" You squeaked.

Gaz chuckled. "Yeah."

"Why?" You knew why.

He uttered your name softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. Why did it suddenly feel wrong to touch you? “I think you know why.”

“Say it.”

He didn’t want to be too forthcoming with it. So he settled on something he hoped to be more gentle and subtle. “The thing we’ve always avoided talking about. Even when people imply it.”

“Kyle…” You rarely used his first name. Nobody did. It was reserved for particular moments. You decided this was one of them.

He took it the wrong way. “No, I get it. You don’t feel- that’s okay. I’m sorry for-“

“No, that’s now what I-“ You cut yourself off with a frustrated huff. "I just don't want this to be some fleeting thought you had whilst getting shot at because I'm the closest person in your life."

His eyebrows shot up. "It's not."

“No?”

“No, I promise.”

You watched him for a moment, the sincerity that was pouring off of him. Maybe he was being serious, maybe he truly meant it. You figured there was only one way to test it.

“Kiss me.”

He looked shocked. "Kiss you?"

"Yes, kiss me."

"You want me to kiss you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, Kyle. I want you to kiss me."

He sat up straighter, fixing his posture. "Okay, I'm gonna kiss you."

"You better." You laughed.

"Alright, I'm about to kiss you."

"Just shut up and kiss me, Garrick."

And he did. With one hand on the side of your face, the other on one of your thighs and yours tangling in the front of his shirt. The two of you kissed for the first time. It was long overdue, the both of you knew it as soon as your lips touched. It was sweet, and tender, and almost a little desperate, and it felt right.

The two of you pulled back for air with a slightly shy giggle.

"Please tell me that worked for you. Because it really worked for me." He mumbled, swiping his thumb across your cheek.

“Oh, it really did.” You replied, leaning back in to kiss him again which he was only too happy to reciprocate.

The burnt cake, the melted ice cream, the untidy room, and any previous doubts went forgotten for the rest of the night.

A/N: it’s a crime how long it’s taken me to write for Gaz :(

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charlidos · 21 days

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I keep writing Viggorli fanfiction in my head, sometimes with a little help from Viggo's poetry. I think Viggo uses his art and poetry to express himself, but of course no one but him can know what he was thinking when writing it. But I can imagine. And I wish to imagine he wrote some of them thinking of Orlando. I'm sure my imaginations and theories are only new to me.

As with the O+H painting, the poems which are dated from the time frame of filming LotR (1999-2002) can reasonably be considered to be quite influenced by everything Viggo experienced while in New Zealand. He spent 18 months+ there, after all. For this reason, I read his poem Communion imagining he was also under the heavy influence of love for his elf boy. And to me, it reads like a very romantic but also very wistful poem. So this story would be labeled "friends to lovers, angst".

In my view, at least two sort of objective facts, support my not-very objective theory that Orlando is the unamed object of desire, namely Viggo's choice of words:

"Bloom of compassion" - the most obvious (too obvious even? - or hiding in plain sight?) - it's a common enough word, sure, but in this context, during this period of Viggo's life, is it really a coincidence? It seems to stand out like a neon sign: BLOOM. It's difficult to unsee.

"Anglican doorway" - "Anglican" mostly refers to "Church of England" or the Anglican communion as a whole. But it can also be another way of saying that something is English. And so it can be read as "English doorway", if you wish. Regardless, it certainly leads your thoughts towards England. Furthermore, Orlando was brought up in the Church of England (and born in Canterbury, the place of origin for the church, no less), while Viggo has no known connection to any religion really. It's perhaps not as obvious as bloom, but it's still quite a significant choice of word. Again, in this context, at this time, when we know Viggo spent so much of his time with Orlando.

Here's my interpretation of Viggo's Communion:

we've left shore somehow become the friends of early theory close enough to speak desire and pain of absence of mistakes we'd make given the chance.

The two are described as friends, who have become closer, intimate in words and thoughts. Sharing secrets, fears, feelings. Bordering on something more.

each smile returned makes harder avoiding dreams that see us lying in the early evening curtain shadows, skin safe against skin. bloom of compassion respect for moments eyes lock turns forever into one more veil that falls away

He seems to be having thoughts of them becoming lovers, the veil of "just friends" falling away. But it seems to be still just a dream, a hope. It's such a beautiful image: the two of them, together, intimate, safe. And that "bloom of compassion", maybe V just wanted to get the word in...

this after seeing you last night, first time smelling you with permission: shoulders to wonder openly at as carefully kissed as those arms waited impossibly on. they've held me now and your breath down my back sent away the night air that had me shaking in the unlit anglican doorway.

But seems they've already been intimate, maybe just a first kiss, a lingering touch, holding each other. The "smelling you with permission" implies he's smelled O without permission before. Sneaking a little sniff when in close contact. Inhaling the sweet scent of a beloved friend. If we accept "anglican" as a reference to O, then what is this unlit doorway? Is it just an image of being allowed inside O's private space? And why is it unlit? As in Orlando being from that church, but not believing in its god? Or an opening into this other person which is difficult to find, maybe not fully opened to him.

are we ruined for finding our faces fit and want to know more about morning? is friendship cancelled if we can't call each other anymore in amnesia, invite ourselves to last glances under suspicious clocks telling us when we've had enough?

A worry that sex will ruin their friendship, implying it's not clear what their relationship should be, even after crossing that line. I love that phrase "finding our faces fit", it's both funny and beautiful; finding that when they kiss, they felt a sense of belonging. And that they probably don't want to stop. I'm not sure if he also worries about other people seeing, finding out, being in the public eye. And he worries that they won't be able to talk like they did before, as friends.

your steady hands cradling my grateful skull: were you taking in my face to save an image you've rarely allowed yourself after leaving that cold alcove? am i a photograph you gaze at in moments of weakness?

Again, he seems to feel this relationship only exists in private, in bed. Maybe implying that O regards it as a weakness, these feelings. This part could also be read as if it's him looking back, when the relationship is over, or changed, distanced, wondering if O thinks of him.

you ordered me off my knees into your arms. wasn't to beg that i knelt; only to see you once from below.

The image of V on his knees could both be a sexual thing, but it could also be about worship; that he wants to be on his knees to adore O. But it's also a part of the poem's religious theme; you usually kneal while taking the communion. You kneal to pray.

tried to say something that filled my mouth and longed to rest in your ear. don't dare write it down for fear it'll become words, just words.

The relationship seems fragile, filled with fear of loss. Like he can't say everything he wants to, afraid it'll lead to it ending. There's so much desire and longing, but also so much despair of the relationship being so brittle, that it can fall apart at any time.

Once I read it this way, like with that painting, I can't see anything else. Maybe it's just coincidences, maybe it's just something from inside Viggo's brain (and not connected to reality), maybe it can be read in many other ways. But since my brain is warped, I can only read it like this.

#viggo mortensen #orlando bloom #viggorli #poetry

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hierarchyproblem · 10 months

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I remember a Marxist-Leninist I used to follow on here complaining about how her experience of organising with anarchists as a Marxist-Leninist group was that we argued about the minutiae of decision-making procedure instead of getting on with stuff, and then gave up on the whole project. That sounds superficially like we're basically a politically unserious lot, sacrificing any real achievements for the sake of ideological purity - exactly what Marxists always say about anyone who rejects the "pragmatism" of their Immortal Science.

But I've been exactly that anarchist before in a (theoretically) united front with a Marxist-Leninist group. We anarchists argued about procedure precisely because it became quickly apparent that in the absence of an agreed-upon decision-making process, the two members of the Marxist group would simply decide what we were going to do and run roughshod over any objections or alternate suggestions.

This, of course, had a disenfranchising effect on the unaligned members of our coalition, most of whom hadn't been involved in political organising before! For these people to learn that revolutionary politics meant surrendering their agency and doing what they're told is the last thing we wanted (the Marxists did manage to recruit one of about a dozen to their org though, so I guess they were happy)!

Our inexperience at fighting what was essentially entryism meant we more or less lost the fight for decentralisation; people drifted away as the Marxists kept trying to dragoon people into events centering on their pet issue (which I won't mention because to UK comrades it'll give away which group this was!) but thoroughly unrelated to climate change, which we were ostensibly supposed to be organising around. By the time we gave up on the group after a few months, attendance was less than half of what it was. The disunited front (hah) folded shortly after.

If we were to try something like this again we'd be better prepared, but given how nakedly the Leninists expected to be able to run the show for their own purposes - and seemed confused and irritated when people pushed back on that! - I'd be surprised if we bothered. This was one branch of one group, of course, but this wasn't even a Trot group (which have a reputation for this kind of thing) and I have other stories in a similar vein that I might share another time. The fact is that this kind of behaviour flows directly from the organisational structure of a centralised party, and it kills revolutionary passion stone dead.

#marxism

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harmonysanreads · 2 years

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Waxing Remorse, Waning Candlelight

yandere alhaitham x reader

cw: yandere, isolation, written before character/3.0 release, extremely self indulgent, alhaitham.

wc: 1.1k

A thorn by your side, the stubborn bit of a theory unwilling to cooperate in the making of a revolutionary conclusion during your research, the bane to your mundane solace : you're most certain that you're being watched on. You've never been more sure of a gaze's presence, behind your back when you're scrutinizing the new batch of research journals entering the Akademiya and when a vendor encourages you to test-taste their new delicacy in Port Ormos—it is there, just not when you turn around to address it.

Your suspicion wouldn't have been nurtured either if the same vendor had not abruptly stopped upon your inquiry and proceeded to deny your apprehensiveness with something along the lines of you being sleep deprived ; the claim would've been convincing, too, only if the man hadn't looked as shriveled up as someone with a knife pointed at their throat. Your eyes do not miss and you definitely wouldn't have given up on interrogating the reason had not an unexpected interruption occurred. You see, you don't want to stamp any unfavourable opinion on anyone and definitely not to those with repute. But your morals had been clouded by the dust of the deserts since and you cannot help but doubt your overall safety in the nation of scholars as it seems at every moment eyes burn the small of your back, Alhaitham is present in the picture.

That encounter would replay itself in your mind after events and moments of the past months would mold unto a disappointing revelation and you'd be left questioning what had possessed you to shelter such folly. Then, as though a sandstorm finally passing away would everything start to make sense, make sense why you were already deep within the quicksand, suffocated as it engulfs you further, further and further until you're left with the bitter fact that there is no way out, no one to save you from this pit, from his arms.

The dots that had splayed everywhere would start to connect, the stubbornness of the equation would subdue and you'd finally understand why instead of your request to be transferred to Mondstadt being permitted, you were promoted as the Scribe's assistant. Your anger in that moment would've been far more expressive if you could, oh you don't know, fry the letter tucked securely in the book with unmerciful crackles of electricity as well as this cage of a house—instead, you swallow another rising ire feeling the absence of your vision and paint the forced smile to greet him welcome home ; after all, it's just a useless object before the Scribe's care, you remind yourself the mantra he had whispered to you one too many times.

You'd understand why with time, people steered away from you, seemingly more interested in the floor than your puzzled gaze. When your students, friends, acquaintances and even family members would avoid you like the plague and you'd find yourself returning to Alhaitham's side ; a single comment turning into a literal breakdown—you'd want to slap yourself for leaning towards his comforting touches and words of reassurance because as he had said then, he'd never leave you. Your frustration would amplify for ignoring the edge to his voice and how he had known beforehand of Sumeru's changing attitude towards you.

Though Alhaitham claims human emotions to be confusing, meaningless in the presence of wisdom even—you'd find that hard to believe now, now. If anything, Alhaitham was the one who stirred confusion. For all the talk of mortals being pathetic for their frivolity, he sure can't let go of his attachment to you.

(You don't understand him)

You can see the whirling of his inner conflicts reflected on those windwheel-aster stained irises and perhaps in the past, you'd want to explore his thoughts. But at present, you'd rather freeze in the blizzards of Snezhnaya than to be in his presence let alone help him. You'd not want to sympathise, to hand the pigmented paintbrush to colour his bleak world and you'd definitely not try to understand him ; now. You'd only regret, regret, regret—regret ever speaking to him years ago in Port Ormos, the opening of this tragedy.

And despite having the emotional range of a teaspoon, the Scribe's demands do not soften in the least. The codes have long been engraved on your mind, body and senses ; assist him to get ready for the day and wait patiently in the house like a good wife until he returns, never forget to greet him with a honeyed smile and glazed words of loneliness (Be careful not to make the farce too obvious though, he will pick on and won't let it go.), you're to sit beside him as he works and stay fixated on the moving of his quill regardless of how deep within the night it may be and the chores you'd need to attend to next morning with two hours of sleep (Stay focused, don't venture to the dreamland without his permission.), adhere to his sudden bursts of want that even he can't comprehend, erase your mind and conscience of any thoughts that concern leaving—if you want him pleased and what of your freedom unscathed, by extension.

If he is an emotionless rock then you have to become the colourful, unfortunate flower blooming beside it, to complete what he cannot, to fill the void within him.

And most definitely, you're to overlook the fact that you're caged and chained in a quaint house, robed of all shreds of freedom, existing for the sole purpose because he wants you to. Remind yourself again and again of his fondness and all that he has done and is doing is all for you, your protection, your happiness. You're not to think of anyone else but him (That'd be ungrateful, no?), you're not to look at anyone and anything for long except him (Good Heavens, does it displease him.), your intelligence is to be shared only to him (Please talk more about your views, he's entranced).

You remember asking in a fit of rage why, why he was so hellbent on having you with him, reduced to being a doll of a spouse and perhaps for the first time, the rationality from the nightmare of a man had decayed because, confused he might be on humane emotions, even Alhaitham knew that obsession was not within the bounds of rationality.

Even still, he's unwilling to let you soar and breath in the freedom you so yearn. He's willing to forsake wisdom, rationality ; not you. So you just accept this cage, these chains, these affections, this life, Alhaitham and each dawn when you awake beside the man you loathe more than anything, you remind yourself—

This existence is but one sandstorm cleared only to reveal how far you've sank in the starved quicksand, nothing left behind in petty remembrance ; so, embrace the fall.

basically, part two of ‘when you're x character deprived so you decide to do it yourself.’ and no, I'll probably never shut up about being alhaitham's forced wife.

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the12thnightproject · 3 months

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@echoes-in-the-forest asked: Mr. Tiger of Kai and Mr. Good of War, I need your help. There's this guy I really like, but he won't give me the time of day because he's... Let's just say obsessed with his work. And maybe his boss. What can I do to get him to notice me? I think I'm just a caterpillar in his eyes. Do you have any tips? Please help! 😭 Yours truly, A sad caterpillar

Dear S.C.,

Angel, please, take my hand towel to wipe away your tears. There is nothing more painful to me than seeing someone cry. Now, breathe, take a step back and assess your situation. First, the man. If someone is obsessed with their work, there is likely a reason behind it. Most people do not work to the exclusion of all else-

[Lord Shingen, are you acquainted with the definition of irony?- Moderatelyawesomeninja]

[I am not obsessed with my work to the exclusion of all else, Sasuke. I play as hard as I work. - Takeda Shingen.][In fact, you do, Lord Shingen. I expect the Mitsumono have finally infiltrated the depths of the Azuchi Gazette and the report is ready? ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

As I was saying, Angel, discover why your blind-to-you hero works too hard. Perhaps he is working in support of an important cause or ideal. Do you also believe in that cause? Do you admire him for doing this work? If so, see if there is something you can do to help this cause as well. Having a common cause to talk about may help him see you as a person, rather than as a caterpillar who is interrupting the work.

[Caterpillar… Lord Shingen, I fear this particular caterpillar may be interrupting the work through means far more devious than you think. ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

Is there simply too much work to do? Offer to help take some of the burden off, by perhaps acting as a scribe. He may begin to value your presence. However, Angel, only do this if he is truly overburdened and only if you have the time to spare. Do not undervalue your own time and your own interests.

[Yes. Go sit in the corner with your writing kit. ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

Another possibility is that the object of your interest has indeed noticed you, but doesn’t want to notice you. If that is the case, he is simply working overtime to avoid being with you. You then have two options. One, don’t let him avoid you. Be around him until he can’t help but interact with you. Or two, give him what he thinks he wants, and let him be driven mad by your absence.

[DON’T GIVE HER IDEAS ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

Does he feel that he has some kind of obligation to his boss? That is a harder obstacle to overcome, because he might see interruptions as bothersome. If that is the case, wait until he is not working, and try to get his attention then. At this point you might be asking, ‘how?’ Make him think that you are interested in someone else. Now… normally, I would not advocate this kind of deception, however, in these kinds of cases, a little shock value goes a long way. Find a willing partner, someone who would be happy to pretend an interest in you (might I suggest a rather tall tactician who also is more than happy to flirt for a cause), and make sure that the object of your affection notices you with this new person. If he appears to be jealous or distressed, then congratulations, it is working.

[Lord Shingen, the report was due yesterday. ~ Naoe Kanetsugu]

If however, he doesn’t notice, or seems to be happy for you, then well, perhaps there is something more to the boss-obsession.

But don’t be sad, Caterpillar. It might seem this way now, when you are in the midst of these feelings, but there are other men in the world, men who would be willing to treat you as the butterfly you will someday become. Just… look around. Comfort might be closer than you think. Much closer.

Tiger of Kai

sad caterpillar cocooning self in soft silk someday butterfly

[Cousin, did you perhaps doodle a poem on my response? - Takeda Shingen]

[I may have read the letter and become inspired by it. -Yoshimoto]

[These writers come to us for advice. Your poem is not advice. - Takeda Shingen.]

[Is it not? Did I not convey the exact thing you did, in far fewer words? Note, we both suggested Sad Caterpillar will become a butterfly - Yoshimoto]

[Can we not… mention… butterflies? - Moderatelyawesomeninja]

This is not all that Art of Love has to offer. Check out @lorei-writes for the God GOOD of War’s answer to your question.

Note: text from Kanetsugu provided by @lorei-writes

#art of love #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen shingen #shingen takeda #ikesen kanetsugu #kanetsugu naoe #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen sasuke

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terrence-silver · 8 months

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Terry getting jealous of a guy Beloved meets at a gala, or literally anywhere lol. I’d like to see him getting overprotective and angry 🤭

---

During the afterparties of black tie events, all the gamblers tend to come out.

Champagne is copious and the podium contains ice sculptures and pyramids made out of filled liquor glasses trickling down, like a sparkling fountain. The jazz is loud and blaring as nightgowns shimmy back and forth on the shiny podium. Laughter resonates across the gold lit, music-filled hall of the Ritz's lushly carpeted Banquet Room. A wooden, dark mahogany roulette wheel spins with a gaggle of curious gawking eyes following it's circular motion like a hypnotic carousel and you make yourself at ease in the crowd. When Terry tends to leave, he tends to leave for but a second. His absences as short as they can be and the presence of his vice grip, or at least the shadow of it, so poignant, that even when he's gone, you feel like he's right beside you, lingering to the point you barely even notice you joined the company of people looking at the roulette wheel and that someone was addressing you. -"Wanna help me with a lucky number?"- The suited up man next to the dealer asks, the frilly collar of his black bow tie untied and disheveled. He seemed like he had a couple of extra drinks from the champagne pyramid tonight. You aim for the political correctness of politeness regardless.

-"Oh, I'd rather not. Don't want to be responsible if you hit a losing number."-

You try, apologetically, to shake him off and being as nice as you could about it. Really, in all honesty, the last thing you wanted was to irk an inebriated man in spite of the security detour at all exits or in equal measure be responsible for him throwing money out the window at your personal suggestion. He gives you a lingering look, up and down, like he was assessing you. -"You're Silver's, right?"- He asks, slurring a little and my god, was it that obvious? Like it was stamped on your forehead. The fact is almost amusing. You chuckle. Terry would feel proud at that one, especially considering the possessive noun that was attached to the state of belonging to Silver. -"You know him?"- You inquire, more with the objective of making small talk for its own sake than anything else. -"Who doesn't, c'mon. He's bigger than the economy of Denmark."- The man shakes his head and you quite honestly don't know what to say to that, not wanting to chortle in front of a drunk man, even though, admittedly, the statement was funny was much as it was undoubtedly true. -"So? Suggestion? From a friend's friend to another friend? I can handle a bit of losing, promise."- You sigh at his insistence, capitulating. You supposed it was partially your fault for deciding to tune out from the party in front of the crowded roulette wheel table of all places, but you digressed. -"Okay, if you absolutely insist then; Black. Twenty eight."- You shake your head, managing a harmless smile, watching the man place his bet on the smooth green layout in front of the dealer. The wheel spins.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a familiar arm.

Terry's finger's sneaking themselves around your waist from behind.

-"Quit while you're ahead, Al, all the best gamblers do."-

You feel his chuckle against the back of your spine as he addresses the slightly tipsy guy and you feel instantly relieved and in equal measure, tense. Something about Terry addressing people with sayings and proverbs always carried the scent of danger about it. Like he was giving them an artificially kind piece of life advice with a double meaning before encouraging them to drink some Arsenic. -"Terry! How are you!"- The titular Al extends his hand across the table of chips and dices, shaking hands ardently while Terry's other free arm was promptly slung around you. You knew his penchant for jealousy and you genuinely hoped that you being accidentally (and involuntarily) chatted up by a drunk guy at a party full of people with champagne glasses in their hands wouldn't induce any of his envy, but watching their friendly exchange, you count your blessings. Yeah, they were probably just acquittances and everything was fine. -"I imagine it's my lucky night tonight! I had your lovely companion giving me tips."- Al clarifies gesturing at you, downing a straight shot of Cognac like it was water. Lovely. He called you lovely. You nearly bite your tongue imagining what was going on in the back of Terry's head, envisioning the grinding wheels.

His grip around you tightens seamlessly.

-"Since I see you're already introduced, I might wanna give you your next one."-

Terry's all charm and all smiles, but you sense a backhanded sort of politeness and veiled hostility in that statement, looking around the crowd, wondering if any of the energized faces focusing on the game noticed, finding they were fading into a blur of euphoria. -"Your turn, sir."- The dealer suited up with white gloves announces and you really wanted to get away from this table; while you were never a fan of chatty drunks and you made an endeavor to avoid them and be tactical with them if you could, you didn't exactly think they deserved some terrible fate befalling them merely for making the mistake of speaking to you. Terry did, though. That's exactly what worried you. -"Hit me, baby!"- Al excitedly slaps his hands together, ready for the next round. -"Oh, I'll hit you alright, pal."- Terry interjects and at that point, the alarms are off in your head. God, god, god, no, please. Nothing about those words was actually amicable or well intentioned as they seemed. You feel Terry's fingers practically dig into the fabric of your attire, squeezing. -"Red, twenty eight."- As promised, Terry makes his suggestion, leaning over to Al and dealer, taking note of it, spins the wheel. The dice turns and turns, until it lands on the wrong number and Al throws hands back, disappointed and making no effort to hide it. In fact, his emotional outburst was colorful enough to have people staring. -"Oh, man! Seriously!"-

-"Told you to quit while you're ahead."-

Terry jokes and at that point, you're officially numb with anxiety.

What was he planning?

-"Oh, brother. I need a drink. They're taking the fucking skin off my back."-

Al swipes an exasperated hand through his hair, stumbling backwards and turning around, heading for the bar, the crowd starting to whisper, alerted by his loud display of obscenities. Terry was doing this on purpose. He was, wasn't he? Smoothly talking this guy into acting out and embarrassing himself. -"What are you doing?"- You demand, furiously, whispering into Terry's ear, irked and annoyed once he responds by snuggling closer until his cheek is practically pressed against yours in a possessive, jealous display. No. Seriously. This had to stop. Now. -"The dealer owes me a favor and the owner of the establishment is an old friend."- Terry coos and of course he had connections at places like this. The aforementioned dealer meets his gaze and they nod at each other in mutual understanding and you gulp, feeling uneasy. -"He lost ten thousand dollars because of you, Terry!"- You seethe, whispering. -"So? The price he pays for looking at you like you're something to devour."- He's drunk, you yearn to retort swiftly. He's looking at everyone and everything like it's something to devour. Time's short, though and Al comes waddling back to the roulette table, a fresh drink in hand. Oh, for the love of god. Terry's arm around you is in a vice grip at that point, holding you in place. You dig your fingers into his wrist, but he doesn't budge. You swear you hear him chuckle, in fact. -"Okay, I feel hot!"- Al shouts with a newfound hope for winning and Terry strategically leans over, whispering the next number. -"Black twenty two."- You hear Terry mutter and you dig your nail into his arms, fidgeting to the side, trying to get him to leave this nonsense behind. The wheel spins and Al looses again.

-"No! Seriously!? Again!? Come the fuck on!"- He yells.

You were pretty certain the entire hall was looking at the the man at that point.

-"Terry..."- You try, silently, almost begging, regret lurching in your belly.

-"They're trying to hold an honest gambler down. You gonna stand for that, my man, huh?"-

Terry leans over for, perhaps, the third time in a row, muttering into the man's ear's, dripping in some verbal venom, and it hits you there and then, that to an outsider looking in, it must've seemed like Mr. Silver was trying to de-escalate the situation and talk the guy into calming down, but closely glued to Terry as you were, held unto by his arm, it was blatantly obvious that that meanspirited glint in his eyes was present in his hooded gaze. He was trying to make sure this man gets thrown out of here by security and blacklisted from attending future events, wasn't he?

He was annihilating what he thought was his competition, right?

Of course that's what he was doing.

Terry's hand travels discreetly south until he's touching your thigh and you, in a sense, get your confirmation. He was being territorial. -"Oh brother, the system is fucking rigged! I should've gone to Vegas."- Al starts slurring, antagonized, dropping his drink and spilling half of it over his tuxedo and hissing as a result, throwing his dice aggressively, until it bounced off of the table with a loud clank and landed on the floor. -"They don't want a self-made Industrialist making it big and scoring his slice of the American dream."- Terry quietly encourages, filling this guy's head with conspiracies and you discreetly try to nudge him in the ribs to get him to stop. You got it, okay? You got it! He didn't like people having your attention even if it was for all but five seconds, but this has gone on for too long, with your attempts interrupted by a suited up security detour interrupting he drunken ruckus and placing their hands on the man's shoulders with the intention of leading him outside of the venue, getting his attention with a diplomatic Sir, please, we'll escort you. -"Oh, fuck you, man! Don't touch me!"- He shouts, slinging his shoulder backwards at a futile attempt to throw hands as the security grabbed him, fully willing to drag him, if need be. You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to look at the scene, feeling all of this was your doing. You fault. All of it. Silently, Terry's finger finds your chin and tilts it back, ever so gently, where the gesture might've been mistaken for affection, making you look. -"Let me play! I've a constitutional right to win! The same as those old money Wasps do! Get fucked!"-

The shouting escalates and soon fades.

He's pushed down a back exit somewhere down the corridor.

The hallways echoing with his cussing until it promptly disappears.

The whispering and chatting in the grand hall continues, waiters making rounds.

The gossip making just as many around the stacked bar and the smoking joint.

Terry undoubted got his wish; getting rid of someone who was in your sphere.

Didn't even have to move his tiniest pinkie to achieve that.

-"You did that on purpose. As revenge over him just speaking to me."-

You state the obvious, your voice low and sour. His hand finally lets go of your waist and instead sneaks a feel of your lower back and posterior. You click your tongue, swiftly moving away from the damnable roulette table before he can get too handsy, because the last thing you needed after that circus is him getting horny too, atop of everything, even though you felt it was already too late for that. Him merely influencing someone getting into trouble like this was often enough to get him going, like an aphrodisiac. -"Don't wanna talk smack about him, but old Al's always had a bit of a gambling problem. I had no idea he had a violence problem too."- Terry feigns sympathy peppered with the cutting edge of mockery as he follows suit, behind you, ever the gentleman, adjusting his lapels, his nostrils positively flaring with mirth, leaving you with the only slightest trace of anger in his tone, subdued and buried under layers of sarcasm, coming through like some sort of venomous thing. -"If it puts your mind at ease, I'll have Milos send him a 'Get Well' fruit basket the minute we're outta here."- Terry promises and you were certain he'd do that solely as some sort of elaborate victory dance over some gambling drunk. Worst of all, he'd seem like a nice guy for it. -"Schemer!"- You practically spit when he grabs you ass again and his arms take hold of your shoulders, spinning you around to face him the second you reach a secluded hallway, his eyes close enough to reflect your face back to you like a mirror. -"Oh, deep down, you know you liked it."- He taunts, purring, bearing his teeth in a shark-like smile.

-"You love it when I scheme and don't get caught for it."-

#terry silver #80's terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #tw; manipulation #tw; gaslighting #tw; gambling #tw; jealousy #tw; mindgames #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved

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rosenbergamot · 2 months

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Snail Grian?

ough.... snail grian. grian watch out theres something wrong w those snails!! no but literally the fact that in gem and grians most recent episodes we see that they FALL FROM SPACE ? if not space then at least The Sky but like.... they are from space. they are Not of this planet. like what alien creature is visiting hermitcraft and why does grian always become its favourite thing. i rotate him in my mind. he is experiencing The Horrors and nobody but gem has noticed. anyways snail grian...... he is nothing but a mere idea in my brain but u made me think about him some more so now i give u. this:

Gem hasn’t seen Grian in awhile.

Ever since that day with that silly snail, he’s seemed to have just… disappeared. Fallen right off the map. The dock where he sat fishing is uncomfortably silent, nothing but a barrel full of fish and saddles to prove that someone was there. The lanterns reflect off the deep blue of the ocean when she looks out from the top of her lighthouse; from here she can see the entire shoreline, the way it stretches and yawns across the land. No sign of Grian anywhere.

The others haven’t been around in a bit. Everyone’s been busy, less talkative, nose to the grindstone and all that, and so nobody has noticed the suspicious absence of their fisherman. Nobody but her.

No pesky snail has been eating her lighthouse recently. She sees trails of slime across the shore, where Grian usually paced in the day, but finds no evidence of anything happening near her build. It’s as if the snails had just… moved on-- as if they’d found something else they liked, some new objective, something different to satiate their growing hunger.

What that could be, Gem doesn’t know. She’s been here for a while and nothing but the taste of a player’s carefully crafted build could satisfy them. Even then they never seemed to be satisfied! It was as if they lived only to ruin her day! Now that they’re mysteriously absent… well, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, her breath leaving her in a long sigh. As she makes her way upstairs, she takes a peek through her window to see if Grian had somehow mysteriously made it back.

Just as she expected to see, that snail is at Grian’s fishing dock. The new one. The weird one. It’s bigger than the rest, with a red shell and a habit of crawling slowly up and down the dock and not doing much else. Sometimes she sits there and watches it, feeling a deep seated discomfort with the way it looks so lost.

She wants to go help it. But she won’t risk it. She doesn’t want another snail to try and ruin her hard work.

The snail stops in its tracks suddenly, as if sensing she’s there watching it. It shifts to stare at her, unyielding in its gaze. She wishes she could talk to animals, because that snail is looking at her with such knowing that it makes her stomach twist.

Finally, she can’t handle it anymore, and she turns to go back to her work, leaving the snail behind to do whatever snails do. It’s not like she can do anything for it.

God, she hopes Grian comes back soon…

#snail grian #THE tag now #HAHAH #anyways i wanted to write a little more so thank u for snail grian'ing me #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s10 #rosie writing #i hope u enjoy this image of snail grian that i am beaming into ur brain #gem is like. hm. that sure is Odd #something WEIRD is happening at grians fishing dock #i wonder if anyone is gonna do anything about it!!!

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mehiwilldoitlater · 2 years

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@apple-teaaa take responsability for your own action:

Two times, something fell from the sky on Teyvat: the first time was a small shooting star, that being Reader, and the second time, a huge fire ball that illuminated the shies of that world. For a second, everyone believed that Celestia itself was falling down. What they didn't expect was a strange metal object, larger than the Jade Chamber, that landed not far from the Mondstadt border.

When the day came, and the fire ceased to spread, people were able to get closer to that object, and the first thing that they thought was "what the hell is that thing?" There was no record of something similar. It was similar to the automatons, but still distinct! Some believed that maybe that was another sign that Teyvat was in danger because of the presence of the "Imposter," but no one could imagine what would happen next!

Since no one could figure out how to understand that mysterious object, and no one dared to get close to it, they decided to just leave it be. That was the right time for those who lived inside it to finally get a grip on what was going on.

"Remember , do not interact with them. It's vital for us to figure out where we are. They seem to be far arcaic from the humans that we used to know. " "Seems easy to me ,Prime! They've been avoiding us from day one! " "As much as I share your perspective, Bumblebee, we still need to be careful."

The group of the Autobots, at that moment, consisted of their leader, the small yellow bot, the twins Sideswipe and Sunstreaker , Wheeljack, and the now so focused on the surrounding Bluestreak, were the first ones to finally take the first step outside the Arc, ready to explore that new world. The few things they knew about it were from a few scans from Teletran1, but nothing consistent. The absence of technology in this world provided more difficulties than they believed. The few things they found out were their location across that strange world, the fact that it was populated by humans and some strange creatures, and the mysterious flying object in the sky that was surrounded by a strange force field.

Since they found so little, it was natural for them to finally decide to explore and investigate a little. When the sun fell that day, the small group gathered and finally exited their base. Nothing out of the ordinary; oxygen levels are normal; flora and fauna are similar to the rest of the world, with a few minor exceptions.

"What if they're oxtile, Optimus? ... I mean, you're aware of what Teletran1 informed us about... "

Not only Sideswipe, but many of them remembered those videos. In the beginning, they believed that it was a simple battle, but after a few glances, they realized that it wasn't; what they saw was people trying to murder someone else. They were soldiers. They were used to it, but that never meant that they enjoyed the sight of it. The worst part was that it wasn't the first time. The videos that show acts of pure violence against an innocent were many, and the most cruel part was that it was the same victim.

Their leader stayed silent for a second, then said that he didn't want to act against those acts was a lie...but he knew his priorities.

"We'll do what we must."

In the end, they did what they had to do, which was "scare to death those hunters and save that human who has been persecuted." To be fair, the first one to act was Bluestreak, with a few shots of warning to make those people persist, then it was a big rush to the base. Before their rescue, the reader must have passed out; some of those hunters must have caught them on their head with something; and one of the few things the autobot learnt about humans is that if they pass out, go to Ratchet. So much to not get involved in, uh?

When Ratchet first saw them, he must have almost lost his composure. They were in terrible shape; injuries, scars,infections in fresh wounds, malnetruction, lack of sleep... He saw many wounded creatures, organic and cybrtronian. The reader must have had a hell of a ride, and he'll put himself to work in the second he lays the reader's body on the massive iron table in the medbay. Thanks to the matrix, Firstaid is there to help him, and to force him to just rest.

It's been hours since they've come back to the base, and for hours the voice of an angry Prowl is still echoing on the walls.

"That human is not worth our security!" "So what?! Are you just going to leave them to die?! What kind of mech are you?!" "Oh, don't even start Ironhide! You think it's a joke?! They're criminals, and now we're their complices! " "That wasn't justice! That was cruelty against an innocent! "

Of course, Optimus had the final words, but all of them knew that from that day on, the situation would be different. They knew about their presence now. The only solution was to not worsen their status now.

The only reason why Sustreaker was pissed now was the fact that he was forced to stay in that damn hallway, waiting for their leader to finally reach a verdict, even if everyone knew what he would choose. Lay a glance at the small one, noticing a strange luminous trace.

"You're leeking Bee..." "Uh? No! I'm fine!" "No, you're not! Look here!" "... Wait, this is not mine! ...It's not even energon!"

In fact, at the same time in the medbay.

"Ratchet, you must see this! In this world, organics do not have erythrocytes! They have...it's incredible, is gold!"

When reader woke up, their first intention was just to run away, as they have been all these months, only to be stopped by a giant hand, pressing on their stomach and remarking that their condition wasn't good and starting to walk around wasn't a good idea. The noises that they heard were so familiar; electric sounds from monitors, computers,...wait! Computer?! Did they finally were able to get home?! They survived that nightmare?!

After a good glance at their surroundings and the ones that were now taking care of them, it was clear that they didn't get back home.

During their recovery reader was able to finally talk to someone that didn't want to kill them for once, and explain the situation. It was crazy. First the game that they fell in love with in less than a few weeks, and now the robots from their childhood? It was ridiculous, but at least now they weren't running for their lives. Now the only dificultry was explaining that they knew about the autobots from the media...and not about them saving the day.

Optimus listened, not without a inch of curiosity. "So...we're not real in your world?" "... pretty much..."

You were expecting something like denial or a joke about the situation, but instead...

"Oh! I got it! It's a case of multidimensional pllution! "said Wheeljack, laughing at the whole situation. The eyes of everyone fell on him, far more confused than before.

"Well... sometimes different worlds emanate a certain energy that can interact with other worlds! Some people can sense this energy and transform it into...um..." "... Gatcha game?" It was...the most strange explanation that you ever heard.

"That's sound....fine Wheeljack, but this doesn't explain how Y/N ended up here!" "Bumblebee, Y/N ended up here in the same way as us! ...A WORM HOLE!"

((i’LL CONTINUE IT, I PROMISE))

#genshin impact #transformers #sagau #crossover

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mbti-notes · 11 months

Text

Anon wrote: INFJ here, 28F but questioning my gender identity. My question and its context is kinda NSFW, but has been bugging me for a long time now.

I believe I’m asexual and recently started wondering if I might be aromantic too. A couple of weeks ago, after a make-out session with a queer platonic partner (45M, romantic and possibly demisexual), I realized that looking at my body in the context of what we’re doing turns me off.

A little history here, I’ve always envisioned myself as a guy in my head growing up; I wanted to get gender affirming surgery at one point; and only recently have become more accepting of my body as something that I need to take care of and sustain, and not be cruel and uncaring towards. I also spend most of my time in my head, so my body has always been a cage of flesh and blood to me.

Another thing that also happened to me before is that after having sex with an ex, I felt like my mind was slowly coming back to my body and wondering if I had been the one doing all of the things that I did. It felt very distant, mechanical, and maybe even disgusting? I—or my brain—seemed very critical of what had happened. It was a consensual affair, but it almost feels like my mind dissociated even though I seemed to be enjoying it in the moment.[end of warning]

I thought that these two occurrences could be due to my inferior Se—the magnitude of external stimuli in the moment that needs to be processed—and my Fe in overdrive—feeling what the other person is feeling, because I feel I am very empathic—when I’m remotely intimate/physical with someone. Do you think that could be the case? Is it possible that these two functions contribute to my asexuality and aromanticism? How about gender identity?

I’m also wondering if maybe it is the self-image that my Ni has of myself and my body that doesn’t align with what my body actually looks like. In which case, I feel it’s closer to dysphoria? Is it something that I can work on by developing myself as a person, like in the dev guide? I feel very lost & confused. I’m trying to take the right steps by checking in with myself, talking to my therapist & my qpp, but I’d appreciate any guidance you could give. Tnx & happy pride! <3

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

Happy pride month! You're bringing up a really, really complex issue. Two issues, actually: gender identity and sexual orientation. The fact is there hasn't been enough research about them, let alone research that would link them to personality type. In a lot of ways, mental health professionals are kind of allowing LGBTQ+ people to set the stage for how best to help and counsel them. While empathy and compassion go a long way to ease the pain of prejudice and discrimination, it's hard to find a therapist who really understands this kind of experience unless they've been through something similar as well.

I mention all of this as a disclaimer because it's important to acknowledge that a lot of what we think we know about gender identity and sexual orientation is very much speculative or merely opinion. Because LGBTQ+ experiences have also been heavily politicized into wedge "issues", it's also important to note that the people who speak the loudest about these issues aren't necessarily the ones you should be trusting.

I will start out by stating the fact that asexuality and transgenderism exist. There are studies that reveal neurological differences between allosexual and asexual people, as well as cisgender and transgender people. For instance, asexual people show less attentional and emotional engagement with sexual imagery.

That being said, I am not aware of any definitive and objective way to verify whether someone is actually asexual, aromantic, or transgender outside of what they believe is true about themselves. There are cases of people who come to believe they are asexual because they're operating on an oversimplified definition of it as "not liking sex", or aromantic as "absence of romantic feelings". That can't be the whole story, because humans are very complicated.

The person may or may not actually be asexual and/or aromantic. When you take into consideration the complexity behind why they dislike sex or have no/muted romantic feelings, it could be something seemingly unrelated to orientation. For example: physical or mental health issues; hormonal or libidinal issues; going through religious or moral education that downplayed romance or demonized sexuality; fear of vulnerability; fear of intimacy; insecure attachment; too many negative romantic/sexual experiences that weren't properly processed; having suffered sexual abuse or trauma; etc.

One way to sidestep the either/or trap is by understanding asexuality and aromanticism as a spectrum, where sex drives fluctuate, romantic attraction and feelings ebb and flow, etc. At this time, we take people at their word when they claim to be asexual and/or aromantic. We treat it as a factual statement about their current attraction patterns, sex drive levels, and relationship preferences. But this isn't very helpful for someone who's really questioning their own existence.

As you alluded to in your case, there is a chance it could be more related to personality development issues than sexual/romantic orientation. IF that's the case, developing your Fe and Se functions would eventually lead you to find meaning in emotional connection with a romantic partner and enjoyment in sexual activity. But the word "IF" is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

I'm not a therapist, so I will only speak to type development if you are truly interested in developing Fe+Se and seeing where it takes you. With regard to Ni, a self-image can change and evolve when new experiences allow you to see yourself in a new light. Challenge yourself to build as many strong relationships with people as you can mentally and emotionally manage. It's important that you interact with as wide a variety of people from all walks of life as you can find. This allows you to experience the fullest range of what human relationships can offer you, so it prevents you from drawing bad conclusions from too small a sample of what's actually out there.

In the process of building these strong relationships, you will certainly run into problems. Pause and reflect whenever you meet an issue, difficulty, or conflict in yourself. Inquire into what it really means and what it says about you. Of course, you can ask for help from a therapist about how to interpret your feelings. Use real-world experiences to reveal all the obstacles in your mind that might be preventing you from connecting with people emotionally, romantically, and sexually. If it's possible for you to remove those obstacles, then maybe the issue is more psychological and you are not as asexual or aromantic as you believe you are at the moment, if at all.

To be clear, I'm not advocating for any kind of conversion therapy approach. I'm not saying you have to try to turn yourself allosexual. The main point is that you have to dig really deep into yourself and discover what's really there. As an Fe type, part of that process involves systematic experimentation as a means to learn important truths about yourself -> other people are your mirrors. When Fe is underdeveloped, people don't see themselves clearly and their self-concept can be heavily distorted by unconscious social pressures and expectations. An important aspect of Fe development is becoming fully conscious of social influences, such that you discover the boundary between where you end and others begin. And the most efficient way to learn is through firsthand experience in actual relationships.

With regard to gender identity: Disembodiment is a known defense mechanism, and it's not an uncommon manifestation of inferior Se issues. At the very least, it signals that something's awry when you're using it as an escape. I don't know where you live, but it certainly doesn't help that in Western culture, with its roots in Abrahamic religions and ancient Greek philosophy, there is a rather strong undercurrent of devaluing "earthly" things like the body and viewing the (especially woman's) body as a source of impurity, evil, or imprisonment of the soul. Western culture strangely divides up the mind and body in a way that makes it difficult to feel like a whole and integrated being. This is part of why Westerners get fascinated by Eastern cultures and their more holistic ways of thinking.

If you're serious about exploring gender, then you really have to dig deep into the concepts of masculinity and femininity and everything in between. Gender is largely a social construct but many people don't actually understand the full implications of this claim. Some people think a social construct isn't "real". Some people think a social construct can be easily changed at the snap of a finger. Neither is correct. I'm not going to get into the weeds of gender theory, for that you can consult the recommended books on the resources page. Suffice it to say that one cannot have a proper understanding of one's own gender without considering how the concept of gender is constructed by the society one lives in.

For example: The majority of cultures around the world are patriarchal. If you don't know what that really means, the takeaway point is that femininity has traditionally been underappreciated, even devalued. In a heavily patriarchal society, everyone is socialized to view men as superior and women as inferior in all the domains of life that are considered important to that society. Socializing people like this is about upholding traditional roles and hierarchies from one generation to the next. In the worst cases, women are treated as property or commodities to be used, traded, and abused at will.

Living in a society that devalues your existence, it would make sense that some women would want to disavow femininity or womanhood in order to preserve self-esteem and sanity. After the women's liberation movement of the 1970s, a portion of women understood "feminism" as being equal to men and doing all the things that men do, so they started wearing suits, getting obsessed with careers, and behaving more aggressively. But that was misguided because it meant further uplifting masculine ideals at the expense of the feminine.

As someone born with a female body, viewed as and treated as a woman by the society you live in, it is important for you to go through the process of opening up your mind to exploring and, if necessary, unlearning sexist thinking about what it means to be a "woman". If after having gone through this process of "deprogramming" your social conditioning and releasing yourself from rigid gender stereotypes, you realize that you're comfortable being a woman in a female body, then okay.

However, if you've gone through all that and you are no longer influenced by sexism and you still have no real connection to the concepts of femininity or womanhood, then you can feel more confident in calling yourself something else, something that more accurately captures what you are. You may decide to call yourself man, woman, nonbinary, transgender, androgynous, agender. It's about what fits you best when you think of your gender (or lack thereof). The takeaway point is: You'll only be able to see what you really are when your mind is truly free and clear of all the outside noise that pressures you into being something you're not. This goes back to needing Fe development and being more conscious of your position within society and how it affects you.

Since you're asking for my thoughts, I'll be transparent in offering my personal opinion and you can take it as you will: One of the problems with construing gender and sexual orientation as an "identity" is that it can sometimes become an obstacle on your path to realizing your true self. By putting a label on yourself, you are more likely to feel at peace, discover peers, and feel solidarity with a community - that much is true. But there's also a darker side to it. Sociopolitically, a label means you inhabit a predefined role, you have images and expectations placed upon you by society that you will feel pressured to live up to (due to Ni+Fe), you have a more fixed concept of who you are that could inadvertently cut off your potential for change and growth in meaningful directions. While I understand and support the case for labels and their ability to clarify one's existence, I also believe that labels eventually outlive their usefulness and have to be transcended in order to realize one's full potential as a human being.

#infj #auxiliary fe #inferior se #disembodiment #gender #lgbtq #asexual #aromantic #transgender #ask

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animeyanderelover · 2 years

Text

17/25. This character was suggested.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusions, manipulation, threats, overprotective behavior, violence, abduction

Yandere Caesar A. Zeppeli

🫧He is a hot-blooded and passionate man and once you have successfully caught his interest, he won't stop until he has wooed you. Caesar's past with women is an adventurous one and he is prepared for the certain degree of doubt you'll place on him because of his stupid mistakes of the past. Yet Caesar remains as an individual fitting to be called "delusional" which might just steam from the fact that he's utterly sincere about his love for you. The Zeppeli takes great pride in his ability to love his s/o and is maybe a bit too arrogant which results in him feeling like from all the possible competition revolving around you, he deserves to be your lover the most. What is meant as honestly from his side due to his faith can be perceived as manipulative by others when he elaborates why any other admirer of yours is a absolute catastophe., unworthy of your love.

🫧He had a bit of a rough past where he lost his father so that results in him being rather possessive when it comes down to it. You have to be treasured and loved after all and he plans to devote his everything to you. He's obsessive and takes tremendous pride into it. Caesar seems to know through careful observations so much about you and uses his knowledge accordingly to be the even more perfect partner for you. Because he has your likes and dislikes, preferences and fears engraved into his brain, he reacts hostile when someone tries to present you with an object or situation he knows will intimidate you or make you feel uncomfortable. What a perfect reminder for him why he's the best choice as a lover since he knows how to make you happy. What you wouldn't expect is that Caesar is paranoid under his chivalrous facade. Even if he knows by now the truth about his father, his absence and the loneliness and pain it brought upon him isn't erased.

🫧On a more hot-blooded side, Caesar tends to snap when someone seems to pester his darling a lot. I'd say he tends to look more down at anyone who interacts with you since he's basically trained himself to see with a mere glance at them why they're not suited to even dream about fighting for your love, especially with him as the competition. Jealousy is something he's prone to when he realizes that you enjoy yourself a lot around someone, clearly relaxed and comfortable to share personal secrets. He isn't as petty as to mix a good friendship and romantic interest up but acts of intimacy elicit a jealous reaction out of him. Be it that he suddenly ensures that he keeps a hand on you all the time, teasing flirting that is sure to fluster you or even the rather bold move of kissing you in front of the other person. His occasional passive-aggressive remarks against the person only serve as another way to show his jealousy. He mocks them ever so slightly.

🫧You'd expect someone as utterly gentle as him, someone as focused as Caesar when it comes to you, to be less feisty. Be aware though that this gentleman is only reserved for you and your family since he only wants to impress the people he cares about. Everyone else is in potential danger to be exposed to his hostile and hot-blooded personality. Whilst it is more about mocking and threatening someone who might have an interest in you, Caesar gets particularly violent whenever someone hurts you. He can't tolerate someone who doesn't respect his darling and shows appreciation and especially when someone harms you, physically or emotionally, he goes a little bit insane. Witnessing his s/o in pain feels like a direct fail from his side to protect them and he's nothing short of ruthless to anyone who touches a strand of your hair in the wrong way.

🫧There are two occasions where Caesar snaps. The first one is when his darling is being attacked and he couldn't prevent them from being harmed. It results in paranoia and him suddenly insisting to lock you up and stay with you. His protective side will be triggered in this case and it'll take a while for him to calm down to let you carefully out again yet he will glue himself to your side. He's taking small baby steps really. The second and permanent scenario is the one where you try to leave him which triggers his possessive and paranoid side. It'll end with his heart being broken and potentially scaring you if he snaps in front of you, a mess of betrayal and hurt. Earning his trust after that back will take incredibly long since he doesn't trust you anymore and becomes more controlling. He'll revert back to his usual doting self as long as you don't try to reject and run away which would only give him more heartbreak.

🫧Caesar rushes things a bit which you will notice very soon. After only a few months of dating, he's already asking you to move in with him and it won't take incredibly long for him to want to get married either. I see him being similar to Anasui in the sense that he wants your parents blessing to have your hand in marriage. Caesar's interest goes even deeper though since he'd like to maintain a good relationship with your family, especially your parents. He simply respects them. Charmer through and through, it shouldn't be a surprise that he's constantly showering his s/o with affection, romance and love. Lavish gifts such as clothes, jewelry and whatever he knows will satisfy your want. Constant poems of his devotion and love dedicated to you.

#yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo no kimyou na bouken #yandere jjba #yandere jojo #yandere caesar #yandere caesar anthonio zeppeli #yandere caesar zeppeli

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psychocharlie · 8 months

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Electric Dream Machine 2.0

Disclamer: the song I used here is NOT mine. The song is called Kill you by Dethklok. All rights to the song belong to Dethklok and Brendon Small. Please don't throw me in Mordhouse's secret prison for this, I used it just for fun. The post with song lyrics is here and the previous AU post is here.

The day after that conversation about Uncle Jack, Charlie doesn't show up at Paddy’s. Dennis thought he had managed to calm him down and put the matter to rest, but apparently it didn't go as smoothly as he'd hoped.

When Dee asks about Charlie's absence, Frank shrugs and talks about trying to get him out of bed, but he didn't want to go and said he'd stay home in bed. And in fact, the oldest member of the gang assures him, he's been kind of weird and moody lately, and even stopped playing Nightcrawlers. A heavy sigh completes the last words, and Frank's frustration is visible to the naked eye.

– Anyway, – he continues, – I figured I'd better leave him alone, the guy deserves a day off.

Mac rushes to go check on his best friend, but Dee stops him:

– Where the fuck you going, asshole? Frank said our guy's in a bad mood today and you got the empathy of a toothpick.

– YOU THINK YOU BETTER, BITCH?! – Mac is outraged, he immediately turns to yelling, and the usual Gang’s bickering begins. Dee retorts that, unlike Mac, she has no plans to go bothering Charlie, who just needs to be left alone for today.

Dennis watches this silently with his arms crossed over his chest. Yes, he wants to see Charlie. Yes, he needs to find out how he's doing and try to calm him down somehow. But he's already too wary of spending too much time with Charlie, especially for Mac. Mac is possessive and jealous of everyone. He’s jealous of Charlie because he's his best friend; he's jealous of Dennis as his roommate and, almost obviously to Reynolds, as the object of his unrequited crush. And because of his jealousy, he becomes increasingly unstable. So Dennis didn't want to provoke him any further and kept quiet.

– Will you two just shut the hell up for a second?! – Frank didn't often raise his voice, but he was really tired of Dee and Mac's pointless arguments, and his concern for Charlie seemed to get the better of him. – You two are just going to piss him off, so unless you want something thrown at you on the way in, stay out of it. – Frank stops talking for a moment, opens a beer can and turns to Dennis. He takes a big sip and looking at him a little too intently. – If you want to go and check him out, let Dennis go. You have a strange way of calming him down, – the man says that words directly to him, – maybe he'll even want to join us at the bar afterwards.

And that's it. This is exactly what Dennis was waiting for, without interfering in the Gang's arguments. That things would somehow work out so that he would be sent to Charlie's and he wouldn't look suspicious in his concern for the janitor.

– Yeah, you're right, I'll go see him.

Only Mac explodes with resentment again, like a kid who's been robbed of his candy.

– But Charlie's my best friend!

– Nobody takes your best friend away, you prick. - Dennis snorts and heads for the exit, thinking that he should do something to distract Mac before he gets even more irritated.

***

When Charlie hears a knock at the door, he hesitates to open it, and Dennis stands under the door for another five minutes, knocking and begging Charlie to open it. He finally gives up and lets the visitor in, but immediately returns to his couch without even looking at him, muttering «don't bother me» instead of saying hello.

A very peculiar picture appears before Dennis's eyes: Charlie, wrapped in a blanket, sits on the edge of a couch that looks like a battlefield, with a synthesizer and a coffee table piled high with some junk. On the table are two half-empty cups of what looks like very strong brewed tea, empty beer bottles, an open can of glue, a can of spray paint with a sock on it, and most importantly, a notebook covered with incomprehensible scribbles and crooked drawings. Charlie was writing something down, but no one could make out his notes but himself. Well, maybe Artemis, if she's lucky.

Dennis looked from the messy table to Charlie himself, disheveled, unwashed, with red, watery eyes and a face stained with colored markers. Charlie Kelly had always been known for his disregard for personal hygiene, but now he looked as if he hadn't washed his face since he was born. And he was clearly wasted from the chemicals and alcohol.

– Hey, buddy, what are you doin–

– Shh! Shut up, and let me work, I told you! – Charlie shushes him and starts tapping his fingers on the table. Not paying any attention to Dennis anymore, he mumbles something to himself, barely audible. – I don't want to...have to...kill you.

Reynolds can barely hear anything, and he moves closer, listening to his friend's faint murmurings. – They'll fnd out... I... feel blue, – Charlie slurring some words and quickly sketches something incomprehensible and schematic in his notebook, lest he forget.

– Are you writing a song? – Dennis connects the dots, sits down on the couch next to his friend, and gently touches his shoulder. But Charlie, lost in the creative process, seems to have forgotten that he's not alone, because the touch startles him so much that he jumps up, screaming.

- I'm sorry, man, it's okay, it's me. It’s just me. – Dennis frowns, a little startled by this sudden and intense reaction, and moves away from Charlie so as not to stress him further. The disheveled man still doesn't answer the question, instead he brings the jar of glue to his nose and inhales a few times. He hands the jar to Dennis, grumbling to himself that he can't think of a follow-up.

Dennis resignedly accepts the glue, closes his eyes and breathes deeply over the jar, trying to ignore the swarm of restless thoughts in his head, mixing with Charlie’s quiet mumbling.

– Like to take all the skin off your face.

Dennis opens his eyes and places the glue on the table. His hands are shaking. He seems to got out of huffing glue, which is why his head starts spinning so quickly after just a few minutes of deep breaths he makes over the glue jar. And the dizzy head makes the whole thing even more surreal.

He looks at Charlie: his movements are jerky, sometimes he taps his drunken fingers on the synth keys, playing something, but he's displeased – «no, no, no, not like that, it sounds like shit!» – and he looks like a big sad moth under his old brown blanket. – Like to take all the skin off your face.– He repeats it again, picks up the melody, and finally seems to find the right sound, because a triumphant smile lights up his face. He plays the melody again, repeating the same line a third time, tasting it.

Mesmerized, Dennis watched the process, no longer interfering. There's something beautiful about this spectacular sight.

– Like to smash all your... brains, – Kelly continues to mumble, scribbling crooked letters in his notebook, but this time he has some difficulty. – Like to smash all your brains... all your brains... Shit! – man slams his fist on the table, unable to find the right words, and the beer bottle falls and breaks. But the sound of breaking glass suddenly evokes some interesting associations in Dennis.

– Like to smash all your brains with a... vase? – Dennis asks quietly, touching Charlie's hand with his fingers to get his attention. His touch is as gently as possible. The janitor's eyes widen, and he stares at Dennis for a few seconds, his pupils so damn dilated that his eyes seem almost black.

– Like to smash all your brains with a vase. – He repeats Dennis' sentence twice, tastes it on his tongue and nods contentedly. – Yeah, yeah, that's good!

After that, Charlie stopped seeing Dennis as a stranger and even perked up a bit, allowing him to join in the creative process. Lines are written, fanciful pictures are drawn in Charlie's imagination, a simple but appropriate melody follows the words, and Dennis feels like he's stuck in one of his strange dreams. The pictures Charlie's imagination paints are both strange and bloody. It's unlikely, Dennis thinks, that he himself could come up with an epithet about a fly laying eggs in a dead body, but Charlie, with his abstract imagination and strange ideas, does, and Dennis really likes these macabre line.

He gives in to the urge, and during the simple playback between these lines and the next, he jumps off the couch and dances around singing «Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah!» like those old glam rock songs he used to listen to in college. Well, not just in college. He still likes to listen to good old Guns n' Roses, Kiss, Mötley Crüe, Queen and of course his main idol since he was a teenager – David Bowie.

And Charlie, unexpectedly, appreciates the impulse, nods enthusiastically and smiles at Dennis, letting him know that he'll leave it in the song. Later, Dennis adds a few more «danceable» moments to Charlie's lyrics in the same way, enlivening them and giving the otherwise somber lyrics some drive. But the author himself doesn't mind, he starts to have fun either, even though he continues to pour his anger into the lyrics. And Dennis belatedly, but still realizes for whom and what about this song is written.

He does, but he keeps distracting wasted Charlie with more cheerful melodies. Kind of therapeutic, huh? There's a reason Dennis studied psychology. It works.

Charlie's song is creepy and bloody, but not in a realistic body horror way, but in a cartoonish way: absurd in its cruelty and non-obvious methods and instruments of murder. The mere desire to break his face with ice cream cone is worth a lot. Weird, cartoonish, but undeniably violent. For some unknown reason, Reynolds finds Charlie's out-of-the-box thinking very inspiring. And the whole situation - writing a song together, Charlie, gloomy and now cheerful, glue, spray paint, beer, disheveled hair, dancing together – it all seems so vaguely familiar to Dennis, as if it had all happened once before... a very long time ago. But it all feels so pretty familiar. He's sure he's seen it before.

– Oh, that was a great song, man, –Charlie says, almost falling on Dennis due to the amount of inhaled chemicals and beer in his bloodstream. But at least he's quite happy now. – Thanks for helping me out. I like the way it turned out.

And then Dennis remembers why this moment seemed so familiar. Years ago they had written and even performed Dayman in a similar way. Oh shit. – Yeah, that song is real rock 'n' roll, man, you're a talent! Too bad Electric Dream Machine doesn't exist anymore, we could even play it on stage.

– Noooo, – mooed his friend, already half on his shoulder, shaking his head languidly from side to side. – No one can hear this song. Only you. You know why. You know. – Charlie's voice becomes more and more slurred as he slowly falls into a sleep of exhaustion and glue.

The smile fades from Dennis's face, erasing any trace of his former mirth. The song, though it was catchy and fun despite its somber lyrics, still reflected real emotion, serious emotion, and was a heartfelt wish from Charlie for Uncle Jack, who totally deserved it.

When Dennis looks at Charlie again, he is already asleep on the couch, hugging the blanket with a silly smile on his face. At least that makes Dennis happy, at least he's not dreaming about something creepy and bloody. He finds another blanket on the floor, covers Charlie and moves the junk-filled table and the synthesizer away from the bed so that his friend won't knock it all over when he gets up to take a leak. Then he leaves quietly.

***

– Hey, Dennis, did you go see him? How's he doing? Still won’t leave the house?

Of course, Reynolds is greeted with questions when he comes back. He calms everyone down by saying that Charlie is better now, but he fell asleep, which is why he didn't join him at Paddy's. The gang is somehow satisfied with this answer and he's left alone.

But Dennis still has some lines from Charlie's new song running through his head. And he can still see his friend's sleepy but momentarily serious face repeating «You know why. You know». And then Uncle Jack's face appears. Deep in his thoughts, the man doesn't notice that he's humming.

– I don't want to have to eat you

I won't fit into my swimsuit.

– What are you singing there? – he's called out by Dee, who's already slowly getting ready to go home.

– Mm? – Dennis flinches in surprise and shakes his head. – Nothing, just a song, Dee. Just a song.

Dee shrugs and just walks away while Dennis stares at her leaving for a long time. Then he turns around and goes into Paddy's office, locking the door behind him. There he goes through the drawers for a long time, goes through old newspaper, takes some, also takes scissors, a sheet of printer paper and starts to cut something out.

After a few minutes, he has a crooked inscription made of different-sized letters cut from newspaper headlines, which says: «I know what you did».

#iasip #charlie kelly #dennis reynolds #serial killers au #charlie and dennis are murder buddies #charden #headcanon #Dethklok – kill you #songfic

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pray4jensen · 1 year

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i wish jensen would stop changing his opinion on the finale every time he’s in front of a new audience. Today he said that there was nothing he would change, he could only sing it’s praises. And I’d like to blame Jared but Jared didn’t have any input. I just don’t feel like I can ever trust jensen not to appeal to any given audience 🫤

i don't think jensen really has a choice. it's his job and he can only talk about his opinions so long as it doesn't majorly offend anyone. and he'll only be in a job as long as he keeps things in balance.

it sucks, truly, but there are consequences for speaking up, especially in his position. he also wants to keep going with the spn universe. he has big plans, and he won't get to carry them out if he alienates a good portion of the show's fanbase. something that makes spn so attractive as a business is that it's kept a dedicated base of fans who are willing to spend a lot of money. spn has never been the most popular show, but its fans are dedicated in ways that most shows can only dream of. more fans are willing to watch the winchesters, for example, than jared's walker. because all jared's done post-finale is alienate the dean fans, and the cas fans, and the destiel fans. jensen, for the most part, has done none of that.

people are ambivalent about jensen whereas misha and jared have fans that are really black and white about their passion for them, and that's because jared and misha are really outspoken. jensen's always so careful with his words and the fact that he hasn't exactly shown a neutral face post-finale speaks a lot more about what his real thoughts and feelings are, rather than when he answers con questions where the audience is often very particular in the way they think/feel about the finale.

when he talks about the finale, he's very careful. he said it made good television. and objectively, that's true. look at how hysterical it was for all parties involved. it riled up everybody. people are still talking about it. that's actually quite a feat. and that's usually what the companies behind producing these series think is good television. that's what's going to convince these companies to go for another spin-off or reboot or movie.

he said dean wouldn't have been able to go on if sam died. also objectively true. because cas was also dead. it would've looked bleak as hell for dean.

jensen at the end of the day never lies tbh. but sometimes he withholds certain truths. like how he doesn't mention cas' absence in a room full of fans who probably hate cas anyway. the fact that he doesn't mention cas doesn't mean that he doesn't think cas' death wouldn't have affected dean too. it doesn't mean that jensen doesn't think it wouldn't have been a major factor for dean's ability to continue if sam died too.

just because it's unsaid doesn't mean it isn't true.

he's always been very honest when asked about what he would've done if cas came back (a hug, a desire to address the confession). and when asked what dean probably would've done if he'd had more time to respond to cas' love confession, he was also very honest (dean would've said i love you too).

so at the end of the day, he's never said directly that he liked the finale and that he was happy about how it ended (that's a very personal opinion to express and that's just inference that certain fans have picked up). but what he has done is make very neutral and very objectively honest statements about it that keep fans dedicated to the show.

he's not changing sides. he's not changing his opinions. he's just being very very careful while telling the truth.

#boredombabbles #ask #anon #i think everything he's done post-finale #has been one long diabolical plan for revenge #it sounds insane but really that's what he's done #actions speak louder than words #i wouldn't pay too much attention when he makes very neutral statements like this #and it's probably exhausting for him tbh! reining it in all the time #i think if he truly truly spoke from the heart about what he thinks #everybody would know it immediately #and he'd also lose hordes of fans unfortunately #i can't even answer an ask without being neutral #unless i want to lose a bunch of followers #i don't want to imagine the hit he'd take if he straight up was like 'i hated that!!! i hated everything!!!'#he's in a really tough place #and i really do think he's trying to do the best he can in that situation #even if it might feel morally ambiguous

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robininthelabyrinth · 2 years

Text

Tricks of the Trade - ao3 - chapter 6

- +1 -

Jin Guangyao had lived a largely unfortunate life. Between the circumstances of his birth and the travails of his childhood, he was used to encountering bad luck and misfortune whenever he went, some of it even self-caused…and yet, ever since he had fallen for Lan Qiren, his fortunes had unaccountably turned good.

Most recently, for instance, there was the fact that he was in the Cloud Recesses when Wei Wuxian decided to crash the party being held in Jinlin Tower, publicly confront Jin Zixun, and then blow up the entire cultivation world by raiding a work camp to steal away the remaining members of the Wen sect, killing or injuring some Jin sect guards while he was at it. Not only did his absence mean that Jin Guangyao did not have to deal with the actual event itself – he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from trying to intervene and saying something, no matter how much he knew it was a bad idea, and it probably would have just pissed off everyone involved, not to mention his father – but he was also simply too far away to be pulled into dealing with the consequences.

And there were so many consequences.

Jiang Cheng was naturally too close to the situation to be trusted as an objective voice, everyone knew how close he was to Wei Wuxian – and some of those rumors Jin Guangyao’s father had tried to plant about them being at odds, or Wei Wuxian not respecting Jiang Cheng’s authority, back during the Phoenix Mountain hunt suddenly made a reappearance, not to mention a great deal more sense – but to everyone’s surprise both Nie Mingjue and, even more surprisingly, Lan Wangji came out to publicly and strongly advocate in favor of an objective investigation of the facts.

It was a stunningly aggressive posture, suggesting as it did that those testifying as to Wei Wuxian’s behavior, all people from the Jin sect whose testimony Jin Guangshan had accepted, were liars and up to something nefarious; Jin Guangyao scarcely believed that anyone had dared to declare it out loud. It was only just barely possible given the people involved, and even then it was amazingly risky. If Nie Mingjue hadn’t just been the commander of the entire Sunshot Campaign, and a sect leader of an extraordinarily powerful sect, currently rampantly ascendant, with unshakable loyalty from his sect disciples and no reason to get himself involved – if Lan Wangji hadn’t had such a pristine reputation as a war hero of unquestionable integrity and extreme competence, famous for being a perfect gentleman, refined and scholarly, and an obedient devotee of his sect’s strict rules – if they hadn’t both made their declarations separately from each other, under such circumstances that they could in no way have be said to have conferred on the subject in advance –

Change any one of those, and it would have been an utter disaster.

Nie Mingjue was a Nie, from a family line known for qi deviations; it wouldn’t have been too hard to imply that he’d simply lost his mind and use the incident to strip away some of the power his glowing reputation had accrued to his sect – but the Lan had no such history, and Lan Wangji himself was renowned for his clear-sightedness and ability to keep a level head under any circumstances. Lan Wangji, in turn, could have been cast as simply naïve, out of touch and too inclined to extend the benefit of the doubt, to forgive even those that ought not be forgiven like those few remaining Wen – but Nie Mingjue was notorious for his deep and abiding hatred of all people surnamed Wen, and moreover for his ruthless and hardnosed practicality; no one could believe he’d been conned into extending forgiveness. And because they had spoken separately, Nie Mingjue first and Lan Wangji next, there could be no allegation that this was simply some blown-up inter-sect scheme on the part of some of the Great Sects to undermine another, even assuming that people could be led to believe such a thing about the painfully straightforward Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji to begin with.

Naturally, Jin Guangyao’s father was furious.

Jin Guangyao was summoned back from the Cloud Recesses immediately – he made his apologies to a still-convalescent but significantly improved Lan Qiren, who looked worried about him – and the second he arrived, was promptly scolded quite viciously by his father for allowing his sworn brotherhood to outweigh his duty to his family. The lecture was entirely uncalled for, since Jin Guangyao had had nothing to do with the entire situation, had gotten his father’s permission to go in the first place, and probably wouldn’t have been able to do anything differently about it anyway, but it was plainly clear that his father had no interest in fairly apportioning things like credit and blame.

Jin Guangyao didn’t say anything, just bowed his head and accepted it. What else could he do?

In the end his father dismissed him in disgust, instructing him to continue with all the things he’d been previously doing – of which the only one of any importance that he was still allowed to work on was hunting down any other cultivators that had managed to work out some of the secrets of Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation, since it was clear that Wei Wuxian himself would be utterly intractable.

Jin Guangyao was perfectly aware that his father’s motivations in doing all of this was to obtain Wei Wuxian’s extraordinary power for himself, but it hadn’t been said explicitly; if one wanted to, one could lie to oneself and think that all these people were being collected for the purpose of heightening the Jin sect’s understanding of the threat that the other man posed. That was certainly the lie Jin Guangyao intended to use if anyone asked him about it – and anyway, due to him having been too busy with first the Phoenix Mountain hunt and then helping his sworn brothers, he was rather late to the entire thing. Unlike some of the others involved in the project, he’d only found a single potential candidate: Xue Yang, a delinquent from Kuizhou, a noxious brat that was barely out of childhood.

If Jin Guangyao wanted to get his father’s attention and approval, what he should do was double down on showing that Xue Yang could do what he claimed he could, and that meant getting him test subjects to work on, dead corpses and newly-dead besides. In truth, he needed to do something extraordinary after the ‘failure’ that was his poorly-timed visit to the Cloud Recesses – his father was displeased with him, and as a result Jin Guangyao was being iced out of everything. He was no longer welcome in strategic discussions, banished from any work that involved Jin sect secrets, and even his mere presence was now only barely tolerated at family dinners. His father had even started talking about bringing another child back to recognize and give the name ‘Guang’ to, just to show how unimportant such a thing was, only – and here he always paused with a sorrowful look – it really did seem like too much effort to go to when those children raised outside of Lanling were so unskilled and unhelpful, and would be merely a burden on the family.

As if the Jin sect would notice a thousand such burdens.

Oh, yes, Jin Guangyao knew what he should do. His father was clearly hinting at him that he needed to see results, and fast. Normally, Jin Guangyao would be straining at the bit at the mere hint of a chance to redeem himself…but he was having some trouble getting the motivation together to do it. Perhaps it was the dispiriting hypocrisy of his father’s lecture, which had obviously been just blowing off steam but so incredibly pointless that it was hard to justify, perhaps it was the contrast between Lan Qiren’s obvious regard for him and his father’s disdain…either way, Jin Guangyao went through the motions of fulfilling his father’s request, because he couldn’t not, but he didn’t go out of his way for it. Xue Yang got his corpses and his newly-dead, yes, but he got them in small numbers from shady deals in the marketplace, bribing graveyard men, and not, as the little monster had suggested with relish, from slaughtering a few inconvenient dissenters in smaller sects that no one would listen to.

Jin Guangyao’s father had liked that idea. Jin Guangyao had seen it on his face that he did – but if Jin Guangshan wanted Jin Guangyao to commit outright murder, an act that even Lan Qiren might have trouble forgiving him for, then he would need to make that crystal clear, and to make the benefits that came with having done so outweigh the disadvantages. Jin Guangyao liked to be of service, liked to make people happy, and naturally yearned for his father’s approval, but he found that he liked far more caring for someone like Lan Qiren, who could be querulous and tetchy and downright ungrateful at times but begrudgingly sincere in his thanks, than he liked pleasing his father, for whom there seemed to be no real pleasing.

No, he wasn’t going to mess up the relationship he actually liked in favor of one he had started to need less and less, or at least he wouldn’t without an explicit order. As a result, instead of reacting to being iced out by fighting even harder than before for his father’s approval as he would have done before, Jin Guangyao, for the first time in his life, just…coasted.

He’d never done it before. He was, he knew, a painfully ambitious man; he schemed as easily as he breathed, and he simply didn’t have the personality to sit back and relax while things were happening around him. But he had a spiteful side to him, too, a resentful and angry side even if he expressed it through small jabs in the dark instead of something more like Nie Mingjue’s straightforward anger, and he expressed it now by pointedly focusing his efforts in other directions.

For instance, setting up a meeting between Lan Qiren and Su She.

That seemingly simple task actually turned out to require rather a great deal of effort. Su She was quite reasonably nervous about the possibility of it being some sort of trap, given the Lan sect’s overall dislike of everything he’d done since he’d left them behind, and while he trusted Jin Guangyao, their relationship was fairly new and on unsteady ground; he very clearly didn’t know how far his trust could take him, and that meant Jin Guangyao had to ensure the meeting had all sorts of security measures to give him comfort. Meanwhile, Lan Qiren was very firm about not wanting it to be an official meeting or even a known one, since he wasn’t planning on telling anyone in his sect what he was about until after he’d accomplished his goal – he’d stressed to Jin Guangyao how important it was to make clear that he was acting in his personal capacity, not as representative of his sect, and that he would have no authority to make any promises at all – and that meant Jin Guangyao somehow had to arrange for the meeting to be private and secret, but not so much so that it would raise Su She’s suspicions. This was further complicated by Lan Qiren’s recent illness, from which he had now recovered, but which had made his entire sect flutter around him like terrified butterflies, determined to keep an eye on him lest he get sick once more…

It was a good way to divert his brain for a while, and in the end Jin Guangyao managed to pull it off.

Su She arrived first, well ahead of the meeting time, looking visibly nervous and upset, but Jin Guangyao was able to appease him (and keep him from fleeing, as he very clearly longed to do) and distracted him with a plate full of his favorite snacks, particularly featuring a type of incredibly addictive semi-spicy nut mix that Jin Guangyao had first encountered back in Yunping and had used to great effect since then. Lan Qiren was next, arriving with dignity (and no little exasperation, having clearly gotten to the point of threatening to get rid of his accompanying retinue by beating them off with a stick), and he nodded regally to Jin Guangyao in greeting.

Jin Guangyao saluted in return, then went in to make introductions before politely absenting himself.

While they were talking, he wandered through the gardens not far from the pavilion where Su She and Lan Qiren were having their meeting, making sure to keep a purposeful look of thinking very hard on his face to ensure that no one tried to pull him into doing any other type of work. In fact, he was thinking very hard, only the subject of his thoughts was, as it so often was, Lan Qiren.

Specifically, their manner of greeting. A nod like that was a perfectly normal sort of greeting, perfectly appropriate between people of two separate sects and two separate generations who were on good terms with each other; it was even the sort of greeting you would expect to see within a sect, the precise sort of way Lan Xichen greeted Lan Qiren as well. They weren’t commoners, after all, you couldn’t expect them to greet each other every time with an embrace the way the brothel girls in Yunping had greeted each other – no, sadly, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? If Jin Guangyao wanted to get more of that delightfully addicting feeling of Lan Qiren’s arms tight against him, he would need to scheme for it the way he’d schemed for all the others. Naturally, of course, he couldn’t repeat himself too often, or else he would allow there to be some room for suspicion…how else could he make it work, anyway?

Jin Guangyao amused himself for a while in trying to think of scenarios, ranging from the more likely to the absurd. Perhaps he could conjure up some urgent reason where they would need to hurry to the site of some emergency, only for whatever reason Jin Guangyao would be too weak to fly on his own sword, leading to Lan Qiren offering to allow him to fly with him on his. The older man would be very officious about it, considerate of Jin Guangyao’s dignity and not wanting to offend, but at the same time stern and inexorable, pointing to the extremity of their current circumstances and insisting that they had no other choice but to go together. Jin Guangyao would find a way to gracefully yield, and then they would fly side-by-side on Lan Qiren’s sword, Lan Qiren’s arms wrapped around Jin Guangyao for the sake of balance the entire way there…of course it would be equally good turned the other way around. If Lan Qiren’s illness took a sudden turn, for instance, or if he felt unusually dizzy, Jin Guangyao could be the one insisting that they fly together, able to pretend that it was a demand purely driven by his concern for his elders.

In yet another daydream, he could pay some shameless person to make a rude fuss during a banquet, demanding that Lan Qiren drink a toast – Lan Xichen had told Jin Guangyao about their family’s notoriously poor tolerance for alcohol, and Jin Guangyao hadn’t been able to help but pry a little, discovering, to his glee, that Lan Qiren apparently became exceptionally enthusiastic when drunk, not hesitating to pin people down in order to insist that they listen to his lectures. Jin Guangyao wouldn’t mind being pinned down in the slightest, and he was sure he could lead Lan Qiren into giving him a few hugs in the process – if he felt especially daring, and they were alone, he might try to see if he could convince Lan Qiren to try to pull him into sitting in his lap. How delightful that would be! Lan Qiren’s arms pressed against his sides, his chin on Jin Guangyao’s shoulder, his breath in his ear as he explained some rule or another…

Or perhaps he could convince Lan Qiren to go to the high mountains with him on a night-hunt, just the two of them on their own again, and if he timed it right perhaps he could contrive for them to end up there during a blizzard. Lan Qiren was too powerful a cultivator to be overly bothered by the cold, of course, but his health was still poor and there was also Jin Guangyao’s own low cultivation to be thought of – it wouldn’t be too hard to look pathetic and bedraggled enough to render plausible a suggestion that they huddle together closely for warmth. If the blizzard were bad enough, Jin Guangyao might even try to claim that his sword flying skills were insufficient to rise to the challenge; instead, he would suggest that they take shelter at some nearby home or cave. And then, naturally – as it went in all the stories – it would be necessary to pile their beddings together and strip down to their inner layers and cover themselves together in order to preserve heat, pressing up close and tight together to not let escape even the smallest hint of bodily warmth –

Jin Guangyao noticed that his cheeks had gone hot and quickly hastened over to a pool to splash some water on them. He could not be seen to be blushing in public. Who knew what people would say?

Of course, putting all those other scenarios aside, there was always the most absurd scenario of all, which was that Jin Guangyao could simply invite Lan Qiren out for a nighttime walk to enjoy the sights of Jinlin Tower and admire the moon together. Having seen Lan Xichen under similar circumstances before, Jin Guangyao had no doubt that the sight of Lan Qiren by the light of the moon would be little short of spectacular, the darkness of his hair a sharp contrast to the whiteness of his robes, the contrast of light and shadow drawing attention to the grace of his bearing and the steadiness of his posture, the beauty of his face…before such a sight, it was clear that Jin Guangyao, who was only in the end a mere mortal man, fallible and prone to temptation, would be completely unable to resist throwing himself at Lan Qiren in search of a hug and perhaps even, if he dared even dream about it, a kiss.

Utterly absurd. Completely impracticable.

A pity.

“Ah, Guangyao, there you are.”

Jin Guangyao shook himself out of his reverie and turned with a smile to regard the object of his thoughts, striding forward to come to his side. “Teacher Lan, you’re already done?”

“It’s been over a shichen,” Lan Qiren pointed out, which Jin Guangyao had somehow not noticed but which indeed seemed to be the case. “It was a very productive conversation. You have my thanks for arranging it.”

“Think nothing of it, it was nothing.”

“It was not nothing. Do not think I did not see the effort you put in to managing the concerns of both sides – not least of which my own sect’s frustrating tendency to keep a watch over me as if I were a newborn bird trying to climb out of the nest. It could not have been easy, and I appreciate your commitment to seeing this through.”

Jin Guangyao bowed his head to try to hide his smile. It was nice to be appreciated, and for exactly what had been difficult, too – none of this false flattering that so many of the Jin sect’s sycophants excelled in. Lan Qiren knew the meaning of hard work, knew exactly what the problems were, and he had trusted Jin Guangyao to overcome them, then thanked him when he had. That was how it ought to be.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask how it went?” Jin Guangyao asked, continuing to walk as Lan Qiren fell into step beside him, the two of them travelling through the beautiful gardens of Jinlin Tower surrounded by the most beautiful flowers in the world – though none as beautiful, in Jin Guangyao’s opinion, as the one beside him. “With Su Minshan, I mean.”

“You have a good friend in him,” Lan Qiren said, and Jin Guangyao felt a sudden spark of joy in his heart that he didn’t know what to do with, or even entirely from when it came. “Sect Leader Su spoke very highly of you, vociferous in your defense despite the lack of any critique– he will be loyal and true to you in the future. Such friends are rare, and you should value them.”

“I do,” Jin Guangyao said, and for once he meant the primary meaning of his agreement just as much as the secondary innuendo. He wasn’t sure why he liked Su She so much, or why he was so insistent on keeping him around – the man would undoubtedly be useful, yes, but Jin Guangyao had any number of useful people already and Su She was already immensely loyal to him; there really wasn’t any need for him to go to such lengths to cultivate their relationship any further than he already had. And yet, he persisted, and all for the sake of a man so desperate for respect that he could be bought for life at the price of remembering a name…

Jin Guangyao just liked him, that was all. How bizarre.

“I understand better the nature of his concerns regarding my sect,” Lan Qiren continued, frowning a little. “That part is private, so I cannot share it, but I feel better knowing what I do now…I have some concerns, though.”

“About Su Minshan?”

“Not about him, no, but rather for him. Did you know that Jin Zixun has been putting pressure upon him in secret, asking for all sorts of concessions, demanding things or services from his sect?”

Jin Guangyao had not.

“Sect Leader Su has only the cultivation techniques he learned in our sect to use and little enough time to turn them into something of his own; he had certain private reasons for forming another sect so quickly, and thus had no choice but to use his understanding of our style as the basis. I have promised to provide him with texts and support in terms of breaking away from what is currently a mimicry, but until he is able to form his own path, there will inevitably be those that take insult with what he is doing.”

Jin Guangyao nodded. It made sense, and matched up with what he knew of Su She – only he also knew how prideful and spiteful Su She could be. The more the Lan sect protested and got angry about his ‘mimicking’ of their style, the more he would pointedly make his sect just like them but one step off, a mimicry itself of his own feelings of inadequacy amidst constant comparisons to Lan Wangji; it was a terrible reaction, utterly self-sabotaging, but Su She wouldn’t be able to resist his worst impulses. If Lan Qiren could help him break free of that stubborn bull-headed blindness and decide to truly follow his own path, there were any number of things he could focus on that would belong to his sect and his sect alone. Jin Guangyao even had some ideas on that front; he would have to share them later…

“However, as a result of that present strife with my sect, he has no choice but to be the subsidiary sect to a Great Sect as a defense. Yet there are few enough Great Sects that would be willing to risk the anger of Gusu Lan – the Qinghe Nie are our traditional allies, and Yunmeng Jiang is too weak to make any reckless moves; he is stuck with Lanling Jin. It appears that they have been taking advantage of that reliance to extort more and more from him, pushing him to the edge…it is a dangerous position to put any man in, but most especially one who has nothing else left to him. The only thing Sect Leader Su values in this life is his sect, and Jin Zixun’s extravagant demands put him at risk of losing that – I fear what he might do if this state of affairs continues for too long.”

Jin Guangyao was frowning now, too. He hadn’t realized it was so bad. Su She, as he already knew, was inclined to be prideful and spiteful, but he genuinely loved the little sect he’d established. If that were seriously threatened…yes, he might be pushed too far. And of course he wouldn’t have mentioned anything to Jin Guangyao, knowing that it was Jin Guangyao’s own family pursuing the harassment…

“What is that noise?” Lan Qiren suddenly asked, distracted, and Jin Guangyao raised up his head – there was some sort of furor going on outside the front doors of Jinlin Tower.

It turned out that there was, in the end, a need for an urgent flight, only of course Lan Qiren and Jin Guangyao both took their separate swords for the long trek from Lanling City to the Yiling Burial Mounds. It appeared that Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji, tired of the cultivation world’s waffling on their demand for an investigation, had gone along with Jiang Cheng to deal with the matter in person, and now they were up in arms, claiming that Lanling Jin had been committing atrocities upon civilians entrusted into their care, crimes of the sort that were unacceptable no matter what surname those people bore, and demanding that Jin Guangshan come on behalf of his sect to Yiling to answer questions. It was a tremendous scandal. Naturally everyone had to go to Yiling right away – Lan Qiren because of his nephew’s participation in the event, Jin Guangyao because his father thought he might be useful, and everyone else because they were a bunch of nosy busybodies who couldn’t mind their own business and wanted to come gawk.

In fairness to them, there was – rather a lot to gawk at.

Jin Guangyao was immediately dispatched to deal with the crowd of onlookers, or at least to corral them into something resembling order, so he was rather late to the actual main event, where the heads of all four sects were standing together at the base of the Burial Mounds arguing with each other, each one accompanied by the key members of their family. Lan Xichen was there, with Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren beside him; there was Nie Mingjue, with Nie Huaisang lurking in his shadow; there was Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, standing shoulder-to-shoulder; and last of all there was Jin Guangshan, arrayed in clothing worth three times all the rest of them put together and yet somehow – less impressive. Jin Zixuan, standing silently beside him, was far more impressive in comparison.

Jin Zixun was there as well, cringing and scowling sullenly, but there was no point in counting him.

Jin Guangyao tried to slip in quietly while all the yelling was going on, hoping to get an idea of what was happening before having to participate, but he had only just barely sidled into the spot to Jin Zixuan’s left when Nie Mingjue just came out and shouted, “Yes, I am sleeping with them. So what? Does that make anything I just said wrong?”

Jin Guangyao blinked.

Nie Mingjue was – what? With who?

He’d clearly missed something very critical.

“Sect Leader Nie and Hanguang-jun are apparently both sleeping with Wei Wuxian, and also each other,” Jin Zixuan told him in an undertone, clearly seeing the confusion on his face and taking pity. “You didn’t know?”

“He certainly never mentioned it to me,” Jin Guangyao confirmed, his mind racing. How had that happened? When had that happened? Nie Mingjue was so obvious, with his painfully straightforward personality; it was impossible that he could hide something like that for any length of time, so it must have happened relatively recently –

Oh no.

Jin Guangyao suddenly recalled the banquet at the end of the Phoenix Mountain hunt, the one in which he’d noticed that both Wei Wuxian and Nie Mingjue were acting unusually – no, before that, during the hunt itself. He’d told Nie Mingjue about the problem with the hunt, and Nie Mingjue had agreed to go pass along the message to Wei Wuxian, relying on his authority as sect leader to actually make it stick. They’d then both disappeared for a time, a time when Lan Wangji, also supposedly attending the hunt, had been equally missing, and then they’d all reappeared, only Wei Wuxian had looked bright and lively (the result of dual cultivation with two powerful cultivators, perhaps? Or simply of romantic success?) while Nie Mingjue had spent his evening talking to Lan Wangji…

Yes, that was undoubtedly when it had happened. And right under his nose, too!

“They’re saying that the work camps we set up for the Wen were actually places of torture,” Jin Zixuan continued, looking worried, probably because he knew his father might very well do something like that. “That they were being abused – worked to death – living bodies used as bait in night-hunts – pierced through to create spirit-summoning flags – all sorts of foul experiments, extremely unorthodox –”

Jin Guangshan was very loudly denying it.

“There is proof,” Lan Wangji said with a stony expression. “The Wen remnants can testify as to their experiences – and there is always Inquiry to find out the truth from those that did not make it.”

Jin Guangyao did his best not to twitch. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe his father was capable of all the things Jin Zixuan had mentioned – he most certainly did – but he should at least hope that his father’s men were smart enough to immediately liberate any resentful ghosts lingering behind after a murder. Were they cultivators or not?!

And yet, judging by the expression on Jin Guangyao’s father’s face, it was quite possible that they hadn’t, or else that he had reason to believe that they would be so incompetent so as to fail to manage it.

Not good.

In the end, it was still his father, and still his sect. Jin Guangyao should say something, or do something…

“That’s not all,” a thin, reedy voice said. It was a young man standing a little behind Wei Wuxian, pale-faced and sallow – no, once he stepped out more fully into the light, it became immediately obvious that his skin was not sallow, but grey, and interrupted with blackened veins.

The young man was dead.

He was clearly a fierce corpse, but his expression was calm and his behavior sedate. He was conscious.

“Who are you?” Jin Guangshan demanded. “Someone surnamed Wen, I assume?”

“That’s right,” Wei Wuxian said, clearly the one responsible for this ridiculous, impossible outcome. “He’s one of the Wen who were murdered by your men. And while he was dying, he heard a lot more than just that! Tell them, Wen Ning.”

“Wen Qionglin,” someone muttered under their breath. Possibly it was Lan Wangji, or maybe Nie Mingjue – or someone else entirely, who knew?

Jin Guangyao watched in helpless fascination as the fierce corpse coughed as if clearing his throat, then gave testimony. “According to one of the ones that helped kill me, it’s not just Wen that are being killed,” he (it?) said, voice clear and ringing. “It’s other sects, too.”

That was when the entire world around him erupted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” someone demanded. “Who else? Who else?!”

“The Jin sect has been trying to figure out how Wei-gongzi’s cultivation works,” Wen Ning said. “They’ve been conducting experiments on demonic cultivation –” Even more yelling. “ – and deliberately spreading rumors designed to discredit Wen-gongzi and seize the Yin Tiger Seal…”

Everything was chaos around them.

Jin Guangyao’s mind was working faster than fast. This was not good, especially because it was almost certainly true – the expression on his father’s face when Xue Yang had made his suggestion came immediately to mind – but there were still things they could do to protect themselves.

Wen Ning might be a credible witness on account of being, well, dead, and as cultivators they were all biased in favor of the testimony of the dead – when asked via more orthodox methods like Inquiry or Empathy, the dead could not lie – but no one knew whether that was true for whatever bizarre technique Wei Wuxian had used on him. Moreover, he was a Wen, which made him fundamentally untrustworthy in the eyes of most of the cultivation world. Once they’d discredited him enough to raise some questions, the smaller sects’ sense of self-preservation (and, indeed, gratitude for the largess the Jin sect had been throwing around everywhere to help rebuild) would kick in, giving their sect some time to come up with a solution. Perhaps they could propose to investigate internally, then find and admit some minimal level of wrongdoing, with promises of sanctioning someone or another –

“The person who was speaking said that the orders came all the way from the top,” Wen Ning continued, inexorable. “The others called him – ‘Jin-gongzi’.”

That idiot, Jin Guangyao thought, suddenly furious. Of course it would be Jin Zixun!

“That explains it, then,” Jin Guangshan said smoothly. “Naturally none of us would ever agree to commit such atrocities, but there are always those that would take advantage of our name to discredit me and my sect…Guangyao, I’m disappointed in you.”

Jin Guangyao froze.

“I have accepted you and recognized you, and this is how you treat us in return?” his father said, hanging him out to dry without a moment of remorse. “I know you have of late expressed interest in looking for others who know demonic cultivation, and even brought back to our sect a young man with dubious interests – but I never thought you would go this far!”

So that was why you let me be involved, Jin Guangyao thought. His chest felt funny, as if he couldn’t breathe, and for some reason his hearing wasn’t functioning properly, turning off and on – he could hear his father’s voice with painful clarity, but everything else seemed muted and distant, as if coming through a distance. You had this in mind all along.

It wasn’t that Jin Guangyao didn’t understand. He was, after all, his father’s son; his cunning mind, filled with plots, wasn’t just an inheritance from his mother, and his ruthlessness was his rightful patrimony as well as all the rest. It made sense, even: he was in fact tainted with everything he’d done, whether it was serving at Wen Ruohan’s side or with finding and fetching Xue Yang. Even those acts which he hadn’t done, it was plausible enough to believe that he, the war hero whose fame came from the wretched business of spying, betrayal, and torture, had been involved, and there was no evidence that everything that was done had been done on his father’s orders, not his. It was easy enough for his father to splash him with dirty water, making it Jin Guangyao’s word against his, and in that battle, a whore’s son against a noble sect leader, Jin Guangyao would always lose.

It made sense.

It was just –

He just –

He’d tried so hard. He’d done everything, given everything, and in the end, the only thing that awaited him was this – whether now or later, whether he tried or didn’t, his father had always been planning to throw him away as if he were so much trash. He was never going to escape the fate of being Meng Yao, the bastard son of a whore. It didn’t matter how much gold he plastered on his back or whatever name he took on, no one was ever going to think anything differently about him –

“Ridiculous.”

Jin Guangyao blinked. That voice had cut through both the loud noise of the crowd around them and his own dismayed shock, clear as a bell and sharp as a sword – it was Lan Qiren, standing straight as a tree, unbowed by anything. He’d stepped forward, in front of his nephews, even, and he was glaring at Jin Guangshan so hard that his cheeks had gone red.

“You cannot possibly expect us to believe that a junior that has only entered your sect a few months ago could so quickly gather up enough power to do the sorts of things that have been described here,” Lan Qiren said coldly, and the entire audience fell quiet before him – a good half of them were his former students and used to listening to him, and the other half the parents of his students, equally used to sitting down and listening to what he had to say to them about his students. “Even if he did, the fault is in the end your own. You are the sect leader!”

“Of a large sect!” Jin Guangshan protested. “I cannot be expected to manage it all –”

“You are expected to delegate your authority to trusted subordinates!” Lan Qiren thundered. “If they betray your trust, it is your fault for having chosen wrongly! The sect follows its head. Whoever led this effort must have had your token and your trust, your backing to be known, or else they would not, or should not, have been able to convince your guards to obey them. That is the basic principle of organization for any large sect. Know this, Jin Guangshan – I do not believe for a single moment that it could have been only a single subordinate behind so extensive an endeavor as this, much less that it was wholly cooked up and executed without your knowledge by the son that the entire world knows you disdain!”

Jin Guangyao’s father bristled. “What are you saying?” His voice was dangerous, and Jin Guangyao tensed instinctively, suddenly frightened on Lan Qiren’s behalf, and perhaps also his own; he already knew too well that that tone boded no one any good. “Think carefully before you speak further. What are you trying to say, Lan Qiren?”

For his part, Lan Qiren was not at all moved by the implicit threat. “I am saying that regardless of who it was that did concoct this vile scheme, the ultimate fault is yours. The blame is yours. I am saying that you are evidently no longer fit to be sect leader of Lanling Jin.”

Jin Guangyao’s jaw dropped.

He wasn’t alone, not by a long shot, but he didn’t have any attention to pay to the rest of them.

“How dare you!” Jin Guangyao’s father roared. “This is the internal matter of my sect, not yours. Who made you the judge of our sect’s business!”

“Your sect has made your sect’s business the business of the entire cultivation world, of all righteous men, when they committed crimes under your banner and in your name,” Lan Qiren shot back. “It does not matter if you knew of the crimes and now pretend not to, or if you did not know of them in truth – that such heinous acts as are being testified to here have occurred under your watch is sufficient to show that you have lost either morality or control, and in either case are unfit for your office.”

Jin Guangyao’s father looked fit to murder someone. He might very well try.

He’d definitely try to come back at Lan Qiren, that much was for sure – how many of the small sects around them had received his money? How many of his people were here, backing him? How could Lan Qiren, with nothing but words, overcome that?

Jin Guangyao’s heart was in his throat.

Lan Qiren turned his head and looked around the group, the audience all watching him raptly, and then returned his gaze to Jin Guangshan. “Look around us,” he said, gesturing sharply. “Jin Guangshan, in our Great Sects, the rest of our generation is gone! I have stepped down, Lao Nie has been dead for more than ten years, Jiang Fengmian was killed unjustly, Wen Ruohan executed for his crimes…it’s time. Don’t you see? It’s time for the next generation to step up and take over, to lead the world into a new era – it is time for our sects to learn from their smaller peers the harsh lesson they learned first, so as to not to allow what happened to ever happen again. The war is over. My nephews, your sons…they are all men full-grown, ready to lead their own lives on their own terms. Let them start clean.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t expected that.

Neither had his father, that much was obvious. Lan Qiren had hit him in the one place he had never expected, discovered a weakness that neither Jin Guangshan nor Jin Guangyao had even realized was there – the Jin sect had spent all that money to buy the support of the smaller sects, but what was a little bit of money in the face of power and influence? If the leaders of the Great Sects were all young men, and the smaller sects led by those who could claim to be their elders, then wouldn’t that mean that those smaller sect leaders finally had a chance to be acknowledged as the Great Sects’ equals in their own rights, as they had always wanted?

Between that and tacitly conceding to submit to Jin Guangshan as sole rule of the cultivation world, it was really no surprise which one they would lean towards.

Sure enough, there were murmurs all around. Murmurs of agreement – Lan Qiren’s words were swaying the audience in his favor, and why wouldn’t they? He was icily logical, painfully practical, ruthlessly reasonable, and no one could claim that he had not practiced what he preached, for he had once had all the power of a Great Sect in his hands and he had handed it over to his nephews without complaint in precisely the way he now advised Jin Guangshan to do.

He was right.

He was glorious.

Jin Guangyao’s father’s eyes darted around the crowd, seeing that agreement, those nods – there were even those in his own sect colors that were nodding along thoughtfully. Lanling Jin had always been a pit of snakes, everyone ready to backstab each other, and Jin Guangyao’s father had made many enemies over the years, each one ready to see him fall; even his allies were looking thoughtfully at Jin Zixuan, wondering if he would be a better standard-bearer for their sect’s glory. After all, who didn’t know that Jin Guangshan had dragged his feet in joining the Sunshot Campaign, only acting when he was forced to? Who didn’t know that he’d deliberately withheld his soldiers and kept his disciples as far back from the front lines as he could, whenever he could – who didn’t know that he’d called on the other sects for help, time and time again?

The Jin sect’s only true claim to martial valor came from Jin Zixuan’s relatively minor achievements, more earned as a lieutenant under Nie Mingjue rather than in his own name, or from…well, from Jin Guangyao, the very man Jin Guangshan was now defaming for his own purposes.

Whose reputation Lan Qiren had somehow managed to save, just when he’d thought it was impossible.

Jin Guangyao’s chest was feeling funny again. It was a different sort of thing than before, not shock or horror, not betrayal or disconnect, but instead a sense of almost – fullness.

“What you ask is impossible,” Jin Guangshan declared. “Our sects are not the same, and should not be seen as such. Perhaps your nephew was ready to lead, but my son still needs my guidance.”

“Really?” Nie Mingjue said coldly, the one person present who Jin Guangshan could not subtly imply was unready to be a leader. “He led your armies just fine without you.”

Jin Guangshan glared at him.

“No one is doubting your ability to provide your son with guidance and wisdom, Sect Leader Jin,” Jiang Cheng said, in a caustic tone that suggested that he personally doubted it quite a great deal. He was stepping on Wei Wuxian’s foot as he spoke, with Wei Wuxian having that lips-fixed-together expression that suggested that a Lan had silenced him with their sect’s silencing spell. Probably Lan Wangji, good man. “You would of no doubt be a valued sect elder, as I would have wished my father be to me if he had lived.”

A valued sect elder was not a sect leader, and the Jin sect didn’t really value its elders, anyway, even if Jin Zixuan might do so out of genuine filial piety. A retirement like this would mean the stripping away of all Jin Guangshan’s power and he knew it, and he was very clearly unwilling – yet in his very unwillingness, all those leaders of the cultivation world around him saw evidence of his guilt, since surely (here they lied to themselves) the only reason he might be so committed to staying in a position of political power would be to cover up misconduct.

It was exactly the same situation as he had put Jin Guangyao in earlier, where any attempt to defend himself would be seen as the very evidence of his guilt; it was that very same dirty water he’d tried to splash onto Jin Guangyao being turned back upon him. Jin Guangshan couldn’t say that Jin Zixuan couldn’t handle the sect, not without insulting his own bloodline in comparison to the others – Jiang Cheng had revitalized his Great Sect all by himself, at several years younger, and Nie Mingjue had been all of fifteen when he’d become leader – but admitting that Jin Zixuan could do the work would be tantamount to conceding that he was clinging to power for its own sake.

For what would he do that, the whispers would ask, if not to cover up what had been done here…?

But Jin Guangshan was not done just yet.

“My son is of course talented and capable,” he said smoothly. “But my sect is large and powerful, with a far greater diversity than your own; we have our own unique problems. If he only faced threats from without, I would naturally have no hesitation in leaving my sect in his hands, but there are other types of threats that one must face…threats that come from within.”

Jin Guangyao’s back went cold. His father couldn’t be saying –

“I have my own reasons to be concerned about my son’s future,” Jin Guangshan said, looking once again sorrowful, the expression clearly pasted on to Jin Guangyao’s eyes but potentially convincing to others’. “He is only just now getting married – his engagement just barely settled – and he is too trusting to those who do not have his best interests at heart…those who have their own interests at heart. It is my duty and my joy as his father to stand bulwark to protect him for as long as I can.”

He was.

Jin Guangshan might be a drunk and a lecher, but he was skilled with words and implication. He was oh-so-carefully drawing attention back to his earlier accusations against Jin Guangyao, just when Jin Guangyao had thought he might be free of them; he was suggesting that Jin Guangyao, who everyone knew had forced his way into the Jin sect, was eyeing his brother’s inheritance, looking to claim the seat of sect leader as his own. He was saying that everything Jin Guangyao had done, everything he would do, ought to be looked at as the actions of a would-be fratricide.

And worst of all, of course, was that they weren’t entirely wrong. It wasn’t that Jin Guangyao hadn’t had thoughts, of course he had thoughts; he was an ambitious man, like his father before him. He wanted more than what he had. He had yearned for the position of power that was above him because he wanted that glory, he wanted that respect, he wanted that acceptance.

He wanted to be the one standing at the top of the stairs, not the bottom.

But…he was never going to be, was he?

His father was thoroughly poisoning the well for him. It didn’t matter what happened next – even if Jin Zixuan voluntarily stepped back and gave him the position, even if everyone ahead of him died through causes that could be proven to be completely unrelated to him, everyone would forever look at him with suspicion, suspicion and disdain. Did you know even his father thought he was capable of that sort of thing, they would whisper to each other. Even his very own father! So why wouldn’t he do it? You know where he’s from, you know the sort of things those people are capable of when it comes to getting what they want. Who’s to say he wasn’t involved in some way…?

No one would ever respect him. Even if they said nice words to his face, behind closed doors…

The Jin sect would never accept him, not in this life.

No matter what he did. No matter how hard he tried. Nothing he did would make one iota of difference.

“Are you actually saying that the only reason you won’t step down as sect leader is because you’re afraid that Guangyao will try to take the position of sect leader?” Lan Qiren asked, his voice clearly breaking through again, stating bluntly what Jin Guangshan had only been implying through hints and innuendo.

Jin Guangyao winced: now that it had been stated aloud, there was no going back on it.

Lan Qiren didn’t seem to notice, though. On the contrary, he seemed incredulous.

“If that is really your only problem, let me solve it for you now,” he added. “Marry him out to me.”

Complete silence.

What? Jin Guangyao thought.

“What?” Jin Guangshan said.

“I’ll marry him,” Lan Qiren repeated, seeming almost offended that his suggestion was not being understood, as if he thought it made perfect sense and no one ought to question it. “If he marries into the Lan sect, that creates yet another tie between our Great Sects, showing that the Jin sect is still highly regarded in the cultivation world and increasing its influence; when paired with a similar marriage between your son and Mistress Jiang on one hand, and one between Sect Leader Nie, Wei Wuxian, and Wangji on the other, it will ensure that we are all so closely bound that there can be no fear of war in the future. Moreover, it eliminates your problem: once he has married out, Guangyao will be ineligible for the position of sect leader. Does that not solve everything?”

Jin Guangshan said something, maybe. Jin Guangyao had no idea what.

He was too busy staring at Lan Qiren, who had turned to look at him.

“Guangyao,” he said, his stiff and toneless voice gentling just a little, just enough for those that knew him to recognize it. “What do you say? Do you consent to marrying me? Say you will, and I will call for a matchmaker at once.”

Marry – Lan Qiren?

Lan Qiren was…proposing marriage? He wanted to marry Jin Guangyao? He was – he was declaring his intent to do just that, publicly and in front of the entire cultivation world. To marry him. Him, Jin Guangyao, the schemer, the bastard, the whore’s son…Lan Qiren, in all his dignity, all his righteousness, his pure reputation, his respect, his love – his loyalty, for who did not know that the Lan sect only loved once, only married once, once and never again for their whole lives – all that, all that, and he was offering it to Jin Guangyao at the very moment his father had thrown him into the dirt all over again.

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao croaked. He didn’t care that it was inauspicious for a man to choose his own marriage, defying his father’s choice in the matter. He didn’t even know what was going on. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything – there was nothing in his world but Lan Qiren, looking straight at him and starting to smile. His stern eyes softening and curving, his lips pulling back with pleasure…he was beautiful.

He was – somehow, improbably, impossibly – Jin Guangyao’s.

“I’ll see it done,” Jin Zixuan suddenly said from beside him, his hand clapping onto Jin Guangyao’s shoulder. “I promise, brother. For once, leave it all to me. You’ll get your marriage.”

He gently pushed Jin Guangyao forward, towards Lan Qiren, who took a few steps towards him, steps that Jin Guangyao matched on shaky legs, still disbelieving. How had this happened? How had he done this? How had he, without even realizing it, manipulated Lan Qiren to such an extent that he would make him an offer of marriage…?

“Guangyao,” Lan Qiren said, and he was suddenly closer than Jin Guangyao had realized, having taken the final few steps to bring them together. “This is not how I would have imagined this happening, nor, I imagine, is it what you would have thought for your own future. I am sorry that your father could not have done better by you…but however it happened, however it has come about, I am very happy that we can now speak plainly of what has thus far gone unspoken between us. I hope you are happy as well.”

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao said again. He felt drunk. He felt dizzy. He felt – yes, happy was the word, but it was a word wholly insufficient for everything he was feeling right now, that all-encompassing joy and victory. He didn’t give one damn about the whole of Lanling Jin right now, not if he could feel like this…and he would. He would feel like this for the rest of his life, because Lan Qiren was going to be his husband. “Yes. I am – very happy.”

“Good,” Lan Qiren said, and pulled him into a hug.

#mdzs #jin guangyao #lan qiren #jin guangshan #nie mingjue #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #tricks of hte trade #tricks of the trade

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theshadowsnetwork · 2 months

Text

The chain of command for Lux Hall was clear, and often hotly debated. Like everything else in the Weaving Shadows organization, Lux Hall’s final word fell to Pan Annnalis’e Doi-Zhou. Also, like everything else, Mors De Lumine could make decisions in her absence, with a few choice scenarios requiring Pan’s attention. In the absence of all Mors De Lumine members, the Board makes decisions and files reports for Pan and the rest of MDL to see later. In this, the Shadows and Lux Hall chain of command is starkly different. In MDL’s absence, the running of Lux Hall falls squarely on the shoulders of Pan’s secretary and librarian, Deborah Marks.

Over the past two to three years since London’s bombing, Lux Hall had been slowly expanding from a small space beneath Pan’s home at Moonlight Palace, eventually becoming something of a small town hidden in the mountains. In those three years, Deborah had never seen the chain of command call on her to be anything more than a librarian. Now, with MDL scattered in three directions… Deborah was something of a temporary mayor to a group of spies. It was a heavy burden, and many felt that Marks was unfit to manage the Lux Hall grounds. But more and more, the Shadows began to see the capabilities of a single librarian with temporary power.

After only a few days, carrying reports to Deborah’s desk became comfortable for some. Finding her in the library, doing whatever she was doing in that book of hers, was as routine and natural as, and oftentimes more welcome than, knocking on Pan’s door, especially in the instances involving the Department of Lux Hall Security. “There was an incident involving a reconditioning initiate,” a clerk from security told her. “Jasmine Ellis was relieved of her duties after an argument with the Chief of Security.”

“What was the argument about?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I’m unsure. The chief dismissed Ellis for insubordination, but his report is light on details.”

It wasn’t the first such report involving Chief Warrick. In fact, other it was the fifth involving his office that week. What would Pan do?

“Where is the initiate now?”

“Housing. Awaiting reassignment.” The Shadows were not yet ready to refer to Shadow Housing at Lux as simply having an apartment nearby. Everyone was still getting used to the idea of being a small town.

Deborah stood and closed her book. “Can you take me to her? I’d like to get her account of what caused her dismissal.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the clerk obliged. “From my limited understanding, Ellis flew an unauthorized drone to investigate another boat coming from the east.’

“Ah. More art from our friends.”

“That’s what the Chief believed it to be. But the boats with Deng Jia pieces aboard were just unmanned dinghies pointed in our direction and let go. The waves carried them wherever and they’d end up on various places on the shore. Sometimes they didn’t make it past the rock wall. But, according to Ellis, this vessel is much larger and it’s actively calculating a course to make landfall at the beach.”

Deborah’s brow furrowed. “It’s being steered?”

“That’s why initiative Ellis was trying to secure authorization for a drone, to get a closer look, and maybe some heat signatures. When the chief denied her, she flew the drone in secret. Before she could report on what she found, the chief dismissed her.”

Deborah retreated into herself for a moment. …What would Pan do…? “...On second thought, have the initiate meet me at the beach. Tell the office that the drone recon op is approved. And if Chief Warrick has any reservations, tell him we can call Eleanor Novak and tell her about the alleged oversized dinghy making educated maneuvers to our shoreline. But I’d to be well and underway with the drone before he even objects to it. How close is the seafaring object?”

“Before she was relieved, radar suggested the object was about 67 nautical miles from shore. It would theoretically make it here by tomorrow morning.”

Deborah shook her head. “You know what? Don’t even tell him. Just collect Ellis and ready the drone. I’ll pass my credentials along. We can figure out what happened between them after we discern the nature of the object.”

@ofcarnvge

@shadedjasmine

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