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baeddel · 3 years

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discussion on this post, @horatiovonbecker asks @otatma their opinion about extended families as an alternative to the nuclear family. @otatma replies that it is “a good thing to strive for” but “depends hugely on the family being nontoxic.” true enough!

as it’s my activity feed and they can’t stop me i’ll butt into the conversation. i grew up in an extended family. i lived with my mother and my maternal grandparents, and my aunt would live with us some days out of the week. all of this was accomplished in a 2-bedroom bungalow. i had very little privacy and i hated it; when i was 15 i ran away. my mother pleaded with the council and we managed to secure a terraced house in a socialized housing estate with a bedroom for each of us, plus a spare room (almost unthinkable today). we live near our grandparents and they visit every day.

when i was 16 i met my absentee father. he had been homeless in England and imprisoned in Scotland and when he returned to Ireland that year i found him living in a rhizomatic extended family scenario spanning four generations and three households. they were always being chased out by landlords or paramilitaries and relocating and, in any case, one could never predict who would be living in which house at any time; children would live with grandparents one month, parents the next, aunts and uncles the next, and so on. even husbands and wives did not always share a home.

[long post: 3k words, on the historical development of family structure in Ireland and England and what it means for monogamy, the family and anarchy]

based on this i believed the extended family to be an Irish institution. this is an assumption i shared with most sociologists and historians until about the 1990s (Seward et. al., 2005, pg. 2). the standard narrative was that, world-over, families historically lived in large, three-generation households and that thanks to the industrial revolution this was deteriorating. “Max Weber himself implies in his magisterial way that the rise of capitalist organisation was associated with 'the household community shrinking' ” (Laslett, 1974, pg. 7). Ireland was traditionally conceived of as an exception to this process of deterioration as, on this account, the extended family remained dominant while the rest of the world was going nuclear. it turns out to be the reverse in both cases: the extended family was never the dominant family structure anywhere (ibid. pg. 2-3; Vann 1974, pg. 3-4), except for in Ireland beginning in the 19th century, where over the course of the 20th century it did deteriorate (Laslett, 1974 pg. 34; Gibbon & Curtin, 1978).

the reason for this is embarassingly obvious once you realize it. the fact is that not all families in a society can be extended families. if all children remain in the family home along with their children into perpetuity this house will soon have the population of a small town. this is actually the origin of society proposed by Filmer in Patriarcha (1680), where parental authority becomes the “fountain of all Regal Authority” as their progeny multiply, until humanity is scattered about in the Confusion of Tongues (pg. 11-15). without a Confusion of Tongues to interrupt the exponential increase (and millions, rather than thousands, of years to account for) we have to imagine another sort of family structure. the 19th century sociologist Frédéric Le Play proposed that a new family structure emerged out of ancient patriarchy which he called the Stem-Extended Family. on this account one son was selected to inherit and he remained at the family’s residence; the other siblings were dispersed (Gibbon & Curtin, 1978 pg. 2-3).

to the extent that this form of family organization did exist, it could not have been the dominant form. in a family with three sons, two of them would have to go and form nuclear families with their spouses. they might go on to build their own extended family, or they might not. in many societies the extended family was indeed considered “a good thing to strive for”, and this was the position adopted by the conservative Catholic Le Play, and later accepted by the Catholic Church, who lobbied for policy interventions that would stem the tide of nuclear proliferation in Ireland, particularly by limiting employment opportunities for women. For example, women were barred from civil service positions until 1973 (Seward et. al., 2005, pg. 7).

if this is the case, how could the extended family become the dominant form of family structure in Ireland in the 19th and early 20th centuries? the most significant factor was the reorganization of agriculture carried out by English colonial interests; after the infamous Potato Famine the population of Ireland almost halved (after already more than halving after Cromwell’s genocides), as well as the almost constant state of war that Ireland was submerged in (continuing into the 90s in the occupied North). in the aftermath it was necessary for families to consolidate (Seward et. al., 2005, pg. 3). on top of this, fertility was exceptionally low and emigration was exceptionally high (in the North it remains very high, especially among Catholics). as a result, more generations could live together, and children were more likely to leave the country than disperse elsewhere in Ireland (Seward et. al., 2005, pg. 14). throughout the 20th century, as industry and free secondary education were introduced to Ireland, more children began to move from country to town and nuclear families rapidly replaced extended ones (Seward et. al., 2005, pg. 6).

my family tree more or less follows this narrative along. in the chaos following the Land War my great, great grandmother was the head of a large intergenerational family involving aunts and uncles, as well as an adopted street orphan. my great grandfather met a homeless woman possessing a child out of wedlock and fell in love with her; they moved to this town and rented a house while he sought work as a street sweeper, starting a new nuclear family. in the 40s my grandmother worked in factories until she married my grandfather, a sailor, and they began their own nuclear family in the same town, renting different little apartments until, thanks to the state of the housing market in the 80s, they purchased the modest accomodations aforementioned. by the 90s this arrangement threatened to become a new Stem-Extended Family (with my mother and i playing the role of inheriting sons), but it proved inoperable in the new context of the 21st century’s mechanized Ireland, and we spilled over into our own single-parent home. given that both me and my aunt are infertile, the maternal line terminates here.

does it follow that we ought to give in and admit that the nuclear family is the natural unit of human society, and that the extended family is possible only in the middle of an ongoing genocide? despite what we’ve just said, there doesn’t seem to be good evidence for this either. while Gibbon & Curtin characterized a debate where Laslett “advanced the iconoclastic [proposition] that there had been little essential historical change in family structure” (1978, pg. 3) this doesn’t seem to actually be Laslett’s position. Laslett argued that family size has not changed considerably throughout history, but on the very first page of his landmark Household and Family in Past Time (1970) he emphasizes that he is “not concerned with the family as a network of kinship” and instead defines his area of research in terms of “coresident domestic groups”, which might bear little relationship to kinship structures. in the past the household very frequently involved not just blood relatives but “lodgers, boarders and visitors” (Vann, 1974, pg. 5) as well as slaves and servants. Vann quotes Etienne Hélin's caution that “[a]rithmetic means, although they varied so little covered a whole series of different situations” and describes how post-industrial English households had twice the number of blood relatives per house as pre-industrial ones, but fewer lodgers, and thus about the same mean. the difference between historical and modern families might not be one of size but of an increasing emphasis on blood relations.

it may come as a surprise that, as a matter of fact, Old English has no word for family. they have a word for relatives in general (sibb), for tribes (cynn, the root of Modern English kin), but the basic social unit known to the Anglo-Saxons was the hiw (and its many compounds), which might be translated ‘household’ (or, indeed, ‘coresident domestic group’). who belonged to a hiw? it was somewhat nakedly a property relation. it was not only a man’s wife and children but also his servants, his slaves, as well as his animals (Stanley, 2008, pg. 1). the Textus Rofensus makes only one distinction between members of a household, that they be “slaves or free” (ibid. pg. 7). it could also refer to a monastic group, involving the whole cloister. Stanley notes (and it seems true to me) that there is a virtual absence of family relations in the corpus of Old English literature. in fact i cannot think of a single example, except perhaps for the monster Grendel and his mother. in the mournful Wife’s Lament and the passionate Wulf and Eadwacer the emphasis is on completely personal affections and seductions, and in any case both depict forbidden relationships outside of the hired.

correspondingly, we find that the average Anglo-Saxon home was a large one; typically they were a single room which measured about 50 square meters and “could have accomodated up to about a dozen or so people” (Hines, 2003, pg. 139). there is no reason to suppose that this was to accomodate several generations of blood relatives; the Anglo-Saxons had many, now very unfamilliar, relationships to populate their houses with. there was husband, wife, and concubine, along with their children; there was slave and hostage (Lavelle, 2006), including many orders of slaves with different status (such as the relatively respectable title of bryti, a sort of ‘head slave’); and indeed guest, visitor, boarder, and in the case of lords and aristocratic thegns, perhaps retainers. in Beowulf about thirty thegns sleep with their lord in Heorot, pulling aside the bench-planks and replacing them with straw beds at night (and when the Geats arrive they incorporate them as still more visitors). we know that at least some beds were placed in recesses in the walls and had curtains (Wright), perhaps to accomodate private intimacy between husband, wife and concubine or, indeed, guest, retainer, hostage, slave, or (why not?) animal. even when husband and wife are the only kin relatives in residence we would hesitate to call this arrangement a ‘nuclear family‘, or indeed an ‘extended family’ should it include a grandparent.

why has industrial modernization corresponded with the narrowing of the productive unit of society to the nuclear family (or, increasingly, the single parent family)? why have non-blood relations become so systematically excluded from the household? these seem like open questions to me. our own experience leads us to suspect conditions placed on family structure by the labour market together with city planning. until the 70s in Ireland, as we discussed, it was typical (and indeed lawful) for wives to stay at home and husbands to work; today very few workers could afford to keep their wives at home, even without children. houses are also too small to sustain extended families (nevermind concubines, hostages and the rest). old council houses such as ours have two bedrooms, one for the parents and the other for the children, along with a room for guests. today they do not include the guest room. there are, in addition, only two common rooms: a family room and a kitchen. it is not only difficult to accomodate three generations in these houses (the small guest bedroom is a poor substitue for the reitrement room of many 19th century Irish houses), it is difficult to accomodate even two generations. teenagers will already complain about sharing a bedroom, and one sibling might take up the guestroom. but we know of women with six, seven, as many as twelve children who live here. as adults they could fill at least three of such houses. all of this is possible only on the theory that as the children grow up they will move out into their own homes.

so. it is tempting to analyze the family situation abstractly, counting up the merits and dysfunctions of different systems and comparing them. for example, using Hirschman’s well-known framework of “exit” and “voice”, we might ask how effective the different forms of family structure are at responding to dysfunction (abuse, neglect and so on). the extended family, we might say, gives a child better access to “voice” - they can turn to parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and siblings for help. your mother might answer to your grandmother who is therefore well poised to address parenting issues, while your father can probably smoothe things over with your uncle if you quarrel. this means that you actually have to worry less about “toxicity” in the family compared to a nuclear family where parents aren’t accountable to anyone. however, in case of a family wide problem, you may have much less room to “exit” compared to a nuclear family, where exit is expected.

which one is better? you might reply that the extended family sounds better. it very well might be; but in reality you’ll never get to act on this exercise in judgement no matter how much striving you do. the nuclear family does not predominate because of the tyrannical thirst for the awesome power of parenthood (no matter how much we do find this thirst satisfied), but because of the given conditions of labour, housing, inheritance and so forth. this is why @horatiovonbecker can reply that all of this is “fair enough” but that they ”don't think it follows that discouraging monogamy will help.” no, surely it does not follow. especially now that we know that family size and kinship relations are not essential features of domestic organization. why was monogamy ever implicated in the first place?

now it seems like a curious slip of the tongue that when Goldman and Parsons disagree about monogamy they do so by attacking and defending the family by turns. but at that time monogamy was not so easily separable. free love was not really polyamory. it was this and also the abolition of both marriage and parenthood, as they understood both as property relations: “marriage slavery”, as even Parsons called it, and parental ownership of children. it was also the abolition of sex work, which they understood as the "public” expression of the subjugation of women which finds its “private” expression in marriage (Marx & Engels, 1848, pg. 24-25), ie. that women are dependent on men’s property and must acquire it by marriage or by sexual labour. as a corrolary they advocated for divorce (which became an immense priority to later Soviet planners who designed mobile, modular homes which would allow couples to separate and cohabit arbitrarily). it was also access to contraceptives and to abortion, as well as, believe it or not, very often the advocacy of eugenics (on the account that with abortion, contraceptives and the freedom to select partners, the previously blind and mute force of sexual reproduction would become domesticated to the rational will; see the anarchist journal Moses Harman founded in the 1880s, Lucifer the Light Bearer, later renamed the American Journal of Eugenics).

this constellation of problems no longer appear all together. after most women entered the conventional work force we could no longer as easily see monogamy and marriage as a relationship of slavery. as we say in the previous post, for many women the struggle is that they are too independent, saddled with childrearing and wage labour and housework with only the cold comfort of the day-care for assistance. for this reason sex work no longer appears as anything special compared to the other forms of labour women do out of necessity; “sex work is work” is the guiding catchphrase of militant sex workers. contraceptives and abortion still appear as a leading issue in feminist agitation but we no longer imagine they have the power to transform the everyday life of the household (nevermind summon forth the genetic Ubermensch). all together the abolition of marriage was replaced, as @birlinterrupted reminds us, with its extension: gay marriage. as of right now monogamy and marraige are still inseparable (i can now marry one of my girlfriends but not all three), but we think it need not always be. all together the program fragmented as its success was realized in pieces and none of them were actually irreparably fixed by the property relation (even if they did emerge from it).

Engels actually believed that a true equality of the sexes would, “according to all previous experience,” result in monogamous men and polyandrous women (Engels, 1884, pg. 43), but he admits that we can only conjecture about “the way in which sexual relations will be ordered after the impending overthrow of capitalist production.” he finishes this thought with this remarkable little statement:

[W]hat will there be new? That will be answered when a new generation has grown up: a generation of men who never in their lives have known what it is to buy a woman’s surrender with money or any other social instrument of power; a generation of women who have never known what it is to give themselves to a man from any other considerations than real love, or to refuse to give themselves to their lover from fear of the economic consequences. When these people are in the world, they will care precious little what anybody today thinks they ought to do; they will make their own practice and their corresponding public opinion about the practice of each individual – and that will be the end of it.

the straightforward correspondence between property, economic dependence and monogamy is still here, and which to us now seems insufficient to the problem (ie. the problem still persists after these given conditions are eliminated). broadening the question from questions of marriage, sexual access and economic dependence to the more general question of the organization of the household in general and the necessary social and economic conditions proper to it would clarify what’s really at stake in domestic oppression, the organization of reproduction, and so on. but it remains true that we can only remain sensitive to trends, to those of us organizing new experiments with the household, and where new opportunities might open as the present conditions dig their own grave.

Let’s give the final word to an old friend. What is the Family, Renzo Novatore? Why, nothing but “the denial of life, love and liberty.” Nevermind his entry for Love, which is a “deception of the flesh and damage to the spirit, disease of the soul, atrophy of the brain, weakening of the heart” and so forth.

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cookingwithroxy · 3 years

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So. This is an old and rather defunct reply but hell I saw I had this in my drafts and it reminded me of one additional point. So. Original context?

Okay, you’re clearly American so you probably don’t know how Europe works, but… It’s literally right next to Africa and the Middle East. People of non-white skintones have been present throughout Europe for as long as there has been a Europe, and the Church was pretty open about teaching this for a variety of reasons. Any attempt to act like things are contrary to that is just straight up inaccurate. It is actually more historically inaccurate to entirely lack people of colour in a mediaeval fantasy world. And it is inaccurate to the books, with several non-white characters simply being omitted from the games.

This is, very specifically, what you said. Now, Spidey addressed the last part, because there ARE people of color in Witcher, but I? I'm addressing the first and second parts. The 'right next to' element. Now, I get that your most likely European and that you probably don't understand the concept of long distance travel, but the simple element of TIME is a major factor, especially with a distance over a hundred miles. And again, I note to the 'how far can someone travel in a day' element, because it means going a hundred miles is a FOUR DAY JOURNEY, and that's assuming easy travel and top speeds. And in a period of relative lack of food preservation and limited water supply, that's quite a bit of supply to carry just to reach a target location. Maybe there will be towns between them, places to stay? But just to travel from a town to the capital of your country would be a MAJOR undertaking that most people might only do once. Your average polish peasant did NOT go there to buy goods and to see strange foreign people. All of these things are elements of what we call 'Logistics'. Trade routes allowed people to travel HALF the distance to their goods final destination, allowing them to return home faster, and if their profits were somewhat lesser, it was offset by the ability to return home in less than six months. This is the point I'm addressing. That you've gotten so used to ease of travel that a trip from Egypt to Poland is just four hours via plane, instead of MORE THAN THREE MONTHS, overland. That they are NOT, in fact, 'literally right next to Africa and the Middle East.' That elements like overland travel are a factor. Hell, that elements like 'Hey, aren't the Ottomans and the Holy Roman Empire at war right now, making it impossible to actually travel between these areas without a huge diversion further north through Russia?'

----

Now then, the additional point I want to raise?

In the 1840's, centuries after the time period in reference for this post, there was a land route people traveled quite often, only two thousand miles. It's a little thing we called the OREGON TRAIL.

And the fun thing about having a relatively recent long distance travel (that's actually shorter than the one referenced in the post that got deleted which I was replying to?) is that it means we have WELL DOCUMENTED TRAVEL TIMES for this pretty notable land journey.

Anyone need a reminder as to how long it took to travel the Oregon Trail?

4-6 MONTHS. Fully prepared with wagons pulled by oxen.

All this because they didn't feel the Witcher was 'diverse' enough in the rural settings.

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ironlime · 3 years

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60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

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

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…�� Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

“Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

#the glorious 25th of may #night watch #discworld #sam vimes #gnu terry pratchett #fanfiction #john keel #terry pratchett #writing

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sevlgi · 4 years

Text

the florist

requested: no

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu

warnings: death

synopsis: When you find a beautiful death sentence clustered in your lungs, you can only visit the legendary florist. But is JiU herself as strong as she seems?

a/n: hiatus who? we don’t know her 🤡 i was actually gonna post this when it struck 12 on december 1st for me, but tumblr’s telling me it’s already december, so here we go!

word count: 3.3k

In all the years that the Hanahaki Disease had existed, there had never been a cure. And on the day that you coughed up the first blood-stained carnation, it became certain that you weren’t about to be the one to break the record.

You considered yourself to be decently cautious about the disease. After all, since you were a child, the only love lesson that you had ever been taught was to never, ever, be the first one in love. Your mother drilled that lesson, telling you that love was a poisonous thing to be avoided at all costs until you believed her.

And yet, you were stupid enough to allow her to wreck you, to allow yourself to become consumed by her.

It was unexpected, to say the least. Lee Siyeon had been a close friend for years, the two of you meeting during college, and she had been in love with someone else since then. You knew Bora well too, actually, and had always rooted for the two to get together.

Had it been anyone else, you would’ve still held the hope that your love could be returned, but Siyeon despised you with all the might of her soul ever since she had found out about the yellow petals floating in the toilet bowl at midnight. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have faced the sheer mortification of begging Gahyeon for the address of the person who saved her.

“Y/N...” she had hesitated when you asked her. Siyeon’s younger sister was the only person that you knew of who had survived the disease without getting the dreaded surgery, but she was incredibly touchy about the subject. Indeed, you didn’t even know who she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

“Please, Gahyeon,” you begged, chasing to maintain eye contact with her. “I can’t die like this. You-- you won’t let me, will you? Not when it’s your sister.”

You didn’t want to guilt-trip her like you did, but it worked. Gahyeon texted you an address and a name, the ping noise of the notification sounding more like your saving grace than anything. “You can’t tell anyone else once you’re healed,” she warned. “She’ll know who you are as soon as you say my name.”

To outside eyes, the Love Blossom looked like a normal flower shop. The narrow storefront, sandwiched between a coffee shop and a bookstore, was painted a faint pink and chipped with green on some edges. There were flowers stuffed everywhere you could see-- exploding baskets on the windowsills, colorful wreaths hung everywhere, even a huge L and B made of blooms on the window.

Even when you pushed the door open, it gave no indication of being anything other than a flower shop. The scent of flowers was heavy, some rock song playing from the peppy pink speakers dangling from the ceilings. “Hello?” you called out, hands tightening on the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder. “H-”

Suddenly, you coughed out again and held your sleeve up to prevent any flower petals from fluttering out; the constant itch in your throat only served to make you more anxious to find the florist that Gahyeon had referred you to. “Is anyone there?”

“Hi!” You yelped and jumped back when an invisible door just next to you randomly opened, the shelf concealing it nearly colliding with your face. “Oh, I’m sorry! Were you looking for me?”

The girl who opened the door looked like the literal manifestation of sunshine; her smile took up half her face, the brown of her half-moon eyes seemingly lit from within. She balanced a flowerpot on her hip as she bowed to you in apology, long hair almost sweeping the floor. “Are- are you JiU?”

“Yep!” She moved to set the pot down, cocking her head slightly to take you in. “How can I help you today?”

“I... I’m a friend of Gahyeon,” you explained, watching as the smile on her face lessened slightly in understanding. You fished out the plastic bag from your purse, the almost-dry crimson inside overpowering the yellow petals. “Can you help me?”

The brunette accepted the bag, flashing you another bright smile as she opened the secret door again. “Well, let’s take a look. Follow me, please, and call me Minji.”

The narrow doorway led to what seemed to be her living quarters, or maybe an apothecary; the walls were almost completely covered by the forest-green painted shelves lining them, mismatched books and trinkets filling the spaces. Incredibly detailed drawings were tacked everywhere, a ladder folded behind the hidden door, presumably to access the blank walls up near the ceiling. A loft area was most likely where she slept, though she led you to a large and cluttered desk to examine the flowers you had given her.

“Yellow carnations. These symbol rejection and disdain, you know.”

You winced at the girl’s bluntness, though it wasn’t meant as a jab, still staring at the multitudes of drawings tacked everywhere. “Yeah, I know. Gahyeon told me.”

She smiled at the mention of the younger girl, setting the bag with your blood down to fiddle with a notebook. “I taught her well, then.”

“Taught her?” You watched her shift jars of petals around on the shelves, scribbling something down on a sheet of ironically pink and cutesy paper. “I thought you healed her.”

“Well, the Hanahaki disease doesn’t heal easily,” Minji responded, gesturing for you to follow her into a tiny kitchen area. “It took months, actually, and she spent almost every day in here. She might as well have become an apprentice, with how much I taught her.”

“Months?” Fear rose up in you at that, apparently not affecting the other girl as she hummed. You’d been in one of the later stages for a good couple of months now, though you couldn’t tell which one without visiting a doctor. “Minji, I don’t have months.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, tying the strings of her apron behind her. “Well, are you willing to get the surgery? Spend thousands of dollars and go through such a rigorous process, and then be left with a cold heart and unhealable scars?” At your silence, she chuckled, tying her hair up in a plait. “That’s what I thought.”

You sat on the stool at her kitchen table, watching Minji busy herself at what looked like a stovetop, albeit littered with glass bottles and half-hearted bouquets. “What makes you certain that this’ll work, then? How’d you even learn to help people like me?”

Minji bit down on her lower lip, the dark red color remarkably not transferring onto her pearly teeth. “Well. My mother died from the disease, so I was originally going to study it in school. But I had to help Gahyeon somehow. When she fell in love with someone who’d never love her back... I couldn’t just watch her die.”

Smiling slightly, you watched her scatter the same petals as you had coughed up into a pot, freshly plucked from stems that she threw onto the counter next to her. “What about you? What’s the story behind “rejection and disdain”?” she asked suddenly, smiling prettily. Something about her was a bit ethereal in the kitchen’s LED lighting, though maybe it was the fact that she was literally saving people that doctors couldn’t.

“Ah. I fell in love with Siyeon,” you answered, placing your hand into your chin as you watched her work. “She loves someone else, and I got between them. It’s not her fault.”

Frowning, Minji uncapped a jar that smelled strongly of rose, practically upending it in her pot. “Gahyeon’s sister? Does she know that you’re going to die because of her? I’ve met her before, and I didn’t think she’d be so cruel. ”

You nodded silently at that. The whole reason you were in such a predicament was that you loved Siyeon and she hated you; there was no way you were going to ask her to turn her entire heart on its head just to save you. It was unlikely that she’d want to do so at all, anyway. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” the brunette sighed sympathetically. “Love really hurts sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you smiled drily. “It’s just all too literal for me.”

“Hey, Minji!”

The girl turned from her flowers to wave excitedly at you, her smile painted bubblegum pink this time to match the faded apron she wore. She held trimmers in her hands, clumsy with the thick gloves she wore. “Y/N! Good to see you again, come in?”

“Yeah.” You smiled just seeing the interior of the shop, as decked-out as it had been in your first visit. Instead of the purple theme last week, Minji seemed to have gone with yellows, the peonies and roses tainting the cold air. The apartment, however, looked the same, almost comforting in its maximalism. “I’m done with the vials,” you mentioned, taking the freshly-washed glass bottles out of your bag along with a fresh bag of bloody flowers.

“Did they help?” Minji asked, accepting both with a quiet “thank you”. “Gahyeonie always told me that they taste terrible, but sugar cancels out all the good properties.”

“They aren’t that bad,” you lied, sitting down at the same spot in the kitchen and opening your bag. At her questioning look, you explained, “Oh, I thought I’d bring my laptop this time and keep you company. You said you were bored last time...”

Part of you wished she would turn you away, just so that you wouldn’t become attacked to someone who’d eventually leave you behind too. But she smiled, turning on her stove and hefting the same ceramic pot on as she did the last time. “That’s perfect, Y/N. When you’re done, you can come help package some bouquets for a break, okay?”

You nodded, sighing in content at the smell of flower petals boiling once again in the shop. “Okay. Thanks, Minji.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, turning back to the ingredients that she fiddled with. “No need to thank me at all. How’s Siyeon?”

Shrugging, you swept some papers off the table to place your laptop down. “I don’t really know. She doesn’t talk to me. I only have contact with her through Gahyeon now, but it’s not really like I want to talk to the person killing me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say “killing”,” Minji pouted, teasing you with a long flower stem. “It makes me think that you don’t believe you’ll live.”

“No, I trust you, I--” You stopped in your tracks when you realized that the other girl was joking, rolling your eyes before turning back to your computer. “Real funny, Minji.”

She giggled, placing a mug of coffee on the table beside you. “I like to think I am. You can call me Minji, by the way. Only customers call me Minji.”

Instead of responding, you sipped at your coffee, falling into a comfortable silence once the florist turned back to her stove. With the cool fall sunlight streaming in through the window and the heavenly aroma inside the kitchen, you suddenly thought that you could get used to a scene like this. More than that-- you liked it.

A good 4 weeks passed without incident. Your weekly visits were always filled with musical laughter and pretty grins whirling by in an instant. Minji only looked more beautiful each time, the pain in your chest somehow lessening each time you saw her wave to you with all the enthusiasm that Siyeon lacked. Part of you wondered whether the bitter concoctions that Minji had you drink were the thing at work at all, but you continued to take them, and you continued to improve.

Of course, everything good had to come to an end.

“Y/N,” Minji gasped as she kneeled next to you, hands hovering over your body as you hacked again, red dribbling from your lips to the floor. Your fingers curled weakly around your phone, tears escaping your eyes with how hard you squeezed them shut. “Gahyeon called me, what happened to you?”

With the clusters of carnations fluttering in your lungs with every breath you took, you weren’t able to respond. The other girl seemed to realize that, digging through her bag for something. Before she could take anything out, though, you wheezed for air again, throat swollen to the point of suffocation.

She acted quick, turning you onto your side to let full blossoms slip from between your lips. The yellow blooms were dauntingly bright against the dark wood, almost a serene picture if not for the violent crimson staining the petals. Tipping a vial of golden orange into your mouth, Minji ordered, “Swallow. Come on, you can do it.”

As soon as the poppy syrup was gone, your eyes fluttered shut and you slumped against your arm, breathing rattled but steady. Sighing, the brunette wiped a remaining petal from your lips, sliding her hands below your knees and your neck to pick you up. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

When the sun began shining unbridled through the cracked curtains of your bedroom, you woke from the longest sleep since you started choking at night. Someone had taken the liberty of folding the clothes scattered across your chair, as well as placing your fully charged phone, a purple-colored glass of liquid, and a note by your side.

Y/N,

I have to go back to the shop, but Gahyeon or I’ll stop by later today to bring you some more medicine. Next time, call me first!

xx,

Kim Minji

There was a ridiculous smile on your lips just holding a pink piece of paper imprinted with the girl’s kiss in lipstick, as well as a remarkable lack of flowers in your lungs. Indeed, you couldn’t taste copper coating your tongue, or feel petals stuck to the back of your throat, and it felt even better than you had remembered.

When you checked your phone, you realized that a certain contact was missing, A phone number that you had long since given up on contacting. There was a gap in your carefully curated picture gallery, Siyeon’s pictures with you taken off your wall, too. In their places were various pictures of Minji and Gahyeon, sometimes together and sometimes apart. In one of the selfies, you noted with a grin that someone had scribbled a Sharpie mustache over Minji’s face.

Since when had the florist replaced her in your life, and since when were you absolutely okay with that?

Minji smiled as soon as she noticed that the door to the Love Blossom was already open, the lights on inside the shop and some sweet smell wafting out. You hadn’t talked about the time she saved you in your apartment, but ever since then, the florist had noted that you were opening up more. You were happier, more willing to crack jokes and visit her on your own accord. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Morning, Minji!” you answered, spinning out of the apartment with a grin. The apron that Minji usually wore to make her syrups was tied around your waist, the faint pink of it white with flour. You held the door open for her and moved to take her jacket off for her, a gorgeous smile on your face as you did. “I let myself in early to make you some bread, I hope you don’t mind!”

“I never mind bread,” the brunette laughed, her heart already warm when she inhaled honeyed air. “Today isn’t a checkup day, though? You stopped by 3 days ago, did you run out of syrup or something?”

You pouted, in a remarkably good mood as you twirled around the kitchen. The counter was finally free of flowers and glass vials, replaced instead by a huge bag of flour and trays of golden-brown pastries. Minji didn’t remember having those supplies, but she wouldn’t put it past you to restock her kitchen just for fun while she visited her friends. “What, I can’t come and see my friends? I’m off work today, so I thought I could bake for you and learn about your bouquet orders.”

Sighing in false exasperation, Minji patted you on the head and tied her hair up to start working, flipping the sign on the door to read “OPEN”. “Of course you can come and see me whenever you want, it’s just rare that you come by like this.”

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” you shrugged, plopping three pastries on a plate for the other girl. The kitchen looked like a completely different place without the usual bloody petals scattered all over the place, and to be honest, Minji loved the change. For once, she wasn’t in charge of saving your life-- she was just a florist, and she was just your friend.

There was no way she could keep the smile off her face, not when you sang exaggeratedly into a filling spoon, and not when you baked all the things she mentioned that she liked.

Something felt tight in her chest when she inhaled air perfumed by butter and roses, but Minji could only smile. For you.

The next time you baked for her was bittersweet. Once again, you were already in the apartment when Minji came back from her morning visit.

“I’m healed,” you sobbed as you catapulted into her arms, a slight poof of flour exploding when your chest met hers. Minji stood still in shock, hands resting softly on the small of your back as you cried, “Minji, I’m healed. You saved me.”

“For real?” she whispered, pulling back to cup your face in your hands. You nodded tearily, makeup-tinted tears mixing with flour as the other girl hugged you again, something clogging up her throat as she tried to breathe. “I... I’m so happy for you.”

You grinned despite your tears as you brought a cake out of the fridge, the pretty lavenders and blues of the frosting somehow reminding Minji of a goodbye. She turned out to be right. “They’re forget-me-nots,” you explained when you gestured to the pretty piped flowers on the cake. “Um, so you don’t forget me.”

“I could never forget you,” Minji blurted, feeling a sting at her own nose. “Come back sometime, okay, Y/N? You don’t forget me either, got it?”

“I won’t.” Despite all the sincerity in your gaze, your promise was hollow to the florist’s ears. You were already tugging on your jacket again, leaving her standing in the middle of an all-too-clean kitchen with a beautiful cake in her hands. “I’m sorry, Minji, I have to get back to work. But I’ll be back soon,” you smiled, watching her carefully for a reaction.

Minji nodded, knees almost trembling as she watched you turn back to wave one last time. “Okay.”

As soon as the glass door slammed again, she rushed to place the cake down, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow as she was hit with yet another uncontrollable fit of coughing. She crouched, free hand gripping tight on the legs of the table near her to steady herself as flower petals dotted with red fluttered softly onto the ground.

“Mallow,” she recognized as she scrambled to pick up the purple-veined blooms, vomiting out yet another. “Mallow...”

Scooting back so that her back could hit the kitchen cabinets, Minji watched the candles atop the cake burn out, blood dripping from her lips onto the pale fabric of her sweater. She didn’t care, though, as she stopped a shallow breath from escaping, finally remembering the meanings of the flowers in her shaking hands.

“Consumed by love.”

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Hiding in Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 Final Chapter.

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies?

RATING: General Audience

NOTE: final chapter

Loki scoured his desks and shelves for those letters. When the knock came to his door, he gave a nod to Tatianna to open it. The maid, who had been working diligently with him in search of said letters, rushed over to check it was who she had been sent for. “The Postmaster, Lord Johan, Your Highness.” She introduced as the Postmaster came in.

“Lord Johan.” The Postmaster bowed. “Prince Loki, I came as soon as I could.” “Thank you.”

“How can I assist you, Your Highness.” “My brother has informed me that three letters were brought to my rooms over a period of months from the Ljósáfar palace.”

The Postmaster’s eyes widened. “You did receive such, Your Highness. I organised them for your rooms myself as I do all the mail for your family. They even had the name of the sender on them, the Princess Raven of Alfheim. Such fine writing she has too. Artistic and neat.”

Loki nodded and took little heed of the statement, It was well-known that the Postmaster was a graphophile, he supposed a few millennia of looking at different handwriting would turn almost anyone into one.

“I have never received them.” The Postmaster’s mouth opened to speak. “I am not, for one moment, suggesting you to be telling me falsities, Lord Johan, I know of the due care you put into your work but also I know you have entirely no reason to lie.”

“On two of the three occasions, they came alongside other post. On the final one, it did not and I ensured they all made their way to your rooms. Because of their importance, I placed them in the centre of your desk rather than the usual place.” Loki’s eyes widened and he looked at his desk, which was kept clean for when it was needed for work matters but there was nothing on it at present. “It begs the question then, where did they go, and why would anyone do such a thing as to move them?” He looked at Tatianna as he spoke. The maid shook her head slightly. Loki did not suspect his maid. He questioned her for a moment upon returning to his rooms, asking her if she recalled such letters but she stated that she did not. He had no reason to suspect her, she did not have anything to gain from dishonesty and she had even been readying the rooms in case Raven was to be joining Loki in them. She had tidied shelves in case she too was a reader and had books to join Loki’s. She had gone through each and every item of clothing of his that she could find, discarding the damaged, repairing others making room for the new princess. If anything, Loki suspected she was half excited to have a woman to assist tending to. She loved fashion and hair meaning having a princess to assist with events would undoubtedly be something pleasant for her. “Tatianna, have you tried behind those scrolls?”

“No, Your Highness, I will try now.” She darted off to do that. “Do not forget, Your Highness, Her Majesty insists you turn up for dinner. Missing lunch was unacceptable, missing dinner is...well…” “Let me guess, if I do not turn up, I will have Gungnir force me to turn up?”

“Something to that effect.”

Loki rolled his eyes at his parents’ attempts at threats. “Very well, you keep searching.” She nodded and did so. “Where in the realms are they?” Loki muttered to himself. * The prelude to the dinner did not fair as badly as Loki had worried that it would. For most of it, he spoke with the Ljósáfar princes, all of whom seemed amiable in their own ways, but what he did notice was his mother looking worriedly at him, though he barely acknowledged her unless she spoke to him directly as he did not want to embarrass his family and that there was no sign of Raven.

When dinner time arrived, he began to feel insulted that she had been able to avoid it while he was being forced to endure it. The fact that it was a public dinner made it all the worse. The whole realm would hear the announcement of the forthcoming wedding and she was not even present. What also caught his attention was the Vanir that Thor was clearly speaking within an intimate manner before the meal but who was sat down separately for the meal. He recognised her. She was of good personality but little on looks but she was from a powerful house and Asgard’s tie to Vanaheim had to remain strong so he suspected that she would be announced as Thor’s betrothed as soon as Loki’s marriage ribbon was tied. Raven was of far better looks and he knew from her knowledge of literature that she at least was not without a mind but he still felt angered by it all.

Thinking in his own mind, he heard nothing of the talk around him. It was only when he noticed a severely tense atmosphere around him that Loki got pulled from his thoughts as a shadow came into view beside him. At first, he thought the tense atmosphere was from Raven, who finally decided to grave them with her presence but after a moment, seeing her meek demeanour, he noticed she was the subject of the tense atmosphere, not the instigator. Sitting beside him, she did not even try to look at him or engage him in any manner.

“It’s good to see at least that your brothers and parents disapprove of your actions,” Loki growled lowly to her as the noise around them increased, allowing them some privacy to speak.

“My parents do not care in the slightest about that. They were more worried about me embarrassing them by learning to sew and such than anything. They were simply glad that I was no longer there being of age and unmarried.” She stated in a monotone that still seemed to seep sadness.

Loki frowned slightly. “So what has them all looking at you as though you are a disgrace?” His curiosity got the better of him.

“I should not be in public at present. It’s disgraceful. They disagree with your parents insisting that this dinner go ahead, they felt it should have been postponed.”

“I am very much inclined to agree with that sentiment. Though, I doubt our reasonings are the same, are they?”

“I very much doubt it.” She toyed with her hands.

Loki watched the action carefully, realising she had been doing so with nervousness and anxiety clearly for at least the day if not longer from the marks on them. “You will pull the skin off if you keep doing that.” She stopped and put her hands to her side. “I’m curious, what happened to the woman that stormed my room today and called me a...was it a pretentious prick?” Raven’s eyes widened and she looked around at her parents, praying to every Norn that they had not heard.

Loki studied her reaction. Thor’s and his mother’s words coming to the fore of his mind. They were both right, he didn’t like this more than he disliked a woman that would snap back. He didn’t like being called a pretentious prick but the silent and moping creature next to him was a thousand times worse. “So, you have left two things unanswered, how you shamed them enough to want them to call off this dinner announcement and where you hid the woman that barged into my rooms?” Raven said nothing for a moment, her tongue toying with her teeth as she considered her answer. “I should not have done that and I sincerely apologise for having done what I did to…”

“Norns, stop. I don’t want to hear it. Just answer my questions.” Loki hissed.

“Because I am bleeding.” She said nothing more and waited for his reaction, awaiting disgust.

Loki did not comprehend as to what she was referring to for a moment. He was going to insist that she head to the hospital wing for herself when it dawned on him what she was referring to. In his own mind, he thought to make a comment about it explaining her attitude towards him but he knew that was a cheap excuse. She had stated several times she was told off by her parents for being sarcastic and outspoken. Even when they were waiting for dinner to begin, her brothers had made comments on her behaviour being seeing as unlike other Ljósáfar women. “I am failing to see how that affects things. I am aware it is not an overly pleasant situation for a female but there are surely some things that can assist?” Raven gave a small smile at his innocence to the situation. “In Alfheim, high-born women are not seen while bleeding, or pregnant, or not until she is a certain date past childbirth, it’s seen as shameful and dirty.” “But they are basic parts of being female.” Loki didn’t even think over his reply, it came straight out of his mouth before he could process it. He looked at her, seeing the agreement in her eyes making him realise her earlier words on trying to see if she could be forced to continue such a life and how much they actually meant. Suddenly, he realised there was some sense to her actions. Insane as they were. He knew his and Thor’s lives were restricted by their positions in society, but what Raven was describing was nothing short of a form of imprisonment to him. “Obviously, it is different here. Mother did not retire from court until she was almost due my brother and myself.” He didn’t know why he used that example, she made it clear she did not like the idea of even having children but he wanted to settle her some bit.

Raven merely nodded.

As Loki was going to ask her about the letters, Odin rose to his feet silencing the room. He spoke on and on of the honour of hosting the Light Elves, the sharing of ancient magical knowledge and other such things, how they have been allies through several wars, nothing, of course, on the ones they were adversaries and other such words. No one spoke through the Allfather and when he ceased that speech, there was a cheer and raising of cups and tankards. When he spoke of the marriage, Loki gave a slight nod, as would be expected, while Raven looked around in a manner that she hoped offended no one yet knew it would offend her family terribly. When another cheer was made and another drink was taken, the talking began in earnest.

Raven seemed to think to do nothing but swirl the contents of the cup.

“Have you had mead before?” Loki found himself talking to her both out of boredom and curiosity.

Raven shook her head. “It’s nice, though.” She kept her voice down.

Loki pursed his lips. “Could the woman from today who sassed me please come out? Is there a button that activates her or is it only until a certain time of day, then at night, this meek creature emerges?” Raven’s eyes flickered toward her father, which Loki caught. “Ah, that explains things.” He leant closer causing her to shift slightly in her seat. “As of tonight, you realise you are supposed to adhere to Aesir norms, not Ljósáfar ones. Now, I need to discuss a matter with you.”

“Regarding?” “Some letters.” Raven frowned at him. “It was brought to my attention today that you sent letters to me before this...charade.” Raven looked at him suspiciously. “I did. Three.”

“Yes, Thor mentioned and the Postmaster confirmed.”

“And going by your reaction, you doubted this?” “I never received them.” Raven could not help pursing her lips in disbelief.

“I did not.” “You leave all of your post on that platter, you never miss anything. I saw that myself.” Loki studied her carefully, seeing the disbelief in her eyes. “You think I discarded them without reading?” “You read everything, this I know.” “I never received them.” He stared straight back at her, his rich green eyes willing her to see he was being truthful. “The Postmaster placed them on my desk but I never got them.”

“All three escaped your notice?”

“It appears they did.” “One I would believe, three, I am sceptical.”

“So was I when I heard such for the exact same reason,” Loki admitted. “Did you move them when you came?” “I...They would not have still been there by the time I came.”

“But you did not see them in the room, since you organised things in it?” “No, you’re not listening, they would not have still been in existence. I used paper made with Cat’s Claw oil, meaning…” “It dissolves within a month,” Loki completed. “Why, though?”

Raven nodded. “Yes, I did not want private correspondence with headed paper to be at risk of forgery, so I use that oil. Don’t you?” “I will now.” Loki could not fault her logic. If anything, he was embarrassed he had not thought of it. “What did you write?”

“Nothing too taxing. What were the best books to understand Aesir court and history best? I had heard you were an avid reader, so who you enjoyed? What other hobbies you had, nothing too intimate. The first and second were similar as I thought you had not received the first for whatever reason. The last was a tad more abrupt. Then I stopped trying.” She toyed with her hands again.

“You’re damaging your skin.” Loki admonished. “I am sorry your letters went unanswered. I don’t know what happened to them, I will find out but I did not ignore them.” “I believe you.”

Loki could see she meant it. “If I had seen them…”

“We could be dealing with a different situation right now. Not that it excuses my actions.”

Loki nodded slightly.

“I am sorry for what happened. I truly wish I had not done such. But thank you for your concern also.”

“Concern?”

“When I told you I would be leaving your service and I seemed upset, even though you were upset, you were adamant that if I was being mistreated, I could tell you. Even when you felt terrible for yourself, you showed concern for me, even when you did not like me. I think it showed me so much about you.” She gave a small smile. “Even if you think little of me as I truly am.”

Loki was going to challenge that but he saw the slight smirk and playful glint in her eye. “Norns, you switch between two different demeanours faster than the Bifrost travels realms. It will be exhausting to keep up with.” “I think you forget that I know what you are like. We will be suffering together.”

Loki chuckled to himself, thinking that this situation may not be entirely terrible if they tried. Seeing the hopeful look on Raven’s face, he suspected with some work, perhaps they could.

Raven found herself looking at a certain someone staring at her disapprovingly in the crowded room. She took a moment to realise just who it was before giving the other woman a raised brow. For her part, the other woman seemed genuinely startled as to the Light Elf she had previously spoken down to. With Loki’s interest in the princess and the princess knowing full well who she was and what she had said, she knew there was no manner to get into her good graces under false pretences but also that the Light Elf knew full well about everything and could ensure she kept a close eye on such, so she looked at her food again.

#Loki #others #submission #submitted fic #chapter 12 #wolfpawn #hiding in plain sight

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buckbarnesjames · 3 years

Text

Chapter One (Updated)

Summary: “If I cannot get it right now, I don’t want it at all”.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: discussions of sugar daddy/sugar baby relationships. swearing. discussions of sex.

Word Count: 2216

A/N: Hey guys, I’ll be back to writing this soon as inspiration has hit again, I’m just updating the previous chapters! I had to repost this one as I couldn’t find the original post to edit it. Please enjoy and as always, feedback is welcomed. The taglist is OPEN so feel free to ask to be tagged!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Bucky spent the rest of Friday afternoon mulling over how to broach the subject with you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable in the work environment, but he had secretly always dreamed of having a more personal relationship with you and it wasn’t as if he was new to the sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamic - in fact, he rather enjoyed it. Eventually, he decides to let it go for now and think more about it over the weekend. Meanwhile, whilst Bucky is preparing to spend the weekend overthinking his predicament, you’re preparing to spend time with Nat and Wanda.

Saturday evening you meet them for drinks at a popular nightclub. “Hey, sugar baby” Nat teases you. You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at her. “Enough of that, Natalia. I told you to drop it” you sass back at her. After a few more minutes of teasing from Nat and Wanda, they finally drop the subject. The waiter approaches your table and you order a round for you and the girls - a Cosmopolitan for Wanda, a white Russian for Nat and a Daiquiri in your favourite flavour for yourself. After a few rounds, you’re feeling brave enough to hit the dance floor.

You and the girls dance close together, the feeling of the bass pumping through your ears. You feel a pair of eyes watching you but brush it off and continue to dance. Halfway through the next song, you feel Nat’s hands on your waist as she leans in close enough that you’re able to hear you, “Hey...isn’t that Mr Barnes?” she says, tilting her head in the direction of the bar. Sure enough, there he is and he’s watching you rather intently. “Let’s give our boss a show, shall we?” she says before spinning you around. You throw your head back laughing, the alcohol probably clouding your judgement, and try to scold her in between giggles. You and the girls dance for a while, with Nat periodically confirming that Mr Barnes - and his friend - are indeed watching you.

Eventually the dancing wears you out, and you all head back to your booth. The waiter approaches again with a fresh round when he notices you all taking your seats. As he places the final drink down, he points towards the bar where Bucky and his friend previously stood, “The gentleman over there would like a moment of your time” he says, smiling knowingly. You look over to see that he’s still there along with his friend, who you now recognise is his business partner, Steve Rogers, nursing glasses of whiskey. As if he can sense your eyes on him, he looks up at you and smiles.

“I’ll be back in a moment” you say to Nat and Wanda. They look between you and Bucky in surprise before Nat drunkenly declares, “Uh oh, you’re in trouble” and giggles. Wanda tries to shush her whilst motioning for you to go as you stand there nervously tugging your dress down, which you now feel is way too short, and taking a long sip of your drink.

You approach Bucky and Steve, “Mr Barnes, are you trying to proposition me?” You joke, the fresh drink in your system giving you a little confidence. If only you had an idea of the thought that had swirled around his mind all day. He had originally called you over to discuss the conversation he had overheard, the alcohol in his system impairing his judgement, but now that you’re standing in front of him he can’t get the words out so instead chuckles at your joke. “Of course not, Miss Y/L/N. I just wanted to offer you a drink, you've worked hard this week” he smiles at you and awaits your answer as you try to ignore your brain suggesting that he’s also referring to the little dance show earlier.

“I appreciate that, Mr Barnes, but we were just about to leave.” Bucky looks a little disappointed at your reply. “Maybe another time though?” you smile at him brightly before realising what you had said. You could feel embarrassment coursing through your body. You had no idea why you’d suggested grabbing a drink with your boss. You excuse yourself quickly after that and head home with the girls, missing the way Bucky smoothes his tongue over his lips. You looked good in that dress.

“Is that the girl you were talking about? Your assistant?” Steve interrupts the tirade of dirty thoughts racing through his mind, and he’s grateful. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. The whole sugar baby/sugar daddy thing was a ridiculous idea, a momentary lapse in his judgement. He nods at Steve in reply and downs his whiskey, ordering another one as he places his glass down on the bar. “You have it bad, dude” Steve laughs and Bucky scowls at him. “I can see why, but I prefer redheads” Steve continues joking, looking to the exit as you, Wanda and Nat leave. “Nat would eat you alive, pretty boy. She’s ruthless and that’s why she’s head of the finance department” Bucky bites back. Steve laughs and proudly declares that he could handle her, to which Bucky continuously denies for the rest of the night as Steve tries to convince him to give him Nat’s number.

You arrive on time to work on Monday, your car having spent the weekend in the garage, and the next few days pass by in a blur of meetings, business proposals and coffee making. You don’t see much of Bucky through the week but put it down to the time of year and not the encounter you’d had with him Saturday night. You knew he was probably planning the end of month gala to celebrate acquiring an important business deal. Before you know it, Thursday arrives.

Bucky is working late again. As usual, you’d order him some food and placed it on his desk. You’re packing your bag to head home when Bucky enters the office, closing the door behind him. “Miss Y/L/N, could I talk to you for a moment?” he says, his tone serious and you begin to worry that you’ve done something wrong. “Of course, Mr Barnes. Is everything okay? I haven’t messed something up have I?” you ramble on. You couldn’t afford to lose this job, the pay was great and allowed you to live comfortably in a decent Manhattan apartment. “Y/N,” Bucky interrupts your inner monologue, “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you about a conversation I overheard the other week.” Your stomach drops. Oh, shit. He’d heard you, Nat and Wanda.

You look to the floor, embarrassed. “Mr Barnes, I can explain…” Bucky interrupts you again, this time by placing his finger under your chin and lifting your head so your graze meets his. You gasp at the contact. Bucky had never been this informal with you before. “You’re not in trouble, Y/N. In fact, I found the conversation rather interesting.” Bucky says, removing his hand from underneath your chin once he’s sure you won’t break eye contact. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for the past week and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries but well, If I don’t ask then I’ll never know.”

“Thinking about what, Mr Barnes?” You look at him in confusion, your head tilted slightly to the left. Bucky finds the action endearing. You look so innocent. He takes a deep breath before speaking again, “Look, you know as well as anybody around here that If I can’t get what I want right now, then I don’t want it and well right now… I want you. I want you in the capacity that you and your friends were talking about on Friday.” Bucky hears as you sharply inhale. “You mean, you want me as...as your sugar baby?” you ask, your voice an octave higher than usual. Bucky chuckles softly at your nervousness. “Yes, Y/N. You’re free to say no, I’ll never broach the subject again and we can continue to work together in a professional capacity but...I’d really like it if you were to say yes”.

“Why me?” you ask. You don’t know why but it’s the only thing you can say. For some reason, your feet aren’t carrying you out of the office and home as fast as possible, like you’d wished when this conversation had begun. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you’d secretly fantasized about your attractive boss since the moment you began working at Barnes Industries. “I have more money than I have sense, Y/N, and if I’ve gotta spend it on someone other than myself then I choose the beautiful girl who has sat at the desk across from me for the past two years”. Bucky watches you, surveying your reaction. He was pushing the boundaries so far right now but god, he hadn’t been able to get this idea out of his head all week. “Beautiful?” You ask, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had said in the last five minutes. “Beautiful” he says firmly.

“How would this even work, Mr Barnes?” you ask, the wheels in your head are spinning a thousand miles and hour and you can’t stop yourself from entertaining the idea. BUcky smiles and you see him visibly relax. He pulls a recognisable Tiffany & Co box out of the pocket of his suit pants. “Well...if you were to agree, I’d love for you to accept this gift and wear it every day around the office.” He opens the box to reveal a drop pendant with five, shining stones. You gasp at the simplistic beauty of it. “And what then...if I accept?” you whisper. You had no idea why you were whispering, you knew that you and Bucky were alone in the office. “If you were to accept, I would take you on an initial spending spree and buy you whatever clothes, shoes and products you desired. I would then give you a weekly allowance of an agreed upon amount” Bucky says, his tone similar to the one he uses in business meetings. “And what would you require from me?” you ask. He knows what you’re implying. “You wouldn’t have to do anything you were uncomfortable with. I’d require your company at any events I have to attend and I would love to spend time with you outside of the work environment, taking you to dinner and things but that would only happen if you wanted it to” he answers, watching as a mixture of emotions flash across your face - surprise, confusion and relief. It stings a little when he recognises the look of relief on your face, he’d always been attracted to you and hoped the feeling was mutual.

“This is all so sudden, James” given the situation, you address him informally. His heart flutters at the way you say his name. “I know, and you don’t have to agree but if you decide this is something you want...then text this number before eight tomorrow morning and I’ll send a car for you” he says and he hands you a card with a cellphone number that you don’t recognise.”It’s my drivers number” he answers the question he can see formulating in your mind. You smile, knowing he’d given you that number because his personal phone tended not to be charged unless you’d done it. “I’ll let you go home now and think about things,” he says, taking a step back from you and giving you some breathing room. You silently pick your bag up and make your way to the door of the office, with shaky legs. You turn back to look at him offering him a small smile and a “Goodnight, Mr Barnes”.

You toss and turn all night, mulling the idea over. It wasn’t like you needed the money, Barnes Industries paid you well - probably above the national salary of an executive assistant - but the idea of spending time with Bucky in a more personal way was gnawing at your mind. It was no secret between you and your friends that you had always harbored a little crush on him, and now he was practically on his hands and knees in front of you offering himself - and his money - to you. You get out of bed at seven AM, deciding there was no point in lying around any longer. You get dressed for the day quickly and attempt to eat some breakfast but the nervousness in your stomach doesn’t allow you to eat much so you just drink a coffee and eat a few spoonfuls of oatmeal. You pick up your phone and the piece of paper Bucky had given you last night and take a deep breath before typing out the words that would change your life forever.

I thought about it, Mr Barnes. You type out, clicking send immediately after - giving yourself no chance to change your mind for the millionth time. And what did you decide, Miss Y/L/N? The reply is instant, as if he had been waiting around all morning for you to come to a decision. You quickly type and send your reply.

Yes.

#The Arrangement #ceo!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x reader series

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foxghost · 3 years

Text

Joyful Reunion, Chapter 83

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 2, Chapter 19 (Part 1)

Dark clouds roll towards Tongguan, covering the sky like a veil. Thunder roars through the mountains, and the weather is stifling to the extreme. On reaching Tongguan, the soldiers carry Bian Lingbai into his rooms in a flurry, sending word to doctors to come diagnose his illness. Taking advantage of the chaos, Duan Ling says, “I’m going to untie uncle’s robes. It’s too hot.”

He finds the centipede, its mandibles still buried in Bian Lingbai’s ribs, and with a light tap of his finger, the Gold Crow that has drank its fill of blood rolls into a ball back into hibernation, with its hard outer shell now suffused with a dark crimson from drinking blood, making it seem beautiful and appealing.

When the doctors arrive Duan Ling is worried at first that they could tell Bian Lingbai’s been poisoned, but the doctors from Tongguan can’t tell what’s wrong with him. Even now only a couple of vice generals and one registrar official among Bian Lingbai’s close advisers are aware that he’s been hurt — no one dares let word slip. They discuss among themselves outside the door.

“The General has heatstroke,” says the first doctor.

“The hell he’s got heatstroke!” Duan Ling howls at him. “Does he look like he’s got heatstroke to you?”

The doctor is quite frightened by Duan Ling’s outburst and says, flustered, “I’m not … all that good of a doctor, not as good as you, my lord …”

“Get out of here! Give him some silver and tell him to scram!”

The doctors have no choice but to leave. Vice General Wang, besides himself with worry, comes in to ask, “Now what do we do?”

Duan Ling looks exasperated, saying to Bian Lingbai, “Uncle, can you hear what I’m saying?”

Bian Lingbai just lies there with his eyes wide open, entirely motionless.

Bian Lingbai must be so scared right now, Duan Ling thinks, because he has no idea what Duan Ling is keeping him around for, what he’ll be used for. All he can do is lie on the bed, and await his hour of death without any strength to fight back at all.

“Keep the troops calm.” Duan Ling tells Vice-General Wang, “You must make sure word of this doesn’t get out.”

Vice General Wang sighs. “What on earth was in that cave anyway?”

Duan Ling falls quiet for a beat, and Vice General Wang continues, “Why not send someone else inside to check? Maybe they’d be able to find some clue.”

Duan Ling gives Wu Du a glance. While Wu Du is thinking over it, Duan Ling says to Vice General Wang, “Convene every high-ranking officer here tonight. There are some things I’d like to say to everyone.”

And so Vice General Wang withdraws from the room. Fei Hongde arrives.

The three of them stand in Bian Lingbai’s room.

“How much longer can he last?” Fei Hongde says, “You two shouldn’t just be staying here. You need to get things moving as soon as you can so as to prevent a mutiny in Tongguan after he dies.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Wu Du replies. “After that, I can use drugs to stop him from dying for a while longer, but there’s no way he can last past thirty-six hours.”

Fei Hongde nods. Duan Ling can’t help but glance at Bian Lingbai; since Bian Lingbai kicked him off a cliff, Duan Ling has stopped having any sympathy for him. But he just finds this feeling a very odd feeling to have.

Wu Du takes out the imperial decree and hands it to Fei Hongde. Once they finish deliberating they split up to carry out the plan. Having received Mu Kuangda’s handwritten document, Duan Ling takes it to see Helian Bo.

Right at this moment, Helian Bo is feeling restless as he hasn’t any idea what has happened, and when he sees Duan Ling, Helian Bo moves to greet him immediately.

“This is for you. The imperial court has already given me an answer. See? Chen and Liang are to form a permanent alliance of brotherhood, and never make war against one another.”

Helian Bo unfolds the letter; he hasn’t imagined that Duan Ling really would bring him a letter from Mu Kuangda, and that the chancellor actually trusts him this much.

The last smudge of sunset smears into the courtyard. Helian Bo calls over a bodyguard and tells him to take the letter quickly back to Wuwei2 to present it to the Xiliang Court so they can prepare to reopen the Silk Road with Southern Chen, as well as to force Helian Da to withdraw his troops.

“A new governor for Tongguan will arrive in four more days. I’ve already ordered a cessation of out-bound news, and I’ll send Yao Jing off tomorrow. While I do that, I’ll see you out of Tongguan so you can go home.”

“I stay. With you. Together.”

“Don’t drag this on any longer. The sooner you leave the sooner I can rest easy. It’s anyone’s guess if your uncle’s going to suddenly decide to have you assassinated.”

Bian Lingbai has already been rendered immobile and he’s going to die any time now; he can’t set up an ambush for Helian Bo anymore so he’s actually pretty safe. But what has Duan Ling worried is that army of twenty-thousand who’s waiting for their chance to strike. He doesn’t know if they may choose to attack without warning.

“Leave tomorrow.” Duan Ling says solemnly, “Promise me that. The next time we see each other we’ll definitely make time to reminisce properly.”

Helian Bo can but nod. Outside the courtyard, Wu Du has come to pick him up; when he gets impatient from waiting, he makes a coughing sound to hurry him along. Duan Ling gives Helian Bo a smile, and the two of them hold hands for a moment; Duan Ling places a hand on the back of Helian Bo’s and withdraws his hand, before turning hurriedly to go.

Returning to Bian Lingbai’s room, where they wait for the officers of Tongguan to convene, Fei Hongde tells the two of them, “There’s one more person outside of our calculations. It may be a variable that proves to be a setback in our schemes, so we mustn’t let our guard down.”

If Fei Hongde hadn’t mentioned it, Duan Ling really wouldn’t have remembered. He suddenly wakes up to it — Helan Jie!

If Helan Jie was sent by Xiliang, then that means he’s extremely likely to inform Xiliang that their plan has failed and they need to get moving on a contingency plan.

What are we going to do?

“Wuluohou Mu’s gone to hunt him down.” Wu Du answers for him, “Those two are sworn enemies.”

A slight furrow appears between Fei Hongde’s brows. He nods. “Wuluohou Mu.”

“I ran into him on Qinling’s summit,” Wu Du says.

“Oh, so it was him —” Fei Hongde smiles a calculating smile, taking in Duan Ling’s apprehension with a single glance.

“Did he say anything?” Fei Hongde changes the subject and asks.

“No,” Wu Du replies, then he glances at Duan Ling, indicating that he should show Fei Hongde the Buddhist prayer beads.

“I wonder what could have made him come all the way here?” Fei Hongde asks, seemingly pensive.

Wu Du replies, “Probably because there are items passed down from the White Tiger Hall among Zhao Kui’s hidden treasure.”

Fei Hongde nods at this and says no more. Just then, the two Vice Generals of Tongguan, the Registrar official, the Serjeant-at-arms, and the Colonel all arrive. They wait outside the courtyard house, talking amongst themselves.

Duan Ling is feeling extremely nervous. Fei Hongde says quietly, “Don’t panic.”

Wu Du smooths his fingers over Bian Lingbai’s eyelids, closing his eyes. He opens the door, and Fei Hongde steps away from the bed, while Duan Ling sits down next to the table. The military officials proceed to enter the room.

“Uncle suddenly came down with fevers while on the way to the Qingling.” Duan Ling’s expression is grim as he says, “According to the doctors, he has a heat stroke. You can take turns to check on him and see if you can think of something we can do to help him.”

Bian Lingbai’s eyes are closed, and his lips won’t stop trembling. The red heat on his cheeks has already begun to fade, but the centipede’s fever poison has already spread into his internal organs and into his limbs.

“How did he suddenly come down with something like this?” Vice General Xie steps up and pushes Bian Lingbai’s eyelids open to look at his pupils, but he can’t tell what’s wrong with him either. However, the information has already been passed along onto these people: Vice General Wang saw Bian Lingbai enter the cave with his own eyes, and at the time many soldiers saw Duan Ling and Wu Du arriving at the area looking travel-worn. With Fei Hongde to vouch for these facts, no one is going to cast their suspicions upon Wu Du and Duan Ling.

Bian Lingbai didn’t trust anyone and divulged very little to his subordinates, thus they didn’t even know why he had to run to a mountain stream in the middle of nowhere in Qinling, or how he suddenly came down with fevers and had to be carted back.

“Over the next few days please make sure the border defences are impeccable, and in order to prevent any mishap, I shall send Shang Leguan out of Tongguan on behalf of my uncle tomorrow.”

Of course no one is going to have any objections; Bian Lingbai is in a terrible state and they can all see that — he can’t even speak anymore. There’ll be talk once they disperse, no question, and Duan Ling can guess at the uproar this may cause once the meeting is over, but he already has a plan for that. After the meeting is dismissed, he keeps Vice Generals Wang and Xie behind.

Bian Lingbai is still lying on the bed. Duan Ling calls them, “Uncle.”

“I’m unworthy of such an honour.” Both Vice Generals modestly decline the title. Even though they’re both one generation older than Duan Ling, neither dare claim seniority in front of Bian Lingbai.

“I would like to ask the two of you to take a few people to that cave tonight, and bring out a case of what’s stored inside. Bring it to the main hall.” Duan Ling orders, “But don’t disclose this information. You mustn’t let anyone know.”

The two men share a look between them, seemingly with a plan already in place. Fei Hongde and Duan Ling could tell right away that these two Vice Generals already knew about the gold bars stored in the cave. With Bian Lingbai suddenly falling ill and carried out, anyone would have interrogated the soldiers, and how could mere foot-soldiers conceal information from their superiors? Come to think of it, if Duan Ling didn’t give them these orders, those two would have split the treasure between them at nightfall and escaped overnight.

“The cave is probably not dangerous,” Duan Ling says. “Uncle probably only came down with fever because the secret room’s been sealed off from fresh air for far too long. But no matter what, please make sure to be careful when you go inside.”

And so Wang and Xie head out on his command. When this case of gold bars gets here, Duan Ling will be able to use them to reward the troops in order to stabilise the Tongguan military. Who’d rashly betray their lord when they just got money from him? At any rate, Mu Kuangda has no idea how many cases of gold bars there are, so it should be fine if he shares a couple or three cases. It’s not like the people who got money would tell on him.

“Tongguan’s soldiers have been living in poverty for a long time.” Fei Hongde says to Duan Ling, “Ever since the late emperor’s command was seized from him at Mount Jiangjun, Great Chen has been cutting military spending, and Zhao Kui often embezzled funds and took bribes. This is an extremely clever move on your part, young master.”

“Well it’s not as though I have any other choice,” Duan Ling says smilingly. “Let’s hope the Imperial Court sends someone to take over this area soon. Otherwise judging by the look of these people, things will likely take a turn for the worse. Oh forget it, let’s both get some rest and worry about all this stuff tomorrow.”

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

Wuwei is in present Gansu, and it used to be called “Liangzhou”. You can still see historic buildings left over from Xixia / Xiliang there today. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

Watermelon (a translated one-shot)

I translated this fluffy and mildly suggestive one-shot originally written by 八重垂樱 on Weibo, with permission

Contains references to four e-mails from Gavin’s 100 Days Event. They don’t spoil anything about the main storyline, but don’t continue if you’re averse to anything CN-related!

“Eli took a trip to the countryside and returned with several watermelons. He left us one each...”

“And then?”

Expressionless, your arms are folded across your chest as you look Gavin up and down, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Seeing the way you’re glaring at him, the tips of his ears are tinged with a red hue, and he starts tripping up on his words.

“You know that the fridge at my place isn’t very large, so it can’t hold two watermelons... and watermelons spoil easily when left out. So why not eat it while it’s still fresh? So... so I specially rushed over to bring it to you...”

As he says this, his eyes flit upwards to meet yours. He seems to be pleading for sympathy, and it makes you feel infuriated yet tempted to laugh at the same time.

You deliberately maintain a cold expression on your face and accept the watermelon. “Got it. I’ll take the watermelon, and please thank Eli on my behalf. You can leave now.”

“Ahem. I...”

Gavin freezes, then holds onto the door frame, afraid you’d shut the door on him. With this sight before you, you no longer suppress the laughter bubbling to the surface, and you chuckle.

“Come in, blockhead.”

You stuff the watermelon back into his arms, then pull him into the apartment, letting the door shut behind you.

The cold war began a few days ago. Officer Gavin, who had promised you ten thousand times that he’d take care of himself, led a fleet of men into the midst of out-of-control Evolvers for the ten thousand and one time.

The worst part was that he tried hiding his injuries from you. Upon leaving the hospital after getting his wounds bandaged, he pretended that nothing had happened, accompanying you to Loveland High to visit Mr Keller.

If your suspicions weren’t raised when he kept refusing the glass of wine from Mr Keller’s wife during the meal, he would have hid it from you forever!

Your mind was preoccupied for the rest of the meal. After finding an excuse to leave, you said goodbye to Mr Keller and dragged Gavin back to his apartment. Then, you forced him to take off his clothes to let you check for injuries.

After confirming that his injuries were not life-threatening, you gave him a harsh glare. Without waiting for the man - who now knew that he was in the wrong - to stop you, you grabbed your bag and slammed the door.

Just like that, the two of you entered a cold war.

On the first day of the cold war, Commander Gavin sent a message:

“Thorny hasn’t had much energy recently. I think you might need to visit him.”

You replied: Maybe it’s grieving over Greenie, who didn’t know how to take care of itself properly.

On the second day of the cold war, Commander Gavin sent a message:

“Minor recommended a gift. After checking its reviews on shopping websites, I think he’s not reliable.”

You replied: Minor also recommended a new flavour of cup noodles. Commander, please enjoy it by yourself.

On the third day of the cold war, Commander Gavin sent a message:

“The wind says that you’re always staying in the office. It can’t feel you, so it misses you a little.”

You replied: Please tell the wind that I'm grateful for its concern. And also get it to remind a certain bad egg who goes back on his word to keep his promises to me.

Actually, your anger had already vanished very early on. You found yourself thinking - about eight hundred times a day - about whether Gavin’s wounds were healing properly. And whether he returned to eating cup noodles since there wasn’t a canteen in STF, and without your handmade bento boxes.

But if you were to forgive him so easily, this fellow would hide his injuries from you again!

Mm, a longer punishment is necessary.

“Are we eating the watermelon?”

His voice pulls you back to the present.

Gavin is at a loss as he stands in the middle of your living room, hugging the watermelon to himself. Not knowing if you’re still angry with him, he tests the waters with the question, carefully gauging your reaction.

To the Commander of STF who fears nothing on earth, there is nothing more frightening than his girl giving him the cold shoulder.

Instead of giving him an answer, you fire a question.

“How are your wounds?”

“They were fine since a long time ago. They weren’t anything serious to begin with. In the previous mission...” When Gavin sees your expression, he cuts himself off sharply. “Don’t worry, I’m really okay.”

“’Okay’? ‘Wasn’t anything serious’?! Mr Gavin, are you sure?”

Your volume spikes. Why is this guy always like this? He calls it nothing serious when there’s clearly a deep gash on his shoulder?!

“How serious do you want your injuries to be? Like the time Eli had to carry you straight to the hospital? Gavin, could you please place more importance on your life! I already told you, you aren’t alone anymore! If you continue treating yourself like this, I... I will...”

Gavin frantically sets down the watermelon and embraces you.

“All right, all right, don’t be mad. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault.”

Furious, you struggle in his arms for a second or two before remembering that there are wounds on his body. In the end, you surrender and lean into his arms obediently.

“I’ll vow on Thorny’s life that I won’t do it again!”

“What’s the use of vowing on Thorny’s life? Didn’t you say it was already lacking vitality! Maybe after a few days, you would enrage it to death!”

“Then... Pearly? Or Flyer? Mini Thorny?”

“Gavin!”

“All right...” Gavin tightens his hold, caging you in his arms. He lowers his head and draws nearer to your face, his warm breaths brushing your ear, leaving a numbing sensation in their wake. “Silly. I understand everything you want to say. No matter how dangerous a mission is, and no matter how far I have to go, I know that I always have a home with its lights turned on for me, and a girl waiting behind the door...

“For her, I’ll remember to take good care of myself, and come back safe and sound.”

“Because I’m no longer alone...”

As the voice grows soft, his searing lips gradually meet yours...

In the midst of being kissed dizzy, the only rational thought that drifts to your mind is -

Does this even count as a lesson to him?

Whatever. Since we’re already here... we’ll talk about the rest later.

---

You feast on the watermelon in Gavin’s arms, and a droplet of bright red juice pelts onto his bare chest. Feeling mischievous, you lean over and lick it off directly, successfully re-igniting the flames in the eyes of the man before you.

“Don’t move. We haven’t finished our earlier discussion.”

Swatting away his hand before it comes an inch closer, you lift your chin and look at him teasingly. “So who is the one who misses me? Thorny? Sparky? The wind?”

“Cough.”

“Tell me quickly, or else...”

Pretending to bare your fangs and brandish your claws, you lunge onto him, but accidentally press the remote control in the process. The television on the wall switches on, displaying the news.

The person who is having an interview just happens to be the one who gave the two of you watermelons - Eli.

“Most of the employees in STF are amiable and approachable, especially the aunties in the canteen - they would always pile on more dishes for relatively skinny-looking members...” Eli dons his best smile as he tells the public more about STF, with absolutely no idea about the tragic fate awaiting him the next day.

[Important Context] The official MLQC Weibo account posted fun facts of Loveland City in celebration of the game’s 1000-day anniversary (which I translated here). One of the facts concerns STF, which is basically what Eli is saying above

However, in “Go See Him”, Gavin has a line where he says: “There isn’t a canteen in STF, but the nearby eateries aren’t bad.”

In another line, he says: “My colleagues would sometimes bring handmade bentos...”

So... is this a genuine mistake on Papergames’ part, or has Gavin been lying so MC would make him bentos LOL

"Yes, there has always been a canteen in STF ever since it was built. Apart from the Commander, other team members can also have their meals there.”

“What does the Commander eat? That’s a secret for you to find out the next time you interview him directly hahaha.”

...

"G A V I N.”

You boil with rage, whipping your head around to glare at the “Serial Liar”. Before waiting for you to continue, he acts first, flipping you over and pinning you underneath him.

“Give me a proper explanation about the canteen!”

“All right. But... we’ll talk after getting our fill.”

The sweet fragrance of watermelon permeates the air.

On this late summer evening, it seems like this man will need a very, very long time to be satiated...

[ Permission to Translate ]

八重垂樱: Sure, thank you for liking it

#mlqc #mlqc gavin

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tradgicworks · 3 years

Text

Heartfelt:P-1 A World of Sorrow

When a student of a private school disappears during stormy night, three strangers come together to look for her and end up discovering the dark secrets of the world around them. WORD COUNT - 3134

The light of the setting sun peered into the old diner. Black clouds dotted the sky. Sophie took a long sip from her milkshake and stared wistfully at the horizon. Her golden bangle bracelet slid down her arm as she did.

“What’s wrong?” Gwyneth asked as she noticed her gaze.

Gwyneth brushed her bangs aside. Her dark brown colored eyes were filled with concern. She had voluminous long black hair that covered her shoulders like a fluffy mane. She wore a uniform which consisted of a long skirt, a simple tucked in blouse, and a blazer- all in different shades of purple.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just thinking about some stuff,” Sophie said with a meek smile.

"What kinda stuff?" Gwyneth asked.

"Midterms, winter vacation, piano practice. The usual," Sophie replied.

“Wow, not even trying to hide the fact that you weren’t paying attention to my story, huh?" Gwyneth gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm sorry," Sophie awkwardly smiled.

“It's okay, I forgive you. Anyways, remember that girl that went missing a couple months ago, she was a freshman, um, vice president of the chess club or something. Well some of the older students have been talking about how this isn’t the first time that it has happened,” Gwyneth ate one of her few remaining fries. “Near the end of last year’s spring semester a different freshman suddenly moved away. This normally wouldn't have been seen as strange except for the fact that it was right in the middle of finals. Supposedly, one of her friends decided to call her parents to ask about what happened only to be told that the phone number had been out of service for weeks.”

“Spooky,” Sophie commented simply.

“Mhm. So, the older girls started talking and it turned out that a lot of students went missing over the years. They say that it's been about fifteen students in total that have suddenly disappeared. For every single one of them there was a convenient excuse for why, but all of it just seems too coincidental,” Gwyneth leaned in for dramatic effect. “Me thinks there’s a conspiracy afoot.”

“Really? I suppose it is strange, but it could just be that the seniors get overactive imaginations with how much free time they have during finals,” Sophie sighed.

“Aw come on, humor me at least," Gwyneth leaned back. “Don’t you think it’s weird that the academy has a dedicated security team that answers directly to Capital City’s police department? We even have a creepy name for them- Wardens- that’s not normal!”

“Well, given the kind of students that attend it’s not that strange,” Sophie said.

“You really are playing devil's advocate today, huh?” Gwyneth gave a friendly smile.

“Sorry,” Sophie lowered her gaze.

Gwyneth’s smile turned to a face of concern.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay-'' Gwyneth started before she was interrupted by the chimes of their phones.

“Curfew,” Sophie swiped at her smartphone. “It’s time to head back.”

“Right...” Gwyneth gazed at her for a few seconds as she packed up her things and got ready to leave before following suit.

The two left a tip for the waiter and headed out into the cold air of the coming winter. The sleepy sky matched the energy of the few students that remained outside, all of them in a quiet hurry to get back to the main campus of Dorothy Elaine Atham's Private Academy for Young Women, or “the academy” as the students plainly referred to it. It was originally constructed in the early 1940s, yet it managed to remain one of the most prestigious high schools in Capital City. This was mostly due to the academy having the support of the Capital City Police Department. They would employ off-duty officers to act as the academy’s security team, or ‘Wardens’ as they were officially referred to. As a result the academy set itself apart as one of the safest private high schools in the entirety of the United States. Strict curfews, no relationships, mandatory dorms, quarterly inspections by the Wardens, uniforms and an arduous curriculum were some of the measures taken to keep the students safe. Wealthy families from all over the country enrolled their children with peace of mind that they would be safe, allowing the school to afford top of the line facilities, staff, and to further its reputation even more. It was said that the academy was so stern with its policies that even the lightest violation could lead to expulsion. Of course that was just a rumor.

Sophie and Gwyneth eventually found themselves back at the main entrance of the academy. Tall walls made of brick and black fencing led to two large half open gates. A flower bed filled with wilting violet roses that matched the student’s outfits sat underneath them. A tall Warden stood at the side of the entrance. Her bright green eyes filled with overwhelming sternness locked with Sophie’s. Sophie averted her gaze and made her way in alongside Gwyneth.

“W-Well, see you tomorrow,” Sophie said to Gwyneth as she took out a pair of wireless earbuds.

“Wait,” Gwyneth gently grabbed her arm before she left. “How about we walk back to your dorm together? I got some more spooky stories I want to tell you about.”

“You won’t make it back to your dorm in time if we do that, you’re on the other side of campus.” Sophie replied.

“I could just stay at your place, y’know like a sleepover,” Gwyneth doubled down as she let go of her arm.

“We both know you can’t do that,” Sophie let out a long breath and held Gwyneth’s shoulders. “I’m fine, really. I know you’re worried about me but I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyneth asked.

“I’m sure,” Sophie looked her in the eyes. “I promise that I’m okay.

“Breakfast?” Gwyneth asked dejectedly.

“Of course, breakfast sounds great,” Sophie gave a convincing enough smile. “Now let’s hurry, before the dorm doors lock.” She said as she let go of her.

“Yeah, goodnight,” Gwyneth smiled slightly.

“Goodnight,” Sophie replied before putting in her earbuds and selecting a classical music playlist.

The sun was halfway nestled into the horizon by the time they split. Night was rapidly approaching. The pitch black clouds moved as a mound, thunder rumbled in the distance. The academy resembled a small college more than a high school. Four buildings took up the majority of the campus, each housing their respective grade. A well decorated plaza rested in the middle of the four buildings, where the freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors could interact with each other during lunch or after classes. The dorms sat a few hundred feet from their respective buildings. Wilting but mostly green grass took the majority of the empty space in the campus. Trees and flower beds stood beside the lamp posts that lit up the sprawling walkways. The campus barely had enough room for everything that was built on it, but it was efficient nonetheless.

Sophie’s brows furrowed as the freshmen dorm came into view. It was tucked away in the farthest corner of the campus. While the other dorms enjoyed a nice view of the academy, the freshmen dorms were greeted with the old auditorium. It was by far the oldest building on campus and in a desperate need for renovation. Unfortunately, the construction was inexplicably postponed until the end of the semester- leaving the freshmen with the sight of an ugly, half finished, and decaying building.

Sophie glanced at the front doors. A girl leaned against the doors as she chewed gum. Sophie overlapped the ends of her blazer together and averted her eyes. The girl stopped chewing as Sophie walked to the entrance. Sophie quickly took out her ID card and pressed it against the door’s scanner. The girl swatted her ID to the ground as it finished scanning.

“Whoops,” The girl, Eva, leered in a pretentious tone as she put her arm around her shoulder. “Didn’t see you there princess.”

Eva blew a bubble with her gum and popped it with a sharp snap. Her dyed ash blonde hair was tied into a messy bun. Her hazel colored eyes were flecked with dull orange blemishes. She wore a thick black hoodie and a short skirt which barely fell within the academy’s dress code. A faint but irritatingly smug smirk stretched across her face.

“What do you want, Eva?” Sophie said meekly.

“Nothing much, nothing much at all. I just wanted to talk to my dear friend for uh,” Eva glanced at her wrist watch. “Five minutes.”

“We’re not friends,” Sophie kept her gaze glued to the floor.

“It hurts me to hear you say that,” Eva squeezed her shoulder until she winced from the pain. “Listen, I need a little favor. As you know, winter break is in a week and I’m running low on funds, so I was wondering if you can help me. It’ll run you about five thousand dollars, but of course that’s nothing compared to all the allowance money your mommy and daddy are giving you, right?”

“No,” Sophie muttered.

“Excuse me?,” Eva tilted her head until she met her gaze. “You need to speak up, I can’t hear you through your teeth.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” Sophie pushed her off of herself. “Leave me alone or I’ll report you to the Wardens!”

“Oh, really now?” Eva chuckled dryly. “I think you and I both know you can’t follow up on such a threat, not without putting that friend of yours in a whole lot of trouble…Well you do have a point, I can’t take what’s not in my hands after all…” She glanced at her watch and gave a sadistic smirk.

“But neither can you,” Eva said before sweeping Sophie’s legs and causing her to trip backwards.

Sophie yelped in pain as she just managed to catch herself. By the time she got up Eva was already inside of the dorm with her ID in hand. She rushed to the doors only to find that they were already locked. The sound of a grandfather clock chimed through the PA system signaling the start of the curfew.

“It’s a good thing you managed to scan the door before you dropped your ID, huh? That way it's on record that you got in here before curfew. Your perfect attendance is not in danger, though it was a real shame you lost your ID. Don’t worry though I’ll turn it in to the lost and found in the morning. Have a nice night, princess! I hear it's going to be a dark and stormy one,” Eva laughed while waving Sophie’s ID in the air.

“Wait!” Sophie pleaded as she desperately tried to open the door, but no matter how much she pushed against them, the doors refused to budge.

She froze as she felt a cold drop of rain fall down her neck. She looked up at the rumbling dark sky. It began to pour. Sophie clung to what little shelter could find at the side of the building. She took out her phone and tried to call Gwyneth, only to find that her screen had shattered completely from when she tripped. She looked around for a Warden but found none. She yanked out her earbuds and angrily threw them into her bag in frustration. Pathetically faint music leaked out of them. She leaned against the wall and sunk until she was sitting with her knees to her chest.

Despite its claims to security, the reality is that the school can’t keep everyone safe. With the majority of students coming from wealthy backgrounds, treating one too harshly could lead to the parents withdrawing their donations. Without those funds, the school would cease to function- something the academy avoided at all costs. As such, there was an unwritten rule that the wealthier the family, the more lenient the punishment. Though many students did not take advantage of this reality, after all attending the academy was a privilege. All except for Eva. Nobody really knows why, but the school would turn a blind eye to her many misdeeds. Some speculated that it was due to her role as one of the academy’s star athletes, others thought that she was secretly related to the headmaster. Regardless of the rumors, the reality was that she was cruel, spiteful, and above all, manipulative. She made a habit of harassing students that had unfortunately drawn her attention. Whether it be through blackmail, harassment, or slander, she would abuse her victim until they were forced to do whatever she wanted. No matter how much students tried to retaliate she always seemed to have the upper hand and the academy would turn the other way. As a result she had gained an infamous reputation amongst the freshmen and sophomores as someone to be avoided at all costs. Unfortunately for Sophie, Eva seemed to be obsessed with making her time at the academy as miserable as possible. Eva’s persistence was so overwhelming that Sophie ended up being isolated from the rest of her class out of fear of Eva alone. The only person brave enough to still talk to her was her closest friend Gwyneth. She did her best to make sure that Sophie was rarely alone and felt safe. However, even that backfired. Eva had somehow managed to take a photo of Gwyneth that would lead to her expulsion if revealed to the public. Ever since then, Eva has hung that threat over Sophie’s head and she couldn’t let anything happen to her best friend. As such, Sophie felt so alone. She felt as if she was left to fend for herself against the clutches of a monster.

Sophie pressed her face against her knees, frustration weighing at her heart, and began to cry. Harsh winds began to pick up and slam waves of rain against her. Sophie took a shaky deep breath and slowly rose to her feet. She looked at her surroundings to try to find better shelter. Her gaze eventually lingered on the auditorium. She choked down a cough before grabbing her bag and heading towards the unfinished building.

. . .

The outside of the auditorium was a mix of moldy wood and peeling paint. Its towering size gave it the imposing essence of a Victorian mansion. Overgrown vines and unkept leaves dressed the entirety it’s walls. Sophie steeled herself as she approached the entrance. She stopped under a small awning that hung over the front doors where no rain seemed to fall. Lightning followed by thunder struck as she gripped her rain soaked skirt and wrung out the excess water. She shivered from the cold as she dried herself the best she could. When she finished, she leaned against the door.

“The dorms open up at 6 am, I’ll be able to get my ID back then,” She thought to herself as she stared at the hole riddled awning. “Maybe father will buy me a new phone, it was pretty old anyways.”

She grabbed her wrist and felt for her bracelet, her only reminder of warmth. A wave of sadness surged through her.

“Mom, Dad, I want to go back home,” She whispered to herself.

Chills spread out through her entire body as the door she braced herself against suddenly flung open with a sharp clang. She regained her balance and turned around. The door’s handle laid on the floor completely broken. The darkness of the auditorium greeted her with a gust of musty, but warm, air. She took a step back only to have the freezing rain fall on the back of her neck. Sophie looked at the entrance with an uneasy face. After a few moments she hesitantly walked in.

The building was much larger than it appeared. A few work-lights left turned on lit the auditorium with sheets of inconsistent light. Door frames to rooms that were used for the construction’s storage lined the walkways. The long hallways on either side of Sophie curved out of view. In front of her sat two large doors. She pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside. She found herself in the academy’s theater. Rows of weathered red fabric seats stepped down into the center stage. The stage’s walnut flooring was scuffed from years of use and subsequent neglect. Two large maroon curtains blocked the view to the backstage. A small podium sat at the front of it, its paint flaking off to the bare wood. She climbed onto the stage, its visage faintly lit by the work-lights that peered through the half opened doors.

Sophie stared at the seats in a silent awe. She imagined what the theater would look like if it were full of people and wondered why the academy refused to finish renovations. As she pondered, her gaze lowered to the podium. Her eyes narrowed. Faint scratches lined the bottom of it. She wiped a layer of dust off with her hand and revealed a string of faintly recognizable letters.

“Save me?” Sophie slowly read out loud.

“Heard.” A breathy and raspy voice that stretched out every syllable echoed through the theater. “You.”

The doors slammed shut, snuffing out the work-lights and leaving her in complete darkness.

“W-Who’s there?” Sophie stammered.

A bittersweet melody of hums snaked through the dark and into Sophie’s ears in reply.

“Show y-yourself,” Fear gripped at her heart, she clutched her school bag ready to swing it whatever was lurking in the darkness.

“Heard,” The voice repeated, this time more strained. “You.”

“T-This isn’t f-funny, please stop!” She said with a slight whimper.

“Save. You. You. Want. Me. To. Save...” The voice called from behind her causing her to jump in fear.

She swung her schoolbag wildly but it collided against nothing.

“Go. Somewhere. Safe. You. Want. To. Go. Somewhere. Safe. Somewhere. Home...” The voice grew louder.

“Stay away…” She said silently.

Her breaths grew frantic. An overwhelming dread welled in her gut. Panic coursed through her entire body.

“I. Can. Help.” The voice whispered.

A raspy strand of flesh wrapped around her feet before she could react. Her horrified scream was cut short as another strand that gagged her mouth shut. More and more threads wrapped around her body until she was stuck in an airtight cage. She shrieked in muffled terror as she was yanked behind the curtains. Lightning flashed illuminating the theater in a pang of white before decaying back into darkness. Silence followed. The night continued as normal as a stormy night could. Though a few freshmen swore that they heard strange noises coming from the old auditorium that night. Screams of struggles, pleads for help, and a blood curdling shriek to name a few. Of course nobody took it too seriously. It was just a rumor after all.

#oc #ow #writing #mystery #thriller #horror #anime inspired #female protagonist #heartfelt #cw bullying #First time using tumblr and writing online please be patient C:

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mayfriend-archive · 3 years

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Totally understand if you're not up for it and fully recognize the ronald mcdonald dom/sub anon vibes which is an AMAZING post btw but like...now i'm curious, what the hell did Lord of the Flies anon DO that got him blocked for the discourse? like...i just can't wrap my head around high school lit being...uh...that inflammatory i guess?

Okay so, I'll start by saying I've had a new anon from apparently the same anon saying they are NOT the person I blocked, just a rando making the same points, but I'll answer your question anyway just to set out why this person in particular got blocked, out of the several thousand who reblogged/commented on that very successful addition to the LoTF post I made.

First off, I added the 'real life Lord of the Flies' story because I thought it was a good story. I had read about it only a couple days beforehand in Humankind and, after reading out the entire chapter to my parents who weren't very interested, I was excited that there was not only a post where it would be relevant to post, but that I wouldn't be hijacking it, as it was already rejecting the widespread interpretation taught in many schools, that humanity is inherently savage.

When making the addition, I a) did not think it would get more than a couple reblogs, because the post was already at 50k notes and I figured anyone that might be interested would already have seen it, and b) I did not know the very specific context that prompted William Golding to write the book; all I knew was that he had been a teacher at a public school (basically, the poshest schools in the country - think Eton, Harrow, very 'old money' places that pump out Conservative politicians by the bucket-load 🤢) who hated his job and the boys he taught (which, valid), and new information I'd been given in Humankind - that Golding had said to his wife one day, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to write a story about some boys on an island, showing how they would really behave?" - which had no mention of The Coral Island by R. M. Ballantyne, which I have since learned was the text that Golding loathed enough to write an entire novel in refutation of - and included what I considered a very telling letter from Golding to his publisher, in which Golding wrote of his belief that 'even if we start with a clean slate, our nature compels us to make a muck of it.' Another Golding quote that I believe portrays his belief in humanity's 'innate savagery' is that "man produces evil as a bee produces honey."

Obviously, the author of a book putting forward the case for humanity's inherent goodness was going to oppose Golding's hypothesis; Bregman not only noted Golding's literary accomplishments and beliefs, but his personal life.

When I began delving into the author's life, I learned what an unhappy individual he'd been. An alcoholic. Prone to depression. A man who, as a teacher, once divided his pupils into gangs and encouraged them to attack each other. "I have always understood the Nazis," Golding confessed, "because I am of that sort by nature." (Humankind by Rutger Bregman, p. 24-25)

I have bolded the part about him as a teacher, because it is incredibly relevant to the original post that I commented on, which begins with a comic of a teacher locking her class in to see them 'recreate' Lord of the Flies, something which the follow up comments before mine staunchly reject as both misunderstanding the point of the book, and the fact that it took the kids in Lord of the Flies a significant amount of time without adult supervision to go 'savage'. This misreading of the text is widespread enough that when Golding won the Nobel Prize for Lord of the Flies, the Swedish Nobel committee wrote that his book 'illuminate[s] the human condition in the world of today'. Whether or not they misread it is beyond my expertise - they do at least mention the factors of the outside world neglected by many when analysing the book, but still seem to believe it says something about human nature as a whole rather than just, to quote thedarkbutbeige 'British kids being rat bastards' - but Golding quite happily took his Nobel prize on this basis. Which, in fairness, I would too. It's a fucking Nobel prize.

It was with this knowledge, and this knowledge alone, that I stated in my now very, very widely read comment that Golding 'wrote the book to be a dick', in response to the tags of the person I reblogged from. As I said, I now know that Golding did not write the book (solely) because he hated the kids he taught, but as a response to The Coral Island and the general idea that clearly the British were inherently civilsed, whilst the people they colonised and enslaved were inherently savage. So. That's the background.

The anon - or rather, the person I thought was anon - was the sole exception out of dozens of replies, who instead of telling me about The Coral Island politely decided it was time to go ALL CAPS and regurgitate points already made by thespaceshipoftheseus, and implied that the only reason that the real life Tongan castaways didn't go all Lord of the Flies was because they weren't British. Not because they weren't surrounded by violence like the boys in Lord of the Flies, or there wasn't a World War ongoing, or that they weren't the upper, upper, upper crust of a class-obsessed society like Britain - but because they weren't British. A complete inversion of the concept that Golding was trying to get across - now, instead of all of humanity being equally prone to savagery in the right conditions, it was solely nationality that determined it. As in, the British were inherently savage, but nobody else was.

I, trying for humour, made the terrible mistake of replying to them.

I won't lie, I was absolutely blown away that this was real life. What I think they were trying to do was be that Cool Tumblr Person who, after somebody's been shitty on a post, goes to their blog and sees something Damning in their about/description. In an ideal world, I imagine I'd have gone nuts or done something Unforgiveable. In what I can only call the rant that followed, they stated several times that I needed to go back to high school to get some 'proper literary analysis' skills and that the story of the Tongan castaways was completely unrelated to the point at hand which. I mean, I disagree, considering that I made the addition, but I couldn't get my head around how commenting on a post that was already rejecting the thesis that the 'point' of Lord of the Flies was that humanity was inherently savage and was, in fact, about how kids - British or otherwise - learn how to function from the adults around them, and that traumatised, terrified children aren't going to create a mini-Utopia, and put forward a real life example of how without the key additions of an ongoing world war, a colonial Empire and the subsequent mindset of thinking you are 'inherently civilised' and therefore can't do anything wrong, actually, people just want to take care of each other.

A friend has since asked me why I even have 'england' in my description. To be honest, it's a timezone thing - I talk to a lot of people online who don't share my timezone, and it generally makes me feel like if I don't reply immediately because it's 3am, they have the tools to see that I'm not in their timezone and not just ignoring them. I did consider changing it to 'british' or 'uk' after it was... 'used against me', I guess, simply because I didn't want to deal with it, but you know what. No. Not gonna do that. I am from England, and I have never hid that fact. I have a tag called 'uk politics', during Eurovision I refer to the UK's act as 'us' (even if I really, really don't want to. Because James Newman slaughtered that song and it was downright embarrassing), I regularly post stuff in my personal tag about where I live (and mostly complain about this piece of shit government). If people really think my nationality makes every point I make null and void, then they don't have to follow me or interact with my posts; tumblr is big, and I am one medium-small blog very easily passed over.

I did reply to them, trying to explain the above, but their next response really just doubled down. Because I used the word British instead of English - foolishly because the posts above mine focused on Britishness, and also because although Golding was English and taught English kids, the pro-Imperialism author of The Coral Island, R. M. Bannatyne was actually Scottish so, ding ding ding, falls into the 'British' category - they then decided that I was somehow trying to pretend I wasn't English and made all the same points, before ending with this doozy:

At this point, I knew there was nothing to be gained from replying, because if we're whipping out conditions like they're pokemon cards then there's no actual conversation anymore, and I'm not going to start mudslinging like an identity politician. They made up their mind, and I figured there could be no harm in letting them think that they 'won' by blocking them instead of replying.

Until the ask. INNATE ENGLISH SAVAGERY did, I'll admit, make me think it was them, back again. I even thought up a really good response approximately 12 hours after I replied, I was that sure. Until the second message came in, and said they were just someone who came from the post and made the same point by chance. So the saga draws to a close... for now.

It may have been them, it may not have been - the anon feature makes it impossible to be sure, but as the second message I got said, we're in a heatwave. It's too hot to argue. And I've just written a goddamn essay about a book I dislike anyway.

My pasty English ass is going to go melt. If there's Disk Horse, do not tell me. I am Done™

#emily speaks #asks #anon #lord of the flies #this is long. this is so long. why is this so long #i literally got out humankind so i could quote directly. how is this my life

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marcilled · 3 years

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[this is gonna be a big long post about minecraft youtuber drama... press J to scroll past this if you don’t care about that. lol. sorry]

idunno if anybody took my post the other day as me “cancelling dream for cheating in a videogame”, i posted it mostly out of bemusement of the whole situation, and because that video was really well put-together. (context: his 1.16 speedruns were disqualified by the minecraft speedrun.com moderators & there was a video & document explaining why).

I definitely don’t correlate cheating a speedrun w/ ableism, racism, etc etc. I already knew about a lot of nasty shit dream has done, like the video he did with Notch, and how all of his early content was about pewdiepie, just further normalizing those two to his young audience. I’ve always disliked him for those things, which I’ve been aware of pretty much as long as I’ve known of him, and he has never apologized for those things. It’s why whenever I posted about him before (which was... maybe once or twice?), I always say “don’t stan him or anything he sucks”.

I had no idea there was so much more to it honestly. It’s kind of galling seeing the full context now, because whenever I’ve seen any kind of criticism against him, it’s been him presenting it in an apology. I dunno why I wasn’t suspicious of this given what I already knew about him, but the guy seems to be very clever with how he damage controls any sort of possible controversy regarding him. He presents a really heartfelt, honest apology for whatever happened and gives a few cherrypicked examples of things that people said about him and says how wrong he was and how he doesn’t want to alienate his viewers.

The fact that it’s Dream presenting the evidence of his controversies, means that he gets to control how the conversation goes. Instead of a popular “mcyt” stan account getting to control the conversation, pointing out the shit he’s said and done, he addresses it in a livestream, and does not provide the original context. Huh, I wonder why. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want everyone to see that his mistakes are more than just little “oopsies”, it’s him being actively malicious and getting so defensive that he tells off anybody who could possibly disagree with his view of things.

While his actions and words are pretty horrid on their own, I think the thing that has me most concerned about Dream is... He seems pretty fuckin’ good at manipulating peoples’ perception of him.

-----

After the video about his speedruns being cheated came out the other day, he had this to say on twitter (this is his second, “personal” account):

Now, as I said before, cheating in a videogame isn’t at all comparable to racism or ableism. What I’m trying to point out here is his response to any sort of criticism.

The video he’s referring to is this one, published by Geosquare 2 days ago (dec 11th). What’s interesting to note here is how he singles out Geosquare specifically in this tweet. If you click on the video, the first few seconds establishes that it’s a video made by the entire Minecraft java edition speedrunning mod team (which is made up of a team of over a dozen people). The video and document was a true team effort from every single one of them, and it only got posted to Geosquare’s account (& got his narration) because he’s already a youtuber with a pretty comfortable amount of subscribers.

So, instead of pointing his ire (and those of his many, many fans) at the whole speedrun mod team, instead, he points it squarely on Geosquare, so that people have a convenient name to latch onto. He then accuses Geosquare of using his name as “clickbait” in order to get “easy views”, sowing the seed of this idea that Geosquare is doing this in an opportunistic grab for personal gain. If you clicked on the video and saw the description/pinned comment, you’d see that not only did Geosquare disable monetization on the video, he disabled monetization on his entire channel for as long as this drama goes on (and he knew there would be drama, dream made extra sure to threaten the mods with a video of his own in retaliation if they ended up banning him).

Then, in a reply to the first tweet, he says that there are “multiple moderators” messaging him saying the verdict was “biased” and that they may quit the mod team. He provides no evidence for this. However, if you click on the tweet and view any of the thousands of replies from his fans, it doesn’t matter that he gave no evidence, his word is enough. If you’re wondering, Geosquare and a few other mods have stated many times that it was a group decision on their part, and nobody had any question in their mind that Dream must have cheated. So... Dream, who are these “mods” that are messaging you? He won’t say.

Lastly here, I want to point out that in his next tweet on the matter, he makes this very bitter comment about how useless it was for them to investigate a “16th place run”. It’s a minor detail, but I think it’s worth mentioning; this kind of downplays how impressive his run was at the time. At the time he submitted his sub-20 minute speedrun, it was a top 5 run, in a very competitive category of speedrunning the game. In the 2 months since, several people have passed his time using new strats, but that doesn’t diminish the fact it was a pretty amazing “run”... if it weren’t cheated of course. But, I’m just rambling on about how petty I am about him cheating at this point so let me get back to the main point here.

If you see the numbers on these tweets (hundreds of thousands of likes), you’ll understand why this is pretty scary for those speedrun mods. The same day this happened Geosquare joked around “I’ve only gotten one death threat so far!”. Dream’s fanbase is unparalleled in minecraft youtube, and incredibly sizeable for a youtube channel overall. If you’re not familiar with this new wave of “mcyt” minecraft accounts, it’s... it’s pretty much exclusively because of Dream’s fame. He’s the driving force of minecraft youtube content right now. Any youtuber who even breathes near the guy blows up in subscribers & views. His minecraft server, “Dream SMP”, is like... it has a legitimate cultural impact, whether that sentence disgusts you or not. Especially for young gen Z kids.

The point I’m trying to make is, ever since he came onto the scene in early 2019, he’s grown and grown at exponential rates, and I can’t understate the kind of influence he has on not just his own fans, but the fans of like. Pretty much anyone who is plugged in to anything minecraft youtube related right now.

People have discussed this before, but Dream’s sudden rise to fame happened shockingly quick. So quick that it’s almost impossible it were by accident. He’d spent something like a year or two studying how the youtube algorithm works, how famous youtubers grow their popularity, etc. He spent a lot of time studying, and it paid off for him. It makes me wonder if he’s studied how youtubers deal with controversy as well. Because it seems like he’s doing everything right to keep his fans “loyal” to him.

So I think it’s not unreasonable to say that it is pretty goddamn concerning when he reacts to criticism like this. His immense fanbase, who are often worryingly obsessed with him, of mostly impressionable kids... It’s a recipe for disaster, in the hands of someone so entitled and immature.

I think what really has me worried, though, is a video he published to his second channel the other day. Recently, he published a video about his “stans”. The entire video essentially boiled down to him disputing claims that “dream stans” were toxic, or that stanning people or “stan culture” was creepy/unhealthy. He spent a lot of the video comparing stans of content creators to passionate fans of football teams, and expressed repeatedly how he thought it was normal and OK to be totally obsessed with a content creator and engage in “stan culture”, as long as you weren’t being a legitimate stalker. He pretty much only talked about the positives of being a Dream Stan, and how positive the “community” is. The whole video painted this really idealistic image of what it means to be a Stan of a person, and fandom in general.

Now... I don’t know about everyone else reading this, but I found that video to be... incredibly creepy and weird. It completely ignores any actual arguments about how stan culture can be unhealthy, and how engaging so heavily in parasocial relationships can be quite damaging, especially to younger people.

But, mostly? It seemed like the whole video was basically designed just to reinforce the most unhealthy impulses of his stans, and reward them with the positive encouragement that he actually enjoys it when they are obsessed with him so much that they can’t imagine he could ever possibly do anything wrong.

And that? That is fucking dangerous for a person with such a huge fanbase to be peddling to their fans.

Surely, he must know- a great deal of his fans are so obsessed with him, that they think they know him as well as, if not more than, a personal friend. So that when he does something disagreeable and wrong, and he claims “no that’s not how it happened, they’re biased and trying to cancel me because they’re jealous”, they just take that at face value, because why would he lie? He’s so honest and genuine in his videos and livestreams!

This sort of behavior from Dream, along with his tweets I posted earlier, reads to me as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. I think he is purposefully insulating his fans from the truth of his actions, so that he can present this idealistic picture of him in their mind, so that it seems absurd that he would do something wrong.

I think it’s only a matter of time before it comes out he’s done something much worse, honestly. What it is, is hard to say- he’s already done so much that anyone reading this should rescind their support for him, imo. But, I know that none of this matters to his millions of fans. While I worry for them, I also worry for anyone who becomes a target of Dream. I could see this speedrunning drama being the start of a downward spiral for him. Things could get real ugly with all that minecraft clout getting to his head... I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

TL;DR, dream sucks, and not just because he cheats at videogames.

I apologize again for writing a multi paragraph post about a minecraft youtuber. I will not post about this anymore (probably) please do not unfollow me .

#vivi bleats #txt #long post #i might delete this cuz im embarrassed i typed this much about this topic #but idk i already typed it so.#dream

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amazingorangedangantrash · 4 years

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Last night i really really couldn't sleep (tfw you've been an insomniac since you were like 9-) so I thought I'd do the trick by writing about kamuegi sleepless nights headcanons! Unfortunately that turned out to be counter-productive as I ended up with a semi-drabble and passed out before I could post it >:"D (the world works in mysterious ways ig-)

Staying up late

• Naegi has trouble sleeping often- he doesn't seem the type, but he's an insomniac

• Kamukura too

• Kamukura doesn't find it as much of a problem- after all, he's superhuman; he doesn't need as much sleep to be fully recharged anyway.

• Naegi... does

• They stumble upon each other once. Naegi is making his way out of the kitchen, and bumps into him, accidentally spilling his glass of water all over the other's shirt.

• He's extremely apologetic, and insists on accompanying Kamukura, to make sure he changes his shirt.

• Kamukura asks him why he's still awake, and, flustered, he makes up a lie about having drank one cup of coffee too many, caffeine still in his system.

• Kamukura sees right through it.

• "You are thinking about her, aren't you?"

• Naegi flinches.

• "How'd you know?"

• He recognises the momentary look of despair that flashes across Naegi's face when he thinks he isn't looking- it's one familiar to anyone who's crossed her warpath, guns blazing, despair dialed up to eleven. Naegi's unusually powerful optimism and his hope is his shield, but even he is not completely immune to it- he is only human, after all, even he must lose sleep to the nightmare known as Junko Enoshima.

• For reasons he can't quite explain, the thought... bothers him.

• "Would you like to see the stars?" He asks, the question leaving his lips before he can properly process it.

• Naegi looks at him, a surprised expression on his face, before he suddenly lets out a laugh- looking a little embarrassed at letting it slip. "Ah- no- sorry-" he smiles, "it's just- you mean, right now-?"

• "Yes."

• His amusement turns to confusion, "Wait, really-?"

• "Indeed," and without elaborating further (he doesn't like to waste time on boring himself with explanations, when his actions are easily enough to speak for him), gently takes ahold of Naegi's wrist. He only feels the slightest hesitation, before the other lets him lead the way, and they've made it to the rooftop.

• There's a gentle breeze, and it softly sweeps Kamukura's locks into the air, strands of smooth inky blackness swaying in the wind.

• Naegi fights the urge to reach out and run his hands through them.

• To his surprise, there's already a blanket, pillows, and even a lawn chair and umbrella waiting for them.

• "Do you... come out here often?" He asks. He wasn't even aware this was a part of the rooftop. It's fairly secluded, one that lets you see the open sky above them without a problem, but is hard enough to spot from the ground, unless you really knew what you were looking for.

• "Yes," Kamukura replies, sitting down. He doesn't gesture for Naegi to follow, or pat the ground, like some of his other friends would, but he looks at him and tilts his head ever so slightly, which Naegi can tell is enough for him to encourage him to follow, so he does.

• "Wow..." He simply gazes up above them, revelling in the sight of hundreds upon thousands of stars above, the way they sparkle majestically amongst the vast sea of outer space, like diamonds laying atop thick, rich-hued velvet of pink, purple and blue, blanketing the sky.

• Kamukura watches him, and the sight of the stars reflecting in Naegi's eyes, the light in them mirroring the sky, that twinkle, unique to Naegi, and Naegi alone, makes something in his chest twinge.

• It's an unfamiliar feeling-

• How exciting.

• He shall have to bring Naegi out here more often.

• Naegi turns to him, and his breath catches in his throat.

• "Thank you," he says.

• It is uneeded.

• "Why?"

• "For bringing me here," the other replies. "I know this place must mean a lot to you. Ah-," he scratches his cheek, a gesture Kamukura finds... oh- is this what they mean when they say, 'endearing'?

• "Sorry. I know the others can be kind of... loud and stuff at times." Why is he apologising on their behalf? "And, well, this is all new to you, isn't it? That can probably be kind of... overstimulating sometimes, right? And I guess you'd want a space to yourself, to get away to and be in peace at for a while. To think. You're pretty smart, after all. You need your 'thinking time'. I know you need a breather now and then to process everything," he chuckles, the sound is light and sweet amongst the cool summer air, "I mean, they're my friends, and even I need a break from them once in a while, so-" he smiles again (always smiling, doesn't he ever get tired of it-?), "thank you. I'm sure this place must mean a lot to you. I'm really glad you feel comfortable enough to bring me here! I appreciate it."

• He's smarter then he looks- this is something Kamukura has come to realise from the time that they've spent together, and yet, still, he's found himself surprised by it. Naegi's intelligence, his skill, comes from a place elsewhere then his books or his hands- it comes from his heart, his emotions, something Kamukura was never able to fully understand, was never programmed to-

• They always deemed emotions unnecessary. Believed it would hinder his talent, that the key to success, to hope, lied in absolute mechanical operation, and the unwavering pursuit of more, more talent-

• Looking at Naegi now, he wonders how they could have ever been so wrong.

• "Oh- um- sorry, I didn't mean to get all excited there for a second," He trips over his words a little, eager to fill the silence, and yet, Kamukura does not mind. The sound of his voice is not grating upon his ears like that of others, it's less like a fly buzzing around his ear, and more like the flapping wings of a bumblebee, a gentle thrum that is strangely soothing, a sound sweet like honey.

• "You overestimate the importance of a place like this to me," his words aren't cold, merely the simple truth. "It's somewhere for me to stay. That's all."

• Naegi shakes his head softly. "Nah, that's exactly my point Kamukura. It's your place- your spot. The fact that you can call it your own, that makes it special. Especially since, ah, um-" he looks to the side, "I'm guessing they never really let you have anything like this before, huh?'

• His... 'spot'. He tries out the word in his mind. What a crude, and simple way to refer to it.

• And yet... he thinks he might like it.

• "Yes," he answers honestly. "I had no need for personal belongings or even... 'spots'. They weren't needed to cultivate my talents."

• "Geez," Naegi mumbles to himself in exasperation, running a hand through his hair. Kamukura knows the frustration isn't directed at him, and yet that makes it all the more intriguing to witness.

• "I still can't believe- that- that they treated you like that," he mutters angrily, more to himself then the other, "like you're- like you're not even a person! Like... like you can't have thoughts or feelings of your own. Like- like you don't deserve to be treated like everyone else-!"

• "I don't deserve to be treated like everyone e-"

• "Don't," Naegi softly warns him, though they both know it's more for his sake than Kamukura's, "please. I know that's what they told you but- you do. You're still... a person. You're still human."

• Kamukura isn't really sure if he still qualifies as even that anymore, but, for once, he deems it better to not speak that thought aloud.

• The breeze picks up, turning into a sharp gust of wind. It causes Naegi to shiver a little, goosebumps rippling along his exposed skin, already cool against the night air. He starts to wonder if it's time to regret wearing a short-sleeved shirt and shorts to sleep, when he feels a warm material envelop his shoulders, and a weight shift next to him.

• "Kamukura-?" The other has pulled a blanket over them, and shuffled closer, so that it wraps neatly around him also.

• "You were cold. I thought this to be the best course of action," he says, though, even in the pale moonlight, Naegi can't help but notice the (very faint, but still there-) rush of pink lightly dusting his cheeks. Kamukura's sharp red eyes pierced his own, and yet, their gaze was... hesitant.

• Naegi blinks a little, before his expression softens, exhaling with the slightest bit of amusement. "Of course," he hums. The sudden intimacy between them hasn't gone unnoticed, but he... doesn't mind it. "Thank you."

• They sit in silence for a while.

• Naegi doesn't often see the stars. Sure, he would try a few times back home, on cloudless, sleepless nights, not entirely unlike this one. The light from streetlamps and nearby houses would drown it out, however, the city's constant glow in favour above the natural visibility of the stars.

• They're as beautiful as he'd imagine, out here, away from it all.

• Occasionally Naegi will point to a group of stars, and ask which constellation it is. Kamukura will take his hand, and, (to his embarrassment) redirect it to the actual constellation. He'll then explain, it's origins, the story that is behind it's conception. It's 'useless' knowledge, but it's knowledge he has nonetheless, and Kamukura is... happy, he supposes, to finally have someone to share it with, not for the sake of a test or practice, but because someone just... wants to talk to him about it. (And as selfish as it is, Naegi is secretly glad to be that person-)

• Naegi talks, about his parents, his sister, his friends, about the life Kamukura never had, and never thought he wanted to. He knows it's not much, but it's all Naegi's known, and he's content with it. Kamukura never thought there would be any point to a life like that, but if it's the one that made Naegi the way he is now... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.

• At one point, a shooting star suddenly soars across the sky, and Naegi gleefully points it out (he wonders what it's like to be delighted by such a simple thing...), "Kamukura! Did you see that?"

• "I did," he replies, and just as the words leave his mouth, another one follows.

• "Woah! Two shooting stars in a row! Talk about lucky," and Naegi is so happy, so pleased by this small event, it's as if it spills into Kamukura himself, and he's...endeared by it.

• "Yes, it is." His voice is... fond.

• Naegi insists that they both make a wish. Kamukura knows that it's impossible, and Naegi does too, that an act as insignificant as wishing upon a 'shooting star' (not even a star, really, but a lump of space rock falling through the atmosphere, hitting it at a high speed and burning up in a rather aesthetic display of combustion) can possibly change their fate in any way, but-

• He makes one anyway.

• It's an unusual feeling. Wishing for something. It's wanting for something... a desire...

• It's not all that different from hope.

• How funny, he thinks, that the two are so connected, and yet the people who expected hope from him never asked, never expected him to want or wish.

• (Unbeknownst to the two of them, their wishes are exactly the same.)

• Naegi tells him his favourite flower. "I don't really know why, but I've just always found hydrangeas to be my favourite. I'm not sure why," he laughs. "They're pretty I guess? Especially the blue ones."

• Kamukura briefly considers telling him the meaning behind the flower, but decides against it.

• Naegi asks him for his own favourite flower- but he cannot think of one. He can acknowledge and recognise which are considered more "beautiful" or popular, but in terms of personal preference... he has none.

• "What are those red ones... ah... um- carnations! That's it! Those kind of remind me of you... ah, because of your eyes," Naegi smiles bashfully at him.

• (He decides against mentioning the meaning behind those, as well-)

• They stay there until the morning comes, watching as the sky blends from black, to purple, to pink, to orange, to yellow, and then finally, blue. The stars slowly fade, dimming like nightlights in the sky, being turned off as if to fall asleep themselves.

• Naegi yawns, stretching. "Aw man... I think I'm gonna sleep in a little today..."

• When he returns to his bed, he promptly blacks out, all thoughts of a certain Ultimate Despair having been vanquished entirely.

• If anyone asks that day, why Naegi seems so tired, or why Kamukura is even more quiet then usual, the two will share a knowing glance, and return to what they were doing, with a small smile (or twitch of the mouth).

• The next night, Naegi finds himself needing a glass of water again. Kamukura is in the kitchen. They walk.

• It's not at all uncommon for the two to be perched upon the rooftop. Rain or shine, day or night. They'll often be nursing a drink in their hands too, a hot cup of tea, or an iced one, a glass of water, a smoothie, a milkshake, a hot chocolate- as they talk. Or they'll sit and stare out at the grounds, or the sky. They might fiddle with papers, completing work, or sit comfortably in each other's company, Naegi braiding Kamukura's hair, weaving little flowers into it that he collected from the gardens.

• Their insomnia is still there, refusing to disappear or remedy after one night.

• But, at least, if they are doomed to the life of an insomniac, they're happy to do so.

• (together).

Flower meanings-

Hydrangeas: (one of my own personal favourites ahhh-) their meaning varies a lot. Pink is said to represent heartfelt emotion and even love (some say the individual petals are shaped like a heart-). Purple hydrangeas represent a desire to deeply understand someone. White hydrangeas had very negative connotations, especially in Victorian society, representing boastfulness and vanity (but also purity)- they were even considered unlucky, and leaving a hydrangea to grow outside a woman's door was said to be a way to ensure she would never wed (how cruel!). Blue is the most intriguing colour- there's a Japanese story of an Emperor who gifted blue hydrangeas to the family of his beloved, in apology for neglecting her. Because of this, blue hydrangeas are associated with apology, forgiveness, gratitude, and even frigidity (which makes me think of how a certain Mr Kamukura acts-). Ironically, blue hydrangeas are considered the 'luckiest'.

A lucky unlucky flower (befitting, I'd say, to be the favourite of a certain person).

Carnations- apparently white ones symbolise good/pure luck! Now isn't that something? Ah, but Naegi didn't say white carnations, did he? He meant red, like Kamukura's eyes. That's where it's interesting- light red carnations can symbolise admiration and affection. But dark red carnations symbolise a deep love. (Ironically, for a flower of love, carnations are also frequently associated with death (especially, apparently, in France). It's almost like, in order for Kamukura to exist, for Naegi to have feelings for him in the first place, someone first had to die for him to come into existence... but that's just a thought-)

(I'm no flower expert- all of these came from our overlords, Google themselves, so if anything about that is wrong... blame them not me-)

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going back to sleep-

Image by: https://borrego-tan.tumblr.com/post/186229592018/hinaegi-festival-2019-day-4-comfortcomfy

#if you want to know what song i had on repeat for this #Staying Up- the neighbourhood #insomnia #its a pain but at least it's motivation *wheeze*#headcanons #writing #my post #kamuegi #izuru kamukura #makoto naegi #drabble #kind of-?#flowers #flower language #just for that lengthy bit at the end hshshs-#im sorry im getting excited over plants lmao

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prairiedust · 4 years

Text

Curious is a Color

“It went zip when it moved, and pop when it stopped, and whir when it stood still! I never knew just what it was and I guess I never will!” -- The Marvelous Toy Tom Paxton

Well, one mystery was definitively solved in Last Holiday.

Spoilers for 15x15 Last Holiday ahead so I’m actually putting this behind a cut...

DEAN Who needs a monster radar anyway? Or whatever that telescope thing is.

MRS BUTTERS It’s an… interdimensional geoscope?

SAM It-- it’s a... what?

DEAN (interrupting Mrs Butters) Yeah, I looked through it, but didn’t see anything.

MRS BUTTERS Oh, oh that’s not good.

After Mrs. Butters powered up the bunker, the telescope alcove was bathed in a green light that immediately begged investigation. However. That took a while to get to. It took until the end of the episode to get to.

And we now know that this is no longer a telescope pointed to nowhere. It’s a fancy spyglass, but it no longer has anything to show anyone.... It is, unfortunately, too late to see anything. The other worlds have been “deleted,” as Sam put it. Chuck’s drafts folder has only one file left.

See, what’s interesting to me is that the telescope is a metaphor for curiosity. I’m sure when the bunker was only operating in standby, Sam and or Dean looked in it, at least once? But maybe not-- maybe they didn’t bother because it was inside, and if one assumes that it’s merely a telescope, then you’d also surmise that all you would see is the blurry brick wall. The fact that it didn’t work because the bunker was on standby is neither here nor there-- what matters is that it’s been a much specced fixture of the bunker for years.

And once the bunker was powered up with Mrs. Butter’s magic, it worked… but it was too late. Dean did, in fact, go look into the eyepiece, but just as he expected, he saw nothing. Not because it doesn’t work, but because anything he could have seen no longer exists. The extreme lack of knowledge about the bunker has always bothered me, and was lampshaded in Last Call when Sergei told Castiel that the key to Death’s library was there somewhere. BUT, but but but, Dean went and looked in the telescope thing in Last Holiday.

That’s how meta works. When something pings the mental radar, so to speak, there is value in looking into it, just in case there’s something to be seen.

For instance, I’m a geek for allusions, no surprise. So when Mrs. Butters said that the smoothie she made for Jack was “a little yarrow root and some ground jawbone for texture,” I flipped. I tell you, I went full folk medicine nerd.

Yarrow is good for stemming blood loss, and midwives used to use it in childbirth to prevent hemorrhaging. Good connection to Jack, whose mother died giving birth to him, right? But I wanted to know more, so did a quick webdive. The root of the yarrow plant is known as a remedy for a toothache-- likely the mechanism is astringent, and would keep blood away from the nerves, but also, teeth have roots so in a holistic way, teeth get the roots. It gets better, though-- the yarrow plants are part of genus Achillea, yes as in that Achilles, he of the Achilles’ heel cliche that Dean “didn’t get” earlier in the season-- but so named not because of a connection with Achilles himself, but because Achilles was taught by Chiron-- his centaur mentor-- that yarrow was useful for bleeding, and he then taught his soldiers to use it thusly.

Speaking Biblically-- although, when do we ever actually do that with Spn?-- the reason that the powdered jawbone sent me is because Samson, gifted mighty powers by the lord, took up a jawbone of a donkey and killed a thousand Philistines with it. Samson lived during a time when God was actually delivering victories to the Philistines as punishment to the Israelites, and Samson was born after an angel appeared to Samson’s parents (interestingly, we don’t know which angel, because it said to Samson’s father “Why do you ask my name? It is beyond understanding”) and said that Samson was to hold a special covenant with God from the moment he was born. Samson had superhuman strength, and was going to be The One who would lead the Israelites to victory over the Philistines. However, Samson had, if you will, an Achilles heel-- he would lose his preternatural strength if his hair was cut, which indeed came to pass when he was betrayed by Delilah, who had his head shaved while he was sleeping, and gave him over to his enemies. There is so much more I could write about Samson and his story’s applicability to where Jack is headed. But there’s the entire internet out there for anyone who doesn’t know how his story ends.

Thirdly, remember Supernatural’s internal mythos (based on Christian apocrypha iirc) and you’ll recall that the First Blade-- the blade that Cain used to kill Abel, and that could, in tandem with the Mark of Cain, in theory kill any being -- was made from a donkey’s jawbone, and as is pointed out here. The first murder. A brother by his own brother. For reals, that is probably where, like @mittensmorgul, most viewers went as per the replies on this post, which is awesome-- that’s where we’re supposed to look, at Brother Trouble being the thing that could undo everything everyone is working for.

And as @drsilverfish points out in that same thread, we get an echo of a Jack story-- the man-eating giant at the top of the beanstalk would “grind [Jack’s] bones to make bread,” which in a subversion of that tale is another aspect of this concoction that brings Jack low.

Something can be said about a spell being more than the sum of its parts. But taken literally-- Mrs. Butters put those two ingredients together and Jack turned into a metaphor-- he was “weak as a puppy.” He’s defenseless because of the double-reference to “superheroes with hidden weaknesses.” He’s basically powered down by the power of allusions. Toothache, jawbone, mythical references-- he was powerless against literature and also at a purely symbolic level, language.

And what do we know about language so far in this show?

That writers lie, and their lies are powerful.

Is that stupid herb-and-bonemeal smoothie not the most densely stacked reference in the entirety of this show’s run??????? That’s so cool it gets the rest of my question mark quota for the week.

So we’re at the point, I believe, where the writers are showing us that they’ve shone a bright green light on things we’re supposed to be curious about, things that maybe we’re supposed to be discussing. On the one hand, Mrs. Butters is literally me. Correct nomenclature is important, lol. On the other, you can take the interdimensional geoscope to mean whatever you want, now that it’s original purpose is gone. It’s now pure symbol.

We should be very, very curious about everything that’s on the page-- and even in chapters past-- from this point on, and questioning whether or not we’re taking anyone’s words literally.

#the folklore of supernatural #interdimensional geoscope #jack the giant killer #jack and the beanstalk #jawbone #jawbone of an ass #lol #samson #achilles #the mythology of supernatural #last holiday #mrs. butters

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years

Text

Regrets

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant! Reader.

Word count: 1545 words.

Summary: Steve had made a decision, but another fact will make he realizes it was the wrong one, can he fix it?

Warnings: some smut references, nothing explicit, mention of deaths of characters, angst, sad.

A/N: This is my entry to the @distractedgemini‘s Kay’s Decade of Music Writing Challenge with the song prompt #35:

“Someone like you” by Adele.

And my entry to the @kitkatd7 ‘s Kits’ 250 Writing Challenge with the dialogue prompt #1:

“Don’t you understand? You were her happy ending”.

And my entry to @jtargaryen18 ‘s 30 days of Chris.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

youtube

I heard that you're settled down That you found a girl and you're married now I heard that your dreams came true Guess she gave you things, I didn't give to you

2005

You came into your house after returning from school, everything was supposed to have changed, the mutants no longer had to hide, and weren't taken to the Garland Detention Center.

"I'm home," you said after closing the door.

There was no answer, maybe they didn't hear you.

"Mom, Dad," you called as you walked down the aisle.

It was strange to you that they didn’t say anything, you returned to the hall, maybe they left you a message there and you hadn't seen it yet, there was no note, probably something had happened, some last-minute mission, although it was rare that you hadn't been warned.

While they weren't your biological parents; Clarice and John had adopted you after yours were killed by the Purifiers when you were a baby, although the fact that you were adopted didn't care much because you were happy with your family, even your last name was Proudstar and they love you as her daughter.

But when you entered the kitchen, a scream came out of your throat; there were their bodies, you could tell at first glance that they had tried to defend themselves, even though it was not enough.

"No! Mom! Dad!”

You tried to move them, you were hoping they'd still be alive, even if they were badly hurt, you didn't get the idea that they were dead.

I heard that you're settled down That you found a girl and you're married now I heard that your dreams came true Guess she gave you things, I didn't give to you

"There's someone here," a woman said.

You didn't even hear when someone came into your house; for a moment you thought they were your parents’ killers who had come back or listened to you.

“Are you Y/N? Y/N Proudstar, Clarice's, and John's daughter? The woman questioned.

You nodded, you didn't know if to trust, you didn't even know who that woman was, within seconds a man came into the kitchen.

"When did you arrive? Fury asked you.

"About 10 minutes ago," you replied scared.

"You'll come with us, Coulson, accompany her to take her belongings and help her," Nick said.

"What? I'm not going anywhere, I don't even know who you are, how can I be sure you're not going to do me the same as my parents?”

"We are S.H.I.E.L.D. we received your parents' message asking for help and that we take care of you.”

“How do I know they are S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Your parents had told you everything, yet without proof, you couldn't believe them.

Fury and Coulson showed their IDs, they weren't lying, you sighed, you went to your bedroom followed by Coulson and you started storing things in suitcases and backpacks, they hadn't specified any item limits on you, so you'd take as much as you could.

Old friend, why are you so shy? Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light

I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it I had hoped you'd see my face And that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over

2012

You walked as fast as you could, that day you were late, you were carrying the report of the last mission you were gone to.

You didn't pay attention around you, so you crashed into something hard, you thought it had been against a wall, because of the impact, you fell.

"I'm sorry, miss, okay?” The ‘wall’ said to help you lift.

"Captain, I'm sorry, I didn't see it," you apologized.

Steve help you pick up the leaves, within a few seconds Coulson showed up.

"Agent Proudstar, the report," he asked.

"I was already taking him to his office right now," you replied.

"I see you've met, your next mission will be together," Coulson said.

You knew who Steve was, but you remembered he didn't know who you were, you still didn't show up.

"Agent Y/N Proudstar," you said, smiling.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you I wish nothing but the best for you, too "Don't forget me, " I beg I remember you said "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead" "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead"

2018

"I know we've lost a lot these days, but you remember I was going to ask you something the day Bruce called us. You know when Thanos...”

"Yes," you answered while you were accommodating some things

Steve took your arm to stop and pay attention to him.

"What's going on?”

"Marry me," he asked.

"Just like that? Are you sure? I mean, you always told me you wanted Bucky to be in...”

"We try to get everything back to normal, Thanos is dead we can't do much, but we can try to be happy and get on with our lives, it seems like that's all we can do.”

"I think it's going to be enough for Nat to be there," you said.

He took your answer as if he ‘I do’ and kissed you.

You know how the time flies Only yesterday was the time of our lives We were born and raised in a summer haze Bound by the surprise of our glory days

2023

You looked down, you knew Steve had told you a lie... or worse he had lied to you all that time.

As soon as he left you started running towards the trees, you didn't want to know anything anymore, if you could... If you could... you probably would have done the same thing and prevent your parents from being killed.

“Y/N!” Bucky called you.

You didn't listen to him, you kept running, you wanted to go as far as you could, you'd like to somehow forget everything and Bucky finally caught you, grabbed your arm, and stopped you.

"He's gone, he went with Peggy," you started sobbing.

Bucky hugged you, he didn't know what to say or do to comfort you, he knew what you were saying was true.

"He left us... Bucky, he left us...”

Yes, Steve had left them, but Bucky didn't understand exactly what you meant, you hadn't even had a chance to say anything, you didn't know now what to do, the feeling was a thousand times worse than when you lost your parents.

I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it I had hoped you'd see my face And that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over

1947

Steve peeked into the door of the house where Peggy was living.

He saw her pass, at least now he was sure he hadn't got the wrong house; he needed a few more minutes before knocking the door and that's when he saw Daniel kissing Peggy and after the couple split up, she took the baby from the crib.

Peggy found her right partner after Steve had ended up on the ice...

Steve stayed a week in that time, it would probably be a month after the last time he had seen them...

You didn't expect to be welcomed... but he would do his best to recover what he had ruined.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you I wish nothing but the best for you, too "Don't forget me, " I begged I remember you said "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead"

2019

"Orphanages are full," you said while you're taking the last picture you'd been taken with your parents.

"Everything is complicated," Steve replied, and he was reading the newspaper.

"We should adopt some or some of those little ones, I was very happy when Clarice and John adopted me," you said looking at the picture.

"You think they're going to let us? We’re superheroes, I don't think they want to expose children to danger," Steve replied, taking his eyes off the newspaper.

You kept thinking for a few minutes, Steve was right, you didn't know exactly if another threat would show up, no one knew.

"You're right.”

"But we can do some," Steve proposed, approaching you.

"Captain," you said seductively.

Nothing compares, no worries or cares Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

2023

Steve returned to where he belonged, took everyone by surprise, as soon as they heard the machine activate Bruce and Bucky immediately went to see what was going on, Bruce had installed it at the Compound in case it was necessary, they feared it would be some other enemy, no one expected him to return, as soon as they saw him a sepulchral silence took over the room.

Bucky decided to take him outside, no one dared say what had happened.

“And Y/N?” Steve asked

Steve had immediately noticed your absence, Bucky bit his lip, and he didn't know how to explain it.

"Buck, and Y/N? I know she must be angry...”

"She didn't make it on the last mission," he finally confessed.

"What?”

"Something went wrong and...”

Steve turned around and started walking inland from the Compound.

“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU WERE HER HAPPY ENDING…!”

Steve didn't keep listening to what his friend was saying, he went to the base and went straight into the room that you and he shared, and if he hadn't left... if it hadn't been so hollow head... you'd still be alive.

He opened the drawer of your nightstand where you kept the photos, he wanted to see you, he saw that something flew out when he took out the album and it was frozen as soon as he saw the object.

She took the positive pregnancy test, the day he left, you seemed so nervous, so you insisted that he wasn't the one to return the Stones.

There was only one way to get you back, this time I wouldn't ruin it, he took some things from the room and headed to where the time machine was.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you I wish nothing but the best for you "Don't forget me, " I beg I remember you said "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead"

2010

You knocked on Fury's office, you were sent to call, and you thought it was for a new mission.

"Agent Proudstar, I'm glad you came," Nick said.

“What do you need a Director?”

"This is Steve Rogers, Captain America," Fury said, pointing to Steve.

"Captain, I'm Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Y/N Proudstar," you introduced yourself smiling.

Your smile, Steve had missed her so much.

He stretched out his hand to greet you and smiled, he was going to fix everything that had happened, he would love you again and no mistakes this time, and he was going to make sure you were happy together.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you I wish nothing but the best for you, too "Don't forget me, " I begged I remember you said "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead" "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead"

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