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teddy06writes · 4 years ago

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A Day In The Life

requesred by this genius anon: “Aight imma hit you with a good one: Literally everything as platonic, but a day in the life of reader in high school with the minor gang (too my, tubbo, ranboo) and all the faculty at the school are dreamsmp members”

Platonic! Minors gang (tommy, tubbo, ranboo and purpled) x reader

trigger warnings: none

premise: a day in the life of a student at the DSMP public high school

{with all the shit that goes on the smp there's no way it could be anything but a public school}

{also if I do things slightly off or something its cause my high school is weird, we only have four blocks a day, but I think most have seven, so we’re going with that}

{also the dream/george thing, is based on two of the sciences teachers at my school being suspected of having an affiar}

{Full teacher list:

English: Mr. NotFound

Drama: Mr. Soot

Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)

Gym: Coach Sapnap and Coach Punz

Home ec: Miss Nihachu

Music: Mr. Quackity

Chemistry: Mr. Halo}

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Home room: Mr. Callahan

You sighed, trudging toward the school entrance, god it was way to early for this.

The halls were already crowded with people heading to there home rooms, and Mr. Minecraft, the principal, was standing outside the admin offices, greeting everyone with a smile.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

“Good morning Mr. Minecraft.” You grumbled as you passed.

You hurried through the foyer and up the stairs, toward Mr. Callahan’s room.

“Hey!” Tubbo called, hurrying down the hallway, “(y/n)!”

“Hey Tubbo.” you yawned.

He fell into step with you, “You think Callahan will actually show today?”

The one good thing about your home room teacher is that none of the kids ever seemed to have seen him. It meant that some days, while other home rooms had lectures of bullying or something, your class got to hang out for 30 minutes.

“I don’t think he even exists.” Purpled said, falling in on your other side.

“He definitely doesn’t.” You agreed.

History: Mr. Blade

“Hey (y/n)!” Ranboo called from his seat at the front of the room as you came in.

He was lucky enough to have moved homerooms and ended up getting the same room as his first block.

“Hello Ranboo.” you sighed, sitting down in your seat next to him.

Tommy came in and plopped down behind you, “Well you sound like shit.”

“No swearing in my classroom, Tommy.” Mr. Blade chided, hardly looking up from the book on his desk.

You turned to look at Tommy, “It’s too early for this.”

“You say that everyday!” He laughed.

“Yeah! Cause this class starts at 7:45 in the god damn morning!” You half exclaimed.

“Bloody hell you’d think you’d get used to it-”

“Tommy, what did I say about swearing?” Mr. Blade cut Tommy off.

“But you didn’t yell at (y/n)!” Tommy yelled, “That’s not fair Tech!”

Me. Blade glared at his brother, “Do you want me to send you down to Phil’s office Tommy?”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

After a moment under Mr. Blades glare, Tommy sighed, “Please don’t send me down to Phil.”

The teacher didn’t respond, instead standing up and moving to stand in front of the board, queuing up the intro slides for the day, “All right everyone, settle down. Today in our ‘tour of the ancient world’ or whatever, we’re going to start our mini unit on Greece.”

Statistics/Math: Mr. Was Taken

After a class that ended mostly in a rant about the myth of Heracles, you said goodbye to Ranboo and Tommy and met up with Purpled to head to math.

Mr. Wastaken was already passing out the notes when you two got there, sliding into your seats at the back of the classroom just as the bell rang.

“You’re late.” He chided, dropping the papers onto your desk, then Purpleds.

“Purp needed to refill his water bottle.” You explained.

“Seriously?” Mr. Wastaken questioned, “Dude, it’s second block, why the hell was your water already empty?”

Purpled shrugged, “P.E?”

“Ehh, wrong, Sapnap doesn’t have you till sixth period.”

“Stairs... are murder man.” He fumbled.

You nodded, “First floor to the fourth floor is tough Mr. Wastaken.”

Rolling his eyes, the teacher moved back to the front of the room, “Alright, last nights homework was a bit of a flop so we’ll be more review for the quiz tomorrow.”

You groaned internally, pulling out your pencil.

Purpled nodded, “I fuckin hate review days.”

“I can hear you, you know!” Mr. WasTaken half yelled.

Chemistry: Mr. Halo

After Math you and Purpled headed down to the science hall to meet back up with Tubbo to head to Chem.

“Welcome back everybody!” Mr. Halo greeted cheerily, “Good to see smiling faces for chemistry!”

How he managed to stay so upbeat, no one would ever know.

You sat down at your lab table with Tubbo, “You think we actually make it to doing the lab today before he starts talking about Mr. Skeppy again?”

“Oh no chance.”

You chuckled, pulling out your notebook as Mr. Halo pulled up the opening review before the lab.

Twenty minutes later found you elbow deep in the lab, quite literally.

“It was supposed to just be a small scale elephants toothpaste!” Mr. Halo cried.

Purpled grinned, “You should’ve taken my wildcard factor into account sir.”

You laughed, wiping the foam off your apron (thank god for lab aprons), “That was brilliant!”

A few minutes earlier, Tubbo had helped him do out the math to scale up the experiment by 20%, and you had willingly given up your own materials to help.

Now most of the classroom was covered in the foam, and Purpled and the girl who had been unfortunate enough to be partnered with him were knee deep in it.

“I sent the video to the groupchat.” Tubbo whispered.

“Good.” You chuckled again.

Mr. Halo groaned, “You three start cleaning this up, Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you join a different group.”

“I volunteer to switch with her!” Drista yelled, “they look like fun!”

Mr. Halo sighed, “No- no absolutely not- I can’t deal with you added to the mix.”

Drista pouted, the rest of the class went back to there work, and you, Tubbo and Purpled began to clean up the foam.

Drama: Mr. Soot

As Purpled left for his history class, you and tubbo headed twoard the music/performing arts suit, where you met up with Ranboo.

“Tommy said he wished he could’ve been there to see the foam.” Ranboo reported as Tubbo peeled off into the band room, and you both continued on to the green room.

“Hello, Hello, Hello!” Mr. Soot greeted in an aussie accent (you know the one).

“Oh god please say were not doing accents today.” Ranboo muttered.

Mr. Soot laughed, “Nah, we’re going to do some more rounds of improv.”

“Oh thank god.” You said as you moved to take a seat at one of the side tables.

“That would have been hell.” Ranboo agreed.

More people poured into the room, take seats all around as Mr. Soot began to dig through on of the closets.

As the bell rang he let out a triumphant cheer, turning around and brandishing a very large bowl of paper slips, “I found the prompts!”

“Oh dear lord.” Ranboo muttered.

“Mr. Soot can we please do like, anything else?” You asked, “Like scenes, or hell I’d even take monologues, you know we’re all shit at improv!”

The teacher sighed, “I suppose we could do something else. I guess we can begin our next topic, you’re all going to be assigned scenes and given time to practice them, we’ll present on Friday!”

The entire class breathed a sigh of relief that you had managed to change his mind.

~~ English: Mr. NotFound

After a very chaotic lunch full of Tubbo retelling a bunch of jokes Mr. Quackity had told during music, you trudged off to the one class that didn’t have any of your main group of friends in.

The one good thing about having Mr. NotFound as a teacher was that he had no clue what he was doing.

More often then not you would be left to do essays or read the required books, and then watch the movies that went along with them.

And, just your luck, your English block happened to take place during Mr. Wastaken’s prep period.

“Right, everyone, today’s a work day, finish up anything you need to for this class, or another, and I’ll put on a movie.” Mr. NotFound said as soon as everyone was seated.

Ten minutes into the movie the teacher had left, and you pulled up the group chat.

(y/n): Mr. NotFound has yet again suspiciously left during class.

Purp: sus

Purp: just went by WasTaken’s room

Purp: he’s not there

BooBoy: I saw him down in the science hall ten minutes ago

BeEs: Science hall is oposite to English isn’t it

(y/n): yeah it is

BooBoy: very sus

Purp: I swear their having an affair

BeEs: defintly a lesbian

BeEs: *leassion

BeEs: lesion

BeEs: le-a-zon

BeEs: you know what I mean!

BooBoy: take your time Tubbo

You chuckled quietly, putting your phone down to look back up at the movie on the screen.

Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)

“AYYYY kids!”

You groaned as your Spanish teacher burst into the room.

“What is with this guy?” Tommy muttered.

“ayy man not cool.” Mr. Dream said.

“Mr. Dream your ten minutes late!” Someone pointed out.

“SHut up man. And I told you just call me Mexican Dream!” The teacher said.

You frowned, “That doesn’t make sense, theres no way your first name is ‘mexican’.”

“Well its not,” He explained, “But its cause I’m the Mexican version of that math teacher!”

“Why couldn’t I have taken French like Boo and Purp?” Tommy asked the ceiling quietly.

~~ Home ec: Miss Nihachu

The last block of the day was always the best, but not just because school would be over soon.

There were three main reasons why everyone agreed it was the best.

1. Miss Nihachu was the nicest teacher in school

2. baking was done often, and everyone always got to take some home

3. it was the one class you, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Purpled all had together.

Soon your found yourself crowded into one of the tiny kitchen areas with all your friends, as Miss Nihachu gave instructions.

“Now, if you make a mess you will be cleaning it up! I’m looking at your kitchen a!” She said, half threateningly.

Ranboo pushed away from the group, “I’m not with them I swear!”

Miss Nihachu rolled her eyes playfully, “Sure your not.”

Surprisingly, a mess was not fully made.

Somehow between Tommy wanting to taste the cookie dough at every step from butter to flour, Tubbo trying to add as many chocolate chips as he could, and Purpled all but refusing to move from where he was sitting on the counter, you and Ranboo managed to get the cookies into the oven with no real disasters.

As you wiped down the empty counter space you sighed, “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah.” Tubbo agreed.

Tommy only nodded, still eating the large glob of cookie dough he’d stolen.

Ten minutes before the bell rang and when everyone was supposed to be finishing cleaning up you sniffed the air suspiciously, “Why do I smell burning?”

Tubbo took a deep breath, “I smell it too.”

“Oh yeah, something is definitly burning.” Ranboo agreed.

You whirled to face Purpled, who was absently scrolling through his phone, “Purp you did set a timer right?”

#mcyt x reader #platonic!mcyt x reader #minors gang #teddy06 writes #teddy06

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srbachchan · 3 years ago

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DAY 4850

Jalsa, Mumbai June 8/9, 2021 Tue/Wed 12:08 AM

Birthday Ef - Ashesh Dave ,USA .. Monday, June 7 .. belated greetings if this date is correct .. love

Birthday EF - Naresh Bhatt .. Ratna Mukherjee .. Wednesday, June 9 .. and the wishes of all the Ef for this special day of yours .. and the love .. and be safe 🙏 ..

.. there was an unlocking of the conditions that we were in , in a somewhat cautious mode .. the instigation came from the decline in the graphs and the easing of the numbers in the CoviD realm ..

Maharashtra and Delhi seem to be in better shape .. the digits show a graph that slopes down and the release of the orders to relax some of the stringent measures has taken shape .. selected movements are permitted, but the precautions must be observed .. mask, distance, vaccinations, washing .. all to be in place ..

and .. certain essential services have been opened up .. bars , parlours, restaurants with limited numbers 50% and also film work .. work till 4pm only .. after that no movements or work .. so some quick scheduling is taking place and in all probability its donning make up within a few days, and off to the studio ..

Work for the betterment of those that are in need and suffer continues ..

The Oxygen Concentrators ordered from overseas have arrived and almost 50 of them have been distributed out to Hospitals that look after patients free of cost .. some of it shall be going tomorrow to the Care Centre we opened at Rithambara School, which we initiated with a 25 bed facility, and hope to add another 50 beds to it ..

Almost 150 oxygen concentrators that were designated for the Gurudwaara facility in Delhi , and that I had managed to import from Poland, have already been cleared and are in operation at the facility, and this is most heartening ..

5 Ventilators , of the 20 other ordered - an equipment that has had great difficulty in procuring - have arrived and we are sending them to some of the prominent Hospitals that do exemplary work in treating the very poor and needy .. each drop counts and all of us are dedicated in doing our best .. though huge amounts of the necessary needs are in position or in manufacturing and shall soon make it feasible for our needs .. private manufacturers are in the midst of producing the required Vaccines in the multiple crores / millions, and all of us are taking personal interest in seeing that our own private facilities as also the Manufacturing facilities in their factories are vaccinating all the employees, to get the numbers adding on each hour ..

My own entire shooting unit, that shall be starting work on my film ‘GoodBye’ in a few, have all been vaccinated by the Production, and extreme precautions are in place to maintain precaution .. every set room is sanitised after every short break and they that report for work are tested before they can enter the studio .. and every other day random tests are done ; the infected blocked and sent home or to Hospital, immediately ..

The conditions at home too were severe .. none of the staff whether in the house or working outside were allowed to travel out of the premise .. once they were in after tests, they remained in .. they worked and when the shift was over, they were given place to stay back and looked after during the entire lockdown .. quarantine rooms were made in office for those that were coming from out of town or from their homes outside the city, the protocol as stipulated by Doctors and Hospitals was maintained strictly, and only after the stipulated time was over the test done for negative were they allowed to get back to their specific work .. all precautions maintained .. masks on ,hand washing frequently and distances maintained .. and all getting vaccinated as soon as the time table prepared by the Authorities falls in place ..

The responsibility of each home each individual person is primary and a must .. we must adhere to the given discipline ourselves, so we can look after the discipline of others ..

Often when the laxity is announced there is a feeling that all is well and we get back to being normal .. this is NOT correct .. yes , laxity is considered , because survival is essential too .. BUT maintaining the essential protocol of preventions is paramount ..

The virus is the opponent that we battle in a game of sports .. in the boxing ring, on the cricket field, on the football grounds, on the Tennis courts , on Basketball courts , at athletic events and every sporting event .. we all devise strategies of defeating the other .. the ‘other’ today is the virus and we have to have, a combined unified effort, to defeat this enemy, this opponent - knock him down to the count of 10 ; bowl him out with an innings defeat ; score that final goal into the net in the extra time even and win the championships ; whack that forehand down the side line and win the Grand Slam title ; basket that last second ball to win the national interstate series ; be the Usain and break the tape in the world record ; be the Saina and PV Sindhu and WIN .. Phogat the opponent freestyle wrestler to the ground, and get the ‘Gold’ for the Country ..

GET THE ‘GOLD’ FOR THE COUNTRY , IN THE DEFEAT OF THE VIRUS !!

God and the Almighty above us .. and we in prayer .. 🙏🙏🙏

Amitabh Bachchan

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

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Here’s my response to @pussyibo, who tagged me on a post about Gg’s Li-Ning brand endorsement.

First of all, I’d like everyone to please read @accio-victuuri‘s wonderfully written, detailedly researched post on the Li-Ning brand, the Xinjiang cotton support rally on Weibo, and the narrative the state has spun on the issue. I would’ve provided similar information in my response as well—although no way I could’ve laid it out as clearly, as to-the-point as @accio-victuuri did—because this background is critical in explaining my thoughts on this issue.

I haven’t reblogged the Li-Ning ads, but I must confess that the decision had little to do with politics. I’ve always leaned towards re-blogging art than real people.

That said, however, Gg’s Li-Ning ads have, of course, crossed my dash. And I’d be honest and say this as well: I haven’t really found them—or by extension, the idea that Gg was endorsing the brand—offensive, precisely for the reasons @accio-victuuri laid out. Li-Ning is a legend in China; a highly decorated olympic gymnast, he was the national pride chosen to be the final torch-bearer and torch-lighter for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. His company, established in 1990, was among the first Chinese brands with name-recognition overseas and has won high-profile international sponsorships—rare achievements among Chinese-owned enterprises, even to this day.

Based on Li Ning’s identity and his company being a National Brand, I’d be more surprise if the Li-Ning brand doesn’t use homegrown, “patriotic” cotton, before even considering the practical reasons—Xinjiang cotton being a domestic product that eliminates the costs of shipping, tariffs etc; that it’s of such superior quality that international brands touted its use—a reversal of the usual downplaying of their products’ Chinese origin, due to the common associations of “Made in China”=“Bootleg”,“awful quality”; that makes up ~20% of worldwide cotton production—ie. most Chinese families are probably already using products with cotton from the region (blankets, for example).

From that perspective, therefore, I’ve viewed the endorsement as little more than a case of a high-profile Chinese celebrity endorsing a high-profile Chinese brand, named after a national hero and targeted towards the local market. I breathed a little sigh of relief for Gg, admittedly—imagine if his new endorsement over those same few days had been for a brand under the Better Cotton Initiative; he would’ve been flayed alive, if the antis’ words were knives.

(And who said they aren’t?)

As such, I also haven’t considered the Li-Ning brand as “morally inferior” to Gg or Dd, or, the other way around, that Gg or Dd are “morally superior” to the Li-Ning brand. I haven’t considered drawing a moral ruler along this axis. I either believe they’re all doing what their sociopolitical environment has taught them, guided them, demanded them to do, or I don’t. Li Ning (the person and the brand), Gg, and Dd all have a celebrity status attached to them. They’ve all flourished in that one sociopolitical environment—that one they also call home.

Ultimately, Gg and Dd belong to China. They’re the product of the country, its all powerful, all controlling regime. No one can be isolated from their backgrounds—my background colours every word I say here; likewise, there’s no place I can draw a line and separate Gg and Dd from the Communist Red behind them. I wouldn’t have posted about China’s sociopolitical environment, researched on it as a GgDd fan otherwise.

I either walk away from them all, or I don’t. I either stay a fan, or I don’t. The latter is my choice. Every minute.

Have there been instances in which news about Gg and Dd make me especially uncomfortable? Yes. Photos of Gg in PLA (People’s Liberation Army; Chinese army) uniform for AT, or Dd in police uniform for BAH, for TTXS still give me stomach churns every time I see them. A violent squeeze of the heart.

Visceral reactions that come from, I suppose, the amyglada. More organic, primitive than thought.

I’ve seen those uniforms in RL action—uniforms worn by those who’re truly responsible for the labor camps and mass surveillance, the torture, the unreported deaths, the disappearances; uniforms Gg and Dd have expressed support outside their drama, their host roles:

Translation: #I support Hong Kong Police too# (On red banner) “I support HK police. You can beat me up now.” What a shame for Hong Kong.

(Dd reblogged the same post originated from People’s Daily, the State-Controlled Newspaper).

I’m going to go on a quick detour and provide the backstory of this red little box, this piece of propaganda that is much more blatant than a clothing ad. I’ll explain why in a bit.

Here’s an article that explained the incident from which the quote was drawn, that occurred on 8/13/2019 during the Hong Kong Protest and the airing of The Untamed. Essentially, a Chinese state media reporter was suspected to be a spy among the protestors after taking photos, refusing to show his press pass (he was found to have one but not his own), and possessing a “I love HK Police” shirt; he was tied to the luggage cart and beaten up. The reporter said the quote in the red little box; he suffered mild injuries and was soon discharged by the hospital. What was the background of this story, however? Why did the protestors beat up someone who could be from the press—who, regardless of their affiliation, protestors know should be protected? The protests began in June, 2019. Hong Kong had had another large scale protest in between September to November, 2014 (aka the “Umbrella Revolution”). Spies had always been an issue. Why didn’t a spy beating happen earlier?

Here’s an English-subbed documentary (warning: violence) that offers insight of the background—the fear and fury of the protestors. The subject is what is now known as 721 Yuen Long incident, or the evening Hong Kongers—even those who had not been involved, who had been unsure about the protests—lost their trust of the Hong Kong Police, once known as “Asia’s finest”.

That evening went like this. On 7/21/2019, the local mafia violently attacked the passengers of a late night train in Yuen Long station—passengers who weren‘t protestors (who wore black)—while the police ignored the multiple emergency calls from locals who’d spotted something suspicious, and didn’t show up on the scene while the beatings occurred. Evidences, which the documentary detailed, pointed to the Hong Kong Police, and the government that backed it, endorsing the beatings, therefore working with the local mafia to deal with the protests.

By 8/13/2019, therefore, protestors were convinced that their opposition wasn’t beyond using very low blows to get their way. One could argue that they overreacted to the spy-reporter; the Western media, who had long trusted HKers to know what they were doing, expressed its disappointment, and the protestors soon apologised. The Chinese propaganda machine, of course, jumped at the chance of casting the protestors as bad people, and the online rally on Weibo ensued (It lasted for at least three days; Gg and Dd reblogged post about HK between 8/14/2019-8/16/2019).

That was, briefly, the story behind Gg and Dd’s Weibo reblog.

Why did I make a detour and write up this story? Because I’ve actually posted blatant propaganda on my blog—the Weibo post, with its red little box. However, does it still feel like propaganda with the story?

Therefore, I haven’t, and don’t plan on pressuring anyone to stop posting and re-blogging specific pieces of GgDd information—be it an ad as in this scenario, or propaganda material from films, series, government/state-controlled media announcements etc. That I believe everyone should set their own boundaries, be their own judge of what they’d like to share on their own blog aside, I think—and this is where my opinion may deviate from many—“canceling” falsehoods often isn’t the best way to deal with them.

This opinion is likely, again, coloured by my background.

My observations have been this: “cancelling” is effective only if the cancelling force is, overall, significantly stronger than the force being cancelled. In the scenario that prompted this post, making Gg’s Li-Ning ads disappear from the dash is only possible if there are more fans who ignore the ads than those who post and reblog them. “Canceling” is therefore a competition of headcount, with tactics for sidekick—the side with more people, and people who are good at disseminating information, decides the outcome: whether the intended-to-be-cancelled material go viral within the fandom, or whether they die out.

I’d like to highlight this word: headcount.

This isn’t the most favourable kind of competition to participate in, therefore, if the potential opposition belongs to the populous country in the world, its members, people who may have participated in fan circles, which are essentially fan armies who’ve been used to organising, battling on social media for their idols. I’ve previously set up a hypothetical scenario, in which Dd’s supertopic members were encouraged by their government to scale the Great Firewall to Twitter, spread their support of Xinjiang cotton—a scenario that is not totally unrealistic, given that the Chinese government has previously mobilised fans for propaganda purpose.

We’ll use this thought experiment again ~ please bear in mind, once more, that this is SJD; a figment of our imagination.

Since we’re talking about Li-Ning brand, let’s add Gg’s supertopic members to the mix. The total supertopics member count is 6.11 + 8.34 = 14.45 million, as of today (2021/04/04).

Let’s say, only a tiny, tiny percent—0.01% of them are mobilised; that’s 1,400 people.

Is it possible to cancel the voices, the retweets of 1,400 in Gg and Dd’s i-fandom? Cut down another 90%, reduce the opposition headcount to 140. Is it possible?

There are also overseas Chinese who do not intend to spread propaganda, but believe in the story and have no qualms disseminating the information. There are also fans who wish to remove politics from fandom and pass all information along.

Here lies the frustration of those who’ve tried to raise their voice of concerns re: the policies and practices of the Chinese government on social media; and this is why I mentioned that my background informed my opinion. On social media, where headcount and whoever shouts the loudest, retweet etc the most wins the exposure game, it’s nearly impossible to win against the Chinese Communist Party (CCP)’s propaganda machine, if the party chooses to have the machine running.

Their side has so many people.

One more RL example: here’s a scholarly article detailing how Diba (帝吧), an old, popular online forum in China with 20 million members, mobilised, collectively scaled the Firewall and engaged in a cyberattack of the Facebook page of Taiwanese President Tsai Ing-Wen on January 20, 2016 — the day of President Tsai Ing-wen’s first inauguration; they left a total of 26,000 comments against Taiwan independence, using Simplified Chinese (which China uses) for their font instead of Traditional Chinese (which Taiwan and Hong Kong uses)—ie, the commenters didn’t even pretend to be not from China. They were proud and open about their "Expedition”.

(China’s state-controlled tabloid Global Times—yes, the same one involved in the Hong Kong airport incident above—”concluded the campaign was a “fun normal incident” that showcased young people’s passion for politics”)

Is it possible to try to cancel something of that scale? Is it realistic?

Personally, therefore, I’ve always advocated for “immunisation”: rather than protecting a fact by wiping out its associated lies—the idea behind “cancelling” a message, not having it show up on the dash—I prefer to do so by allowing it to be visibly challenged, until observers are no longer easily swayed by falsehoods. I used Gg and Dd’s Weibo reblog re: Hong Kong police as an example—is the red little box propaganda, a challenge to the protests? Yes. Is it information that I deeply disagree with, something I wish I’ll never see again? Also yes. But by providing context to it, I’m hoping to turn it into a vaccine—something mimicking the virus, the potentially viral piece of information, but doesn’t function the same way anymore.

Hopefully, this vaccine will also encourage stop-and-think moments that boost future immunity; hopefully, with a few more boosters, questions will come automatically with such red little boxes reappear— questions about the context, the purpose, the message.

Questions like these, for this incident: why did the State media make this incident the “Gotcha” moment in the Hong Kong Protests, important enough for People’s Daily to make a rally-starting meme? Why was the reporter, Fu Guohao hailed as a hero, when he’d just got ... beaten up?

What did People’s Daily, and the government behind it, want people to find when the red little box popped up everywhere on Weibo, including the Weibo of the fastest rising stars from the hit summer TV series? What belief could be expected to be instilled into the audience with this photo, published by China’s state TV station (CGTN), of the reporter tied up to a luggage cart and surrounded by black-cladded protestors?

Who looked like the strong, evil side? The meek, good side? Why, finally, was the tag about the Hong Kong Police, when the conflict was between the protestors and an alleged Chinese state media reporter?

By then, Hong Kongers were already suspicious that the Hong Kong Police had been infiltrated by China’s law enforcement arm, from hints from the different dialects the police used, how they handled the protestors etc. It was the start the final break down of Hong Kong’s autonomy. Their suspicions were not wrong. Now, with the National Security Law having taken effect since July 2020, Hong Kong’s transformation into a police state is well under way.

What does the tag #I support Hong Kong Police too# mean now?

[Please excuse my using many examples from HK because 1) I’m familiar with the details; and 2) it’s the only instance in recent history in which the outside world can see, with relative clarity, a large-scale protest against the Chinese government and its outcome.]

Here’s my humble wish: next time, when a government-sponsored memes like this get translated and posted, be it originally reblogged by Gg, Dd, or other c-ent stars, be it on Twitter or Tumblr, the vaccinated, immunised will pause and wonder: What’s the story? What’s being told inside the Great Firewall, and outside?

If this happens, red little boxes on my blog, unpleasant as they are, are 100% worth it.

The Li-Ning ads are therefore worth it too, IMO, if they spark a conversation, a dissemination of facts and perspectives. To me, the latter is especially precious in this fandom, where significant language and cultural barriers exist. Fans who move Gg and Dd’s news and candies from Weibo are the pillars of this fandom. Sieving through that website is hard, translations harder; it’s unfair and unrealistic to ask them to also be the background knowledge deliverers.

I’ve tried to do a small part, but I’m ... slow. Very, very slow. However, even if the background isn’t available, I’ve found being careful, skeptical about the information is already a very good thing. At heart, this is no different from the lessons from media literacy here, except there are even more falsehoods and half-truths to wade through given the country of origin of Gg and Dd’s material, and trustworthy sources are not always available. Li-Ning brand is an example that things do not need to be blatant propaganda to carry a pro-CCP message.

What can i-fans do then about the Xinjiang cotton situation, if competing against the Chinese government propaganda machine on social media appears to be a losing game?

My thoughts are these, at the moment. First, please consider not dwelling on the competition, especially within fandom. Remember: getting several fewer fans to buy Li-Ning brand isn’t going to change the big picture.

Instead, if this is an area of activism you choose to participate in—please consider channeling your effort to watching the companies in your country. Put pressure on sustainability & good practice certification companies like Better Cotton Initiative, make sure they don’t, can’t have it both ways. Xinjiang cotton is either certified or it isn’t. There’re suspicions of forced labor on its production or there aren’t. The answer should be a simple yes or no, not whether the office is in Geneva or in Shanghai.

This is an answer that we, as consumers, have the right to know. Transparency in China isn’t for us to demand; we can, however, demand transparency in our own country. Remember too: it makes a far, far greater difference for one international company to re-consider its cotton source, than for one fandom to do the same.

Meanwhile, and again, this is my humble opinion—please do whatever you’re comfortable with, that is within your ability, to fortify your stance. Should you choose to speak out online, you’ll likely meet opposition. Responses on current events from the Chinese Foreign Ministry (you can also find the spokespeople on Twitter) can offer a glimpse of the counterarguments you may meet. How will you answer them? Here’s a clip of one of the spokespeople arguing that the US used to use black slavery to pick cotton in the past. If you’re American and this is presented to you—what would you say? (Does mistakes by one country in the past mean mistakes by another country in the present is automatically acceptable?) The opposition may also use vicious words, the most extreme of which is probably “racist”. If someone call you racist—if many Twitter users scream racist!!!!!!!! at you at the same time for your critique—can you stand firm?

[The pro-CCP camp has been taking advantage of the West’s effort to move forward from its racist past to stop any criticism of the Chinese government. It already knows the easiest way to silence the criticisms is to call whoever makes them racist.]

[If everyone fears the racist allegation, allows the conflation of Chinese government and Chinese people to take root, will there be more or less anti-Asian sentiments in the long run?]

[I’ve been called racist by writing these metas.]

The last thing I’d like to say is this: please be kind to your fellow fans who’ve kept mum, or been hesitant about making their stance known. Some may be closely connected to China, others may not be in a psychological / health space to deal with the politics. Also, and here’s my default way of looking at this: I disagree with the idea that anyone owes anyone else a declaration of their political beliefs. I can’t imagine this issue to be an easy thing to think about for many Gg and Dd fans, myself most definitely included ~ as a (former) Hong Konger, a uniformed Gg or Dd gives me an unpleasant visceral response, but at the same time, it also means I’m used to accepting, even genuinely liking people on the other side of this political ... Grand Canyon. I can imagine the conflict, the pain this issue may have caused some fans who’re not accustomed to the latter, as being a fan, IMO, is never purely logical ~ and I mean that in the best of ways.

Passion is the magic ingredient that separates a fan and a consumer. It’s also what makes choices difficult, when conclusions from logic, political stance included, conflict with it. Some make the hard choices quickly; some, slowly. Some make them in one go; some, piece by piece. Some never make them, let time be the decision maker.

As Dd said so famously and wisely, about the conflict between passion and logic: 愛就是這樣，沒有辦法 Love is like that. Nothing can be done.

The only common denominator is this: we’re all made to love.

❤️.💛.💚.

#pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - NW Project (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains spoilers from an R&S (NW计划) which has not been released in EN 🍒

Heavy angst warning... T-T

To follow along with the narrator: here

[ Chapter One ]

The NW Project - “New Weapons Project” in full. This project was first put forward 20 years ago.

Even though I’m the main person in charge of this project, the person who raised this project wasn’t me. Neither was it an outstanding scientist. Instead, it was this man in front of me.

Patiently, I finish reading the agreement in my hand, which spans dozens of pages. Before putting my pen to the page, I lift my head to look at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

The man looks straight into my eyes. Without a hint of retreating or wavering, his tone is calm as he responds, “I’ll take complete responsibility for the consequences.”

“You aren’t afraid of permanent infamy?”

“This is our only chance. Exchanging the lowest cost for peace experienced by the most number of people. Black Swan doesn’t leave us any choice.”

I fall silent, but the man doesn’t give me an opportunity to probe further.

“This is the second time I’ve made this decision.” He continues speaking calmly. “Ever since the first step was taken, there has been no room for backing out in this matter.”

I pinch the pen with force, the weight in my hands a little difficult to bear for a moment. I take a deep breath, finally signing my own name on the paper, underneath the name already written on it.

I’m very clear that we have no room for retreating. We have to move forward!

After signing, the man hands me an archive envelope. “This is the first experimental subject this time round.”

I open the archive envelope directly. When I see the name written on the materials, I lift my head to look at him in shock. Before I can speak, he responds. “There’s nothing wrong with the materials.”

“Right now, he’s the most suitable candidate.”

“But-” I continue finding it difficult to believe.

“You can return to make preparations. He’ll be here soon, and the NW Project can officially begin.” There’s absolutely no change in his expression. He’s so calm that it’s as though he’s talking about someone who is insignificant. But the tenseness of his body faintly reveals his inner perturbation.

I suppress the shock in my heart, not adding anything else.

Returning to the office, I open the file once again, reading it seriously--

Gavin, 24 years old, Evol ability is wind control. His Evol was awakened at 17 years old. During the tests two years ago, his ability levels were determined to be of the highest rank.

In the attached photograph, a young man wearing the white Special Task Force uniform is facing the camera. His eyes have a knife-life fierceness and a trace of unruliness. Even when separated by the photograph, they bring with them a certain sense of oppression.

This is a resolute person - that’s what I conclude. But when he undergoes the modification in this project, whether it’s successful or not, would he be able to remain as resolute?

I’m unable to make a determination, but I hope he does. After all, he’s their child...

[ Chapter Two ]

The restarting of this project, which had stopped for decades, was beset with difficulties. But no matter how difficult it was, this project had to be pushed forward.

A month later, as Black Swan’s activities grew increasingly frequent, the man, in the capacity of commanding officer, led the team himself, leaving the base. He kept his promise, bringing the first experimental subject back - the NW Project could officially restart.

Gavin stands in the middle of the laboratory quietly. His familiar appearance causes me to have a lapse in concentration. But very quickly, I retract my emotions and explain what the first phase of the experiment entails, and its possible effects.

When he hears the cruel wording I use, he has no reaction, no wavering, and no fear. His back is straight, and there are still speckles of dried blood on his body. I’ve only met his eyes once before averting them quickly. That pair of eyes shrouded in shadows suppress far too deep, and far too heavy emotions. Yet, they reveal a certain odd sense of calm, as though he has calmly and fearlessly accepted his fate.

“Gavin, are you ready?” The man, who has remained silent all this while, finally speaks. In an incredibly cold voice, Gavin responds. “Yes.”

The man turns his head towards me, nodding slightly in indication. “It can begin.”

We’ve been waiting a very long time for this experiment. Before the experiment officially begins, the man’s footsteps leave hurriedly.

All procedures proceed in a systematic and orderly way. Underneath the cold lights of the laboratory, Gavin, who has been injected with the drug, is submerged into transparent phosphate buffer. Dozens of metal patches are linked up to his body, monitoring the slightest change in data.

As the experiment carries on, something peculiar happens quickly. The fluctuating lines on the electrocardiogram gradually slow down. After a sudden jolt, it becomes a flat line. Just like the final glow of light in the darkness extinguishing suddenly, although we had already prepared ourselves for this, I still find my hands trembling when this moment arrives.

A researcher informs us that Gavin’s vitals are falling, and that his Evol fluctuations are barely able to be captured. All the data cruelly tells us that this experiment is about to fail, and the death of this young man will be announced soon.

I pound my hands onto the wall heavily to prevent my fingers from trembling, and direct everyone to carry out all possible rescue measures. But as time passes by - one minute, two minutes... his signs of life have completely vanished.

“Gavin...” Quietly, I watch that young man, whose eyes are shut tight, and recall when this departed person had said this name to me.

Suddenly, the lines on the electrocardiogram fluctuate for a moment, and someone exclaims in surprise. I frantically observe the screen, watching as the degree of fluctuations gradually increases. It’s as though a hand has forcefully pulled him back from the fringes of death, finally bringing him back to normal. Everyone heaves a long sigh of relief.

After the experiment, I assume the task of observing Gavin’s situation. On the sickbed, the young man who has experienced death has a face void of colour. Even in an unconscious state, his eyebrows remain deeply furrowed.

I tidy the items that were collected from him: A phone which is turned off, a set of keys, a Special Task Force ID... and a photograph which was originally in his breast pocket. This photograph seems to have been taken unawares. It has already turned slightly yellow, and has a pretty-looking girl on it.

After a while of thinking, I place the photograph next to Gavin’s pillow.

Perhaps this way, he can have a good dream.

[ Chapter Three ]

It has been a week since the experiment ended.

A few things surpassed our initial expectations: Within the first 30 hours of Gavin awakening, his state of mind temporarily went into chaos. At the same time, the strength of his modified Evol left us unable to control him, and he destroyed the entire laboratory. Fortunately, he recovered at a certain point. But he became deficient in terms of emotions, and turned extremely cold and distant. It’s as though he had become the strongest “weapon” as we conceptualised.

“Thud--” The sound of something heavy falling drifts from the tightly shut door. The hand I’ve placed on the door pauses. After waiting for a few minutes, I push the door open.

Gavin is standing in the middle of the spacious underground training room. A pair of cold and indifferent eyes look over. Even though I’ve experienced this several times, my heart still jumps, and my body tenses up involuntarily. All the cells in my body warn me - he’s extremely dangerous.

I maintain a set distance, and advise, “You should act according to our designated plan to undergo this adjustment process.”

Gavin doesn’t speak. Black wind encircles his surrounding, the swirling air slicing the walls and floor like knives. In an instant, it ripples through the entire room. I reach out to touch the blood oozing from the new wound on my face, quietly putting even more distance between us.

I watch silently as he exhausts his Evol, waits for it to be restored, and repeats it again. This is an incredibly painful process, no different from breaking all the bones in his body and forcing them to straighten. Such capacity for violence often results in harm to himself. Very quickly, his whole body is riddled with scars, and his entire person appears as though he has been pulled out from a sea of blood.

“Today’s training should be over.” I speak up once again, stopping him.

But what I get as a response is the sound of a ear-piercing report. Stunned, I look at the patch of white appearing before Gavin. Everything in that region has completely disappeared - there has been a change in his Evol. According to the plan of the experiment, he should only reach a breakthrough after half a month.

This time, Gavin finally speaks. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

This seems to be a thought he is clinging onto. Sometimes, one’s thoughts can destroy a person, but can also strengthen a person.

I don’t know who is the person waiting for him, nor do I know how he obtained such a belief. But it enables him to persevere in this cruel project.

--The NW Project can stimulate the experimental subject’s Evol gene to its highest degree, enabling one’s Evol ability to reach its strongest state in a short span of time. But its pitfall is just as obvious. There’s a large possibility that an experimental subject wouldn’t be able to withstand the weight of such strength, and face a decline after his Evol reaches its peak.

Right now, the strength Gavin has obtained after the modification has far surpassed approximations. None of us are able to predict what ending awaits him should his Evol start to decline.

Gavin finally stops, sitting on the steps in exhaustion. I can’t help but ask, “Why did you accept this project?”

“I need strength.” He says this without hesitation.

“Is obtaining strength necessarily a good thing?”

“Not to most people.”

I understand the meaning in his unfinished words, because he is even more certain than we are that he can control such strength.

At this moment, I suddenly look forward to his future, even though an experimental subject from the NW Project will only become a “weapon”. And the future of a weapon is only to destroy or be destroyed.

[ Chapter Four ]

It has been two weeks since the experiment ended.

The modification in the NW Project has reached its final phase. From Gavin’s body, we’ve collected large amounts of information, supporting the future development of this project.

At the same time, Black Swan’s sudden appearance on the surface leaves us with no choice but to speed up the process of the NW Project, and search for the next batch of experimental subjects. But this is an incredibly difficult matter. Every person who accepts the modification has to possess a sufficiently firm willpower. They have to persist through the agony of such destructive strength, and have to endure the temptation such strength brings.

During this special period, Gavin suddenly looks for me. Seeing the documents placed in front of me, I lapse into a long silence before speaking. “If you’re clear on the consequences this would bring, I’ll sign it.”

“I’m very clear.” Gavin stands up straight, the resoluteness in his eyes not wavering even once. Without further questions, I lift my pen, signing this agreement solemnly - to allow NW717 to be dispatched, and carry out missions.

“If you insist on choosing this path.” I take out a set of seemingly normal-looking gloves and place them on the table. “They can help you control such strength.”

Gavin freezes slightly, and it looks like he has been taken aback. But he doesn’t ask further questions either, putting on the black gloves, the leather material fitting every finger seamlessly. He looks at his hands, a hint of cloudiness flashing across his eyes, though it dissipates very quickly.

This is a strength which shouldn’t exist on this earth, yet it has surfaced due to various incidents.

The next time I see Gavin who has returned from a mission, all the staff have already left the laboratory. The assistant had given me a warning beforehand, but I’m determined to be here.

What I see is a Gavin who is on the brink of collapse. His body is bowed, both fists balled tightly, veins evident, as though he has sustained a blow which is difficult to bear. I understand the cause of such a situation, and it’s exactly the consequence I had warned him about before he left on the mission--

The drugs used during the NW Project modification are especially fierce. Before they are completely assimilated, the backlash is also especially fierce. Right now, perhaps every blood vessel and every cell in his body are bringing him incredible pain. Such pain far exceeds the very first experiment by multiple folds.

“You need to stop the pain.” I take out the injection needle, prepared to give him a cortisone shot.

“No need.” Gavin doesn’t even lift his head. His tone is perhaps even calmer than mine, but his voice trembles almost imperceptibly. “I’ve seen your report. I need this chance.”

He’s betting on that one glimmer of hope. I respect his wishes, setting down the cortisone shot. Instead, I give him the final dose of drugs for the experiment. After all of this, I await the final outcome from afar.

Gavin remains silent from start to end. The sound of his breathing is so light and faint that it seems to disappear, only the data on the equipment displaying the radical changes in his body. Just like this, my eyes are wide open as I observe the entire night. At the first glimmer of dawn, Gavin stands up. Because he has been maintaining the same posture for a very long time, he staggers for a moment, almost losing his footing.

I do a complete examination for him, and discover that he has indeed grasped that one thousandth of a chance. In our plan, the degree of completion of the modification will hover at around 80%. But right now, Gavin has far surpassed this numerical value.

With a complicated expression, I look at the final verdict. Before Gavin leaves, I warn him once again. “It could engulf you in the end.”

The air surrounding Gavin permeates with danger, but his eyes are as calm as ice. “I can’t retreat.”

This project doesn’t leave him any room for retreating.

I know that the success of Gavin’s modification also represents drawing the curtains on an expansion of the NW Project. I’ve stored all the data and reports related to him in a file, ready to accept the next experiment.

[ Chapter Five ]

Along with the implementation of the NW Project, the effects of the modified individual increasingly got out of our control. This caused us to start pondering on how we should handle those people who accepted the experiments once everything was over.

Someone asked me about what I planned to do, and my answer was that I would perhaps find a place where nobody recognises me, and live the rest of my life with a guilty conscience and remorse.

As the very first successful experimental subject of the NW Project, Gavin’s choice came even earlier than I expected.

I reach the doors to the commanding officer’s office. Just before the door closes, I see an insignia on the desk at a glance, along with that pair of black gloves.

When we cross paths along the corridor, Gavin gives me a slight nod. I hand him something - the Special Task Force ID which was collected from him when he had first undergone the experiment. Gavin seems to find this unexpected. Very softly, he says a “thank you” before leaving without taking it.

From behind, I watch his retreating form - his back is very straight when he walks. At this moment, his footsteps gradually turn from heavy to relaxed. I watch as he takes out his phone to make a call, disappearing into a corner of the corridor.

I hope this will be the last time we meet.

With anticipation in my heart, I push the door to the office. The man stands at the window, as though waiting for something.

“Why did you choose to let Gavin leave?” I ask.

The man returns to the desk, the NW symbol on the wall behind him seeming to become the heaviest shadow, caging him. He says calmly, “Behind this position, I’m also a father. Even though I’m not qualified.”

He pulls open a hidden drawer, retrieving a yellowed photograph from inside - I know that what’s on it is the image of a beautiful woman who remains in the memories of everyone.

I recall the night on which he knew Wardia had passed on, and recall the child who had splinters all over his body, his face filled with resistance and despair. It was such an endless, heavy night. The next day, the man had already collected his wavering and crumbling self. It’s as though all the pain I saw was just an illusion.

That child from back then has already grown up. He has grown up to have an indomitable spirit, and to the point where nobody can overlook him.

Just like what his mother had anticipated, he has become a strong protector.

For an inexplicable reason, I suddenly speak. “Actually, the two of you are very similar.”

The man immediately shakes his head. “He’s more outstanding. Back then...”

At this point, he seems to sink into a short contemplation, and doesn't continue.

I don’t harp on this topic. Taking out the file, I give him a report on the final verdict of all the experiments in the NW Project.

The original intention of this project was to utilise absolute abilities to get rid of rebellious Evolvers, and reduce the damage between civilians and Evolvers. During the project, we fulfilled this original intention, though it also brought about several inevitable problems. And right now, perhaps it’s time for it to leave the stage.

After waiting for a very long time, I finally hear the man’s announcement. “The NW Project will officially end one week later.”

Perhaps we have already been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I pack up the files, and give him a salute - as well as to everyone who has contributed to this project and to this world.

Very soon, this project will be covered in dust and enter the vast and long tide of history, and will never be spoken of by anyone.

Only those glistening stars continue to illuminate the boundless and long night.

A translated comic based on (but not entirely) on this R&S: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #this hurts so good

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joshuas · 4 years ago

Text

first place

♫ pairing: Kim Seungmin x Reader

♫ genre: College/university student!au, slice-of-life, fluff, med student!seungmin, rivalry au

♫ word count: 5.7k

♫ warnings: Nil of note!

♫ summary: Just a bunch of shenanigans that take place at a hospital during the holiday period.

♫ a/n: The sixth addition to my seasonal oneshots! This is a continuation from my Hyunjin oneshot. Enjoy!

♫ skz seasonal oneshots: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

“Seungmin and Y/N, you’ll be shadowing these doctors for the next couple of weeks. Please try to get along...” Your professor gave you a pained smile, before handing you over to the two consultants in charge of monitoring your progress at the hospital. “Try to get along? Is there a rivalry that we should be concerned about?” The consultant gestured between you and Seungmin. “Oh, it’s nothing maj—“ You broke off as Seungmin cut in, “Long story short, we’re both the top students in our course, so sometimes our rivalry can get out of hand. But I can assure you, we won’t let anything interfere with the patient’s care.” “Well, I sure hope so. You guys are in the big leagues now— interning at an actual hospital. Any mention of your behaviour becoming the slightest bit unprofessional, and the two of you could fail this component of your course.” The consultant warned before taking you both on a tour of the hospital.

“At the end of the day, I’ll need your progress reports and any paperwork regarding the well-being of your patients. Remember, quality over quantity. Try not to make a competition over the number of patients you see.” The consultant sighed before departing, leaving the two of you in the ER. “We’re going to ignore them, right?” Seungmin raised an eyebrow. You smirked, “You might need to but I don’t. Watch me see lots of patients and deliver them the best possible care.” Seungmin scoffed, before the two of you headed off in opposite directions, tending to as many patients as possible.

“Noooooo I don’t want an injection!!” Timmy, the four-year-old patient you were placed in charge of, got out of his bed, running towards the door. “Please, Timmy, calm down!” You rushed towards him, catching him in your arms before he could run out into the corridor, “Should I sing a nursery rhyme? Twinkle twinkle little... what was it again?” You chased after the four year old, wrestling to place him back on his hospital bed. “Looks like you might need some help,” Seungmin smirked as he sidled up beside you. “He’s not your patient, he’s mine.” You said defensively, turning back to the screaming child, a forced smile etched upon your features. “Hmm... and look at how this is turning out for you? Come on. I bet I can calm him down and give him his injection way faster than you.” He looked at you mischievously. “...you’re on, Kim Seungmin.”

[2 hours later] You slumped against the side of the bed lethargically, placing the fiftieth soft toy you could find on the hospital bed, “Please, Timmy. I’ve gotten all the toys you wanted. All of these soft toys will be there for you while you get your injection and afterwards.” You sighed, exhausted as the kid kept on crying. “What do you want, kid? Money? I’m a medical student, so I don’t have much. Is $20 enough? Thirty is as high as I’ll go.” Seungmin pulled out his wallet. You slapped his hand, “You can’t give money to a four-year-old. First of all, he’s a patient. Second of all, he’s four-years-old!” You looked at him incredulously. “It’s been two hours, Y/N. Where even are his parents? We’ve tried literally everything.” Seungmin sighed exasperatedly. “True...” You sighed, silence filling the room. You pondered for a bit, gasping as an idea struck you. “Well... we haven’t tried everything.” Your lips quirked up mischievously.

“Just put it on so we can calm him down.” You said, tone monotonous. “This is degrading on so many levels,” Seungmin grumbled, placing the puppy ears on his head as you drew on his face. “Best possible care, remember?” You gave him a quick smile before pushing him back into the ward. “Timmy, there’s a very special... puppy here to see you! He’ll be here to comfort you while you get your injection.” You smiled, as Seungmin beamed at Timmy, sitting beside him on the hospital bed. Timmy sniffled, “Does Mr Puppy get scared of injections too?” “Oh, all the time! He’s just like you. But can I tell you a secret? Injections prick a little bit and then your arm feels fine afterwards! It’s just like a small and short amount of pain.” You reassured, preparing your needle as Timmy distracted himself with Seungmin, giving pats to his puppy ears. Seungmin looked at you, slightly uncomfortable. “Okay, Timmy! Are we ready? I’m going to count down okay? 3, 2, 1.” You looked at Seungmin as he distracted Timmy by playing peek-a-boo. He looks low-key adorable... You shook your head, pushing in the needle, “Yay! It’s done! Good job, Timmy!” You beamed at the four-year-old, tucking him back into his bed. “Okay, good night, Timmy! Mr Puppy has to go now! I’ll see you tomorrow.” You waved, Seungmin at your heels. “Bye-bye, Mr Puppy.” He waved sleepily at the two of you as you exited the ward. “I think he exhausted himself from all that crying.” You noted. “He exhausted himself? I’m exhausted. I think I need a lollipop for how much energy I put into calming this one kid.” Seungmin said, slightly incredulous. “I can’t believe you offered him money.” You scoffed. “Says the one who got fifty stuffed toys from different patients and botched up singing nursery rhymes.” Seungmin retorted. “We don’t talk about any of that. Anyway, don’t you have anything better to do? You didn’t have to intervene with my patient.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I— well... Your patient was screaming so loudly that it was impossible for both my patients and myself to focus.” Seungmin refuted, ears turning pink. “Whatever. I’ll take that as my victory, right? I believe it’s now 24-17? Let’s see, there’s only... an hour till our shift ends... tick-tock.” You smiled patronisingly at Seungmin before walking away.

“Okay, Timmy! Now that you’ve recovered from your surgery, we can take a walk in the hospital gardens for a little bit.” You held out your hand to the little boy as he carefully hopped down from his bed. “Timmy, are you—“ Seungmin entered the room, looking up from his clipboard, as you buttoned up Timmy’s jacket. “What are you doing?” You asked, confused at his presence. “What are you doing?” He retorted, looking at you pointedly. “Taking care of my patient? Why do you keep trying to poach him from me?” You looked at him incredulously, placing Timmy’s hand in yours. Realisation dawned upon Seungmin’s features, “You know... I think the consultants heard about our... difficulties last time with Timmy and probably assigned him to both of us from now on.” “Ugh, it was probably from Dr Yoon — he hates us for some reason. Also, why didn’t you realise this when you found out that Timmy was your patient today?” You raised an eyebrow at Seungmin. “I just thought that they thought you were incompetent, which was why I, the more competent medical student of this cohort, was provided with this opportunity to show that to everyone... no offence,” Seungmin smirked slightly. “Okay, first of all, why are you so cocky? And second of all, adding ‘no offence’ at the end of your sentence doesn’t make your statement any less offensive.” You rolled your eyes. “Confidence is key. And, I wasn’t saying no offence to you, I was saying it to Timmy in case he thinks that he is just a mere opportunity to me— he is, but he’s my patient first.” Seungmin said a matter-of-factly. “Well now he’s our patient, so dial down on the ‘confidence’.” You scoffed, changing your entire demeanour as you turned to Timmy, “Shall we go outside now, Timmy?” You beamed. “Is Mr Puppy joining us too?” Timmy asked as Seungmin smiled at you victoriously. You sighed, exasperated,

“Yes, Mr Puppy will be joining us too...”

You breathed in the cool air, placing your hands in your jacket pocket as you calmly observed Timmy skipping excitedly ahead of the two of you, “Who do you think would win in a fight against Jisung? Me or you?” Seungmin asked randomly. “Why do you ask that? Me, obviously.” You rolled your eyes at him. “You have no reasoning for that. See, I would say me for obvious reasons.” Seungmin said slightly smugly. You stopped, turning to face him, “Oh? And what might those be?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “Well, for one, I’m a lot taller than him, which means I can reach out further and hit him before he hits me. Also, since I’m taller, I don’t have to punch upwards, which means that less force is applied when Jisung punches because he’d have to punch upwards, whereas I’d basically be punching straight, making my punch more powerful...” Seungmin droned on, explaining his argument, leaving no room to rebut. “I guess there was a reason you were on the debate team for all of high school.” You gave him a forced smile. “Actually I started in middle school. Anyway, I guess that means that I win.” He smirked triumphantly. “Um, no, you haven’t heard my side of the argument. Honestly, to think you did debating all this time and you still don’t know the rules.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperated. “Let’s hear it...” “Well, first of all, let me just acknowledge your...”

[45 minutes later] The two of you bickered, hospital staff and patients often stopping to stare at the two of you, as you continued, oblivious to the scene you were creating, “No. You know what— I think we need a mediator. Timmy, who do you think would win in a fight? Me or—“ You broke off, looking around frantically and stressing over the sudden disappearance of your patient. “Did you see where he went?” You asked Seungmin, giving him the side-eye as the two of you ran throughout the gardens calling his name. “Obviously not since I’m running around to find him too.” Seungmin rolled his eyes as he looked through a snow-blanketed bush. “Guess you’re not the “best medical student of our cohort”. You can’t even take care of a child.” You said slightly smug. Seungmin sighed, looking at you,

“Not now, Y/N. He’s our patient, so you’re basically insulting yourself — you can’t even look after a child.” “Are you saying that I’d be a terrible parent?” You gasped, offended. “Are you saying that I’d be a terrible parent? Wait— I never mentioned parenthood.” He retorted, eyebrows raised. “I— oh! Timmy! Why are you hiding behind the park bench? It’s cold outside.” You helped him out onto the path, brushing off any snow from his clothes. “You and Mr Puppy were fighting, so I got scared and ran away.” He said shyly. You shared a look with Seungmin,

“Fighting? Oh no, honey. We were just... talking loudly.” You gave him a reassuring smile, holding out your hand to him. “Please don’t talk loudly anymore.” Timmy sniffled. “We’ll try not to.” Seungmin smiled, taking Timmy’s other hand as you entered the hospital.

“I smell... unprofessionalism.” Your consultant leaned back in their chair, sniffing disgustedly at the air, “I heard about what happened in the gardens today.” Your consultant leaned back in their chair, looking between Seungmin and you. “I promise you, it won’t happen again. And besides, Timmy was fine!” You spoke quickly. “And what if he wasn’t? We’d have a lawsuit on our hands. But above all, he’s your patient. He was placed under both of your care, and he deserves to be taken of to the best of your ability, regardless.” The consultant glared at the two of you pointedly. “We’re sorry.” Seungmin muttered, looking down. “Let me tell you this — this is a hospital. One of the most competitive workplace environments. I understand your competition with each other, but this is the real world, and in the real world there is no room for error. Especially when a patient’s life is at stake. All competition stops when we have to take care of our patients, since they are our top priority. I need you to reflect on whether they are yours?” The consultant raised their eyebrows as the two of you stood in stony silence. “Now, since the two of you can’t go without some sort of punishment, you’re going to have to get the paperwork from the receptionist at the ER and come back here to run through all of it. I want it done before 5pm.” The consultant tapped at their watch. “But the ER is on the other side of the hospital...” Seungmin noted. “So that means we only have... an hour to do all of this, on top of going there and back.” Your eyes widened. “Is that a problem?” Your consultant looked at the two of you pointedly. “No...”

As you exited the consultant office, you looked at Seungmin as he stretched his legs and arms, jogging lightly on the spot, “What are you doing? It’s not like you’re preparing for a marathon.” Your nose crinkled in slight disgust. “You said so yourself that we had one hour to get these files and organise them. Unlike you, I want to show that I am a professional and gets things done on time even before my subordinates.” Seungmin monologued. “I— subordinates? We’re literally in the same year.” You scoffed, tying your shoelaces. “I may view you as lesser than me at times.” Seungmin said quickly before sprinting down the corridor, knocking over everything in his way. “Hey! Kim Seungmin!” You yelled, running after him.

You panted, grabbing at the receptionist desk as you tried to catch your breath, alongside an equally as breathless Seungmin. “C-can I... okay wait a sec... can you please give us with the files the consultant wished for us to go through?” You asked, out of breath. “Actually, they heard of the mess you made when coming here, so that you both have to clean before you go through the files.” The receptionist gave you a forced smile before turning back to their computer. “How?” You looked at Seungmin incredulously. You shared a knowing look, “...Dr Yoon.” The two of you muttered. “Just take these for now.” The receptionist dumped two full cardboard boxes on the desk, paperwork overflowing from both. Seungmin inhaled sharply, “And when will the paperwork need to be done by?” “Well the consultant isn’t too mean, so it’ll need to be done before ten, seeing the amount of... mess the two of you made.” You plastered a fake smile on your face, begrudgingly taking the box, “Thank you, so much.” “It’s no problem, and hey, good luck with the papers.” The receptionist gave you a small smile before shooing the two of you away, boxes in hand. Cleaning with my rival. How fun. I swear the universe hates the two of us. Why are we always together?

“Oh god, we made a huge mess.” You stared widely at the disastrous corridor ahead of you. Random chemicals were spilt on the ground, with IV drips entangled alongside other equipment scattered throughout the hallway. Wordlessly, Seungmin unlocked the supply closet, handing you a broom whilst he got the mop, not before placing the boxes down in the closet. “You should start on the glass so no one injures themselves and decides to sue the hospital for poor workspace conservation.” Seungmin snapped on gloves, mopping up the chemical residue. “Well, we are in a hospital of all places.” You pointed out humorously. Seungmin rolled his eyes, looking pointedly between the floor and your broom. “Fine...”

As you cleaned in silence, you glanced over at a stony-faced Seungmin, What happened to him? Is he really that upset over what the consultant said? I thought he’d take it as feedback and move on. He doesn’t normally give up like this. Or let things like this phase him for that matter. He’s... admirable in that way. You shook your head in disgust, Ew ew ew, Y/N! I can’t believe I called him admirable.. he’s far from admirable. He’s a pain in my— “Y/N, are you done sweeping that one spot? You’ve been at that spot for the last five minutes. I’m pretty sure you’re just sweeping up air now. Can you help me put the cleaning things away?” Seungmin interrupted your thoughts, collecting up the appliances and heading towards the supply closet. “Oh yeah, I forgot that we left the boxes here.” You stepped into the closet, grabbing one box as Seungmin slipped in after you, turning his back away from the door... a clicking noise resounding in the confined space, the light leaving the room as the door locked shut, the rustling of keys heard from outside the door, carefree whistling following suit. Seungmin whipped around, trying to open the door, “The door’s locked!” “Uh, no duh. Someone’s locked us in, obviously... Who do you think it was? My guess is Dr Yoon.” You accused, running through a list of your potential enemies. “Or it’s our consultant wanting us to resolve all our issues before we go back to work.” Seungmin suggested, sighing as he sat against the door. “It’s... a possibility. Regardless, we should figure out how to get out of here. Do you have your keys or your phone?” You asked, mentally crossing your fingers that he did. “No, it’s in my locker. I’m assuming you don’t either since you asked me.” Seungmin sighed. “Ugh, you know, sometimes I wish you were some kind of mysterious bad boy that somehow did everything really well but also broke the rules for once.” You sighed exasperatedly. Seungmin shot you a disgusted look, “Are you saying that you don’t like me for who I am?” You coughed, “I don’t like you, full stop. Why do you think we have this rivalry? Because I’m some immature high school student that has a crush on you and is mean to you to hide my feelings? No.” Mhm, sure, Y/N... “It’s not like I knew we were going to be locked in a storage closet, anyway.” Seungmin said defensively. “We can’t even do paperwork since there’s no light and we have no device with light.” You complained. “Then let’s just sit and wait. I’ll listen by the door if I hear anyone pass by. Please don’t talk to me. I’m not interested in talking to someone who doesn’t like me at all.” Seungmin pressed his ear against the door. “Fine.” You crossed your arms over your chest, sagging back against the wall. This is going to be a long night...

[3 hours later] “God, I can’t take this any longer! Stop sulking and talk to me. I don’t want to think about being trapped in this room with you any longer than I have to.” You exclaimed, Seungmin perked up, relief flickering in his eyes before moving to a more guarded expression. “Okay, well what do you want to talk about?” Seungmin asked drily. “I don’t know... how about we play 21 questions? You can start.” You suggested. “Fine. I will, even though it’s kind of dumb since I already know more about you than I’d like to. Don’t ask me why. What’s your favourite colour?” He asked, slightly bored. “If you’re bored by asking this question, how bored do you think I am by answering it? Your question was dumb. Mine’s [your favourite colour]. And I already know that yours is purple. Don’t ask me why, either.” You sighed. “Wow, okay. I’d like to see you come up with a more interesting question.” Seungmin said defensively. “Oh, watch and learn my... nemesis? Anyways, my question for you is, if you could have any other profession than this one, what would you have chosen?” You raised your eyebrow. “Oh... I’d be a lawyer... in particular, a prosecutor.” Seungmin said sheepishly. “Why?” You questioned. “The career itself interests me. The criminal justice system is as intricate as some of the cases a doctor would have to cure. The problem solving that goes into trying to figure out what actually happened in a case is the fun part. It’s kind of like solving a puzzle, because all of the pieces eventually will fit together as you piece more and more together from testimonies.” Seungmin explained, eyes lit up in excitement. “You are... really passionate about law. Why didn’t you choose to study that instead of medicine. They’re pretty much are the same in terms of prestige and salary.” You said, confused at his disposition. “I... don’t know.” Seungmin said tentatively, tone slightly confused. “Oh come on, you can tell me. What am I going to do? Use that against you? There’s literally no point of me doing that. Unless you did something really bad and wrong—“ Seungmin cut you off, interrupting you panickedly, “No, Y/N! I actually don’t know.” “You’re telling me that after all this time of having this passion, you haven’t once thought about why you selected a career path completely different to the one you wanted to pursue?” You asked incredulously. “Yes, Y/N. Can you please just not talk? I need to think.” He stood up, pacing the small space, occasionally tripping on things in his way. “Okay, Seungmin, where are you so I can slap some sense into you?” You stood up, holding your hands out tentatively to grab him. “I don’t want you to slap me!” He brushed your hands away, as you grabbed onto one of his. “I meant metaphorically. I’m not going to abuse you.” You rolled your eyes, “Look, I’m not saying this because you leaving would mean that I’m number one in this course. That would obviously be a bonus, but I’m saying this because I’ve known you for a really long time and surprisingly want the best for you. If you’re this passionate about law, you should study it. It’s not as if anyone’s going to complain if you switch, it’s an equally as admirable career option. I think you’ll enjoy it a lot more than medicine by the looks of it. You don’t want to live your life regretting your career options because someone asked you this question in a supply closet and you didn’t act on your uncertainty. You’ll never know unless you try.” A silence filled the room. Not long after the jingling sound returned from outside the door, bright light blinding you as the door opened, a woman screaming as she saw the two of you, Seungmin and you screaming back, confused, “Oh my goodness. There you guys are! You do realise that you have an hour to do the paperwork, right?” The receptionist from earlier gasped, letting you out. Seungmin placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you, “Thank you, Y/N. You know, sometimes you can be an intellectual.” “You really need to work on your compliments. Anyways, I’ll see you next week.” You smiled, heading towards the lockers.

“Y/N, I just wanted to inform you of Seungmin’s departure from this course. And before you ask, yes that does mean that you are now officially first place. Congratulations!” Your consultant addressed you before shooing you out to do your work. First place, huh? Oh how the turn tables... I guess he really did take my advice. I’m flattered! I mean... why would I be flattered? I don’t care. Whatever. Hopefully he has fun at law school and whatnot, while I enjoy being first place!

“Oh, Dr Yoon. Hello.” You stopped short, bowing your head slightly in acknowledgment. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t The Honourable First Place themselves? So how’d you get rid of him? Talked him to death?” Dr Yoon taunted. You rolled your eyes, sighing, “No offence Dr Yoon, but I don’t see how what Seungmin decides to do with his life is any of your concern.” Dr Yoon scoffed, “Someone’s defending their man.” “He’s not my— oh, you know what? Whatever. Have a good day, Dr Yoon.” You said passive aggressively, stomping out of the break room.

“Nice work, Y/N! I can see why you’re number one.”

“Hey, Y/N. Can you get these x-rays done before eight?” “I heard that Seungmin’s gone. I guess I’m your new rival now.” The day passed by in a flurry, numerous doctors and nurses congratulating you... and delegating more work to you. Particularly, Seungmin’s workload. You weren’t complaining too much about the compliments, those were nice. It’s just that... work wasn’t as fun as it used to be with a certain someone present. The workload seemed to drag on, and on, your motivation lessening as time progressed. I wonder what Seungmin’s doing now. Probably living his best life and learning about lawyer stuff. He’s probably forgotten about me and this rivalry altogether... “Y/N! Are you coming with us for lunch. We wanted to congratulate you on your ranking!” “Coming...”

You put on a smile as you entered Timmy’s room, “Mr Puppy, is that you?” Timmy called out from his bed. “No, sorry Timmy, it’s just me.” You gave him a small smile, checking his vitals. “Where is Mr Puppy?” He asked, wide eyed. “Oh... look, sweetie, Mr Puppy won’t be able to come to the hospital anymore because he’s... run away? Yeah, he’s run away.” You sighed, sitting on the plastic chair next to the bed. “Have you tried looking for him?” He looked to you, hopeful. “He’s just... I don’t think he wants to be found.” You sighed, slightly bitter. A silence filled the room, the two of you lost in your own thoughts. “I miss Mr Puppy.” Timmy said resolutely. “You know what Timmy, I can’t believe I’m saying this... but me too.”

[21 Dec.] (You) I’m assuming you’re on break now? They aren’t giving us any breaks at the hospital because this is the busiest time, apparently - Christmas and New Years, that is >.< How’s your lawyer stuff going? Are you going to be a lawyer forever? [25 Dec.] (You) merry christmas! you’re probably too busy with lawyer stuff since you haven’t replied to any of my texts. That’s chill... you know, Timmy asked me if I could find Mr Puppy for him for Christmas. Not sure if you remember me or any of the things that went down when we were working together because you’re SO busy... just wanted to let you know :/ [26 Dec.] (You) I don’t understand how many people got candy canes stuck up god knows what. My shift on Christmas was probably one of the busiest shifts I’ve had ever!! The consultant says to wait until New Years Eve to make that call... [30 Dec.] (You) you know what? I give up. I’ve tried engaging in conversation but you’re not reciprocating at all. You can’t be THAT busy. I mean, you just started your law degree. Meanwhile, I’m working long hours at the hospital to cover for both of us... I hate this. Looking at your phone for the billionth time, you sighed, placing it back in your locker and throwing on your coat. The hospital was in disarray due to the spike in demand of the services in the last couple of hours. You had the night shift which was the busiest time, especially on New Year’s Eve. Not to mention that you had to do your usual rounds on top of helping out at the ER. You’d think that the hospital would be prepared for this. Weren’t they the ones that told me that New Year’s was busiest? Dumb mistakes, people getting drunk, etc. It’s so— “Y/N! We need you in the ER pronto!” The consultant stuck his head out of the door to the ER, yelling at you to come over, interrupting your internal monologue. What a way to start off the new year...

Sighing, you watched as more patients poured in, many too drunk to remember anything they had done to end up in hospital in the first place, not helping with your diagnosis process at all. You finished up with your current patient, glancing at the crowd in the waiting room, eyes stopping as they drifted past a familiar figure — Kim Seungmin. Your heart leapt at the sight of him, even if he was more or less dragging his friend (?) into a wheelchair in the least graceful way possible. If dragging someone into a wheelchair could ever be considered graceful in the first place. He dropped his friend in the wheelchair, wide-eyed, making their friend wince from the impact, he looked at them pityingly before meeting your eyes. “Y/N! Stop gawking at the patients and actually start helping them! God, we don’t have enough staff for this.” Dr Yoon yelled at you. Not enough staff, you say... You grabbed a spare coat from the receptionist desk, “Hey, Kim Seungmin! I know you’re some fancy law student at the moment, but we need your help! The hospital’s super short staffed right now, so it’s all hands on deck.” You ran towards him, chucking him the spare coat before pointing him towards the mess of an ER. He placed his hand on your arm, ignoring the beat of your heart, you looked up at him, “Hey, for old times sake, how about we have a competition?” He suggested, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Number of patients? You’re on.” You grinned, rushing towards the masses with him, feeling excited towards your job for the first time in a whlile..

“And that was 34-27. I win, yet again. You know, I always wondered why you were first place when I always won against you in these competitions.” You observed, sighing as the two of you walked through the hospital corridor. “This has nothing to do with performance in exams. Besides, you should know this by now, I—“ You halted him, stopping at the children’s ward, “I’m not sure if you got my texts but Timmy’s really missed you. I don’t really understand why, to be honest. You’re not really that missable but—“ He ignored you, entering Timmy’s room. “Mr Puppy!” Timmy exclaimed joyfully as Seungmin beamed at him. “Timmy, you’re still awake? This late in the evening?” You raised an eyebrow expectantly at him, leaning against the door frame. “I wanted to stay up till the fireworks!” He responded honestly. “Didn’t a nurse come in and watch the 9:00 fireworks with you?” You asked. “It’s fine, Y/N. He’s old enough to decide these things on his own.” Seungmin gave you an amused smile as Timmy sat up straight, nodding seriously at Seungmin’s words. “I also wanted to watch them with you and Mr Puppy, but the nurse said that you were too busy.” Timmy pouted, your heart lurching at his words. “Aww, well, Timmy, since we’re here now, we can stay with you, but not to watch the fireworks, because you should sleep. But Mr Puppy and I can read you a bedtime story if you’d like... and I’ll be here when you wake up in the new year. I promise.” You smiled, approaching the hospital bed. “What about Mr Puppy?” He looked expectantly at Seungmin. “Oh no, honey—“ “I’ll be there. I promise.” Seungmin connected his pinky with Timmy’s. You looked at him confusedly as Seungmin pulled out a children’s book and began to read. He looked at you expectantly, gesturing for you to sit next to Timmy. You sat down, thoughts racing, What does he mean by he’ll be there?

“I think he’s asleep now.” Seungmin quietly shut the book, leading the two of you outside into the corridor. “What time is it now?” “Five minutes to midnight.” Seungmin said a matter of factly, checking his watch. “Okay, question. What do you mean you’re going to come back tomorrow?” You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at him expectedly. “I mean, I’m going to come back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. Basically permanently because I’m studying medicine again.” He gave you a small smile. “What do you mean you’re studying medicine again? What happened to pursuing your dreams and studying law?” You asked incredulously. “Frankly, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. Besides, our professor told me to try it out for a week and then actually consider changing. So I was technically still studying medicine. Also, in that week, I had to help Jisung with a lawsuit, which took up all of my time, hence, why I couldn’t respond to any of your texts because he ended up throwing my phone out... it’s a long story. Anyway, that put me off law altogether.” He explained. “Yeah... I can understand why that put you off.” You nodded. “And... there was one other factor preventing me from pursuing law.” Seungmin said tentatively. “Oh? What’s that?” You asked, heart rate quickening. “You.” He pulled you close, looking at you for permission as you nodded, capturing his lips with yours. As people chorused happy new year throughout the hospital... and being told off by consultants for being too loud, Seungmin pulled back, leaning his forehead against yours. “Y/N, you keep me motivated and the time I spent away from you made me realise how much I need you in my life. Every day I spend with you goes by so quickly because you always keep me on my toes... and you’re the only person that can match me in a battle of the wits.” You smiled at his last sentence, bringing him into a hug, before quickly releasing him. “Well, if it wasn’t clear from the kiss, I like you too. However, that’s the least of my concerns... now that you’re back, what does this mean for my ranking?” You asked, wide eyed. “I think I’d still be in first? Technically I never stopped doing this course.” Seungmin said, confused. “What? No. You can’t be first. I’m first. The consultant congratulated me.” You denied. “I guess you’re just going to have to defeat me again, Supreme Ruler Of Second Place.” He teased, dropping a kiss on your forehead before running to the ER. “Kim Seungmin, God so help me. I will beat you this year!”

➳ part seven? | masterlist!

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beatleszeppelin · 4 years ago

Text

If I asked you to stay, would you?

Summary: After a tough case, Reid stays home from work. You have to check on him. He looks sick, so you take him to the doctor, and it’s your job to take care of him.

Category: Sick Fic

Warnings/Includes: First couple paragraphs are sad criminal minds things, but feel free to skip that, and mention of puke

Word count: 4k

Written in (gender neutral) second person.

The piercing cold, and slight drizzle falling out of the dark sky around, adding insult to injury. Spirits were low, as rain washed a child's blood from the dirt. The case had not gone ideally; two lives lost, and the team just had to walk away.

A somber walk back to the cars freezing water hitting, stinging his face. Reid’s nose was red, clothes and hair sopping wet, freezing. He got to the back seat of the car, he pulled his knees up, and let his head fall onto his hands. Morgan and JJ waited outside the car, giving the kid a minute alone.

The drive back was quiet, JJ glanced back ever so often hoping Reid had fallen asleep, but every time she’d look back she would see his head pressed against the window, eyes darting with every opposing car. The street lights passed over, illuminating his face, and a shine lingering in his eyes. She’d put a comforting hand on Reid’s knee, like a mother would on a long car ride.

In damp clothes he finished his reports, and finally left the office at two.

He entered the subway tunnels, light coming out as a path marker. The eerie feeling that comes with two a.m. is in the lingering, on the streets, in tiled subway tunnels, and definitely present in anything the moonlight touches. There is a surprising amount of people on the subway for being so early. A man in the corner, held a bag with paper towels in it. A little farther along was an old bag lady. Finding someone normal to sit near was going to be too much to ask for, until he saw a woman, sleeping and seemingly destitute, a baby squirming on her lap. He waved. And she returned it.

So he sat. He was talking to her, and playing with her. Doing magic has always gotten him far with kids, except when he was one. She squealed as he pulled a coin from behind her ear and he laughed along. She laughed at the look of him smiling, and when he leaned in to make funny faces at her, her giggle turned into a cough. He patted her back a little bit, to quiet her barking cough, trying to not wake the baby’s mother. If you’re tired enough to fall asleep on those plastic seats, then any sleep you could get must be a blessing.

His stop neared, and he pulled 20 dollars from his wallet and slipped it into the woman's purse. He also shook her shoulder to wake her up, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave the baby unattended.

“Sorry for waking you, I just thought…” He said nervously, and awkwardly smiled and waved goodbye to the baby.

“Thank you,” she whispered. And she started to pat the back of her daughter.

He got off the metro happy, and walked the rest of the way to his apartment, the yellow glowing street lights making the falling rain sparkle as it fell to the earth.

He got home and wanted to get some sleep before he had to get up and go to work at nine. He didn’t want to shower and change, he could do that in the morning. He threw a soft blanket across the couch. He sat down, and kicked his converses off of his heels. He laid down, wet hair hitting the pillow.

***

You walked up the stairs to his apartment. You have twenty minutes until your lunch break is over, but when Garcia told you to check on Reid you knew you had to. He has a tendency to shut everyone out; say he’s fine when he’s actually far from. He would say he’s fine until he literally exploded.

You walked past apartment #19, #20, past an empty coffee cup on the floor, #21, then you ran back, picked up the coffee cup, and threw it away at the end of the hall. Apartment #23, you knocked. “Hey Reid, you there?” You tried knocking harder. “Hey kid let me in!” You were about to pound the door down like you were the cops, but you heard a click. Reid unlocked the door, and squinted at you.

“Why,” he cleared his throat a little, “Why are you here?”

“Hi, it’s 1 in the afternoon, you didn’t show up to work today, and apparently you guys

had a particularly bad case last night.”

“It’s one?” he said walking back into his apartment, to go find a clock.

You walked in, and straight to his kitchen, to wash your hands after touching that coffee cup.

“You didn’t purposely not come in today?”

“No, you’re insistent knocking woke me up.”

“So, you’re wearing your clothes from yesterday?”

“Yeah, I’d gotten home late last night, or actually early this morning, I guess.”

“Are you feeling okay?” You looked at his hair that was sweaty and stuck to his forehead.

“Kinda tired, I guess, but I’m fine.” He said staring off, trying to focus on how he actually felt.

“Here let me feel your forehead.” You reached up and pressed your hand to his face. You couldn’t tell, because you had just washed your hands rendering them cold. You ran your hand through his hair, and kissed his forehead. It was warm. His face turned red, and it came in splotches.

“I think you’re a bit warm. Would you like to try to get to the doctor before they close walk-ins?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then I’m going to go back to the library. I hope you find a good excuse for not going to work today,” You said, but couldn’t make a move for the door.

“If I don’t go, will you leave?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You look really red, your face felt pretty warm, you slept in your wet clothes last night, and you may try to mask the fact that chills have been making you vibrate in front of me, but there is no way your not sick, no matter how many times you tell me you’re fine.”

“Okay, but I am fine.” He said, arms crossed, before heading to his bedroom to get dressed.

You waited in his apartment, absentmindedly flipped through some of his books. There were stacks of books everywhere; every spot you could fit a book, there was one. Two stacks of books were towered on his coffee table. On top of one was The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath, you hadn’t read it since high school, but you remember it being forward, and a bit unnerving.

Reid’s door opened, startling you. He walked out wearing a striped shirt and a sweater, with his signature mismatched socks and Converse. He looked comfortable, and very childlike.

“Are you ready?” You asked him.

“Yeah, I’ll grab my keys.”

“You drive?” You ask, never having seen him drive, you just assumed he didn’t or didn’t know how. How could you assume there was something that Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t know how to do.

You followed him down stairs to the parking garage, to a 65’ Volvo. “This is your car?” You asked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s so cool, I did not picture you driving something like this.” You didn’t picture him driving a cool older car, but you also didn’t picture him wearing mismatched socks, or dressing up for Halloween every year without fail. At this point nothing he did would surprise you.

“You didn’t picture me driving something cool? So, you don’t think I’m cool?”

“Well now I think you're cool, I mean after seeing this car.”

He pressed the volume button to turn on the radio, Tchaikovsky, the universe is restored. It was a ten minute-ish drive to the doctors. He signed in at the front desk, and you went to sit down. There were two seats under a window that you chose. The dark green vinyl was hot from the sun, but it was the only two isolated seats that you could see, other than the two girls that had the seats leaning on the wall. One of the girls had her hand under the other's skirt, and were kissing, very passionately. Hope one of them isn’t sick. You picked up one of the magazines next to you to avert your eyes. Home decorating, not the best option, but the bright colors and Pinterest mom’s will definitely keep you occupied.

Reid walked over to you and sat down, you could see him looking at the girls in the corner, and his face had bright red splotches on his cheeks. “Hey, are you into this?”

“What? No!” he said in a high pitched voice, like that of one of the chipmunks in Alvin and the Chipmunks. “Then why is your face bright red?”

“Maybe because the seats under the window are hot, and you shouldn’t be touching those magazines. They are one of the grossest things in here. Actually, the pen used at the front desk is, it has 46000 times more germs than the average toilet seat. That’s why I bring my own.”

You set the magazine down. “Hey is your face warm, you're still bright red?”

He looked over at you, shrugged at you and did his little awkward smile, and looked back down at the ground, head resting on his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

“Spencer, Spencer Reid!” A woman yelled from the doorway.

Reid smiled and waved as he stood up.

“Wait, do I come in with you, or should I stay out here and see if I can join a thruple with those two?” He grabbed your wrist, seeing as to not touch your contaminated magazine hand, and helped you up to follow him in.

You guys walked back and the NP asked him to take his shoes off to step on the scale, he stepped up, a lime green sock and one purple striped sock now showing. “153 pounds,” the nurse said.

“Now stand over here so we can get your height,” You picked up his shoes for him, as she guided you across the hall to mark his height. He stood, back against the wall, “Okay, stand up straight.” He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his chin up. “6 foot 1 and ¼ inches”.

You passed his shoes back to him, following the nurse to one of the rooms in the back. You got to sit in one of the chairs that mom’s would sit in and talk for their kids. He hopped up on the bench, with a crinkle of the paper.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she said, right before the nurse left the room.

Reid scooted back against the wall, letting his head fall back. You looked over at him, his face still looking flush, and his eyes were closed as he sat there.

A knock on the door interrupted your observation, but made Reid sit up, attention now focused on the man. “Hi, I’m Dr. Bradman. What brings you in today?”

“I don’t…” Reid said looking over to you.

“His face has been a bit flushed, and he may have a low fever,” You said for him. “Oh, and he was out in the rain and cold last night, I don’t know if that would do anything.”

Reid piped up to say “Actually, being in the rain and cold doesn’t affect whether you will get sick or not. Being exhausted, stressed, under emotional duress, and having allergies with symptoms pertaining to nose and throat are the main reasons people get sick. Other than catching if from someone who is contagious.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” The doctor said, sitting down on a chair with wheels.

Reid awkwardly smiled, looking down at his hands.

The doctor took Reid’s temperature, asked him a couple questions, and left for a couple minutes.

You and Spencer sat in the room for a couple moments in silence, he was looking sicker by the moment. And after a while of silence, his head resting on the wall, eyes shut, the doctor walked back in.

“It looks like you are sick, your temperature was raised a bit, and the redness on your nose and cheeks is a common symptom of sixth disease.”

“Wait, that’s roseola, right?” You asked.

“No, that’s only for children under the age of three.” Reid said, slightly perplexed.

“Well yes, but it can occasionally affect adults who’ve never contracted it as a child.”

Reid’s shoulders dropped, “How long will it last?”

“It should clear up in the next three to five days.”

“Okay.”

“You can take medicine to reduce the fever, and stay hydrated.”

You two left the office, but not without teasing him on the way out. “I once babysat a kid that had sixth disease. He was up all night crying, do you need me to babysit you?”

“No! Just because I have a baby disease doesn’t mean I’m a baby” He crossed his arms on the walk back to the car.

“Do you want me to drive, so you can get some rest?” You asked, holding a hand out for his keys.

“Is this another joke?” He pushed his eyebrows together, and cocked his head slightly.

“No; no it’s not.”

“Can you drive a stick?”

“Uh yeah, actually. I had a truck that was manual in high school.”

He gave an impressed nod and passed his keys over.

On the way home he laid his head against the cool glass of the window. His breath, making water bead up and fall. You walked him up to his apartment, but before you left you wanted to make sure he’d be okay.

“Do you have a thermometer? I just want to see what your temperature is before I leave you.”

He walked away to his bathroom and came back with a thermometer sticking out of the side of his mouth. He was pouting, you don’t know if it was because you made him check his temperature or if he just felt sick. You pulled the stick out of his mouth after hearing the beep.

“100.3” You put your hands on his face, burning. “Do you want me to stay here for a little bit?”

“You don’t have to…” He said and raised his shoulders to shrug. “I know I don’t have to, but do you want me to? It would be no trouble.” You said walking to his kitchen to wash the thermometer.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I would like you to stay, please.”

“Okay, why don’t you go to bed and try to rest, and I’ll run to the store and get some food for dinner.”

He nodded, “How long will you be gone?” Reid’s voice broke.

“Not too long, I should be back before you wake up, but if you need me just call me.”

“M’kay.”

You walked out of his apartment, down the stairs, running your fingers across the banister. Should you grab some clothes in case you need to spend the night? Yeah, might as well run home and get the car before going to the grocery store.

At the store you pick up some soup, popcorn to eat while watching a movie, cough medicine, ibuprofen (for the fever), and you couldn’t find any Gatorade, so you bought Pedialyte (I mean it’s the same stuff, and this is a baby disease). You also got a few other things you weren’t sure he had, and headed back.

When you twisted the key into the lock is when you started to hear some slight coughing and some whines in between. So, you put the soup on the stove, and went in to check on him. His face was covered in little red spots that trailed down into his shirt; he was asleep and his hands were balled up into fists by his face. Sweat stuck his bangs to his face, and every cough made him subconsciously whimper.

Reid was asleep in front of you, looking like a baby. If people didn’t think he was a baby before, if only they saw him now. It’s hard not being able to help him, other than just letting him sleep, but when he wakes up he’ll feel a whole lot worse, so why not prolong the contentment here.

You decided to go tend to the food, while he slept. In a few minutes though, you heard him get up out of bed and a door slam. You walked over to his couch, leaning on the arm rest waiting for him to come out. A couple moments went by and you were still standing there. If he came out now, it would be like you were just standing there staring at his door waiting for him, which is exactly what you are doing. You went around the couch and sat down, moving the pillows from how he had slept on them that morning. You picked up a book from the top of one stack, and opened it, but his door swung open. Reid stood there, in the doorframe, the sleeves of his shirt pulled down over his hands, his head hung low, and tear streaks down his face. His voice wobbled when he said “I threw up.”

“Are you okay, what do you need?” You asked, looking toward the giant toddler.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Let me check your fever.”

He nodded. You walked over to the kitchen to where you had left the thermometer, and while you’re in there you turn the heat off of the soup. You don’t think he wants it right now.

He puts the thermometer in his mouth and stares at you with puppy dog eyes until it beeps. He takes it out and hands it to you without reading it. “102.4!” You rush over to get some medicine, and a mug to put water in. “Here take this, baby. You must be miserable.”

He closed his eyes and gave a labored smile. Taking the medicine made him wince as he swallowed.

“Why don’t I run you a cool bath, to see if we can get your fever down faster?”

“‘Kay,” he started walking back to his room, stopping to brace himself on the wall.

You wrapped your arm around him, guiding him to his bathroom. You two stood awkwardly for a couple seconds not knowing what the first move was gonna be, but you sat him down on the toilet to wait for the water to fill. You ran the bath with lukewarm water, not hot, but not uncomfortably cold. Reid sat on his toilet, knees hugged to his chest, and his face and body were sweaty.

You turned off the tap and looked at him quizzically. Reid quickly stood up to usher you out, but got a head rush and had to lean against a wall. You walked to the doorway and waited for his next move. He tried taking his shirt off, but only got one arm out; on the second arm his wrist got stuck on the sleeve. He flailed his arm for a second, before giving up and frustratedly slumping against the wall. You walked over to him, pulled his shirt over his head, and helped pick him up. You put your arms around his waist and pulled him up with little to no help from him. You two stood there for a second, holding Spencer; all of his weight leaned into you as you held him. He was shaking.

You helped him sit on the edge of the tub, and asked “How do we do this?”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” He looked up at you with his big brown eyes.

“Absolutely.”

You helped wiggle him out of his pajama pants, and left him sitting in hot pink briefs. Then, turning around, you heard a little splash of him kicking his legs over, and then a slosh of water displacement.

“Okay, you’re good,” he whispered.

You turned back around and bent down next to the tub. He leaned his head on the edge of the bathtub and you folded up a hand towel and shoved it under for him to use as a pillow. You scooted back, and reached for a washcloth off of his counter. A small stack of them fell on top of you. You picked one up, that hadn’t touched the ground, and ran it under some cold water. After squeezing it out, you sat on the back of the tub, and dabbed it across Spencer’s forehead. He leaned his head against your thigh and looked up at you. You looked down at him, “If I knew I was staying here, I’d have run you a bubble bath.”

He smiled; you could tell his fever was going down a bit. Seeing him without clothes on, showed you just how much of his body was covered in little red splotches. They ran from his cheeks, down his chest, and stopped a little lower than his protruding hip bones.

A few moments of you silently dabbing his face was interrupted by a coughing attack, leaving Spence shaking a bit.

“Laying back may not be the best thing for a cough, why don’t we finish up in here so we can sit on the couch, maybe watch a movie or something?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, it’s wet already from the washcloth,” you handed him the washcloth, and picked up the mug he drank water out of earlier.

“Yes please.” He placed the washcloth over his eyes and you dunked the mug in his bath water. You poured it over his head as he leaned back.

“Where’s your shampoo?”

He leaned forward and handed you the bottle. Johnson’s cotton touch 2 in 1 shampoo and body wash.

“You use 2 in 1 baby shampoo?”

“It’s for sensitive skin.”

“It’s for babies.”

“If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.”

“Can we at least buy you some conditioner some time?” You asked, giving him a mohawk with baby soap.

“Sure,” He said, defeated.

You pour the cup over his head again, rinsing his hair clean of soap. You handed him his towel from behind the door, and walked out, leaving the door open a little and sitting on his bed in the next room in case he needed you. In a minute he walked out in pajama pants with little cowboys on them, and a robe.

You got up, went to his bathroom and brought out a comb. “Sit,” You scolded.

He sat on the edge of his bed, you behind him brushing his hair.

Once you were satisfied with the style, you linked arms with him and went out to the living room. He started moving the books and things off of his coffee table, while you went to go make popcorn.

You came back with a box of saltines, a bowl of popcorn, and a bottle of pedialyte with a straw in it.

“Is this another joke?” he asked reading the label.

“No, they were out of the other stuff.”

You sat down, handing him the box of crackers. His laptop was open on the coffee table, and he threw a blanket across the both of you to share.

“What are we going to watch?”

“Star Trek” he said and pressed the spacebar to play it.

“You’ll like it,” he said and put his head on your shoulder. “Hey, thanks for staying with me today.”

“It’s no problem, I like hanging out with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and eventually we will need to buy you some conditioner.”

“It’s a date,” he said and snuggled closer to you.

You played with his hair until he fell asleep on your lap, leaving you watching Star Trek all night, but you do like it now.

#vicficwriterchallenge #Criminal Minds #reid x reader #spencer reid #dr. reid #spencer reid fanfiction #reid sick fic #criminal minds fanfic

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chrisjake-cp · 3 years ago

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History 3 Trapped Filming Diary (full English translation) - Days 41-50

Masterpost here.

I don’t own the book so I can’t post my scans of the pictures that came with it. So I included some other pictures of the scenes that were being filmed. These pics belong to LINE TV or Choco Media, or I’ve taken screenshots from the episodes or the behind-the-scenes.

Read days 41-50 under the cut.

Day 41

On this day of shooting it happened to be Christmas, and the crew, waiting for the evening shooting process, enjoyed a Christmas gift exchange. Shaofei gave out a book; according to him it was a very inspirational book. A crew member who does hair and make-overs nearby opened it and laughed jokingly: “What kind of ‘inspiration’ do you mean?”, causing Shaofei’s thoughts to immediately go into another direction to the point of him not even being able to say it out loud (I can tell you: he was very bashful!). The whole crew also acknowledged that the most creative gift was a big bunch of green onions⁕ from Sanxing. When this present was opened the whole crew burst out in crazy laughter, but it need also be said that this was a most memorable gift.

⁕ Sanxing is famous for its spring onions! They even have a little museum dedicated to green onions there.

Also, what kind of book did Jake gift someone? 👀

Day 42

The day after Christmas, Boss Tang arrived at work, and the first thing he did was accept his gift from the Christmas gift exchange from the day before. So what did Boss Tang receive?

*ding ding* The answer is 20 Christmas trees and a bottle of “Indian Spiritual Oil”⁕ At the appearance of this gift, everyone nearby immediately laughed loudly, and I also silently expressed my heartfelt wishes for Tang Yi’s and Meng Shaofei’s happiness.

For today’s scenes, basically the whole ‘world’ had to be there: Unit 3, Tang Yi, A De, Hong Ye, Daoyi and Jingtang were all present, so the set was really lively. What was shot that day were the scenes after Hongye and Shaofei were injured in the parking lot. In order to increase the conflictual character of these scenes, the director assigned each actor their own, individual combination. What was interesting is that during rehearsals, the cameramen all quickly approached the actors like a large quantity of reporters. A De said smiling that the group of people was so large that it looked like an oncoming tank and he could only silently take the ‘card position’⁕ each time.

⁕ This oil is basically like viagra...but topical instead of taking a pill....It’s a natural plant oil but it contains some anaesthetics which will irritate the skin a bit (making your you-know-what more erect as it grows hot) and the anaesthetics will also cause you to last longer. Ahem. Let’s all imagine Chris receiving this gift. 😂

⁕ The card position comes from a basketball or football game. It means that during the game, when the ball is in the air, the player accurately judges the effective landing point of the ball, takes the lead in the opponent's position, and blocks the opponent out of the best position to gain control. Here it means that Stanley just chose the best position to gain control/the upper hand in the scene.

Day 43

Today we continued to shoot the hospital scenes. Shaofei said smiling that today was another aptly-named day of “earning money while lying down,” as he was lying down from the first scene in the morning to the last scene in the evening. After several consecutive days of intensive shooting, the hospital scenes were back in Taoyuan. Shaofei said he had been getting out of bed at 4am in the morning for several days in a row, and that day was no exception. So during the moments when he wasn’t in the shots, he could openly but stealthily catch up on some sleep in the bed, which made everyone present pretty envious.

Zhaozi just gets better the more he acts. Just look at his slightly wrinkled brows.

Day 44

In the last episode, Zhaozi took Tang Yi to see Shaofei [in the hospital] for the last time. Tang Yi, who had carelessly pulled the trigger and accidentally shot Shaofei was already handcuffed. He told Shaofei he would hand He Hang as well as Zhou Guanzhi over to the police. Zhou Guanzhi was the enemy who killed his father. In these past four years, Tang Yi’s biggest goal was to single-handedly murder his father’s killer. For Tang Yi to now agree to let Zhou Guanzhi live and to hand him over to the police, meant Tang Yi had made the ultimate concession.

Because he had persisted in his revenge, he had caused his lover to be hospitalized with a gunshot. Since meeting Tang Yi, Shaofei had been assaulted in big and small ways, and suffered injuries because of him. Tang Yi discovered that his stubbornly insisting on having his own way was a big factor in Shaofei getting hurt. If this continued, Shaofei would one day be ‘killed’ by Tang Yi. Kept apart by handcuffs, kissing your lover like that; what kind of plot could be more cruel than that?

Tang Yi, even while being handcuffed, was very witty/playful. He didn’t forget to stick his tongue out to the camera.

Day 45

Long time no see! I believe that people who have watched <Right Or Wrong< should not be too unfamiliar with Dr. Jintang’s “uncle-in-law” Jiang Zhaopeng. He is Qiu Zhiyu whom we haven’t seen for a while. Before filming, these two cultivated their understanding of their lines by videochatting [i.e. they practiced their lines] (and also cultivated the signals between both of their phones). One of the most frightening things in filming is the screen of a cellphone. Apart from this scene, the drama shows many different mobile phone screens; every time a call had to be made, or when a LINE conversation happened, etc. Only, whether or not the signal would be good, is an element that no one can control. If the signal is not good, phone calls won’t go through, or the moment when the phone rings doesn’t match the plot. Sometimes it can take a good number of takes, not to mention that this scene needed a video call. If the signal would not be good, the video and the sound might have been chopped. But we had a close call and the signal in the hospital was very stable, allowing us to be able to smoothly complete the take.

Zijian, who portrays Jiang Jintang, has a lively and witty personality. He would often say crazy things that amused the crew. In the evening, we filmed that Shaofei followed Tang Yi to the hospital to see Jintang [the massage scene]. Jintang wanted to angrily quarrel with Meng Shaofei, because he didn’t expect them to arrive together. His red face, his hard breathing and his stammering made all the staff on the scene instantly almost collapse from laughter. Even Shaofei, who was doing the scene with him, and Tang Yi, who was lying down behind them, couldn’t keep in their laughter.

At another rehearsal, Jintang was planning to jump on Tang Yi’s back, but because he hadn’t well coordinated his position, Boss Tang’s knees hit Jintang straight in his ‘important parts’. The staff who were on the scene jokingly told him to jump on the spot, and he actually did it. This was also a ‘pain in the balls.’⁕

⁕ Same expression was used in day 37. It’s more literal here. You can see this happening in the behind-the-scenes.

Day 46

Today we filmed father and son Chen Wenhao and Tang Yi meeting in front of Lizhen’s grave. The weather at the cemetery site was very unstable. Sometimes an uninterrupted drizzle floated by, and at other times wind and rain became quite strong. Occasionally, the sun would stealthily sneak out from the clouds to join in on the fun, adding many changes to the shooting. But the two actors were not in the slightest affected by these elements. As if their surroundings were all congealed together, the two looked at each other and cried really heart-wrenchingly. Afterwards, Chengyang [Chris] also frankly admitted that for this scene his mood was very complex, and it was very hard on him. Tang Yi stood in front of his biological mother’s tomb, and his biological father, whom he once thought to be her killer, walked up to him. At that moment, that kind of “crying” already wasn't just tears simply shed from sadness anymore.

When he heard the gunshot as he exited the graveyard without even looking back, Chris said that his heart was really hurting so much that he almost couldn’t go on.

A big thank you to teacher Jiakui, who plays Wenhao, to give [Chris] ample ability, and to push him beyond the limits of what he could do. What is even more special, is that today was, coincidentally, also Chris’ birthday. To shoot such a meaningful scene on his birthday and falling apart crying like that, really must have left a deep impression on him.

Day 47

The day when the entire Unit 3 team got together, happened to be the very last day of 2018. Today’s MVP was Junwei [played by Ethan Liu]. Everyone most likely knows about the meeting between Unit 3 and the international criminal police division where Junwei was tasked with reporting duties.

That day Junwei was constantly drilling and rehearsing, because all his lines needed to be correctly and fluently spoken for that role to be acted out well. One of the biggest causes for stress is that when you start failing takes, the whole crew and all the actors are just waiting. One can imagine that that is a very big pressure.

Originally everyone joked and said that before noon they would surely be able to go home to celebrate the New Year, but in the end, it took until in the afternoon for the first scene to finish smoothly and everyone on Unit 3 could begin to plan how they would spend New Year’s Eve. But our poor Captain and Shaofei had to stay behind to continue the next scene. Shaofei felt wronged and said to Zhaozi: “Where is the morality in him [the captain] being so happy?”

Day 48

Outside it was drizzling, but inside, the room was brimming with nervous energy as Tang Yi took Jack to negotiate with Old Ke, while Shaofei from his side and Unit 3 rushed inside as an important step and wiped out the place.⁕

While waiting for their scenes, each of the Unit 3 were doing their own activities. First Shaofei looked for a quiet place in the room and silently sat reading the script for the future scenes. With his usual style, he would use differently coloured pens to write down dialogue that belongs to Jake and Shaofei.⁕ Zhaozi, in turn, would be lying on the very big bed inside the room, and would both be talking to Junwei, having a pillow fight with Jack and taking selfies with his cellphone.

And how did Tang Yi spend the time waiting for his next scene? The answer is that he had rolled himself up in a quilt and fell into a deep sleep. No matter if Shaofei would loudly yell, “Where is Tang Yi?” outside the room, Tang Yi slept through it all.

⁕ The very first scenes of the whole show, when Shaofei and his team barges through the door! Some of the very first words we ever hear coming out of Shaofei’s mouth are “Where is Tang Yi?” MY HEART. This show is so well-made.

⁕ There’s an example of what Jake’s script looked like in the “HIStory 3: Trapped The Making of...” book. ankdlgdndkgn it’s the hospital balcony scene. The thing that he writes in black, between the two red exclamation marks... “This is the show’s first kiss!!! (Vixen Andy doesn’t count).” WHY IS HE SO CUTE?

Day 49

For shooting the scenes at the exterior of the police station, we borrowed the Xizhi branch police building. That Xizhi branch building which only opened in 2017, is very new and very beautiful. The interior was also very spacious, so we had plenty of room to use.

On that day there happened to be a major traffic incident in that jurisdiction area, and both clerical and field police officers were busy bustling about. Even news reporting vehicles were driving in and out. We were able to witness the police officers' work that we usually don’t have opportunity to see. Thanks to all the protectors of the people for their hard work.

Today’s Xizhi police station was bustling and lively. Thanks as well to the fans of Director Qingrong who, during the afternoon tea time, came to visit the set and brought snacks like donuts and coffee. In the afternoon the weather turned cold and it started to drizzle. But the fans braved the wind and the rain and came anyway, and even gave handwritten cards to the actors and the director, which was really sweet.

Day 50

Day 2 at the police station. Today’s weather was nothing like yesterday’s “sunny and cloudy with an occasional shower”. Today the sun was shining very brightly, and the temperatures soared straight to 30 degrees. It was the perfect weather to play a song called “I love summer.”

We shot the scene where three members of Unit 3 talked with Jack at the door. They had to walk outside from inside the police station and each time they had to redo the take, everyone went back into the building with a look of total unwillingness. They opened their eyes widely and took a very deep breath, and with a blank look in their eyes they wiped their sweat and used a small fan to keep cool. Phew, foreheads were filled with beads of sweat, and everyone’s clothes were also soaked with sweat.

In the afternoon we filmed the scene from the last episode when Boss Tang goes to the police station to wait for Shaofei to get off work, when Jack also happened to ride his motorbike to pick up Zhaozi from work. At that time, the weather was still very sunny. Boss Tang, who wanted to sit on his car’s hood to wait for Shaofei, suddenly yelled out. Apparently the vicious sun had rendered the hood burning hot, which made boss Tang jump up in sudden fright.

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Serpent of Eden (Part 2 - Reid Series)

~ Reader’s one-night-stand with Spencer turns into a year long semester ~

Summary: Spencer and Reader attempt to navigate through the shock, horror, and confusion of the revelation that Spencer is a professor at Reader’s college. Couple: Fem!Reader x Professor Spencer Reid Category: Series, Fluff, Angst, (eventually smut) Word Count: 1.5k (this will probably be my shortest chapter) Content Warning: mentions of one-night-stand, age gap, teacher-student relationship Disclaimer: This is a filler chapter, and you’ll probably find it boring, but it moves the story along so that we can get to the exciting parts next chapter.

PART 1 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

What’s that saying again?

It’s a small world?

Well, after today - I certainly agree.

More as a comment to myself, I muttered, “I guess I should’ve asked for your last name after all, Spencer.”

Was this my cruel and unusual punishment for my first one-night-stand? If so, this was enough humiliation to convince me it should be my first and last one-night-stand.

His eyes were wide with astonishment; his eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you said you worked at a law firm.”

He wasn’t mad or accusing me of lying, but he was more stunned than anything that I was really here standing in front of him. I knew his voice to be too kind to be accusatory.

“That wasn’t a lie. I do work at a law firm - I’m an intern there,” I said matter-of-factly. “I only said that to impress you because you were older and had this big shot job. Which reminds me - you said you were part of the FBI.”

“I am, but I occasionally teach here.” He almost chuckled.

It was the slight pout of both of our mouths that proved a mutual resignation to the fact that we’d reached a stalemate. We both ran out of moves and there was nowhere for us to go if we kept on this path, not unless one of us surrendered to the other, which wasn’t really an option here. Simply by the look on his face, I could tell he was going to assume the responsibility of inciting a productive discourse. And I let him, for subconsciously, I looked to him to be the bigger person, the more mature one, the wiser one, for he was the older one, too. Whether or not this was taking advantage of the natural assertiveness one gains with age, I wasn’t sure.

“W-what are you doing here?” He finally asked, bringing me back to the harsh reality of being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Had this been any other teacher, I might’ve not been so embarrassed to admit I was 20 years old and serving detention for being dress-coded. But, alas, it wasn’t any other teacher - it was Spencer . . . or Dr. Reid? Is that what I have to call him now?

“I got detention.” I sheepishly admitted.

The furrowing of his brows and narrowing of his eyes told me he didn’t believe me; all the signs of skepticism plain on his face.

“I was dress coded earlier.” If it was at all possible, that statement sounded even more ridiculous.

“Dress coded?” He clarified, like he almost didn’t believe me.

“I started taking off my sweater - not like that!” I quickly redacted, and the stunned look on his face told me he almost took it that way and found amusement in doing so. “I wasn’t stripping in front of the entire school. I just wanted to take my sweater off.”

“That shouldn’t warrant detention, though.”

“That’s what I was saying!”

And the comfortable, lighthearted dynamic that brought us together only two nights ago resumed as if it had never paused. It felt like we were at the bar again, talking as strangers falling in love, but here in this sterile classroom, I was chilled by the reminder that we were no longer two strangers getting drunk off the other’s presence. We were a student and a teacher in a professional setting.

“I’m just gonna sit down, now.” I awkwardly announced, fumbling into the furthest seat from him.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just report to Ms. Whitman that you served detention, but you can go now. You don’t have to stay.” He turned away from me sharply and towards his desk, all but refusing to meet my eyes.

“No, that wouldn’t be right.”

As the sentence came from my mouth, my mind wandered into a trap my words had set. “What was right about this?” Because really, nothing was.

I knew I was charting dangerous territories by staying in his classroom alone with him, but those weren’t my intentions. If anything, this was one of those times where my “goody-two-shoes” mentality failed me. I was only furthering the chance something might happen and heightening my own attraction.

The more and more I sat across from the ever contemplative Dr. Reid, the more his figure began transforming into a work of art. I started to notice the little details, the nuances, the paint strokes. I couldn’t be bothered to figure out what he was actually doing, but I took notice of the manner that he was doing it in. He studied his papers carefully with almost the same level of intent as I had looking at him. Occasionally, his tongue would poke out between his lips and wet them, scarcely reacquainting me with the thought of how they felt against my own. His eyes would narrow at the words while he read them; his eyebrows twitching up every so often as a physical reaction to his reading material.

“Are you just going to spend the rest of detention staring at me, or are you actually going to get some work done?”

The sound of his voice snapped me out of my daze and before I could re-enter this dimension, he was already looking at me through smiling eyes.

“I am doing my work!” I defensively screeched.

“Oh, yeah? If I come over there right now and you haven’t written a single thing -”

“What?” I jested. “You gonna punish me?”

The words slipped from my mouth before my mind could process its subtly seductive suggestions.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” My eyes fell to my homework that I hadn’t even started on as a way to avoid his. He looked so entertained by my previous words, and that made it even worse. How could he possibly enjoy my flirtatious advances when there was so much at risk?

“I guess we should talk about-”

“What’s there to talk about?” I abruptly interrupted. “It’s not like I have your class now, and I’ve been rejected from auditing it before, so we don’t have to see each other in school ever after today.” I rambled.

“In school?” He repeated.

“What?”

“You said we don’t have to see each other in school ever after today. Were you implying that you … you want to still see me outside of -”

“No!”

I answered all too quickly for it to appear like an honest response. He was too smart to see it as anything besides what it really was - a way to save my ass.

“I mean … yeah, I did want to see you again. But that was before I found out you’re a professor at my college.”

“Part time.” He emphasized, as if that somehow made things less illegal.

A frown formed on my face to tell him that that clarification didn’t make anything better.

“It’s your call.” I finally renounced. This was probably the most honest and raw my emotions could have been. I couldn’t have said anything truer to my feelings than that. “You have more at risk here than I do. If you say you don’t want to see me again, then you won’t. But if you think there’s something between us worth exploring, I’m willing to make it work.”

He was visibly conflicted; the weight of my words stealing his voice. He was quiet for more moments than comfortable, but he would finally tell me his answer only after rising from his desk to join me at the other end of the classroom. I stood up from my desk, making our lack of professional distance all the more glaringly obvious.

“(Y/n),” He slid a hand onto my cheek and up through my hair. “You’re worth the risk.”

He was about to seal his promise with a kiss, but when we leaned in, three hard knocks hit against the door. I jumped back in startlement, while Spencer did just the opposite. He leapt into action, abandoning me at the back of the classroom to flee to the front. He must’ve recognized the knocks were coming from the janitor just outside his door.

“Any trash you need taken out, Mr. Reid?” The janitor asked while scanning the room, glazing right over me.

“No, nope. I’m okay today, thank you. Bye, Randy.” Spencer waved him away with his hand, and luckily, I must’ve camouflaged into the wall because he didn’t seem to see me or my profuse blushing.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot he comes here every Monday at 3:45.” Spencer apologized while slowly making his way back to me.

“You forgetting something? How can that be.” I joked - well enough to hide my ever growing paranoia behind a mask of comical enjoyment.

“What can I say? That’s what you do to me. You make me forget everything else in the world.”

His words were enough to woo me certainly, even enough to accept his resumed kiss, but they weren’t enough to convince me to commit to the moment. It was spoiled by the knowledge of our sins, stolen by the fear of our actions. I simply couldn’t enjoy our relationship to the fullest anymore.

And I never would again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 3 HERE!

comment to be added to/ removed from the taglist

taglist: @andiebeaword @jesspavlik0vsky

#serpent of eden #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #professor spencer reid #juniorgman187 #angst #fluff #smut

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brilliantt · 4 years ago

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Mouse - part two

Summary: Maggie Shelby isn’t like her brothers or sister, being quiet and studious she often struggles to fit in. When money gets stolen and she is accused will she stick around and continue to be an outcast in her family?

A/N: thanks so much for the support on the first part! In part two we see Maggie’s relationship with her twin Finn, the two are 17 atm. Also Tommy is being a prick, sorry! :P Let me know what you think!!

-PREVIOUS-

From a young age Finn and Maggie were close. Being a lot younger than their siblings they had no choice but to play together, even if they could never decide on what to play. While Maggie preferred playing with her dolls or marbles, Finn always had the deciding vote- he was of course the older sibling by five minutes! And so, Maggie was coerced time and time again to play Finn’s favourite (and subsequently her worst) game: cops and robbers. Finn was as quick as Maggie was slow. This is why the twins realised Maggie could never be the robber, because Finn could catch her in less than a minute. Maggie never knew why Finn had always insisted on playing the game; it always ended the same. She would spend so long trying to catch him and he would dodge her every time with ease, then Maggie would get annoyed that she couldn't get him, going off in a huff and refusing to play a minute longer. Then, her refusal would cause finn in return to get mad. A quiet dinner with exchanged glares would follow. And finally peace is restored when Finn sneaks into her room with a couple of stolen biscuits because they could never stay mad at each for long.

It was often they butt heads but that was because they had spent so much time together. It was safe to say they were each other's first best friend. As they got older, however, the more different they became. Finn had always been an outgoing child, something which stayed with him. He enjoyed partying and drinking and smoking. Maggie preferred to keep to herself and rarely went out at night. During the day Finn could be seen becoming more active in the family business whereas Maggie was in school. It was rare that their paths ever crossed.

It was just by chance therefore that on the Thursday afternoon just before Maggie finished school, that Finn had been sent to collect money from a house just around the corner from the school building. And just by chance that as he had finished up and was about to walk home, he saw his sister surrounded by a bunch of boys her age and being pushed to the ground by one of them.

---

At school Maggie was alone. She found it difficult to talk to anyone other than her brothers, meaning that she couldn't make friends. Not forgetting that no one wanted to befriend her, lest they got caught up in the unfortunate Shelby 'business’. It was easier when Finn went to school but since he left, Maggie was truly alone. She didn't mind too much because it meant that she could focus on her school work without distraction.

It wasn't until very recently that she was bothered at school. Whilst people left her alone in fear of her brothers, one foolhardy boy, William Kegley, did not heed this warning. From what Maggie could understand, William’s brother had done something bad to the Blinders leading him to get cut. William wasn’t stupid enough to go after her brothers which left him to target the youngest Shelby girl. It had started with harsh stares and hair tugging which turned to spitted whispers telling her to ‘watch her back’ when the teacher wasn't looking.

Maggie didn't know what to expect, she had never been threatened before. To what extent of revenge did William want? Logically killing her would make everything even - a sibling for a sibling - but Maggie didn't think William had the stomach for that, he was always more gentle than his brother. Maggie knew that she should tell one of her brothers or even Aunt Polly, however, she also knew this would mean William would end up in the same fate as his brother and Maggie never wanted to be the cause of something like that. So she did what she did best: hide. The final bell would ring and Maggie would hide in an empty classroom, peeking out the window where William and a few of his friends hung around smoking. Maggie waited and waited, until they got bored and assumed she had already left. Only after they had disappeared did Maggie leave. For three days this seemed to work. Until Thursday.

Maggie was hiding as usual, watching the boys smoke. Normally she would have to wait another 20 minutes. Today however the classroom door opened to reveal her English teacher who had forgotten his book on the desk. Unfortunately for Maggie she couldn't think of an excuse in time so he escorted her out telling her to go home. With only one exit from the school, she now had no option but to stick it up and wished that William was bluffing. With a deep breath she straightened her back, hoping she looked at least a bit confident. She barely made it halfway.

They formed a circle around her, with her and William in the centre. Every time Maggie edged back, someone would push her back. She kept her gaze down, only looking up when William hit the books from her arms onto the floor. They scattered about onto the grimy pavement. The boys cheered, some leaving boot marks on the papers. Maggie locked eyes with William, the sounds around her blocked out, she tried to keep her breathing even but she could feel her throat closing. William reached forward, too quick for Maggie to even flinch, and gripped her chin. “If it weren’t for you Shelbys, my brother would still be alive.” Everything about William’s face cried anger; his blonde eyebrows were furrowed, his teeth snarling and nostrils flared. His eyes couldn't keep up though, for they expressed a deep hurt, and a compassionate Maggie felt her lips trembling when she looked into them. “I’m sorry,” She whispered, “I.. I didn’t know anything, please.” Two eyes pleaded at each other. Maggie could see turmoil William faced. She didn't know him very well but she knew he never joined in on the playground fights and she had once seen him comfort a tear stained girl when the boys had stolen her doll. He was gentle by nature but he was a Small Heath boy and the jeering from the boys around him filled his mind with anger. With a shake of his head, he pressed both hands on Maggie's chest and shoved her to the ground. Tears rushed to her eyes as her head smacked the concrete. William hovered over her but his eyes widened when an enraged shout was heard.

Pushing his way through, Finn knelt beside his sister checking if she was alright. It was rare for Finn to get angry so Maggie worried when she saw the look in his eyes. He put himself chest to chest with Willaim, not breaking eye contact with him when he said, “Everyone else better get the fuck away from here.” He pulled his Peaky cap further onto his head as a warning. The cowardly boys scattered, leaving William and Finn in a standoff. As soon as Maggie saw Finn’s hand hovering over his gun, she stood up, ignoring the pain in her head, and gently gripped his arm. “Finn”, he turned towards her, seeing her shake her head. He clenched his jaw and frowned. His gaze stayed on his sister but he spoke to William, “You better piss off now, and stay the fuck away from her.” William looked like he was about to say something but then decided against it and began to walk away, taking one last glance at Maggie, until the twins could no longer see him.

Silence settled between the two as they began picking up the papers and books. Finn being quiet always unsettled Maggie. They stared at each other both holding their share. “How’s your head?” He questioned, remembering the harshness of her fall. He waited for her answer but could tell by the way her eyebrows furrowed that she wasn’t listening to him.

“Please don’t tell Tommy.” Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. “He’ll send the boys out on him and you know how I feel about that, please Finn.” The request was a long shot and Maggie knew that as she asked it. Finn always reported back to Tommy- seeking his approval. The chances he would listen were slim, especially in a situation where she got hurt, and as he raised his eyebrow, choosing to remain silent, her shoulders slumped.

“Come on.” He said, taking the books she was carrying and adding to his own pile. The two walked home together, with Maggie hoping that Finn would listen to her for once.

---

“Tommy wants to see yeh in his office.” It was Polly who had found her. Maggie had taken to lying on her bed. She had tried to do some schoolwork but the persistent pounding of her head made it futile. Maggie felt dread in her stomach at her Aunt’s words. She just knew Finn would rat her out, the bastard. “I know you’re not sleeping. Don’t want to leave his highness waiting.”

And so Maggie found herself in front of the door leading to her brother’s office. Taking a deep breath, she knocked twice and peaked her head through the door. “You wanted to see me Tommy?”

“Sit.” Maggie shuffled in and placed herself in the chair opposite Tommy. The man took out a cigarette and began smoking it, leaning back in his chair to stare at the girl. A few minutes passed and Maggie knew Tommy was waiting for her to speak first. They were both as stubborn as each other though, and Maggie had already decided that she wouldn’t speak before him. His gaze was piercing through her but she knew if she didn't look in his eyes, she wouldn't cave.

Tommy sighed and Maggie watched him press his cigarette into the tray. “I want you,” he pointed at her, “to tell me the name of the boy that pushed you.”

“What?” Maggie brows rose.

“Finn said he didn’t know the boy’s name. I want you to tell me it.” Despite still feeling annoyed at her twin, Maggie felt a rush of gratefulness towards him, because Finn definitely did know William’s name.

“No.” the word struggled out of her mouth. She always found speaking up to Tommy difficult. The pair of them were very similar in nature, both quiet, rather serious, observant and more. Polly often said they were the same ducks on different ponds. While Maggie was gentle, Tommy was rough. They rarely argued and respected each other. After the war Tommy never really had much time for her, and now since Grace's death he was more angry and less forgiving. “I don’t want you to do anything. Everything’s fine.”

He also never seemed to listen.

“No, it’s not fine. What if Finn wasn’t there, eh? What would you have done?”

Maggie fidgeted in her seat, avoiding his eyes. “It’s over now, he won’t do it again.” she muttered.

“And what about the next time? A different boy shoves you and we’re not here, what will you do?” Her headache was returning and Maggie blamed the tears on her eyes on that. “We’re targeted in this business Maggie, you especially. You’re the weak link, an easy target. So what will you do hmm?” Her lips wobbled. She knew she was weak; she was timid and did not like confrontation but hearing her older brother tell it to her face made her feel bad.

Tommy didn't stop, “Say someone pulled a gun on you,” suddenly he pointed his gun at Maggie. “What will you do?” She flinched and whimpered in her seat, her face turning white. Tommy sighed, lowering the gun. His icy glare wanted her, “you need to get stronger, learn how to fight back.”

“Maybe,” Maggie’s voice wobbled, “maybe you should stop doing things that put us in danger.” She was angry at Tommy and felt embarrassed from his actions. “They were only bothering me because of something you did.”

Tommy seemed taken aback but once again he never listened. His brain was wracking information on who the blinders had cut recently. “It was the Kegley boy, wasn’t it?” She shot her head up, the reaction telling Tommy his assumption was right.

“Tommy, I don't think I could ever forgive you if you do something to him.” Her words held strength but her body felt weak. She truly feared what Tommy would do.

Tommy clenched his jaw and stared. “I can worry about your forgiveness later.” He took out another cigarette and lit it, Maggie’s nose twitching at the smell. “You’ll meet Arthur at the boxing ring after school tomorrow. He’s going to teach you how to defend yourself.” Maggie was about to protest when Tommy slammed his hand on the desk, finalising his decision. He motioned for Maggie to leave and started reading some of his papers.

“I will only go if you swear you won’t hurt William.” Maggie pleaded. Tommy raised his eyebrows to look at her, a bored expression visible. “Please, Tommy, I never asked you for anything in my life. I'm asking you for this one thing, please!”

“You will go with Arthur tomorrow.” He repeated, returning to his paperwork. Maggie felt defeated. “I will leave Kegley alone but if he tries anything again you don’t have a say, understand?” A sigh of relief was audible through the room. Maggie nodded and began to leave the room. She reached the door and turned back around to look at her brother working.

“Tommy?” He huffed and inclined his head for her to continue. “If.. If someone pulled a gun on me” Maggie gulped, “I would die.” she closed the door gently behind her. For the next hour Tommy stared at it deep in thought, his cigarette burnt out in his hand.

---

Maggie struggled falling asleep that night. Her headache had gone but her head pounded with images of William dead on the floor. Her bedroom door creaked open slowly, the head of her twin peering through. He climbed onto her bed, both of them sitting against the headboard, and handed her some biscuits. They nibbled on them and for the first time, Maggie broke the silence, “Is this really what you want Finn? All this violence and the.. the constant fear of dying?” she stared straight ahead, “There must be something more.”

“People like us don't get more, Maggie.” She turned to look at him, he had already finished his biscuits and was eyeing Maggie’s.

“People like us?”

“Working class. No parents.” He counted on his fingers, “Gypsies. It’s like there's a ladder and we’re stuck on the first step.” He rubbed his hand against his tired eyes. “And yet we’re the lucky ones because there are people like Isiah who aren't even allowed on that first step.”

Maggie’s face twitched as she thought about what Finn said. “We’re both still at the bottom of the ladder Finn.” She handed him one of her biscuits, “I want more than this.”

-NEXT-

#shelby!sis #shelby!sister #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #finn shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #finn shelby #sister!shelby #peaky blinder fanfic

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nomanwalksalone · 3 years ago

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BOOK REVIEW: RICHARD JAMES SAVILE ROW

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

As Troy McClure said about playing the human in a musical adaptation of Planet of the Apes, reviewing this book is “the role I was born to play!”

Simply entitled Richard James: Savile Row, this book commemorates the 25th anniversary in Savile Row of the fashion house and tailors of the same name. A read is somewhat disappointing, full of short essays by what amounts to a rather incestuous school of longtime Richard James fans in British media and entertainment, among them British GQ’s Dylan Jones and Richard’s most notorious client, Elton John.

Elton’s known as a voracious devotee – to not say addict – of his favorite outfitters over the decades, buying out entire shopfloors at times. His twenty-year devotion to Richard James is a key to understanding Richard James’ enormous if unrecognized positive influence on contemporary men’s clothing and British tailoring. Forty years ago Elton dressed head-to-toe in psychedelic Tommy Nutter, switching in the 1980s to over-the-top Gianni Versace glitz. Since the end of the 1990s, he’s evangelized Richard James.

Tommy Nutter, the last tailor-designer in Savile Row, dominated British men’s tailoring in the 1970s. Custom tailoring took a back seat to the cult of the ready-to-wear designer, mostly the Continentals: Pierre Cardin, then Armani and Versace. Nutter had a few isolated 1980s hits, like dressing the Joker in 1989’s Batman, before dying in 1992.

What had become of the British? 1980s attitudes towards luxury and clothing meant regression, selling an image of Britain as Raj, pith helmets, and gin among palm trees, not progress. Ralph Lauren did a much better job selling that ethos in his more expensive lines than any of the British could. Some tried; those of us of a certain age (me) remember seeing cashmere sweaters made in China sold in Bloomingdales under the label of Savile Row tailor Gieves & Hawkes, or blocky ready-to-wear suits at Barneys sold with the name of Savile Row tailor Kilgour, French & Stanbury, although made in Canada by Samuelson. An ersatz Britishness for export markets, an ersatz image and look created by ready-to-wear licensees with little input from the British tailors desperately trying to sell their names abroad.

Into this breach came Richard James. Like Nutter, James is categorically not a trained tailor. What he is, though, is an inspired designer who, since opening on Savile Row, has offered true custom tailoring as well as ready-to-wear in visionary designs. I remember the first Richard James items I noticed, beautiful belts and wallets of gorgeous quality hand stitched in England with contrasting linings in deeply saturated color. I still have one of those belts, in all its magnificence. What did they have to do with British custom tailoring? Nothing – and everything. For the first time a Savile Row name appeared to be doing something relevant, interesting and elegant – and doing it to the fullest extent and the last detail. Savile Row survives by its export markets and by the reputation its tailors have forged for beautiful items of a certain Britishness. No more uninspired licensed items that has as much to do with British elegance as a Sterling car (derided by Consumer Reports for “Industrial Revolution-era” English technology, remember those?). What Richard James has done is modernize British elegance from the creepy colonial-obsessed ethos that today only blinkered Brexiteer bluestockings and Internet edgelords cling to. Even the past James references uses other, more inspired touchstones of British greatness, including his bespoke offer (initially serviced by the Savile Row tailors Anthony J. Hewitt and James Levett before being brought in-house), but also ready-to-wear shirts in stripes that recalled the best of Swinging London; handmade ties whose lush, delicate patterns rivalled the best of midcentury Sulka or today’s Charvet; magnificently, decadently warm alpaca pile ‘teddy bear” coats originally created for 1920s motorists; astonishingly soft leather or suede jackets in the café racer style 1960s London Mods would have died for; and even the made-to-order cashmere socks with custom monograms Corgi used to make for defunct shops of yesteryear like the custom shirtmaker Beale & Inman. It was a vision of Britishness far, far from Lauren’s fantasies, a Britishness that admitted the turmoil of Ted Heath’s premiership, that added much-needed glamor after John Major’s greyness. And James reminded us what was wonderful about the British suit by invoking all that was dashing in its cut. Ready-to-wear suits were made in beautiful cloths from British mills like the impeccable Taylor & Lodge, in unexpectedly evocative colors and patterns: sharp mohair sharkskin, gorgeously patterned real Scottish or Irish tweeds or a French navy that was lighter than the normal shade; even rainbow chalkstripes on a sober dark ground. The cut was always tapered at the waist, double-vented, slant pocketed in the “hacking” style, a look espoused by Patrick Macnee’s subversively too-British John Steed in the 1960s. Richard’s linings were often boldly colorful, to remind us what could be playful about the suit, everything that 1980s pretention (clinging to all the trimmings of colonial oppression) had repressed.

Richard James the book shines in cataloguing those designs in beautiful detail. James really has been the best colorist in the business, as Jones termed him. Even more importantly, this book also shows how James has aced the tricky game of tennis without a net of innovating within the classic: in addition to recreating ruffle-fronted tuxedo shirts like those of George Lazenby’s louche Bond in 1969’s On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, James also invented tuxedo shirts whose fronts (instead of pleats or stiff waffle-weave Marcella) were hand-beaded by Hand & Lock, beaders and embroiderers to Her Majesty the Queen; Corgi (knitters and hosiers to the Prince of Wales) knitted thick, thick cashmere sweaters with hand-inlaid abstract intarsia designs; elegant cufflinks (always double-sided) recalled childhood marbles in the forms of hand-blown translucent glass or semiprecious banded agate (a real “Aggie”) or amber set in sterling silver; and even a travel bag that recalled the bags given away by Pan Am or Concorde in the early days of jet travel was rendered in ballistic nylon with reflective silver piping and brilliantly contrasting linings.

I’ve never owned a Richard James bespoke suit. I know that his ready-to-wear suits were disappointingly half-canvassed or fused, despite their wonderful materials. But they helped remind me that Savile Row could still be relevant, and that those tailors, despite past reputation, could be approachable and contemporary – and that has been my experience with the other tailors of Savile Row, including the impeccable, evocatively named Steed, whom I loved for their name before ever using them.

Every item with the Richard James name carried and carries the same visionary, whimsical design philosophy, a Britishness less fanciful and more romantic than Paul Smith’s, and far less caricatural and cynical than those of Ralph Lauren or Hackett. Socks, always made to a high-standard by Pantherella, are accented in amusing contrast colors or mad patterns. I have a number that are doing fine almost 20 years later. My Richard James Concorde bag has been a beloved, perfect gym bag for years, while his larger, tougher Japanese denim bag (trimmed in the best British bridle hide) is my go-to travel holdall no matter where on Earth I go. My beaded Richard James tux shirt is a prized piece of design genius, as is a magnificently waterproof raincoat made for him by Mackintosh in a beige twill that cunningly iridesces turquoise or orange from certain angles. For years I’ve searched for the same shade of gorgeous Thomas Mason turquoise twill cotton that an old Richard James shirt is in, but most of his materials are specially made for his designs; even the fine-gauge cotton knits that John Smedley or Peter Geeson created for him seemed to be in special colors and to his own patterns.

That wealth, that treasury of a vision and genius, tumbles out of Richard James’ new book, pictures that really are worth thousands of words and that speak for themselves about the importance of this designer’s contribution, reminding us that Savile Row, indeed British menswear itself, still had things of wonder to offer us.

#rjman #reginaldjeromedemans

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13yearslater · 4 years ago

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Rights in the UK

I don’t really know what I’m about to write as I start this, but I’ve been feeling some feelings lately about the social and political climate surrounding trans people.

I’m grateful to be in the UK, which relatively speaking is a fairly progressive and safe country for trans people compared to many others.

But I am still scared.

I’m not scared that I will be individually targeted and assaulted in the street. Although the 2,500 hate crimes against transgender people last year alone (a 210% increase since 2015/16) suggests that maybe my lack of concern is the privileged complacency of not being visibly trans, especially when we see that 81% of LGBT people don’t even report the hate crimes against them. That complacency lives on a tightrope however; I am one incident away, one incident of my trans status falling into the wrong hands, from realising that I am not immune to the abuse that I see my local trans sisters face on a daily basis.

And how confident would I be that any hate crime I were to experience would be dealt with appropriate and effectively? Well given that Scottish minister Humza Yousaf very almost pushed through amendments to Scotland’s Hate Crime & Public Order Bill that would directly exclude transgender people I may, perhaps naively, expect the police and courts to provide protection and justice for me now, but I am constantly reminded of just how fragile my protections are and how they can be snatched away at any given moment, and with public support.

What really scares me is the disregard for our rights and the increasing amounts of ‘anti trans’ pressure groups in the UK who are continuing to gain support and traction, including many that are LGBT based wishing to exclude us from their community entirely.

1. Gender Recognition Act

The Gender Recognition Act is one example I will address. This act is the means that trans people in the UK use to legally change their gender and acquire an updated birth certificate. This is a sixteen year old, heavily bureaucratic, expensive and lengthy process. It requires a payment of £140 and the following, many of which are also not free to obtain:

a) The requirement for the trans person to provide two medical reports, one evidencing a diagnosis of gender dysphoria and the other outlining details of any treatment received;

b) The requirement for the trans person to provide a range of documentation that proves they have lived in their acquired gender for at least two years;

c) The requirement for the trans person to submit a statutory declaration of their intention to live in their acquired gender until death;

d) The requirement for married applicants to obtain the consent of their spouse or end their marriage;

e) The cost to the trans person of using the GRA process

It’s the very reason that over a decade later, I still have not obtained my gender recognition certificate. And given that an average of 300 GRC applications are processed each year compared to the estimated 200,000 to 500,000 trans people in the UK, I suspect I’m not the only one.

So anyway, in 2018 there was a consultation about the Gender Recognition Act with over 100,000 respondents and promises to reform this act. The response was hugely positive with the vast majority supporting the reform. It highlighted all the issues with the process that is preventing trans people gaining legal recognition. We were all hopeful, and many of us who had been awaiting this moment to gain our own GRCs sat in wait. Unfortunately, two years later, the government announced that they had decided to scrap plans to reform the GRA altogether stating that this was not the priority for trans people. The consultation was also considered to be biased due to too many positive responses; despite only ~20% of respondents being trans themselves and ~20% being from all called upon by anti-trans groups such as Fair Play for Women.

2. The Keira Bell case

I don’t wish to get into the finer details of the case itself or my opinions on the matters involved, but to give a brief overview, a woman who transitioned and received puberty blockers at age 16, testosterone at age 17 and a double mastectomy at age 20. She later detransitioned and went on to sue the NHS (National Health Service) claiming that she was not challenged enough and that under 18s cannot consent to treatment such as puberty blockers with the aim to prevent the prescription of puberty blockers for all trans youth.

Long story short, she was successful and the Tavistock clinic, ie the only gender identity clinic in the UK that treats trans people under the age of 18, is no longer able to prescribe puberty blockers to anyone under the age of 16, with those between 16-18 having to seek approval via court first.

If we take a look at who was involved in this court case we see Keira Bell herself and her mother as the claimants and the Tavistock clinic as the defendant. For the interested parties who had direct input into this case we had “Mrs A” - the mother of a 15yr old autistic child displaying gender dysphoria who is firmly against her child being able to access a gender clinic (interestingly, any of her input was regarded as purely hypothetical since her child had never attended, nor would ever attend a gender identity clinic), we also had Transgender Trend - an anti-trans pressure group and finally, we have the University College of London who are not gender specialists. Meanwhile, groups such as Mermaids who are a well-known charity aimed at supporting trans children and Stonewall who are campaigners for LGBT rights in the UK both applied and were both denied access to this case. The judge of course did also not have any authority on the subject.

My issue here is yet again, how fragile my rights and protections feel and my ever waning confidence that government or legal processes are in any way fair and balanced. This was not a fair trial; there was no balance in stances, other than the defendant there were no gender specialists or even anyone heavily involved in the lives and care of trans people. The majority of interested parties were there with a firm agenda, and those that countered their beliefs were not allowed through the doors.

Puberty blockers are not an issue that affect me directly, but if a biased court taking the likes of “Mrs A” and her ‘theoretical’ input over reputable charities with a wealth of knowledge, experience and expertise can be created to make such rulings and remove healthcare from an entire demographic of people then what is stopping that happening to my healthcare? Nothing, that’s what.

3. The census

Our census takes place every ten years and has always allowed transgender individuals to choose the sex that aligns with their passport. For me personally, selecting male feels like a far more accurate representation of my place in society, my legal status and my physicality along with the fact that I have been listed as male in previous census forms.

This year however, a second question was added. This questions asks “do you identify with your sex assigned at birth” with the options being yes or no and a box to enter further information when selecting no. The official guidance on the first question remained the same, stating that it was appropriate to select the sex that aligned with passports or legal documents. The first question allows data to be gathered on men and women, the second question allows data to be gathered specifically on the number of transgender individuals and other identities such as non binary - the two questions are entirely independent of each other and will generate separate sets of data.

But today, it came to light that anti-transgender pressure group, Fair Play for Women crowdfunded £100,000 to challenge this and bring it to court. This was successful and the official guidance has now changed to exclude all legal documents except a gender recognition certificate - which as previously mentioned, only a small percentage of trans people actually have due to the long, expensive and bureaucratic process involved in obtaining one.

Personally, I don’t really mind if I have to tick female to a question that asks my sex at birth. The question doesn’t explicitly ask for sex at birth however and is more aimed at showing the demographics of the UK for which female is absolutely not accurate for me. What bothers me is that a group have raised £100,000 from the public to ensure that we can’t select an accurate representation of who we are and our place in society and that it was approved.

4. The toilet provision

This has flown under the radar due to Covid-19 but the government recently held a consultation around public toilets. It seems fairly innocent at first glance. Except again, we’re seeing these anti-trans pressure groups calling for action amongst their followers, some with the call to ‘protect single sex spaces’. Could this be the beginnings of American-style bathroom bills in the UK?

---

So yes, I am scared. I’m scared by the fragility of my rights and freedoms; how easy they are to peel away bit by bit and how it passes by with little notice nor care, or in some cases with public support and even funding. I’m scared of the people who are given the power to make decisions about our rights based on no prior knowledge of experience of trans issues. I’m scared that we will be alienated and excluded from our LGBT spaces and supports. Will I be looking back in ten years, eternally grateful that I was able to transition when I did? Grateful for the gender clinics of today with their six year waiting lists? Will I live in a time where I must disclose my trans status on every document, at every job? Will I live in a time where I must provide my sex in order to use the gym? Will there be a time that I am not able to legally change my gender? I’m scared by the hostility of society, at times their vehement opposition to us existing amongst them, their disregard for the importance of our healthcare and all too often the anger that our ‘cosmetic’ surgeries are covered at all.

In a time that my life and rights feel like a debate, unimportant and constantly at the mercy of others, in a time that members of the public will raise huge amounts of money just to stop people like you ticking a box on a form, you’re damn right I’m scared for the future.

#ftm #trans #transgender #trans man #lgbt #lgbtq #sources included #text

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alcalavicci · 4 years ago

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1988 interview with Dean. This is a really good one and helps bring more of his life into perspective. Note: the newspaper originally censored his swearing, but I’ve put it back.

Guthman, Edward. "Dean Stockwell: Third Time's a Charm." The San Francisco Examiner (San Francisco, California), August 14, 1988.

“Six years ago, Dean Stockwell's acting career had turned to dust. Reduced to playing parts in unreleasable, made-in-Mexico movies that now make him cringe, Stockwell decided to chuck it all and get out of Hollywood.

“Along with his second wife, Joy, Stockwell moved to Santa Fe, settled down under the wide New Mexico sky and applied for a real estate license. He even placed an ad in Daily Variety to announce his exile: 'Dean Stockwell will help you with all your real estate needs in the new center of creative energy.'

“Stockwell never sold a house; he didn't need to. Instead, almost as soon as he'd relocated, things started happening to the former 1940s child star. It began with a small part in David Lynch's 'Dune,' and escalated with an important supporting role in Wim Wenders' highly regarded 'Paris, Texas.'

“Moving back to California to cash in on his fortune, Stockwell acted in 'Beverly Hills Cop II,' 'Gardens of Stone,' and 'To Live and Die in L.A.' He also played a cameo role, as Howard Hughes, in the newly released 'Tucker: The Man and His Dream.' And in 'Blue Velvet,' David Lynch's American nightmare, he delivered a chilling cameo as Ben, a waxlike, sexually ambiguous drug dealer.

“And now, at 52, Stockwell says he's found 'the favorite role I've had, by far.'

“The picture is 'Married to the Mob,' a dark, romantic comedy by Jonathan Demme ('Melvin and Howard,' 'Stop Making Sense') and Stockwell plays Mafia don Tony 'the Tiger' Russo. Wearing an Al Capone fedora and full-length vicuna coat, Tony is a rich, sardonic, larger-than-life character -- the kind Stockwell has never had a chance to play until now.

“Opening Friday at the Galaxy and UA the Movies, 'Married to the Mob' has been touted as Demme's first shot at a genuine box-office winner. Set in Long Island, New Jersey and Florida, it stars Michelle Pfeiffer as Angela DeMarco, a young Mafia wife who tries to start a new life when her husband, Frankie 'the Cucumber' DeMarco, is pumped full of lead during a hot-tub tryst at the Fantasia Motel.

“When Stockwell's character isn't ordering hits, drug deals and the dumping of toxic waste, he's lusting assiduously after the gorgeous widow. Meanwhile, bumbling FBI agent Mike Downey (played by Matthew Modine) is jumping through hoops trying to shadow Angela and 'catch Tony with his pants down.' Instead, he falls in love with Angela.

“During a recent luncheon interview, not far from his central California home, Stockwell spoke about the film, about his new happiness as the father of two children and about the bizarre trajectory of his long career. Dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and slacks, wearing a Panama hat and drawing first on a cigaret, later on a cigar, Stockwell emanates prosperity and calm.

“'I don't know why I was unemployed so long,' he says, reflecting on a fallow period that started in the '60s and lasted the better part of two decades. 'The only thing I can figure out in my own mind is that, for some reason or another, I was being made to wait until a certain time in my life when my talent would reach its full maturity and fruition.'

“Ironically, he says, he felt just as equipped 10 years ago to do the work he's doing now -- 'only I couldn't get fucking arrested.'

“Today, Stockwell sees harmony in the fact that his new success coincides with the arrival of two children. His son, Austin, will be 5 in November, and his daughter, Sophia, turns 3 this month. Inordinately proud and protective, he refuses to allow his children to be photographed, and also requests that the town in which he and his family reside not be named. (There were no children from his first marriage, to Millie Perkins, which lasted from 1960 to 1962.)

“'I want to make a lot of money and I want to put it away for my children,' he says. To that end, Stockwell has been snapping up job offers. 'A lot of people ask me, "How have you been able to choose these wonderful things you're doing? Have you been very selective?" And I have to tell them, "I haven't been choosing what I'm doing." Things have been coming and I've been accepting virtually anything that's come.'

“Stockwell's ambition is so great that, for the first time in his life, he actively pursues aspects of his career that he once shunned- interviews, for example.

“'My entire motivation in life is my family,' he says. 'I don't need to get an award. I don't need recognition. I've had that already. What I need is to provide. The best way I can provide is to be successful, and the best way I can be successful is to take advantage of all the things at my disposal to achieve that, one of which certainly is press.'

“Take a look at the young Stockwell, specifically the version that emerges from old magazine and newspaper interviews, and you meet another person altogether.

“Robbed of a normal childhood, Stockwell had made 22 films by the time he was 15 -- including 'The Boy with Green Hair,' 'Kim,' 'Anchors Aweigh,' and the Oscar-winning 'Gentleman's Agreement.' Working nonstop, he had a privileged life that millions of children probably envied, but he loathed it nonetheless.

“The son of show-business parents -- his father, Harry Stockwell, was the voice of the Prince in 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,' and his mother, Betty Veronica, was a former stage dancer -- Stockwell made his professional debut at 7. It all happened by a fluke: when Stockwell accompanied his older brother, Guy, on a Broadway audition, the casting director took a liking to both boys, and cast each one. The play, aptly enough, was called 'Innocent Voyage,' and it led to an MGM contract for curly-haired Dean.

“From the beginning, the pressure on young Stockwell was intense. His parents had divorced when he was 6, and when his father defaulted on child-support payments, Dean reluctantly became the family provider. Over a six-year period, he averaged three to four films per year.

“At home, he says, 'There was a lot of friction... I was getting all the attention, but I hated it. [Guy] couldn't appreciate that, because he wasn't getting the attention. He had all these friends, his peer group, that he took for granted. I had none and I resented him for being able to live that way. I was fucking lonely.'

“When he was 13, chained to a seven-year contract, Stockwell was described by one magazine as 'a young rebel who despises acting and resents every moment it takes from his fleeting boyhood.' Many years later, Stockwell told columnist Hedda Hopper, 'Child actors exist in a sort of limbo between childhood and maturity and belong to neither. Adults take them too seriously and other children are either awed or hostile. A child actor can find friends in neither group.'

“Finally, Stockwell fled Hollywood when he was 16. He cut off his curly locks, started using his real name, Robert Stockwell, and for the next five years roamed the country, working menial jobs and disavowing his true identity. 'People that might have known me from seeing my films knew me as a young child,' he remembers. 'Now I was 17 and I wasn't that recognizable.'

“Around the time of his 21st birthday, Stockwell was pushing papers as mail boy to a Manhattan plumbing firm. 'Of all the jobs that I'd had in those intervening years,' he remembers. 'I think I hated that worse than anything. I came to the realization I had no training at anything. My primary education was very skimpy, very poor, and happened under the worst type of conditions. I was literally at the mercy of the world.'

“Most of Stockwell's childhood earnings were squandered by crooked accountants, he says, and he knew that the tiny sum being held in a trust wouldn't last forever. 'So I thought, "What am I gonna do? Well, let's go back and attack this [acting career] again, and see if I can do it a little more on my terms."'

“What followed for Stockwell was a brief but impressive 'second career.' He starred in the 1959 film 'Compulsion,' based on the Leopold-Loeb case of the '20s, and won a joint acting award with Orson Welles and Bradford Dillman at the Cannes Film Festival. He played the lead in the 1960 film of D. H. Lawrence's 'Sons and Lovers,' and in 1962 scored the plum role of Edmund Tyrone in Sidney Lumet's film version of 'Long Day's Journey Into Night,' holding his own alongside Katharine Hepburn, Ralph Richardson and Jason Robards.

“Stockwell was winning the best parts, but found his attention drifting elsewhere. What was happening, he says, were the first signs of the '60s youth revolution. 'It captured my imagination as much as anybody's. And it represented to me -- I can see this in retrospect -- something in childhood that I had missed: the freedom and loving being alive, without responsibilities and work and having to report to the studio every day, and deal with fans and interviews and shit that I hated when I was a kid.'

“So Stockwell called his agent, said, 'I'm not workin',' and dropped out once again. When he tried to come back three years later, though, 'I found it very difficult, 'cause I'd been out-of-sight, out-of-mind.' What followed was a long period of marginal employment: He found some TV work, took parts in low-budget trash ('The Dunwich Horror') and occasional oddities (Dennis Hopper's 'The Last Movie') and co-directed a film with musician Neil Young ('Human Highway') but often just didn't work at all. At one point, he went 18 months without a job.

“Today, along with his buddy Hopper, Stockwell is enjoying a major career renaissance. And with his starring role in 'Married to the Mob,' he says, he's never felt more confident.

“'I knew before I started the film that this character was going to work in spades,' he says, adding that Demme, as director, deserves credit for taking a risk with such offbeat casting. Instead of picking Peter Falk, Vincent Gardenia or another ethnically identified actor to play the Mafia don, he went with Stockwell (who is actually half-Italian on his mother's side).

“Demme's inspiration occurred on a flight from Los Angeles to New York, when he opened a copy of the Hollywood Reporter. Stockwell had just changed agents, and in order to announce the fact, had taken out a full-page ad. Demme saw the picture, and instantly recognized his Tony.

“Weirdly enough, Stockwell made another film immediately prior to 'Married to the Mob': a Canadian feature called 'Palais Royale,' due for an October release, in which he plays a character almost identical to Tony Russo.

“'It's very curious,' he says. 'For all my years I'd never had a role like this come my way, and here it was twice. The Mafia don in New York, the Mafia don in Toronto, both of them colorful and charming and also threatening. And I just thought, "What am I gonna do? It's the same character." So I decided to do the same character in both those movies.'

“To take the coincidence 'one nauseating step further,' Stockwell says he's also got a part in the recently completed 'Backtrack,' Hopper's next film. This time he plays a corrupt mob lawyer, dropping the Italian accent for a generalized East Coast sound.

“It would be difficult to find a film actor who's busier than Stockwell at this moment. And it would be difficult to find anyone whose job history better illustrates the vicissitudes, serendipities and insecurity of a Hollywood career.

“Looking back on his misfortunes -- at the career that he was forced to accept as a child, and the humiliation he felt when he couldn't maintain it as an adult -- Stockwell says he's not bitter. 'When you reach your maturity, I think it behooves you to accept the fact that it's absolutely futile and fruitless even to speculate on changing anything in your life. All you can do is get embittered. So I accept everything that's happened as part of my life, and try to push it in a positive direction from the moment right now.'”

#dean stockwell #article #i hear the kid who had plans to get a ranch again in this article :)#i've also been trying to reconcile his working in NYC when he was 21 with what parts he had around then #i think he tried acting again at 19/20 #hated it #got out went to NYC worked that job also hated it #so he went back to acting #then Compulsion helped him accept acting more

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kentonramsey · 3 years ago

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Low-Rise Jeans Are Officially Back. Who Will Be Wearing Them?

Y2K fashion is back. From whale tails and trucker hats to platform flip-flops and bedazzled Bebe tops, every kitschy trend from the early noughties is making its way out of the archives and onto TikTok. But while some resurrected looks have received a warm welcome — who doesn’t love a baby tee? — others are setting off alarms and adamant nopes. Case in point: the return of the low-rise jean.

It started with models like Emily Ratajkowski and Bella Hadid, whose wardrobes this year have become time-travel machines to Y2K, be it via low-rise Von Dutch cargo trousers or colourful candy rings. Then Game of Thrones actress Sophie Turner wore a pair of low-rise baggy jeans, which she paired with another ’00s relic — a going-out top — for date night with Joe Jonas. Pretty soon, the silhouette was making the rounds on TikTok, where the tag #LowRiseJeans has over 43.6 million views.

Still, many hoped the murmurings of a low-rise jean reunion tour would not prove prophetic. According to Stephanie Valponi, a stylist at Stitch Fix, that isn’t the case, though. “We’ve heard rumours over the last few years that low-rise jeans would be making an inevitable comeback, but now, it’s safe to say these are rumours no more,” Valponi tells Refinery29.

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And there’s data to prove it. In May, thredUP, an online consignment and thrift store, reported a 50% increase in search for low-rise jeans, compared to the time frame between January and March of 2021. “Love it or hate it, there’s no denying that more people are trying out low-rise denim again,” Kesha Linder, a merchandiser at the online retailer, tells Refinery29.

Even so, many women who can recall the last heyday of low-rise jeans — when zippers regularly measured under three inches and necessitated embracing a peek-a-boo G-string (thus the whale tail trend) or spending a majority of the time hiking jeans up — aren’t excited. “I was in college in the early ‘00s, and I think I still have PTSD from my low-rise Juicy Couture sweats and my two-inch-zipper Diesel and Chip & Pepper jeans,” Pauline Montupet, 39, the founder of San Francisco-based clothing shop Le Point, tells Refinery29. “There was a constant feeling of being too big for low-rise pants,” she explains, adding that her stomach was never flat enough or her hip bones prominent enough, in comparison to celebrities (Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Mischa Barton, etc.) who would frequently wear the trend on the red carpet and at parties. “Only very thin people didn’t have a muffin top while wearing super low-rise jeans, so I constantly felt that I was in a losing battle between my body and low-rise denim.”

There’s an excerpt of Everybody (Else) in @InStyle! It’s about low-rise jeans, what we teach girls about their bodies, and trying to find your gay self amidst Bush-era politics and a hyper-sexualized pop culture that doesn’t really leave room you. https://t.co/xPAdkEoxjF

— gabrielle korn (@Gabrielle_Korn) January 20, 2021

Former Refinery29 fashion director Gabrielle Korn wrote an entire chapter about the effect low-rise jeans had on her mental and physical health in her book of personal essays, Everybody (Else) Is Perfect. In it, she discusses her constant urge to cover up her love handles during high school in 2003, so much so that her belt loops were often ripped off from so much pant tugging.

Others, like Rachel Jones, 33, the founder of underwear brand Jonesy, are happy to give the once-shunned silhouette another whirl. Despite her initial shock at finding out that the denim style was having a resurgence — “my hips haven’t seen the light of day since 2004,” she tells Refinery29 — Jones says she now sees the 2021 version of low-rise jeans “fresh and exciting,” compared to the rotation of high-waisted trousers she’s been wearing for a near-decade. Today’s low-rise jeans have evolved, and don’t feature ultra-tight fits, barely-there zippers, or thong-baring backsides like they once did. Instead, the trend is mostly made up of baggier jeans and trousers that naturally sit low on the waist — no tugging, sucking in, or awkward pretzeling of limbs required.

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In fact, it was right after giving birth that Jones says she started eyeing denim with a lower rise. “My body was still changing, and I was drawn to a more undone look,” she says. “I didn’t want pants or jeans to suck me in. I wanted something low and loose, and a pair of vintage low-rise jeans from Etsy scratched that itch for me.”

This renaissance of low-rise jeans has yet to be picked up by a bevy of brands, but a select few have become frontrunners, creating a more comfortable version of the denim we love to hate. Los Angeles-based brand Miaou, which was founded as a denim brand but has since become known for its patterned corsets, is currently carrying baggier cargos and ‘00s-inspired low-rise styles. Ragged Priest, which makes “regular jeans for irregular people,” according to its website, is also dabbling in the throwback silhouette, as is Miss Sixty, the favoured denim brand of celebrities in the noughties that has been making a comeback recently.

As more and more brands catch on, a contingent of fans are celebrating: the small but passionate circle of people who never got rid of their low-rise jeans in the first place. “Low-rise jeans accentuate my hips and butt in a way that high-waisted jeans simply do not,” says New York-based style journalist Lee Phillips, 24. “For me, this is not really even a trend — low-rise jeans are literally the only jeans I’ll wear.” Fashion designer Zoé Martin, 25, also sees the skimpy style as her end-all-be-all: “I am very much pro-low-rise jeans,” she says. According to Martin, whose fashion brand O’Dolly Dearest is dedicated to the ‘90s and early ‘00s, low-rise jeans are effortlessly sexy, especially when paired with aughts-era accessories like waist beads and thongs. She says that low-rise jeans have always been a staple in her wardrobe because of the way they fit her body.

Martin concedes that the low-rise jeans of the past had their problems and hopes that with this second wave of popularity, brands will rework the style to better fit a larger range of women. “I’m eager to see how retailers will make them more modern and flattering for different body types,” she says.

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

Sophie Turner Wore A Controversial '00s Trend

Emo Isn't Dead. This Is How To Pull It Off In 2021

Juicy Couture: From 00s Fetch To Lockdown Uniform

Low-Rise Jeans Are Officially Back. Who Will Be Wearing Them? published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/

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shannendoherty-fans · 4 years ago

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People, September 9th 1991

High School Confidential

By Tom Gliatto and Michael Alexander.

Photos by Mark Sennett.

Beverly Hills, 90210 Gets Its Heat from a Dangerously Cute Cast of TV's Hottest New Stars CONFIDENTIAL MEMO: FROM: The Vice Principal TO: The Faculty, High School U.S.A. I'm sure I don't need to remind you what happened when we didn't prepare for Bart Simpson last fall. The school was flooded with rude, antieducational T-shirts. Some cows were had. Well, as a new school year gets under way, I believe we face another daunting challenge: Brace yourselves for Beverly Hills, 90210. That's the Fox drama about unworldly twin teens Brandon and Brenda Walsh (played by Jason Priestley and Shannen Doherty), recent transferees from Minneapolis to the Hills of Beverly. There they struggle to assimilate into the fast-lane lifestyle of West Beverly Hills High School, where the kids come equipped with BMWs, call waiting and designer surfboards. In the process, the teens examine their emerging identities and the problems that adolescents everywhere face.

The show languished in the Nielsen ratings against Thursday powerhouse Cheers last year. But Fox had no replacement, so it stayed. While we were on summer vacation, new 90210 episodes began airing, and the show landed in the Top 20, becoming the most popular show among teenagers. To some extent, I take responsibility for having ignored 90210. I made the mistake of reading newspaper critics instead of my daughter's diary, and so I believed, as Howard Rosenberg sniffed in the Los Angeles Times, that the show was merely a "ZIP code for stereotypes and stock characters." Little did I know that this show would mesmerize teens by doing emotionally realistic shows that involved adolescent rebellion, alcoholic; parents, a breast-cancer scare and plenty of worrisome teen sex. "Most shows for adolescents," says 90210 creator Darren Star, "seem like they are written by 50-year-olds who think teenagers behave like 7-year-olds."

It also doesn't hurt that the show's male stars, Priestley and Luke Perry (who plays brooding loner Dylan McKay), are "to die for," as my daughter puts it. These two have each been receiving about 1,500 fan letters a week. So be vigilant: Surely some of these will be written by our students...during class! And I'm afraid that 90210 is only going to get bigger with our kids, if producer Aaron Spelling is to be believed. "I thought The Mod Squad and Charlie's Angels got a lot of publicity in their heyday," says Spelling, whose company produced those shows, "but it doesn't compare to this. It's crazy. We have merchandising coming out of our ears"—a complete line of T-shirts, beach towels, notebooks, etc. "And now these actors can't walk down the street!"

Or even streak through malls. You probably saw those alarming news reports about a frenzied mob of 10,000 fans that stampeded Perry when he appeared at a south Florida mall last month. "It's a little scary," says Perry. Scarier is the amount of time students will waste this fall discussing Luke. And Jason. And who is sexier. I provide some information on the two. Jason Priestley, 22, plays Brandon Walsh, a model of thoughtful level-headedness. In real life, however, the brown-haired, blue-eyed star, who started acting in commercials at age 4 and played an orphan on that very nice NBC sitcom Sister Kate, is no Oliver Twist. He likes dirt bikes, bungee jumping and is a chain-smoker (just about the whole cast puffs it up—but not on-camera). Vancouver-born Priestley likes to hang out in Las Vegas. As for his real romantic life, he was reportedly dating actress Robin (Doogie Howser, M.D.) Lively last spring, but it seems likely that now he is too busy for such dalliance;. He must be on the set 14 hours a day, five days a week. To avoid ever-present fans, Priestley says, "I look different from my character when I'm just walking around. I don't shave, I don't dress like Brandon."

On the show, 26-year-old Luke Perry (Brenda Walsh's boyfriend, Dylan) sports a leather jacket, dagger sideburns and a squint that spells t-r-o-u-b-l-e. Although he grew up and graduated from high school in Fredericktown, Ohio, he seems to have attended James Dean wise-guy classes. Perry, who played country-boy Ned Bates on the ABC soap Loving, entertains the 90210 cast by strutting around bare-chested making jokes. Does he have a girlfriend? "No. You know how I can get in touch with Linda Hamilton?" What kind of music does he listen to? "Tom Jones is awesome." Are he and Priestley ever mistaken for each other? "He's mistaken for me on his good days." And 90210, he says, is "the best show on television, except for Jeopardy!" We should act quickly, faculty, when we see any signs that Beverly Hills, 90210 is disrupting normal student activity.

How abnormal might things get? Consider: "It's almost like there are cults," says Brian Austin Green, 18, the North Hollywood High grad who plays the cutely dweeby David Silver. "Girls go to school the day after the show, and they actually become these characters. They say, 'Okay, today I want to be Dylan, you can be Brenda, you can be Brandon.' " Needless to say, students caught pretending to be TV characters should be brought directly to my office for detention. But you know, it might not be a bad thing if our students could show some of the good sense that the 90210ers display in coping with the pressures of fame and fortune. Jennie Garth, 19, who plays the very sexy, very blond, very snotty Kelly Taylor, is particularly admirable. The youngest of seven children, she grew up on a farm near Champaign, Ill., until her schoolteacher parents moved to Phoenix when she was 13. "Living in a small town and coming from a very tight and close family instilled a lot of standards that I need to live up to," says Garth, who just bought a home in Sherman Oaks. She also recently supplied her parents with the down payment for their new home, setting a splendid example for today's youth.

According to a tabloid that someone left in the faculty lounge, Memphis-raised Shannen Doherty, 20, a veteran of such wonderful shows as Little House: A New Beginning, is the only cast member to be accused of behaving like "a spoiled brat" on the set. But she maintains she is no such thing. "I think everybody gets in a bad mood," Shannen says. "You do not work 16-hour days and not start feeling it. But I have never thrown a tantrum. I've gotten upset on the set, but it's never been just to be a bitch. You have to stand up for yourself in this business. That was something I was told when I was 12 years old and working with Michael Landon."

As with about half the cast members, Doherty is in a relationship—in her case, a real-estate developer with whom she's exchanged commitment rings. "You really have to date a while before you decide if this is the person you want to marry," she says with Brenda-like candor. Almost sounds like the relationship could be a future 90210 plot. "The problems of young people have accelerated," says Aaron Spelling, "and so have their feelings and thoughts." The show, he says, has kept pace: Even with their Clearasil-perfect complexions and plump allowances, the students at Beverly Hills have encountered their share of problems. "We had the guts to make Luke Perry be a member of AA," says Spelling. "We had Jason, our star, drinking and driving. That's reality."

And, apparently, the adulatory fan mail often includes a sad dose of that reality. "I got a letter the other day from a girl who mentioned the show we did on parental drug abuse," says Perry in a rare moment of seriousness. "She wrote about catching her father freebasing in the basement. I get letters like that all the time, from people all over the country." Gabrielle Carteris (at age 30, she's 90210's oldest cast-kid), who plays Andrea Zuckerman, the bright student who comes from the wrong side of Rodeo Drive, remembers an encouraging close encounter in a grocery store. "One girl came up to me after we'd done the breast-cancer show," says Carteris. "She said, 'I went home with all my friends and we checked our breasts for lumps.' "

In conclusion: Maybe I didn't need to write this memo. Maybe things won't be that bad, even if every locker in every corridor has a picture of Jason, Luke, Shannen or Jennie in it. Perhaps our dear little school is more like West Beverly Hills High—at least the TV version—than I thought. That's what Ian Ziering, 27, thinks too. "The reality on the show pretty much mirrors the way life is all over, in terms of teenagers," says New Jersey—bred Ziering, who once did Fruit of the Loom underwear ads and now plays 90210's curly-headed jock, Steve Sanders. "There's a mystique about Beverly Hills. But that's not what keeps people tuning in. The show could have been Montana E-I-E-I-O." By the way, should any student pronounce his name "eee-an," correct him or her, please. It's "eye-an."

-- WHEN BEVERLY HILLS, 90210 PREMIERED last October, Highlights, the student newspaper at Beverly Hills High, ran articles mocking the school's TV counterpart, West Beverly Hills High. "They said that the show was a joke," says Jenny Brandt, 14, a sophomore at the 1,900-student school. But as the story lines improved and Jason Priestley and Luke Perry became stars, the jokes stopped, and Brandt found herself, like many of her pals, glued to the set on Thursday nights from 9 to 10 P.M. "No phone calls allowed," says Brandt. "Except during commercials." Hope Levy, a 17-year-old senior, has taken fandom a step further with her friends. "We have little handmade cards," she says, speaking from her mom's car phone. "They say you're a member of Club 90210." While some kids think the show treats them as snobby stereotypes, most agree with sophomore Jordan Rynes when he says, "It's like a soap opera for teens. The shows dealing with drinking and drugs are the most real—adults don't realize how accurate it is."

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