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zeta-in-de-walls · 4 years ago

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Tommy and the role of ‘hero’

Hey, this little essay is discussing how Tommy’s character has struggled with being called a hero and hows it’s been a significant part of his character arc for Season 2 of the SMP. It’s not a title he ever gave himself yet it’s a title he’s burdened with all the same.

Funnily enough, I don’t recall Tommy ever being called a hero before Technoblade’s damning speech on Nov 16th, where he compared Tommy to Theseus.

Tommy you just did a coup. You just did a hostile Government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as President. And then you gave it to your friend but that’s still a tyrant Tommy.

But the thing about this world Tommy, is that good things don’t happen to heroes. Let me tell you a story Tommy, a story of a man called Theseus. His country, well his City-State technically, was in danger and he sent himself forward into enemy lines. He slayed the Minotaur and saved his city. You know what they did to him Tommy? (”What did they do?”) They exiled him. He died in disgrace, despised by his people. That’s what happens to heroes Tommy. The Greeks knew the score. But if you want to be a hero Tommy, that’s fine.

Do you want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!

Technoblade’s speech is a frustrating one at first. It begins by essentially calling Tommy a power hungry tyrant despite that being far from the truth - Wilbur was the one who formed the Government and Tommy rejected power. He trusted it to Wilbur who then chose Tubbo. Schlatt wasn’t even killed by Tommy, he died of a heart attack after being abandoned by every one of his allies so it wasn’t even really much of a takeover at all and it wasn’t Tommy. Yet this speech was entirely directed at Tommy.

But the latter half is different, accusing Tommy instead of trying to be a hero who thinks he’s saving the world and that he’s doomed to have a bad end. It’s interesting as never has Tommy claimed to be much of a hero. Tommy’s always just fought for the things he cared about. Indeed his response to Techno’s speech suggests the same.

“I’m not the hero. No one’s the hero! We’ve got L’Manburg for each other.”

But of course, Techno’s words stick with him all the same. Particularly the bit about a tragic end as Tommy becomes very, very aware of his own mortality in the arcs that follow. To Techno, a hero seems to be a naive figure who tries to do good but is destined for failure and tragedy.

But there’s another path Tommy fears even more. One that he’s witnessed firsthand. Becoming the villain.

Let’s be the bad guys. Tommy, why not? Our nation’s gone. our nation’s far behind us, Tommy. Let’s blow that motherf*cker to smithereens. Tommy, I say if we can’t have Manburg, no one - no one can have Manburg! ...L’Manburg.

This is a new era! We burn the place to the f*ckin ground, I want no crops to grow there ever again. I want f*ckin mycelium and cobblestone, it all covered, Tommy. I want it all gone!

Tommy, let’s be villains.

Wilbur was Tommy’s hero. He loved Wilbur dearly and wanted nothing more than to be a good right-hand to him and make him proud. But when they lost L’Manburg and were banished, Tommy saw Wilbur changing, saw him giving up home and deciding he’d rather destroy the thing they’d worked for and blow it all up. After Wilbur made this speech, Tommy argued, making it clear he was entirely against his plans. Even saying that it wasn’t the moral thing to do. He said not to give up hope, that everyone wasn’t against them and that Wilbur’s ideas were reckless. But he stayed with Wilbur and continued to support him, hoping that he could convince him to change his mind. Tommy failed. And Wilbur died.

So, the Tommy at the start of S2 just wants to go back to his old life, a simpler time where he doesn’t have to worry about L’Manburg anymore as it’s in safe hands and he can focus on his personal concerns once more - like his music discs. He doesn’t want to be a hero or a villain, he merely wants to be happy again in a world without Wilbur.

But there’s someone else watching him. Dream.

I think it’s no coincidence that Dream wanted Tommy exiled by his own people. I think he was deliberately trying to make Techno’s speech into a reality. Dream had become rather obsessed with Tommy and treated all their interactions like a fun game where he played the villain and Tommy, the hero. It’s not a narrative Tommy himself liked but all he could do was play along.

Dream had him exiled and this seriously pushed Tommy to his limits. On the first day, Techno briefly visited and asked him why he was still trying and he answered that he always gets back up and he would keep on fighting Dream. But as his exile progressed he slowly lost his will to fight. Slowly Tommy stopped believing that his exile would ever come to an end and that people still cared.

In exile Tommy had a lot of time for reflection. Here’s something Tommy says days into his exile when he’s begun to lose all hope and is starting to accept that maybe Dream’s his only friend.

Everyone always tells me I was the- the hero of this server. The one that came and f*ckin fought Dream - the only one that ever spoke back to him. But maybe I was just... maybe this was just meant to be.

Tommy’s got complicated feelings about being a hero. To him it means standing up to Dream, never giving up - that’s what he believed people expected of him. But in his exile, he began to give in to Dream. He begins to express how no one cares and that the only reason they ever pretended to care was when he had status - when he was part of L’Manburg. There’s this implication that he felt like people only cared about him when he was being the selfless hero. When he was trying to be selfish for once, causing trouble like he used to and wanting to focus on his personal disc war rather than on L’Manburg, he got exiled. (Of course, this is Tommy’s biased perspective not how others actually viewed him.)

Tommy eventually escaped his exile, finding renewed courage to fight against Dream. Except, he’s still scared and uncertain and feels confused about Dream. He feels lost and clings onto Technoblade for support.

With Technoblade, Tommy starts to feel more like himself - but Techno also influences Tommy, turning him more against his friends. (I think Techno’s character genuinely thought they didn’t truly care about Tommy, likely not realising how much they had also been manipulated by Dream.) Technoblade gently encourages Tommy to be more violent and wants him to help blow up L’Manburg.

This is where Tommy’s fear about becoming more like Wilbur come into play. Tommy did not want to become a bad guy - he’d had nightmares about it even. But in his time with Technoblade, after how helpless he’d been during his exile, being given some power lead Tommy to start lashing out more violently, he began to get more aggressive - alarmingly so even. Technoblade’s path was one of revenge, dealing with his own pain by causing others to suffer (for noble goals, fighting corruption etc I don’t want to get sidetracked though this is about Tommy). Technoblade’s presence was helpful to Tommy, helping him to get over much of his fear but he still lacked in agency and still felt lonely knowing he hadn’t made up with his friends.

Tommy finally came to his senses at the festival, where he realised he was fighting his best friend and putting his personal attachments - his discs - over Tubbo. And that was wrong. He realised he was becoming just the sort of person he didn’t want to be - he had been on the path to becoming like Wilbur. And he rejected that path. He wasn’t going to be a bad guy. Just because he was hurt didn’t justify hurting others. So he reconciled and once more committed to protecting L’Manburg, having put his personal desires aside. It seemed like he’d put himself into the role of selfless hero yet again.

And he failed. Again.

Dream tells him how it was a fun game to him. And how their story was not over. Tommy though, had become extremely tired of it. He didn’t want to play Dream’s game.

They meet up again. And again, Dream talks to Tommy like he’s important - like he’s the key to everything. He wants Tommy to play the role of hero and has been manipulating events for a long time to keep pushing him, to keep taking things from him. Being a hero, which Dream believes Tommy wants, simply means playing along with Dream’s narrative.

Tommy, you want to be a hero, right? You want to be the hero of the server. And every hero needs an origin story, right? Batman had his parents, Spiderman had uncle Ben, you have Tubbo, right?

In the end, Tommy refuses to play Dream’s game anymore though. He called for help and got saved by everyone else. Then he killed Dream twice and had him locked away for good.

And once more, Tommy decided to do things for himself again. He decided to live peacefully, working on a project, talking to various people on the server and trying to avoid making waves and getting into any more conflict. It’s a good end.

He rejected Wilbur’s path and he defied Technoblade’s predictions and he didn’t lose his best friend to Dream. And now Tommy’s trying to avoid playing the role of hero anymore. It’s not a title he ever gave himself but one thrust upon him. Yet it’s one he’s keenly aware of. And one that, despite everything, he can fulfil.

Tommy’s arc has been in some respects about defying the expectations of others - but he also can’t help but fight for the things he loves. He realises his troubles were not that his friends didn’t care or that he had to play a role but that his life was being controlled by Dream and now he’s free of that. No longer is he so weighed down by expectations but when there is a sufficiently threatening enemy, he has not lost his determination to challenge it.

#tommyinnit #meta #analysis #uh feel like i didn't have a great conclusion #anyway i love tommy's character #and his arc has been great this season #i especially appreciated how the exile arc really showed another side to his character #and dream's a great antagonist #driving much of this conflict #dream smp #exile arc #i didn't really talk much about love and attachments which are also impornant to understanding his character this season #and also his grief and thoughts on death #anyway this is about tommy not techno or dream or wilbur so i'm not analysing their actions except in regards to how they affected tommy #but feel free to add or correct me on anything #cheers!#the disc war

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avidoro · 3 years ago

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So, last year I posted this long rant about this WebNovel that was advertised to me called Beauty and the Beasts. I read it out of curiosity since it just kept being advertised. I was immediately appalled by it due to the lack of structure or proper plot that should have been in place. In fact, a structured plot didn’t even appear until midway through the story. The author simply appeared to have a desire to create a reverse harem story featuring men who were half animals. And that wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the immense amount of body shaming.

Don’t ask me why I continued reading this story. It’s an absolute atrocity. Maybe it’s just to keep warning others about how awful it is. But the post from last year has recently started to get more attention and, as such, I’ve decided to make a second post featuring a particular arc that I find to be more horrible than everything I posted so far. Brace yourselves, because if you agreed with me on how awful it was before, this will probably piss you off. Beginning in Chapter 180, QingQing (the Mary-Sue, protagonist of the story) is taken to a village comprised of a tribe of Peacock people. What better animal to use for body-shaming someone that a peacock?

There was no hesitation when the characters entered the tribe:

To fill you in if you didn’t read my first post, pretty girl, here, literally only put berry juice on her face to make it look like she has freckles. That’s it. That’s literally the only thing she did. And, yep. It makes her ugly.

I feel like this story could be redeemed if it was more about biased, arrogant people calling her ugly for freckles while she and the other protagonists know that freckles are beautiful and teach the readers that lesson. But no, the protagonist herself continues to say freckles are ugly as does every other protagonist. This means the author is saying they are ugly. The characters and author truly believe that something as simple as a skin blemish destroys an appearance.

So then the most handsome peacock in the entire village takes a look at her:

Yep. Those freckles really ruin the skin. I mean, look at all the marks all over him! Do freckles have to be in a pattern? Or are just patterned lines okay? Honestly.

After he begins speaking to her for the first time he tells her she’s docile. Then he follows with this:

She never stands up for herself. It’s because she wants everyone to think she’s ugly because she’s afraid of being courted again. But she maintains this friendly demeanor which I certainly wouldn’t. She asks this peacock’s name. Alva. When she tells him she likes his name:

Take a lesson, men (and ladies). If a girl with freckles tries to be friendly, scream at her, accuse her of flirting, and call her ugly. Be sure to tell her you’d never be interested in someone like her!

Alva then takes QingQing to Bella, the female he is courting.

God, yes, freckles are terrifyingly ugly! Act like you just saw a vermin skitter across your foot.

By now you may be thinking this isn’t much different from the garbage I mentioned in my first post. But here’s where things get really good.

Welcome to the abuse arc, everyone. From this point onward QingQing suffers actual abuse from Alva and Bella because she has freckles. FAKE freckles. And nice little QingQing complies the entire time. Of course Alva’s only redemption is that he does take notice of her nice personality and appreciates her for it. But he immediately ruins it for himself again:

Meanwhile, Bella is actually forcing QingQing to slave labor. She’s actually forcing her to open pine nuts for her to eat.

Oh, and did I mention QingQing is pregnant? Yeah... that’s a thing. They’re abusing her while she’s pregnant. And they know this.

Alva then brings her a couple pinecones saying they’re her own food. He then proceeds to throw them at her:

Don’t worry! QingQing thanked him for the food!

A little later, QingQing is carrying meat that Muir, a hawk-man that is courting her, has cooked for her (don’t give Muir too much credit. He knows how she really looks). When Bella smells the meat she demands that QingQing give it up. QingQing offers to break some off for her but:

They literally just steal this pregnant girl’s food from her. All she had. Because she has freckles!!

Cut to later, Alva is still appreciating her personality which is good, at least. But he still can’t get over how ugly she is because of those freckles:

Bella overhears this and becomes more determined to bully QingQing. Of course Alva goes along with it because beauty > personality. And freckles just aren’t pretty, you know?

When she finds out that QingQing has pine nuts from Alva she becomes enraged, accusing Alva of cheating on her, and demanding that QingQing give her the food. In reality it was Muir who gave her the nuts. The ones Alva gave her were for peeling so perfect, pretty Bella could eat.

So of course, once again, she steals the food from QingQing.

Alva’s father witnesses this interaction and then supplies the most redeeming moment in this arc:

Alva gets reprimanded for bullying a pregnant female and is even told he should marry her. Daddy permits Alva to refuse due to QingQing being “ugly” but he has to be nice to her and not let her leave the tribe as they were attempting to chase her out.

Once a male peacock (who never gets another appearance again) shows true interest in QingQing and calls her cute despite the freckles (seriously, author, the one good character who looks past a minor flaw and you immediately wrote him out) Bella becomes jealous and angry that anyone would show QingQing attention:

So, at this point, Qingqing for whatever ungodly reason decided to cook some meat for her abuser. When passing it off, Bella knocks it from her hand, says that it’s too tough to chew and that she needs to prepare the meat that Alva caught instead. Then she tells QingQing to eat the food off the ground.

QingQing finally gets angry and she’s demanded to peel more pinenuts. She finally relents and goes off on Bella, throwing the unpeeled pinenuts at her and telling her to do it herself. What do we do with “ugly”, pregnant girls who stand up for themselves against abuse and bullying?

Well, we drown them, of course.

That’s right. Alva actually holds QingQing’s head under water. He pulls her back and attempts to force her to apologize, but QingQing does end up with a moment of strength from a spousal mark (don’t ask) and flings Alva into the water. When he emerges, guess who’s fake freckles have run off from the water?

QingQing’s freckles are gone now. And guess what?

Oh god, no, she was actually pretty! Gotta be nice! GOTTA BE NICE!!

Those few specks on her face were all that was standing between her and others showing kindness toward her. Yeah, this asshat didn’t show her an inkling of respect until her fake freckles washed away. Now he’s gotta be nice and start courting her.

And if you think things just instantly get better from there, let’s remember this little comment that Alva makes:

Yeah, he’ll be loyal if she married him and she got ugly or he met someone prettier. But he’ll totally dump her if he finds someone prettier.

Granted that part is kind of meant to be an asshole comment. But overall, the fact that everyone finds QingQing unattractive and proceeds to abuse and bully her because of freckles is disgusting. Again, it would be fine if this was about teaching people that freckles are not ugly. But it’s made very clear by the author that she is ugly with them.

And I’m going to call to attention a comment that was made on my last post stating that this is just Chinese culture. I have Chinese friends. They are aware of this “culture”. They are not okay with this. This is abuse. No one should have to suffer through this kind of body-shaming (well any kind at all, but this is exceptionally bad). Culture is not and will never be an excuse for abuse. It still disgusts me that this comic has such a huge following.

FRECKLES ARE NOT UGLY!!!

#WebNovel #Beauty and the Beasts #body shaming #unobtainable beauty standards #freckles #plus size #comic #this comic should not be as popular as it is

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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years ago

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Felix July - Growing Up (Felix Culpa alternative for Ladybug)

@felixmonth

Alya was planning to solve a mystery and prove her best friend’s innocence.

Felix was regretting his life choices and questioning if it was too late to transfer schools.

“Starting the investigation into ‘Who Framed Marinette.’” Alya announced into her recorder. “I am Alya Cesaire, the lead investigator. With me is my humble sidekick, Felix Argent.”

“Is this necessary?” Felix asked, already tired despite not having done anything as Alya had started searching over the locker room

“Of course it is!” She snapped back. “We’re the only ones who can help Marinette get unexpelled. So we need to find the truth and discover the real culprit.”

“Which is Rossi.”

She ignored him.

“So we just need to check the clues and gather evidence to find out who did it.”

“Here’s a hint: it was Rossi.”

Still ignoring him. Honestly, he was no help.

“The first accusation was the answer sheet in her bag. It had to have been taken after the test, so Marinette couldn’t have had it then.” She reasoned. “That means that whoever took it had to have done so later and then put the test key in Marinette’s bag.”

“Maybe it was the ‘anonymous tipster’, who was the only person who apparently knew they were in there.” Felix suggested.

“But who could that have been?” Alya wondered.

“Wild guess: Rossi.”

Why did she recruit him again?

She shot a glare at him. “Could you try actually being helpful?”

Felix gave her a blank stare as he began to speak in what was clearly a sarcastic manner. “My, whoever could it possibly have been? Certainly not the only other person Bustier sent to the Principal’s office with Dupain-Cheng in the first place?”

Sigh, he really was holding onto his belief about Lila being responsible.

“Okay, now you’re being impossible. Lila had the lowest score on the test.” She pointed out.

“Yes,” he drawled sarcastically, “because it’s not like we just confirmed that the answer sheet was stolen after the test and thus of no use to anyone. Or that Rossi couldn’t have intentionally faked her grade on a test that didn’t matter anyway in order to make herself appear less suspicious.”

“We’re just going to ignore Snarky McKnow-it-all.” She muttered into the recording.

“That doesn’t make me not right.” He called out behind her.

“Then there’s the necklace in Marinette’s locker…” She moved to the locker in question and tested it. Sure enough, it opened right up, revealing the contents—or lack thereof since Marinette was forced to remove them all when she was expelled. Alya even tested the nearby lockers and got the same result. They were all easily opened by anyone.

“These lockers don’t have locks or any way to secure them.” Alya noted into the recorder. “Anyone could have gotten inside and planted the necklace.”

“You mean like the one person who KNEW the necklace would be in Marinette’s locker.” Felix chimed in. “Which was again, Rossi.”

“It had to have been a mistake.”

“She said she SAW Marinette put it in her locker. Why she didn’t get someone immediately and only brought it up AFTER everything else is likely because she was using it as a trump card.”

“Just going to discard my sidekick’s wild conspiracy theories.” Alya said into the recorder, smirking momentarily at Felix’s scoff from behind her. “It’s possible that Lila might have just seen someone who looked like Marinette taking grandmother’s necklace and putting it in her locker.”

“If it IS her grandmother’s necklace.” Felix commented dryly. “A little hard to believe that something from last year’s Gabriel line could have been around long enough to be considered an heirloom.”

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Since when are you an expert on jewelry?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because it’s not like a model would know about the latest fashion lines.”

Alya shrugged and looked away.

“Feel free to not question it.” He muttered darkly. “It’s only potential evidence.”

A few more minutes of the two searching the room warranted little other insights or clues. The same was true of the now empty classroom as they investigated the area around Bustier’s desk and Marinette’s seat.

Well, Alya investigated. Felix simply stood nearby being his snarky and unhelpful self.

Like usual.

“It has to be someone who has it out for Marinette…” She reasoned.

“Like Rossi.”

She started to pace. “Someone who could have had the time and access to Marinette’s bag and her locker.”

“Such as Rossi.”

“Someone who could have disguised themselves, perhaps? Or knew everyone’s routines well enough to get in while no one else was around.”

“Maybe you should start by investigating Rossi?” Felix suggested dryly. “Since she was the only other person involved?”

She whirled on him, finally having enough. “Could you come up with someone BESIDES Lila?”

Honestly, what was his deal? He’d always been a jerk, but he’d had a particular distaste for Lila from day one. Alya personally questioned if it wasn’t due to a crush.

She may need to investigate further…

“What reasoning do you have that Rossi couldn’t have done this?” He questioned. “Besides your own fervent belief that ��she wouldn’t do that’ or that she’s ’too nice’. Because as it stands, there is no reason NOT to consider her.”

“Well, where’s yours?” She shot back. “You’re the one so insistent that Lila had to have done it! What proof do YOU have?”

Felix sighed and raised his hand, counting with his fingers. “There are three accusations here. One, that Dupain-Cheng stole test answers. Two, that she pushed Rossi down the stairs. And three, that she stole Rossi’s ‘family heirloom’. All three of which, Rossi was both the accuser and the only witness for.”

He gave Alya a dry look.

“So why, exactly, is Rossi NOT a suspect?”

“Because Lila wouldn’t do something like that!” Alya, insisted.

Why would she? Lila was awesome and amazing. She would never steal anything. And she would certainly never try to get anyone in trouble.

Felix was far from impressed.

“We only have two ways this story can go. One, that Rossi was telling the truth, meaning that she indeed saw Dupain-Cheng take the test answers and cheat on the test, push Rossi down the stairs, and that steal Rossi’s necklace. Or two, that Dupain-Cheng was telling the truth and Rossi lied about those three things.

“In order for Rossi’s claims to be true, that would have to mean that Dupain-Cheng is guilty. In order for Dupain-Cheng to be innocent, that would have to mean that Rossi gave false testimony. You can’t have it both ways here.

“So tell me, Cesaire…what makes you so unwilling to consider that Rossi may be suspect? If you truly with to be an investigator, you must be impartial and accept the evidence as it is. On all sides. Everyone is a suspect.”

Alya was quiet.

Felix gave her a dark glare. “You want to be Sherlock Holmes here. Surely you know his stance that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable, must be the truth.”

“But we haven’t eliminated every possibility yet!” Alya argued, growing increasingly agitated. Part of her was questioning her earlier decision to drag Felix along in her investigation. However, the guy was smart and at this point, he was also the only other person who openly voiced support of Marinette’s innocence. Surely if they had a similar goal, they could work together to find the truth.

The only problem was that they had completely different opinions on what the truth could be.

Or rather what they wanted it to be.

“It’s Rossi. It is very clearly Rossi. You have to be completely oblivious to NOT realize it’s Rossi.”

Alya spun around and glared back at the smug, arrogant jerk with a superiority complex.

“You’ve hated Lila since day one! You’re just looking for reasons to blame her! Here you are telling me I need to be impartial when you’re the one being biased!”

“Biased?” He laughed. “Do you even know what bias is, Cesaire? Bias is bringing in the parents of only one of the two arguing parties and forcing them to miss out on valuable work time to keep their small business going while the other guardian isn’t even notified. Bias is taking one person at her word of being attacked without doing anything to evaluate her or get her supposed ‘injuries’ checked out to confirm they exist. Bias is publicly humiliating a student first by accusing them in front of a class and then expelling them solely on the word of another and circumstantial evidence that could very well have been planted to frame them—all without so much as a hearing, which IS required by law!”

He glowered at her. “Rossi already has enough bias to protect her. She doesn’t need your bias as well, especially if truth is really what you seek here.”

“And where’s your proof?” Alya questioned, now on the defensive. Do you even have reason to suspect Lila or are you just wanting her to be responsible?”

“I’m at least looking at facts. You, on the other hand, are so biased in her favor that you’re discounting the clear evidence just because it implicates her.”

She scoffed. “What evidence?”

What was there that actually implicated Lila? She was just a victim in all of this! Sure, the school wasn’t fair to Marinette, but that was why Alya was helping! That didn’t mean Lila was behind anything!

Felix frowned, stepping closer to her and holding up three fingers. “Cheating on a test, stealing, and pushing someone down the stairs. Any one could be considered an accident or a mistake. But three different accusations all claimed by one person and all in the span of a single day? Rossi was clearly and specifically targeting Marinette.”

“That’s not true!” Alya argued.

“What other reason could there be for this?” Felix demanded, clearly annoyed and frustrated and wanting to be done with this entire conversation.

“There has to be someone else behind it!”

“There IS no one besides Rossi!” Felix bit back. “Even if you argue that someone else could have planted the test answers and necklace, that doesn’t explain how she KNEW where they were or why she chose to openly and publicly implicate Marinette if there could be doubt to her being the one to do these things!”

Alya bit her lip.

“Furthermore,” Felix continued, “there is no other logical explanation for the stairs incident.”

“It could have been an accident.” Alya deduced. “Marinette is clumsy. She could have tripped and pushed Lila without meaning to.”

“Except Marinette denies she even touched Rossi. Is Marinette really the sort of person to push someone down the stairs and deny having done so it if it was an accident?”

Alya couldn’t deny that because Marinette wouldn’t. If Marinette DID hurt someone by accident, she would have immediately admitted to it and done everything she could to try and help the person.

“Maybe someone else pushed Lila—”

“Marinette and Rossi were the only two in the hallway. If there had been a third person, Marinette would have seen them and would have said as such. But she didn’t. She said Rossi walked down those stairs calmly, laid down at the bottom, and only then started screaming.”

“She could have been confused!” Alya rebutted. “She was stressed and overwhelmed given the first accusation. She could have been looking away when Lila fell.”

“She said she saw Rossi walk down the stairs before she suddenly started screaming and claiming to be injured. And speaking of evidence, what were Rossi’s injuries from the stairs?”

Alya frowned, thinking back. “She had a bandage on her leg...”

“A single bandage.” Felix deadpanned. “Over her pants covering the ‘injured’ knee. Was she taken to the hospital? Was she seen by the nurse? Was there any confirmation of her having injuries besides her claiming to be in pain in a single spot?” He sneered. “Because it is rather fortuitous that someone would fall down a flight of stairs and receive no bumps, bruises, scrapes, or other injuries aside from some knee pain. Unless you’re saying physics would allow that.”

Alya drew back, curling in on herself.

Felix glared. “You are no Sherlock. You aren’t even a Watson. You are just someone so blinded by a bias that you would rather neglect evidence than give it your all for the sake of your other friend.”

“That’s not true!” She shouted, hurt. “I just…I just don’t want to…”

Oh.

…oh.

He closed his eyes. Rested his hand against his forehead.

So it was like that. How could he have overlooked this?

Cesaire was friends with two girls who could not get along and were in direct conflict with each other. She didn’t accept Marinette’s claims that Rossi was a liar, but she wasn’t willing to believe that Marinette would do the things Rossi claimed, either. She was…

He opened his eyes.

Depending on the outcome, this could make or break her friendship with either. Even if it was the “right” thing to do or the “truth”, it still stood to reason that Cesaire would feel hurt by it and lose a friend because of it.

And she was desperately trying to find a way to be able to believe in both.

Understandable.

Commendable, even.

But ultimately foolish. And more harmful than simply accepting the truth and choosing a side now. Sooner or later, this situation would tear her apart and force her to choose. And when the time came, the circumstances would escalate to such a point that it would be all the more likely she would not only choose wrong, but also be dragged down by it.

Felix would know. He had been in that position before.

He sighed. “Cesaire, I understand that when you have two people you care about at odds, you want to be able to keep both. But there’s going to come a point where you will have to take a side.”

The way things were going, she wasn’t going to be able to remain friends with both, not without ultimately losing them both anyway.

“Neutrality is just a way of not making a decision.“

“You sound like you speak from experience.” She commented, seeming subdued.

He paused at that.

Memories came to mind. Of a cold man. Of a sad woman. Of being surrounded by people who poked and prodded and pushed and pulled and twisted until he was shaped as they pleased. He was dragged into a life and lifestyle he never wanted, forced into a role without his say. It was only once he finally spoke up and chose to assert himself that things had changed.

And he realized something…

Part of growing up meant having to make choices and take accountability for those choices. Even not making a choice was in itself a choice, if only one of indifference or unwillingness to act.

That was why…

“What ended up happening?” She asked him.

“I tried not to choose until the decision was made for me. And by then it was too late. That was a choice I never wanted and the cost was time I will never be able to get back.”

It would remain one of his regrets for the rest of his life.

“You have to face facts here.” He told her sternly. “Their stories directly contradict each other. They can’t both be telling the truth.”

“I know.” She quietly admitted.

He nodded. “You have two people making different claims about the other. Rossi says Marinette bullied her. Marinette says that Rossi is making it all up. Both of them can’t be right.“

“But both can be wrong.”

“Unlikely.”

“But still possible!” She insisted, remaining stubborn. “Maybe Lila just saw someone she thought was Marinette? Or someone could have tried to frame Marinette by fooling Lila?“

“Except that Rossi is very clear that it was Marinette she saw. The test answers were found in Marinette’s bag. The necklace was found in Marinette’s locker. And there was no one else in the hallway to push Rossi down the stairs.”

He rubbed his forehead.

”It comes to the same problem. Either Rossi is lying about Marinette, or Marinette really did do those things.“

”It could have been an akuma.” She suggested.

But he nixed that as well. “There wouldn’t have been enough time. Even during the attack on Heroes Day, there was a good hour between the time we saw that fake fight between the heroes and the attack of the scarlet butterflies. But here, the scarlet butterflies attacked almost immediately. As if they knew this was going to happen.”

Alya gaped. “That just means this was part of Hawk Moth’s plan!“

He frowned, actually curious. “Indeed. But how did he know it would happen?”

She looked away, considering. “Either he made an akuma to set up Marinette…”

“Which wouldn’t account for the timing of all three accusations or Lila’s involvement in those accusations.” He cut in. “And it just doesn’t seem possible with the short length of time between when the last point the akuma could have been there to push Rossi down the stairs and for the scarlet moths to attack.”

“Or…” Alya took a breath. “Or it was planned with one of the two individuals involved.”

He nodded. “And between Marinette and Rossi, which of the two honestly seems to be the more likely culprit. Which of the two of them had more to gain from the events today? Or at least less to lose from it?”

Alya grimaced and slumped onto the bench.

She knew.

She already knew that answer.

“Cesaire…” Felix softly called.

Heh. Funny. He almost sounded like he cared.

“I don’t want to lose a friend.“ She quietly admitted.

Felix sat next to her on the bench. “But if she’s been lying to you all this time, is she really a friend?”

She chuckled bitterly. “Is that why you never liked her?”

He couldn’t help the smirk. “My first day here, Marinette was trying to convince me to give everyone in the class a chance while Rossi was trying to convince me she was some sort of celebrity who could offer me connections I already had.”

Alya snorted at that. “She didn’t!”

He adjusted his shirt cuffs blithely. “Needless to say, I was wary of anything she had to say after that. Though I will admit that I still would never have considered her working with Hawk Moth.”

She laughed. A little bit in humor. A little bit in disgust. Even a little bit in relief that she finally had an answer, even if it wasn’t one she liked.

Speaking of answers though…

“Hey! I just realized!” She exclaimed as she spun on Felix.

He leaned away in wariness. There was a gleam in her eyes he wasn’t sure he liked.

“You’ve been calling Marinette by her first name!”

“And? It is her name, is it not?”

“You don’t call anyone by their first names!”

“Dupain-Cheng is a mouthful.”

“It’s the same number of syllables as Marinette!”

He looked away in annoyance.

“She is tolerable.”

She leaned closer to him, looking particularly smug. Felix immediately stood and turned away. Alya was certain he was blushing and trying to hide it.

Alya smirked. Did he really have a crush after all?

“Don’t you have a case to be investigating and a friend’s innocence to prove?” He questioned, still refusing to face her.

Oh, she certainly did.

But once this was over and certain liars were dealt with…

She was going to make Felix’s heart her next investigation!

#ml fic #felix culpa #pv felix #felix au #alya cesaire #marinette dupain cheng #lila sucks #ladybug episode #felix month #felix july

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professional-bts-simp · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday Debacle

Choi Yeonjun x Reader

Summary: One of the happiest days can turn into the worst one really fast.

Genre: Angst, some fluff at the ned

Warnings: Sad times, overthinking, implications of sex, Yeonjun being a dummy, but also kinda cute

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

The sun peeked over the horizon on this extraordinary day, well extraordinary for you at least, it was finally your birthday and you couldn't wait to spend it with the people you love. Squirming around in bed you felt an incredible amount of heat behind you, turning your body towards the source of the heat you smiled at the other body that was lying beside you. He was peacefully sleeping, his face covered in yellow locks. You reached out your hand towards them, your fingers playing with his soft locks until he stirred in his sleep, opening his pretty brown eyes.

He gave you a bright smile, despite it being morning. You learned that your boyfriend wasn't really a morning person and you can't say you were one either, your eyes couldn't help but glance down at his teeth, you once joked that his teeth are so white they might blind you and he hasn't let it go ever since. Now he's even a little shit about it, teasing you by smiling and saying "You better put sunglasses on".

Now if you were wondering why today was so extraordinary and special it's because it was your birthday, your boyfriend hasn't said anything about it neither has he hinted he had something planned, but you knew he would. He wouldn't forget something so important.

You felt goosebumps arise on your skin as Yeonjun traced the outline of your body with his soft fingertips, a little shiver ran through your body as his fingers danced over your hip making you momentarily ticklish. He stopped his fingers and flattened his hand on your bare thigh giving it a little squeeze.

"Last night was fun." Yeonjun's morning voice was deep and kind of gruff, yet you loved it nonetheless, if not more than his usual but you might just be biased. There was a teasing manner to his voice, an implication of last night's activities between you two.

"It really was," you smiled while kissing the tip of his nose. Moving closer to Yeonjun you put your head against his bare chest, listening peacefully to his heartbeat and focusing on his breathing as it elevated your head ever so slightly. Nothing was more perfect than this, lying in bed with your boyfriend, cuddling and snuggling together.

"I should get up to go shower." You mumble against the smooth skin of his neck, nose brushing against it as you took a deep breath of his scent. He always smelled so good, no matter if he was back from practise or if he washed himself, Yeonjun just had this specific smell that could calm you down even in the most stressful days. His chest moved up and down as he laughed, pressing a quick kiss against your forehead Yeonjun whispered, "Then get up and go shower babygirl."

You mumbled something incoherent but Yeonjun guessed you said "too lazy". He thought you were the cutest person to ever walk the earth no matter how many times Huening Kai protested that he was the cutest. Yeonjun loved you so much, and he showed it to you every day. By waking you up in the morning so you can go to your classes, sending goodnight and good morning texts, cooking for you, taking care of you when you're sick, you could name a million things he does for you and you are grateful for each and every one of them.

You opened your eyes again as you felt your bangs move from your forehead, "Let's get up babygirl." Was the thing Yeonjun said before throwing the blankets off your bodies and standing up. In his birthday suit. Butt-naked.

Averting your eyes from Yeonjun's naked glorious body, you felt your face heat up, no matter how long you've been together, no matter how intimate you two get you'll always get flustered whenever he compliments you or flirts with you or when you think of him in an intimate way or any other way. He's a flirt and he knows it.

Picking up the T-Shirt, which he wore last night, from the floor you put it on so you weren't walking around in your birthday suit like your crackhead boyfriend. Walking towards the bathroom, looking like a double dead zombie, you try opening the door only to see it was locked. Knocking on it you heard Yeonjun's voice from the inside, "Yeeeeees?" You giggled at his silliness, "Honey are you going to be long? I need to shower."

"Yes I'm going to shower."

"But I said I'd do it first." You pointed a finger at your chest despite him not being able to see you, you heard feet shuffling and the door unlocking. Yeonjun's head popped out, his teeth biting his plump lips and his marker yellow hair over his eyes. "Well I got here first." He gave you a smirk to which you crossed your arms over your chest giving him a stern one back. Yeonjun's smirk only got wider as he moved closer whispering, "We could shower together."

Your face burst into flames immediately, your confident stance crumbling under his hungry gaze as your eyes downcast to the floor. Of course you weren't opposed to the idea of it, but what if you slipped and fell? Or got shampoo in your eyes? Or got water in your nose? Or-

"Baby?" Yeonjun's voice pulled you from your overthinking, snapping your eyes from the floor back to his which still held the same desire and lust but mixed with worry at your quiet state. Not trusting your own voice you nod weakly, his big hand engulfing yours as he led you to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Closing your laptop you rub your eyes to relieve them of the light you have been staring at for a few hours now, school was completely kicking your ass, but you wouldn't trade it for anything. Glancing at your phone for the one hundredth and one time in the past few hours, you frown at it again. No texts from Yeonjun. No calls. No nothing. You felt tears sprung against your eyes but you managed to contain them, just like how you were doing every time you checked.

The same thoughts kept entering your mind.

Did he forget your birthday?

The ache in your chest only seemed to worsen the more you thought about it. Deciding to ignore and forget the loneliness you felt and take some action against it you call Soobin. Yeonjun said he'd be hanging out with his members, so they should know where he is for so long.

After three rings Soobin picked up.

"Yeeeees," his cheery voice cut through the phone making you momentarily smile.

"Hi Soobin, it's me." You heard him chuckle with an obvious 'duh'.

"What's up?" There was shuffling on the other end as you guessed he moved from one place to another.

"Well I wanted to ask what you boys are up to."

Soobin went into explanation about how Taehyun and Kai are playing games while Beomgyu and him were getting ready to watch a movie. Your eyebrows were pulled into confusion, "And Yeonjun?"

"What about Yeonjun?"

"Well what is he doing?" There was silence on the other side for a few seconds, you could picture Soobin held the same confused face you and moments ago. "Yeonjun isn't here. He told us he'd be hanging with you today."

Now this was going from weird to suspicious. Why would Yeonjun tell you one thing and tell his members the other? You weren't one to accuse of cheating so that was way down your list, but it was very strange. "OH!" Soobin yelled into the phone loudly causing you to move it from your ear, "Happy birthday by the way." You heard a chorus of 'happy birthday' from the other boys which made you muster on a sad smile.

"Thanks Soobin, so far you're the first one to say that." And with that you hung up.

You flung yourself across the bed, arm covering your eyes as you let the stream of tears, you've been holding in all day, to finally fall down.

Only one question was floating in your head.

Does he even care?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It has been five hours since you called Soobin and fourteen hours since you saw Yeonjun. A quick glance at the clock showed you it was now exactly a minute past 10 p.m.

Throughout the day you once again received no messages, no calls from your alleged boyfriend, you were very much doubting every word he told you about how he'll always be here for you, always take care of you, always make you feel better, but at this moment he was the reason for all your sadness.

The faint sound of door opening and closing speed up your heart rate. You suddenly felt nervous and fidgety. You didn't know if it was nerves from finally seeing him or nervous from knowing you'll have to confront him. Hearing the footsteps coming closer to the bedroom increased the sudden anxiety in your body. Yeonjun's handsome face emerged from the other side which made you smile slightly.

Okay now focus, you're here to chew his ass out, not fawn over how pretty he is, no matter how fucking beautiful he was. You told yourself as you straightened your back and moved to sit criss-cross on the bed, eyes trained on him.

Yeonjun's eyes widened as he saw you sitting on the bed, "Um, uh baby hi, I thought you'd be sleeping." You hate to admit it, but he looked somewhat guilty and all those insecurities and horrible thoughts you'd been pushing down came crashing down on you all in one.

"You know I don't sleep at this time." Your voice was distant and cold as Yeonjun picked up upon it and his face fell for a moment at your harsh tone, for a moment you felt guilty, but only a moment. This was your special day, it was your birthday and you couldn't even get a measly 'happy birthday' text from him.

Getting up from the bed you take a few steps towards him, "Where were you?"

He cleared his throat before going over to the chair you threw all your stuff at and putting on the T-Shirt he slept in, "I told you, I was with the guys."

You scoffed. "That's a fucking lie. I called Soobin and he told me you didn't even come by them."

If you had to describe Yeonjun's expression it truly would be deer caught in headlights. He seemed stumped for an answer to your exposure of him and his lies, he cleared his throat, looking you directly in the eyes as he said, “You’re right. I wasn’t with the guys.” You felt another batch of tears coming up so you turned away from him and put your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You didn’t know what to think now, should you give him a chance to explain? Should you throw him out? Break up with him?

“If you weren’t with them where were you?” You had to stop yourself from asking who he was with.

“I was out, in a bar.”

“Why?”

Yeonjun sighed, you could hear his footsteps as he moved closer to you, “I wanted to be alone. The company has been putting a lot of pressure on us, we have been working harder and getting stressed more often. I just wanted a day away, a day only for myself.”

“Do you know which day today is?” Your voice was only but a whisper, you were scared to know the answer he will give to your question.

“Yeah it’s Friday, May 15th.”

Yeonjun suddenly got very quiet, the cogs in his brain turning slowly. “May 15th, oh my god it’s May 15th, your birthday.” With no warning he slammed his chest into your back momentarily knocking you off balance, arms squeezing you tightly, his face pressed into your hair.

“I’m so stupid, baby, oh God I’m stupid,” he turned you around and began attacking your face in kisses, giving one big final kiss to your lips, “fuck baby I’m an idiot!” He kissed you again and again, hoping and begging you to forgive him for being such a forgetful asshole. Yeonjun's face was swarming in tears, seemingly unable to stop falling as he cradled your face in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs.

"You are stupid and you are an idiot," you gave a laugh, "but you're my stupid idiot."

His face and eyes lightened up, now hopeful, "So you forgive me?"

You slowly grabbed his warm hands to hold in your own smaller ones, "I will admit I am still pretty mad, you did forget it after all." You gave him a sad look, a one which he reciprocated.

Suddenly it seemed like something struck him, his expression growing happier by the second. Yeonjun gave you a quick peck on the lips and dashed straight for the living room. There was rummaging heard from inside of it for some seconds then he walked out, holding his hands behind his back. He stood in front of you, a small smile playing on his very handsome face. Yeonjun bit his lips nervously, glancing at the ground before making direct eye contact with you.

"Princess, I know I forgot your birthday and I feel terrible for it, but I love you so fucking much and I promise to be your personal butler for a week and that is only half of my apology gift. The other half is," he brought his hands in front of him, small black box in hand, "this." As Yeonjun said that he opened the box, a beautiful shiny silver ring stood in the middle of it.

Covering your face with your hands you laugh as tears of joy start falling from your eyes. You uncover your face to gaze upon the ring and your boyfriend, feeling an incredible amount of joy and love seeping out your heart.

"I've bought this a month before your birthday and planned on giving it to you, but like a dumbass I forgot." He chuckled.

"Now this isn't an engagement ring, but it is a promise ring," Yeonjun took it out of the box and he held it between his slender fingers, turning it around for you to see all of it, "and I promise to be the best boyfriend for you, to take care of you and to love you unconditionally every second of every day." He kissed the ring and slowly taking your hand he slid it on your finger. Upon closer look you could see the words 'I love you' engraved onto it.

You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, Yeonjun immediately hugging you back as you sobbed out, "I love you too." And with that you forgave him.

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princeescaluswords · 4 years ago

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Nothing Untrustworthy Here

It still astounds me that the Teen Wolf fandom can’t wrap it around their heads that the production, in Season 1, gave Scott and Stiles every reason not to want to listen or have anything to do with Derek Hale.

TOTALLY NORMAL BEHAVIOR

Episode 1: Derek meets them in the woods, intimidating them with an accusation of trespassing. It is then that he must discover that Scott is a werewolf, yet he says nothing. The next time that Scott sees Derek, he’s at Lydia Martin’s party. How did Derek know that Scott was going to a party at the house of a girl who must have been 11 when Derek left Beacon Hills? The only answer is that Derek must have followed Scott and Stiles home from the woods. He must have listened in on their conversation.

If Derek was so eager to stop Scott from endangering others, why didn’t he intervene before the party? But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t even intervene when he saw Scott stumble out of the party, affected by the moon. He did, however, offer to give Allison a ride home and steal her jacket in order to lure Scott into the woods. Why these particular decisions?

Bait! He was using Scott as bait, to lure the alpha out of hiding, because he knew the alpha would seek out his errant beta.

Episode 2: Derek continues to stalk Scott in order to lure out the alpha. He attends the lacrosse practice, and while he saw Scott changing on the field, he doesn’t immediately go to Scott to help, he waits until Scott is home -- not knocking on the door, not using the phone -- but breaks into his house, assaults him, and threatens him with death.

Not only that. He takes the jacket he stole from Allison and puts it in her locker at school. Now, take your God-he’s-hot blinders off for a moment and interpret this in line with common sense. A man who broke into your home and threatened you breaks into your school and your girlfriend’s locker. Isn’t that also a threat?

And then there’s the confrontation at the burned-down house where Derek displays maximum hostility and creepiness. How did he know that Stiles considered himself an expert because he “Google[d] werewolves” and now they think they knows all the answers? The only way for that to have happened was that Derek had been following them all day. He topped that revelation off with another threat:

Derek: You don’t get it yet, but I’m looking out for you. Think about what could happen. You’re on the field. The aggression takes over. And you shift in front of everyone. Allison, your mother, your friends... And when they see you--everything falls apart.

If you couple that with the claws and the lacrosse stick, that’s not a friendly werewolf trying to reach a troubled boy; that’s an ultimatum: do as I say or you’ll lose everything.

Episode 3: It’s the third episode and Scott still thinks it was Derek who bit him. Scott wakes up after a nightmare about killing Allison and finds that he may have attacked the bus driver. Derek, full of wisdom and kindness, extorts Scott for his help, yet still doesn’t reveal the truth.

In the middle of his extortion, why didn’t Derek tell Scott what he had to have already have known? That there was an alpha werewolf out there trying to force Scott to join his pack? Because Derek was still trying to use Scott to find Laura’s killer. Derek was stringing Scott along, concealing information, in order to achieve his goal.

Conclusion: The sheer willful blindness exhibited by parts of the fandom to refuse to see that the production intended for Scott to have good reasons not to trust Derek is unbelievable. No competent person would be expected to trust someone who behaved like this. Derek used force, withheld information, and relied on intimidation to keep Scott ignorant and afraid, dangling a victim in front of the alpha like a worm from a hook.

And fandom’s response is -- well, we like Derek that way! Scott, on the other hand, didn’t listen to the violent loner who lives in his burned-down family home, who secretly buries his sister’s murdered corpse on his property, who picks up teenage girls in his car at parties he wasn’t invited to, and who eavesdrops on teenage boys outside their window, so he’s just so disappointing. And they call him whining because he doesn’t immediately celebrate being turned into a creature that his best friend (and said broody stalker) tells him is a cursed creature of the night filled with blood lust who will most likely kill someone he cares about.

Yet, they also hold him in contempt because -- though intended to be the series’s hero protagonist -- the sixteen-year-old victim of a horrific attack didn’t make the best possible decisions during Episode 2. (Yet, events that happened between six and ten years ago are supposed to excuse every terrible mistake and violent decision the other characters -- who all happen to be white males -- make.) For example, in the Magic Bullet (1x04) Scott is pulled out of bed by gunshots at 2 a.m. (We know this because Allison says it as Chris leaves to go find Kate). He doesn’t actually see who got hit, but he does hear Kate and Chris talking about it. Now he goes home and then goes to school -- only to find Derek present at the end of the school day. Members of the fandom -- in all of its completely fair and not biased at all wisdom -- scorn Scott for not telling someone. Who? It’s two o’clock in the morning! He has school tomorrow! He can’t tell his mother, the sheriff, the school principal, even if he wanted to because, as Derek threatened him “If they find out what you are, they find out about me. About all of us. Then it’s not just hunters after us. It’s everyone.”

They literally consider Scott insanely selfish because in the middle of the night, he didn’t track down the werewolf who was shot and tell him -- even when it could have been the alpha who bit him.

Yet they truly believe that the lesson they were supposed to draw from the first half of Season One was that Scott is a selfish person, instead of Derek’s behavior led people to not being willing to trust him. Think about that.

#teen wolf fandom problems #scott mccall defense squad #fandom racism #scott mccall

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cilldaracailin · 4 years ago

Text

Hammer To Fall

Hello my Tumblr lovelys! And here are those few words I know you hate to hear from me, but this is the last part in this story. :( But don’t be too sad. I have another story in the Robyn and Taron series ready to go and I will be posting the first part here and on my AO3 tomorrow evening and its a good one if I do say so myself but then I am very biased and adore my characters (And Taron) a lot!

Thank you so much to all my new followers *Waves hello*. Nice to meet you all and thanks for being my Tumblr buddy!

Thanks so all who read and click the heart button and comment. Makes me grin like a fool!

Anywhoo, moving on to the story. ( I am Irish and have kissed the Blarney Stone... I am good at talking and was good at it before I kissed the stone and in fact I actually missed the stone so now I am just rambling....... ;) )

“A meaningful apology is one that communicates three R's: regret, responsibility, and remedy.”

Taron quickly jumped over the barrier again and started to walk back towards the make-up trailer, not looking to the crew who stared him down as he moved past them, or even behind to see if Robyn was following him. He felt suddenly felt so ashamed of his behaviour and was disgusted at how he had spoken to Robyn and was mortified and embarrassed at his conduct, taking all of his frustrations with regards to the media out on Robyn, rather than being tactful with his rage and emotions. Reaching the trailer, the door still open, he walked up the steps and inside, hearing Robyn following him and the door closing. Turning around to look at her, hating how his heart thought she looked so beautiful when she was so angry with him, he was even more repulsed with his actions and knew a simple sorry was never going to fix the mess he had made.

“Well?” She asked as she stood with her hands crossed over her chest, her whole stance in defensive mode.

“Have you really been getting calls from parents?” He asked her, afraid of what her answer was going to be. He had no idea the words from the story printed online could have had such an effect on her work and job.

“Yes. It has not been very nice trying to clean up the chaos that the article and comments has left for me.”

“Does Emma really not know that you are here?”

“She really thinks I am at home sick in bed.”

“You really flew here to New York.”

“I needed to have my say.”

“Are you going to lose your job?”

“Not if I can help it. Still have a bit of a fucking disaster to fix. Thought maybe after our talk, it might have been easier, but I guess I will be back to fixing my problems by myself.”

Taron pulled the make-up chair out and turned it around so he could sit on it, facing Robyn who still stood with her hands crossed over her chest. He needed to sit down, his legs were shaking so much.

“You had so much to say yesterday, lost for words now huh?”

“Jesus Robyn.” Taron looked up to her and her features were still stuck in a wonderful beautiful outraged look, her blue eyes so dark in colour.

“You also only have about a minute left.”

“Robyn…”

“You expect me to go easy on you Taron? You want it to be nice and fluffy? For this conversation to go something like ‘Oh Robyn I am so sorry that I jumped to conclusions and made you fly all the way to America to fix my problem for me’ and I will reply ‘Oh Taron, that is ok. Let’s go back to the way things were’. I don’t fucking think so. You have hurt me Taron. Literally stabbed me in the heart with your fucking shit attitude.”

“Robyn…” Taron went to stand up but sat straight back down when she started to speak again.

“You immediately came to the conclusion that because my name was there in black and white, that I had to of been the one who wrote that comment. Let me just say, sure it looked very suspicious and maybe before all of this shit I could have understood why you would have thought it was me but if you had of just called me and spoken to me in a proper tone instead of coming at me with your arrogance. You never even gave me the chance to talk to you properly in a civil manner.”

“I know I should have handled it differently Robyn but I was just so angry and to read those words and have the reporters at my home.”

“And you think it was easy for me to see my name associated with those same words Taron? And then to have my best friend turn around and blame me for writing them? In the time you have known me Taron have you ever heard me use such crude and smutty words? Jesus Taron, I know you and I have crossed boundaries and but I have never spoken with such offensive language.” She watched as Taron couldn’t even look her in the eye, his focus on his hands as he played with them. “And that was just the start of it Taron. You said such horrible hurtful things to me. I was only out to get my name lights and I wanted my fifteen minutes of fame. That I fucked you over, causing so much shit for your family and Lyndsey? That I never cared for you?” Taron’s head fell into his hands as he heard Robyn repeat back what he had said to her and he was so humiliated. “All it would have taken Taron, was for you to call me yesterday and explain to me what was going on and ask me rather than shouting at me, accusing me, finding out if I was ok after what was being written online.”

“I am sorry Robyn.” He said, raking his hands through his hair.

“It’s not enough Taron and I don’t think it will ever be enough.”

Taron looked up to her. “Please don’t say that.”

“Can’t you see how one sided this relationship has become Taron? How you need me so much more than I need you.”

“Robyn please, that is not true.”

“In the beginning maybe but now? I don’t know Taron. I just… You are not the same person to me anymore and after all of this shit? I really don’t know where I stand with you. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Taron was on his feet in seconds and standing beside her. “Robyn, it was a terrible mistake. A stupid fucking mistake where I let my head get too deep into the situation and my emotions run wild, without thinking logically and I know I have fucked up. I know this is my fault, this whole mess and I should have handled it so much better, talked to you properly and waited for Lyndsey before I started all of this shit and I understand that I have really really hurt you so much but please don’t say you can’t trust me again.”

“I have been here before Taron and I have given someone a second chance and I learnt my lesson then. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Robyn…” Taron went to take her hands, but she avoided his and walked around him and down the trailer a bit so there was another gap between them. “The media just fucks with my mind Robyn and I let my own insecurities get to me and when they come for my family, I just don’t handle it well.”

“No shit sherlock but to believe, to truly believe that I would write something like after our conversation Taron. I know how much the media fucks with your head Taron, I was the one who held you tight against me when you had a near anxiety attack in my home. Surely that was enough evidence for you to believe I wouldn’t do something like this, especially when I saw how upset it makes you. Then after our conversation on the beach and the promise we made to each other. You think I was the one who broke it, but it was actually you Taron. You were the one accusing me of not only reading the comments but posting one too. I can support your anxiety Taron and I would always have been there for you with that, but when you attack me with no room for me to protect myself, well that is a different story altogether.” Robyn felt the tears start to drip down her cheeks, exhaustion from lack of sleep and fighting her case finally settling in. “It would have been so easy to avoid all of this. A simple two-way conversation.”

Taron moved closer to her when he saw she was now really upset, his natural instincts to comfort her, but once again she stepped away from him.

“I can’t Taron.”

“Robyn, please.” Taron stepped to her again but she took another step back.

“I can’t.”

They stood at opposite ends of the trailer, Robyn silently crying, Taron’s whole body slumped with defeat.

“I am sorry Robyn.”

“I know but sometimes it’s just not enough.” Robyn sat in the chair that Taron had vacated not moments before, while he took the one that was closest to him and sat on it, his elbows on the counter, his head buried in his hands. His whole body started to shake with soundless sobs and he let his arms cross on the table, his head laying on his arms, ignoring how the position hurt his lower back.

A knock on the door, didn’t even make him lift his head and Matthew opened it and walked up the steps of the trailer, his head poking in the door. “Sorry to interrupt Taron but your phone has been ringing non-stop. It’s Lyndsey. Thought you might like to talk to her.” Matthew hadn’t actually looked into the trailer until he had finished speaking and nearly slipped off the steps and fell backwards when he took in the scene in front of him. The space between the two inside was enough evidence for him to know how bad their chat was going and he placed the phone on the counter and slid it down beside Taron. “I will leave it there for you.” Matthew left the trailer quickly and closed the door, glad to have left the unbelievably tense atmosphere behind.

The vibrations made Taron’s phone make a loud humming noise against the counter and it travelled a little way before he decided to pick it up an answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey Taron.”

“Lyndsey.”

“Would you like some good news?” Taron grunted his reply to her. “Hey what’s with your best impression of a grouch?” She frowned when he didn’t answer her. “Taron?”

“Robyn is here.”

“Robyn is here? What do you mean Robyn is here?”

“In New York.”

“Wait what? Robyn is in New York with you.”

“Yep.”

“Taron what have you done?” She asked him.

“Oh, you really don’t want to know but probably fucked up the best thing I have ever had going for me.” Taron wasn’t bothered by the fact that Robyn could hear his conversation. As far as he was concerned, he couldn’t do anything else worse than he already had. “So, you said you had some good news for me?”

“We found the IP address of the comment and know who posted it. It was from someone in America and I have your legal team already working on it. We will have retraction of the comment within twenty-four hours.” Taron let his head bang hard off the counter, his entire body giving into defeat. “Hey Taron, this is good news. Maybe a little gratitude?”

He couldn’t find his voice. He couldn’t even thank his publicist for sorting the whole mess out. All he could think of was that if he had of waited another day, one more day before he blew his cool, he wouldn’t be feeling so shit about everything right now. If he had of just kept his bloody temper, he would not only have his worries about the comment solved but still the love and trust from his best friend. He didn’t even notice that his phone had been pulled from his hand until he heard Robyn talking to Lyndsey but he was so caught up in his own self-interest and worries, that he wasn’t even listening to the conversation.

Robyn had seen Taron at his worst, when he was physically hurt and bleeding and she was still furious with him but watching his whole-body crumble against the table, her heart broke for him. She got to her feet and took his phone from his hand, answering Lyndsey’s calls of his name.

“Hey Lyndsey, it’s Robyn.”

“Robyn what on earth is going on there? Is Taron ok? Are you ok? Why are you in New York?”

“We are both ok.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Robyn sighed. “Just some shit we have to work through Lyndsey.”

“Robyn…”

“So, you found the person who wrote the comment?” She asked, ignoring Lyndsey’s warning tone. “You can get it taken down?”

“And the picture too.”

“The picture doesn’t bother me but the comment is unfortunate. Lyndsey anyway we can stop others from using my name like that? It has caused me nothing but grief.”

“I am working on it Robyn but I can’t promise anything at all.”

“If you could Lyndsey, I know I would very much appreciate it.”

“Has it caused you a lot of problems?”

“Quite a few. Especially with regards to my work.”

“Taron’s involved in it all too I am sure.”

“Plays a part in it.”

“He sometimes gets a little crazy and I am not trying to defend him Robyn. I just know how his brain works and sometimes he does stupid things without thinking.”

“Well when you hear what he has done, you won’t be too pleased with him.” Robyn heard Taron groan miserably from the table. “Lyndsey, I am going to go. You can call Taron later to explain all of this to him in more detail. Thank you so much for doing what you have done so far for me. I very much appreciate how you are trying to take my name out of it.”

“I will always do my best by you Robyn. I wouldn’t have Taron if it wasn’t for you.”

Robyn ended the call and left the phone beside Taron on the counter. As he rested his head on the table, all she wanted to do was put both her hands in his hair and scratch his head to help take his pain and ache away but she was still mad with him so instead she went back to the chair she had been sitting on.

They were used to sitting in silence with each other, enjoying each other’s company but now the silence was filled with so much hurt from both of them, it was unbearable for Robyn. Taron still had his head on the counter, his arms hung loose by his sides as he sat, and she watched as his back rose and fell with each staggered breath he took, his whole body convulsing every now and again with a long broken silent cry he tried to keep in. He lifted his whole body from the table and raked his hands through his hair, his hands covering his ears, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to catch his breath as some wrenching sobs filled his whole body from head to foot. He made himself take some deep breathes and lay his head back on the table, feeling completely at a loss because the last time he found himself in such a state of panic, Robyn helped him. Now she sat at opposite side of the trailer and she wasn’t even looking at him.

As she sat, she could feel her rage cooling down and all the resentment and flurry of furious emotions start to leave her. She was still unbelievably upset with him and his actions and wished he had of just spoken to her yesterday about everything instead of what he actually did. She stared at his perfect side profile as his forehead rested on the table and hated her heart for reacting with a jump. Everything was so complicated and Taron had made it so much worse but as Robyn’s temper quickly returned to the little dark hole it lived in, she started to try and think like Taron a little and understand why he reacted the way he did. She had never had to live her life in the direct eye of others who constantly judged him and although he conducted himself disgracefully and completely in the wrong way, he was trying to protect his family and himself from any sort of harm. He had told her himself many times when they had been together, that the media was the bane of his life and he would do anything to protect his family and when it came to the press, he lost all train of rational thought. Unfortunately, she had now been at the end of that foolish and unfounded behaviour.

Feeling tears slip down her cheeks, Robyn put her own head into her hands. She couldn’t forgive him for what he had done, the way he had treated to her and spoke to her but she couldn’t walk away from him, even if she threatened to do so. She still loved him terribly. She slowly wheeled her chair over to him so there was only a foot between them, slightly concerned at how upset he was making himself, his body still trembling.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have asked me Taron. You know you can talk to me about anything.” Her voice was quiet and low.

Taron lifted his head an inch off the table so his lay cheek lay on the cool surface instead of his forehead. His body had emptied of all of the energy he had and his head was pounding right at the bridge of his nose and behind his eyes. “I just saw red Robyn. I have no excuse for what I did. I saw the headline, I saw the comment and just lost it. There wasn’t a calm bone in my body that tried to stop me from ringing you and just letting my anger loose on you and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Just to have asked me Taron would have been so easy.”

“Easier than you flying to New York.”

Robyn closed her eyes, trying not to smile. “I needed to give you a bollocking.”

“You did a perfect job.”

“You were so out of line Taron. You have really hurt me, really hurt me. I thought what we had couldn’t have been broken so quickly. I honestly have given you everything I have emotionally Taron. I have taken so many chances and risks for you.” Robyn started to cry a little. “I just don’t know what I am going to do Taron. You honestly think I could write something so disgusting about us?”

Taron lifted his head from the table and turned his chair to face her. He had seen her cry before, but he absolutely hated that he was to blame for the tears now on her cheeks. “I am so sorry Robyn. I know it is not enough, it will never be enough for you and I cannot explain it or myself or my actions. I can only ask that you do not give up on me or walk away from me because that will just…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It will destroy me in so many ways.” Taking a chance, he moved his chair closer to her and reached out his hand to her and though he felt her pull away, their fingertips still touched. “I should have waited until Lyndsey called me back. I should have been a man and listened to my head and not my heart. I should never have spoken to you the way I did, said all those horrible things I said to you. I don’t believe any of them Robyn. I know without a doubt that I am here because of you, that I still owe you everything.” He slipped his hand a little further down hers, so his fingers rested on the inside of her hand. “You were absolutely right about me being selfish and thinking only about myself and how the media will perceive me and my family and it has been that way since we left the 7/11. Sure, I may have rung you to apologise when those nasty comments appeared but it really never occurred to me how much it could further affect you and for your job to now be at risk?” He linked his right hand with her left, relieved that she didn’t pull away this time. “I can help you fix that Robyn. I will make sure to fix it for you. I will get Lyndsey to help you with whatever you need and once this retraction has been made, I will make sure that the media are well aware that you have no connection with anything that is ever written online under your name. I am so sorry for the hurt I have caused you. I sorry for being a complete and utter tosspot.”

She fought so hard not to smile at him, but it was so hard when she could hear the genuine apology in his voice and his offer of help, her lips rose in the smallest of smiles and she reached out to link her other hand with his, feeling Taron grip her fingers extremely tight with hers. “I will not have you ever speak to me like that again, you understand Taron? If you have a problem with me or there is something we need to sort out, we will do it together as we always have in a civil manner with a proper conversation, like two adults. You will never, never ring me in such a rage again accusing me of doing something because I swear to God Taron and on my family’s life, it will be the end of me and you.”

Taron desperately wanted to wipe the tears from her cheeks but didn’t dare take suck a risk when he had only just gotten her to talk to him so gave her hands a little squeeze instead. “I never want to see the hurt and pain in your eyes that I have caused ever again Robyn. I am so so sorry for all of this.”

Taron’s warm hands felt so nice on her cold ones, Robyn inwardly enjoyed the heat from them. “It cannot go back to the way it was either Taron. Not straight away. I haven’t fully forgiven you yet and I am still a little mad at you. We are going to have to work at our friendship and you are going to have to work very hard to build my trust back up again.”

“I will do whatever it is you need me to do Robyn.” Taron spoke quickly.

“The first thing you can do is compose a letter from you with help from Lyndsey and your team that I can email to every parent in my creche to explain the situation and what has happened and how it was not me and that my name, which has been associated with this comment, has nothing to actually do with me. I need some serious damage control back home.”

“It is done. I will call Lyndsey and get it done today and send it to you so you will have it by tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.” Robyn took her hands from his and scrubbed at her eyes, trying to wipe falling tears away. “I need to get this mess sorted as quick as possible.”

Taron took her hands again and was so glad that she didn’t pull away from him once again, even allowing him to rub his thumbs over her knuckles. “You really flew all the way to New York to bollock me?” He asked her quietly.

“Couldn’t quite get you on the phone.”

Taron looked away from her face, still feeling such shame for his actions. “When do you have to fly home?”

“Nine tonight.”

Taron let go of her right hand and picked up his phone from the counter. It was just before four in the afternoon. He looked back to Robyn. “You actually came here for less than four hours to talk to me?”

“No, I came here to call you out for your shitty behaviour.”

Even though Taron knew Robyn was speaking to him, her words and body language clearly showed him that she was still completely pissed off with him, even if she let him hold her hands. “Robyn, I just… I have no words for you. I can’t even comprehend what I have put you through but I feel like I do need to say some sort of thank you for coming here to sort me out.”

“I came here for me Taron, not for you. I will never let anyone accuse me of something I haven’t done, especially even more so when they won’t let me defend myself.”

Closing his eyes, Taron lowered his head to his chest. He felt like an absolute fool. Robyn had been nothing but a friend to him and he had pushed her under a bus without a second thought. He really had never met a woman like her, who had given her all to help him and although he was completely ashamed and disgusted with his behaviour, he was glad he had a woman in his life, apart from his mother who was ready to reprimand him for this stupid actions and behaviour. It just stung him so much that his normal jolly Robyn was no where to be found in front of him. Letting go of her hands, he used his own to cover his face, so she couldn’t see the guilt in his eyes and the tears roll down his cheeks. He scratched at his face, raking his fingertips down his cheeks before covering his whole face again but he felt his hands being taken.

“You are going to hurt yourself.” Robyn’s voice was so soft and almost a whisper. “Promise me you will never do something like this again and if you are angry at something the media has said that you will talk to me. You cannot behave like this again Taron. I have a feeling that there are going to be so many more of these comments and posts, and you cannot react to each one in this way. I cannot fly across an ocean each time I need to give out to you. You need to call me. It is ok to be angry but make sure you are angry at the right people, not those who love you so much even though you are a fucking…”

“Tosspot.” Finished Taron. “I will and always will.” He looked up to her and sighed glimpsing at last a hint of love that he was used to seeing when he looked at her in her eyes. He closed his own as she raised her right hand to brush a finger down his left cheek, his whole body freezing and his breath hitching as the trail of her finger blazed with fire on his skin.

“You have scratched yourself.” She said simply.

“I don’t care.” He replied, taking her hand from his face. “I am sorry.”

“I know.”

“Robyn, I am really sorry and I promise.”

“I know Taron.” She held his hands in hers, and watched as his eyes, now back to their beautiful green colour, searched hers. “I know.” She repeated.

“Did you bring anything with you?” He asked. “Do you have a coat? Your hands are so cold.”

“I have nothing Taron. I literally came with myself, passport, phone and my debit card and my hands are always cold.”

Taron frowned a little. “I know but they are freezing cold and not just Robyn cold.” He placed both her hands together before moving his own in a backwards and forwards motion on hers to rub some heat into them. “I can get you a coat. It is cold in New York.”

She tried not to show it, but she enjoyed how Taron tried to generate some heat into her hands. Now sitting in the make up trailer with her adrenaline gone, she realised how cold New York actually was and she shivered a little. “You are just in a suit.”

“But I get wrapped in a big fluffy coat in-between takes Robyn.”

She smiled a little. “I like your suit.”

“Better than my midnight blue one?” He asked holding his hands still against hers for a moment before starting to stroke hers again.

“No. That was a fucking spectacular suit.” Robyn did her best with a Scottish accent, enjoying the small laugh Taron gave. “You look good, if not tired and I know you have a headache.”

Taron stared at her. She always could read him so well. “I have no excuses for how I look and the headache is my own fault.” Taron stopped rubbing her hands and linked their fingers again. “I will get something from the medical tent for my head.” Robyn resisted every urge to take her hands from his and reach forward into his hair to scratch his head for him, suddenly desperate to help lift his pounding headache. “And I am going to get you a coat too. You are going to freeze.”

“Thanks.”

“We are going to ok right Robyn?” He asked her so quietly, his eyes searching the floor and couldn’t help the obvious sigh of relief as he felt her right hand on his left cheek, the cold of her palm seeping into his skin and it felt so wonderful. He immediately nuzzled deeper into her hand, trying to steal any sort of comfort from her that she was willing to give him. He placed his hand on hers, keeping the connection on his face, making sure she wouldn’t move her hand too quickly away from him.

“With time Taron.” She gently stroked his cheek. “We will be ok with time.”

The door of the make up trailer opened and Matthew walked up the steps and into the trailer. “Sorry Taron. I have been knocking.” He felt his own relief as he took in the scene in front of him, so glad to see that the atmosphere was clearer, the two looking much more comfortable with each other. “Lunch is over and we need to get started on this scene. I really need to get it done before the light fades.”

Turning his head, Robyn’s hand falling from his face, Taron looked to Matthew. “Yeah sure of course. I will be right there.”

“Robyn is more than welcome to come and watch, as along as she doesn’t try to re-write my script for me. Though I must say, I wish that had of been scripted and I needed a serious confrontation scene because it was epic. Also, I picked up all of these for you.” Matthew took another step into the trailer and placed the yellow post-its on the counter. “Just in case you wanted them. You have two minutes Taron and for one of those Stephanie will be in here to fix up your make up.”

“Thanks Matthew.” Replied Taron, though was inside was cringing a little when his friend and director described the bollocking that Robyn gave him as epic.

The door of the trailer closed and Taron turned to look at Robyn. “You brought my post-its with you.”

“Dramatic effect.” She said simply shrugging her shoulders.

Taron reached over for the post-its. “You want these?” He asked her.

“Please. I will put them back in my scrap book.” Robyn took them from his hands and put them back in her pockets of her hoodie.

The door of the trailer opened and a petite lady with brown hair in a bob walked in. “Taron, heard you need a top up?”

“Please Stephanie. This is my friend, Robyn.”

“Nice to meet you.” The two women shook hands and Robyn went to stand up but Stephanie shook her head. “You can stay where you are Robyn. I am going to stand. Right Taron, let’s have a look.”

The make-up artist, pushed Taron’s chair back a bit so she could stand in front of him and with her hand under his chin, moved his head to check his face. “What did you do to yourself?” She asked him deciding he needed a complete overhaul and fresh face. “You have a scratch on your cheek.”

“Caught myself with a fingernail.” He answered.

“Gonna have to try and cover it Taron.”

“Whatever you need to do Stephanie.”

With quick professional movements, she cleaned Taron’s face of the smudged make up first, wiping the scratch with a cotton wool pad, before she quickly applied the required make up needed for the scene, adding a little extra to hide the redness from the scratch on his cheek and under his eyes. Robyn watched on a little intrigued. She knew he had to wear make-up on set but it was strange watching it being brushed and sponged onto his face and she got a little kick out of it. It took Stephanie about two minutes to get Taron prepped for the scene, fixing his hair into the slicked back Eggsy look with some hairspray and she stood back once she was finished.

“All done and you are good to go.”

“Thanks Stephanie.” Taron stood up and picked up his Eggsy glasses and phone and handed his phone to Robyn. “Would you mind this for me?” He asked her.

“Of course.” Robyn took the phone and followed Taron out of the trailer but stopped once he was down the steps and outside the trailer. He turned around to face her.

“Thanks for coming to sort me out. I needed it. Really needed it. I was a complete arsehole to you Robyn. You didn’t deserve any of what I did and I will swear to keep my promise and make sure that I talk to you and talk to you properly and only with the upmost respect and love that I have for you.” With a step closer to her, Taron placed a quick kiss on her forehead and then turned away from her and with a jog back towards the steps of the park where Matthew and his co-star were waiting for him, ignoring how his head was still pounding, feeling nothing but relief that he and Robyn were on speaking terms again and she had willingly given him a little bit of the comfort he craved.

Now that Taron was no longer in her presence, Robyn felt at a bit of a loss standing behind the scenes on a movie set after storming her way in and making a huge spectacle of confronting Taron on the steps of Bryant Park, in front of the whole crew and cast. She looked down to the ground, feeling a little embarrassed as she could feel many pairs of eyes staring at her. She had been absolutely set in her ways of coming to New York to take Taron to task for his behaviour and although it was still a tense between them, their issues had been talked through a little and she felt a lot better that she got to help him see sense about the whole situation but now that that was done, she realised that everyone had heard every word she had said to Taron and she knew they were a whole lot of people judging her for her own behaviour, even if she felt she was right to confront Taron. She didn’t know what do to now or where to go and looked at Taron’s phone in her hand, swiping the screen saw that it was just after four. She needed to be back at JFK by six to make her flight home, so she had about an hour before she needed to hail a cab to take her to the airport. She swiped the screen again and even though she didn’t want to, she found herself smiling at the picture Taron now had as his lock screen, one of her and him together at Elton’s, both smiling as Taron took the selfie, both of the wearing the same goofy grin on their face.

“Robyn?” He attention was taken from the picture as Matthew walked over to her and in his hands, he carried a large black coat. “Taron told me you needed a coat. You want to use this one that he has been wearing? We don’t actually have another one set.”

“He will need it.”

“He told me you would say that but he is going to be busy filming these scenes on the steps for a while. It’s a quick little fight sequence. It will keep him warm. You take the coat.”

Stepped closer to Matthew, Robyn turned so she could slip her hands into the fleece lined coat, pulling the sleeves up as they were too long for her hands. It felt so snuggly and warm inside and as she fixed the hood and collar, she inhaled, smiling as that all too familiar scent of Taron filled her senses. She turned back around to him. “Thank you. Erm, I am sorry for all the commotion on the steps Matthew. Really sorry. I kind of just barged onto your expensive movie set and took over and let rip and probably ruined thousands of pounds worth of tape or equipment as well as wasting precious filming time. I know your schedule has been so tight especially ‘cos you had to move the whole process because of what happened to Taron but I am just really sorry. Probably not the best time and place but he really pissed me off and he needed to know it.”

Matthew grinned. “Nothing like a woman to put a man in his place and no need to say sorry. I knew something was wrong yesterday and even more so today when Taron stepped on set and screwed up every take. Granted probably not the best place for an argument on the steps of a park in New York city.”

“Oh Jesus, it is going to be all over the news now.”

“Don’t worry Robyn. Completely closed set and everyone has already signed a non-disclosure agreement.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t exactly using a whispered voice. I am sure it travelled down the steps.”

“Hey we are filming a movie. It could have been part of the scene.”

“And me rushing away from the set. Oh, dear God, I have just caused so much more mess for us.”

Matthew took a step closer to her watching as she started to fret. “Hey now. Let’s not start that worrying ok? Like I said, it is a closed set and we are filming in New York on one of the busiest streets. It is really loud here and I doubt anyone heard. Sure, you were angry but you weren’t that loud.” Matthew watched as the young woman in front of him paled. He had complete and utter respect for her, for what she did and very much approved of Taron’s choice of his newest love interest, even if she didn’t realise just yet how her actions showed how much she loved him too. “Hey Robyn, don’t over think it ok? There was a reason you flew all the way here to talk to him and as far as I can tell, a lot of shit has been sorted right?” Robyn nodded. “Ok well look when the filming day is done, you know Taron will be on the phone to Lyndsey to talk to her about this and if you are photographed together, they can say you came to visit him. It’s Christmas in New York. It is easy to make up a story of Taron inviting you out to New York to soak up the atmosphere.”

“Yeah I guess.”

“Let me put it this way, would you rather be photographed here with him and have the shit sorted, or still be at home still furious with him.”

“I would much rather be there.”

Matthew smiled. “Well then, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves ok? I know he can be a pain in the arse and be absolutely frustrating as hell, but deep down he would do anything for you and loves you more than you actually know. Right now, sure it might not look like it, but he does. He will sort it out just like he will sort out whatever else he promised you. So why don’t you come and have a look at the magic of movie making with me. We can watch Taron in action.”

“Yeah alright.”

Robyn followed Matthew to where she had met him first and stood behind the monitor. He called out a few directions to the actors and camera crew and once everyone was in place and knew where they were starting from, he shouted action, the scene on the steps finally playing out the way he wanted it.

It was a treat watching Taron work and although it did spoil a little bit of the movie magic, it was interesting to see how the scene was filmed and she enjoyed watching Taron hit every mark in perfect sync with his co-star. She felt herself gasp a few times as Taron’s character took a few hits, even though she knew it wasn’t real, it really looked like he had been punched in the stomach a few times as well as his face. The hour flew by and she knew Matthew was delighted with the scenes he had captured as he fist pumped the air and laughed and high fived his assistant when he yelled cut.

“That is what I am fucking talking about!” He turned to look at Robyn. “Can you please stay for the entire schedule of the movie to give Taron a good old tongue lashing before he films a scene. Haven’t had a string of scenes run so smoothly in two days.”

Robyn smiled a little. “If it is ok with you, the next time I come and visit him will be for a different reason. I don’t ever want a repeat of today. Also is there any way I can get a hold of Taron quickly please. I need to get back to the airport.”

“Wait you are going back home?” Asked Matthew.

“Yeah. My flight is at nine tonight. I have to be work tomorrow morning at nine thirty.”

“You really only came to talk to him.”

“Yep. Is it ok to take him away for five minutes? Just to say bye.”

“Yeah of course. I will get him.”

Robyn stood as she was behind the monitor, the crew busy running around her and she still really felt out of place, so she stood quietly waiting.

“Robyn!” Taron ran up to her, a little sheen on his face from the effort of acting out his hand to hand combat. “Matthew told me you need to go.”

“Yeah Taron, I have to get back to JFK and there is going to be a lot of traffic.”

He reached for her right hand and linking his left fingers with hers, guided her to a quieter part of the set, where there wasn’t as much activity and they were slightly hidden between two tents. Once he was happy that they had a little bit of privacy he turned to her. “I won’t ask you to stay because I know you can’t, even though I would give anything to have more time with you, just a night.” He slipped his other hand into her free one. “I will do everything and more to fix this Robyn and to stop it from happening again and I will email that letter onto you this evening, once I finish filming, asking my team to help me. I know I have let you down and I know I have hurt you and there is nothing else I can say to explain my actions. I can only offer another apology to you and hope someday you can forgive me for what I have done. I will keep my promise to talk to you as we have always done and not to over react in such a disgraceful manner. I can only hope that in time we can be as close as we were.” Taron let go of her left hand and brushed some strands of her hair that had come lose from her pony tail away. He fixed them behind her ear, lightly touching the hoop ear ring in her cartilage piercing. Last time he saw her it was a small round white diamond. His eyes wandered to her tragus piercing, smiling to see that the jewellery he had bought her was still in her ear. He then looked to her high pony and let his fingers run through the long strands, keeping some in between in thumb and index finger. “Robyn…”

“Hmmm.” She had her eyes on him the whole time, enjoying how he was trying to waste some time by playing with her hair.

“Did you dye your hair pink?”

For the first time she arrived in New York a genuine smile filled her lips. “Maybe. Just a little bit.”

“When did you do this?” He asked looking down to her, a grin finding his lips when he saw one on hers. He didn’t think he would see her smile before she left him and it was such a beautiful sight to see.

“A few weeks ago.”

“Is this because of the hair chalk?” He asked her, pulling the inch of pink hair from her pony tail.

“Possibly. When we were talking about it, I decided to just do it again.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks Taron.”

He brought his attention back to her face and smiled a little sadly. “You have to go.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Robyn?” Asked Taron.

“Yeah?”

“Can I hug you?”

It was a sentence she never thought Taron would ever have to ask her, as he generally just pulled her close for a hug when he felt like it but now he was asking her permission and that hurt her so much more than the pain he had caused from his phone calls and anger towards her. His voice sounded so sad and tentative, his whole body almost curling into itself after he had asked, ready for her rejection.

Without a second thought, she shrugged the big black coat from her body and almost flung herself at him, glad he was able to keep his balance and the two of them standing, his two arms squeezing her tight against him, as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his going round her waist. He buried his head into her neck, his cheek resting against soft skin that was warm and inviting. He really didn’t think she was going to say yes when he asked for a hug, and moved one hand to back of her head to squish her a little deeper under his chin, giving everything he had to the hug. He closed his eyes tight and sighed when he felt her fingers dip into the hair as his bottom of his head, enjoying as she gently ran her finger tips in soothing circles. He never thought he was going to feel this close to her so soon after everything that happened and every part of his body was tingling.

Robyn loved it when Taron tucked her under his chin and adored the little sigh she heard from him as she started to massage the nape of his neck. However discouraged she was by his stubborn mindset, she would never be able to refuse a hug from him, especially when he had been so honest about his intentions and promise to do his best rather than promising not to do it again. It was an answer she respected so much more than a promise that would have been too hard to keep. They were bound to have their disagreements in the future, but she knew Taron would definitely think before he spoke the next time. She moved her head a little so she could rest it over his heart, hearing it race under her ear, loving how he tried to hold her even closer to his body. With the coat off, she could feel the chill from the late afternoon air but Taron was his usually warm self and his body heat felt wonderful against her, even a little warmer due to the exertion of the scene he was just filming.

“Thank you for my hug.” He whispered into her neck, placing a small kiss on her skin. “Thanks for knocking some sense back into my head too.” He moved a little away from her but kept his arms around her. “I am sorry.” He said in the quietest voice, the words filled with every positive emotion he could find. “And I love you.” He added, dipping his head to kiss her cheek. He lingered a little with the kiss before standing up straight.

Robyn moved her hands from around his shoulders and to his face. She put a little gentle pressure on his cheeks to make him dip his head down. “Don’t you ever, ever treat me like that again.” She stood on her toes, leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead. “And I love you too.” She replied just as quiet.

It was another tight hug that conveyed enough for them to know that although the air was clear, a lot more needed to be said between the pair when they had more time.

Taron gave her one last squeeze and then let her go. He reached down behind her and picked up the coat. “Bring this with you. It is still really cold and you can use it to sleep with on the plane home.”

Robyn accepted the coat and gladly put it back on, missing the warmth Taron’s body provided her. “You won’t need it?” She asked him as she took his phone from one of the pockets.

“Nah. I think Matthew is going to keep me pretty busy for the rest of the day. I have quite a bit of filming to catch up on.”

“Thank you.” She handed him his phone. “I had better go.”

“Yeah I know. I can walk you to the barriers, help you with the cab.”

“I got it Taron but thanks. You head back to Matthew.”

“Please text me when you are on the plane. I won’t be able to answer it straight away but I will as soon as I can and I will call you once I have sent the email.”

“Ok Taron. So, I will talk to you later?”

“Yeah you will.” Taron had almost called her ‘chicken’ but stopped himself, knowing it was not the right place or time or if that nickname would ever even come back into play. “Have a safe flight.”

Robyn turned and walked away from him, coming out of their little hiding place and making her way through the all the gear, wires, boxes and crew to head back towards the barriers. Even with their hug, their parting was a little strained and awkward and she sighed as she ducked under the barrier to leave the set and mingle in the crowd walking down sixth avenue. They had an understanding between each other and she knew Taron was completely shook by her appearance in New York and the way she had approached him. She didn’t know how it was all going to play out and she had no plan in her mind except to challenge Taron. What she did know was that she was glad he had actually listened to her and listened to her properly, finally understanding how he wasn’t the only one affected by what the media said about them. She was so grateful for Lyndsey and her quick response to the story and was so glad there was going to be a positive outcome for her and her work. A statement from Taron himself circulating to all of the parents would take the heat from her. She stood at the corner of sixth and thirty-fifth street and held her hand out to hail a cab, one stopping immediately. She opened the door and got in greeting the driver.

“JFK Terminal five please.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks.”

Robyn sat back in the car, snuggling into the coat Taron had given her. She closed her eyes and sighed. One thing she knew and knew for certain was that Taron Egerton was playing mayhem with her emotions and when she left JFK four hours ago she was absolutely sickened by him, but now as she made her way back, she found herself tingling with the usual spark that always appeared when she thought about him. The next time they met up would be a serious test for them and it would either bring them even closer together or push them further apart and away from each other.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Hurt #Angst #Sadness #Tears #Crying #Distrust #Emotional Hurt #Feelings #Love #Promises #Hug #Robyn and Taron

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walkerduchess · 5 years ago

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A Game of Hearts - Chapter Ten: Split (The Royal Romance AU)

Pairing: Drake x MC [Liam x MC]

Notes: Again I took too long whith this chapter, sorry. The next should be out faster since I’m off from work for the next 10 days. No flashbacks in this one because SO MUCH HAPPENS. I hope you like it, and if you read, please tell me what you think!

I do not own these characters, they belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: Princess Sapphire’s secrets still hangs between her and Drake, while tensions are rising in the kingdom she’s left.

Word Count: 4579

Tagging: I’m tagging everyone who asked me to. If you want in or out the list just let me know! @confessionsofabrokegirl, @museofbooks, @stopforamoment, @annekebbphotography, @queenodysseia , @drakewalkerisreal

Chapter Ten: Split

His eyes search hers, his lips slightly parted, awaiting for her to say something.

It is a foreign feeling, at least for the princess, to look into someone’s eyes and finding oneself recognized in them. It’s a sentiment similar to that she had upon meeting Hana again, after all those years. It’s alluring and overwhelming at the same time. Her breathing is uneven, and she gives him a small, careful nod.

“How?” He breathes out, “why-- what are you doing here?” His rushed words register the turmoil inside his brain, where a multitude of questions scream at the same time.

She opens her mouth but she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dropped all of these questions on you.” Drake says, uncharacteristically soft. “It’s just…” he seems to search for the right words, “you were gone.” His voice doesn’t sound accusing, but rather pained.

Elia doesn’t have to ask to know what he means. She used to see him every morning at sword class and then her father decided she didn’t need further lessons. Without even a chance to say goodbye, she simply never went back.

“I know,” when she finally speaks, her voice is weak, “I was forced to--”

“I asked Max about you,” he blurts out before she can end her sentence, “he… he never gave me direct answers and kept changing the subject, so one day I... stopped asking.” His gaze shifted from her to the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” the woman begins, but she knows she cannot give him the truth. She tries to dismiss the thought, a futile attempt in waving away the irrefutable conclusion - a decision, made deep in her conscience, to disclose to this man only the part of her that is easy to accept, the part of her he used to like once, that doesn’t involve any title with a bigger meaning such as Promised Princess or Builder, instead is simple as… Elia. Her face falls and her features turn somber as she speaks words that, despite being true, don’t really give anything away, “some very complicated family things.”

“I gathered it was something like that,” he looks up at her, eyes sympathetic yet clearly waiting for further explanation.

She can only look away, biting her lower lip. It’s not that she doesn’t want to trust him, she simply can’t. Instead, she chooses to change the focus, just a little bit. “I asked about you, too,” she speaks truthfully. At the beginning, every time she’d see Liam, the princess would ask about Drake. Of course she asked as if it was nothing, for she had way too much pride in her pre-teen years - not that it has ever gone away - to admit how much she cared. And she cared a lot. As the years went by, time took him away from her mind for days, then turned it into weeks and even months and years in a row. But she never truly forgot him. And, she realizes now, she also never really stopped caring.

He gives her a small smile, that don’t reach his eyes. She responds with a similar one. They gaze at each other for a while, only the crackling sounds of the fire breaking the silence between them. It’s comfortable, however Elia starts to fear he may ask more questions if they stay there longer, or worse, she fears she might spill it all out just from staring into the abyss held within his dark eyes.

“I better go to sleep,” she gestures at the tent behind them, her voice breaking the moment, “you can wake me or Jonah when you’re tired.”

Drake watches her make her way into her tent and mutters a quiet “good night.”

The Council room is large, yet right now it’s almost claustrophobic, with the voices inside higher than usual, most of them resonating at the same time. Liam closes his eyes and rubs his temples, his elbows resting on the big wooden table. He is exhausted. Even in the few nights he was able to get a good sleep, he’d still wake up feeling drained.

The prince spent the past month in a lethargic state. For the first time in his life, his future isn’t laid out in front of him. He doesn’t know what to do really. He repeats to himself, day after day, that he needs to stay strong for his people. That he can do. He chooses to focus on that, instead of thinking Sophie is gone, and now Drake, too. He couldn’t even tell his best friend he didn’t need to go searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found - again, Liam remembers with a pang of guilt - because Sophie asked him not to tell anyone.

Council meetings have been held daily since Sophie left, to no avail. The Promised Princess was still missing, the war was still happening and everyone in the kingdom seemed to be distressed. The holders clearly don’t know what to do, only repeating the same questions, concerns, search parties’ updates and any other futile idea to solve the situation. At the beginning, Liam felt bad. He knew the princess wasn’t kidnapped but he had to respect her wishes. He can’t say he hasn’t entertained the idea of telling the truth, many times. But something in his heart keeps telling him Sophie must have a very good reason for not wanting people to know she left willingly. She must have a marvelous reason for leaving. Liam is afraid to let himself think otherwise.

“Prince William?” The voice makes him open his eyes to find Lord Hakim glaring at him through his glasses.

“Yes?” He forces a casual tone, straightening up in his chair.

“I just said,” the man’s large shoulders tense and he exhales before continuing, “there is word of a traitor in the South’s army. Other than the Builder, that is.”

“The Builder is likely out of the picture,” Lady Olivia speaks up, “it’s been about a year since their army last showed new weaponry.”

“That does not mean--” Lord Bertrand tries to cut in but Liv is not having any of it.

“Besides,” the red haired woman speaks the word louder, shooting daggers at Bertrand with her eyes, “the odds shifted in our favour again. I say it’s time to attack with full force. I could send resources--”

“Thank you for your assessment, Lady Olivia.” King Brandon stops her war talk, to which she frowns but shortly lets go. “But we are, in no way, attacking our enemy while they have Princess Sapphire.”

The king’s words are cold, but there’s a hint of new moisture in his eyes that doesn’t get past Liam. King Brandon was never the same after Queen Aurora died, everybody knows that. He became somewhat smaller and grimmer. Now, after Sophie left, he only leaves his chambers to go to Council meetings. And even then, it’s as if he’s lost his strength.

“Please, Lord Hakim,” the prince decides to get to the point, at last, “tell us what you know about this traitor.”

Lord Hakim clears his throat then, “My spies reported they heard some talk from the South’s soldiers. They call their commander ‘The Cordonian’ and also mentioned that he is ‘no stranger to castle life’.”

“That could be anyone,” Olivia speaks again, “a guard, a servant…”

“Or a holder,” Hakim adds cautiously.

“What are you implying, Lord Hakim?” King Brandon asks in what seems an unpretentious manner, yet his full attention is turned to the man.

Hakim brings one of his hands to adjust the glasses in his face, “I am just saying,” he speaks hesitantly, “we should take into consideration that Prince Leonard has been gone for eight years, and we are all familiar with his rebellious attitude--”

“Not this again!” Former king Constantine exhales, letting his annoyance show. “We have absolutely no evidence of Prince Leonard’s whereabouts, and therefore no reason to make these assumptions.” The tinge of worry in his voice probably goes unnoticed by every other person in the room, but not to Liam. He knows his father all too well and he knows that, despite all the criticism and dismissiveness when it comes to his eldest son, Constantine loves and misses Leo. Entertaining the idea that Leo could betray his kingdom is painless compared to an infinitely more terrifying one - the idea that Leo could betray his own family. Liam can’t believe this either. He won’t.

“Well,” Lord Landon is the one to speak this time, “Prince Leonard has had exceptional war training his whole life, so it would not be a stretch to say he could become the command--”

“No.” Liam’s voice comes out strong and even, and before he can realize it. The prince is often quiet during the council’s meetings, especially lately, so all eyes turn to him after he speaks. After a brief moment, he sighs, standing up. “My brother has always been… impulsive. But he is a good man. I will not have we defining him a traitor,” his voice is commanding, in that tone the prince knows very well how to but almost never uses. The holders will acquiesce to whatever he says, yet they will be very much aware of how biased he is, so he adds, “not without clear evidence.” He sits down again, closing the matter.

Elia wakes with a light tap on her shoulder. The sky is already lightning up and Jonah is mumbling something to her about going to sleep before he disappears to his tent.

The young woman sits up and stretches, quietly so not to wake the girl sleeping next to her. They’ve been putting up three improvised tents every evening now: one for her and Nora, one for Jonah and Elliot and one for Drake. The sheets she brought aren’t big, so they don’t have much space in the tents, but since Elliot and Nora are small, they can share with someone else without preventing a good sleep.

Stepping outside, Elia proceeds to inspect the leftovers of their meal from the past evening - boiled potatoes and chicken - to see if they can still have it for breakfast. They’re cold, so she manages to light up some branches that have fallen out of the fire the night before to heat the food.

She sits while she waits, humming some made-up melody to herself in an attempt to push Drake-thoughts out of her brain. She focuses on the bright side of things: the Device is finished - thankfully she did it before Drake arrived, with the help of the children -, they have no shortage of food and water, and they’re advancing South.

As if she can’t get the man out of her mind for five minutes, Drake emerges out of his tent and promptly joins her. “Good morning,” he declares, voice hoarse from sleep.

Before her mind can make sense of it, she catches herself smiling at him.

“So you can finally light a fire,” he gives her a side look, the ends of his mouth perking up, “if I keep successfully teaching you things, soon enough I’m going to be sparring you in the field instead of Jonah.”

Elia smiles, joining his tone, “yeah, and I might even beat you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now.”

“Hey!” She gives him a light punch in the shoulder, “I did beat you.”

“Once. Over a decade ago. It doesn’t count,” his voice sounds different somehow, lighter. His smile isn’t big, yet it’s contagious nonetheless, and she can’t help but smile too.

Soon enough her smile changes into a wistful one. He remembers too. She hugs both her legs in front of her, resting her head in her knees, face turned to Drake. She wants to say how much she misses those simpler times, however she keeps the thought to herself.

Drake’s smile slowly fades and the princess sees one of his hands twitch slightly towards her, as if he is struggling with himself whether to touch her or not. “Why did you leave?” He finally asks, voice a little lower than before.

His eyebrows are knitted together and his face looks somewhat troubled, in a way that makes it almost physically painful to deny him the answer. But she won’t tell him, so she shifts her head, positioning her forehead in her knees so that she doesn’t have to look at him.

Elia swallows, searching her mind for the right words, but there are none.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened but,” he speaks again and she feels his hand settling on top of hers, between them, “I’m here.”

The princess brings her head up to stare at him again, “I want to, I just…” And it’s true, and she has to make a huge effort to remember why, for his touch on her skin has fogged her mind. “I can’t now.”

His gaze is almost pained, as if it hurt him to leave her alone with her burdens. She holds it, however, in a way of asserting how certain and strong she is, despite how much his eyes burn through hers right into her soul. He takes a moment before speaking again, nodding shortly, “alright.”

Lord Bertrand massages each one of his temples with two fingers with his eyes closed, trying to make his headache go away. When the car stops, he barely acknowledges the “good evening” his driver wishes him, jumping out of the car in a hurry to finally have a good bath and then sleep. He didn’t really need a car, for Thorngate Castle is hardly ten minutes by foot away from Ramsford Castle, but Bertrand isn’t one to walk as if he were a youngster.

Climbing up the stairs, he wills his mind to stop worrying with problems he cannot solve - at least for today - and, especially, wondering what consequences will come upon them all if Sapphire isn’t found soon. It’s been long years since he held a close relationship with his cousin, yet he can’t help but worry about her wellbeing. Of course, Bertrand will not show this weakness, instead he can very well put on the façade that his concern is only for the fate of his kingdom. Besides, his brother is mournful enough for both of them.

Upon remembering his brother, the older man makes his way to Max’s chambers, meaning to check how the tasks he left for him in the morning went. Bertrand usually sticks to his manners, but he doesn’t have enough patience for it tonight, and definitely not with Max. Therefore, he simply barges in through his brother’s doors, in time to see him standing by an open bag, already filled with clothes and some other belongings.

Bertrand’s expression turns confused, “where are you going?”

The younger man turns to him, a bitter look in his eyes, not unlike the one he has ever since his parents died, but this one just looks… defeated. “Away,” he snarls.

“What does that even mean, Maxwell?” Bertrand runs a hand through his face, “It’s certainly too late and it’s been a hard day, so if you could not pull one of your pranks--”

“I’m not a child!” Max interrupts, almost yelling.

It leaves Bertrand brother gaping, thinking for sure something must have snapped inside his younger brother, for he has never in his life spoken with such rage and firmness.

“And you needn’t worry,” Max continues, in a calmer tone, even though his face remains in a scowl, as he turns his attention back to the bag on the floor and begins tying it closed, “I won’t be bothering you or smearing our family’s reputation.”

Bertrand just stands there, pathetically so, while his brother puts the bag in his shoulders, brushes past him in the door and proceeds down the stairs.

The front door shutting startles him, bringing him out of his stupor, and before he knows he is running - the Lord Bertrand running, and he is glad there’s no one but a servant to see it - down the stairs and out the front doors.

“Wait!” He calls when he sees Max struggling to place his bag inside a car outside, aided by the driver, his voice above the appropriate volume, “Maxwell! Wait!”

He stops in a halt beside the car, breathing hard and placing a hand in his chest in an attempt to dull the ache in his lungs.

Max turns to him, “yes?” He’s got the same cold, bitter tone from before.

“Are you leaving? Where to? Why?”

The younger man’s expression softens a little. “Sorry, brother. I made up my mind. There’s nothing for me here.”

Bertrand still doesn’t understand. “Is this about Sophie?”

Max sighs, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. It’s not just Sophie, it’s mum and dad, it’s Leo, Sav, and even Drake now. They’re all gone!

“You have me!” Bertrand yells, not knowing where this came from. But, as he finishes saying it he realizes… it’s true. He does want Max to be with him.

“You have your duties and your council. I won’t drag you backwards anymore.” With a last, somewhat sorrowful glance, the younger brother gets in the car and shuts the door.

It feels like being slapped in the face. Before he can even say anything, the car starts to pull away. “Max!” He screams after the car, pitifully hoping it would turn back around. “Max!”

A week has passed, and Drake’s been nothing but understanding. Elia would never have guessed, in a million lifetimes, that the suspicious and stubborn boy she used to be friends with would give her space instead of pressing her to tell him everything. She doesn’t think he would act this way before he knew she is Elia. The notion of it brings a painful twinge to her heart. Drake is actively choosing to trust her, and yet she won’t do the same for him.

Which is not to say their relationship hasn’t changed. They exchange smiles often, talk more - sometimes even about people they both used to know - and of course, tease each other all the time. It's one of the times like these - when they’ve just eaten and are getting ready to resume travel, talking casually - when he asks, “have you been wandering for long?”

It catches the princess by surprise, because in this moment, in the softness of early morning, she’s let her guard down. A heavy weight settles in her gut again, yet she can’t tell if it’s from guilt or another, more primal feeling that climbs up her throat and threatens to spill from her mouth - betrayal. It causes her eyes to go wide, looking into his for ulterior motives, any hidden wickedness to show how he’s been out to get her this whole time, but the only thing she can find there is care.

He must have noticed her starting to retreat back into herself, for with one step he is close, so close to her and his hand finds hers. “Elia…” His eyes search hers, in a desperate and silent plead. “I don’t know what happened,” he uses his other hand to brush a strand of light-brown hair behind her ear and cups the exposed skin of her cheek, “but you can tell me.”

Her mind screams at her to flee, to not give in to the warm feeling spreading from where his hands touch her. For a second, she listens to it, pressing her free hand to his chest in order to push him away, but, before she can realize it, something switches inside of her and she uses no force, instead just rests her hand above his heart.

Standing close, like this, she has to bend her head up to look at him, his gaze soft and bare just inches away. Elia notes the distinctive movement of him reaching down, incredibly slowly, and she doesn’t really have to think to know what happens next. His lips are inviting, so is all of him, yet in a flash of better judgement she holds back.

“You’re right,” it comes out in a whisper since their faces are less than a breath apart.

Drake knits his eyebrows and she takes it as an opportunity to leave his embrace. Elia takes a deep breath before continuing, “I have to show you something.”

She can’t be sure whether she’s completely out of her mind or simply making a bold move. A leap of faith, like people from before would say. She has to tell Drake or she’ll go insane, she tells herself to soothe her nerves while she fetches the Device from the inside of her bag. The children watch, apprehensive and without saying a word. Maybe she is, indeed, crazy.

When she places the heavy yet compact mechanism, carefully, in the ground, Drake stares at it for a while, looking as concerned as the kids, before finally asking, “what is this?” His eyes are not soft like moments ago, they are straight back to being the cold suspicious ones he had when they first met at the abandoned building.

Elia swallows, summoning up all the courage within her. “This is a device meant for cleaning the poisoned water in Cordonia,” she explains, voice deadpan.

Drake’s expression turns even more perturbed, “and what are you doing with it?” He looks a little scared of the thing, and Elia does not miss his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“I…” she says carefully, “I built it.” She emphasizes the word on purpose, so he can truly understand. She may be a coward for not speaking the plain truth already, but she holds his gaze throughout the seconds it took him to grasp what she just said.

“You…” he mumbles, and Elia recognizes bewilderment turning briefly into hurt before his expression hardens again. Without saying a word, he unsheathes his sword, causing her to panic a little.

“Drake, this is not a weapon,” the princess holds her hands in front of her, trying to make him listen.

He stares at her then, and there’s a fire in his eyes she has never seen before, so intense that Elia thinks he may rip her head off her body just by looking at her.

“Are you the Builder?” He asks, voice stern but somewhat composed.

“Drake--”

“Answer me!” He almost shouts, and the princess doesn’t miss the littlest of trembles in the man’s hand while holding the sword.

She gathers up her courage. It’s not as if she has much of a choice now, “I was," she chose her words carefully.

“Give me one good reason for me not to end your life right now.” His voice is almost bitter, sword pointed at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jonah stepping ahead, hand reaching for the hilt of his own sword.

“Jonah, stay back,” she orders. He opens his mouth to protest, but she doesn’t let him speak, “stay with Nora and Elliot. They need you.”

The boy reluctantly steps back then.

The princess has to take some quick breaths to keep her calm, but she is determined to get to the bottom of this. She started it, right? She’s imagined this scenario in her head, multiple times now, and Drake reacting like this is perfectly predictable. Only the hard part begins now.

“My name. My whole name,” she searches his eyes to make sure he is listening, “is Sapphire Aurelia.”

Realization downs upon him when he recognizes the name. He chuckles is disbelief. “Right… you’re the Promised Princess,” he speaks in a sarcastic tone.

“It’s true!”

The fire in his eyes seem to fade a little, giving way to something else… disappointment. “I trusted you, Elia. I let myself be vulnerable around you and--” he stops himself, shaking his head, “I never should have.” And just like that, the fire is back, and he steps a little closer, flawlessly sharpened blade reflecting the sunlight in a threatening gleam.

Although, Elia is not afraid, at least not of being killed. “I’m telling the truth and I’m going to prove it to you.”

He could call her bluff… but Elia sees the hesitation in his eyes even before he speaks, “how?”

Well, there is the problem of the lack of physical proof, so she proposes the only thing she can, “ask me anything! Something only Princess Sapphire would know.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “This means nothing.”

Elia did not foresee a moment such as this would become her newest mini-existential crisis. What makes her the Promised Princess? What makes her who she is? The prophecy may say it’s her blood, and her time of birth, and such things, but she lived in hiding for so long it would not surprise her if she came home and there was an impostor in her place. No one would know, she’s certain. So no, this is not it. What makes her the one and only Sapphire Aurelia, the Promised Princess of the Last Prophecy, true and irreplaceable if not for what she knows and what she has lived? No one can take that from her. “This means everything.”

He seems to read the certainty in her expression, because it doesn’t take long for him to decide. “Fine.” He takes a breath and straightens himself, lowering his sword a little.

She knows it’s a small victory, and her lips threaten to pull back in a small smile, yet she holds it back, not wanting to push her luck with Drake.

“Where could Liam always find you?”

It takes her by surprise, for she wasn’t expecting the interrogation to start right away. It’s an easy one, at least, “the library.”

“What game did you love playing so much you inserted you and your friends in it?” Despite Drake’s impassive tone, Elia can’t hold back her smile now. She can’t help it, she’s too fond of the memory and Drake’s wording is amusing.

“Chess.”

“What piece were you?”

“The knight.”

“And Liam?”

“The rook.” She’s impressed. Drake doesn’t even flinch nor takes time thinking of the next question. Elia wonders if he ever really interrogated someone. He must have. And he knows so many details. In her mind, she tries to picture Liam telling Drake about his day and it baffles her how much Drake kept in his mind, even what must surely be boring details for an outsider. “Did Liam tell you all of this?”

“I’m asking the questions.”He did not seem amused by her distraction. “When did you find out about the undercroft?”

She couldn’t possibly forget that day. “Right after mine and Liam’s engagement party.”

He nodded his head, as if he’s at the brink of reaching a verdict.“When did you and Liam first have sex?”

Ah, a trick question. Or - no, Liam wouldn’t have lied to his best friend, would he? “We didn’t.”

Drake purses his lips and Elia can almost burst from the anticipation of not knowing what’s in his mind.

After a moment, he nods to himself, “very well, Princess.”

Elia’s brows shoot up at his words, half of her optimistic about him believing in her, and the other half apprehensive because his threatening posture still hasn’t changed.

She should have seen it coming, she really did, but for some reason, Drake’s next words catch her flabbergasted, as he brings his sword up again and towards her, “gather your things, you’re coming back with me.”

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kentuckywrites · 6 years ago

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To Be Alive

A commission for @deltheor ! Pongo and Sydney go out for a night on the town, but their time together is riddled with insecurities and obstacles.

The argument could be made that mimeosomes weren’t actually alive. Sure, there were human consciousnesses controlling them, but that wasn’t the same as being in them. Too many people believed in the idea that these bodies were disposable, that these bodies weren’t real, simply empty husks blessed with human intelligence.

Sydney knew that his mimeosome would never compare to his real body. It felt close to the original, but there was always this sense that lingered in the back of his mind, always there, prominent but not all powerful. This body wasn’t alive. It was a machine that he could control.

Despite this train of thought, Sydney had to admit that there were times he thought he was truly alive. Sometimes he’d get it after a successful bounty mission. Sometimes he’d get it after drinking too much booze.

And sometimes, Sydney would feel alive thinking about Pongo.

It was hard not to think about him now, hard not to feel so alive. Sydney hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in that night, yet following after Pongo, watching how his eyes became mirrors for the midnight sky...he was hooked. Intoxicated, drunk off of what Pongo was doing to him. It was messing with his brain, this feeling, but Sydney wasn’t about to complain. They had the whole night to kill, the whole night to be alive.

He wasn’t the only one alive tonight. The whole of NLA was bursting at the seams with life, bright city lights and evening ventures. Pongo seemed in his element, walking on the sidewalk next to Sydney. If he had been anyone else, his voice would’ve been overtaken by the night life. But Sydney could hear him talking, clear as day, a soothing and calming presence that made him forget about how unsettling the commercial district could be. At least they wouldn’t be out on the street for long. Pongo’s plan for their date - fuck, that still felt so strange to Sydney, this was a date - was to go to the diner, get something nice to eat. And he’d mentioned something about dancing? Sydney couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but he knew Pongo was passionate about it, and so the prospect warmed his heart.

“...and so Danniel and I were able to give Luciel his cold medicine!” Pongo was in the middle of an elaborate tale, “It was a fun outing, though I always feel I could have made a better impression. I was something of a mess back when I was still figuring myself out.”

Sydney chuckled. “You probably made a better impression than you think. You’re...well, kind and friendly, fun to be around.”

He suddenly became aware of a hand wrapping around his own. Pongo gave him a wide grin, topped off with a faint line of blush.

“Something tells me your opinion is biased, but I have definitely grown since then. A year ago I do not think you could have tolerated me.”

“You underestimate me. I still would’ve thought you were cute.”

And Pongo’s blush grew stronger, amplified further when they passed by one of the many street lamps.

They prepared to cross the street. Pongo watched the crosswalk light as cars raced past. The wind they generated pushed back Sydney’s braid; he inhaled sharply as he caught the faint scent of baked bread. Made sense, they were close to the bakery. He peered past Pongo, seeing that yes, the bakery was open, even at this late hour.

But he also saw people. Lots and lots of people, walking along, minding their own business and enjoying their time away from work. Their images flickered in the light of the street lamps, then slowly, surely, heads began to turn. Eyes began to stare at him, through him. They began to tear Sydney apart through sheer judgement, ripping at his lungs and heart and brain and -

“Sydney?”

Sydney blinked. Pongo was a few steps ahead of him now, on the street. The crosswalk light had turned green.

Their hands were still entwined.

“Y-Yeah, I’m coming.” He stammered, and together they crossed the street. Once his feet hit the sidewalk again Pongo squeezed his hand. It sent a sudden shock through his systems, combating the eyes and all they were making him feel.

“Hey...are you okay?” Pongo asked, his voice gentle and unseeming.

“I’m fine!” Sydney responded quickly.

“...”

Sydney didn’t notice Pongo had stopped walking until he felt the tug on his hand, a pull backwards. He turned to face the light of his life, whose brow was furrowed.

“You know you mean the world to me, right?”

The eyes that were tearing into him suddenly retreated into the night.

Pongo noticed the effect that had on him and smiled. “I want you to be happy! And if anything or anyone bothers you tonight, I will not hesitate to - as humans say - give them the aged numbers.”

Sydney raised a pierced eyebrow.

“Wha - do you mean give them the ol’ one two? And why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“That thing - as humans say. You’re human.”

Pongo blinked once. “...I suppose that is a topic for dinner then.”

Before Sydney could say anything more, Pongo took the lead, and the gentle pull of his hand pushed him onwards. “Now come on! The night is still an infant and there is much to do before it matures!”

And without further conversation, Sydney was led to the Repenta Diner. Neon lights and drunken bastards greeted his view, an ode to an unspoken celebration. No eyes clawed their way through his skin now, but the rancid stench of alcohol and bad decisions clouded his mind, made him tense up. Pongo squeezed his hand again - he must have felt it too, or was trying to reassure Sydney. Whatever it was, it was akin to a drug, his own special dosage. Sydney found himself grinning even when they stepped inside, when he realized how calm it was.

A server stood at the podium in front, and Pongo entered quick conversation with her. She was a pretty thing, hair cut in a short bob and freckles lining her cheeks. She led them to a table near a window, a small two-person booth. Sydney took notice of where they were, just how visible they were. Sure, the window seats weren’t in the center of the diner, but here, everyone could look their way. Here, everyone would stare at them - at him.

Pongo sat down, and Sydney joined him, though his reaction was slower, more distant. The server didn’t linger, placing the menus on the table and wishing them a nice meal before going back to her post - had she cast a side eye at Sydney then? He shivered, his hand clutching his lower arm underneath the table. Pongo slid one of the menus his way before taking the other for himself. Sydney remembered the days where menus were paper, protected by aged sleeves of plastics. The diner tried to replicate the effect, though the plastic was too new, it didn’t have the same charm.

“So…” Sydney said, trailing off. Damn, why couldn’t he think of anything to say? His mouth remained partially opened as his lips struggled to communicate a topic of interest.

Pongo came to the rescue, his head popping up over the menu. “See anything good? I adore the roast coaletri, I usually get it with a side of mashed potatoes and seasoned with sona herbs - OOH, and sometimes I get the golden sardine rice bowl, those are good before a long day of BLADE missions because they are so quick to make -”

Sydney chuckled. “I’ll have the same thing you’re having. I trust your judgement.”

“Roast coaletri it is!” Pongo chirped, “And then afterwards we can talk desserts, if you are not full after dinner that is - I always get a caramel macchiato with some small vanilla cookies to dunk in it, it is super yummy and simple -”

Sydney didn’t want to tune out, but he did. Pongo was excited, he felt bad for letting his mind wander, but the diner was quieter than outside. That had benefits, sure, but it also had its downsides. He could hear people talking from a few feet away, the people in the booths behind Pongo, behind Sydney, the small discussions as people walked past. The eyes began to glue themselves back on to him, but this time they attached to Pongo too. Weird looks, glares and glances, accusing and full of false superiority. His grip on his arm tightened.

His hand remained buried there even when their waiter came around, got their orders. And almost as soon as their waiter departed, a piece of conversation broke through from behind him.

“...the bastard that Brainjacked the entire fucking city…”

Sydney heard it, but Pongo was the one to perk up. His eyes darted back and forth, between Sydney and the voice that had been coming from behind him. Two men, two friends. Two voices lined with bitterness.

“That’s him?”

“Yeah, you can smell the entitled sense of pride from a mile away.”

“What kind of sick fuck would even do that to us?”

“Dunno, guess craving power can do that to ya.”

“Hey, who’s he with anyways? Looks like...no way, that’s Pongo, the kid Elma picked up two years ago.”

“Really? I’ve heard so many good things about him. Interceptor, right?”

“Yeah, a good one at that. Can’t believe he’d stoop to that fucker’s level.”

Sydney started to die.

The entire night, he’d felt alive. Now, his heart was shattering, his limbs refused to move another muscle - in fear? In acceptance? He felt something prick at the corners of his eyes, and in the moment he wiped away the tears, Pongo had disappeared from his seat. Sydney’s eyes widened, looked forward, looked behind for him -

“Good evening, gentlemen!”

Oh no.

Pongo was smiling, but something was off about it. Sydney saw it, the underlying emotion contained within it. Rage.

“Uh, hey,” One of the men started, but Pongo was quick to continue.

“Forgive me for dropping the eaves, but I could not help but overhear that conversation you were having. I wanted to clarify something for you. The man I am having dinner with did not Brainjack the city.”

“Wh - you gotta be joking, you sure those eyes o’ yours work?”

“Why, yes, they work perfectly fine, and I can say with full faith that the man I am having dinner with is incredibly sweet. He is sometimes scared about letting people get close to him, because he thinks he will hurt them, but I know he would never hurt me.”

The other man laughed. “Oh, that’s real naive. He might be fooling ya, but we all know he’s a fuck-up. Assholes like him never change.”

Sydney expected Pongo to crack then - hell, Sydney was cracking now, the shards of his heart scattering across the tile floor. But instead of lashing out, Pongo’s smile grew wider. That would’ve been good, but this smile…

It was dangerous.

“Well,” Pongo said, “By that logic, I should walk away. Because that means no matter what I say, I could not convince you of the truth. As you said, assholes never change. Have a good evening.”

And Pongo joined Sydney at the table again, folding his hands together on the table, not giving either man a chance to respond. Sydney’s lips had parted, words escaping, thoughts consuming. The tears kept overflowing, but they’d picked up some happiness along the way, washing away the old sad trails. With any luck these new tears would work as adhesives, gluing the broken pieces of his heart back together.

“Th-Thanks for that...you really didn’t have to -” Sydney began, but was soon interrupted.

“I did. People get so hung up on the past that they blind themselves when it comes to change.” Pongo told him, “No one knows how to move on and let go. It is one of the parts about humanity that I despise.”

Sydney blinked at the reference to humanity again, a topic promised but not discussed. “It’s hard, I guess. I know I haven’t really moved on, but I guess it’s because...because it won’t stop haunting me.”

Pongo’s gaze softened, the caged anger retreating back into his subconscious, back enough that his innocent and beautiful features were restored. “I can be your...goodness, what was the film - I can be your Ghostbuster then! If your past comes back, I can chase it away.”

“You’re already doing a great job,” Sydney admitted with a sad grin, “Keep up the good work.”

Above the voices, above all the late night gossip and heels clicking on tile floors and televisions broadcasting the news for the night, Sydney heard a song. A chorus of voices, then lyrics, soft and blending with the acoustics. It was an old Earth classic, but he couldn’t place a name to the song -

“Kiss From A Rose.”

Pongo’s cheeks flushed up as he spoke the name. “A good slow song to dance to.”

Sydney took the hint. “The dance floor’s pretty empty, and our food may not be here for a bit.”

Pongo offered out his hand and Sydney was quick to take it, pure and light skin meshed together with darkened and scarred. He let Pongo lead him to the dance floor, a considerable open space uncluttered by tables and people. There was even a stage built into the right wall, a spot Pongo frequented on nights he didn’t have work. Sydney hadn’t been able to see him in action, but he was told Pongo had a great voice.

...When had Pongo wrapped his arm around Sydney’s waist, and when had they gotten this close?

Pongo used the sudden lack of space between them to his advantage. His nose booped Sydney’s, a small show of affection, a small show of reassurance. The dance floor wasn’t empty, but it was theirs now, theirs to dominate and theirs to control.

The fact that they were slow dancing didn’t stop Pongo from adding his own flourishes. Sydney let go of his insecurities, dropping them gently, nothing shattering, nothing breaking. His body moved in sync with Pongo’s, a gentle but guiding force that the music had inspired. When the chorus, Pongo mouthed the words, a dramatic reenactment complete with eyebrow wiggles and winks. Sydney laughed, actually laughed, and that was when Pongo’s mouth found a dance floor of its own.

He couldn’t easily compare it to anything they’d done before. Their past kisses had been raw energy, sparks flying and bodies colliding. But this one...it was so raw, so passionate, it held some semblance of their first kiss, the one from above the West Gate. Sydney leaned into it, let the music drown out everything, everyone.

This was it. The past was dead, a harmless ghost. That night, with Pongo...Sydney, the real Sydney, was alive.

#xenoblade x #To Be Alive: Short Story #Sydney #writing commission #this was SO MUCH FUN #and I'm sorry it took a bit longer than I thought it would ;~;#but i still hope u like it!!#also kiss from a rose is a GOOD SONG OKAY

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unsexyfeedback-blog · 7 years ago

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After reading my post and I am not sure you read it because your comments are full of errors and misrepresentations.

Funny calling me creepy coming from you a tumblr in the NSFW community. Creepy is a subjective term. I would think someone sexually open minded, living in a married open relationship, doing porn, would be open to other ways of living. If I was female 40+ going after young skinny boys (18+ of course) you would think it was hot. Shame on you for being a hypocrite to your own lifestyle and community.

Do you know who this is? Gianluca Vacchi an Italian 50+ millionaire with his now divorced wife Giorgia Gabriele 30 or so at the time. The only difference between me and him is money. (also maybe be body shape LOL working on it) And I bet that if I had money to back my proposal your attitude would be very very different. See the hypocrisy in your comment?

Gianluca is my role model in terms of where I am going with my own fitness goals. Georges Lucas and Steve Jobs are also my role models in terms of overcoming everyone else's objections to their visions.

youtube

Where the fuck do you get that? I am confident with my vision and concept.. not the same as ego. I am not comparing myself to Georges Lucas but do you know how many people shot down his idea for Star Wars yet his confidence in his vision got him where he is today. If you heard him speaking nobody would accuse him of having a fuelled ego. I have no idea where you see an ego issue when I am looking for a creative partner to contribute to this show. This is not a scripted show so to make this work obviously the cohost is very very important.

I know this quote from Kid Rock, didn’t know its origins. You or I can’t tell the future and whether or not I can back it up. Only time will tell if I will be able to back it up.

Nothing in life is free

SFW content revenue sharing

When we will travel together and produce SFW content for Youtube and other social media platforms, your “pay” will be traveling while having no basic expenses, for example lodgings (obviously), food and all costs related to travelling and visiting touristic sites.

You think it costs nothing to cover the cohost living expenses? Did you actually read the proposal or just looked to nit pick. Just because I doubt you read this but this part is SFW content meaning no nex in this content.

NSFW content revenue sharing

For the NSFW content you will not get paid in advance of the sale of content we will produce like in larger adult production companies. We are going to be a small independent production company where nobody tells us what we need or have to do. The team we will build together will make all decisions. However as we determine the basic costs of operation (fuel, Skoolie repairs, food, etc..) then we can split the after expense profits evenly. We will have to look at this again with an accountant as we get closer to start producing NSFW content. Please rest assured that you will never ever have any expenses to pay as we travel together and produce, SFW and NSFW content.

Again look at the bold text here. I am pretty clear on revenue sharing for the actual sex on camera and that at some point we will consult an accountant to figure out the split.

The getting paid issue is dealt with in #3 and you had nothing originally truthful or even correct about the proposal.

Do you feel foolish yet? Again you missconstrued my proposal by NOT FUCKING READING IT.

Yes this is an unconventional arrangement with financial connections. What marriage or serious relationship isn’t. Your making me sound like a sex trafficker or a pimp who beats his girls!!!! based on what you read LOL or not... I clearly state that its an open door relationship.

I think it goes without saying that our first tour together will be only for a few weeks. Once completed we can evaluate its success and if we manage not to kill each other, we can extend the tour or I can simply bring you back home.

Yes there is a business arrangement but if I love my partner I want to help her. Obviously the original premiss is “cohost/romantic/sexual partner” but based on two adults communicating we can make changes to the deal depending on what each of us wants.

Before making “Fake News” half assed researched comments, maybe you should have read from A to Z carefully and asked questions first before shiting on some else's ideas because maybe your life sucks so bad you're looking for something or someone to vent on (that is my sarcastic comment just like your unicorn one). If you had given me constructive criticism and offered valid points I would have taken them and used the information to make improvements on my vision. But all you did is “Fake Newsed” it.

Otherwise I hope you have yourself a wonderful fucking day!!!

Feedback is based on knowledge of what your giving feedback from. You lack the knowledge because it is blatantly obvious you simply skimmed over it. I gave you feedback based on your comments that where misrepresentations (not a different perspective) of what I wrote. You approached my proposal biased and with your perspective (which you are allowed to have a different one then me) however that perspective blinded you to what I actually wrote and ment. Then you proceeded to write feedback with half truths. This is not about perspective at all and that is just an excuse you seem to like using.

I never said that tumblr girls are creepy!!!!

Funny calling me creepy coming from you a tumblr in the NSFW community. Creepy is a subjective term.

I thought you would catch my drift. There is some creepy weird stuff in tumblr and was alluding to creepy is relative to the point of view of the person viewing.

Just like you are in Reddit or Tumblr, I am expressing my sexuality via this proposal. In the same way that I respect and actually admire you for being sexually free and liberated, please respect me in the same way, even if you’re not interested in my proposal and you think I am nuts. (I know I am nuts) To me BDSM does not give me pleasure but I would not slut shame (or manwhore shame) someone who did. We all get pleasure in different ways and that’s the beauty of being alive.

Not my fault you didn't read my proposal.

What would be the difference with meeting on a dating app? Many people want different things and you can choose to reply if you like or IGNORE if you don’t. Obviously you are not aware of that option.

Your snarky answers are truly dishonest. Yes I invited you to travel with me but not before you had a chance to vet me via my social media and we get to know each other over many months!!!!!

Then and only then we could choose to meet or not, to begin with. Then if there is a connection sexually we could have some fun together.

Then if during our travels (as on open relationship/poly/swinging couple) we/you met someone that interests us/you we can talk about inviting them to have some fun.

Truly your slant on what I meant and said is way way off to the point of being Fake News.

Again would you find creepy if the form message was linked to a request to travel with an older woman you don’t know on a bus to perform sex acts and pick up guys? Just having reversed the roles just brings me back to the Fake News slant you put on my proposal that is so way off from what I said no matter if its just a pipe dream.

You wasted your own time by replying in the first place. You had the option to ignore and even block me. But your ego thinking you knew better then me absolutely couldn't shut up and needed to rant.

Yes I may have used a “standard form message” but I don’t message to all. You have no way of knowing how many I messaged your comment is another blatant example of “Fake News”.

I understand more than you think and you have no way of knowing what I understand since again you have proven that you have not read my proposal thoroughly or even my response since you replied practically before I pressed on the send button. Not to mention you never even asked me any questions to maybe clarify what I wrote (that you didn’t read anyways).

You have a very different view than me of what is true. Yes your comments are ridiculous which is the first thing you said that is true.

With my social media and contacts an open book to view I can’t see how it is predatory. Your slant is so slanted that a simple invitation to travel with an unusual arrangement makes it predatory then so be it. I intend to harm nobody and I am not hidden in the dark shadows waiting to pounce on the next innocent victim like you make me out to be.

Again only as an example not to compare myself, people said that Elon Musk's dream of SpaceX was unrealistic.

Well based on your slanted and biased misreading skills coming from you it’s a compliment. Reading [your comments] reeks of privilege and fundamental misunderstanding of what “cohosts” are [going to be] about.

First of all I never said “hero”. I said mentor for his physical appearance and his dedication to training and keeping a fit body.

I don’t know what your problem is but you have a very slanted biased perspective on my proposal. Based on continuously showing me over and over that you didn’t read my proposal... skimming does not count, it is not surprising that everything you says rubs me the wrong way. You are the type to share on Facebook a “Sylvester Stallone is dead” article with checking to see if its true.

You are allowed to have a different perspective then me and I have no issue if your comments reflected that. What rubs me the wrong way is that you commented half truths and, made me look like a predatory creep without knowing me and worse without READING THE FUCKING PROPOSAL.

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masha-russia · 7 years ago

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Please know that fans of elia or Brandon have no problem with rhaegar and lyanna being in love and getting a happy ending. Problem only arose when those 2 chose to pursue their happily ever after at the expanse of elia, his children by her, Brandon, Rickard and basically the whole realm. Lyanna is supposedly so moral a person that she can't see howland being bullied yet she doesn't bother coming back an telling everyone that she wasn't kidnapped but consented? This makes no sense.

Hi, thanks for asking,

Before talking about Rhaegar and Lyanna, I’d like to start with Brandon. Brandon Stark has fans? … In this case, I feel like these people don’t know that Brandon Stark was one of the creepiest men in the story. I realize that many may have forgotten, or not truly comprehended, the part of Dance with Dragons that showed us Brandon’s personality, since it was a small part in a Theon chapter. Brandon Stark was a sexual predator. Apart from killing people, which is already bad enough, his other favorite pass time was to sleep with virgins, specifically virgins, because he loved the sight of blood on “his sword” -> "a bloody sword is a beautiful thing”. I know the text is subtle here, but that’s the meaning. And no, Barbery Dustin wasn’t lying. Also, GRRM words: “It’d be an exaggeration to say that Brandon died before he could have children” which translates to “he had plenty of bastards”.

“Brandon loved his sword. He loved to hone it. ‘I want it sharp enough to shave the hair from a woman’s cunt,’ he used to say. And how he loved to use it. 'A bloody sword is a beautiful thing,’ he told me once.”

“Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes.”

Brandon Stark was gross. His caring for his sister and father makes him a three dimensional character, but not any less of a creep (edit: and not because of his relation with Barbery which was consensual) I am glad he died, and I have to say, House Stark was lucky he did, because if Brandon became Lord of Winterfell, the reputation of the House wouldn’t be at all as good as it was under Eddard’s rule.

Alright now, you say you have no problem with Rhaegar and Lyanna being in love, only that it happened “at the expanse of Elia and the children”. If you refer to the moral aspect and to the idea that Rhaegar “cheated” on her, I don’t understand what alternatives would satisfy you? Rhaegar was made to marry Elia, it was an arranged marriage, and Lyanna was being forced to marry a man she absolutely did not want. Divorce isn’t an option in Westeros (though judging by the outraged reactions among Elia fans following the news of show Rhaegar divorcing Elia, divorce doesn’t seem to be an option for you either), polygamy isn’t allowed, the only way for Rhaegar and Lyanna to be together is as a non-married couple, sadly. Again, I think Elia was in friendly terms with her husband and supported him. And Rhaegar’s children don’t have a say in his love life. As long as the children are cared and provided for, he did his duty as a parent. As you know, Rhaegar was greatly concerned about the War for the Dawn, and he believed Rhaenys and Aegon would have a role in it, so obviously he would have returned with Lyanna and their child to raise all of his three children together.

If you refer to their deaths, I already explained several times that you cannot blame Rhaegar and Lyanna for the murders of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon. They didn’t commit the murder. The responsibility lies with Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch (the actual murderers), with Tywin Lannister (for giving the order), with Robert Baratheon (for wanting to kill all the “dragon’s pawn”) and to an extent with Aerys Targaryen (for refusing to send Elia and the children with Rhaella and Viserys to Dragonstone). Same for Brandon and Rickard. Rhaegar and Lyanna couldn’t have known what would happen, and they certainly didn’t wish for such horrors like the murder of Elia and the children.

Please do not believe that Kingdoms rise in rebellion over highborn girls who elope with noble Princes. “Such stories make for charming songs, but poor history”. Jon Arryn didn’t call his banners because of Lyanna, and not even because of Brandon’ and Rickard’ executions (Aerys was in the right by law to execute them, for threatening a Royal with murder, even though he did it cruelly). He rose in Rebellion when Aerys asked him to kill the innocent (by law) young men he was fostering. Thousands of people won’t go to fight and die in a war for the sake of a girl. Betrothals can be set aside.

“This makes no sense,” you say, not understanding why Lyanna and Rhaegar didn’t inform anyone of their eloping, and accusing them of idiocy and selfishness, or the story of being inconsistent. It is not the story or the characters being inconsistent though, it’s the text screaming at you that there is something wrong with the informations it gave you thus far, and that there are missing pieces of the puzzle. I think it’s evident from the novels themselves, but even GRRM is always elusive when answering any questions about Rhaegar and Lyanna and their actions. Just from one interview:

“Will we learn more about Rhaegar in the next book? Why did he take almost a year to join the fight against the rebels, or why did he kidnap Lyanna?”“You will learn more, but I can’t promise it’ll be in the next book. Keep reading.”

Rhaegar took a year to join the fight because he did not know there was War, and I believe someone was doing his best to keep him ignorant. This someone could very well be Varys - he is a Blackfyre supporter, his wisperings in Aerys’ ear was what made him even more paranoiac and cruel, he was the one responsible for Aerys’s coming to the Tourney at Harrenhal, where it is rumored Rhaegar planned to dispose him as King. If Varys really cared “for the Realm” (he does not), he would have helped Rhaegar, but instead he helped Aerys to keep the Throne while making sure his paranoia and madness grew.

Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent’s tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there.

As for not telling anyone of their eloping, again I believe they did tell someone. I strongly suspect Lyanna told Eddard that she fell in love with Rhaegar and that she would run away with him, but Eddard didn’t have the courage to let his father and Robert know. Other people must have been told as well, but again something went awry.

Once Rhaegar joined the war, it was too late to sue for peace. The leader of the Rebellion, Robert Baratheon, declared Rhaegar his number one enemy, so I can hardly see Rhaegar making peace with him. The Kingdoms were fighting, divided between Targaryen loyalists and Robert Baratheon supporters. It’s just not realistic at all to believe Rhaegar could have raised a white flag. Killing Robert would have put an end to the Rebellion, just as killing Rhaegar brought an end to the fighting at the Trident. Rhaegar and Robert were the faces of the War.

I very much doubt Rhaegar wanted to kill Eddard. It is possible that he gave orders to spare Eddard, for Lyanna.

This is funny. Ok as I said already Rhaegar didn’t know of the war, but … Basically the whole Realm from Dorne to Casterly Rock passing by the North fangirls about Rhaegar, how noble and gifted he was, that he was a true dragon, that he would have been a great King. How exactly did you reach the conclusion that “Canon paints him more as a coward”?

Even Yandel (Yandel!!), who wrote a very biased book (The World of ice and Fire) as he was trying to please King Robert Baratheon, said:

For despite his crimes, Prince Rhaegar was no coward.

Even he, not a lickspittle exactly but a man who wanted to be in Robert’s good graces, couldn’t bring himself to talk badly of Rhaegar.

I’d gladly come back to this conversation once we get the other two books.

#rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #asoiaf meta #brandon stark #elia martell #minemeta #asoiaf #text post #Anonymous

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cyjprojectarchive · 8 years ago

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bulletproof | jinyoung

prompt: “I’m bulletproof... but please don’t shoot me.” group: GOT7 pairing: park jinyoung, you genre: slight angst, comfort, fluff words: 1909 note: dedicated to my friend who goes by @_jjproject on twitter as jinyoung is one of her main biases! i reckon she’s taking her finals so this is a lil gift from me to her after doing such hard work!!

You have never felt love like Jinyoung’s.

You feel it in his touch–even the slightest graze of his fingertips on your lips after he kisses them with admiration from the conversation you both had seconds prior. He knows how much you love his words and how reading a lot has broadened his perspective of the world; you just want to be the first person to hear those new, emerging thoughts of his.

Even still, he appreciates your responses as well as your own take on things just as much, or even more. Because of this, he can’t help but let his lips softly connect with yours as if it wasn’t enough that his ears have listened to the inner workings of your mind. He always wants more of you.

You see it in his eyes. He knows how much you love pointing out the cat whiskers he possesses whenever his eyes crinkle from happiness. You don’t know that he does it more often than normal when he’s around you. Sometimes he tries to force it just to elicit the usual teasing reaction from you, but just seeing the bright hues staring back at him makes it easier to do it on purpose.

You hear it in his laugh. He doesn’t just laugh at any joke, but he sure seems to enjoy your comedic skills every time you show it to him. You think he’s only running out of breath from enjoying the corny joke you found in a book one day just to support you, but really, he finds your efforts in taking off the exhaustion from his body endearing.

You didn’t think it was possible for you to feel such a certain kind of love; to even know and experience it firsthand is still overwhelming to you. For a while, your heart was kept hidden in the very depths of your body, refusing to let anybody touch it and just have it be broken once more. You have given everything to that person who you foolishly thought was doing the same for you. You believed the love you shared was passionate, indestructible, unwavering.

It was, on your side. Yet, you held onto the relationship with all the strength left within you after being exposed to such unfaithfulness on the other end. You didn’t want to accept it at first, telling yourself that it was all just a big prank and truly, you were loved and only you were cherished. Of course you were wrong.

Love might as well have been non-existent in the life you started again after moving on from the two-year relationship you had. Maybe it was possible for others, you thought, to love and be loved. But for you, you weren’t taking any more chances in meeting someone and falling and then loving them just to be void of your emotions for the second time.

Not anymore.

Until you met Park Jinyoung.

“Hey.”

Your mind wanders back to the present, and you see soft, glinting eyes trying to make contact with yours, communicating its worry for your sudden unconscious state of mind. You smile sheepishly and lean to give the man before you a quick, reassuring peck on his parted lips. The back of your head meets the plush of the pillow resting on the bed and the side of your face reintroduces itself at the crook of Jinyoung’s neck. His hand supporting his head so he was hovering above your relaxed figure, he gives you another concerned look before asking, with a gentle tone to his voice, “What are you thinking of?”

Hand reaches out to his free one, they intertwine in an instant. They rest on his hip and as his thumb smoothes over the back of your hand, you sigh with ease. “Nothing much. I’m just thinking how amazing this moment is- for the both of us,” you inform him, squeezing his hand for good measure. “You on a very rare day off, and me, just here,” you add playfully.

Chuckling at your addendum, he settles on the other end of the pillow and so you two are finally facing each other equally, his hand now entangling itself in the locks of your hair. “Yes. You and me, here. The other boys, out,” he says in English. You are taken by surprise and you grin at his attempt.

You and him do not speak for a while, and it was more than okay. You do not grow tired of grasping every feature on his face, taking it all in for yourself. Just the reminder of Jinyoung being yours, and you his, continues to send the most inexplicable sensation rushing through your body. This beautiful creation of a man who met you and was willing to find the key to the chains your heart was trapped in.

Not wanting to at first, you hesitated and grew cold towards him. Sure, you admitted to yourself he was gorgeous and maybe a fling wouldn’t hurt; just to feel the satisfaction of someone else’s heat spreading all over your body. But no, you didn’t allow yourself to even be a part of such a thing that caused you heart break in the first place.

But Jinyoung was more than persistent, and he waited and waited until you got comfortable enough to tell him stories of your past- starting from what you ate for lunch yesterday to the person who made you seal your feelings into a box and toss it away to be difficult enough for someone just trying to find.

Jinyoung wasn’t just trying. He had fallen in love with you, hard, and he wasn’t going to let you go before you gave him a chance to express that love.

And you know you yearned for love- any type of love, even. And eventually, you began to open up.

And the type of love Jinyoung offered was not of something you were familiar with. But you didn’t let it go to waste because goddamn, does this man love you good.

“You keep spacing out, jagiya, are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want to take a nap?” His calming voice brings you back to present time, and you feel yourself blush from getting caught once again.

Still, you think of an excuse. “I’m fine, Jinyoung. And I thought we were purposefully looking at each other lovingly?” You tease him. He rolls his eyes, confirming the fact that you were okay and back to normal, and then looks at you and say, “No, you were the only one giving me lovey-dovey looks. I was just observing you.”

“Like Jinyoung doesn’t show affection that way,” you think out loud, “so Jinyoung never stares at me with a lovestruck expression whenever I pretend to sleep.”

He feigns offense and gasps at your revelation. You pull up the covers to snicker behind them, but Jinyoung catches you with the hand that has been playing with your hair and immediately after, he has you pinned down on the bed, legs on either side of your waist.

You gulp at the sudden change of mood in the room, but you aren’t going to complain soon enough.

“What’s that? Are you questioning my toughness and manliness by accusing me of having lovestruck expressions?” He demands teasingly, keeping both of your hands tied with his but in a gentle and caring manner.

“Just because you show aegyo to your girlfriend doesn’t mean you’re not both of those things,” you counter, the blush creeping its way to your ears as you feel the intensifying tension transpiring from the position you both were on. “I think you can be cute and sexy and tough all at the same time, jagi,” you assure him with a wink.

A tiny smirk appears on his face as he inches closer to you, his breath fanning your cheeks. “And I think my girl is cute, sexy and tough as well,” he whispers, the tip of his tongue teasingly touching your cupid’s bow. He pushes it back and smirks all the way, retreating from the invasion of your personal space. You whine under your breath, the abruptness leaving you wanting for more. Jinyoung knows that, and you know that, and now it was only a matter of who gives up the serious facade first.

Giving him the sultriest, most seductive stare you can, you hope he gives up first this time. It was always you who couldn’t take Jinyoung teasing you with his lip bite and tongue peeking in and out. He gives you a mean stare for a few seconds before finally landing his lips onto yours completely this time. He releases your hands so he could grab onto your waist and keep you in place. Now that you didn’t know what to do with your hands, you slowly make its way on his hair, tugging on a few strands to signal him going deeper into your mouth, and your body.

As much as you thoroughly enjoy your quiet time with Jinyoung, heated make out sessions with him come second place.

Moments like what you just shared never seem enough for the both of you, and so you remain in the same position, chests breathing rhythmically and breaths heaving in the same intervals. He places soft kisses on your cheek every so often, and your hand is safely nestled in the mess of Jinyoung’s bed head.

“I thought you just wanted to relax,” you comment, your voice still out of breath from the previous encounter. Jinyoung raises his head and narrows his eyes. “Hmm, who started it?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not excused.”

You share a laugh, and once again, a look. You both always find yourselves just taking in each other’s presence for god knows how long sometimes.

“Thank you,” he tells you. You give him a questioning look. “For…?”

“For everything,” he explains. “Thank you for letting me in and giving me a chance to prove to you–” a hand extending to caress the side of your face, “– that I can love you like no one has before.”

You bite your lip to contain the bubbling happiness making its way out of you. You had relayed to him your past troubles around love as to make him understand your upfront rudeness towards his motives of asking you out. You wanted him to realize that you weren’t always so refusing of love, you just gave too much and received too little than deserved. You didn’t think anyone would be any different.

The hardshell you created for yourself was necessary for you to survive the world without being torn apart again. The bulletproof vest you had worn was your protection from the hurt you have had enough of.

“You know I’m bulletproof,” you remind him, taking him back to the days of you exposing your heartbreak and how you independently stood up for yourself ever since, “but please don’t shoot me, Jinyoung,” you finish, both of you aware that as soon as you accepted Jinyoung’s love, you started disassociating yourself from the cold and mysterious exterior you held up. And Jinyoung didn’t want to take that for granted.

“I’ll be your bulletproof vest,” he promises, “Let me protect you from the bad things in this world, and provide you with all the love I have and all the love I can get.”

You smile, because you know this time, you can trust someone. This time, you trust Jinyoung.

#g7hyungnet #kreativewritersnet #got7 imagines #park jinyoung imagines #got7 scenarios #park jinyoung scenarios #emjae fics

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fapangel · 7 years ago

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So what;s this latest ImpeachTrump of the week, i heard he gave classified information to russia also two scoops of ice cream? What is going on (mainly the former)

It'sfunny you mentioned the “two scoops of ice cream” thing, becauseit's identical to the “classified info” thing - hysterical andbreathtaking lies.

It'simpossible to overstate the complete and utter totalityofthe utter fuckingbullshit atplay here. The quote-unquote “classified info” cited by the (whoelse?) WaPo's initial “story” related to ISISplans to hide explosives inside laptop computers for attackingairliners. This superclassified info wasreported by CNN on AprilFucking Fools Day - note Sean Spider giving a motherfuckingpress briefing onit in their own video. Thelede (first paragraph, and even first sentence) of a news story issupposed to cover the who, what, when, where, how and why, but thisrather crucial bit of the whatwasburied sixparagraphs deep byWaPo - gee, I wonder why.

It'salso hard to believe WaPo's ~anonymoussources~ whiningabout “compromising the source” when said source wouldn't havehad a fucking clue without them running to the media. Provide Russiawith “classified information” and they mightacton it in a way that tips off said source to their having theinformation. Run to the media shrieking and crying, and you fuckingguarantee it.Thus, these “anonymous sources” are clearly lying out of theirfucking assesaboutthis, because if they actually gave a shit about it, they wouldn'thave said shit.

Asfor anonymous sources, the WaPo attributes their information to:

*“current and former U.S. officials”* “a U.S. officialfamiliar with the matter”*”an official with knowledge ofthe exchange.”*”a former senior U.S. counterterrorismofficial who also worked closely with members of the Trump nationalsecurity team.”* “the second former official”* “aformer senior U.S. official who is close to current administrationofficials.”

That last one is my favorite -third-hand information.And not a single one ofthese “sources” is named - the WaPo expects us to just trust them- and theirmysterious “sources” -implicitly.

Byfar the most shocking revelation in the “Vault Seven” leaks washow the CIA had invested tremendous sums of money into their ownin-house ELINT/hacking/computersurveillance apparatus; their “own NSA.” The colossal wasteof taxpayer money in duplicating abilities was done solelyso the CIA wouldn't have todisclose to the NSA - or Homeland Security (and thus, the WhiteHouse) what the hell they were up to, in order to request NSA hackingassistance. This should scare the shit out of you, because the SenateIntelligence Committee found the CIAactively hid their barbaric and pointless torturing from both theJustice Department and the White House. These are the kind ofpeople the WaPo is parroting; in effect serving as their mouthpieceand enabler in their continued - and outright treasonous - betrayalof the chain of command to defend their own interests.

Whenjournalists cite anonymous sources, they're asking the readers totrust in their integrity; baking on their publication's long-standingreputation of accurate and honest reporting - as evidenced by decadesof reporting backed up byexhaustively researched, cited, and attributed facts and sources. Themedia is no longer askingtobe trusted; when challenged on their constantuseof “anonymous sources,” they now demandyou trust them and shout down anyone who dares question theirauthority as arbiters of truth, asthis CNN anchor did on live fucking television. She insists itmust betrue because allthemajor news networks are repeating the same lies - but we knowtheycollude with one another because they literally jerkeach other off on Twitter:

Iwrote about the “end-zone dances on Twitter” before, but nowthey're stroking each other off in their actualpublications beforetrading sticky high-fives on Twitter for all the world to see. Andyet, if you suggest that maybe, just maybe, we can't trust theirobjectivity when it comes to shady, mysterious government sources andthe axes they want to grind, you're shouted down on live televisionfor challenging the Divine Right of Reporters.

Butit doesn't end there - why would it? Now Republicans and Russians arebasically the same people, just four short years after ourPresidential candidate Mitt Romney wasroundly mocked by the left every time he talked about Russians asadversaries. Then Comey made “notes”about alleged conversations that “some people” at the FBI haveallegedly seen, according to otherpeople- third hand information without a single fucking source named.Andjust today, Trump's accused of getting chummy with “Russians”according to “adocument read to the New York Times by an American official.”Andafter the obligatory circle-jerking and self-congratulatorygloating over their own lies, they publish anop-ed gloating over how they sure showed Trump for daring to defytheir power. Nevermind the HarvardUniversity study proving Trump's right about the media'sill-treatment, with numbers: he deservedit.So what if over 90%of their coverage was viciously negative? Whogives a fuck about objectivityortruth? He challenged the Divine Right of Reporters, so he must becrushed.

Ipersonally know people who honestly think “media bias” claims areoverblown and that they're mostly reliable, or honest. I delayedwriting this column because I foresaw typing the following line: ifyou still believe that the media is not overwhelmingly biased againstTrump, you are a fucking idiot. Idon't feel bad about saying it, now, because to denythese facts tomy face is tantamount to insulting my intelligence. Such drasticallydivergent views of reality cannot be perceptual twists on a commontruth; ifI'm not mostly correct, then I must be entertaining mad delusions.There is no middleground on this, andwe've no more time to seek some, becauseof what the media is lying about.

Obligatorydrive-by attacks notwithstanding,the media's not using their immense power to attack Trump's polices;noton immigration, economics, or taxes. They're ignoringcampaignissues that Democrats will be running on come Congressional midtermsin 2018, in favor of a sprawling myth of Trump in particular, andRepublicans in general, being agents and allies of a hostile foreigngovernment. In short, they'renot trying to swing elections, but to ferment unrest and revolution.NewtGingrich - whom you might recognize as an experienced careerpolitician with few peers - succinctly echoed my own observationsin his op-ed yesterday:

“Weare today in a one-sided cultural civil war. The Left has picked thebattlefield and defined the terms of engagement... Those of us whotruly want to make America great again have one choice: Fight. Oursituation is similar to President Lincoln’s in 1861. He had to makethe choice between fighting until he won or giving up on the idea ofthe United States. Once again, our country is at stake.”

You'll note his choice of historical analogies, and hisclosing sentence (which I didn't read till after I'd written myultimatum paragraph above:) “There is no middle ground.”He, however, continues to speak in democratic terms; of elections andpermanent congressional minorities. But I see things different. I seea traditional news media that's suddenly and violently annihilatedthe last vestige of their fading credibility as their continuedfailure to adequately adapt to the digital age saps their baserevenue. I see fifty years of rage born of neglect, abuse andcontempt, having finally come to a head in the rust belt, goingnowhere fast; especially as the Democrat party's base platform driftsfurther and further Left - and away from the values of the old unionBoomers. I see an economy increasingly steeply divided by ruralversus urban, and a left wing more willing to retreat to elaboratefantasy worlds (as I've written about before) where everything wenttheir way sooner than face their own faults. I see the left labelinganyone who speaks against their politics as cabals of murderousNazis, even4chan. And above all I hear the statement that “antifa” wascrowing after Ann Coulter's Berkeley speech was canceled: “violenceworks.”

The fuel is set,the fire has been lit, and the media is doing their absolutedamnedest - doggedly, determinedlyand tirelessly - to fan theflames. And it's not just Trump in their sights, either - now allRepublicans are being implicated as allies of “Russians.”It's okay, even desirable, toend personal friendships with people if they voted for Trump,because he's a “blatantly (and proudly) bigoted candidate,” aswell as a racist and a “dangerous demagogue.” Inother words it's not “justpolitics” anymore; because Trump is comparable to genocide. Inshort, Trump iscategoricallyevil, andanyone who supports him are thus evilthemselves.

SinceI first issued my dire predictions of civil violence in thenot-so-distant future, I've been looking, exhaustively, for evidenceI'm wrong. But everything, everythingI look at leads me right back to the same conclusion: thisends in blood. It'sincreasingly difficult to partition off politics from my personallife; to believe that I'll be judged for my character first andpolitical affiliation second, because, again, thereis no middle ground here. IfI'm not judged a bigot and a racist, that leaves only a fool and adupe - and neither are deserving of respect. Itsas fundamental a break between people as can be made; a rift that'svery easy to widen and very, very difficult to heal again.

Theseare not happy thoughts - and all I need do to rekindle them is toturn the TV on during the damn morning news.

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eichy815 · 7 years ago

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Cry Yourselves A River

For weeks, pop culture connoisseurs and “armchair sociologists” alike had been awaiting Justin Timberlake’s much-anticipated headlining of the halftime show at the Feb. 4 Super Bowl LII. Last Sunday, Timberlake’s big moment arrived at the U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis – and public reaction was...not surprising.

At the center of the Timberlake-centric suspense was the question of whether Janet Jackson (or even Timberlake’s former N’Sync bandmates) would make a surprise cameo during the performance. Others took the public position that the onus should have been on Timberlake himself to broker a deal for Jackson to appear alongside of him – essentially, as “penance” for the public-shaming that Jackson had endured following her infamous 2004 “wardrobe malfunction” at Super Bowl XXXVIII’s halftime show.

But first, let’s take a look at what actually happened this year.

As someone who never watches the Super Bowl myself, I ended up viewing Timberlake’s 2018 halftime show days later on YouTube. In his nearly 14-minute showcase, Timberlake performed a mashup containing some of his most memorable covers – including “Rock Your Body,” “Sexy Back,” “Cry Me A River,” “Until The End of Time,” “Mirrors,” and “Can’t Stop The Feeling.”

But the obligatory controversial item during his showcase came when Timberlake sat at a piano doing his rendition of Prince’s “I Would Die 4 U.” Meanwhile, video footage of the late multigenre vocalist was suspended in midair above Timberlake on-stage. While many fans loved the tribute, others accused Timberlake of disrespecting Prince’s memory with the presence of a “hologram.” Newsweek’s Dante A. Ciampaglia, for example, pointed out how Prince (during his lifetime) had expressed his disdain for holographic technology, characterizing it as “demonic.”

To top it all off, when Timberlake emerged into the audience toward the end of the halftime show, pundits had a field day gushing over how thirteen-year-old Ryan McKenna – a New England Patriots fan, who has now garnered the nickname “Selfie Kid” – managed to snap a selfie with Timberlake using his camera phone as Timberlake danced past the kid. In short order, McKenna’s Instagram account blew up, netting him more than 8,000 new followers almost overnight.

While many in the media have greeted Ryan McKenna’s experience with positive intrigue, plenty of naysayers will find a way to disparage this memory he’d created for himself as “white adolescent entitlement.”

Let’s dispense with this first stigma, and get it out of the way: any such criticism of McKenna harkens back to the widespread public-shaming of Ashley Ferl in 2007. At the age of fourteen, Ferl gained notoriety when a cameraman famously captured a close-up of her sobbing with overwhelmed happiness during the live May 23, 2007 season finale of American Idol. The timing for Ferl was particularly bad given how her “Kodak moment” happened in synchronization with a song by Sanjaya Malakar – the mediocre contestant who ended up being disproportionately maligned by a “media army” far greater than Idol’s own fanbase.

Few people may remember how, three years later, Ferl herself auditioned for American Idol’s ninth season (albeit without disclosing her identity to the panel of judges). She was cut early, not even making it past the initial audition round. However, the bile toward Ferl largely dissipated – whereas the anti-Malakar rhetoric (enabled by a combination of racism and ageism) remains to this day.

Although the Ferl/Malakar outrage occurred under much different circumstances than any McKenna/Timberlake criticism has, the culture of shaming that surrounds both scenarios remains palpable.

As Daily Beast writer Ira Madison III reminds us, a large amount of the ire directed against Justin Timberlake is due to the perception that he left Janet Jackson “out to dry” back in 2004. We all remember how Timberlake spontaneously ripped off Jackson’s breastplate during their duet – but the protective covering also fell off, momentarily revealing Jackson’s lone exposed nipple for the entire world...for a few seconds.

The FCC tried to impose a fine for the “Nipplegate” indignity, which later was overturned in court. Jackson herself was disavowed by CBS and MTV (the producer of that particular halftime show), and her music videos and songs were blacklisted by those networks, their subsidiaries, and Viacom-affiliated radio stations.

Timberlake, meanwhile experienced no such backlash from the networks or the Entertainment Industry at the time. For years since then, social activists have proceed to “kabob” Timberlake for his interaction.

Let me take a moment to give my view on the whole “Nipplegate” hullabaloo, in the first place. I believe it was truly an accident. I don’t think it was a “publicity stunt” coordinated by Timberlake and Jackson together. Why would either of them want to take that risk, knowing how puritanical our society is? (any claims from the two of them, after the fact, were probably made in the hopes of placating the indignant Puritan Patrol) I think the breastplate fell off, and both Jackson and Timberlake did what they could to regroup from it in that moment.

The uptight American citizens who complained about Jackson’s bare nipple were ridiculous. I distinctly recall, at the time, one of my Internet forum foes (with the screen name of “Knightstorm”) huffing about how shameful it was, and how “someone had to pay for it.” By the way, “Knightstorm” was a conservative Republican who thought that BOTH Timberlake and Jackson (plus CBS and MTV) should have been held accountable with collective punitive financial damages paid out by both of them.

On the other hand, I don’t think ANYONE should have been “held accountable.” It was just a damn nipple. Furthermore, as far as we know, it was an accident – the burden of proof is on the complainer to prove otherwise. It wasn’t like Janet Jackson intentionally tore off her bra to knowingly expose herself on live television!

I absolutely agree it was a sexist double standard (in terms of the fallout, afterward). Janet Jackson should never have been persecuted for that “wardrobe malfunction.” Neither should have Justin Timberlake.

It was no big deal.

If I had been Timberlake, I would have vociferously defended Jackson in public to anyone who would listen. Should he have done so? Morally, yes, he should have. Although I’m sure that Timberlake was terrified (as was Jackson) about the Puritan Posse coming after him with legal sanctions to “make an example out of” their performance. This was a time period, after all, where mainstream Republicans and conservative Democrats alike had no qualms about throwing LGBT people under the bus solely for political gain.

Again, the nipple exposure was hardly criminal. Women frequently breastfeed in public. Men who happen to have enlarged mammary glands are legally allowed to go shirtless in full view of spectators. Jackson had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of!

Perhaps I’m biased because I’m a much bigger Janet Jackson fan than I am a Justin Timberlake fan. But that’s how I feel.

Now, fast-forward fourteen years to Super Bowl LII. If we consider how Madison and so many other like-minded commentators have taken Timberlake to task: should Timberlake have insisted that Jackson be allowed to perform with him in this year’s Super Bowl?

If I had been Timberlake, I would have viewed it as the right thing to do. But how can we be sure that Timberlake DIDN’T suggest it, and that NBC didn’t veto the idea? How do we know that Jackson herself even WANTED to participate in this year’s Super Bowl halftime show? Were any of us privy to those behind-the-scenes negotiations? Do any of us know the specifics of Timberlake and Jackson’s present-day relationship, one way or the other?

I do agree that it was tacky for Timberlake to perform “Rock Your Body” (the song they were performing the “wardrobe malfunction” happened) as part of his 2018 mashup. In fact, they probably should have picked someone else other than Timberlake to headline the event, entirely. Why not Luis Fonsi?

I think what’s more relevant is the lack of self-awareness Timberlake possesses regarding some of his own words and actions. For example, at this year’s Golden Globes, Timberlake tweeted a photo of himself along with his wife, actress Jessica Biel, dressed up during the award ceremony. As his tweet read:

Here we come!! And DAMN, my wife is hot! #TIMESUP #whywewearblack.”

The fact that Timberlake tweeted the #TimesUp hashtag in reference to his spouse’s physical appearance only shows how tone-deaf he is to the reality of where we need to go, as a society, amid the #MeToo movement (as I wrote about in my November 2017 op-ed entitled “#MeToo: Oh, But Not You”).

An even more pointed criticism of Timberlake was made by Dylan Farrow, the adopted daughter of Woody Allen. Last month, Farrow called out Timberlake for hashtagging #TimesUp at the Golden Globes while pointing how that Timberlake himself had no qualms about participating in Allen’s recent film, Wonder Wheel. Farrow has gone public with her claims of how Allen had sexually-molested her as a child.

Farrow’s criticism of Timberlake is actually valid. Not so when it comes to that from Ernest Owens.

For those of you who are unaware of who he is, Ernest Owens is a Philadelphia-based journalist, editor, and social activist who writes for Philadelphia magazine. In June 2016, Timberlake had tweeted the hashtag #Inspired after Jesse Williams gave a much-lauded speech on multiculturalism at the BET Awards.

To which Owens cattily tweeted at Timberlake:

So does this mean you’re going to stop appropriating our music and culture? And apologize to Janet too. #BETAwards

And, in response, Timberlake basically patted the outspoken tool on his head, clearly having none of that overwrought showiness from Owens.

As reported by journalist Elizabeth Wellington, upon learning that his negative June 2016 interaction with Timberlake had inspired Timberlake’s hit single “Say Something,” Owens comments:

My response is that I’m not impressed. He doesn’t understand his privilege. He’s an artist with impact and he will not for the life of him admit the role he played in the gentrification of a genre created by black artists.

In hindsight, Timberlake has proven Owens correct insofar as Timberlake’s own cluelessness and shortsightedness goes. That doesn’t change the fact that Owens himself is a wannabe pundit who (at that point in time) was obviously trolling Timberlake so that Owens could shoehorn in a contrived reference to “cultural appropriation” to gain attention for himself. Apparently, Timberlake being influenced by the R&B sound of Prince, James Brown, and Michael Jackson is an example of “cultural appropriation.” Heh...

Owens is all the more hypocritical, in a sociological context, because he’d supported Hillary Clinton during the 2016 presidential primaries – you know, the same Hillary Clinton who made a glib “SuperPredator” remark about criminals of color back in 1994. Owens also flouted this hypocrisy during a public civic forum he’d hosted under the guise of trying to “objectively” explore the differences between Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders.

But as we saw with the whole “White girls can’t dress up as Moana” flap, from last Halloween – some illiberals who masquerade as “intersectional feminists” or “progressives” will try to insert racial gentrification into the conversation wherever they can find a dubious excuse to do so. They will try to popularize the misallocated shaming of white teenagers (oh, and Sanjaya Malakar!) to prove how #Woke they are, such as all of the people two summers ago who accused Ryan Lochte of white privilege (even though Lochte is half-Cuban).

Besides that, in my not-so-humble opinion, Timberlake’s performance at this year’s Super Bowl wasn’t even all that great.

I agree with the assessments of Sharon Osbourne and Eve Jeffers-Cooper the following morning on CBS’s The Talk. Osbourne and Jeffers-Cooper both thought that the Prince-inspired portion of Timberlake’s mashup was well-done and respectful. But Osbourne felt that, when taking in Timberlake’s performance as a whole, he came off as a bit of a “try-hard.” Jeffers-Cooper, for her part, said she’s still a fan of Timberlake’s – but his Super Bowl halftime show this year felt too chaotic (more like an awards show number) from her perspective, and she lampooned his wardrobe as being “Duck Dynasty chic.”

So, based on all of the buzz (both positive and negative) that arose from Timberlake’s halftime show, I subsequently watched it.

I wasn’t impressed.

There are plenty of valid reasons to criticize Justin Timberlake...especially his lack of nuance and comprehension when it comes to the intent of specific social movements. But, despite the insistence of Ernest Owens, it wasn’t “cultural appropriation.”

Timberlake isn’t in the wrong for paying a sincere compliment to Jesse Williams.

Timberlake *IS* culpable for agreeing to work with Woody Allen and for misinterpreting the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements.

They should have picked Luis Fonsi, instead.

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kjwongsbrain · 8 years ago

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Somebody call Kevin Spacey!!

If I were to name some of the truly great evils in the world I'd be a little more creative in my choices. I tend to form odd opinions about my world in general so I wouldn't pick the really important things like poverty, world hunger, cancer, or war. One of the truly great evils in this world in my opinion is advertising. Now some of you may have read my previous article regarding the state of advertising in the online world (you can read about it here - http://kjwongcreative.com/the-inside-of-kjs-brain-is-up-to-something/2016/6/13/where-do-we-go-where-do-we-go-where-do-we-go-now), but a recent event in that same world has put me on a train of thought in a much larger context.

To those of you who don't glue your faces to your screen like I regretfully do, allow me to inform you of the current state of affairs.

Youtube is in another puddle of trouble. Sure it's been in puddles of trouble before but this one seems to have genuinely shaken the foundation that Youtube is built upon. In the history of Youtube's evolution, it's encountered various problems before like the uploading of copyrighted material, or the posting of indecent or offensive material, or the general display of the worse kinds of human interaction that we as a species are capable of. Youtube has usually been able to solve these issues without much difficulty by changing the way the platform works in general. They've introduced a system of automation and all things 'algorithm' to patrol the streets of user uploaded videos. Sure some of the riffraff slips through the cracks every now and then, but it's been relatively good thus far.

This time though the puddle of trouble isn't really user related. It isn't something that seems to be solvable via algorithm. If you didn't know already, a large number of big corporations have pulled their ads from the platform entirely. This situation was caused in part by some ridiculously biased reporting from the Wall Street Journal, and in part by Youtube's general reliance on their automated system to curb the business aspect of its videos and their creators. How we got to this point in the problem is really difficult to say but I think it has all to do with how large Youtube grew and what direction in grew in. If you ask me, this reality was really inevitable. Just as people remember a portion of internet history known as the dot-com bubble, we may well refer to this incident as the Youtube bubble in years to come.

What happened with Youtube was that the growth of it invited more people to take it as a serious platform for distribution. So now you'll find an entire entertainment industry built upon it. There are professional creators on Youtube now who use the platform as their single source of income and distribution. It's actually scary to think of it in that manner. Sure Google is pretty much one of the cornerstones in the foundation of the internet, but the thought that entire businesses and countless jobs are riding on the back of one internet company's service is rather ridiculous.

In my previous article, I told an Aesop's fable-esque story of how internet advertising came to be and how the entire industry was built. The result of it is that Youtube became a place where it was financially feasible to be an independent creator. The term 'independent creator' is an important one because it's the reason why so many actually flocked to the platform once the idea that it could actually support the creators with real money got out there. Independent creators generally have independent thoughts and views and ideas, most of which don't necessarily conform to the ideas that existing production companies would be interested in and eventually fund. Independent creators are at liberty to say what they want to say, make what they want to make, swear how they want to swear, generally do what they want to do.

Youtube embraced these people and gave them a platform to exercise that freedom and actually live off of it. Youtube took their cut, of course, and became the single most dominant video hosting site in the world.

But then the algorithm slipped up. Ads started showing up on some of the riffraff too and the wholesome lovely companies that bought ads on Youtube - knowing full well that the entire system was automated and nobody was really watching every ounce of content that passed through the gates and also knowing that occasionally some really questionable content does make its way there - suddenly got scared and pulled out completely.

Then a creator was accused of being a Nazi or something.

The Youtube algorithm tried to correct itself, fearful that the big advertising dollars were gone for good. And then content was suddenly getting restricted and forced out of advertising potential where it was once welcomed with open arms. Anything that was deemed just a tad too risque for the wholesome companies with the wholesome advertising money was immediately struck from the list. Creators suddenly awoke to almost entire channels no longer receiving advertising revenue.

Suddenly, Youtube is looking a lot like the big evil production companies that sidelined the independent creators. Youtube no longer invites the independent creator to do whatever he or she pleases and make a living doing what they love, but only has room for those that are squeaky clean and happy faced. Pretty soon Youtube will be populated solely by Peppa Pig and toy unboxing channels.

And I'm not really bothered by that. Yes, I do watch a lot of Youtube these days, but I don't think I would care if any of it went away. In fact I think the Youtube bell curve of quality is a little too large in the middle. When I look at the landscape of Youtube today I'm actually a little disgusted that we've gone from celebrating creative media to celebrating personality based media. If you really think about it, most of this has basically returned us to the dark ages of television known as 'reality TV', what with the creation and celebration of the minor celebrity with no real talent or substance. When I look at the sea of vlogging going on in the Youtube space and the millions and millions of views it generates, side by side with the excellent videos of art and music and short films, I'm appalled.

So when these vloggers and tepid personalities who've suddenly struck internet fame cry foul about the change in the way Youtube is operating, I really can't side with them. When they start making claims that Youtube is censoring them (which by the way I totally disagree with the idea that what Youtube is doing is merely censorship with a different name. That's absolute horse shit. Nobody is stopping you from making your videos and putting them online. Nobody is telling you to take them down. It's just that now nobody is paying you to do them. That does not equate to censorship. That's the stupid ego of some of these idiot f*cks (sorry I had to swear there. Also, parentheses in parentheses again) who think that their voice is really that important in the world. Sorry, I had to rant there because I genuinely hate these people who represent the worst bits of my generation. They are part of the reason why the label of 'millennial' has such a negative connotation), I really can't buy into that premise.

I don't think they should've ever existed in the first place. They're only there because the new media platforms have allowed their slightly-shinier-than-average personalities to be profitable. And yes I am speaking with quite a bit of cynicism here as a creative individual because I see great crafts and skills and performances go unnoticed while some random person who simply isn't afraid of being a clown on camera draws in millions of views every single week. It's almost impossible to gain those numbers in a proper stage production these days involving countless hours of creative sweat and tears but right across the street is a man with a camera pointing at his face doing exactly that.

And we celebrate this. We throw our time - our most valuable currency on this planet - at them.

I have to say that the idea that Youtube might come sorely crashing down was always inevitable in my mind. Looking at the way Youtube grew and the path that it took getting there, it was always a house of cards. I've remained constantly skeptical of entire businesses that have built upon the foundations of Youtube and Google - again, doesn't this look exactly like the dot-com bubble? - and while I've chosen to support some of them, I've never once believed that all of them could endure and survive in this climate. Even the mighty RoosterTeeth, the godfather of the internet distribution model and perhaps the oldest online media production company ever, a channel that I've watched for years now; I've always wondered how long they'll continue to float atop the volatile world of internet media.

And so with Youtubeland no longer enticing the big bucks of advertising to fund the vast majority of semi-creative individuals, is it all over? Who knows. Who can tell where we're going in this constantly changing digital world. I've already said that I wouldn't really bother if it does come to an end. We'll all find other means of entertainment anyway and all the tepid faces will eventually fade back into obscurity. That doesn't sound so bad to me.

But there's something more to this story other than the possibility of the Youtube bubble finally bursting. And this is the bit that I am concerned about and has caused me a great deal of worry.

You see, the thought that advertising pulling out of a platform and causing this kind of drama has got me thinking about just how much of the world depends on the advertising industry. And here is why we come back to my idea that advertising is really one of the great evils in this world. As I take a step back and look beyond the walls of Youtube and Google and Facebook, the reality of how many different facets of our lives involve or even depend on advertising is slightly horrifying. Entire businesses, countless jobs, news portals, entire industries in art and music and culture - all of this is almost entirely reliant on the advertising industry to stay alive.

Nowadays I wonder, if I ever got my genie wish that advertising would disappear for good (By the way, my genie wishes are the death of advertising, a million of each type and color of LEGO brick and infinite room to store them, and Gordon Ramsay's kitchen. In that order.), what would the world look like? Is advertising really as necessary as it makes itself out to be?

And that's what's bothering me about this entire thing - the idea that we've allowed advertising to seep into our lives with barely any notice or consent, and now so heavily depend upon it. The picture being painted here with this Youtube situation is that we've basically done the thing that we so often say we despise and have handed back the power to the big evil corporations. With a single move from these corporations, even the almighty Google can be shaken. Money is truly terrifyingly powerful, and ad dollars are no exception. And yet we've built so many things on the back of ad revenue because it's a model that somehow still manages to work. And that's why it's so evil. We need it. And it consumes us.

That's why I have my own little space here. This space has no intention of generating any income. There will never be ads running on this space because I don't get paid to write these articles and put them online; I pay someone to allow me to. That also means that this space will probably never grow into something bigger. I'll never cajole more contributors with more insight and more knowledge than me to come write here for no money. I'll never grow this into a subscription based magazine that pretends to have views that people should pay attention to. This will always and forever be a drain on my bank account, and a space for me to be a truly independent creative. No ad dollars can determine what I make or what I say. Only the dollars in my bank account. And that's the way I'll keep it for as long as I can.

Sure my face is not as shiny and my personality even colder than the tepid ones you see online. Sure I have a boring voice and have really very little things of interest to say. But guess what? As I watch the world of online advertising based media come crashing down, I'll still be atop my little hill that I bought, quietly writing about it for barely anyone to read.

And that's fine with me.

*I think I'm taking the concept of titles that have no meaning until you actually read the article a little too far. It's almost completely non-indicative of what the content of the article is. I take that back. It's not almost completely non-indicative, it is completely non-indicative. I'll rein myself in next time.*

#thoughts #techno #the internet

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