#so I have an enormous amount of work to do for current job today and tonight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

freddyfreebat · 4 years ago

Text

Jack Dylan Grazer Discovers Who He Is in Luca Guadagnino's “We Are Who We Are”

After supporting roles in the It and Shazam!, the young actor shifts gears with his turn as a capricious army brat in the Call Me By Your Name director's new HBO series.

by Iana Murray / Photography by Nik Antonio — September 14, 2020

A few years ago, Jack Dylan Grazer took a trip to the movie theater. He was in Toronto and it was one of his days off from filming Shazam!, the DC comedy in which he plays the shape-shifting hero’s foster brother. He decided to watch Call Me By Your Name, and he immediately fell for it. Grazer took note of the director’s name that appeared in the credits—Luca Guadagnino—and turned to his mother.

“I want to work with him,” he told her. With eerie prescience, she assured him: “You will.”

Whether Grazer, now 17, has a knack for manifestation, or it was all just happenstance, his wish came true in the form of We Are Who We Are, Guadagnino’s coming of age drama which follows a group of army brats living on an American military base in Italy. Thematically, the show is something of a spiritual successor to Call Me By Your Name: Grazer plays Fraser, a tempestuous 14-year-old with a pair of headphones constantly plugged in his ears. He’s the new arrival at the base with his mothers (Chloë Sevigny and Alice Braga), and quickly forms a deep bond with his neighbour, Caitlin (Jordan Kristine Seamon), as they both wrestle with their sexuality and identity in the midst of domestic troubles and teenage debauchery.

“He’s an enigma to himself,” Grazer says of his character. “He doesn’t really understand a lot of the things he does but he’s so forthright so he convinces himself that he knows everything. He feels like other people don’t deserve his intelligence. But he’s also very volatile and aggressive at times, and not because he’s coming from an angry place but because he’s constantly questioning who he is.”

If Fraser is just beginning his coming of age when we first meet him, Grazer is inching closer to the end. Starring in enormous blockbusters including IT, he became the Loser Club’s resident hypochondriac at age 12 and a superhero’s sidekick by 15. His films have grossed a combined total of over $1.5 billion. Suddenly the stakes are multiplied tenfold during what are ostensibly, and horrifyingly, the most awkward years of your life. Every misstep is now being monitored, examined through a microscope of millions. (See: His 3.8 million fans on Instagram, to say nothing of the countless stan accounts.) Child fame is a disarming transaction like that: a stable career and all the other perks of being a celebrity, but at the cost of normalcy. That unalleviating pressure forces a kid to mature fast.

Grazer is acutely aware of this fact, admitting outright that he’s “not a normal person.” But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I became 70 when I was 7!” he laughs. “I don’t know if I really had much of a childhood. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to grow up really fast.”

Nevertheless, he’s still 17. When we meet over Zoom, his shoulder length curls are damp and disheveled (he just got out of the shower), his black painted fingernails contrast with his brightly-lit, white bedroom as he rests his face on his hand. It’s a Saturday morning and he looks tired: It’s his first week back at school, which has traded classrooms for hours of video calls reminiscent of the one we’re currently on. “It feels like the days are shorter because the teachers don’t want to torture their students by keeping them on a computer for six hours a day,” he tells me. “You do miss the social aspect of being at school.”

If you were to judge Grazer by what’s out there on the internet, you’d expect an anarchic and relentless bundle of energy. A quick YouTube search brings up results like “jack dylan grazer being a drama queen” and “jack dylan grazer being chaotic in interviews for 4 and a half minutes straight.” He trolled a YouTube gamer on Instagram Live. His TikToks are inscrutable.

But here, he’s incredibly earnest, as he excitedly talks about his skateboarding hobby (a skill he picked up after auditioning for Mid90s) and his attempts to learn the flute (“I need to learn how to read sheet music, but it’s like reading Hebrew!”). He’s calm and thoughtful, as if this project we’re discussing requires a shift in sensibility.

For Grazer, acting had always simply been fun. While other kids might take up a sport or get hooked on video games, he performed in musical theater with the Adderley School because he “just wanted to play.” His roles so far have been reflective of his carefree approach to the job: Up until now, he’s portrayed best friends with biting one-liners, or the younger version of the protagonist in a flashback. IT is a prime example of both. In the horror franchise, Grazer plays a neurotic germaphobe running from a fear-eating clown, but in reality, the film felt like “summer camp.” Both films never felt like work; he just learned his lines and got to hang out on extravagant sets with his best friends. Likewise, school amounted to being pulled off set by a teacher in between takes to cram in the mandatory hours.

But with We Are Who We Are, he steps into his first leading role, one that required him to convey longing and confusion through Elio-like physicality and subtext. It’s abnormal to talk about the show as a turning point for an actor who isn’t even a legal adult yet, but Grazer explains that the show required him to radically change his approach to acting. He spent six months in Italy (“It felt like I was in Call Me By Your Name.”) and built up the character beyond what was on the page in collaboration with Guadagnino. “His philosophy is that we know our characters better than anyone else—even the writers—because we are the characters essentially,” he explains.

In many ways, Grazer absorbed that philosophy entirely. He describes the experience less as a performance and more like a “rebirth”—perhaps even an attempt at method acting. Over those months in Italy, the distinctions between actor and character gradually became indistinguishable. “I had no other choice but to act and surrender to Fraser entirely and throw Jack Dylan Grazer out the window,” he says. “I would go out and get a coffee as Fraser and walk like Fraser. That was just me trying to get into [character], but then I slipped at some point and just became Fraser.”

One day on set, he looked at himself in the mirror, and the hardened kid standing there with a bleach-blond dye job and oversized shorts was unrecognizable to him. He could only see Fraser. While talking about his character, he seems to unintentionally switch pronouns, from “he” to “I”, as if the two still remain one and the same.

The process was so transformative that it forced him to re-evaluate himself entirely. “I never really struggled with identity before,” Grazer tells me. “But I think the show opened up my eyes to question myself. Being Fraser forced me to question what I wanted and what I stood for and what I believed in. At some points, the show bled into reality.”

When asked how he has changed, he takes a pause and a pensive swivel in his armchair, unsure of how to answer. “I think I was more ignorant before I did the show,” he says, and he leaves it at that.

Coming of agers are a particularly well-trodden genre, but there’s a naturalistic, raw energy to We Are Who We Are that is distinctive from what we’ve seen before. Each character quietly struggles with their own problems and growing pains—for Fraser, it’s his sexuality. Caught in a fraught relationship with his lesbian mother and an infatuation with another man, his story doesn’t tick off the familiar beats. His personal discovery is instead internal and intimate. "I think every single person born as a boy has this guard. It’s this guard that they don’t even realize they have, where they’re initially like, ‘Being gay? I could never.’ But we’re all born as humans who are attracted to whatever we’re attracted to," he says. "I think that’s how Fraser interprets it as well. Yes, he’s reserved and nervous about it in the beginning because he’s unlocking this new idea for himself. He’s figuring it out, and that’s what you see in the show: him coming to terms with this idea."

As our conversation winds to a close, I ask him if Martin Scorsese ever visited the set—his daughter, Francesca, plays the confident cool girl of the show’s teen cohort—and his eyes widen. “That was actually a really stressful day,” he divulges. Still, he revels in the memory, speaking so fast it’s like someone has put him on 2.5x speed as he shows off his impersonation of Guadagnino. The director was so nervous about Scorsese’s presence that production halted that day.

“Luca was like, ‘I cannot do this today because Martin Scorsese is on my set. I don’t know what to do, this is not good for me. I will have a panic attack before the day ends,’” Grazer says in his best Italian accent. “It’s like if you’re a painter and Van Gogh shows up.”

Admittedly, Grazer is also a self-proclaimed superfan of the Wolf of Wall Street director, and afterwards, he got to spend several days with his idol, as they went on lavish restaurant outings in Italy and talked about anything and everything.

He takes a second to compose himself. A giddy, Cheshire cat smile spreads across his face. The kid in him comes flooding back.

“...Oh my god!” he yells. “I met Martin Scorsese!”

#jack dylan grazer #fraser wilson #we are who we are #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter two #freddy freeman #shazam!#wawwa #luca guadagnino #hbo #hbo max #sky atlantic #interview #gq #wawwa press

630 notes · View notes

namjoonchronicles · 4 years ago

Text

closure |nj

↳ pairing namjoon, reader

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship, melodrama

↳ words 3,775k

↳ summary some stories aren't meant to be understood, they're just written to be heard.

↳ warning depression; major death of side character, suicide

↳ song 'feel something' by clairo, 'to love someone else' by avery lynch, 'chernobyl' by alec bailey

Truly, the nights are filled with unspoken stories. When he took your hand in his and looked deep into your eye with those soft concerned gaze, you were home. He cupped your chin, curled a strand of your hair behind your ear and studied your entire face.

“What’s that look?” his voice swam in your semi-consciousness, “I know that look. That look pains me, takes me to the edge, makes me curl my toes, that look…”

Your eyes flutter wondrously at his lashes, his Cupid’s bow and supple lips, along with a stricken smile you asked him quizzically, “I am alright, you have nothing to worry about…”

Namjoon thumbed your cheek and it traced down to your smile line, the curve at the edge of your lips, and you know he felt the trembles as you forced the smile. Namjoon’s eyes trail up to meet yours again, he starts chewing the insides of his cheek, hollowing them.

“You are faking the smile,” and he softens when he sees your eyes gleaming with tears. Upon this, he collected your head into his arms and cushioned by his chest. He passes a long lingering kiss atop of your head, cradling your head while your arms are low on his hip, trying to barely hold on. At the time, he felt like a pillar, holding you together in all your ruins. His stature, the scent of his aftershave, the makings of his shirts and the smell of his skin— it all rushed over your senses like a tsunami. The kind of comfort he was, such a calming presence for a cyclone-bearing human you were.

Rush of emotions. It builds up.

And up.

And overflows.

You are an enigma Namjoon is scrambling to find out. A tough shell of a crab, with walls built high and thick. Like a lost traveler with a single map that’s ever changing in its path, ever evolving— you were that map. The verandah's wooden panel wet from the late afternoon rain, the hammock under the small roof at the edge, lay static in its place until Namjoon put his enormous weight on it. One leg dangling out, arm spread and waiting for you to grab them. He bracketed your waist and lifted you from the floor and into his lap like a child. He has a bottle of soda by the side, its lid snapped open. Laying your back on his hard, defined pectoral chest, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulder somewhat lifted a bit. Namjoon knows, and he knows this without you saying a word— he knows that you had been fighting many battles alone, and with yourself. The battles had wrung you out, strewn you in and silenced you. Constantly, insistently the world is demanding a piece of you to give out. At this place and time, it seemed incredibly impossible to be at complete peace. You could almost give in— tempted to lay in defeat. You gave it your all, and they gave you nothing.

“It’ll hurt for awhile, but it will get better,” you suddenly broke the silence. Namjoon hummed back, either confused or surprised at the sudden remark. You turned sideways and up, to look at the view of his jaw. He tips his head back, drinking down the soda in his left hand. The thin fabrics of his sleeveless tanks, left almost nothing to the imagination. He tutted his tongue in response to what you said.

“That’s a nice saying…” his voice dropped an octave lower when he is relaxing like this with you. You were the few humans in the world he would appreciate silence with. You switched to face him, him between your legs as you sat up with a big gaping smile on your face, disbelieved.

“You’re the one who told me that…” emphasizing on him. You filled the gaps between his legs with your own, sandwiched as you sat opposed to him. Your toes next to his head and him grinning like he kept a secret from the world. After much struggle to get comfortable, you said,

“You told me that when my grandmother passed away that night in January… I remember it clearly, just like it was yesterday…

I was in the elevator with her lifeless body on the casket and not a drop of tears left my eye…

I started wondering if there was something wrong with me…”

Namjoon wrapped his palm over your ankles— the ankles you hated so much because you think they are unappealing, he thumbs the protruding bone affectionately, brought it to his stomach and started massaging it with his free hand. All the while you were reminiscing.

“And you told me that I was so hurt, I couldn’t cry. How I am used to fabricating my pain for the sake of others… that when I was expected to cry, I couldn’t. And wouldn’t. How I took being strong quite literally…” Your voice slowed down, your eyes casted to the view of his fingers, nimbling over your skin.

“And today, the same thing happened… but today, I chose not to be too strong,” you held your breath for a moment, and exhaled shakily. The emotions aren’t all gone; the remnants are still here, clinging on you like a stubborn stain on the wall left by the old frames that were no longer there. Coiling around you like a shadow at every hint of bright light. The guilt was paralyzing you to the point of tears.

“A friend of mine was taken today…” you painted a smile on your face but Namjoon didn’t etch one, one bit. His fingers stopped massaging briefly, before it continued.

“You’ve met him once, if you remembered, his name is Hoseok,” you wiped a single drop of tear, “He was a firm owner, a lawyer. We met at the convention…”

“... back in 2015.” Namjoon finished your sentences.

At the 2015 International Pharmaceutical Convention, 7 years ago...

Flourishing, the crowd of intelligent people came in with a big proud smile, wearing lanyards of their company. Blazers, heels, jewelries, research posters, new pharmaceutical breakthroughs, projects and investors circles. The big pharma are divided in sections.

Walking toward the condiments vendor for a quick refreshment, you were approached by a man. Tall, his face turned away from your view as he was speaking to another colleague. He hijacked your turn to access the vendors, unknowingly, and you weren’t exactly the kind to speak up when a stranger does this to you, so you backed away a little and forced out a smile, gazing down at your toes.

“Hey, I think I know your name…” this mysterious figure suddenly says, “Still letting others go first before you, huh?” In such a friendly tone, your mind began racing to decipher his voice and face when you shot your gaze up to meet his. The same disarming smile, perfectly lined teeth and just the right amount of cologne, wafted around your nose— was a face familiar from the years back.

“Hoseok? Jung Hoseok?” he mentions his name after a long pause from you.

You were tongue-tied, mind-riddled from such a sudden meeting. You were unprepared and it must have shown all over your face the way he hisses away, wearing a lopsided smile and gruffly saying, “Don’t be like that… Do you really not know me? Have I mistook you for someone else?” He suddenly shifted his weight to another foot, crossed his arm and placed his forefinger under his chin, gazing at the corner of the massive hall, thinking.

“Ankles, and that old wristwatch, it’s definitely you…” his pondering face switches to a cheerful smile in a matter of seconds and you could not have been even more right that this was your old friend whom you hadn’t contacted in years. All the way back in college.

“Oh my, it’s you…!” You gasped, trying to recover from the embarrassing delay, “Wow, you look amazing… How are you! How have you been?”

Hoseok exchanged your late recalling with a burst of laughter of his own.

“I own a firm now,” you heard him say. It was the first thing he said, and it showed just how much pride he took in it. Which was fair. Back then he was struggling to find his footing, trying to find a job and getting rejected at interviews— it was you whom he shared those stories with. Over late night coffee, late night conversations and texts; he talks about his days, sharing with you his strange humors. You were glad that he finally found what he liked to do; at least that's what you assumed he liked because you clearly remembered that he had different interests.

“So what about the photography business? Your freelance job?” you hesitantly asked.

You could see how his smile and whole stature faltered briefly at the mention of it. You knew that his family was against it— was against anything that isn’t bringing back money— passion or not, it wasn’t something his family wanted him to do. Besides, his father’s firm needs managing, and what other way to continue the business if not having a son that is doing law as well.

“Folded,” his cheeks puffed and deflated, “Sold everything including the antique camera, the analogues, the films… everything.”

Your heart thudded strangely. You knew just how much he loved photography. It was the reason why you both got close back then. Your passion to everything artistic and his passion to capture everything beautiful. You remember so well, how his face lights up at the mention of photography, how he was so willing to teach you how to use the cameras you’ve never seen, and how he shares all his work with you, including the new one he was currently working on. You had access to all of his digital work and manuscript. And it was unfortunate that all these had to go away, leaving nothing to the memory. Nothing to hold close. It probably killed him as well. But what could he have done?

“How about you?” the conversation now shifts to your side. You twisted the ring around your ring finger and showed it to him.

“Awesome!” He gleams. So delighted.

“He is here somewhere, I don’t know where he went… but he should find me in a few minutes,” you looked around.

“You were getting something from the vendor?” Hoseok asked, but you shook your head. You don’t feel like drinking now.

Hoseok gradually finds out how your life is, where you’ve worked and places you’ve been.

“And you met Namjoon at work?”

“Pretty much, he is in the investors group. We met once, talking about a big pharma project and he was one of the champions supporting the good cause, so I owed him a lot,” you shrugged as to say, the rest is history.

“So he made you marry him to pay up all your emotional debts?” Hoseok jokes.

“Not exactly but… you know how I am. I can be very difficult to convince, especially when I am so comfortable with the lifestyles I already have. I dread to be a housewife so when he understood that, everything else falls into place,” you added and caught a tall figure walking along the hallway, dashing in his slick back hair, lanyards dangling.

Blazers flailing, white dress shirt and slacks make up the shapes of his defined abs and thighs. He walks with his head hanging slightly downwards as if he was trying not to catch anyone’s attention but was failing. Everyone turned their head towards him the moment he stepped inside the hall.

He stopped midway and tugged his left sleeve back. His Patek Phillipe Nautilus shimmering handsomely under the spotlight as he studied the time. He lifts his eyes up to scan the room through his brows and pursed lips, wondering where his wife was at the promised time.

You raised your arm slightly and the smoldering figure of a man twitches a big smile and a small bite on his lower lip, making his way to you. Completely aware about the man that was nearby you as he plants a chaste, enveloping kiss on your lips.

“This is Namjoon, Kim Namjoon…” You placed your hand on the small of his back and he reached out to Hoseok first for a handshake, again, his wristwatch peeking out when he covers the handshake with the left hand.

“Sweetheart, this is Hoseok, Jung Hoseok. He is a lawyer…” you introduced them both and Hoseok handed him his name card. Namjoon waits for you to further elaborate how you seemed so friendly with this man. And you can’t say that Hoseok was in-fact your old best friend whom you cut connections with because you’ve had feelings for him when he was in love with someone else. So you say, “An old friend.”

You sighed in relief when Namjoon didn’t catch the extended pause, but you can’t help thinking that he might question more later in the ride home. But for now, Namjoon’s bright smile seems to captivate the whole room’s attention. Small talks, and brief discussion about the direction of the convention and what he thinks about it, comes naturally. But he makes sure you don’t feel left out by the conversation by constantly adding your pharma company name in the picture.

“Had it not been my darling, the company would have gone downhill with their outdated scheduling methods and utter refusal to accept reformations according to modernization,” Namjoon added, and while he says so, so professionally and with full alluring prospects of a seasoned business man, his hand was trailing down the curve of your ass and gently squeezing them— out of Hoseok’s sight. Had you been a terrible pretender, you would have moaned out of context. You can thank your overflowing control for that. You were also cursing his name in the back of your mind and he will have an earful of it when you get home later.

“She single-handedly save the multi-billionaire company from their biggest downfall from the company’s incompetent leader,” Hoseok added, “Also they had a lot of legal issues at the time. I was in-charge of the corporate files before they shifted to joint-venture with Daehan Pharmaceuticals… it was a mess already. Corruption, bribes and unreliable auditing data.”

“Wait…” you intruded, “You were in the pharma that long? So we could have met?”

Hoseok gave you a lopsided smile and nodded. He further explained how he kept sending his colleagues to do site visits because he wants to avoid seeing you. This is where Namjoon begins to realise that you guys might be more than just friends because he asked,

“Why is that?”

Hoseok began his answer with a shrug of his shoulder and pursing his lips. After a brief thought, he admits, “Because at the time, we weren’t talking anymore. She would know why,” He opens his mouth to say more, but glancing down at your wedding ring, he didn’t.

If Hoseok remembered clearly, he was talking to you about a girl he had been pursuing. It was the first time he ever revealed something like that, all along you knew each other. You were studying for your final year and had been bludgeoned with assignments. There wasn’t a right time to tell you until one day on April 17th, he said he was finally going to ask this girl if she would be his girlfriend. A little info on her was that she was in a toxic relationship she was trying to get out from. She didn’t ask Hoseok to wait, but Hoseok was so in love with her, he didn’t mind how long it would take. She requested for time and space. Another man claimed her as his girlfriend when she didn’t say yes or no. Another two were also after her. Her ex boyfriend returned after months of leaving her. Just at the same time Hoseok was allowing her in his life.

When he shared you that information, you felt so betrayed somehow. He was always preaching about how being single is the best way to live and he turned around and did things like this. Pursuing a relationship. You were stubborn, you had egos you wanted to defend. Everything regarding relationships, you refuse to acknowledge. And any slight differences in your opinions were enough to break a relationship, even a strong friendship like you and Hoseok shared at the time. You once confessed to Hoseok that you liked him and he couldn’t return the same feelings. So you accused him of loving someone else and he denied that. When this happened, you felt like you were lied to. Because Hoseok, at the time that you two knew each other, was already having eyes on someone else, treating you as a placeholder, sharing emotions until the girl was eventually available for him.

Then he dropped you.

Things would have been different if he just told the truth. That he was indeed in love with someone when you confessed to him. Things would be much easier and it wouldn’t have gone deeper than it was. You would have walked away, unhurt and without knowing each other at a depth that you’d have to crawl out from. But Hoseok didn’t want to lose you. For some reason, he kept the friendship despite being unable to return your feelings, fabricating attention and giving hopes that he might one day change his feelings. Had you walked out earlier, you wouldn’t have resorted to deleting all contacts with him. His Instagram account, all his numbers, his pictures, galleries. The assignments he helped you with, the emotional support, the ice cream dates and late night phone calls. You would take it all away.

You deleted him from your life, only for him to tiptoe around the same company as yours— afraid of being known but unsure of what he did wrong. You decided that you would punish him that way. By leaving him with no answers of why you left.

“Will you be joining the closing ceremony dinner at Hyatt?” Namjoon politely asked. Noticing that the conversation had run down.

“Perhaps I will. I have to keep the firm going for the wife and kids to eat,” Hoseok perked up, and it was the first time he ever revealed about his marital status all through the conversation.

“Oh, you married her?” the delight in your voice was sincere, you are so happy for him. But his answers weren’t what you expected.

“No I didn’t. She left me for someone else, she was never honest with me, and I was only hearing the things I wanted to hear,” Hoseok rubs his knuckle and politely excused himself when he saw Namjoon was approached by an entourage of bodyguards that guide you and your husband to the next section of the convention. No numbers were exchanged to insinuate a rekindled relationship. It’s like you both understood that you could never return to what you were before. You both are leading different lives now, with different people and different phases. But you hoped he knew just how much he meant to you back then.

Hoseok walked away with a lightened shoulders. Now that he has seen you face-to-face and sure of what life you’re living, he felt a little at ease and a little envious. In the car you once rode with him, this broken-down Honda Civic, divorce papers were scattered on the front seat. The top-most letter being the child custody granted to his wife. His firm is also on the verge of bankruptcy and he was laid off from his contract with the pharma, this convention being the last one he will ever attend. After you left his life, he was burdened with one bad luck after the other. And he was at his last strand of hope when he came to the building. He saw you gracefully presenting on the stage about the medication you have been working on, like how he always wished to see. You were so cool, so engaging, so intelligent in your presence. Namjoon is the ultimate husband you wished for, and of course, you would concede for a man that was at your level. Knowing you as long as he did, you will not settle for less and that’s final. No discussion.

Life is good for you.

Inserting his car keys inside the keyhole, telling himself that, “That’s the price of breaking a pure heart.”

Empty bottle of soda laying on the wooden panel. Your tear-stained face, sleeping on your side under the starry night sky, while Namjoon watched you intently. He covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep. He walked inside the house, and vanished to his home office. In it, he fetches his phone and turns on his table lamp, making a call that was immediately taken.

“I want you to find the burial information on a lawyer Jung Hoseok and send some condolences bouquet,” he instructed with a low voice. The short voice call felt heavy but necessary. Hoseok’s passing was detrimental to his wife’s mental and emotional health— it was important for him and her to get the closure they both needed.

Judging from her frail figure, she won’t be able to attend the funeral. Cremation was planned as requested by Hoseok. His children will not be attending, neither is his wife. The last thing Hoseok wanted was his funeral attended by the people that was the reason for his passing. For years, he had been battling depression and anxiety. It has been a long, lonely fight.

Namjoon watches the silhouette of you, standing against the setting sun, in your all-black attire and hair tied in a bun, hugging yourself. Wind blowing the strands of your hair back at every strike. Your diamond ring twinkling at the light it reflects. The sound of traffic in the distance, honks and vehicles throttling far away.

“The funeral ended gracefully…” Namjoon broke the silence.

You dropped your head and tutted your tongue, smiling weakly.

“It’s not your fault, darling…” your husband’s footsteps padded through the wooden floors to where you were.

“Then why does it hurt so bad? Why does it still hurt so Goddamn much?!” you shrieked.

Namjoon collected you in his arms, so you would rest your head on his sturdy chest, and he whispered, barely audibly heard by you,

“Because when you love, you love with everything you have. I know that much.”

It was then he realized that one is only allowed the closure they deserved;

And, no closure is also a closure.

↳ author’s note it's been awhile, i feel like i've been waiting for my personal life to overflow before i could write something. this is just an excuse to use 'that' picture of namjoon for the banner of a story. how are you? i've recently cut contacts with someone i hold dearly in my life. upon the break, it gave me back the emotions i used to have when i am writing. all this while, i have wasted my feeling, my elaborated word choices on someone who hardly appreciate it. with him gone, i started to think clearer and see things for what they are. i am no longer shrouded by dark grey clouds of uncertainty as i was with him. it was a difficult shift, but i feel better now that he is gone from my life. i dropped a tear or two not because of the love i used to feel for him, but because i felt incapable of being loved the way i yearned. this is the second day after i broke all connection with the said man/boy/creature. i feel liberated after the whole story was written. i needed him killed in my mind. so i wrote it just that. i've returned to where i was before, and i feel absolutely fine.

106 notes · View notes

jadevalentine-writes · 3 years ago

Note

✍️ yabmfg! 😉👻💖 (But also, I am looking forward to ALL that are in the works!! 🤗)

AH, I LOVE You'll Always Be My Favorite Ghost. So much so that I reread the chapter I'm working on today and honestly it's probably my favorite thing I have written today. It just slaps, if I do say so myself. Once I'm done with the MXTX Femslash Minibag, I'll return to it as it's my current Hualian WIP.

As a treat, here's the first part of the next chapter below the cut!

CW: Light Horror

Every day since Xie Lian signed the streaming contract, he felt like was living in a dream. He no longer had to wake up before dawn to crawl into work to prepare for the cafe’s morning rush. If he did wake up that early, it was to rendezvous with the rest of the team before they set out to their next destination, sometimes a few states over. Hua Cheng would greet him in the parking lot of his apartment complex, an extra large black tea in hand. After they loaded their bags in the trunk of his car, Hua Cheng would give Xie Lian a spine realigning hug and mumble “Good morning, gege” into his hair. That alone made getting up early easier.

Then there was the job itself, which did not feel like work at all. Some days were long, with hours spent driving to the destination only to immediately set-up and shoot upon arriving, but for every one of those were weeks worth of normal days where it felt Xie Lian barely worked. He highly suspected it was due in part to being with Hua Cheng constantly, but he did not want to analyze it too deeply. Having fun was part of the deal they had made, and he wasn’t about to spoil it. Besides, if Shi Qingxuan or He Xuan needed help with editing, he’s sure they would have said something. Instead, they seemed content to spend hours in each other’s company long after everyone else had turned in for the night.

Xie Lian did admit that outside spending an enormous amount of time with Hua Cheng, the work itself was entertaining. He got to travel to obscure locations that he previously did not know existed and eat at local restaurants that offered strange delicacies like crawdad soup and boiled eel pancakes. He also started to suspect, ever so slightly, that ghosts may be real.

It happened during their twenty-something investigation. With the streaming contract came the funds for new “ghost detection” equipment, including EMF readers and a radio that Shi Qingxuan claimed was a way to communicate directly with some ghosts.

“It’s called a spirit box,” Shi Qingxuan said as he unboxed it in Xie Lian’s living room. “You can ask questions and the ghost will answer.”

Xie Lian was skeptical, to say the least, but Hua Cheng thought it was immensely entertaining to use. He always took on the persona of a therapist when he used the device, asking questions such as if the ghosts were happy, angry, or seeking revenge. Each question was always met with the same answer: the device’s default crackling static. It was pronounced harmless and as nonsensical as most of the other pieces of expensive equipment they employed to detect supernatural presences.

Xie Lian thought nothing of taking it as his starting device when they were investigating an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of the woods. It’d get a few minutes of screentime and then he’d switch it out for something else, as usual when they did not receive any response.

“Oh, are you going to play therapist tonight, gege?” Hua Cheng asked with a grin as he sauntered up the gravel walk to the farmhouse’s front door.

Behind him, Xie Lian felt the all knowing gaze of Feng Xin’s shoulder camera swivel in his direction.

“Sure,” he said with a casual shrug that made the mic clipped on his jacket ruffle with static. “Maybe the ghosts will actually talk to me.”

Hua Cheng chuckled. “Gege is so kind, I’m sure he could persuade the ghosts to speak.”

Xie Lian gave Hua Cheng a warm smile, one he knew that their fans would swoon over, even if it was just for him. “We’ll see.”

Once they entered the farmhouse, they split up as usual with Hua Cheng investigating the first floor with Mu Qing as his cameraman while Xie Lian took the second floor with Feng Xin. While Feng Xin was readjusting his camera harness on the porch, Xie Lian headed upstairs, the worn wood staircase creaking under his weight. He flicked on the hall light and turned on the spirit box, holding it up so that it was visible in his head mounted camera feed. Xie Lian cleared his throat and then started down the wide hallway.

“Are you here?” He asked quietly. When static was his answer, he asked the question again, a bit louder.

“Are you happy? Sad? Angry?” Xie Lian tried not to chuckle to himself as he progressed down the hall, pausing at the open doorways of bedrooms as he asked his questions. “Do you want revenge?”

A loud creak sounded behind him and Xie Lian whipped his head around. He half-expected to see Feng Xin mounting the stairs, but found he was still alone in the hallway. He took a deep breath, his nerves obviously getting the best of him. He was used to the sound of old structures settling and breathing. This creak was no different.

What was different was the lack of static from the spirit box.

Xie Lian inspected the device, puzzlement creasing his brow as he ensured it was still on.

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

The display on the spirit box usually scrolled through a list of radio station numbers, as though searching for the frequency the ghost would be on. If anything, it at least made Xie Lian feel like it was doing something. Now the screen was flickering between two stations rapidly. He sighed as he smacked it against his left palm in some miraculous attempt to fix it.

“Silly thing...why don’t you work?”

In the absence of the static and the stillness of the house, the whispered response was deafening.

“I’m shy.”

A lot of things happened after that. First, there was a moment where Xie Lian’s ears and his brain held a conference to determine that yes, a voice that did not belong to anyone currently in the house was just heard, specifically from within the device he held. Then he did what any logical person would do: he screamed, dropped the spirit box, and bolted to the stairs. He met Hua Cheng halfway down them.

“Gege? What’s wrong?” Hua Cheng’s eye was wide as he caught Xie Lian by the forearms as he all but fell down the stairs into Hua Cheng’s arms.

“It worked, it worked, it worked,” he repeated frantically as he clung to Hua Cheng, who essentially dragged him down the rest of the stairs.

“The spirit box?” Hua Cheng asked as Xia Lian nodded rapidly against his shoulder.

“What the fuck is going on?” Feng Xin asked as he peaked his head and camera in the front door, only to be shoved aside by Hua Cheng’s shoulder. He had somehow handled Xie Lian into a bridal carry, but Xie Lian did not recall how as he kept his face buried in Hua Cheng’s neck, breathing in cinnamon and the clean scent of his shampoo as he forced air in and out of his lungs rhythmically.

Ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real, ghosts aren’t real.

“Holy fuck! That was ah-maze-ing!” Shi Qingxuan yelled as he jogged down the walkway. “I was able to pick up its response on A-Lian’s mic!”

Hua Cheng growled as he shoved past Shi Qingxuan and gently deposited Xie Lian on the tailgate of the truck.

“Gege,” he said softly as he uncurled Xie Lian from his body and bent over to be eye-level with him. “Hey, come on, look at me, dear.”

It took several minutes of coaxing for Xie Lian to focus and a half-hour more for him to stop shaking, but two things were for certain: he was now marginally convinced that ghosts existed. And he was never going to use the spirit box again.

#asks #hualian #hualian fanfic #yabmfg #subtlybrilliant #asks are always open

7 notes · View notes

oyubaat-tapcaf · 3 years ago

Text

Take Me To the Planetarium

My submission for BobaDin Week Day 5: Alternate Universe

Also available on AO3

summary: Din could just imagine how beautiful Boba must look under the Orion Nebula. If he would finally ask him out to go to the planetarium with him, he might even find out.

characters: Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Hera Syndulla, Original Characters

Chapter 1 - The Call To Action

Chapter 2 - Like a Dia

Chapter 3 - Shawarma

Chapter 4 - Jupiter

Chapter 5 - Steakhouse Fries and Sucking Dick (NSFW)

words: ~4890

warnings: short mention of blood

A super rainy, cold and dark Monday. Some might say days like these are like a devils turd, but for Din, no, he didn’t mind at all. Only the Monday part made him yawn. Also, the Latte in his hand didn’t taste like Latte, more like puke, but that’s another story.

The young man entered the office and switched the lights on. Nothing has changed over the weekend. His desk was still filled with rubbish and his shelves were still loaded with mugs and soda cans. He should definitely clean that up. Even if no one of his coworkers cared about his messy side.

He sat down in his enormous chair and switched on the IMac attached to an unreal amount of monitors. Din liked to have his view filled with work so he doesn’t get distracted. That’s why he built a fort-like monitor wall around himself. And maybe because of his hate for social interactions.

That’s why he was at work this early, nobody was around, only a view of the printers, but they left the graphic-nerds alone. Din was happy he could just do his job as a web designer without having to interact with a lot of people.

After checking his e-mails he started to work on his current projects. Around 9, his co-worker Hera entered the office. She wasn’t such a big fan of getting up early, other than Din.

“Good morning,” she mumbled and let herself fall into her chair. She looked pretty tired.

Din smiled softly.

“Morning, did you have a fun weekend?”

Hera looked at Din with a smirk.

“Of course, you know me,” she said smugly. “What about you, Din? Did you at least go out or something?”

Din shook his head.

“Nah, I spent the weekend alone.”

“As always,” Hera sighed and checked her Mails. “You should come with me and my crew one day.”

Din stiffened and looked away.

“No, sorry, you know I don’t like going out.”

Hera nodded softly and chuckled.

“Yeah why am I even asking.”

Din was sure she somehow understood why he preferred to be alone. But on the other hand…a lot of people don’t get what was going through Din’s mind.

They both looked surprised when they heard a new voice echo through the hallway. Din suddenly remembered that a new printer had his first day today. This agency was expanding a little bit, and they installed a second offset printer in the production hall. That means they also had to hire a new printer who would operate the machine. If Din remembered correctly, the new guy was around his age, 26, and had a pretty chill character. That’s what his boss had told him.

Not that Din really cared. Usually, he never happened to be in the print business, he just did all the web and social media stuff. Sometimes, when Hera was busy and couldn’t do all the print-work herself, Din would help her out. But that only involved digital printing, he had no clue about offset printing at all.

He realised that he will have to say hello to the new guy and that he wasn’t very amused about that. It took Din forever to prepare himself for social interactions.

But the voice in the hallway sounded kind of handsome and Din realised that he started to get a little more nervous than usual. Hot people were his worst enemy.

Two people entered Din's and Hera's office and Din immediately ducked his head down to escape any eye contact. Hera, on the other hand, immediately welcomed them with a big smile. Din had recognized one person as his boss, Mrs Smith. The other one had to be the new guy.

Slowly, Din peeked up above his IMac and eyed the man.

The first thing he noticed was red corduroy with cuffed ankles and a curly, dark mullet. A pretty unusual look for a printer. Usually, they wore work pants and a dark shirt coloured with paint stains. This dude was still clean, only his shoes were stained with a few magenta and yellow stains. Probably old boots, only for work.

"Hera, Din, I wanted to introduce you to Boba, he's our new printer," said Mrs Smith.

The new guy, Boba, looked around the office and smiled at Hera at Din.

"Hi, nice to meet you."

"Hi Boba," said Hera.

Din had to clear his throat softly before starting to speak.

“Hi,” he just said and smiled nervously. Din wasn’t shy in particular, he just had a hard time adjusting to new people. So having new coworkers wasn’t easy, especially hot coworkers.

Din realised that he might be blushing slightly. Boba was looking at him with a (very pretty) soft smile and Din noticed a playful spark in his eyes. He seemed like a person who was always up to something, getting in trouble while fighting god himself. Din loved that, he couldn’t lie.

After Boba and Mrs Smith left the office to make their way to the production halls, Hera turned to Din.

“He seems pretty chill. Interesting style though.”

Din was still jittery from the whole interaction so he just nodded to hide it. Although, he was always jittery, fumbling with his fingers or wiggling his toes in his shoes.

Hera eyed him a little amused and turned back to doing her work. Din tried to do the same but he couldn’t get the man out of his head.

***

The week went by pretty fast. Maybe it was the short days of November or Din, who had lost all concepts of time years ago. When Din got home, he usually watched TV, read a book or worked on his current project. It was a robot construction kit he had bought last year. The robot itself was already built, Din had finished it last month. Now he had to program it. he had called it IG-11. 11 was his favourite number and IG was the name of the construction kit brand. So nothing special.

On Thursday, Hera had a stressful day and asked Din if he could help her out and print out some flyers for her. Din wasn’t busy coding so he said yes.

And that’s how he ended up in front of the digital printer stacking paper on the deck and humming a soft melody. The digital printer stood right next to the door that led into the big production hall. It was a glass door, which means you could look through it, which means, Din could spy on Boba.

Din had already looked a few times, though Boba was not in sight. The printer was currently running at the lowest speed, it wasn’t printing. Din kind of hoped that Boba will have to change the printing plates soon because honestly, he would love to watch him climb up all five colour works.

He turned back to the digital printer and put the last sheets of paper on the paper deck. He focused on setting everything up correctly and started the printing process. After checking the first few prints, he nodded satisfied. Everything was okay, now he just had to wait. He knew that the paper type he was working with might get bitchy after a while. Usually, the sheets got stuck and caused a massive paper jam, so Din prepared himself mentally. He got interrupted by exactly that when he saw the man he had been looking for before.

Boba came into his view with new printing plates in his hand, the soft metal wiggling around. He was walking up to the printer and with a smooth jump, he got himself onto the first platform and leaned between the colour works to change the first plate. Din didn’t realise he was being creepy and stared at the smooth motions.

He realised that Boba wasn’t very tall, shorter than Din himself. But Boba was toned, he seemed like someone who does sports like running and climbing. Din also noticed the interesting clothes that he wore. It wasn’t usual for a printer to wear jeans, but Boba did. He had paired it with a soft yellow shirt that was tucked into the waistband loosely. Din must admit that he fell for Bobas fashion sense. He himself did like some cool clothes but he usually wore pretty boring stuff. He never had the energy to actually choose something cool every morning.

While he was staring at his coworker, the printer next to Din started beeping, signalling that the paper was jamming. Din grunted and turned to open the doors of the machine to check. He pulled out the stuck sheet and threw it in the trash. After he closed the doors, the printer started humming again and the paper started to flow freely.

Din turned to spy on his coworker again and thought about if Boba might notice his staring. If he did, would he get creeped out? Probably. They never had a real conversation, so Din’s spying would totally come off as creepy.

But maybe, Boba also liked it. Din’s mind tends to run like Usain Bold, especially when the topic is hot people or anything with sex. So Din just imagined Boba realising that Din was staring at him but instead of disliking it, he might come over to Din and ask him out. Din felt the blood rush to his ears at that thought. Boba would ask Din to go to the cinema and they would watch a horror movie, or, even better, splatter. Something with a lot of blood. Boba would come to pick up Din in a very nice car, and he would bring a surprise for Din. Not flowers or wine. No, Boba would bring a poker card deck and would tell Din, that, when they get home they will play strip poker. During the ride, he would steal some gentle, unnoticed touches, and during the movie, during the most disturbing scene, Boba would lean in slowly, his lips nearly touching Din’s ear and he would say:

“Paper jam?”

Din was brought back to reality by Boba’s voice, not whispering sweet nothings into his ear. It was him telling Dint that the fucking printer wasn’t doing his job. Din turned quickly to check, the printer was, indeed, jamming paper again. And even better, Boba himself was standing right at the glass door, looking amused at Din’s surprised look.

“Ugh,” was all Din could get out.

“Let me help,” Boba walked over to the printer and Din was still frozen in place. His mind was buffering and working at the speed of internet explorer. While Boba was already opening the doors of the machine, Din was trying to clear out his mind.

After getting his shit together, Dib crouched down next to the man on the floor to take a look inside the machine. Yep, paper jam. A huge paper jam.

“Oh no,” said Boba and huffed.

Din laughed awkwardly and tried to stop staring at how beautiful Boba’s dark curls fell into his face. Boba’s face was beautiful, to say the least. He had prominent cheekbones and his skin looked healthy and tanned. Also, the thick dark lashes weren’t helping Din either. All he could think about was how badly he wanted Boba to step on him.

Boba grabbed a chunk of paper and pulled gently. It wiggled a little bit, but it didn’t come free.

“Oh boy, this is stuck badly,” Boba pulled again, harder, but still care enough to not tear the paper.

“Yeah this paper type always gets stuck in the mills,” Din tried to keep the conversation somehow going, he doesn’t want to seem too anti-social. At least, not with Boba.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Boba answered softly and let out a small groan when he leaned forward into the printer. it nearly swallowed him whole.

Din looked at his shoes and nibbled at the inside of his cheek. He was wondering if Boba had noticed Din’s staring or the zoning out. He wasn’t sure. It felt pretty obvious to him, but Boba?

“Why are you even babysitting this printer? I thought you only did web design,” Boba asked and stopped what he was doing to look at Din.

“Oh yeah...uhm usually I do web...but today I’m helping out Hera, she’s busy.”

Boba nodded and started fumbling with the paper again.

“I see. Hey, can you give me a hand real quick? Hold this little lid open for me so I can pull out the paper,” Boba gestured to a little handle right next to his hand.

“Okay,” Din leaned forward too and grabbed the handle to hold the lid open. He got pretty close to Boba and he could smell that Boba wore a pretty sweet scent. Too sweet to be men’s perfume.

Boba pulled at the paper again and this time it came free. Din must say, he was a little sad. He liked being close to Boba. So he enjoyed the last few seconds in which the man’s soft hair gently touched Din’s arm.

Then the moment was over and they both got up from their crouching position.

“Thank you,” Din said and took the wrecked paper that Boba had just pulled out of the printer. He threw it in the trash behind him.

“No problem,” Boba said and smiled at Din. Again, there it was, that smug, playful glitch in Boba’s eyes that Din couldn’t get out of his head.

“Cool hoodie by the way,” Boba nodded in Din’s direction.

Din was taken aback for a short second. He never got compliments for his clothes, especially not for this hoodie.

“Thank you! I bought it at the…”

“-Moons Of Iego Planetarium downtown, right?”

Din made big eyes and looked at Boba with a surprised look. The planetarium was Din’s favourite place to be (right after his apartment of course) and he had bought his last visit there. The hoodie was in a dark navy and had the logo of the planetarium right on the chest, next to a dark grey sketch of the Hubble telescope.

“Yes,” Din just got out and smiled softly. He was surprised - in a good way- that Boba knew the planetarium. “I love going there.”

“I can see...so you like space and stuff I guess,” Boba chuckled.

Din looked at his feet again. Then he nodded.

“Uh...I do. In a way.”

“That’s so cool! I think space is so interesting. Like, I don’t get much of what’s happening there but I do get excited when I see a shooting star,” continued Boba and Din had a hard time at not starting to info dump on all the shit he knew about space. Once he started talking, there is nothing that could stop him...well maybe Boba’s lips on his. Din discarded that though quickly.

“I know what you mean. Space and physics are pretty mathematical. It’s not easy,” nodded Din. He tried to make eye contact without blushing but realised soon that this was impossible. “I could teach you” he nearly said but got himself together. No being weird today.

“Do you get all that complicated shit?”

Din chuckled and shook his head.

“No just a few things. If I could, I would be working at NASA.”

Boba laughed. Din too, but more because of his joy of making the man laugh.

“Hey man, let’s keep talking during lunch, get coffee or something. I have to do my work,” said Boba.

Din nodded immediately.

“Oh..Okay fine, let’s do that!”

“Great, see ya!” Boba walked off, back to his printer.

Din was left standing next to the small laser printer that was still running and had to calm down. Boba wanted to get coffee with him.

Din could just imagine how beautiful it must be to spend time with Boba. Going out to get a coffee, and then heading over to the Moons of Iego planetarium to watch the show. Din imagined how pretty Boba must look under the projection of the Orion nebula. The colour would shine in his eyes like the nebula itself. Din wouldn’t even watch the show, he would just stare at Boba and imagine how good of a kisser he must be. Maybe he would find out one day. But Din would have to stop being so weird in front of Boba.

Din shook his head to get the thoughts out of his head. He needed to stop letting his mind wander. It never helped him, it just made things worse. Boba was a cool person, he and Din probably had nothing in common. He was just being nice and Din is already falling for him.

It was always hard for Din to not overthink. He remembered many times where he had fallen for someone and got let down in the end. People just weren’t into him. He was nerdy, loved to play D&D and didn’t even know how to dance. His clothes were always a little bit too baggy, his hair was always ruffled up and he had a fucking moustache. He could shave that thing off, but he kinda likes how it looked on him. he also knew that people found it weird, but after all, he wanted to be true to himself only. He had a girlfriend before, but it didn’t work out well. Since then, he gave up on finding someone new.

He wasn’t a loner in particular but he just realised that he’d rather spend his time alone than sharing it with someone who didn’t get his interests. It was hard for Din to adjust to other people and he didn’t quite get the effect of messing up a whole routine just for having someone to sleep with. But he also understood that people would do anything for sex. Including himself. And just imagining slipping under the blankets with that short, dark-haired man he just had his first conversation with made Din’s legs feel like goo. That was what scared him the most. Because Din wasn’t shy when it comes to sex. Just getting things going was hard for him. Interacting with people, getting close...everything after that was fine for him. Maybe things were different now because Boba was male. Din never had an “encounter” with a man before but he was kinda sure it worked just the same for the most part.

He sighed. Back to overthinking. He had to go back to work.

So that’s what he did and lunch came around faster than usual.

It was Boba who picked him up at his desk, denim jacket draped over his shoulders and keys dangling on his index fingers.

“I can take us to a cool coffee shop, they have amazing bagels. And pretty good coffee,” said Boba and Din probably looked surprised. He didn’t expect that when Boba said ‘getting coffee’ but he was fine with it nevertheless.

They had an hour for a lunch break so they had enough time. Din smiled. It’s been a while since he had been invited like this.

“Okay,” he answered and grabbed his jacket. Then he followed Boba down the hallway, through the exit to the parking lot.

Boba walked straight over to an old, dark green BMW. It had to be at least twenty years old but Boba obviously took good care of it. It looked as good as new.

“That’s an amazing car,” said Din and eyed the vehicle.

“Thanks, got it from my dad,” answered Boba.

They both got into the car and Boba drove off. The radio played good music and the inside of the vehicle smelled just like Boba did. That sweet but slightly dark smell lingered in Din’s mind. He was sure he will remember it for a while. He wasn’t sure if it really was a scent for women or if he was just being dumb. Maybe Boba didn’t care about gender norms. Which was completely fine for Din. He never got along with these anyway.

Boba was a good driver and Din noticed that Boba was driving a manual car, which made him even hotter.

“I am literally so hungry, I need one of those avocado bagels,” said Boba when they stopped at a red light.

Din chuckled softly and looked at Boba’s hand that was resting on the gear stick.

“Same here,” he answered and tore his eyes away.

Din’s mind was racing, he realised he somehow had to keep that conversation going. But it was hard for him, as always. He felt like Boba knew that.

“So, do you often go to that planetarium?”

Din smiled at that question.

“All the time. I love going there. If I can’t go I’ll watch the night sky myself,” ranted Din.

Boba chuckled.

“That sounds sweet, I’ve been there one time, a few years ago, but I usually drive past it when I run errands.”

Din realised he could just ask Boba if he wanted to come with Din. But Din wasn’t sure if that might be too much. On the other hand, Boba immediately invited Din to drink coffee with him, after having one short conversation. Din wanted to form the words but he kept sucking it back up.

Silence settled between them and Din cursed himself for not asking, now he felt like the right moment had passed.

They arrived at the coffee shop shortly after. It was a small place filled with plants and indie music was playing softly.

“This is a pretty nice place,” said Din softly and eyed the many plants that were surrounding them.

“Yes, I eat here pretty often, thought I might share it with you,” Boba winked at Din and slid over the menu for Din to take.

Of course, Din got flustered at the wink. he wasn’t used to people being so open and kind around him. He couldn’t tell if Boba was just joking or if he really winked at him. Din buried his nose in the menu to hide his pink cheeks but Boba seemed to have noticed because he looked away with a smug smile.

Din was physically not able to comment on that. He was already way too occupied with not melting into an awkward puddle. He concentrated on the menu and just chose a bagel with avocado and a latte macchiato with it. He was too nervous to really think about what he wanted to eat.

“I don’t need it, I already know what I want,” said Boba when Din offered it to him.

Din just nodded.

The waitress came around and they both said what they wanted to eat. Din looked out of the window awkwardly.

“So tell me, how long have you been working for Smith Design and Print?”

“I don’t know, I think it has been three years by now,” answered Din and fumbled with his fingers.

Boba nodded and gently tucked a curl of his hair behind his ear. A small silver ring sat around his earlobe. Din hadn’t noticed that before.

“And why did you start? Where have you worked before?”, continued Din.

“I was at a big printing company, but I didn’t like the colleagues, nor the boss. They were kind of...bigheaded. I don’t like that.”

The waitress came with their coffee and Boba thanked her with an honest smile.

“Other than here,” continued Boba. “The people here are pretty nice. Especially the web designer.”

Boba wouldn’t leave Din alone with his charm. He was definitely flirting, now it became obvious, even for Din. The problem was...he had no clue how to respond to that.

“Uh, “he just got out and looked at the plant next to them. It was a dieffenbachia.

Boba giggled softly and drank a sip out of his coffee mug.

Din really had to keep himself from making a weird face. Awkward interactions like this left a tingly feeling on his skin and on the inside of his skull. He hated it and he felt like he couldn’t get rid of it.

At least the food came so they had something else to focus on. Din was surprised at how good his bagel looked. His stomach growled in agreement.

They both ate in silence for a short while. Din asked himself again if Boba flirted with him just for fun or if he really wanted to get...involved with him. It made Din shiver just thinking about it. But even if Din would agree to that...Boba was his coworker. How the hell would that even work.

Last night, Din was watching a movie with a love story, he fell asleep during it but he remembered that before he was off to dreamland, he thought that some good things only happened because someone had a dumb idea and risked something. The couple in the movie wouldn’t have found each other if at least one of them hadn’t taken the risk of asking the other one out. Din was sick of waiting for other people to make moves, sometimes, he had to be the one who took the risk. Boba had given Din a few hints and Din had never been able to respond to it properly, so maybe he should just take a hint, but a bigger one.

He had thought about it before and fucked up, maybe this is the time. He could ask Boba on a date and they could get to know each other a little bit better. They could end up as just friends too but who knows. Din was sick of waiting.

He swallowed the piece of avocado in his mouth and prepared mentally for what he was about to do. But before he could even start to speak, a young woman was standing in front of their table. She had bright red hair and was wearing a Misfits shirt.

“Hey sorry to interrupt you guys but...I saw you live on Saturday. it was an amazing show.”

Now Din was completely confused. But Boba wasn’t.

“Thanks! It was a great evening!”

“I was there with my friends and honestly, it’s been a while since I have seen such a good live band! Really! You guys are very cool,” the young woman continued and threw her hair over her shoulder.

Boba smiled and took a bite from his bagel.

“Thanks! I’ll tell my bandmates.”

The red-haired woman smiled wider and held out her phone case and a sharpie.

“Could you sign this for me?”

Boba nodded and signed her phone case. All Din could do was stare in confusion. Did Boba play in a band?

“Okay, thanks! Have a nice day.”

“Yeah, you too,” Boba waved at her as she left.

When he turned back to Din he started giggling.

“Are you okay?”

Din chewed another bite of his food and slowly shook his head.

“I didn’t know you were famous.”

“Because I ain’t. I just play a lot of shows around here and the people know me. At least a few. I only had like two interactions like this before,” the dark-haired man took a sip of coffee. “I play in a band, by the way.”

Din was taken aback and felt so dumb suddenly. Boba was way out of his league. Din was just some random nerd who happened to be lucky enough to be around people like Boba. As if this man was really interested in spending more time with Din. Boba probably already had a partner. And if not, he would rather have one who goes to shows and spends time outside of their apartment.

Din could feel all the euphoria fall down the black hole that was created. His head felt heavy and his chest started to knot into itself. God, he was miserable.

Boba looked worried.

“Are you okay?” he asked and leaned a bit forward.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

Boba eyed Din and drank his last sip of coffee.

The energy had changed. Suddenly this whole lunch felt like a bad idea, they both felt it.

They both kept silent after that, they even paid in silence. On the ride back to the office, Din noticed that Boba was chewing on his lower lip. Din wanted to scream. He wanted to burst out and ask Boba if he was cool enough for him. If he wanted to spend time with him. He knew that, after they left the car, this whole interaction would be over. They will go back to work and be miserable. It felt like they were just seconds away from jumping off a cliff. Din didn’t want to lose this, whatever it was. He liked Boba. he felt comfortable around him. He didn’t want to think back and imagined what could have happened.

He remembered how euphoric he had felt and what he had thought about before the woman came to their table. He was so excited to learn more about Boba. He wanted to start taking risks.

Din saw the parking lot of their workplace come closer. It was just one traffic light separating them. His heart started to beat faster. He felt like he couldn’t get over himself. A heavy weight was holding down his tongue, he physically wasn’t able to form words.

Boba’s car was entering the parking lot.

Fuck it.

“I’ll take you to the planetarium.”

#bobadinweek2021 #bobadin #reallife au #au #bobadin fic #star wars #the mandalorian #boba fett #the book of boba fett #din djarin #hera syndulla #fluff #fanfiction #ao3 #bobadin au

17 notes · View notes

jokertrap-ran · 4 years ago

Photo

(最后的厂牌 LAST CREW) His Story: [MAN ONWIRE] 冷任非 Leng Renfei Translation Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

*Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Welcome to another round of Ran’s sinning whims. *Lawyer man’s future tag will be #LAW ONWIRE *THEY RAP WELL!!!

"Before meeting you, he was one who traversed the deep, eternal, and dark night; the Abyss.”

He, who terrorizes sinners with the holiest stance . Deep within the abyss, with feathers as sharp as blades, re-establishing Justice amongst the morass of Sin.

"So what if he's the most reputable Lawyer?"

A MPV was parked at the entrance of Mingfei Law Firm. A man dressed in an impressively pricy-looking suit spoke to his assistant, who stood outside, through the rolled down windows of the car. "Same old, just give him the money. Double, if he scoffs."

"President He, this is just how Lawyer Leng works. He confirms each case he takes face-to-face with the client."

"What else is there to confirm…?"

Despite having said that, Mr. He still lowered his voice as he spoke. "Has that evidence already been dealt cleanly away with? No one else got their hands on it, right?

"Well… There are currently no other Lawyers in 000 City who can provide you with what you require, even without that evidence.” His assistant reminded him again, somewhat helplessly, of the same answer that the previous few Lawyers had all given him. They'd all said without a doubt that his sentence could only be reduced by a mere 3 to 5 years, and that any more would be impossible.

A few minutes later saw them both sitting inside Leng Renfei's Office.

The assistant was almost purring as he handed all the evidence over to Leng Renfei. "Have a look at these, Lawyer Leng…"

Leng Renfei didn't make a move to stand up and accept the proffered documents. Instead, all he did was to signal the assistant to place them down onto the table.

"We’ll give you anything you wish, so long as you're willing to do us this one favour."

Only then, does he speak. "This isn't a favour. It is my job, that's all."

His gaze fell upon Mr. He, who had been sitting to the side. He contemplated the man for a while before speaking.

"Is this all?"

It was obviously merely just a simple enquiry. Yet, being stared down by those eyes brought about an enormous sense of pressure. Mr. He, who had been so ostentatiously manspreading, couldn't refrain from rightening himself up a little, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"That's all."

Leng Renfei loosened his tie as he looked through the papers.

"Judging from these documents here, I'll say that 15 years for you, is but a normal sentence."

He flipped through it, chuckling as he reached the end. He then raised his head and fixated his eyes onto Mr. He.

"You wish to reduce your sentence to nothing more than 3 years? ...Very well, I shall accept your case. However, you must be absolutely truthful with me about everything pertaining to this Court Hearing. And you will also have to provide me with your full cooperation during the period in which I am taking charge of your case. Otherwise, I can't guarantee that you'll get the result you seek.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

9:50 AM, 10 minutes before the hearing begins.

However, at this moment in time, the defendant, Mr. He and Leng Renfei were both stuck at the junction a street away from where the court was located. The luxurious MPV vehicle they were riding in had been blockaded by a group of people; the plaintiff's angry family.

"Professionally speaking, I humbly suggest that you get off the car now and start making your way towards the court." Leng Renfei suggested, pushing up his glasses.

The plaintiff's family members continued pounding on the bulletproof windows with no signs of ceasing anytime soon. They didn't make any move to back down despite the countless times their chauffeur honked the car's horn.

Mr. He looked repulsively at the dirtied windows of the car, seemingly disregarding Leng Renfei's "professional advice".

"Haven't we already contacted court security? I do not wish to affiliate myself with the masses by trying to fight my way through the crowd.

"You will no doubt be late if this continues on." Leng Renfei's hand landed on the handle of the door. "Besides…"

The last of his words had yet to leave his mouth when he vehemently pulled the door open, pushing Mr. He out of the vehicle with a forceful shove—

"...Only the obedient will be granted victory over the lawsuit."

The crowd outside swarmed Mr. He immediately, cornering him off to the curb.

At the same time, the MPV finally regained its movement capabilities. Leng Renfei, who was still currently seated inside, paid no mind to the on-going chaos outside, only lowering his head to review the documents for the hearing once more. He gave a slight frown, clicking his tongue before speaking once more.

"Please wait for him at the carpark's entrance."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

9:59, the defendant and his defence attorney arrive at court.

10:00，Court proceeds as scheduled.

Now, the suit adorning the defendant's frame was all crumpled and wrinkly. His hair, mussed up with dirt, and there were even visible red marks on his face. His heaving chest betrayed his obvious fury. Yet, the Lawyer beside him was the same as always. All the way from his neatly ironed outfit to the calm and composed expression he wore, with not a single flaw to be seen.

The duo had presented themselves as such an oddity that it even caught the attention of the judge. After going through the normal proceedings of the court's opening, the judge turned back again to question Leng Renfei.

"Defence Attorney, the court notices that the defendant is dressed in a rather dishevelled manner. Does he require some time to sort himself out before the hearing officially begins?"

Leng Renfei held the defendant back as he shot up from his seat in anger. He stood back up, cleaning his throat before answering the judge.

"Thank you, your honour. My client was actually assaulted on the way here and chose to undertake a huge risk by traversing here whilst under attack by an angry mob; all because he didn't wish to delay the hearing. Although the mob in question has already been detained by the court's security team, I personally think that this attack is intricately, but undoubtedly linked to the plaintiff."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

Everything was proceeding as planned. This case was a win. Now all the defendant needed to do was to pay the plaintiff a certain amount of money as monetary compensation.

But of course, the endless stream of questioning and inquiries had to come first before any celebrations could be held.

"The plaintiff accuses you of using underhanded means of winning the judge's sympathy. What do you make of it?"

"Did you and the defendant plan for him to make an appearance to court, as dishevelled as he was?"

"Many people claim that your defence is flimsy and holds no weight. They say that your winning streak in court will soon be broken due to this. How are you prepared to answer these queries?"

Leng Renfei halted in his footsteps upon hearing the last question. He turned around to face the cameras and the millions of faceless civilians who were watching behind the screen.

"All I have to say is that I’m sorry to disappoint you."

"Unfortunately, I've yet to taste defeat even today."

"And as a matter of fact, I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future either.”

"Lawyer Leng, rumour has it that you'd stop at no end in order to win. May I ask about your opinion on this?"

He smiled. "Doing anything and everything in order to uphold the law? That sounds like a compliment to me."

"But have you ever placed yourself into the shoes of the victim's family? Can that bit of monetary compensation make up for a life? You are deliberately twisting the truth! It’s despicable!"

Those 8 words were spoken with much emphasis, causing Leng Renfei to look towards the reporter who’d directed the question at him with much interest. It was a youngster, teeth bared and eyes glaring daggers at him. The rims of his eyes were even a little red to further add to the effect.

The entire media lapsed into silence. All the mics and cameras turned their focus to the lawyer. Looks like this biting question has aroused the interest of everyone present.

His moved his gaze from the young reporter, whose face was radiating sheer justice from it. He removed his glasses, the side of his mouth curling upwards as he replied to the reporter’s accusation with his usual smile and finesse.

“It’s a given that I have to defend my client’s interests seeing as how I’m a Lawyer. I’ve most certainly received the compliments from the plaintiff’s family.”

“Congratulations on another victory, Lawyer Leng.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

―—Back in his grand residence, Mr. He happily helped himself to another glass of red wine despite already being quite drunk.

Leng Renfei’s lips curled into a smile. “I should really congratulate you for having obtained a fair hearing from the court.”

“But of course.” Mr. He all but patted himself on his back. “How would those cretins ever affect me? The real evidence has already been destroyed and dealt away with, right from the very beginning of everything after all...”

Before he could finish his sentence however, he suddenly remembered the “rules” that the Lawyer beside him had set down at the beginning of it all. He sobered up a little, swallowing before looking towards Leng Renfei.

However, Feng Renfei’s expression didn’t change at all, only raising his glass lightly in question. “Not caring for another glass? Victory brewed by one’s hand will only taste all the sweeter when enjoyed in person.”

“Haha… You’re right, Lawyer Leng. I’m going to sober up.“ Noticing how nothing seemed to be amiss with Leng Renfei, Mr. He breathed a sigh of relief as he quickly removed the cork from the bottle.

Judgement has already been passed, and the results have already been secured. Moreover, all the condemning evidence was already long gone, and even the most powerful Lawyer cannot ask for the case to be opened again. He couldn’t help the smug expression that appeared on his face.

Watching the fresh red wine trickling into the glass as it was poured, the smile on Leng Renfei’s face morphed into one that was a little more sincere.

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

Stemming from the heart of 000 City, the river expands outwards in an X formation.

Located upstream were those who slumbered self-deceivingly within a beautifully fabricated dream. And located downstream, was where the entire City's waste was endlessly swept under the carpet. There, at the very edge of the City, was a particularly convenient place to carry out certain "things".

During night, at an abandoned warehouse located near the edge of the City— Mr He, who had been celebrating his victory so triumphantly earlier was now pathetically tied up on a chair against the wall.

His face was bruised, and one of the lenses of his glasses had been pierced by something thin and small. It was levelled just a few millimetres away from his eyeball. He sat there, tied and ramrod straight. He didn't even dare breathe, for he was afraid that doing so would cause that sliver to pierce through his eye.

A guy's voice reverberated through the darkness. "Do you still remember what I said?"

Mr. He frantically nodded, his cries coming out as mere whimpers as fearful tears fell from his eyes in an endless stream.

"I hope to hear news of your confession tomorrow at noon."

——The dim lights, along with all the piled up junk and debris, formed a blind spot. White feathers darted out from one of the dark corners, flashing past.

It was as if something pure had just quietly fluttered it's wings amidst the sins that surrounded it. Out of place; yet shining ever so bright.

"Perhaps I shall let you enjoy what remaining freedom you have left. All these incriminating evidences are sufficient to land you in prison for the rest of your life after all."

A small blade flew out from the darkness as the voice faded away, cutting him free of his restrains.

Mr. He tore off the tape that gagged his mouth, breathing a sigh of relief as the spiking anxiety in his heart significantly calmed.

The next second saw a sharper, deadlier, blade brushing past the side of his eye, slicing a thin line across his temple before embedding itself into the wall just a mere hairsbreadth away.

The cold silver of the blade gleamed, reflecting his eyes as he widened them in a moment of panic. His breath came in short intermittent stutters, choking, as if he had his air flow concurrently cut off.

It was then, that Mr. He truly saw what was hiding in the shadows—

Leng Renfei, the Lawyer that had still been under his hire mere hours ago, was now here, skilfully manoeuvring his blade as he played with it.

A pair of pure white wings unfolded, stretching out from behind his back, each feather, as sharp as a blade.

With him, there was no hint of any of the kindness associated with angels. The edges of his feathers were razor sharp, akin to claws straight out of hell.

Stained with blood, they had a metallic tang to them.

"Surprised?" Leng Renfei approached him slowly, one step at a time.

"Funny. I thought I'd already made it clear to you? That you must be absolutely truthful to me about everything that pertains to this Court Hearing. Otherwise, I won't be able to guarantee that you'll get the results you seek. No?"

The horrible pressure Mr. He felt forbade him from making even the slightest movement. His feet, clad in pristine leather shoes, tensed up as he slowly shifted his weight, inching backwards.

"If I fail to see the news tomorrow at noon, then…" A voice, low, yet hard to perceive, sounded beside his ear. Leng Renfei’s angelic wings fluttered a few times, and Mr. He felt the very real threat that they posed inching in closer every time they moved.

Next, a foot slammed itself hard onto his knee, forcing him to revert his focus back in front, to the owner of those deadly wings. From whom, he heard words that angels would never speak of.

"...You shall fall into the depths of hell with me."

He retracted his pure white wings, concealing the holiness once more.

Mr. He’s vision plummeted into darkness once more as Leng Renfei turned his back on him, walking towards the faint light that shone behind the door.

Halfway out the door, Leng Renfei paused. The few rays of light permeating the inky darkness illuminating his features, vaguely showing the way his lips curled into a smile. He placed his hands into his pockets, his words tinged with a bit of child-like “sincerity”.

“Right, I seem to recall that you got a B for your rational adaptation rating. There’s still a way if you wish to live out the rest of your life a little more comfortably.”

Despite how he’d already been driven to the corner, he couldn’t help but to see a new glimmer of hope upon hearing Leng Renfei’s words.

“S-ranked prisoners will receive special preferential treatment. How about you try your hand at it since you’re going to be spending the rest of your life in prison anyway?”

“I’ll always welcome you with open arms as the Adjudicator of 000 City’s Erasure Tests.”

"I promise you that you'll be able to get the fairest trials for your crimes there."

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ⊹

The next day, noon. Mingfei Law Firm was swamped with the endless ringing of phone calls.

The defendant who had won the case yesterday had suddenly confessed and turned himself in to the police. He’d even confessed in front of the media, apologizing to the family of the victim who had died from being unable to shoulder the burden of being cheated out of a large amount of property.

Half-slumped on his chair, Leng Renfei crossed his legs atop the table, off-handedly picking up and answering one of the many media calls.

“Oh? You’re asking me for my thoughts about it?”

“As a Lawyer, I feel sorry for my client; but personally, I’m very happy to see that justice has been served.”

⊹ ━━━━━ ∘◦ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ LAW ONWIRE Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ◦∘ ━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

#最后的厂牌 #LAST CREW #Otome #Translations #APG GAMES #冷任非 #Leng Renfei #MAN ONWIRE #LAW ONWIRE #Brave City

31 notes · View notes

higuchimon · 4 years ago

Text

[fanfic] Unexpected Rest

Kaito’s attention remained firm fixed on the readouts in front of him. He could hear Chris moving around behind him, but none of the noises made indicated Chris was trying to talk to him about their current project. Therefore, Kaito shelved it on the back of his mind, and tried to figure out where the program was going wrong.

That lasted right up until Chris rested long, warm fingers on his shoulder, and then leaned down to press his lips on top of Kaito’s head. Kaito stood motionless for a heartbeat, trying to process this.

It wasn’t even close to the first time they’d kissed once another. That had gotten started back when they worked on getting the first machine that wound up transporting Yuuma to Astral World going. But Chris very rarely did spontaneous demonstrations of affections.

He turned to look at Chris, but before he could say another word, the taller man leaned down and touched their lips together again. Kaito wanted to point out that they were trying to get this device going; something that could take a large number of people to Astral World without requiring the enormous amounts of power that the original machine did. This was science, not – not -

Chris was a really good kisser, Kaito admitted, starting to lean back into the kiss. He got a very good grip on Chris’s shoulders himself and held on tight as he pushed closer. If Chris wanted to combat him like this, then Kaito was more than up to the task.

Gentle hands ruffled their way through Kaito’s hair, and he wasted no time burying his own in Chris’s hair. He’d always loved that hair – so soft and so bright, and sometimes he wanted to tell Chris to tie it up just so he would have the chance to take it down and brush it out for him.

Kaito wasn’t at all sure of how long they stood there like that. Perhaps, he wondered vaguely, it didn’t matter. If the computer started a warning beep then they would have to break apart. But until then, Kaito thought they could stay like this.

Chris’s lips moved away from his own. Kaito didn’t have the chance to protest, not when they next brushed against the side of his throat. The noise that he made could only be described as pure want. Chris chuckled softly, warm eyes as bright as galaxies gazing into his own.

“What-” Kaito wasn’t sure of where he was going with the question. Chris didn’t often get like this, but those few times where he did – well, it tended to be memorable.

Chris shook his head. “We have time. We already know what we need – a power source that we don’t have right now.” Again his hands brushed through Kaito’s hair, then one fit against the side of Kaito’s face. “I think we can talk to Durbe about what the Barians might be able to do to help – but that can be later.”

Kaito hated to admit they needed to look anywhere but the two of them for help, but he knew that Chris was more than likely right. He’d hoped that the scans would reveal something else, perhaps an error in the coding somewhere. But that wasn’t the reason and he knew it.

He leaned up and kissed Chris again. Part of him hated the height difference between the two of them. At least it wasn't as horrible as it could have been. He caught hold of Chris’ hair, keeping a gentle grip, and pulled it close around the two of them, holding them in a soft silver curtain.

“Did you want to stay in here?” Kaito murmured. Here in the control room might be suitable for a few stolen kisses. But for anything more, there was a vast dearth of anything comfortable. The chairs certainly wouldn’t do – not that they hadn’t tried. Both of them were scientists. Experiments were what they did.

Chris looked thoughtful for a few seconds. He glanced towards the readings Kaito had been looking at earlier, then back to him. “Have Orbital 7 keep an eye on things. If anything turns up we need to check, he can let us know.”

Kaito nodded, stepping away long enough to get Orbital 7’s attention. His robot was in long-distance contact with Yuuma’s housebot Obomi – Kaito wondered if he would have to invent offspring for them sooner or later. That might be an interesting side project.

“Yes, Kaito-sama!” Orbital saluted quickly and rolled over to the center of the control room. He didn’t have to in order to watch the readouts but it made him at least look as if he were more focused.

Kaito didn’t care right now, though. He trusted Orbital to get the job done correctly, and once they had the chance to talk to Durbe and the other Barians, they could finish the project. But Chris wasn’t wrong. They couldn’t get anything done if they worked without rest, and Chris very clearly had some ideas in mind about resting together.

They had separate rooms here, though said rooms were merely the length of a hallway apart. Kaito had his decorated with pictures of Haruto and his favorite cards; Chris had his decorated with imagery of the stars. Kaito didn’t know which one he preferred, and he didn’t think it mattered. Both had their good points.

Today’s room of choice was Chris’s room. Kaito had asked once if Chris just didn’t like the idea of Haruto “watching” them. Chris hadn’t said anything in answer. Kaito suspected that was a yes.

Truth to tell, he wouldn’t have wanted it either. He liked being in his room when he called Haruto. Chris’s room was more suitable for their intimate activities – as long as one of his brothers didn’t call. Again.

Thomas wasn’t ever going to let them live down that one time he had called while they were busy.

Tonight, no interruptions. Nothing but each other. All night long.

To Be Continued

Notes: This is also written for SilvorMoon. Also, I am sovery late with this entry for the anniversary week. Oops?

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo zexal #Tenjo Kaito #chris arclight #v (zexal)#chris x kaito #kaito x chris #dilateshipping #zexal10th

11 notes · View notes

solistair · 4 years ago

Text

Happy New Year! ♥

It’s the time of year to make this post again, there might be some sad but there’s plenty of good as well, promise!

In short I want to wish you all the most wonderful transition into a new year, and that you will all have the strengthened mindset to make 2021 a better year despite the hardships that you may or may not go through. With all of my heart, Happy New Year, my loves, and the biggest of hugs and well wishes to you and your loved ones! ♥

This year has been kind of hell, other than the obvious entré of Miss Rona. My friend and I got fucked over by an old friend, lost our flat, I lost all my savings saving my credit, and then I moved in with my partner. I am beyond thankful for the support and love this man has given me, and though the lockdowns and have forced us to be in the same room 24/7 without work or school to go to, I think we’ve made a great job in keeping our sanity. ♥ In a stressful period of not knowing where to live he stepped up and helped me, and for this I will be forever grateful. As I worked through double workload of university assignments, work shifts, then job loss, then the most anti-climactic graduation in the world, he has been by my side. But as the year ends, so does my relationship after just over two years. Second time breaking up around holidays... I don’t recommend it, no fun! Jokes aside though...

I’m once again in a position of looking for a new home, although now as an unemployed person supported only by the government. Being stressed is an understatement, feeling heartbroken is too simple, though being lost feels right on point. I might be going back home to Sweden for a while, while things are slowly stablising, continuing my job search while there. I’ve met my sister and nephews only once in the past year and half, same with my mother. Dad I was lucky to see three times because he came to London for work. I miss my family. My heart really goes out to you who have been forced to distance yourself because of the circumstances.

Because of my current situation I started a patreon for my creations, offering Early Access to my CC. I was so worried about this because when I left the community over a year ago, patreon had a horrendous reputation here! I’m glad there’s a bit of a shift lately. A massive thank you goes out to my patreons, both current and old, for helping me receive a little something for what I love doing. It’s so exciting to see you want to support me and to gain access to my content earlier! It helps me greatly, in so many ways. Creating gives me so much joy and truly is an escape, creatively and mentally.

Through the hardships and annoyances, this year granted me an amazing gift - you all. I decided to come back to the TS4 community as a refreshed creator, reconnecting with a lost hobby, and I was truly welcomed back so warmly. Many, to whom I was previously close, have either become inactive or left the community altogether which made me feel a bit alone. In my want to find new friends I joined Planet Mari, a discord server led by one of the kindest persons I’ve met on here. Through this discord I’ve met likeminded people, oddballs, clowns, creators, storytellers, and artists - all whom I hold SO very dearly today! You all have made my life so much brighter with all the laughs, memes, music, edits, art, stories, helping, joking, etc... it’s nuts how much I love this server. And to all of the community who interact with me and/or my content, you really brighten up my days so much!

It’s a tough time, but I try to hold on tightly to the small joys while chasing a bigger one. Life’s a journey for sure and not always an exciting one! But hey, 2020 brought an enormous amount of change and trials and I for one am stepping into 2021 with a weak smile and small steps, something I am very proud of. You don’t need grand resolutions, a clear focus, high goals, or have everything figured out. Taking it one step at a time is an amazing thing alone after what year we’ve all had.

I wish you all the best, and here’s to another year I hope to fill with fun conversations, loving relations, warm memories, new creations, and exciting adventures - big and small!

Happy new year, my loves! ♥

#ts4 #personal #but still it's counted as #non sims #as well so tagging that too #happy new year #happy new year 2021 #i write one of these all years so i'm continuing that #little tradition #both positive and negative #but a nice way to look back

24 notes · View notes

cherryrogers · 5 years ago

Text

➸ eye candy

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | office au

warnings: swearing, mostly fluff.

word count: 3.7k

synopsis: Being Tony Stark’s receptionist was hard. Working alongside the most gorgeous salesman you’d ever seen was even harder. Actually talking to said salesman? Well, that was just insane.

a/n: so this is sorta based of the show ‘the office’,,, we love a good office romance :) please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated !!

“Good morning, (Y/N). All of these papers need photocopied, signed and posted to all of our clients by twelve o’clock, sharp.”

Tony Stark was going to be the death of you.

Hesitant eyes landed on the enormous pile of paperwork that your boss had just slapped on your desk. There was no way all of that was getting done in the next two hours.

“I’m a receptionist, Tony. Not a miracle worker.” You shrugged, looking up to meet his eyes. “I can’t get all of this finished by lunch on my own. Can’t you help me out?”

“You see,” The man sighed. “These papers are now on your desk. That means the responsibility of them has been passed on to you. Not my problem anymore. I’m sure you can find yourself another happy helper.”

He started to walk away, causing you to lean over your desk and try to grab back his attention. “But Tony-”

“Can’t hear you, already walking away.” Tony called behind him, quickly pacing towards his office. “And now I’m opening the door to my office, and now I’m entering...”

The man’s voice faded as he swiftly closed the door to his office, leaving the headache-inducing pile of paperwork to sit hauntingly on the edge of your desk. Sitting back in your leather chair, you let out a quiet huff.

This was going to be a long day.

Becoming a receptionist hadn’t always been the plan. The plan was to work your ass off after you graduated high school so that you had enough money to go travelling around the globe, gaining work experience in different countries and making memories along the way. Maybe even not returning back to America, but going on to live a quiet life in the South of France or maintaining the busy work life in Japan.

However, it’d been a while since graduation, and you still hadn’t stepped foot out of the state of New York.

Working for Stark Industries was only meant to last a few months, it was only meant to be a temporary job until you found something that paid a little better. For some reason, however, you were still handling everything at the reception desk a year later.

Stark Industries was a small tech company developed by the man himself, Tony Stark. He’d had high hopes for the company, insisting that as soon as clients started rolling in, the company would be worth six figures in no time. You weren’t exactly sure what his definition of ‘no time’ was, but it’d been kind of a long time since the company was up and running.

You had to hand it to the guy, though. Tony built every piece of tech he sold himself from scratch. While there were workers in the warehouse who eventually aided in the development of the products, it all started with Stark. There was a part of you that deeply hoped Stark Industries would take off, finally fulfilling Tony’s dream.

But when the guy decided to hand you a ton of paperwork to do in an impossible amount of time, that hope was soon retracted out of frustration.

The main door to the office clicking open caught your attention, and a grin immediately made its way onto your lips.

“Hey, Sam.” You greeted your co-worker as he walked past your desk.

Turning his head to you, he quirked a questioning brow. “You seem weirdly smiley for a Monday morning. D’you want somethin’?”

“Well, since you asked...” You let out a laugh, patting your hand on top of the pile of paperwork you had yet to move. “All of this needs copied and signed and-”

“Nope, no way.” Sam shook his head. “I’m already behind on sales. Stark will have my head if I don’t make some today, and you know how much I love avoiding that guy at all costs.”

The grin fell off your lips easily. “But I can’t do it all myself!”

“Ain’t my problem, girl.” The man shrugged, beginning to try and get away from your desk, and your pleading.

“You sound just like Tony.” You called after him, resulting in him turning around and giving you a glare.

“How dare you.”

After that encounter, Sam stayed glued to his computer all morning, trying to sell as many products to clients as he could. Meanwhile, you were still stuck with a bunch of work that you hadn’t started yet.

Your eyes scanned the office. It was rather small, the only rooms being Tony’s office, the kitchen, the break room, and the main office area.

Natasha and Clint sat in the far corner of the room, usually never doing what they were meant to. You weren’t quite sure how they still had their jobs, considering you never saw either of them pick up a phone or touch their computer mouse. The redhead was currently grasping a bag of Hershey’s Kisses in one hand, and throwing them over her monitor in an attempt to make one land in Clint’s mouth with the other.

Through the glass of the door leading to the kitchen, you could see a tall blond taking his sweet time making himself a coffee. Steve hated working here, anyone with eyes could tell he’d rather always be anywhere else. He wanted something more than just a nine-to-five office job. Steve wanted to make an impact on the world, and he wasn’t so sure he could do that from a run down office building just outside the city.

Maybe you could convince him to help you.

Within thirty seconds, you had pushed yourself out of your desk chair and hurried over to the kitchen, giving Steve an innocent smile as you entered the small room.

“Hey, blondie. You’re not busy, are you?”

“If you’re asking on behalf of Stark, then yes, I’m incredibly busy.”

“Certainly looks like it.” You motioned towards the coffee he’d been stirring for the past five minutes. “Must be one hell of a coffee if it took you ten whole minutes to make.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at you. “Making coffee is an art. I would expect you to understand.”

“I understand that you’re not being at all productive right now, and I could really use some help with all the paperwork that needs sent out to clients-”

“Oh my god.” The blond groaned. “Did you come in here just to ask me to do work? I’m just tryin’ to make coffee here-”

“Steeeeve.” His name came out in a whine. “I’m desperate here.”

“Can’t you ask Sam to help?”

“Already did.”

“Natasha?”

“Too busy pelting Clint with candy.”

“What about Bucky?” At the mention of his friend’s name, a blush rose in your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Steve instantly smirked. “Aw, you don’t wanna ask him, do you? Does he make you nervous?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Stop it; I- I haven’t seen him this morning. Haven’t had the chance to ask him.”

“Well, he’s at his desk now. Doesn’t look occupied.” Steve nudged your arm with his elbow. “I’m sure Buck will help you out.”

“You think?”

“Oh, he will.” He let out a laugh, causing you to raise your brow at him curiously. How could he be so sure?

Steve noticed you eyeing him. “What?”

“How do you know that he’ll help me?”

“Just do.”

“If you and Sam won’t help, what makes you think Bucky will?”

“Nothing. Go ask him.”

“But you seemed so sure-”

“He knows that you have a crush on him.”

“He- he what?” You gaped, confused as to why Steve was acting so casual about it. Bucky knew? Oh no, oh god. Your life was officially over.

Since you started at the company, you’d always had an eye for the salesman that was directly in your line of sight from your seat behind the reception desk. Originally, Bucky was just good eye candy for when you got bored in the middle of any work you were supposed to be finishing. That was going great. You didn’t mind that you’d never had a conversation with the guy before, because if he turned out to be perfect inside and out, you knew there’d be an issue.

So when he first made conversation with you one morning when the both of you were early to work, you came to the conclusion that you were fucked. He complimented your hair that morning, offered to make you coffee, shot you a cheeky wink before strolling over to his desk. After that came the issue. The issue that you’d developed this stupid crush on him which he probably didn’t reciprocate.

Steve obviously noticed - how could he not notice the receptionist practically drooling over his best friend every time he looked up from his desk? When he actually sat down and did his work, of course.

“Did you tell him?” You pouted up at the blond, who found amusement in your panic. “I swear, Steven Grant, if you told him-”

“Calm down, woman.” He raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t tell him anything... except that you’re single and that you have a thing for man-buns.”

“Oh my- I’m gonna have to quit. This is your fault, Steve. I’ve quitting my job and changing my name.”

“C’mon, (Y/N) - you’re being dramatic.”

“That’s not my name anymore.” You shook your head, putting your hands on your hips. “I’m now going by... Anastasia.”

“Why Anastasia?”

“This sort of thing would never happen to a girl called Anastasia.”

Steve scoffed, leaning his back against the counter and finally sipping his coffee. “I don’t get what you’re freaking out about. You want him to know you’re available, right?”

“Available, yes. Not specifically desperate for men that can tie their hair up in a bun, of which there’s only one of in this building, and that’s him, Steve. That one man is Bucky, and now he’s gonna think I’m weird.”

“(Y/N)-”

“We discussed this, Steve. It’s Anastasia now. Oh yeah, I’ve gotta go and tell Tony I’m resigning and that (Y/N) not longer exists-”

“He likes you too, okay?” Steve suddenly raised his voice, before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “God, you two are the worst.”

There’s a short silence between you and the blond. Bucky... liked you back? Uh, what? This was seriously news to you. Holy- what if you were his eye candy too? Never mind, scrap the quitting idea. If Bucky liked you back, this was your time to shine. The ball was in your court now. Hell yeah.

“Bucky likes me?” You asked quietly.

“Mhm.” Steve replied reluctantly, his lips against the edge of his coffee cup.

“So... I should go and ask him to help me with the paperwork?”

“Yup.”

“And he won’t mind because he likes me?”

“No, he won’t.”

A satisfied smile crept onto your lips, and you resisted the urge to just grab Steve and pull him into a victory hug. Instead, you opted for a friendly pat on the chest.

“Blondie, you should’ve just led with that.”

“For the love of- just... go get your man, Anastasia.”

You caught the corner of his lips upturning before you spun around, heading for the door that lead back into the main area.

“Screw that Anastasia girl. This is (Y/N)’s time to thrive.”

Steve only rolled his eyes as you exited the kitchen, a new, confident glow radiating off you as your eyes landed on your favorite bun-wearing tech salesman. Not that you knew many tech salesmen that wore buns in their hair, but you know.

He was slowly tapping away at his keyboard, tired eyes glancing around his computer screen and you couldn’t help but swoon. God, he was the epitome of perfection. How could such a man be working alongside you for a super small tech company? Shouldn’t he be a model or something? A swimwear model, fuck; that would be a sight-

“(Y/N)?”

It was at the sound of your name being called that you realized you were standing completely still in the middle of the room, staring Bucky down like an utter weirdo. The man smiled softly at you as you let out a nervous laugh, trying to hide your blatant embarrassment.

That glowing confidence? Definitely gone. You were not thriving anymore... and that would sure never have happened to Anastasia. Never. Maybe changing your name was still on the cards.

However, in that moment, you were you. And Bucky was sitting only a meter away from you, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with you.

“Uh, hi.” You finally mustered out, approaching his desk. Uh, hi? Uh, hi?! Oh, lord...

“Hey.” He chuckled. “You alright?”

“I’m great!” You answered, perching yourself on the side of his desk. “I, uh, I like your bun.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

“Thanks.” Bucky tilted his head to the side, leaning back in his seat. “Steve told me you liked man-buns.”

You were definitely going to have to talk to Steve about his wing-man skills after this was over. “Is that why you’re wearing one today?”

“Maybe.”

Oh, you weren’t expecting him to actually respond to that. Fuck, this was actually going kind of well.

Bucky had his bottom lip between his teeth, watching as you fumbled for any sort of words to leave your mouth. Any would do.

“It suits you. Not that I don’t like your hair down as well. I think it looks great either way, honestly. I’m sure even if you had short hair, you’d be able to pull that off too...”

Heavens above, please stop me from rambling and sounding like a complete idiot, you thought to yourself.

Bucky didn’t look phased, as his gorgeous smile only widened. “I guess that’s something we have in common then.”

“What?”

“Lookin’ good all of the time.”

Shit. Your cheeks were definitely tomato red after his comment. Why did he have to be so damn charming?

“So, did you come over here just to give me a confidence boost?” Bucky teased. “If being a receptionist doesn’t work out, you’d be a pretty good motivational speaker.”

You playfully glared at him. “Being a receptionist wasn’t my ultimate career goal, you know.”

“What was it then?”

“I mean, I don’t really know. Something to do with travelling, though - where I could see the world and everything it has to offer.” You let out a sigh. “I just don’t wanna be cooped up in an office forever, you know?”

You worried that you’d started rambling again, but by the interested expression on Bucky’s face, it seemed like he was listening intently. “Yeah, I get it. Salesman wasn’t always my goal either.”

The corner of your mouth upturned. “Can I guess what yours was?”

“You can try.”

As you furrowed your brows in thought, Bucky couldn’t help but skim his eyes over your features. Your eyes slightly squinted in focus, soft lips pursed, jaw locked. Despite his outgoing demeanor, he’d always been nervous to just start up a conversation with you in the office. He saw you five days a week, for eight hours a day, and he still got butterflies whenever you walked his way.

“A firefighter.” Your voice snapped him out of his daze.

“Nope.”

“A college professor?”

“No.”

“Hmm... a hair stylist?”

“No, funnily enough.”

“It’s a swimwear model, isn’t it?”

“(Y/N), that couldn’t be more far from the right answer.”

You sighed internally. It was worth a shot.

“Alright, what was it?” You chuckled.

“A chef.”

A chef, huh? You probably would’ve never guessed that. You didn’t know a lot about Bucky, so you didn’t realize that he even had an interest in cooking. It did explain why he always brought his own lunch, though, rather than slumming it with the rest of the office who just grabbed some chips from the vending machine and whatever fruit was left in the kitchen.

“You like to cook?”

“I love to cook.” He grinned, making your heart ache at how pretty his smile was. “Have done since I was a kid. I’ve been told I make a mean beef bourguignon.”

“Sounds fancy; I’d like to try it.”

“Maybe I can make it for you some time.”

Talking to Bucky became easier with every minute you were sat on his desk, trying not to get lost in his blue eyes as he spoke passionately about his ambitions. He told you about how he’d always wanted to open his own restaurant, but he’d never had the money to do so. His favorite dish to eat was admittedly a classic cheese and tomato pizza, but a homemade one that wasn’t doused in oil and salt, which was fair enough... even though you secretly lived for the Domino’s pizza you ordered every couple of weeks to treat yourself.

And after falling into a long, comfortable conversation with the man you used to barely be able to utter out a ‘hello’ to, the realization later hit you at eleven fifty-nine, that the work that was meant to be finished in one minute still hadn’t been completed.

After the whole conversation with Steve about asking Bucky for help, you didn’t even do the one thing that you were planning to do.

In a panic, you darted your eyes towards the area on your desk where Tony had slammed the stack of papers on your desk, confused as to why the large stack wasn’t actually still sitting there.

Before you could come up with a logical explanation, your boss flung open the door of his office, quickly making a beeline over to where you were still sat next to the monitor on Bucky’s desk.

“(Y/N), my number one receptionist.” He greeted you.

“I’m sure I’m the only receptionist you know, Tony, but I guess I’ll take the compliment.”

The man slapped his hands together enthusiastically. “So, did you get all the paperwork posted? I know it was a lot, but it’s important that our clients get those forms.”

You quickly glanced back to your desk, making sure that the paperwork really wasn’t there anymore and that you weren’t just seeing things. Where could it have disappeared to? Unless some form of higher power knew how pissed Tony would be if it wasn’t done and somehow did it all for you, you were pretty slumped for a rational explanation.

“Uhh...”

“Yep, (Y/N) got the paperwork all posted. Just like you asked.” You heard the voice of a certain blond next to you. “Sam and I gave her a hand.”

Sam and Steve gave you a hand? But how- wait.

“Fantastic.” Tony beamed, pointing a finger towards you. “I knew I could count on you, kid. Keep doing what you’re doing, and I might give you a raise.”

As the receptionist, you knew Stark Industries wasn’t yet making enough money for anyone to earn a raise. But you didn’t want to ruin the guy’s moment.

After sending him a thankful smile, you watched as Tony walked away, and once he was out of sight, you slowly turned your attention to Steve.

“You,” You gave him a warning look, before turning to Sam who had also decided to make an appearance. “And you, Sam. This was all planned, wasn’t it?”

The two men nodded proudly, as if they’d just pulled off the greatest scheme of the century. They were idiots. Smart, but still idiots. Did there really need to be a whole plan to bring you and Bucky together?

“Sam and I are dedicated wing-men, you know.” Steve shrugged. “We’re not complete assholes - we would’ve helped you with the paperwork when you asked, but we thought that this could be a good opportunity to get you two to actually converse.”

“Yeah, Bucky sure needed the push. Poor dude gets nervous from just looking at you.”

“Alright, Sam.” Bucky glared at his friend. “I think the joke’s on you guys, though - considering we got to have a nice conversation and you were left with all the paperwork.”

“Like I said,” Steve replied nonchalantly. “Dedicated wing-men.”

Before you could ask any more questions, a stern cough stopped your from doing so. “I’m sorry to interrupt your mothers’ meeting, but I’m trying to run a business here, guys. Wilson, you’re behind on sales, and don’t think I don’t notice you hiding out in the kitchen every morning, Rogers.”

Steve sighed. He really thought that was working for him.

“Barnes, you’re doing great.” Tony patted his shoulder reassuringly, making the salesman smile smugly up at his two frustrated friends. “(Y/N), I need some papers organised, and could you use those pastel highlighters to color-coordinate them? You know I love those highlighters - they really liven up the boring work, you know?”

“Sure thing, boss.” You nodded as Sam and Steve began to make their way back to their desks, leaving you and Bucky alone again after Tony returned to his office.

“I guess I’ve got some color-coordinating to do.” You pushed yourself off Bucky’s desk, standing up straight.

“Wait,” Bucky stopped you from straying any further from his desk. “Would you... wanna do somethin’ tonight? After work?”

A smirk played on your lips. Bucky fucking Barnes was asking you out. Once again, screw that Anastasia girl. Would Bucky Barnes ever ask her out? Nope, because he was asking you out. Okay, stop talking to yourself. The guy needs an answer.

“Sure, I’d like that. You gonna make some of your beef bargain john for me?”

“Bourguignon, sweetheart.” The man let out a hearty laugh. “If you can pronounce it right, I’ll make it for you.”

You scoffed. “That’s just mean... bourg- bourg-on... crap.”

“S’not really close enough, sorry.” Bucky shrugged, knowing that he’d end up making it for you anyway.

“Whatever.” You muttered, slowly walking back over to your desk only a few feet away from Bucky’s. You could see the guy biting back a smile as he pretended to return to his work. Fuck, you really did like him. And you were going on a date with him. That night. Perhaps that higher power really was on your side.

“Bourg-a-non!”

“Not quite.”

“Dammit.”

Maybe the office wasn’t so bad after all.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky oneshot #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky x fem!reader

432 notes · View notes

bilalmalik921 · 4 years ago

Text

Predictions for the Financial Advice Sector in the UK

It was late November, dark and the eighties. I knocked on the door and was immediately welcomed in, offered a cup of tea and sat on the sofa. I'd never met them before, although they were expecting me and I wore a suit. And that night they were happy to sign up a Standing Order for £120 a month for the next 25 years.

As a financial adviser at the famous sistema financiero Prudential Insurance Company, I advised and sold hundreds of financial products to a myriad of customers, both rich and poor and my company serviced the vast majority of the UK's population without asking for a penny in return. We ran a commission based business with the provider paying this. All over the UK similar sales people were operating in the same model and UK consumers never lacked access to quality advice.

Naturally some of this advice was rather dubious, we know this and our regulators have slowly fixed this in a very painful but needed manner, a little bit like removing infected teeth. Witness T&C, pension scandals, PPI mis-selling, FOS.

The last wave of the flag was witnessed with the eradication of commission on wealth and pension advice which came about in 2013. The regulator's argument was that commission drove mis-selling and that accepting a fee only for the actual time spent with the adviser would produce totally impartial advice.

It did. It also reduced the number of advisers, both independent and restricted, to just over 25,600 and drove these advisers to service only the wealthiest customers who both value advice and could afford it. The rest of the population was left to wither on the vine.

Thankfully our regulators have instigated some changes called the Financial Advice Market Report or FAMR which has pretty much concluded what I said in the paragraph just before this one. But progress is being made, particularly in encouraging robo advice models and removing the litigation hurdle many firms use to avoid dealing with the mass markets.

Add this to the apprenticeship levy on firms which will encourage training of new advisers, and I do believe we're on the right roadmap. So here's my predictions on how it'll all look in 2020.

Low cost - low touch advice

Robo advice will become ubiquitous. Generation Y and older Zs, who have money to invest, will go online and enrol in advice systems that are controlled by computer algorithms. The algos will create an investment strategy based around risk issues and other needs. Investing will be mostly in passive funds - funds tracking indexes, exchange traded funds and other software based funds requiring no humans apart from coders.

Remember Gen Ys trust computers more than humans. At the dinner table last Sunday my son asked me when the Beatles released Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. I said 1966, he immediately checked his phone and Google said 1967, Guess who he believed? And rightly so.

They will access their funds' performance online, pay very low annual fees, a fraction of that charged by active fund managers. The Gen Ys won't want to see an adviser unless they are willing to, and they value personal service.

For those wanting the human touch, or those who are willing to pay a little more for their advice, the paraplanner model will work well. An online meeting with a suitably qualified individual starts the process. The video meeting or virtual reality equipment will simulate the face to face meeting as well as technology will allow. The adviser would be less expensive, a paraplanner, a new adviser with less experience, maybe someone training. The key here is that they are cheaper than a fully qualified adviser. They would carry out the factfind and engage with the customer. Specific and soft needs would develop in a similar manner to a factfind carried out by a fully qualified adviser.

The planner would then transfer the results into a robo system which would then create the advice. The advice would then be delivered to the customer. An alternative model would involve the advice being vetted by a qualified adviser, and then it would be delivered.

Regular reviews would occur automatically using the same process and the qualified adviser would only be involved as and when needed.

High cost - high touch

Available to those who are willing to pay fees in a similar manner to legal and accountancy advice. Ostensibly the same model as we've seen before; a series of face to face or virtual reality meetings would evolve into personalised advice being provided. The best advisers would still use robo systems to augment their advice, these systems would do much of the crunching and administration but they would still be involved in advising and vetting the results.

Increasingly fund management would be conducted using passive methods, i.e. no active fund managers, as robo systems and algo based programmes become more and more reliable and effective. Humans will be moved on from this role except for the high end hedge funds.

The end of the face to face advising era will soon become apparent as communication via virtual and augmented reality gradually replaces personal interactions. I'll still appear in my customer's front room and be able to build rapport and trust, but I won't be able to drink a cup of tea provided by the customer, that might be around in 10 years further on.

A Peek Into 2030

2030, we're talking about a completely different model for receiving financial advice. Here's a peek.

The IFA that we know today will be doing another job. What kind of job we don't know, since it hasn't yet been created. She will be doing something mentally demanding that automated intelligent computer systems can't yet do.

Financial advice of any sort will be recognised by your personal digital assistant. This is the conduit we will all use that accesses what we currently call "Big Data"; data held in the cloud that has been collected about you since the early part of the century. Your assistant, which we'll call Lola, knows you and everything about you from the myriad of sensors that have been gaining data.

Government computer systems covering your education results, tax returns, the car you drive, your visits abroad. Retailer systems showing everything you've ever bought. Tesco showing everything you've ever eaten. Banks displaying all of your financial transactions since you were born. Bear in mind cash was abolished in 2020.

Your wearable technology screening every signal from your body - exercise routines, blood pressure, illnesses. Your car data showing every journey you've taken. Social media streams with enormous amounts of data on your life.

The list goes on. Lola knows everything about you and you rely on her as your life coach. So when you need financial advice, Lola has already picked this up and will offer it to you without you asking. She recognised the inheritance in your bank account and understands your risk attitude and your goals for the future, so she'll link to some algorithms in the cloud and provide the advice automatically. It'll just happen, you've allowed it.

She'll know when you need a mortgage from your email and social media steams and will just find one that is suitable and arrange it. No humans, just algos.

Life insurance. There'll be no such thing because Big Data will know from your genetics, wearables and DNA, how long you're going to live for anyway, so accidental life assurance will be offered at individual rates direct from the cloud. Motor insurance? No need, you won't be driving the car anymore and accidents stopped in 2022.

1 note · View note

blaster-aichi · 4 years ago

Text

Cardfight!! Vanguard Extra Story IF 17—19 things

feat some overdue screaming

IF 17

said overdue screaming

Without the context of epi 19, Kourin’s reference to original memories stands out as incredibly peculiar. Miwa’s response, while fitting for anyone else, could have an entirely new meaning after the revelation at 19′s conclusion, we’ll get there in theoryland.

Never knew needed Kai-kun working part-time jobs but it has become a huge need, thanks writers.

That’s gay. But it does suggest that the possible ruptures in IF’s reality aren’t isolated to Shin and Kamui in the previous episode. It would be nice to see any other instances from the possible ripple effect.

pre-19: “oh this face is a mood”. post-19: “different character but hmmmmm”

With all the Legion Mate comparisons floating around from the get-go, Naoki’s method in tackling his regret is an intriguing choice against his past efforts. In Link Joker, Legion Mate and the second half of the manga/Reboot, Naoki’s objective was to make for his inaction going forward and earn Aichi’s forgiveness. If given the opportunity to go back and redo things, he may have taken it, though having heard from Aichi personally that he’s thankful for everything and everyone that he’s connected with as a result of how events played out, Naoki may not have had the heart to do so. Without that talk, it’s natural that, instead of looking ahead and atoning, Naoki’s turning backwards, it’s a neat contrast.

The series has always built up the relationship between Aichi and Blaster Blade but the relationship between Kai-kun and Dragonic Overlord is so precious, it’s a shame that it wasn’t delved into prior to the past couple of years. The notion of evolving circling the both of them is incredibly fitting, with the history they’ve had in both continuities and the duality of their approaches. (It might have been occupying thoughts a lot since, the scene was so poignant).

Between his soldiers attacking during their first (onscreen) attempt to reach the root of the problem and Emi’s subsequent admission, props to Aichi for isolating it and cutting it off to anyone that tries to interfere, hoping it’s a part of any explanation to his reality warping (assuming it was him, until today, it seemed the only viable reason).

The comparison between Naoki and Kai-kun had me believe the former might join up with the main party as a nod to being there by the latter from beginning to end of Legion Mate, being both characters harbouring regrets (if Kai-kun were to regret that his IF life takes away from the happiness of the Outside World characters).

I just really, really, really love this scene. That is all.

Bless for highlighting the irony in the KaiAi units being adversaries.

Did I mention this is joint-favourite IF epi with epi 7? It’s not, it is and here’s one of many reasons why.

Reason #57 why: the battle choreography.

“Aichi Sendou isn’t the one you want to save”. Makes you wonder who was out to save the object of their regret and who was out to save themselves.

For a moment, had believed Naoki was not-dying (Retiring?) and being returned to the Outside World, somewhat surprised it hasn’t been utilized more beyond the Ultra Rare teams diving into the Akashic Book from.

Very Soft Cardfight. That is all.

Somewhere, original continity Naoki is screaming.

Tell this to your Link Joker self, please.

IF 18

On the one hand, Kai-kun walking around in Miyaji (with or without the context of IF), on the other hand, Bushi Eats.

Probably due to cracks coming from him getting a glimpse of the original reality, but Shingo cares an enormous amount for someone who, just a couple of episodes ago, said all the products in Card Capital were going to make him lose his mind.

“Awful big brother”. Laughs with shovel. (Comparatively, he’s brother of the year.)

PEDAL FASTER.

Love how Masaki and Shinji are named to overlap with their brothers’.

He’s going to fucking murder you.

[Kourin voice] Aichi is tired. [Me voice] As am I of your bullshit.

Wingal took so much time to train that it was only on his third appearance that he didn’t attack anyone. Also soft? So very soft.

NO THAT’S SO CUTE DAMN IT.

I have so much to say about Aichi missing Emi but also she’s barged in twice and you blasted out our of the castle on both occasions. Bullshit.

Do not pull the Legion Mate with me, boy.

Is he super dissociated because how do you even in the face of this?

It’s not just that he shouted her name, but the tone of his voice shouting at her. Thinking about just how extreme it is in comparison to the Aichi she knows and has kept company is pretty chilling.

Just how aggressive Aichi has become within the IF World is alarming; on only two occasions has he let anger get the better of him and one of those two wasn’t so bad. If this is to play on how warped he was going into the fight with Ibuki, good play on the writers’ part.

Semi-related to the above; with exception of three characters (Emi, Rati and Voidkuto), Aichi’s always used honorifics, and attached one to Kourin’s name, so to hear him address her without one is jarring, for lack of a better word.

THE BIG RED FLAG: Aichi’s expression in seeing Kourin having acted of her own accord (and potentially disobey him) smacks of two things: — his perceived crumbling control over the Sanctuary Knights, coupled with Naoki and Shingo’s desertion (his lack of reaction to the latter is bizarre, as it lends itself to and could bolster his hatred of Vanguard) — insinuates he never had control, but was allowed to think that he did. There’ll be a section beneath 19, which itself does a lot to fuel the flames of this suspicion, that will consolidate thoughts and the theory that’s been brewing since this episode last week.

On the subject of 19, Miwa being so nonchalant and passive about everything makes a lot more sense.

Let the girls fight physically more.

UBW Archer Class Meme-y Dialogue tingles.

Naoki and Shingo holding down the fort is very sweet, particularly when Shingo was alone in that task last time.

IF 19

Alarm bells rings first thing in the morning.

The irony in past Ibuki preventing Kai-kun going to Aichi after the past dozen episodes, there are no words.

Odd that the caveat of meeting yourself from another point in time presents itself when it didn’t occur in the first two episodes, unless, at least in this case, it applies only to past events.

There’s trying not to yell FGO at things and then there’s brain yelling “Lostbelt!” at Ibuki.

Rekka and Ren’s appearances gives me hope they’ll resurface; the main characters and audience know where their target is, so would like to think word will somehow get to them. (Speaking of. Nome? Where the fuck are you during all this?)

Episode loves playing with unsettling sights, very fitting for messing Ibuki’s head around, but simultaneously, making it apparent just how much of a threat Kourin specifically is. — On a related note: Kourin beats out Ren, Leon, Sera, Voidkuto and IF Aichi to have the most nightmarish face and I Am Afraid. Give Aichi a face like that al you’ll irreparably wound my psyche.

Intense Vibrating. They’re setting up Ibuki’s Deleting Aichi is relevant, it was the only one Kourin didn’t touch on in the episode and I am burning.

How dare you montage their time together with that music and then cut to this!

Did everyone else forget Jammers were a thing or was it just me being dumb?

Everyday I relate to Kai Toshiki.

Just going to appreciate Kai-kun gushing over giant robots in the middle of battle.

Kai-kun!Blaster Blade vs Greion giving me intense flashbacks to Aichi watching Kai-kun’s image in Blaster Blade sacrificing himself to try and fend off Greion just before he got Deleted and SCREAMS. — Once that fight is brought up directly, if you listen, you’ll hear Rena screaming in the distance.

If there’s anyone who has no room to talk it’s Miss This Thirsty For Aichi. Also when did you two switch places of tease and teased?

“Oh shit, he’s going to Delete Kai-kun”. “Oh okay, false alarm, thank G—” “OH NO SHIT HE’S ACTUALLY GOING TO DO IT!” — On an actual note, seeing the three regrets prominent in this season all take separate routes is interesting; Shuka working to correct her wrongs in the present and moving ahead, Naoki trying to travel back and alter things from the point of origin and Ibuki being twisted to no longer feel regret, seek repentence and rather to repeat his actions. — Ibuki vs Aichi flashbacks intensify. — Also, mid-fall dab.

Double Agent Miwa is a blessing, who knew his acting skills were so good? Although the begs the question (if he was flat-out planted as a mole) how he earned Kourin and/or Aichi’s trust to become a Sanctuary Knight in the first place

IF 20 preview: HYPE! HYPE! HYPE!

Theoryland (Screaming):

Miwa being Takuto or Nome’s Outside World partner:

In both Rekka and Suiko’s cases, there was a companion venturing in alongside them, both of whom are friends of Kai-kun and the same age. Perhaps, Miwa may have been in league with one of the Tatsunagi brothers (having determined Aichi’s motivation and Kai-kun’s position in all this, calling on his closest friend to match the girls’ partners) through whom he gained insight into the situation and moved in order to protect Kai-kun; working from the inside to weasel information out of the others, understand how they operate, monitor their activities to keep Kai-kun out of their sights, (find Takuto, if with Nome) and maybe (find a means to or actively make an effort himself to) drag Aichi out of his current state. It may be that, instead of Sanctuary, his abduction of Kai-kun had the destination of a rendezvous with Nome until the girls’ interference and the entire incident went off the rails.

Aichi as a puppet king and Kourin the true human antagonist:

Since his expression in seeing Kourin on the offensive without his say-so, it’s been on my mind that Aichi hasn’t actually been in a position of power whatsoever throughout IF, but he’s been led to believe he is, and the act might be withering. As "original" memories factor into it and Ultra Rare’s were lost at the end of the main Reboot continuity plot, it’s possible they may be on the line as they were in Link Joker/Legion Mate. — As she’s aware there are such memories, it’s possible that they were triggered into resurfacing when Takuto appeared within IF World and encountered her and Aichi, leading to his capture and confinement, so as not to cause any further damage to the world fabricated. — Alternatively, she might be acting in order to keep the force (a Brandt remnant remains my personal suspicion) that has Aichi in his current state at bay. Her unease in seeing him hanging above the scene outside Sanctuary as she attacked the others might suggest that she was worried it could break loose, as she’s never been one to be rattled. This is why “human” was specified above, because whatever the case, any corruption in Aichi is evidently the overarching antagonist force.

Additionally, throughout the season, Kourin has been fiercely territorial around Aichi, speaking and acting on his behalf, while keeping the other Sanctuary Knights at an arm’s distance. She alone enters his private quarters, sees him in pain, and (no, haven’t given up entirely on the right eye thing, there have been other people around when he’s outside his Alfred form and it was visible) privy to any secret circulating him (as well as IF’s true nature), while keeping the others in teh dark. Her reasoning may be wanting to keep him under he thumb or prevent whatever’s inside/in control of him from running rampant.

And in regards to Ibuki, Aichi made the declaration about casting him elsewhere, but Kourin was the one who enacted it, and the sole player in manipulating him to switch sides. There’s no certainty that Aichi is even aware, much like he might not be conscious of Naoki’s betrayal. — Her being responsible for recruiting might also explain why Misaki was never a Sanctuary Knight: Kourin desired she have an ordinary, happy life, not unlike Aichi’s wish for Kai-kun.

In a truly ironic turnabout, it looks to be that Kourin is IF’s Sera.

#Cardfight!! Vanguard #Cardfight!! Vanguard IF #cfv spoilers #long post

7 notes · View notes

imaginesandideas · 5 years ago

Text

Warren Worthington x non-mutant reader headcannons pt.2

a continuation (where the apocalypse never happened oops 🤭)

you’re staff at the mutant fightclub

it’s not like you support what’s happening there, but you feel like looking after the mutants is least you can do to help them

you get to know Warren because you care for injured fighters overtime

slowly he started to trust you and opened up about his issues

you two became close, kind of bonding over the fact that both of you were forced into such living

one night the club is more packed than usually

there’s more guards and they’re well-armed, which only confirmed your worries that something’s off

owner of the place seems more than delighted, because that means more betting, and more inflows for him

you’re only worried about the amount of wounds you’ll have to treat afterwards

or god forbid the ones who won’t make it out that night

you’re out back, arranging something when you hear that there’s a new, blue mutant in the cage

you haven’t gotten a chance to see him yet, so you didn’t really know what to expect

your biggest concern was the fact that tonight Warren was supposed to fight a lot of rivals

you push your way through the gathered crowd

people yelling, beer being spilled on the floor making it sticky and gross just like the rest of the place

looking up you notice Warren and new mutant

he seems young and not experienced in fighting

no wonder he’s utterly terrified

you try to yell at Warren to don’t go too hard on the boy, but he can’t hear you

once he enters the battle mode, there’s not much you can do

it’s about his to be or not to be after all, and you understand that probably better than anyone else in the room

but something is wrong

the mutant, Nightcrawler as they call him, doesn’t even try to fake it

he’s bouncing erratically around the cage trying to escape, and you quickly spot that his mutation has something to do with relocating

you also notice the growing impatience on Warren’s face

for a short moment your eyes meet

and you know that he’s as worried as you are, because he knows what will happen if they won’t start fighting

his anxiety filled gaze lands back on his opponent

you realize that there’s nothing more that you can do

that now you can only watch and cross your fingers

hoping today is not the night you lose him

“Fight!” Warren shouts agitated. “Or they’ll kill us both!”

the other mutant appears to finally get it as he looks around and notices the guns pointing their way from behind the grid

what you did not expect was him being as incoherent to actually hurt Warren

when his back lands on the live wire, you can almost feel the pain yourself

you try to get to the side of the cage where he landed, but people are blocking your way

the mutant flinches back terrified because it seems like he didn’t mean to harm Angel

tears fill your eyes when you see that his wing is broken and charred

but you regain fair view when you see Warren’s expression, and his eyes were already throwing deadly daggers at his rival

your yells are completely muffled by all the people screaming in morbid ecstasy

Nightcrawler backs away and keeps apologising with thick, german accent but suddenly electrified grid is being shut down

the lights turn off and people around you start to panic

your eyes immediately wander to control panel on the other side of the room and you briefly notice a female figure before she disappears

guns go off and everyone runs at the exits

everything is out of control

you’re afraid that all of these moving masses will trample you to death, but at the same time you can’t help but look up in search of Warren

when you spot him, he’s already trying to fly up

and he’s visibly in pain while doing so

you make a mental note to prepare a lot of bandages and rubbing alcohol for later

the thought itself is so natural you don’t even think if it makes sense in current circumstances

and it obviously doesn’t

because as soon as he flies up high enough, he rips the grid and gets away with guns shooting at him from the ground

it’s now that you realise you’ve been holding your breath because you want to scream after him

but your throat is worn and he’s gone

without a single word or a glance

he’s gone and you’re standing frozen in place

“_____! We need to go!”

the voice from behind you startles you, but it’s not him

your coworker doesn’t wait for your response and drags you out and into some dark alleyway few blocks away

you catch your breath and speak up

“What about the mutants?”

“We opened all the cages before everything completely blew up. It’s over.”

you nod mindlessly

it’s over

no more cage fights, no more working against the law

you exchange few more words and hug each other goodbye one last time before heading your way

you don’t know if you’ll ever meet again

or if you’ll ever see Angel again

he’s on your mind all the way home

but so are the people from fight club, and you pull the jacket tighter around yourself at the thought

you can’t help but feel like someone’s out there, watching you

once you close the door to your apartment you let out a long, deep breath out

you’re safe

at least for now

your apartment is relatively small, it’s least you could afford with the shitty money and opportunities you had

you put on a kettle to make some tea to warm yourself up, and then you hear something knocking at the window

you brush it off at first but check it nevertheless

and you stop mid step before rushing to the window, because it’s him

opening the window you step aside to let him inside

though he still has to bend down to fit his wings

the one that’s broken gets caught on the frame and he hisses

“Sheiße!” he curses before collapsing on the floor and you help him to stand up

it’s only now that you notice how bruised he is

his left wing drags along the floor, some feathers are burnt, some just charred

“Warren, what are you doing here? How did you even find me? You’re free now. You don’t have to...” you ask him, voice full of worry as he sits on your kitchen stool.

He leans back groaning.

“I just wanted t-to see you.” He hisses again as he stretches his back. “M-make sure y-you’re okay.”

you can’t help the slight blush that crept on your face at his words

because he cares about you, he came here because he was concerned about your wellbeing

after all you two have been through he didn’t just leave like everyone else, but stayed behind to check up on you

„You’re hurt. Let me help you.”

you patch him up

and while you do, he can’t seem to focus on anything else but you

you try to avoid looking at him and focus your attention on his wounds

but from the corner of your eye you see how soft the look in his eyes is

how he’s more gentle and careful not to knock over anything in your small apartment

how his cocky self is still present yet gone in a way

so different from what you’ve gotten used to

and it makes your heart flutter

he’s also helping you with everything

from applying ointment and putting dressing on the cut, to cleaning up the floor after

you tell him to stay as long as he needs to heal up, and he’s hesitant because he knows you don’t owe him anything now that the underground fights were over

but you insist that you want him gotten well, for the sake of your own sanity and he obliges

he takes the couch

you give him some old shirts that are oversized for you, but definitely fitted him and his wings

he takes everything without a single complaint

the next day you wake up late

it’s probably the first time in months that you’ve slept so peacefully

you get out of your room, completely forgetting about the events of the previous day

hair is a mess, your shirt ridden up and all wrinkled

you’re still yawning when you come into the kitchen and what you witness is beyond your wildest expectations

he’s cooking

or at least trying to cook and not knock things over

or burn his wings

he’s also topless

and if you ever thought that he doesn’t look hot topless in the cage, you definitely do now

you stand there mouth agape until he clears his throat

“Sorry if I woke you up.”

“No, no it’s fine!”

“Thought you might want to eat something. It’s least I can do y’know.” He says nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “After all you’ve done for me.”

you smile at his words and the remaining protective layers around his heart break

and they do so quickly that his neck immediately turns red

you take note that he looks even hotter like this (and you kinda wish he would never stop blushing)

but back to the morning

you end up eating slightly burnt pancakes

he tells you how this was his favourite breakfast food growing up

how his nanny would always add all his favourite toppings

and how nice it is to finally be able to eat them with someone else, and not by himself like the old days

he shares a lot of his memories with you over over the next meals you two share

in a way it becomes your own, tiny tradition

you know how painful it is for him sometimes, but slowly he overcomes his fears

he let’s you in

and you let him in too

you talk about your family, enormous struggles you’ve faced before finally finding your purpose in life, about your trust issues and how it’s totally different with him

because despite different experiences and overall differences between you, you have so much in common

because he doesn’t just nod

he understands

and when you break down crying he’s there to rub your back and wipe your tears

he’s there when the sink is leaking or when you need help with repainting that spot on the ceiling that constantly chips away

or you just need help with carrying shopping bags home

or when you get frustrated with job hunting

or when you’ve had a nightmare and you need someone to hold you

soon it’s more often than not that you wake in your bed, snuggled up to Warren’s side, his arm protectively draped over your waist

you get used to having him

in your home, in your bed, in your life

your guardian angel

it’s been months and he’s fully recovered

he even points out how bright and healthy his wings look after your generous treatment

safe to say it’s been the best months of his adult life

in fact, yours too

but everything has to come to an end eventually, and you can’t keep him caged like this

so one day after coming back home after work - he was still asleep as you were leaving in the morning - you decide to face him to talk about the inevitable

He’s sprawled on the couch but immediately jumps up upon your arrival “_____! Let me heat up the dinner for you.”

You forget what you meant to say for a second, because after all this time it always felt so unreal to watch that caring side of his unfold in your presence. I mean, who would have thought that the most dangerous mutant you’ve ever encountered will be now living with you. And cooking you dinner.

He’s visibly tense as he’s mixing ingredients in the pan. He doesn’t even look up at you when you approach him. He knows

“Angel- Warren, um, there’s something I want to talk about with you.”

He sighs and drops the wooden spoon on the counter with a thud.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just- you know, I thought that maybe-“

“I don’t want you to feel like you owe me something. You’re free, you should be flying somewhere, living your life and...”

“Wait, what?” he stops you with a raised finger, brows furrowed. You’re even more confused.

“Well, I thought that you’re here because you feel like you’re in debt to me or something, but now you’re fine, right? You don’t need me, I’m only holding you back and you’ve already helped me enough, so I thought, you know, we’re even.”

You let it all out so quickly that you had to take a deep breath right after. And you can’t even look him in the face.

If you could, you’d see how pale his face’s gotten.

“We- we’re even? I thought... I thought you wanted me to go because we’re so... different.” you stare back at him not quite understanding what was it really about. “I know that me being a mutant only complicates everything, but I thought we could make it, you know? I know the wings might be a lot to swallow, but I could try and fold them, you know. For you. I don’t even drink now. And I thought, ugh, that you just want me around and not cause I owe you or anything like that.”

“I- oh Warren.” you stand there unable to form a relevant sentence. He’s clearly stressed with all this too.

“Either way I’ll go away if that’s what you want. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“No, no! I mean, if you want to stay...” You reach out to his arm and your eyes meet. You gently squeeze his arm in an attempt to regain your composure. You bite your lip before continuing, voice above a whisper. “I’d like you to stay.”

He’s holding a breath for a moment before his entire face lights up and he chuckles.

“Well, zum Glück!�� he laughs heartedly.

you’re pretty sure it’s your favourite sound in the world

he makes a move first, bringing you closer with his arms wrapped around your waist

but not before he makes sure you’re fine with it

you nod and close the distance

he inhales sharply, his neck growing red yet again

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting this for so long. Can I-?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” You whisper back, eyeing him from underneath your lashes.

he grins and leans down to capture you in a slow, passionate kiss

and in the end, after everything you’ve faced together, you were really looking forward to a new chapter in your life

together

~~~~~

Comments, ideas and words of notice are always appreciated 💜

(I decided to tag everyone who expressed their interest in part 2 🙈 so sorry for the delay)

@youthbitch @sloppybitchardtozier @not-12-swans-in-a-trenchcoat @asphyxiating-thoughts @softsmileexol @loirabrasileirabr @anita-e-taylor @anaitasunrise @totallynerdstuff

LMK if you want to be on/off the taglist!

Warren taglist: @thesecondlastjedi @fourmisfitz @shae-is-not-ok @simplyvictoria-93 @rockyroadthepastryarchy @hisatumb @samantha-is-fandom-trash @ziamhathrisen @silvver-rose @mcrmarvelloki @whatthefluffrichard

#warren worthington x reader #warren worthington #warren worthington x you #warren worthington hcs #warren worthington fluff #warren worthington angst #warren worthington headcanons #warren worthington iii x reader #angel headcanons #headcannon #i’m such a sap sorry 😩

208 notes · View notes

aleximedicusa · 5 years ago

Text

𝟷𝟾𝟸𝙾𝚜 𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙴𝚃. i figured it might actually help people to have a simple cheat sheet guide to vague 1820s daily life, so they don’t have to go searching themselves to make an au if they want to! this is info compiled by both viktor and myself for the purpose of our 1820s server. under the cut bc this shit is long.

SO WHAT IS GENERAL LIFE LIKE ( as explained by mr. viktor b. [redacted] ) - We are early in industrialisation. Coal is primarily a source of heat, not power yet but it's Comin'. First steam locomotives have been made, and the first railway for public passengers just opened in '25, transporting people a short stretch in Durham (but who lives in Durham anyway). The main use of these engines is in mining. - The other industries that have been mechanised are done from wind and water mills. Most notably does textile production utilize water power. This will all eventually also switch to steam, we are in a real changeover period right now, just on the cusp of industrialisation - Gas lamps are widespread and in use in more fancy homes and public places! Otherwise, one must rely on petroleum or good ol candles, this makes us all very dependent on the phases of the moon for nighttime endeavours, as these lights are not particularly effective - Transportation is by Horse or Boat. Boat is faster, and as result, most industry and "larger" urban centres all congregate around rivers. - Society is generally quite fragmented, with the majority of populations living in the countryside with doings related to farmland and so on. The pricklings of industrialisation will drive more people towards the cities, as they build bigger receptacles for jobs and the countryside is mechanised. But not entirely yet. - We have just (well since 1815) exited the Napoleonic wars, a long and gruelling affair that has left Britain in a bit of an economic depression. There is general class unrest and intensified punishment for crime, which is on the rise. - it is an incredibly hierarchal society with very few avenues of social mobility, though with increasing industrialisation and better access to universities, the bourgeois class is rising and the economic elite are no longer all related by blood. What horror! - That is not to say that nobility have no power. Aside from the French, who are currently in a mess coming out of the First Empire (press F to pay respects), the noble class still controls the vast majority of funds and property, with most common people working underneath such a family in some regard. - disease is rife and often comes from lack of nutrients, but we don't know how those work so like, die I guess. As a result, malformations is far more common than today, especially in the underclass - Everyone Drinks Alcohol All The Time Water Is Not Safe - Empires are a thing! Imperialism is well on its way to do more acts of terror and horror upon the world, but it's also making the colonisers well rich so it's fine innit (it's not) - Fashions are back to being a bit more cinched in than they were in the earlier regency (get it because we're all wearing corsets with a tight waist focus im very smart) and is generally restrictive both for men and women in the upper class. The lower classes can't afford big changes in clothes, but at least they are all wearing long trousers now and not breeches. - Breeches are still valid for evening wear, show off those calves boyes - oh cholera is happening lol - clothes generally have far more layers and are heavier than what we see today. They wear for far longer for this reason, but this is also because warming up a house is bloody well impossible, if you've ever been in a student housing unit you know what I mean when I say poor insulation. You needed those layers pretty much year round.

SO WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH MEDICAL STUFF ( as explained by ms. iris n. [redacted] )

— Academic study of anatomy is rapidly on the rise. We've shot up from around 300 students of anatomy in London in 1798 to nearly 1,000 in London in 1823. Approach to teaching anatomy is also changing, with a heavier emphasis on the necessity of students dissecting bodies themselves instead of merely observing dissection. — In 1788, we have the first recorded trial for disinterment of a corpse. In Rex v. Lynn, the judge ruled it to be a misdemeanour to disinter a body for dissection. However, this law really wasn't that strongly enforced when it first came into play, since, at that time, there were few enough exhumators / resurrectionists that the public really didn't notice the offence. As demand increased, however, the public became more aware of the crime, and the authorities started to crack down more on the guilty parties. There are also cases that have set up the precedence that even preventing a body from initial interment is a punishable offence, as some men have been charged with crimes like conspiring to prevent burial. Surgeons and anatomists can be indicted, too, not just the resurrectionists. — As both demand and risk increase, the resurrectionists become more and more degraded and desperate individuals. There's an enormous amount of competition between them, with criminals competing to muscle others out of their territories. — The price for a body is generally between £7 and £10, at this time. Burke and Hare sold their first body in 1827 for £7.10. This is an enormous price in the 1820s. — Students are starting to leave England in pursuit of better anatomy teaching, generally choosing France for its comparatively more lax laws regarding dissection. Professors, students, and doctors are starting to really put pressure on the government to reform the system. — The only bodies you can legally dissect at this point are the bodies of hanged murderers. A debate was introduced in parliament to suggest widening the scope of the law to permit dissecting the bodies of those hanged for burglary and robbery, but this was never put into law. — Most anatomists did not know (or at least claimed not to know) that it was illegal to have a body in their possession that did not belong to a hanged murderer. As such, many were not very careful about hiding the fact that they were purchasing disinterred bodies. — The decision of what to do to reform the system is heavily debated. Some doctors favour the French system, wherein any unclaimed body is permitted to be used for dissection; some more radical doctors, like the anonymous doctor who published a pamphlet under the pseudonym of Alexipharmacus in 1829, favour a system wherein the only bodies dissected are the bodies of those who have given express consent for their corpses to be anatomised after death. Guy was ahead of his time, really. — Although the Burke and Hare case doesn't break until November of 1828, people were already beginning to discuss the worrying possibility that this current system was going to end up producing murderers. — Public sentiment towards anatomists and surgeons wasn't... great, at this period, for obvious reasons.

#( * reference. )#( * history. )#hopefully this gives some sense of what's going on enough for aus!

8 notes · View notes

galaxy-notes · 5 years ago

Text

on work, an introduction

it is indisputable that the U.S. nation-state built on a set of ideologies, including but not limited to: punishment, control and separation of people, capital, ability and productivity, institutionalized violence, domination over and extraction of our planet. these colonial and capitalist ideologies manifest in the institutions we encounter, in our relationships and in our very own psyches. one particular area of life we see this in is work.

i define and critique “work” here as an institution that—as a result of the way it is embedded with and inextricable from the state—becomes a site of oppression, and a site that many of us have normalized into our very core. i define the “state” as the combination of U.S. governmental agencies, nonprofits and social service sectors, law enforcement, schools, prisons, medical industries, the market, and other institutions that deeply intertwine to uphold and centralize the U.S. settler-colonial, racist, imperialist, capitalist, and cisheteropatriachal governing body. work (like most other things, such as the economy, education, health) can be re-defined and transformed to be something different entirely (or to be something that doesn’t need to exist at all), but such a transformation cannot happen under or through the U.S. nation-state.

most—if not all—workplaces in their institutionalized forms will replicate the state in norms, culture and practices, regardless of the level of humanitarian, “radical” or “social justice” work they claim to be doing. work is dependent upon the settler-colonial state and the capitalist “market” for its existence. in this sense, there are historical and structural forces that have hold over workplaces, rather than workplaces (and employees) having ownership of and belonging to themselves. this is why work structures, ethics, conduct and policies are so top-down, cishet, patriarchal, bureaucratic, punitive and overall corporate-like in nature no matter the type of work. employees are coerced to perform and conform to this nature, superiors and management embody and replicate this paternalistic way of being, and we are discouraged to search for and be exposed to the tools, time and imagination to create new and truly liberatory systems. when employees perform this way of being for so much of our days and lives, masking our authentic selves in favor of “professionalism” (which is colonial, patriarchal, ableist and cis normative), it edges on danger for our own spirit and self. professionalism is entirely a performance and identity theft, yet often accepted as a cultural norm. this conformity ultimately isolates people from one another and prevents us from visionary relationship-building—from co-creating structures in our lives that dissolve capitalist and colonial ways of being and promote greater autonomy.

isolation, control and routine

work is normalized to be the centerpiece of our lives. there is a cognitive dissonance when we claim that we can “balance” the way we spend our time and energy. work-life balance is a myth designed to keep us passive and productive for work. in no situation does our current work week ever give us time to truly live out our lives. in the U.S., a 40-hour work week means we confine ourselves to an isolated office space, where we perform a level of being that isn’t authentically our own, where we are separated from our friends, family and community (which is in itself a “border”), where we dish out our labor not towards pleasure, desire, joy, self-expression, and community—but to meet often narrow and boring demands set by higher authority. this is no balance nor freedom. our work week prevents us from attuning themselves to their body’s natural rhythms and desires (slowing down, when to sleep, when to eat, when the body and self wants to do what).

work in its current form (whether part-time or full-time or overtime), particularly work that is not owned or directed by the workers themselves, replicates the state and thus, reproduces oppressive forces such as ableism, paternalism, surveillance, performance/professionalism, and separation/isolation. our identities, our lives and our labor belong to someone else. we are forced to lower our standards of life at the workplace, to dress up in a fully functioning able body, and distance ourselves away from our authentic selves.

a work-dominant society results in a work-dominant (and thus market-dominant) culture. daily routines are often timed, precisely scheduled, constricted and thus inaccessible. daily routines are created not out of personal desire, level of ability or love, but out of a “this is what I have to do to get through today [and the next day, and the next…] so that I can enjoy x y and z.” this reproduces a patriarchal-, ableist- and Protestant work ethic-driven expectation that we must endure and persevere to be considered useful (read: human) by the workplace, and only then do we deserve rest and individual/capitalist pursuit of success, fulfillment and happiness. our humanity is determined by our usefulness and ability to work.

beyond burnout

if we cannot assume a fully-functioning able body—that is to say here, if we are not ready to multitask, to cope with the enormous load of content and materials we must produce, balance quick turnarounds, and shove personal issues down to meet emotional demands of the communities we serve at work—then workplaces encourage us to take part in a self-care, not towards love and freedom but towards mental, emotional and ultimately spiritual control. this is especially present in nonprofit spaces where employers have gained awareness of burnout culture. workplaces co-opt a “self-care” narrative not for the personal well-being for their employees, but for the employee’s ability and increased productivity to accomplish as demanded by work. again, because work is tied to the state, any “self-care” narrative reproduces capitalist and colonial logics of the state, and justifies the mere existence of the state. our bodies are reduced to simple machines that must be “re-wired” and “fixed” to perform what is necessary for someone and/or something else. self-care, at its kindest and outside of state-supported narratives, is a practice that allows us to be who we’re meant to be, to tap into our needs and desires, form authentic relationships and build connectivity, and to continually explore the beauty in all of that. employer-driven self-care prevents worker autonomy because self-care is determined for, and not determined by us. in a work- and market-dominated culture, self-care is reduced to coping and getting by (“rest and recuperating”) for the purpose of work the next day to seemingly serve the needs of others, when ultimately, it is about serving our workplace and the market. self-care in this sense is to the benefit of the state, not to fulfill our spirit and natural desires, and certainly not to reconnect with and tend to our communities and our planet.

workplaces that especially like to proclaim their employees are “family” do all of this under false pretenses, oftentimes using the “family” metaphor as leverage to retain employees and assert dominance through a sort of manipulative recognition. sometimes the “family” and community aspect is what draws us in. because we have such limited time to build with our own, we force ourselves to regard our coworkers and bosses as also “family,” particularly in a work environment that is humanitarian, community or service-orientated. this alleviates guilt, because we feed ourselves the belief that either spending time with our “work family,” or getting ahead in our career (having a sense of “calling” or “purpose” to serve others)—or both—will justify the amount of time we spend working and away from ourselves and our actual families (chosen or otherwise). this is something we easily internalize because we believe work to be a place where we can exercise our creativity, and/or where we feel we are needed for the greater good of the “community.” we falsely believe that work itself, if we choose the field and especially if in fields of arts and humanities, can fulfill our spirits. once again, we leave out the very important detail that even the most humanitarian and community-oriented work is tied to the market and the state. true, loving families cannot exist in environments where patterns of coercion, abuse and domination are upheld.

work has deluded us into thinking that this way of living life is normal. state structures and philosophies (capitalism: time and financial control, ableist demands, among others) + (colonialism: domination, isolation and professionalism, etc.) of work do not allow us to exercise a greater part of our brain and our spirit; rather, they limit our visions and capabilities and leave us perpetually disappointed and searching for distractions. work is a central force in state domination and control. the more we work (day jobs, second shifts, side gigs), the more we succumb to distraction. distraction is a ruse to pull us away from confronting oppression, strategizing revolution, and planning for alternatives ways of living. it is an endless cycle, and the state blocks each and every exit. if our “work” (in a new definition) was not tied to the state (and to our ability to support ourselves), and if our work allowed us to be ourselves, to connect with each other and this planet, to exercise our creativity, desires, passion and spirit in the ways we want, then the world would already be a radically different place.

radical healing, rest and joy

i want to highlight the difference between “self-care” as asserted by work vs. radical healing. work is a source of debility, mental unrest and chronic pain. while mental and chronic pain has its origins in generational/childhood trauma, work is a source of continued trauma. consider the following:

(1) work prevents us from slowing down, resting and being attuned to the needs of our bodies. we often go about our days ignoring our physical pain, in which the pain might have occurred due to other reasons but is often intensified by work. if we do remember to take care of our bodies, we do it in a hurry so to not disturb our work schedule, counting down to the minutes because there is always something else we need to get to. we as a society are scheduled around work.

(2) healing from trauma is also restricted to a tight schedule. while there are alternative ways of healing besides therapy (herbalism, massage, yoga, napping, etc.) (how these indigenous/ancestral modalities have been co-opted by capitalism, Brahmanical supremacy and Western medicine/science is another essay entirely), those alternatives are scheduled out. work is mandatory, healing is not. work determines when and how often we have the capacity to partake in healing exercises.

(3) most importantly, navigating generational and childhood trauma requires us to take time to set boundaries and also (re-)build relationships with ourselves and our families (those who are the source of the trauma, or the families we chose, or both). humans are defined by our relationships, and relationship transformation is key to healing from deep, collective trauma in order to begin new ways of relating and evolving as human beings. relationship building and transformation is hard as well as beautiful, but it takes time, practice and energy. when our lives revolve around work, by the end of the day our time and energy become depleted. as a result, one of the most important personal life journeys we take—transforming relationships and undoing cycles of localized, familial trauma—becomes the last priority because it is not easily and quickly done.

when we do not step into radical, relational healing, our traumas persist, our employer’s version of “self-care” barely touches the surface, and our bodies debilitate. it becomes easier to fall into patterns of old harm, dispose of people who have hurt us, and to isolate ourselves once more. it is easier to push away our sites of trauma than to confront them because confrontation requires us to give it the attention and time we do not have. ultimately, it becomes easier for the state to separate and control us further. work keeps us debilitated, from participating in this important transformation, as work needs us to stay focused and present at work so as to not disturb output guaranteed by productive labor. when we as human beings do not have control over when, how, where and what for our bodies move through life—and when this becomes the state’s to own and control, we are experiencing a form of dehumanization and violence.

let’s also consider our fast-paced and ever consumerist society: we often want and need things to be simple, passive, easily consumable and understood because it is profitable to capitalism, we have little to no energy remaining after work, and we feel we have no choice otherwise. healing from our traumas is not just “self-care”—it is not fast, profitable nor consumable, and this is critical. healing is slow and takes our whole presence, commitment and energy; it shows how we can re-pace, re-center and re-shape our minds and our bodies. healing is difficult because it teaches us that community connection and rest—not isolation and productivity—are important, and that is something our bodies are not yet accustomed to. healing compels us to prioritize not work, but the right to love, joy, rest, laziness, art and autonomy—all which allow us to grow our souls and be in true community with others and this land. true, transformative i.e. radical healing cannot be done within the bounds of work as work exists entrenched to the state. in fact, healing diverts us away from work because healing is rest, and rest is a direct action against capitalism. it is clear then, that participating in radical healing is a direct threat to work—and ultimately a threat to the state.

becoming more human

in an age where mental health and self-care are trendy topics, there is an absence of philosophical dialogues that pose questions re: our humanity. in this final section, i carry the words of grace lee boggs as she urges us to deeply re-define and re-imagine how we organize our society. this means confronting the root of what is dominating and dehumanizing our communities. i am tired of hearing we simply need more jobs, a living wage, fair and equitable workplaces, etc. we should stretch our imaginations and think about what work, what life really means to us. what does it mean to live a life beyond our ability to produce and contribute? to live a life of joy, autonomy, connection, rest and ease? it is in our innate human nature to love and care for oneself, and love and care for those around us, to tend to the earth, to reflect, to evolve and to adapt. how does resting promote spaces for us to be attuned to our desires, to be active in the things we want to do for ourselves and each other, rather than what we feel like we have to do?

how does moving away from work, and moving towards love and care between interdependent, autonomous communities promote our participation in exercises of creating and building—exercises which make us feel alive and human? can we shift work into art and play, allowing us to honor our creative spirit in a way that truly values everyone’s own needs, desires and pace? what does healing, resting, connecting and co-creating in this way look like?

we are at a unique time and opportunity, and these are the questions i want to explore and imagine further. we must begin by removing and ultimately freeing ourselves from the state control of work—and that means a total liberation from the state. we need to bring to the center and envision what a self-determined individual’s life looks like, what kind of relationships occur as a result, what centers joy, and how self-governing communities can coexist and collaborate together to take care of ourselves and this land—rooted in values of love, and prepared to engage in a fuller human and ecological consciousness. we must choose love, joy, connection and everything else that recognizes us at our core as human away from the state. we must choose to care for our communities and this planet. we must choose to shape a radical future before global fascism and ecological devastation chooses our future for us.

#work #capitalism #healing #self care #burnout #colonialism #heteropatriarchy #ableism #ecological justice #post #long post

13 notes · View notes

missbugaboo · 5 years ago

Text

That Other Guy (5)

“Why does it matter so much to you? What’s so terrible about Adrien Agreste that you can’t stand him as your competition – even though it changes absolutely nothing for you? What in magic’s name makes him such a hateful rival?” Or, Chat Noir finally learns who Ladybug’s dream guy is, but somehow, he’s not pleased at all. For more reasons than one.

LadyNoir, Adrienette.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Chapter 5: Carefull What You Wish For

Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light.

It was well past four when Adrien finally granted himself the permission to call it a night, at long last realising that even after the horrors of the hours that preceded his decision he still deserved the minimum amount of sleep he still could get.

Especially when there was a photo shoot awaiting him so early in the morning.

He rose from his chair then, with a grunt that resulted from more than the soreness of his body, and walked over to his bed, dragging his feet as if the few quarters he'd spent by his desk had added decades to his young age. Again, there was more to it than stiffness, but that he conveniently ignored.

He flopped onto the mattress and dived under the duvet in one swift motion, foregoing the idea of a shower that he still would've been obliged to take in the morning, limiting his preparation for sleep to kicking off his shoes (something he'd done with perfect ease on his way towards the bed) and shrugging off the shirt (which he had done right after). He was dead on his feet, and with a headache that seemed to grow with every passing second; his thoughts a tangled mess and his conscience battered and searing.

All he wanted now was to sleep. To fall into oblivion, even if for a little while, even if he knew it would all rush back to him the moment he was up.

Of course he wasn't getting any of it.

So he shut his eyes tight and attempted not to think until sleepiness took over him. When that didn't work (to no one's surprise), he tried to think of something else, counting sheep and evening his breathing, visualising whatever images he could summon that would not remind him of this current ordeal.

He thought of his mother and father, of the happy times when they had all been together. He did his best to remember the colours of her clothes and the scent of her perfumes as well as the gentle smile on his father's face, one he hadn't seen for so long. It was painful in a way, but soothing nonetheless; and certainly far easier to deal with than the spotted pattern that would have taken over his imagination had he not made sure it was otherwise occupied.

And so it would have been, with the vision of his family successfully blocking that of his partner, the sadness in his father's eyes still easier to bear than the sight of tear's on Ladybug's cheeks.

If only his growing sleepiness hadn't meant lowering his guard.

It did, however; and the closer Adrien was to falling asleep, the more willing he was to succumb to the numbness, the greater became the risk of letting the unwanted thoughts wander into his mind and thus render the entire plan useless. Far too exhausted at this point, he ignored the first signs, stubbornly believing that thinking of his missing mother would be enough to keep him serene. He allowed the images of Miss Bustier to show itself and even smiled weakly at the apparition. He let Max and Kim join her, together with Rose, Juleka, Nathaniel and Mark.

He wasn't surprised or annoyed by the thought of Chloe, his first, and for years, only friend, nor by the fact that Sabrina appeared next to her soon. And he could only wonder why it had taken him so long to add Nino and Alya into the cheerful mix.

Focused on the bright side, he didn't think that in his class there was someone he didn't want to think of.

The honest, considerate classmate.

Marinette.

"Oh, for Heavens' sake!" he growled with exasperation, all the more annoyed when he'd realised that the image he'd vowed not to summon had not only found its way to his mind regardless of his endeavours, but had also managed to chase away all traces of sleepiness quite successfully. His irritation only continued to grow when he pondered over it, no longer able to block the unwanted thoughts from entering his brain.

In fact, he wasn't even sure if his did want to block them.

"Hell yes, I do," he answered his own assessment, turning onto his side rapidly and covering his head with a pillow, as if that simple barrier could really shelter him from the attacks of his own unruly imagination. "I've spent enough nights thinking about her when I should have stopped after the first time she told me to move on. No good came from it then, and no good will come from it now. And don't you dare to say anything, Plagg."

He grit his teeth and shut his eyes, while his fingers tightened their grip on the the pillow still pressed against his head. He felt - knew - believed that he was right, that no matter what his stupid heart was trying to tell him, there really was no use thinking about his partner right now.

Not when he was so certain that he was the last thing on her mind.

Now, the Adrien who woke up again a few hours later was not the same who'd gone to bed.

The latter was confused and weary, haunted by the enormous feeling of guilt that could by no means be called appropriate even when it came to the worst of what he called his crimes; lost and hurting, he could not find it in himself to look at the situation impartially or even accept the compassion offered by Plagg, simply because he didn't think he was worthy of it.

The former, as puzzled and unhappy as he still was, hardly matched the description, though.

He felt less; he understood more.

He hoped he did, anyway. The very idea of having to re-organise his thinking as well as admitting that he had been, yet again, wrong was repulsive, so much that he could swear it caused him to feel physically sick. Besides, after the amount of time he'd spent pondering over the subject, he couldn't have been far from the so-called objective truth.

He just couldn’t.

He threw the covers away, and sat up rapidly, grimacing at his ill-conceived decision to sleep in his clothes, a decision that had resulted directly in the feeling of a sweaty t-shirt and creased trousers which surely were way too tight to fall into the category of potential pyjamas. The sour expression only hardened when he felt his head spin; the realisation that the sudden feeling was nothing but a natural reaction to his rapture motion did nothing to improve his mood in any way.

He got up and wandered towards the bathroom, purposefully ignoring the headache that quickly replaced the earlier feeling of dizziness, or maybe just came to the surface after the latter had subsided. He needed a shower; and he hoped that it would help with more than the sweatiness of his hair and skin.

Goodness gracious, was he exhausted.

"I hate morning shoots," he muttered angrily, as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, the vexation downright steaming from him. "I hate never getting to sleep in because of them, I hate missing school whenever they send me to one. And I hate that they've been so many of them recently."

With another grunt, he stepped into the shower tray, and turned the tap, half expecting to find the water gone, or icy-cold at best, for after all, it was exactly the kind of day when malfunctions of this sort usually happened to him.

I hate this job.

Well, that wasn't true and he knew it. Sure, a career in the fashion industry, much less as a model, had never really been a part of his long-term plans, and not only because he'd been hoping to start anew somewhere where his father's influence wasn't so overwhelmingly powerful. He still dreamed of finding work in a field that would genuinely interest him, of course... but even though he had no say in becoming the number one model for the Gabriel brand, he had never gone as far as to say he hated it.

It was boring and came in a way; it had made him have to deal with popularity he'd been neither ready or willing to face when he'd first become known and which, for some reason, did not appear to be fading with the passage of time, like he'd once hoped it would. It meant being bossed around even more, not only by Nathalie or his father but by the (numerous) photographers, dressers and make-up artists as well.

To him, it had never been much fun - and yet, he had never failed to find at least some bright aspects of it.

Until today, that is. There was nothing positive about today.

He was out of the shower in a record time, despite - or perhaps, because of - the tremendous temptation of staying in there and letting the hot streams of water numb the throbbing pain he still hadn't got rid of. He did find the idea alluring, and even believed for a second that it could help; until he remembered how little the two full hours of sleep had done for him in that regard.

It was then that Adrien noticed the lack of Plagg's presence around him and wondered idly where the tiny creature might be. A little more awake than he'd been a quarter before, he crossed the threshold of his bedroom again and looked around and, when that didn't give him the result he wanted, he cleared his throat and waited for a response.

However, none came.

"Plagg?" he asked after a while, forcing himself to sound casually and thus not give the kwami any more reasons to pick up on his behaviour than what he already had. He was met with a wall of silence once again and this time, it made his blood run a little cold.

Easy there, Agreste, he chided himself impatiently. Just because I acted like a fool last night doesn't mean Plagg should too, does it? He's here, somewhere. Here, in this room.

In this room, asleep or breakfasting, and not gone to contact Ladybug and break it to her what an idiot his Chosen was. Not that she needed Plagg's record to know that.

Still, the silence continued to ring in his ears, to the point it became deafening. Adrien called for Plagg again, and then once more after that, simultaneously walking from one cupboard to another and peeking inside in his search of his friend.

Nothing.

He found nothing.

He bit his lip nervously, taking yet another look around and praying desperately that he wouldn't loose his cool.

Plagg wouldn't have... left him, right?

"Come on, Plagg, this isn't funny," he tried again. "And it's not the right time for joking around, either, even if the jokes were actually good. So, would you please act like the wise being you're supposed to be for once and come out before Nathalie walks in and find me searching for you? I really don't feel like having to explain that to her too, on top of all things."

Again, his plea was not to be answered.

This is a nightmare, he thought to himself, coming to the conclusion that his father's assistant really might knock on his door any second and that he should at least make sure she didn't nail him talking to himself, and of his double life no less. It must be, or else I've screwed up even more than I thought and there is nothing I can do about it. If he's gone to her... If he told her that I'd figured out her identity, then I'm done for. Even if she could somehow forgive me my outburst yesterday, she won't hold back from taking the miraculous away from me now that I've broken the one rule she was so hell bent to keep. Even if it was her fault that I did.

Her fault.

Was it, really?

"It was," he droned, momentarily forgetting the resolution he had only just made. "I might have provoked her, involuntarily, but she still was the one who told me all the information I needed for figuring it out. I stopped asking for it ages ago, right? She was the one who said too much and now -"

He trailed off, as a feeling of a familiar presence came over him, and turned around abruptly, as if willing to nail the alleged culprit in the act (which honestly, he did). He wasn't disappointment in his discovery; even if he was surprised to see Plagg this close to his face.

Automatically, he took a step back, and gasped.

"Oh, good, you're awake," Plagg greeted him indifferently, as if he hadn't been the reason for Adrien's frantic search.

The boy grimaced at him.

"You're here."

Plagg raised an eyebrow, amused. "Of course I'm here. Where else should I be?"

"I mean," Adrien repeated coldly, "that you are here now. That you're back."

"Back from where, kid?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know."

Plagg didn't answer him directly, save for the very telling roll of his eyes and a weary sigh that escaped his tiny lips, together with an indistinct mutter in a language Adrien had never heard before. The misplaced behaviour only made his vexation grow, allowing the anger once again take place of the previous unrest and worry.

"Plagg? Tell me where you went last night."

"Why would you think I've gone anywhere, huh?" the kwami retorted loftily, clearly offended by the accusation; if Adrien had been in a slightly better mood right now, he might've felt guilty about jumping to conclusions so fast and even apologised his friend for it.

Unfortunately for both, he could hardly imagine being in a worse mood than the one he was currently in.

"You weren't here when I woke up and I couldn't find you after I'd got dressed, either," he responded mercilessly. "You are always hovering around me in the mornings, and I know for a fact that you'd never miss a chance to mess with me whenever I'm being a little more emotional than usual; and yet, I spent the morning talking to myself with no sly remarks disrupting it, when I'm sure you'd find something say about every single thought I'd voiced. And when I actually looked around, you weren't there."

"What if I decided to give you some space, huh?" Plagg refuted easily. "I'm not that unfeeling, and I'd say you of all people should know that. After all, I didn't really lecture you last night, did I? I know when to shut up, kid. So if you could stop charging me and just -"

"Where. Were. You?"

Again, Plagg refrained from giving his answer, deciding to glare at Adrien instead, in the belief that the usually complaint boy would finally feel some of the remorse he should've felt and give up his questioning. It might not have been the noblest move to make, but Plagg honestly believed it was the right one in this context.

If only Adrien hadn't picked today to be a stubborn, ruthless, unwavering player for once.

"Fine!" the little creature exclaimed at last, with another roll of his eyes. "I might have gone out for a bit. You know, to get some fresh air. You can hardly blame me for wanting a little break after everything I had to deal with yesterday."

"I think you misunderstood my question. I already know that you did go out. I want to know where to and why."

Plagg frowned and shrugged his arms. "Here and there. I didn't go far, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I don't know, honestly. I wouldn't say that the Dupain-Cheng bakery is exactly close, is it?"

Now he had Plagg's attention, and no mistake. He was not going to lose it.

"So you did go there," he mused with a sardonic grin, but in a voice that screamed of sadness. "You went to talk to her, to discuss my case and learn what to do next."

He paused, a painful lump rising in his throat and a new set off tears burning at the back of his eyes. He gritted his teeth and made sure to look squarely at Plagg when he concluded:

"You... you went to see Ladybug."

The fresh recollection of his Lady, together with the still unsettled knowledge of her and Marinette being one and the same person made his stomach twist in a tight knot, quite successfully ruining his attempt to remain collected and, at least in some way, appear intimidating to Plagg. The painful emotions came over him and he was forced to turn away before his companion could see the change of expression that was bound to come next.

The last thing he needed was for Plagg to go all caring and pitiful again.

He didn't even consider the scenario in which the kwami saw right through his defences and still took the opposite path to what Adrien had just predicted.

And yet, it was exactly what happened.

"Alright, so first of all, you must stop succumbing to the first supposition that comes to your mind whenever something goes wrong. Seriously, it's dangerous. And harmful. Not to mention, plain stupid, too," Plagg said after a while; it was his turn to sound stern. "It makes you believe the most pessimistic version of reality and lose sight of all other options, even when there are some. Second, it's a good thing that I already know how dumb you can be, otherwise I'd be more than just annoyed with how easily you accused me of abusing your trust in such a way. I didn't."

Adrien glanced at him, still sceptical about the explanation.

"You didn't visit Marinette?" he asked incredulously.

"Look, just because I was in Pigtail's bedroom does not mean I was visiting her," Plagg answered evenly. "I went to see Tikki and no one else. Your Marinette was fast asleep for the entire time I was there, not that I would have said anything to her if she hadn't been. So no need to panic, okay?"

Once again, Adrien found himself turning away, his movement more of a reflex than a conscious action.

"She's not my Marinette," was all he could muster to say.

Again, Plagg had nothing left to do but sigh.

"I get it that you're angry. And sad. And more than a little confused, I bet," he offered after a moment, when he'd realised that Adrien was not going to add anything more. "It's hardly the ideal way to learn your partner's identity, with all the shouting and quarrelling you'd done right before. The fact that she still has no idea who you are under the mask doesn't help the matter either, and don't even get me started about that darn love square you two had got yourself into. But you know what? It doesn't make you any less of a fool."

The last line made Adrien look up for a second, only to lower his gaze immediately after; he opened his mouth to respond, and yet, no sound came out.

Plagg only shook his head.

"Listen, Adrien. I've seen my share of Cats Noir and their Ladybugs as well, and even though there certainly were pairs whose relationship was much simpler - sometimes because they didn't know each other in their private life, or because they simply were not interested in one another in general - I could easily name a few for whom the situation was hell of a lot harder. You wouldn't believe how much so.

"Now, you're obviously hurt, and shocked, and no one can blame you for it. But kid, I've been there when a Cat Noir figured out Ladybug's identity at a wrong time and it cost him his life. Then there was a case when another Cat did, and it cost hers. Neither of them wanted to learn it. You did."

"I -"

"You did," Plagg repeated. "Ever since you two met, you've been going on about how she won't let you know her identity, showering me with arguments as for why you should share the secret. Last night you got your wish and it scared you; but can you honestly say you wish you didn't know?"

Adrien smiled wryly. "Well, considering how much hardship it caused for just one night, I can. I wish I hadn't learnt anything she told me yesterday."

"Kid, you've finally figured out who your dream girl is, something you've been dreaming about for years. You also learnt that she is genuinely in love with you - better, that she had been for all this time. That the only reason why she was so adamant about rejecting you was because she chose the other side of you. And if that's not enough, she's also the girl you've considered a good friend for a very long time. You should be thrilled."

There was no response on Adrien's part.

No witty comment, no try to refute the argument.

No words.

Until...

"Perhaps," he whispered unexpectedly. "Perhaps I could be."

"Could be?"

"Yeah. I could be thrilled to know who she is. If only it was someone else under that mask."

He turned on his heel and set off towards his desk, intent to gather his belongings and leave the cursed room before Nathalie really did come to get him. The fact that she still hadn't come could only be an inclination how early it still was and yet, he suddenly felt like he had no time to spare before he suffocated.

His loyal companion watched after him, frozen in shock.

"You've learnt that Ladybug is Marinette and you're disappointed?!"

Adrien, who had just finished packing, slung his bag over his shoulder and glared.

"Yes. I am. You can figure out why yourself or contact Tikki for clues, for all I care. But either way, I'm done talking about it."

In a few long strides, he was out of the room, leaving Plagg all to himself.

It was all so wrong.

#my writing #fantiction #mlb #ladynoir #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #things are not going well #no wait #more like: it's a total disaster and for real this time #please don't hate me #i swear it's all just a part of a plan

13 notes · View notes