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jackoshadows · 2 years

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There’s just so much dishonest bothsidesing in the discourse about Arya and Sansa in this fandom.

For ex. I saw this post on the tag that got a lot of likes and reblogs and I felt it was so disingenuous regarding what happens in the fandom as well as in ASoIaF.

At no point, have I ever seen any Arya fan on here say that Arya is better than Sansa because she is ‘masculine’. Quite the opposite - we have critiqued this characterization of Arya as being a misogynist take on what it is to be a woman and how characters should not be constrained to patriarchal definitions of femininity and womanhood. Arya thinks that the woman is important too. Arya is just like other girls. Just because she likes to learn sword fighting she is ‘masculine’? How utterly idiotic is that?

On the other hand, you know who is constantly harping on about Arya being ‘masculine’? Sansa stans:

I am not linking to the above post - suffice to say that it’s from a popular Sansa blog. I mean, look at the nonsense above - Arya is ‘masculine’ because her hair is described as a nest?!

We have also never, ever said that Sansa is worthless because she is feminine. Never. This is the gaslighting that is very popular in this fandom and used frequently to give the impression that Sansa is unfairly targeted and hated on because she’s feminine. When in actuality, readers have only ever critiqued her for actual flaws the character has - like her treatment of her younger sibling, her snobby classism, her idealization of beauty rather than the person underneath appearances etc.

It’s Sansa stans who continue to argue that Arya cannot ever be Lady of Winterfell because she’s not the right kind of women. It’s Sansa stans who argue that Arya will never find love, have a romance or be pretty because she’s not the right kind of woman (Has nothing to do with age considering 11-13 year old Sansa is shipped with every Tom, Dick and Harry). It’s Sansa stans who devalue Arya’s political education and participation because she’s not the right kind of woman. It’s Sansa stans who deny Arya is also kind and compassionate because she’s not the right kind of woman.

Book Jonsa as a ship - where they basically take everything from the Jon/Arya relationship in the books - exists because Arya is not the right kind of woman for Sansa stans.

So while Sansa stans argue that Sansa is better than Arya in all ways because she’s ‘feminine’, I have never seen the opposite where readers argued that Arya is better than Sansa because she is ‘masculine’.

This is true when Sansa is a Lannister hostage and Arya is on the run from enemies. Yes, it does not matter whether Sansa adheres to partriarchal notions of femininity and Arya does not - they are both beaten and threatened with rape and suffer hardship.

However, again, the above is being disingenuous by ignoring Sansa and Arya’s childhood in Winterfell. There is a clear difference in how Sansa and Arya were treated in Winterfell because one of them conformed and the other did not.

We see this difference in Arya’s low self-esteem and having low self worth. In Arya feeling like she did not belong. In Sansa and Jeyne Poole mocking Arya as being ugly and horse faced, in her Septa saying she has the hands of a smith because she could not do needle work properly, in her mother telling her that she had to be like Sansa in looks and behavior - making Arya question if her mother would want her back while on the run in the Riverlands.

“…my hair’s messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard.” Robb wouldn’t care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies. Just thinking of it made Arya try to comb her hair with her fingers, but it was all tangles and mats, and all she did was tear some out.“ - Arya, ASoS

Sansa conformed to patriarchal ideals of femininity because she liked it, she was good at it and she thought it an indication of high class and stature (For ex. she thought Arya should have been a bastard because she was not good looking and behaved differently). Arya was unable to conform because she can’t fundamentally change who she is as a person. We are who we are.

As Sam says:

His eyes met Jon’s and darted away, quick as frightened animals. “I… I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to… to be like I am.” - Jon, AGoT

As Arya says:

Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn.- Arya, AGoT

As Jon says:

Lord Randyll couldn’t make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won’t either. You can’t hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn’t mean tin is useless. Why shouldn’t Sam be a steward?” - Jon, AGoT

The Septa and Catelyn couldn’t turn Arya into another Sansa because one can’t hammer tin into iron no matter how much one beats it - one of the central themes of GRRM’s story.

Sansa was the favored, beautiful, eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. In canon, in the text, she was not jealous of Arya or sad that Arya did not play with her. Her only problem with Arya is that Arya is not graceful and elegant and beautiful like her, that Arya played with the lower classes like the stable boy and butcher boy, that Arya picked flowers from the marshes and gave it to Ned.

All this is right there in the text:

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. - Sansa, AGoT

Why couldn’t Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered. - Sansa, AGoT

Sansa threw back her head in disdain. “You? You couldn’t sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties.” Sansa, AGoT

“Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!” - Sansa, AGoT

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you” - Sansa, AGoT

Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world’s graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa, ACoK

“Arya Underfoot. Your sister used to call you Arya Horseface.” - The Prince of Winterfell, ADwD

Take this post on the tag that bothsides the sisters’ antagonistic relationship as being due to ‘different interests’ and ‘life philosophies’.

Arya being unable to conform and be good at sewing and singing and not being beautiful and playing with the serving girls is interpreted as her being ‘immature’ and having an ‘ego’...

So what would it take for the sisters to meet in the middle?

Despite Septa Mordane being a terrible teacher, Arya forces herself to spend time sewing, hangs out with Sansa and Jeyne enduring their taunts (Because she can’t change how she looks!), stops playing with whom she wants like the grooms and serving girls, stops hanging out with her father, forces herself to live up to Sansa’s standards of beauty and elegance and being delicate and sweet.

What would it take for Sansa to meet Arya in the middle? Nothing! Because Arya has no expectations on Sansa. Arya doesn’t want Sansa to change the very essence of her being in order for them to be siblings. Arya doesn’t want Sansa to look different or be good at horse riding for her to love Sansa as a sister. Just like Arya loves Jon as a brother despite Jon being a bastard.

Sansa wants Arya to change and conform, Arya doesn’t want Sansa to change. This is important and the root cause and core reason for why the sisters have a contentious relationship. There can be no discussion or discourse on the relationship of the sisters without acknowledging this important aspect. Fans can go on overhyping the same few lines about ‘Sun and Moon’, however ignoring the discord between them and the why of it is just ignoring a large part of their story, themes and narrative arcs.

These themes are important for Arya’s story. That’s why Arya fans include it in their theorizing about Arya’s story and in discussions about the character’s current and future plot points in the series. That is not Sansa hate. Arya is the outsider, the outcast, unable to fit in because she can’t conform to patriarchal standards.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the outsider, for the underdog. ‘Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things’, as the title of one of the (TV series) episodes goes. The angst that they have in life makes for more conflict, makes for more drama, and there’s something very attractive about that. My Game of Thrones is told by outsiders of both types. None of them fit comfortably into the society into which they’ve been born, and they’re all struggling to find a place for themselves in which they’re valued and loved and respected, despite what their society considers their deficiencies. And out of that, I think, comes good stories. - GRRM

Arya’s relationship with Sansa, Jeyne, Septa Mordane and Catelyn also resonates thematically with Hans Christian Anderson’s Ugly Duckling. It tackles issues of identity, loneliness, not belonging, bullying, feeling low and worthless. It’s about embracing and accepting oneself and loving oneself and Arya’s story is leading towards her being a swan raised among ducks.

And finally, analyzing the effect of the patriarchy on Sansa and Arya from a Watsonian and Doylist perspective is also not hating on Sansa for being feminine. From a Watsonian perspective, Sansa is the favored, high born daughter of the Warden of the North, who could do well in a court of Lords and Ladies. However, the patriarchy - especially in the North - restricting women into what they can and cannot do, means Sansa and Arya are denied the education that Robb and Bran receive.

It’s only because Arya wants different things and does different things that she spends time with her father eating with his men, interacting with his men, listens to him teach his sons, and gains an understanding of the North. So from a Doylist perspective, Arya has the wisdom and knowledge that Ned imparted to his sons, to be a leader of the North.

This is not saying that Sansa is less than for her version of femininity. This is not hating on Sansa for the kind of woman she is. This is saying that because of the constraints the patriarchy places on what girls can and cannot learn, while from a Watsonian perspective Sansa got the happy childhood, beautiful and graceful and excelling in activities assigned solely to the Ladies, from a Doylist perspective Arya’s inability to conform leads to her making choices that could lead to her possibly becoming leader of the North.

This is a critique of the patriarchy in Westeros that puts constraints on what a woman can and should be - this is something that GRRM tackles in Arya, Brienne, Cersei, Arianne, Asha and Daenerys’ stories, where these characters question and challenge the patriarchy in various (Good and bad) ways. It’s only by breaking existing societal rules and challenging the status quo that female characters can do what their male counterparts get so easily.

Like I mentioned earlier, these are all important plot points that GRRM is weaving into a larger story. The bastard, the cripple, the girl who can’t fit in with her peers, the exile, the dwarf - five central characters will make it through all three volumes, however, growing from children to adults and changing the world and themselves in the process. In a sense, my trilogy is almost a generational saga, telling the life stories of these five characters, three men and two women.

I ended up writing a lot here, but coming back to my point - Sansa fans need to stop bothsidesing and gaslighting the fandom on discussions of the character and the relationship between the sisters.

Again, no one, repeat no one is attacking Sansa for being feminine or liking songs or being good at sewing or having good manners. What is being criticized is her treatment of her younger sibling - that has no relation to Sansa’s femininity. Sansa liking romance songs has nothing to do with her mocking Arya’s appearance or wanting her to be a bastard or siding with Joffrey against her after Joffrey attacks her with a sword.

Don’t be dishonest. Don’t twist what people are actually discussing and saying on the tags into something else. If you don’t have anything to contribute, at least don’t lie and make up stuff.

#Arya Stark #Fandom discourse

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sixstepsaway · 2 years

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Some grist for the class/work ethic issues vs homophobia/femmephobia mill - while namby-pamby and ponce are both used as homophobic slurs now, namby-pamby originally meant weak and maudlin speech, and still means lacking courage, strength, and energy, ineffectual and weak. Sure this can be short-hand for "ew, gay" but reducing it to that strips it of context, of things like the individual characters and their dynamic and situation (that's what I find all of these reductive readings have in common actually - the depersonalization and dehumanisation of the individuals involved. They become empty shells you can slap a neat label on and move them around the board like game pieces).

Ponce? Wasn't used to mean "male homosexual" until the 1930s. Before that, in British slang, it meant a pimp, as in a man supported by immoral earnings. Unknown origin but possibly from the French pensionnaire - a person living without working.

Is David Jenkins using words that are really no different from f***** now, or is he using words that had a different more nuanced connotation then and play into the class issues and Izzy's fear of softness (not femininity and god I wish people would stop equating luxury with feminine). I have no idea.

Is he using those words as an audience shortcut to "Izzy simply thinks 'ew, gay'"? I don't see how, looking at the totality of the character and Con's performance (and later scripts were written with Con's performance in mind).

Is he using words that at first glance make us think "oh a homophobe" and if you don't think about it any further than the words used Izzy's story in S2 might be more of a surprise and if you do it might be more satisfying? I hope so.

Gonna start here because it's applicable to the whole rest of my thoughts:

that's what I find all of these reductive readings have in common actually - the depersonalization and dehumanisation of the individuals involved. They become empty shells you can slap a neat label on and move them around the board like game pieces

It isn't just depersonalization and dehumanization of Izzy and Ed, either, it's depersonalization and dehumanization of the people writing and participating in the show, too. I made the mistake of opening the Izzy Hands tag and I immediately found people arguing about racism from Izzy again and, like, saying why people should be "cautious" or "careful" about shipping him and Ed because of it, specifically talking about the scene where the people of color are moving the anchor and Wee John is sitting down (a scene Ed wasn't even in, mind), and one of the writers had explained that scene? And why it was done that way? And their take was to comment on how things can slide past the writers so easily? And I was just like-- but-- the writers wrote it-- I dunno. It feels very... "You can't write deliberately, you can only write how we see it."? I'm not sure I'm phrasing this right. It just seemed like a way of handwaving the reasons for the scene being the way it was because they wanted to keep seeing what they were seeing, I guess? I see a lot of that, in fandom, and they do the same thing re: Izzy being supposedly homophobic.

(I think if the entire cast bar like three people were white and Izzy was very specifically framed as cruel to those three people and the three people were doing hard labor and all the white people were seated and doing nothing, that...? would be different? but you have to frame the scene in question against 1x05 (Lucius) and against everything else Izzy has done so far? And it's... a dishonest reading, in my opinion (and as I've said, the opinion of fans of color who can and should talk about this far more than I can or should), and it's the kind of reading where they extract a singular scene from the entire show and then present it without context to say "Look! Bad!" and honestly you can do that with everything? You could extract the scene where Stede is bossing Roach around re: the hostages on the beach and show it without context and say how that is racist too, and how when Stede bosses Lucius around in the first few episodes he's being homophobic, or the way Stede reads stories to the crew and you could crop only the people of color into it and say he was infantilizing them, and so on.

When you divorce scenes and clips from their context, you, well, lose context, and it strips not only the characters and writers of their agency but also the actors who consented to take part in those scenes and deliver those lines.)

But that just comes back down to the essay I keep referencing that said it does the show a disservice to badly contextualize in this way, and people seem to think everyone should be a hive-mind about everything else, be it whether a show or scene is homophobic/racist/sexist/whatever or whether a character is likeable or not, even though everyone will always have differing ideas, including in reference to their own marginalization.

By the same token, when you take something like 'namby-pamby' firstly out of context and secondly pretend it's on the same level as the f-slur, you're just being disingenuous as fuck.

It's like that clip of some right-wing show I remember seeing, where the guy was like, "Is saying cracker as bad as saying the n-word?" and the overwhelming response was, "My dude, clearly the fuck not, since you said cracker and went with 'the n-word' instead of saying that. You knew it wasn't on the same level, or you would have said both equally and ya didn't."

So when they say, "Oh, well, Izzy said namby-pamby but we all know he was calling Ed a f***," they're being deliberately disingenuous to paint Izzy as worse than he is. You can do that for just about every line in the show if you want to, you can say, "Well, Stede said I'm your friend but we all know he was saying Please don't kill me."

Well, no, they mean different things. They are different words. Words mean things, and they are chosen deliberately, especially in a writing context! People choose words deliberately when they're speaking (so, the characters in question), and writers choose words with even more deliberate care and attention while writing.

Izzy didn't say the f-slur because the f-slur is not what he was saying.

Now, I know that the anachronisms in the show are a popular conversation to laugh about, so although you are absolutely right about namby-pamby not meaning what they imply it means, although it can be used in a homophobic manner as you say, but I'm willing to say that technically, they're probably using it in a more modern manner.

That said, it's still not equitable to the f-slur, and considering the use of 'donkey' earlier in the show, which was very specifically used to show the character in question as racist and then that character was immediately dealt with in response to that racism, I find it hard to believe that the person who wrote this line (David Jenkins, I assume, since it's 1x10) 'was actually meaning the f-slur'.

There's also the context that a queer man using a queer slurs against another queer man is miles different to a straight dude using a queer slur. Reclamation and all of that. So even if Izzy had used the f-slur, it would still be different in context (him also being queer, which is frankly canon due to the scenes with Lucius and the face touch with Ed, even without David Jenkins' word of god saying he's in love with Ed) than just a guy using a slur.

The ponce one amuses me especially since it was used against Stede in 1x04 and I mean, yeah. I know our Stede isn't a slave owner (thank god), but he's a landowner and the class slant of looking at Izzy using 'ponce' to refer to Stede in this manner is excellent to mull over.

Is David Jenkins using words that are really no different from f***** now

I meaaaaaaan, as I said above, if it really was no different to the f-slur, I think you would have simply written the f-slur out, much like you wrote out namby-pamby. Instinctively we all know it's not the same.

is he using words that had a different more nuanced connotation then and play into the class issues and Izzy's fear of softness

Far more likely. Far more likely. When Izzy said 'namby-pamby', I heard it more as comparing Edward to a foot kicking teenage girl on his bed pining after his schoolgirl crush than picking on the fact his schoolgirl crush was the same gender as him. I also heard it more as a comment on the fact he was literally walking around in an undone silk robe with literally no armor at all and was exposing his squishy inner core for the world to see.

It also meaning 'gay' did not occur to me, I think because although homophobia very clearly does exist in the OFMD universe, it doesn't quite exist in the same way on the Revenge, because most of the cast on that ship are queer.

See also: Jim being revealed as a woman and then being revealed as not a woman but not a man either, and the issues the guys have with that is "women have crystals in their bodies" (Frenchie, when he still thought they were a woman), "Can I be Jim if you're not Jim anymore?" (the Swede) and "Can I go back to being mute?" (jim). We were still in muppet comedy when Izzy did his namby-pamby thing, we hadn't genre shifted yet, and the muppet comedy of the Revenge doesn't have homophobia.

Yes, the show does. Yes, the show discusses it in its own way, but the crew of the Revenge does not. No one comments on Lucius and Pete, who are not subtle. Pete says that Lucius has naked-sketched most of the crew. Lucius outright hits on Fang to get him to let him draw him and off of barnacle duty without a single fear he'll be hate crimed for it. Lucius hits on Izzy because he knows Izzy might punch him for hitting on him, but it won't be because he's a dude, it'll be because he's pushing his damn luck.

If he wanted a true audience shortcut, using a term that's far less common would not be a shortcut. The f-slur would be the shortcut, imo.

Also worth noting that my search came up with this for namby-pamby:

Definition of namby-pamby 1 : lacking in character or substance : insipid. 2 : weak, indecisive.

and I mean-- it's not that far off of Ed in his red robe. It's not a very nice word to call someone, but there's far worse to use out there.

I hope so too.

#ask #treesofgreen

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spook-e-snail · 7 months

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hey so I've been going through your self ship tag and I'm genuinely curious, what's your dynamic like with Cassandra? Like is there a backstory between you two or is it like an unspecified thing?

I've actually never thought about how to describe the dynamic with words weirdly enough? Like I'm not sure if cringe fail husband and equally cringe fail girl boss wife is the best way to explain it. Like they kinda feel like they're the only ones who get each other in a way? Its hard to describe but just trust me bro 👍

Putting this all under a read-more because its long as fuck lmao. But yes! I do have a backstory :))

So! I actually have a few different concepts for my backstories! The main plot I actually have a(n unfinished) fic for!

The basic idea is my insert (Kurt) moves to a new town a few years after the events of PS. The plot roughly follows the love conquers all route. Like Pico was able to talk Cassandra and her gang out of their initial plan but you can tell she's like one mild inconvenience away from doing it all again. Everyone is alive albeit mildly unhinged.

Back when I was first introduced to PS I actually had a dream Cassandra hit me with a car so I kinda wrote that into the self ship lore. Sounds weird but trust me I make it work

She hits him with a car (that isn't hers). She learns they have a lot im common, they become friends, she realizes she likes the little emo bastard, she lets him know she's an alien and he's chill about it, they kiss, pretty typical stuff tbh.

Now while my insert's plot doesn't follow the main ps timeline I fucking love the angst some of these ideas have. I also wanted to make a chart to make it somewhat more easy to follow.

(ignore the first part of the chart I fucked up the bubbles are supposed to say before/after not yes/no)

The plot where they don't meet is obviously kinda boring so I'll talk about it first to get it out of the way. She's dead. He doesn't meet the iconic goth alien. They don't smooch. The end. (Tbh if I ever start self shipping with any other PS/PS adjacent characters I feel like this would be where my insert goes off and smooches some other characters)

I feel like the "fine red mist" ending would be closest to the game? Like the death part anyways.

In both of the non boring original timeline endings Cassandra is very dishonest about what it is she's doing. She realizes Kurt fucking despises how flawed the American education system is and has a general hatred for authority figures and makes her plan seem less like a massacre and more like a really big protest. He isn't given a gun or anything but he is the one who was told to chain the doors shut

As the name implies, Kurt in fact does get blown up in this ending. Again this ending plays out the most like the games. She doesn't shoot Kurt like she does Spike and Pierre but he does still end up dying whenever the back wall collapses in a very bloody cartoonish fashion. Pico ends up killing Cassandra and saves the day. The end :))

Anyways the partners in crime ending is a bit less developed you could say? Like Cassandra does still flat out lie about her intentions with the school and acts very recklessly with the lives of the rest of the goths, but instead twords the end she's like "Erm actually fuck this I'm getting out of here," and basically takes Kurt and goes into hiding right before they are killed in the final boss fight. But weirdly enough Kurt is fine with all of this and just kinda goes along with it. They run from the law and r fucked up evil cycle paths together 💔💔💔. The end.

There's definitely some holes but that's the basic idea plus some extra plot stuff!!

#self ship #self insert #🖤🍎🕷️

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tryingthisfangirlthing · 6 years

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Like an Explosion in Slow Motion

Myka has been through all kinds of hell due to the Warehouse; what they don't tell you is that it's hell when it's gone, too.

Rating: Either a high Teen or low Mature. References to sex but nothing graphic, some sensuality Word Count: ~5.5k Contains: Myka/Pete (but they break up), angst, hints of Bering and Wells, the Warehouse is gone and everything hurts, the Warehouse family falls apart, did I mention Angst?

Many, many thanks go to the lovely @tinknevertalks for looking over this for me, poking me to write a proper ending, and just generally making sure the mess that was the first draft of this was not inflicted upon the general public. You're the best. <3

Also on AO3

She can't point to one instant when the chain reaction started, not even in hindsight. Maybe it was the moment the new cornerstone was struck, but maybe it was the moment Paracelsus was unbronzed, or maybe even the moment one of her normal cells split and began to mutate into a tumor, or maybe… In the end, it doesn't really matter what sets off the bomb, not to those who are caught in the blast.

It hits Artie first. Slowly, slowly, as the very back aisle begins to fade from view to god-knows-where (and they won't tell them, won't tell the people from the past about the future, to keep them from trying to muscle in on it, she supposes), he stops going near those back aisles. Stops going anywhere where he can see that gap. When that gap gets wide enough to be visible from his office, he pulls the shutters down over the windows, and keeps them closed.

Claudia starts disappearing, suddenly, more and more, arriving often in the company of Mrs. Frederic (though the latter never stays). “Where do you keep going?” Myka asks her, softly, one day, in the B&B over a quiet lunch. “I thought you didn't want to be Caretaker.” “So did I.” A quiet wry, smile, precious in its rarity, because she is hardly ever quite so sincere or still. “But the Warehouse is my home, you know, and I feel like — like it's a part of me, and I'm a part of it, and I just can't — I can't leave. I'll be an agent for as long as I can, and then when I can't —” She lifts one shoulder, and her smile turns almost beatific, serene, with the knowledge and wisdom of many many years beyond Claudia’s age behind it. An alien gesture, on Claudia; everything is changing, absolutely everything, the members of Myka’s little Warehouse family included. Her heart cracks. “I can't explain it. I’ll stay with the Warehouse, and it’ll stay with me.” “I'm — I'm glad for you, Claud.” She is; she really is. “That you know what you want, and you're — moving towards it. I'm proud of you.” Claudia ducks her head, a little bashful, the girl Myka knows again. “I can’t really take any credit. In the Warehouse, things just sort of happen to you, you know?” She does know.

With his partner away, and Artie avoiding setting foot on more and more sections of the Warehouse floor, shelving and inventory falls mostly to Steve. He bears it with his natural quiet, with a sort of stoicism Myka both envies and doesn't. “I could take over for a while,” she offers, one day. “You go on retrieval with Pete, and I can stay here and keep things running. It's not fair that you're stuck here so much.” He smiles at her, tired and terribly melancholy. “No, you and Pete are a team. And I kind of prefer it here. I'm not reminded of — anything,” and he gestures vaguely, “So often.” “Okay.” And she understands, even if she doesn't really know what he's talking about. “But if you ever change your mind.” He nods, and his inhale seems a little lighter, a little less weight on his shoulders. “Thank you, Myka.” “You're welcome.” She brushes her fingers over his arm, a brief gesture intended to offer comfort where there isn't really any to be had, and leaves.

She and Pete can pretend, for the most part, that everything is normal. At least on the surface. Or at least they try. He still eats anything remotely edible in sight (which was very bad the time they were looking for that batch of Kinder Eggs) and she still argues with him over the music in the car (she wants opera, he likes Nickelback) and they still get rooms with two separate twin beds. But then they'll bag an artifact that belongs in one of the missing sections, and they’ll have to go down to the empty section of the Warehouse, and put it inside a goo-slathered box, and then as soon as the box is shut it will vanish right before their eyes. And Pete kisses her, when they get to the door of the B&B (because they both take her “never at work” seriously). He's gentle about it, and it's nice, and then she’ll let him walk her backwards up to his bedroom, and there’s nothing normal about that. Sometimes, they have sex, which is a little weird, and sometimes they don't have sex, which is even weirder: start and stop, driven by the strangeness of it all, the is-this-even-happening, and sometimes she stops it and sometimes he does, and sometimes they don't even start. (And God, she’s happy those nights, too, maybe happiest, because everything is wrong in so many tiny ways but at least she still has her partner beside her.)

Usually, she tries not to think of Helena. There's the occasional e-mail, utterly mundane things. Furniture restoration, Victorian recreation had been Helena’s most recent venture. Now Giselle has a job in New York (State) and Helena is going to try her hand at writing a book again. I fear I will always be a restless soul in this world, she writes, of it, and yet still so utterly alien. You just need to find yourself again in the now, Myka writes. That sentence doesn't even make grammatical sense; she immediately deletes it.

The Regents come for Artie, one day. Or at least that's how Steve tells it, when they get back from Capetown: that Kosan just walked in one day, while he and Artie were talking stock, and Kosan just greeted him and nodded, and Artie just stood up and walked out with him. “‘Take care of the Warehouse, Agent Jinks,’ he said, ‘It won’t be much longer now.’” “Do you think he’s gonna be a Regent?” Pete asks. “I mean, they are kind of short on them, I think, given all that's happened…” “He'd like that.” Myka decides, for her own peace of mind, that that's what’s happened.

She overhears Pete on the phone, as she slips downstairs after her shower. “But Mom, can't you —” He stops, listens, and starts again. “No, you don't know what the Warehouse means to me! To me and Myka, to us! I can't — and it'll be a help to have experienced agents break in the newbies, right? That can only be a good thing.” More quiet, as Jane responds. “Just for a little while?” Space for another response, brief, and then the sound he makes isn't quite human. It's a stage of grief, bargaining. She turns the corner, and approaches him. He hangs up, and swipes at his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand. “We can't expect special treatment.” It comes out all wrong, like a rebuke instead of the sympathy she intends. She tries to soften it. “But there's nothing wrong with trying. Do you want a hug?” “Yeah.” And he staggers into her arms. “I'm sorry.” Myka rubs a hand over his back. She loves him, she does, and she hates seeing him like this.

The H.G. Wells aisle fades out. Myka tries not to notice. At least her grappler doesn't leave with it.

She comes across Claudia in the office one day, sitting at the computer, typing away. And it's almost like normal, except for that little black box she recognizes as an external hard drive. “Has that been approved?” she asks, instead of a greeting. Claudia spins around, and they both grin a little sheepishly at each other. “Hey, Claud. It's good to see you.” “You caught that, huh? I'm making a backup of the database, in case something goes screwy in the moving. First move since computers were invented, after all. And I miiight be taking a copy of the ping system home with me to tweak a bit in my spare time. See if I can't improve artifact detection time. Maybe.” Incorrigible. But if anyone can do it, and keep the project secure, she can. “You're going to run a very different Warehouse to the one Mrs. Frederic does, that's for sure.” “I'm going to run a different Warehouse to the one Artie did,” Claudia corrects her, and finger-guns. Myka laughs, for what feels like the first time in a long while.

Somewhere in between all of this, Myka starts packing her things, pulls out the “M.O.B.” crate and carefully wraps up the more delicate items: her CDs, the antique books, the picture frames. Sometimes, she tears up. There's never any good way of saying goodbye.

Abigail and Steve leave next. There’s only about two days’ worth of the Warehouse left, and any incoming pings are put into a holding queue for the next agents to take care of. Abigail just disappears during the night, and the next morning the B&B holds no trace of her, save a small note in the middle of the kitchen counter, as if she’d just gone out for her morning jog. I'm sorry I wasn't able to say goodbye. I wish you all the best, and please reach out if you need a therapist or someone to talk to. The note is signed with a nearly incomprehensible e-mail address. It's probably a little tragic, that this doesn't really surprise her. Typical Regent cloak-and-dagger. It’s a shame; she liked Abigail. “You want to head over with me or with Pete?” Myka asks Steve, keys jingling between her fingers. He’s an early riser like her, but he prefers to take his mornings slow, so it's generally a toss-up as to whom he'll go into work with. “Actually, I'm not going back to the Warehouse.” Steve sets his mug of tea on the counter, and watches her reaction. “I'm going back to the ATF. I might try things with Liam again.” She gulps in a breath with surprising difficulty, like the wind has been knocked out if her. “That's… I'm really glad for you, Steve. Uhm, do you need — do you need any help taking your things anywhere?” “No, I already took my things down to the post office for shipping last week. But thanks.” It is senseless to want what we cannot have, his mug reads. “Is that new?” She points to the mug. Why he'd have gotten that for himself when the B&B has plenty of dishware eludes her… though it is very him. “Personalized?” He arches his eyebrows a little wryly, smiling as he regards the ceramic. “No, I just found it in the front of the cupboard this morning.” One more slice of the sort of everyday magic you get so used to here. They smile at each other. “I'm really gonna miss you.” “Me, too.” He sets down his tea, and she hugs him, tightly. “Don't be a stranger.”

Pete still hasn't even started packing. It itches at her, as she sees at all his things still strewn around his room. But she does her best to be gentle. “Putting things off doesn't make them any easier,” she tells him that night, softly. “Tomorrow,” he says, “I'll do it tomorrow.” She doesn't think he will. “Thanks for being patient with me, Mykes.” “Of course.” It doesn't feel self-evident, all her patience, not any more. At least he appreciates it.

But there isn't a “tomorrow.” They wake up, get ready, drive to the Warehouse together — though they have no clue what they might do there — and it's gone. The place is the right one. That flat, dusty depression they walked across every day for the past five years, is exactly as she remembers it. Except that there's no Warehouse there anymore. “You think the football is still hanging around?” Pete asks. She laughs, at the absurdity of the small things they focus on to ignore the large ones, laughs so as not to cry. (They wait, just to see if it is. The sky stays empty.)

At the end of their return trip, a “For Sale” sign crouches at the beginning of the B&B drive, with matching crates beside it. She pulls over, gasping in a breath. “It's really gone, Pete. All of it.” Her voice is wet, and so are her eyes. He kisses her, and they cry; his sobs wrack his entire body, while her tears stream silently down her cheeks.

She doesn't know how long they sit there, in quiet mourning; it doesn't really matter, anyways. She hasn't sent her things anywhere yet, because she doesn't know where to send them to. They could go back to Colorado Springs, but that’s not where she wants to go. She doesn't know where she wants to go. Where does anyone go when their home isn’t there anymore? “I guess we still have jobs with the Secret Service.” She toys with the idea out loud. It seems flat, now, flat and bleak and lifeless, but everything else seems just as much if not more so. “I guess we do.” He looks at her, and she looks at him, and she unlocks the trunk.

They're not put back on protection detail, not right away. They're investigating, potential threats. And it's good to still work with him, good to still be putting her skills to use, but there's little of the same adrenaline and none of the wonder. She moves into his apartment, because his place is bigger and why not? The previous Myka Bering, the Myka Bering most people here still vaguely remember, would have laughed outright at the idea that she could ever be with Pete Lattimer. It's unsettling to have your own ghost haunting your footsteps.

“I think—” Pete kisses her as he backs her towards the bedroom. “We should celebrate—” another kiss — “bagging that guy.” “I don't know, Pete.” She rests her hands on his lapels, turning her head slightly to the side. “It doesn't feel like much to celebrate.” “We stopped someone who was going to try to set off a bomb!” “Yeah, and it probably wouldn't have gone off either way.” She sighs, and offers him a tired smile. “At least he's getting help, now.” “Yeah.” Pete rests his forehead against her temple, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Feels a little like the old days, helping people, saving the world.” Pulling back, he offers her that boyish grin, the one she can't help but smile back at. “You know, after some of those cases, I always wondered what it would be like if you and me —” “Okay, no! I do not need to hear your — fantasies — about —” But she's his girlfriend, shouldn't she want — she punches him in the arm, instead of trying any further to find words, to piece apart her thoughts. His eyes darken. “I know you know what that does to me.” “I know.” And he wants her, and she loves him, and it’s easy to let him have her (even if it still feels like something is missing).

It was sweeping round swiftly and steadily, this flaming death, this invisible, inevitable sword of heat. I perceived it coming towards me by the flashing bushes it touched, and was too astounded and stupefied to stir. “Morning, babe,” he mumbles, as he shuffles to the counter where she's left his mug of coffee to cool. She doesn't look up from The War of the Worlds she's reading with her cereal. “Morning.” I heard the crackle of fire in the sand-pits and the sudden squeal of a horse that was as suddenly stilled. Then it was as if an invisible yet intensely heated finger were drawn— “How come I'm always the one to start the sex?” he asks, the words sleep-slurred, so it takes her a moment to really register them. “Wait, what?” Sharp, because he wants to bring this up now? When they have to leave for work (she has to drag his butt out the door) in half an hour? “‘Start the sex’ isn't even an actual phrase—” “Mykes.” His morning ‘dial it down’ gesture. “Just let me.” She lifts her hands, nodding for him to continue. “Sorry.” “How come you don't ever really seem to want to have sex with me? I mean, am I doing something wrong? You used to tell me when what I was doing wasn't working for you.” It sounds practiced, far too clear for usual him at this hour. How long has this been on his mind? “What? No, you're fine, you're doing perfectly — perfectly fine. No complaints.” He makes sure she comes at least once, and he cares about her pleasure, and it might not be mind-blowing but she really, really has no complaints. — were drawn through the heather between me and the Martians— “Well, that's hardly a five-star review,” he mutters. She sighs, and finally gives up on reading. “Well, what do you want me to say? ...Never mind, don't answer that. We need to get going.” He stuffs a doughnut in his mouth, and she suppresses a cringe.

It's harder to ignore all the little things, when it's just the two of them. When she doesn't even have her own room to retreat to. The crumbs on the counter, how he wants to keep her up half the night and waste half the morning dozing, not just sometimes but every. single. weekend. She reads beside him while he plays his Halo or Diablo or Super Mario Brothers, but it doesn't feel cozy or family-like, like it did when Leena was baking in the kitchen and Artie was playing the piano and Claudia alternated between cheering Pete on, giving him advice, and worming her way into yet another top-secret database from her laptop balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. Now, it just feels disconnected, like two puzzle pieces missing the bits in between.

Steve is settling in fine with the ATF again, and to hear him tell it things are going well enough with Liam. She hopes he isn't just putting on a good face, but then she's never known him to lie. The tone is just a little melancholy, that's all. Her emails probably sound the same.

She finds a message in her inbox one day, from “Next Generation,” no subject, no sender address. There's not much to it, just Claudia assuring Myka she's okay, and she’ll be fine in the future, too, and she hopes Myka’s doing well. Somehow, Myka knows this will be the last she hears from Claudia. Say hi to H.G. for me, the next time you see her. I think you should talk with her soon. I know she'd love to hear more from you. Myka wonders just how close the two of them are — or were, or still are? — and an irrational stab of jealousy threatens to gut her.

“Emily Lake” is publishing a new book, or so she writes Myka in her latest e-mail. Indulge me setting up this little game, darling. I shan't tell you the title, nor my pen name, because I'd like to see how long you take to pick it out. I'm quite certain you'll know it when you see it. This feels wrong, too. I thought we were supposed to solve puzzles together, and no matter how hard she tries she can't make that sound any less whiny. She hates it, but she leaves it in. And she starts scouring bookstores.

Twisted Time and Sparks Afly, she sees one day, by Eileen G. Wellington. A dark-haired seductress stares out at her from the cover, a far-too familiar stunner weapon in her hand and her chin lifted in something like a dare. It’s tucked onto a corner stand in a shelf, instead of put out in the center of the window like it belongs. Myka buys it without even looking at the synopsis.

“Come to bed, babe.” It's not a demand or a plea, but maybe a little of both. She looks up from the book, slowly untucking her legs from beneath her in the armchair. “What time is it?” She hasn't lost herself in a book like this in a long time, but this is the very best of H.G. Wells and better. She can see so much of Helena in this, Helena now, and a new side of her, in this story about someone from the past who wakes up to an incomprehensible future. “I don't know, two, three in the morning? Way too late. Or early. Or both. Time to sleep. Usually you're the one talking about work tomorrow.” Pete rambles when he's tired and has to speak anyways. “Oh god! Sorry, I just… book.” She gestures at the cover, and he nods. It's nice, to have that kind of shorthand figured out with someone. The one person who knows you better than anyone else, and maybe that someone is Pete now. (Or maybe it still isn't, because she just wants to finish reading.)

“This isn't gonna work out, is it, Mykes?” he asks, in the car on their way to their latest person of interest’s residence. There's no recrimination in the question, no self-pity, just a bone-deep sort of sorrow. “What do you mean? This investigation?” She knows, though, or at least she thinks she might. “Us.” He gestures between them. “This. Our relationship.” “What makes you say that?” She can't — she just can't. He's her partner. “You're not happy. Not like you were.” Gently, he says this, like he needs to ease her into the idea. “And I care about you, and I want you to be happy.” “Of course I'm not happy, Pete! It's not like it used to be!” She doesn't know where this vehemence is coming from; this isn't like her. “I'm sorry.” She forces herself to be quieter. “I miss it all, you know?” “Of course I know.” He sounds mildly insulted, like he doesn't know how she could think otherwise. “I didn't mean it like that.” And it's snippy and also not her. “I know.” Bitterness lurks there, somewhere. “A-are you mad at me, or at the world? Or at yourself?” She shakes her head at him, because she cannot stand this passive-aggressive bullshit, and it's not like him either. Road noise fills the silence, as the seconds stretch into double digits and she can see him really thinking it over. “I think I'm a little mad at everything, right now.” She isn't sure if he means it as a confession, or if it's a revelation to him as well. Another pause, and then, “We aren't good for each other, are we? Not like this.” She doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to admit that even this isn't right any longer. “I guess we're not.” He pulls over, and for the second time that spring they cry together in the car. They may have survived the blast, but they’re breaking apart on impact.

She moves out as soon as she can, puts her things in storage and puts her resignation in with the Secret Service. There are far too many ghosts here, ghosts and scars and stumbling blocks. She needs a clean break, needed it months ago. Maybe, just maybe, she understands a little better now what Helena did.

She tries to find the words to talk about Helena’s book to her, tries and fails. I did recognize it the moment I saw it, is all she says, finally, on that topic. Where are you living right now? I'd like to visit you. I'm not sure that's a good idea, Helena replies. But she gives an address anyways.

Myka is not the kind to just show up on people’s doorsteps, but it really does seem like Helena is the exception. Except it's not Helena who answers the door, it's a different woman, petite and olive-skinned, with dark curls tumbling over her shoulders. “Uhm, hi, is — is —” Myka really wants to avoid a repeat of the Nate thing; she isn't here with the Warehouse, just looking for a friend. “Does she still go by Emily?” The woman — Giselle, Myka guesses — wrinkles her brow, and glances back inside the apartment. “Hel? I think she wants you.” “She?” And then there's Helena in the foyer, drying her hands on her jeans, and when their gazes meet Myka could swear she pales and flushes at the same time. “Myka! I —” She glances at… her girlfriend, Myka forces herself to think, though it feels like swallowing chunk of ice just a little too large. “We weren't expecting you.” “No, we certainly weren't.” Giselle arches an eyebrow at Helena, but extends her hand. “Hi, I'm Giselle.” “Yeah, she's told me about you.” Myka shakes her hand. She’s happy for the both of them, really, she is. “I’m Myka. It's great meet you.” “I haven't heard a thing about you yet.” Giselle glances at Helena again. “To hear her talk, you'd think she'd met no one and done nothing until she became a forensic scientist in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin.” “I told you, darling, I spent a great deal of time with books. There isn't much there to tell.” And if Myka didn't know better herself, she might just believe her. “You don't get up to much with a roommate-slash-research-partner, I promise. Myka, do come in.” “Thanks.” She wipes her shoes, and offers a polite smile that maybe comes out more of a grimace, and they all shuffle out of the narrow foyer. “Roommate like her? Damn, Hel, you did know you were gay back then, right?” She doesn't whisper quite quietly enough, not for Myka, who has been conditioned to listen for strange quiet voices where you least expect them. “Sorry, know you were bi already.” “I've been well aware of my ‘bisexuality,’” and she says the word like she's still getting used to the taste of it, “for far, far longer than you, I'll wager.” Helena doesn't bother to keep her voice down. “I told you, I realized I was gay in, like, fourth grade.” It sounds like an old back-and-forth. “And I keep telling you, I realized I loved women as well as men in 1884.” Giselle lets out some small grunt of frustration. “Fine, don't tell me. Again.” Myka shouldn't be happy that Giselle doesn't know everything, but her stomach flutters a little nonetheless.

“Did she do this thing back in college, too?” Giselle asks, accompanied by the quiet snick of her knife through carrot. “This ‘I'm from the Victorian Era’ joke? Like, sometimes it's cute in a quirky way —” charming, Myka mentally corrects, the word you're looking for is dangerously charming, “and sometimes it just drives me absolutely nuts. I had to sneak a look at her driver’s license to figure out her actual birthday.” “I did tell you it was the 12th of August.” Helena pushes the noodles and onions around in the wok. “And I’m right here, in case you’d forgotten.” “Yeah, but then you always followed it up with ‘1868.’” Giselle reaches for a bell pepper. “And I’ve already told you this, so now I’m telling Myka.” She glances towards where Myka stands just outside of the small kitchen area. “You know, sometimes I half-believe it, like her knowledge of the time period is phenomenal, and she still acts like the refrigerator and microwave are these new and amazing inventions. But, I mean.” She waves her knife dismissively, a gesture that makes Myka clench. Giselle and H.G. have a similar disregard for safety, that’s for sure. “There's no such thing as immortality. Or, like, time travel.” Yes, there is, Myka wants to say. On both accounts. Some form of it anyway. She glances at Helena; their gazes slide together, and linger. There’s a sort of helpless indulgence, of people who just can't know, and it's good to have someone around who does know, a shared secret, a quiet bond. When Myka looks back at Giselle, the other girl is watching Helena and her, brow wrinkled. Myka’s been asked a question. “Yeah, Helena’s been doing that for as long as I've known her.” “I don't know if I should be relieved it's not just me, or worried.” Giselle laughs, ducking her head, a little wryly, and then nudges Helena with her hip as she adds the vegetables to the pot. “Gorgeous weirdo.” “I think that's a compliment...” Helena nudges back once Giselle is finished, perhaps a little harder than necessary. Myka is quick to reassure her, “It is.”

It's a small apartment, with a fairly open floor plan, so of course Myka sees part of and hears most of their goodbye. She turns her back, wandering to the far side of the living room to try to give them some privacy. But if you're trying so hard not to hear something… “We need to talk, Hel. I'm serious. I've been trying to give you your space and privacy, but I don't like things — people — being hidden from me. Tomorrow, or sometime this weekend, maybe.” “I didn't hide her from you. I did say I kept up with some old friends via e-mail. I never really expected her to just—” Myka can almost hear Helena shaking her head. “But you're right, I should have.” Sometimes, just sometimes Myka wants to be just as damn cocky as H.G. was: if some small part of you didn't want me here, you would never have given me your address. But she won't. She's never been that sort of person (except “never” and “that sort of person” seem to flee out the window when Helena enters the room). “We'll talk about that, too. Later. Go see your guest now.” “Wait,” Helena demands, and then there's the sound of someone being backed against the door, a muffled, needy whimper, and it's seventeen long seconds before Myka finally hears, “Now you can go.” “Bitch,” Giselle mutters, but there's plenty of affection and no trace of venom. The door opening and closing, the click of a latch, and then Helena returns, one hand on her hip and running her fingers through her hair. Myka is suddenly lost for words.

“So.” Helena makes the word almost an entire sentence as she settles on the couch beside Myka, close, but not too close. Expectation hovers in the air (in her aura, Leena might have said, and maybe that was what an aura actually was). “So, this whole ‘I'm from the Victorian Era’ thing?” It's not what she came here to talk about, but it's the easiest. Helena exhales, slowly, and leans back. “Oh, I know it's ridiculous. No one believes I'm actually over a century old, and my official documents say 1979. I just…” She stares at the ceiling, shaking her head minutely, the way she does when she's searching for words. “I knew I needed to do something differently this time. This way feels a little bit less like lying.” Myka hums, and it's not assent or dissent, just sympathy. “I guess it's hard.” She looks down at her hands, runs them down to her knees. “Of course it's difficult.” Helena snaps the edges of the consonants between her teeth, leaving them sharp, jagged. “Myka, look at me.” Despite herself, Myka glances up at her. “What did you come here for?” Myka swallows, and glances away again. When she finally finds the words, they crack wetly in the back of her throat. “How did you do it? Just — leave the Warehouse behind? How can you — I'm so lost without it.” It's a relief, to get it out, all of it, to someone who isn't struggling alongside her. “Pete and I, we're not — we just don't work without the Warehouse. Claudia’s gone, just — gone. I'll probably never see her again. Artie’s gone, too, and so is Abigail. I think — I think Steve’s doing okay, but I can't know, and we're all trying, but you can't just — forget, endless wonder like that.” Helena chokes out some mangled parody of a laugh. “Of course you can't forget. It's senseless to even try.” “You managed to get away.” And it's partially an accusation, one she didn't mean to level here and now, one she ends up voicing anyways. “You really think —” Disbelief floods Helena’s tone. “For God’s sake, Myka — Nate broke things off, Adelaide’s —” She shakes her head. “You're here. I haven’t the slightest idea what will happen with Giselle after this — that I'm here, in this time, at all —!” Gesturing demonstratively, she meets Myka’s gaze, as if that's supposed to help her understand. Myka doesn't. Helena licks her lips, and tries again. “That's the downside of the Warehouse, Myka. It might destroy you, drive you mad, or abandon you —” and they both know the Warehouse is something alive, something sentient — “but it never, ever lets you go.” Myka shakes her head. “That can't be — there has to be something. Something you can do, something —” She doesn't even know what she wants to happen; she doesn't want to forget, but remembering hurts, too. “If there is any solution,” Helena says quietly as she shifts closer, lays an arm around Myka’s shoulders, pulls her into a gentle hug Myka didn’t realize she’s been starving for, “I haven't found it yet.”

There’s a crater where the rest of her life used to be, and too much is broken, and she doesn't even know where to begin to pick up the pieces. But she's not alone, and sometimes you just have to stumble forwards from wherever you’ve landed. She starts composing an email to the address Abigail left.

#warehouse 13 #rinari's fic #myka bering #i don't know what else to tag this #any ship tags would feel dishonest #bering and wells #myka x hg #myka x pete #angst #explosion imagery #family falling apart #the warehouse is gone and everything hurts #this is That™ fic #which is not in the sense I meant it a year or so ago #surprisingly i am not yet a smut writer for this fandom and that needs to change :p

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woogurl · 3 years

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(hi, it’s me again pretending as if i didn’t go on an unannounced hiatus).

yes, i’m back...for now. i’m not sure for how long. as i’m too busy these days, but i wanted to specifically make this post because it’s been bothering me for a while now. someone mentioned this in the woosan tag as well, but it’s...

non-atiny’s(and some anti-shipping atiny) who constantly feel the need to expose woosan as some cleverly put together ship that was carefully manufactured by the company. i’ve seen so many titles on youtube and posts on twitter saying how:

“woosan is obvious fanservice” and “woosan; a prime example of queerbating in kpop”

i’ve never seen a ship be so criticized for being ‘out there’ and ‘in your face’. i’ve made a post on fanservice before but this post will mainly be focused on why i think it’s completely unfair, dishonest, homophobic, and antagonistic to view their relationship as manufactured and fake. and before you go, ‘i’m sure they’re good friends but all that other stuff is clearly done by the company.’ and don’t get me wrong, bc kq is very much aware of the ships and do try to profit off of fanservice...like every other company. but the clearest indicator of this not being MOSTLY all fanservice is something i’ve mentioned many times before.

1. the rest of the ships in ateez not being anywhere near the intimacy and skinship as woosan.

2. body language.

3. the members THEMSELVES explaining their dynamics.

4. kq not FORCING ships.

ever since predebut and debut there’s ALWAYS been three main ships in ateez. seongjoong, yungi, and ofc woosan.

as you could see, woosan was definitely thee most popular ship. however, i do believe their popularity grew over time because during the early era i’m sure seongjoong dominated, even on fanfic sites they dominate the amount of fanfics written about them. however, woosan’s clear comfort and intimacy with each other made them more popular among atiny’s and even non atiny’s they even had some taekookers saying their ship was realer and that’s saying something xD.

something people really, no i mean REALLY need to understand is...doing fanservice does not invalidate an entire relationship.

there are plenty of celeb couples who enjoy publicly dating and showing affection.

then comes the argument of well, “if they were real they wouldn’t be so obvious about it.”

this statement bothers me because, people who believe that showing too much skinship is fanservice but then they’ll turn around and say at the same time it’s just culture???

it’s fair to see them doing their fake love dance routine and going THAT’S FANSERVICE. but looking at those moments and going ‘nah, their entire friendship gotta be fanservice.’ is delusional to me, as u like to call us shippers.

even if you do not ship them romantically, it’s odd to me that people see two same-sex idols expressing comfortability, intimacy and skinship together and feel like if they’re too open about it or if it looks too gay then it’s....fake? even tho fans love to say it’s just apart of their culture. but if it gets too gay, then it’s fanservice.

i can’t. xD

just because they’re completely comfortable with being intimate doesn’t mean they’re being forced to act that way...it literally just means they ARE that way.

i constantly put emphasis on being comfortable with skinship and intimacy bc, to me that’s just not something the company can force. body language is a reaction from your true emotions and your inner most thoughts. IT IS THE FOUNDATION TO FIGURING OUT WHAT A PERSON TRULY FEELS INSIDE AS THEIR EMOTIONS WILL ALWAYS TRANSLATE THROUGH THEIR BODY. if u are uncomfortable it will be revealed through body language. and i know a ton of seongjoong shippers are gonna hate me for this, but they are a prime example of this. trust me i’m not here to start a ship war, i am purely just using them as an example of discomfort in body language.

body language is something a company cannot control.

seongjoong show definite signs of being uncomfortable with intimacy, heck shippers use that one moment seonghwa expressed sadness bc hj hugged the other members and not him as a shipping moment lol. but even when they do hug it looks uncomfortable. my guess is bc hj is not good at expressing his feelings and isn’t a touchy person. and even tho seonghwa is comfortable with skinship, it’s understandable that it can become uncomfortable for him bc of the things i mentioned before as well as the power dynamics and age difference between them.

and here i am going to be stoned bc, i have more to say about seongjoong(don’t kill me).

bc something the company also can’t control is what OR who the members hang out with OUTSIDE of group activities. so that’s why i’m also mentioning that i also don’t think seongjoong is as close as shippers think they are as...seonghwa mostly hangs out with woosan. and it is almost always mentioned how often woosan hang out together off camera. even early on. woosan hung out so much that it literally came to a point where yeosang felt like his bestfriend was taken from him.

can we mention again how happy that makes san? and let’s not forget the moment woo said seonghwa was into him, but san was like. ‘you’re into me tho’ and they BOTH tried to gloss over that.

wooyoung: wHaT dO u mEaN?

lol. people love to say how much san’s whipped for woo, but woo’s probably even more whipped.

here’s more evidence of woosan enjoying each others company off camera. https://woogurl.tumblr.com/post/614348590729625600/nobody-wooyoung-san-and-i-bass-boosted#notes.

we can even talk about a more recent moment. the ateez debate about mint chocolate. dunno what’s with these kpop idols debating about mint choco ‘cause bts did it too. lol. anyway, they ended up talking about the group dynamics. and how woosan again are always together.

i-i’m sorry, but does moment remind y’all of a past moment? LMFAO. seonghwa’s feeling yeosang’s pain.

seonghwa’s just like woosan says they’re tired of each other but can’t detach themselves. and here’s more evidence that the company isn’t forcing them. for those who thinks kq has some masterplan when it comes to promoting ships.

when they talk about their dynamics, jongho says he feels left out but hj exposes him and says, ‘we’ve tried to pair him with someone but he(jongho) just doesn’t do it’

so this just solidifies my statement from earlier, if the members don’t wanna promote a ship. they ain’t gonna do it. we got one or two vlives from twoho and das it. lmfao. don’t get me wrong. i’m sure jongho get along well with yunho as well as the other members, but promoting any of the other ships in ateez like woosan isn’t gonna work well. ‘cause the rest of the members don’t have the same dynamics. woosan are comfortable with skinship and being intimate with each other and the other members just are not.

another piece of evidence is the members tired reaction whenever woosan is mentioned. lmfao.

this was so dramatic omg. but the members reactions are very telling of woosan’s relationship off screen. if woosan was just fanservice i do not believe the members would react the way they do, maybe share some knowing glances at each other like. ‘pfft, they think woosan’s real’ but their reactions are always big or very indicative of something bigger happening behind the scenes. lol.

i’m not gonna go into too much details, bc the members reactions to woosan are an entirely different post(i got so many posts to make. xD).

Lastly Wooyoung’s Tatto. I know right? He’s very committed to fanservice guys.

Amicus ad Aras is something that woosan made to signify their friendship, and the fact woo got a tattoo on his body of it means a lot. not to mention woo himself taking initiative to find something that represented their relationship.

i feel like i need to reiterate that the meaning of this tattoo was to define his relationship to san specifically so it applies to san specifically. woo has many MANY friends AS WELL as bestfriends yet he got a tattoo that can only be truly applied to san and no one else.

u can continue saying theyy’re just good friends doing fanservice, but it’s obv that woo has many good friends. so the next question u gotta answer is what separates san from the others.

#ateez #wooyoung #san #woosan #analysis

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shinidamachu · 3 years

Note

I have a proshipping friend not even in the IY fandom who’s heard of the whole Yashahime debacle and even they think it’s gross. When this shit reaches people who don’t even go here and are still horrified by the result yet even they can tell Rin is still a child even though they don’t have the proper context regarding her relationship with Sesshomaru and are completely non-biased outsiders, then you know Sunrise dun fucked up. Yeah, “Adult Rin” my ass!

Hey! @boycottyashahime already answered this in a better way than I could ever do.

The whole proshipping versus anti dichotomy is pure bullshit. The issue at hand isn’t about either or not you can ship a problematic couple. Of course that, in an ideal world, people wouldn’t be out there shipping incest or pedophilia, but it’s not gonna be me or any other stranger tanting against it on the internet that it’s gonna prevent that from happenning.

The issue is when this kind of ship is portrayed on the media in a good light. Especially if that content was created to kids, whose developping minds are still very impressionable. When we say fiction affects reality, we’re not saying you’re gonna walk around jumping off buildings because you watched one super-hero movie. We’re talking about why representation matters. We’re talking about why propaganda works.

The more we’re exposed to serious issues through romanticized lens, the more we tend to normalize them when we come face to face with the same issues in real life. It can shape our opinions, the way we view life. And this is very dangerous because while some people can separate fiction from reality by drawing the line at “this is only okay because it’s fictional and it would be pretty bad in real life”, others might not be able to make this dinstiction.

That’s the problem. Purposefully trying to make it a question of likes and dislikes, of ship wars, of proshipping versus anti is both reductive and dishonest. I know there are people in this fandom who ships Inuyasha with his biological brother. Not once did I see any of those shippers claiming this pairing is pure and wholesome. Not once did I see them making the argument that it should have been canon. And not once have I seen anyone going off about all the reasons why this ship is problematic. There’s no need. Its own shippers can recognize the controversy. In fact, they embrace the controversy. Which is why they’re very aware it should never be canon. Especially in a show made for children.

After the sequel was annouced, however, a lot of people (myself included) felt the need to be vocal against sᴇssʀɪɴ, which didn’t happen with frequency before, since it was so much easier back then to pretend the pairing simply didn’t exist if you were uncomfortable with it. With Sunrise teasing the couple on an official show made to children, though, it maked perfect sense that those feeling disturbed by it would speak up.

After all, depicting the pairing on fanwork is one thing. You can unfollow people, block content, filter tags, close the tab, etc. You don’t get the same convenience when you’re consuming official content. Your only real option is to stop consuming it (which I did and strongly reccomend). However, the more troublesome the portrayal of the couple got, the more we felt the need to call it out and the more its shippers felt the need to defend it.

Because they are still, to this day, under the illusion that they are so incredibly important that half of the fandom actually care about their shipping preferences when we wouldn’t even still be having this conversation if ʏᴀsʜᴀʜɪᴍᴇ had never happened. They really think that, every so called attack to their ship is also a personal attack to them. And God, that’s the level of self steem I aspire to have one day.

#Anti Yashahime #Anti Sessrin #Anti Sunrise #Sidmailing

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momtaku · 3 years

Text

I read an ask over on @tsuki-no-ura’s blog today that sort of broke my heart and hit on some things I’ve been feeling and thinking. I agree with the anon that it feels like our fandom has become a worse place. The post I just reblogged touches on some of why I think that is. Also Ghostmartyr’s recent post was helpful as well in understanding the rampant negativity. The feeling of heartbreak that comes from crushed hopes and dreams generally doesn’t allow for graciousness.

It’s hard to avoid the negativity. Mantras like “don’t like, don’t read” and “stay in your lane” are great, of course, but they only work if everyone follows the rule. Like the anon in Tsuki’s ask said, if you are online for more than a few minutes, if you dig even the slightest bit into the tags, you’ll see something you regret and not everyone has the strength or the support group to let it go or ignore it. It hurts to see people willfully misrepresenting your favorite character or your ship community. It’s hard not to take it personally.

The advice to build your own community is also good, but I understand how difficult this is. Not everyone has the confidence to slide into another persons dms to start the process, and many long timers in the fandom are understandably cautious of befriending new people. It can take years to find people you can safely laugh and cry (and vent) with. Until you do, you are sort of adrift in the wider fandom with all its issues.

Regarding ship wars, I feel like here on tumblr they most often take the form of meta blogs that devote the majority of their time to denigrating other ship communities. While they may officially hold the attitude of “ship and let ship”, the number of disingenuous anons they answer and the sheer abundance of replies that focus on straw man arguments or else attempt to paint an entire rival community in a negative light is honestly astonishing.

I don’t know what to say about those. Just. Yeah. It’s disgusting and dishonest. I hate it too. Also I know as a meta blog I shouldn’t be casting stones. Glass houses and all that. But I’ve tried very hard not to do that. I’m obviously not perfect in this regard but I feel pretty confident that if you look at the 4356 anon asks I’ve answered, there are only a handful that could be considered casting shade on anyone. I get bait daily. It would be so easy to fall into that trap. But it’s such a shitty thing to do.

Tsuki’s reply to the anon was perfect of course and I could sympathize with her feelings. That need to be careful and constantly censor yourself is something I can relate to. There’s also the awareness that no matter how hard you try or how careful you are, someone somewhere (or maybe a lot of someones) are going to view you poorly because your ideas are inconvenient to them.

I don’t have any solutions here. I just read that ask and wanted to let people who are hurting because of fandom negativity know that I see them and I’m sorry. It sucks. It’s exhausting. All those things. You aren’t crazy. You aren’t alone. You aren’t weak. You aren’t overly sensitive. You are human.

I hope you find things that make you happy, like Tsuki said, either by reading your favorite fic for the hundredth time or focusing on the humor, art and shitposts that are also fandom staples. At least that part of fandom never changes.

#fandom thing #a vent #anita lava la tina #ship hate

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fanficparker · 3 years

Text

Small No-things | Tom x Haz one-shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Tom Holland

Word count: 2.8k words

Warnings: I am leaving this fic open-ended, Fluff and angst sprinkled here and there

Summary: Tom was bothered for not putting in as much efforts as Harrison into their friendship. But when Harrison reminds him of how he's all for him by being his assistant on the set of Spider-man Homecoming, Tom realises he wanted even more from his best-friend.

A/N: Hope this ends my writer slump.

Tom didn't like lying, however, he did lie a lot. In his defence— he just happens to struggle with expressing his feelings because how does anyone do that shit without feeling as vulnerable as a tortoise devoid of its shell?

"Tom, love, are you feeling well?" His mum asked from the other side of the phone.

"Very," He told her, smiling lightly though the words which may seem strange as she cannot see him. But the smile was not for her in the first place, it was for him. He liked telling himself that he was fine and it was almost working.

He hung up when the conversation got too forced, wishing her good night. And as soon as the beeping of the disconnecting tone fell into his ears, he kept the phone down and shoved the plastic wall aside, almost taking Harrison by surprise.

Harrison and Tom were sitting (half-lying down) in the luxury area of an already luxurious London to Atlanta flight. The interior was greyish and the furniture was brownish with cream-coloured curtains. Both of them were sitting beside each other but a removable opaque plastic wall standing between was separating them, which Tom just removed (sixth time in the seven hours, considering they didn't even set it up in the first three hours of the flight).

"Jesus, Tom! Learn to knock!" Harrison jolted, keeping a hand over his heart.

"Sorry!" Tom uttered, not feeling it though (Harrison was a drama queen anyway), "Just a matter of two hours." He gritted his teeth in excitement and nervousness (at least, he wasn't jumping on his seat).

Harrison chuckled, putting down the magazine he was holding. He kept his elbow on the make-shift table, squeezing his legs in his seat and leaning towards the brunette.

"I know. Exciting isn't it?" He said softly, looking up at the ceiling.

"And terrifying," Tom added quickly.

Harrison chuckled, again.

"It's going to be fine..." The blonde produced a full mouth yawn at the end part, removing his glasses and tossing them over the magazine.

Sleepyhead. Seeing that Tom turned the lamp off, sinking into his own seat, shutting his tired eyes.

He knows it's going to be fine. It... It's just that it doesn't feel fine. How does he even explain this?

...

"We can eat a burger. If it will make you feel better..." Harrison offered as the two boys dragged their luggage trolley across the airport.

Definitely, a burger can't make him feel better.

"I said I am fine," Tom repeated, sounding almost frustrated. Because wasn't this the thirteenth time, Harrison was asking him this question?

"You don't look fine though..." He defended in a soft voice.

But it just added to Tom's bubbling irritation.

First, the man who was supposed to pick them up at the airport hasn't arrived yet. Second, that person was telling him how he was just a few miles away for the last two hours and now he wasn't even picking up the call (if things couldn't get any worse). Third, Tom's feet were aching. Fourth, he wanted to sleep in a comfortable bed. Fifth, he didn't like people trying to pursue him into changing his mind and Harrison was doing exactly the same.

"Okay... But can you eat for me? I am really starving."

Tom stopped at his friend's words, leaving the trolley as his hands rest over his hips.

"Mate you got a completely different abdomen. You can eat for yourself!"

"Please..." Harrison did his stupid little pout, making Tom roll his eyes but it was all for vain. He knew well that his friend won't take no for an answer.

With a final huff, Tom relaxed his tensed shoulders, giving in.

"OK."

Soon, he found himself sitting at the counter of an open Burger joint inside the airport itself as he watched Harrison eat.

"Now why are you stealing my chips?"

Well, he wasn't just watching...

"Doesn't your stomach fill up when I eat?" Tom mocked, throwing another finger chip into his mouth and licking the salt off his fingertip.

"And I thought, my best mate wasn't any regular creep..." Harrison produced a gagging noise but then instantly stuffed his mouth with a big bite of the burger.

"Yeah, he is a PhD scholar." Tom rolled his eyes again, chewing on the chip.

That made Harrison laugh. He tried shutting his mouth tight, pressing a hand over his lips as his cheeks swelled, struggling to stop the food from falling out of his mouth.

Tom failed to contain his own grin that split his face. He joined Harrison in the meal as his own order arrived. He watched his phone ring off and away. For once he didn't care about reaching the hotel any earlier. They were fine here. He felt fine here. Didn't he?

...

"Whoa, this is huge!" Harrison dropped the bag on the floor with a thud, instantly rushing to take a look at the bathroom. He checked the other room and then the spare bathroom... Then the kitchen, the balcony and then rushed back to the living room which also served as the outer, larger bedroom, where Tom was still standing unmoved, arms folded across his chest.

"It's huge..." He repeated, letting the adjective trail off his lips.

Tom opened his mouth to say something but Harrison was quick to cut him off—

"Which room should I take? The inner one or the outer one?"

The brunette scrubbed a hand down his face, "The inner one because I seriously don't want your hundreds of shoe pairs invading our living area."

Harrison's brows quirked, "How-how do you know?"

"You posted it on Twitter." Tom shrugged.

"You don't even use Twitter!"

"Yes, and your fans did repost the video on Instagram tagging me."

"Well, then they are your fans. Traitors!" This time Harrison had his hands folded across his chest, dramatically swaying his head to the other side.

There was a pause.

"... Did you actually bring them all?" An amused smile formed on the corner of Tom's face as Harrison licked his lips.

Unnecessary drama... If it was something, the boys would have called it their personal quirk.

"All for you..." Harrison replied, smirking, maintaining the eye-contact with the other boy.

But it was too fatal. He gave up.

"Actually, no I didn't." He rolled his eyes this time.

The victorious smile reached Tom's ears but he was too tired to care. He could kill to sleep on that soft bed. So, he jumped up on the mattress, discarding his shoes and pressing his face against the silky fabric of the pillow.

"I am taking the outer room anyway." His voice came out muffled, not that it was unintelligible.

"Twat." Harrison whispered, twisting his mouth. He was anyway going to invade Tom's space and Tom knew it.

...

Tom won't call himself sad or melancholic. It was just that Harrison had so many... friends.

He had always been great at maintaining relationships even with the people he met in Year Five. But Tom really only had Harrison, despite all the enormous extra amount of people he knew because of Billy Eliot or The Impossible and now even the Marvel Universe. Even when Tom was meeting Jacob Batalon for the third time, it was Harrison who could crack up the conversation. And they were meeting for the first time!

Tom was visibly jealous of this. It wasn't the angry or hateful kind of jealous. It was a sad one. It made him feel as if he was putting in less amount of effort than Harrison. It made him feel as if he was not doing enough— dishonest, insecure and what not...

He felt stupid for feeling this. Yet, it didn't stop him from feeling it more than often. Not that Harrison would ever make him feel this way. He felt worse for knowing and yet feeling all the same.

"Hey, Holland?"

It was Jacob's voice that brought him back to reality.

"Mind if I steal your boyfriend? We are liking each other way too much." Jacob winked, looking at Tom and then at Harrison.

They were inside Jacob's trailer where Jacob was sitting on his chair and Harrison was standing beside him, leaning over his shoulder on his elbow. While Tom was standing opposite to them, basically out of the conversation. Jacob's statement did only one job— make him more anxious than before. Dread settled at the bottom of his stomach, his breathing got laboured and his heart almost stopped.

"We--we aren't boyfriends."

That made the two boys laugh more but Tom only got more confused and felt more left out. Harrison must have noticed because—

"Tis' just a joke. Relax." Harrison shook his head, looking directly at Tom.

Tom could best produce a spluttered laughter, ready to leave for the set.

"Jacob likes teasing. Which means we are gonna be shipped a lot from now on." Harrison giggled as they waited for Tom to be called for the scene. He was wearing that overly tight Spider-man suit, way too uncomfortable.

"... And that doesn't bother you?" He swirled his neck to look at his best-friend, wondering...

"Why would it bother me? It's just a joke. Normal between friends." Harrison shrugged his shoulders like it was...

Normal...

If Harrison is saying then it must be normal.

It has to be...

...

"That was sick! I totally didn't assume Laura to be 'the' prankster. Z was so not ready!" Harrison laughed as he emerged from his room, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Tom hummed in response busy scrolling through his phone. Harrison tried to ignore it, not caring about whatever Tom was busy gazing into his phone but he could read the uncomfortable longing in his friend's brown eyes. His own laughter died in his throat as he sat beside Tom, giving him a side glare.

Three weeks they were together in this hotel suite which made Harrison more aware of Tom's expressions than any other time. And today, all he noticed was Tom's eyebrows furrowing more and more as he looked into the device. Harrison snatched it off his hands when he suspected him of—

"Hey what?!" Tom yelled, trying to take it away but Harrison was quick to raise it up in the air, using his height advantage. He looked into the screen.

— stalking Henry. He was scrolling through Henry's Instagram profile. Tom sunk into the cushions realising that he was caught red-handed. He watched the softness of Harrison's eyes vanishing replaced by something close to anger as he scrolled through his phone.

"We talked about this, right?" His voice came low as his line of sight shifted from the device to its owner. Tom didn't reply, rather looked to the other side, at the empty wall.

Harrison's nostrils flared. He tossed the iPhone to the side and stood up, pushing his glasses that had fallen to his nose tip back to his eyes.

"He's a piece of shit and you are still clinging onto him?" It was a statement disguised like a question to cloud the fact that Tom didn't have a choice than to accept that his ex-boyfriend was in fact a piece of shit. He was supposed to move on.

But does Harrison have any idea how difficult it was to move on? Does he has any idea how many times he looked at people, thinking he would fall in love with them but in a few days the truth would hit him hard on the chest?

He couldn't.

He can't.

At least, things with Henry were so much better. They lasted the longest. Two years were the longest he had been with someone and not felt drifting apart. Until...

Tom started, voice higher than it should be: "Just because you don't like him, that doesn't mean I---" But he was interrupted by a voice even louder.

"Of course I don't like him. I don't like arseholes!" There were mixed lines of anger and worry on Harrison's forehead. He paused, breathed from his mouth and added in a lot softer voice: "Don't you remember how it was with him?"

Until, he saw himself in the mirror. Until, he noticed the dullness in his eyes that used to glint with enthusiasm. He saw those dark circles, the loss of sleep, the loss of self-esteem.

He even stopped dancing, the thing that once meant everything to him. The thing that paved the way to everything he loves now. And he left it because Henry didn't like seeing him dance. Wear skirts and perform ballets. And he loved Henry so much that he stopped doing it.

No, he never loved Henry.

Henry was his weakness manifesting as a person, taking form in flesh and blood.

"I... I am just seeing his pictures, not that I am going back to him." Tom stated, his pride trying to overshadow his vulnerabilities.

Harrison again exhaled, sitting back on the sofa beside him.

"It's not just about physical things. It's also mental. We talked about it. You deserve so much better Tom and no one even close to Henry." He kept his palm over Tom's knee, looking him into his eyes, "Henry is your past. Gone. He doesn't even deserve a space in your memories."

Tom would have argued but he remembered that they have had this conversation in the past and that Harrison was right.

Henry told him what was good and bad for him. He decided everything for Tom and that's what Tom loved. He loved that he will no longer be responsible for any wrong decisions he ever made. That he would have someone else to blame for all his failures but he was so wrong.

It was his mistake. Considering the possibility was his mistake. Accepting Henry in his life was his mistake. Letting Henry make decisions for him was his mistake.

Henry tried to push his friends away from him. He did push all his friends away. But Harrison was the only one to push back. Push back even harder.

Harrison stayed with Tom no matter how much he pushed him away because Henry said Harrison was not right for him. Still, Harrison knocked at his door, asked about his day, told about his day, wished him New Year before anyone else.

Harrison even knocked at his door when Tom had completely given up, accepted that the gear of his life was no longer in his control. Harrison gave him his chest to keep his head on and cry. Harrison listened to him patiently and understood everything even when Tom was sure his words were just sobs, completely unintelligible.

And right now, he was again pushing Harrison away and Harrison was pushing back with a stronger force. Something hot and wet flashed through his eyes, collecting at the bottom of his eyelids. He wiped it off before it could fall down or before Harrison could notice.

His chest constricted imagining what if that tear had dropped. That it's been so many years after Harrison had those steel braces over his teeth removed or when Tom was no longer afraid of never growing taller and reaching Hollywood... And yet, Harrison would still give his chest for him to lay his head over and patiently hear his sobs and understand his distorted speech.

"Sorry. I shouldn't be so harsh on you..." Harrison apologised removing his hand from Tom's knee but the touch still lingered. He could still feel the warmth of the touch on his skin.

But Harrison was not harsh at all...

Tom smiled this time, looking into his best mate's blue eyes. "No, you are right. Henry is shit."

Harrison smiled too and got up again, stretching his arm is Tom's direction with his palm facing up. His hair fell on his forehead when he looked down at him, exactly like a bungee jumping rope.

"We should go out then. Refill that brain of yours with memories that will be worth memorising." He cheered.

But Tom knew there were moments worth memorising even in those times with Henry. All those moments he had his friend with him. The one who wore those metallic braces, complained about those acne on his forehead or how thin he was and joined gym at fifteen but then never went there the next day.

"Yes." Tom placed his hand above Harrison's. Harrison who no longer had those braces or those teen acne neither he chickens out of the gym training...

Tom did skip over a small detail. That little itch in his fingers when he noticed Harrison's curls falling over his forehead. The desire to touch them and push them back. He had clenched his fists momentarily until he unclenched them back to put his hand over Harrison's bigger ones. He pretended that that itch didn't exist.

Or that he liked holding his hand...

TAGLIST: @hazmyheart // @justasmisunderstoodasloki // @tommysparker // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything // @thenoddingbunny-blog // @calltothewild // @viagracex // @httplayer // @slytherin-chaser // @perspectiveparker // @catkeeperthetall // @god-knows-what-am-i-doing // @its-a-leap-of-faith-kid // @emmaloo21 // @tomxhazarchive

#tomxhaz #taz #torrison #tarrison #hollerfield #osterland #idk but i am not tagging it as individual tags #tom holland x harrison osterfield #friends to lovers #friends to lovers au

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anakin-danvers · 4 years

Text

adore you

Obi-Wan Kenobi x senator!reader

reader is gender neutral!

Request: “congrats chas!! 💞💓💘💖 how we feelin about “Just say the word. You know I’d do anything for you” and obi?” as requested by @cherieboba

Description: Visiting the Unknown Regions has its risks, especially as a Senator of the Galactic Republic. But you never expect the greatest danger to be your Jedi guardian.

Word count: ~2.3 k (was planning for it to be around 1 k but here we are)

Warnings: lots of pining! and lots of fluff!

A/N: I really hope you like this Ann! 🥰 Thank you so much for your patience! 💞 I loosely based this off of Harry Style’s Adore You, hence the title. I was planning on making this sort of sad but couldn’t bring myself to do it as I listened to Adore You, so now it’s pure fluff. Also, there’s little Easter egg is present from my first ever star wars fic, if you catch it, I love you ☺️

P.S. I have begun to specify gender neutral or female/fem readers on the top of each fic! I am open to write for all genders/pronouns!

Tags: @acnini @roseofalderaan @ohhellokenobi @goldenkenobi @snips-n-skyguy0501 @cherieboba @catsnkooks @sacred-things @corellians-only @nobie @obirain @royalhandmaidens @bb8sworld

join my taglist!

——

You’re not sure you like this. The feeling of vulnerability, the feeling of not knowing. Of course, you’ve dealt with the unknown before, even with the feelings of vulnerability, your role as Senator for the planet of Busil forcing you to deal with both. But you’ve never felt them the way you do now.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s been assigned as your go-to Jedi guardian for different high-risk trips you make around the galaxy. Being part of the Galactic Senate and being such an outspoken member of the Antislavery committee means you are not a stranger to being a target. It’s because of that which Obi-Wan was assigned to protect you on any high-risk missions. But it’s due to his enthralling ways that you’re in the mess you find yourself in.

You’d never admit it to anyone, but you have feelings for the Jedi Knight. You’re not exactly sure how you got to this point. Romance was never something you’d been looking for. For most of your life, you’ve been involved in politics. Your mother had been a Senator for Busil back in her time, and being the only child, you followed in her footsteps.

No, you’re not sure how you got to this point. But eventually, he began to take over the thoughts in your mind. The small conversations became the highlights of your days. The small kiss he gives your cheek upon greeting you began to leave a burning sensation too immense to ignore. You began to long for the feeling of his skin on yours, the fleeting touch of hands suddenly not being enough. You found yourself getting lost in his eyes. Your heart began to jump at the simple mention of his name. Yes, you have feelings for Obi-Wan, but you know you shouldn’t.

He’s a Jedi, and Jedi have no possessions, no room for attachments. He’s fully dedicated to the Order, you’ve seen it when he talks to you about it. You could never ask him to leave all that behind for you. Instead, you’re left to love him from afar, giving him your heart in silence. But there’s a part of you that feels guilty for keeping it from him. The basis of your friendship is honesty, it’s always been that. Not telling him about how you feel, it makes you feel dishonest, betraying almost. How do you manage to keep this from him without tainting the pillars of your friendship?

You’re currently on a diplomatic mission on a planet in the Outer Rim. Naturally, Obi-Wan is with you. Today in particular, he hasn’t left your side, taking extra precautions after the rumors of an attempt against you. If it weren’t for the important meeting you are to have tomorrow, the mission would have been called off.

“We’ll set camp soon, Senator Y/L/N.” One of your safeguards, Edu, says.

“That sounds great,” you say, welcoming the idea of finally getting some rest.

“You must be tired,” Obi-Wan says, and you look over to find him looking at you with a concerned expression.

It had begun raining some time back, immediately after your speeders had given way. You’d planned on lodging locally, not wanting to bring much attention to you and your entourage’s presence. Because of this, the ship you’d travelled in had been hidden, and you’d been traveling in modest speeders up until they’d stopped working. Now, you’re all left to travel by foot, hoping to reach civilization at sunrise.

“As much as you are, I’m sure.” He, along with your other companions of the mission, have been walking in the rain. You would have been too, if it weren’t for Obi-Wan’s insistence to ‘give you at least some coverage’.

At your response, he smiles. “Always concerned about me. It’s you I’m asking about.”

“I’m simply stating the truth. You’ve been working hard today.”

“Not any harder than most days, rest assured,” he says, and as if on queue, you can see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Obi, I wish you’d take the time to—“

“We’ll be stopping here, Senator.” Edu interrupts you, and before you can continue, Obi-Wan gives you a smile before going to help set up camp.

The loss of speeders not only meant the need to resort to walking; it also meant you had to carry less supplies with you, and consequently, had less tents for the night. Everyone paired up in the tents, and you’d been left to share your tent with Obi-Wan. Somehow, you knew this would be more dangerous than any attempts made on your life.

You’re sitting on the makeshift bed, foot in hand as you lightly massage away the soreness from the day’s walk. You’ve changed into some comfier clothes, undoing your hairdo to release any tension on your head. You can hear voices outside your tent: Obi-Wan and Edu discussing security measures for the remainder of the stay. It’s until you hear them bid each other goodnight that your heartbeat quickens.

“May I come in?” There’s no door, nowhere to knock, but he still wants to make his presence known.

“Of course.”

He enters the tent, the quick opening letting you hear just how bad the rain is outside. This is only emphasized upon seeing him, his brown cloak drenched. Instantly, you stand, making your way towards him with an extra blanket.

“Obi-Wan, you’re soaked.”

You stand in front of him, holding the blanket out to him. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, showing his hair is just as wet. Your heart hurts at the sight, not wanting him to be in any sort of uncomfortable state.

“Please, take that off.” As quickly as the words leave your mouth, the heat travels up to your face. Obi-Wan notices your flustered state and lets out a small chuckle.

“Very direct, I see.”

You reach out to give him a small push. “You know what I mean, Kenobi.”

He does, since he shrugs off his cloak and takes the blanket you have for him, giving a small thanks. He uses it to dry the ends of his hair, moving to lessen the dampness of the rest of his robes (thankfully, they’re not as drenched as his cloak). Your eyes follow his every move, practically glued to the movement. When he’s done, he drapes the blanket over his shoulders, and you take a step closer to wrap it tighter. Lost in thought, you leave your hands on the corners of the blanket, your eyes focusing on the cloth material.

“Is something on your mind, darling?”

Just that I would do anything for you. “No, Obi, just tired is all.”

“You should get some rest then.”

“I was hoping we could talk? We haven’t had much time lately.”

Another small laugh comes from him. “I thought you were tired.”

“Well, yes, but I miss our talks.”

Obi-Wan smiles, giving you a small nod as you make your way to the bed. You sit next to each other, the distance between you seeming too large and too small all at once.

“Now tell me, what’s been going through that brilliant mind of yours?”

Just that I don’t know how to live without you. “I’ve been worried about the mission.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes soften, and he takes a hold of one of your hands. It takes all your strength not to interlock your fingers with his.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, my dear. I’ll keep you safe.”

You nod, a smile present on your lips. “I know, Obi. It’s not that which I’m worried about. It’s tomorrow’s meeting. I’m worried it won’t go as expected.”

“If there is one thing which I know is guaranteed from this mission, it’s that you’ll do great tomorrow. You’ll get through to them, Y/N, trust me.”

“Thank you, Obi.”

He smiles, giving your hand a small squeeze. The blanket slips off one of his shoulders, and when he moves to fix it, you notice a small grimace on his face.

“Are you hurt?” You try to mask the worry in your voice, to no avail.

“No, I’m fine. It’s from an injury in a previous mission.”

You’re already up from the bed, hands on his affected shoulder.

“Have you gotten it treated?”

“There’s no need. I’m fine, really.”

“No need? Obi-Wan, you have to take care of yourself.”

“I do.”

“Well, you have to do better. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

You don’t realize you’ve said the second sentence out loud until you see his eyes fixed on you. Light-toned sapphires, taking your breath away.

“I...may I?”

At your request he nods, and you move to put pressure on his shoulder. Your hands push and pull at it, carefully massaging it the way your father taught you when young. You see Obi-Wan lightly flinch once, then see his eyes relax. You continue to work on his shoulder in silence until he speaks.

“What are you thinking?”

Just that I’d walk through literal fire for you. “Nothing, really.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmmm...” Damn him for knowing you so well.

You finish working on his shoulder, taking your hands away. “How do you feel?”

He rolls it back, and to your delight, he doesn’t grimace anymore. “Much better. Thank you.”

“A small payment,” you say.

“For what?”

Just for showing me what it’s like to love someone. “Always being there for me. And not just on missions. Just, always.”

“There’s nothing to thank, you know that.”

You look at each other for a bit longer before you break your gaze. “Well, I guess we should be going to bed.”

He nods, getting up and setting the blanket he’d had on his shoulders on the floor. He grabs another blanket and rolls it. He’s about to place it on top of the spread out blanket on the floor when you notice what he’s doing.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Kenobi.”

He turns to look at you, an eyebrow raised. You continue before he can protest (and before you second guess yourself).

“You have a bad shoulder, and you’ve had a long day. The bed is big enough. We can both fit. And I’m not taking no as an answer.”

An amused smile makes its way to his face. Nodding once again, he picks up the blankets, placing them to the side. You help him fix the bed before slipping under the blankets, Obi-Wan slipping in next to you. Looking up at the tent ceiling and feeling him so close to you, you wonder how you ever thought this was a good idea. You’re just thankful he can’t hear the beating of your heart, at least you hope he can’t.

“Something’s on your mind.” It’s a statement this time, the third time he’s addressed your pensive state. “And it’s not about tomorrow’s meeting.”

Just that I don’t know how much longer I can go without telling you how I feel. You hate keeping this from him. You’ve both always been so honest to each other, why not be honest with this too?

You take a gulp before speaking. “Can I tell you something?”

At the seriousness of your voice, he shifts his body so that it’s facing you, giving you his full attention. You, on the other hand, keep your eyes on the tent ceiling.

“Yes.”

You take a deep breath, and to your own surprise, turn to face him. Like this, he’s even closer, mere inches separating the tips of your noses.

“I adore you, Obi. I have for some time. We’ve always been so honest with each other, and because of that, I need you to know. But know that you’re not obliged to say or do anything. You don’t have to say you love me, you don’t have to say you don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I just need you to know.” You take another deep breath. “I just hope to ask one thing.”

“Just say the word. You know I’d do anything for you.”

His voice is so sincere, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to calm your breathing.

“Just...let me adore you. It’s been such a beautiful experience for me to feel these things that I do for you. Different and even frightening at times, but really, I’d have it no other way.” It’s after you say the words that fret begins to cloud your mind. Why have you told him? What do you expect him to say? What of the Jedi order?

Obi-Wan closes the distance between you by taking a hold of your face, strong hands holding your cheeks to bring you towards him. His lips land on your forehead, and he gives you a kiss that eases even the sound of the strong rain. With eyes closed, you feel like you’re in the clouds. One of your hand comes up to hold his wrist, while the other lands on his chest, right above his heart. The feeling of his heartbeat under your fingertips is what elicits a bloom within your heart.

“I’d be honored, my love. Only if you allow me to do the same.”

You look up to meet his eyes, the mesmerizing eyes that took your breath away the first time you saw them. “Are you saying that...”

“Yes, darling. I love you. It’s the only thing I’ll ever do.”

Now it’s your turn to kiss him. You take a hold of his face, bringing his lips to yours. The feelings from it, they’re amazing. You know now that the feelings of vulnerability and not knowing are not bad; they’re part of the experience of loving and being loved.

Obi-Wan holds you that night as you sleep, and you swear you’ve never slept better. Yes, you’re sure you love this.

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helltalia-inc · 3 years

Text

RULES + LIST OF CHALLENGES

RULES

1. Pick a challenge from the List of Challenges;

2. Create whatever you want, as you want;

3. Use the tag #helltalia-inc and @ with the name of the page;

4. And don’t forget to have fun!

Not that hard, right?

More info:

· There are no language barriers here, so feel free to use the language that you feel the most comfortable to express yourself;

· Bad behavior will not be tolerated;

· Feel free to use any characters and any ships;

· Take attention to tag your ships, any warming or triggering content;

· And for the last, but not least… support the “CONTENT CREATORS”!

LIST OF CHALLENGES

(This list will be updated occasionally. Feel free to search for the number of the challenges, for example like #1, or #20, I made sure to tag every work with the number of the challenge. So, if you want to see the works related to each challenge, you just have to search in the page by the number. And, of course, feel free to use the challenges to inspire your future works.)

1. Favorite Character

2. Egg Themed

3. Books + Favorite Trio

4. Your living country + his national flower

5. Crossing the line with the Star Wars Universe

6. Pajama Party + Female Characters Only

7. Revenge the Hetavision

8. Wedding dress

9. Child’s Day

10. Recycle, Reduce, Reutilize

11. Nordics appreciation challenge

12. LGBT Respect Day

13. “If you meant it, kiss me”

(Just to record it: starting from here, it was added as option, the “challenge quote”)

14. National Animal + The Country where you live / “No matter where I go, my heart will always be yours”

15. Healthy Food Habits/ “But loving you had consequences”

16. World Day of Friendship/ “It’s okay if you don’t like me. Not everyone had good taste.”

17. REVENGE FIFATALIA/ “I’m so sick of lying. I have to tell you…”

18. ROCK IN HETALIA / “the music is the language of feelings”

19. Stuck on a desert island/ “I’m so sorry I kissed you, my mouth just slipped”

20. ICE CREAM AND WATERMELON/ ”I wouldn’t do that if I were you”

21. Pirate and Mermaids AU/ “That’s the summer when we first met”

22. Aquarium park / “It is easier to pretend we are strong; it is much harder to admit we are weak; a true friend, by loving every part of us, teaches us to love our weaknesses”

23. Crossover with one of your favorite movies / “The two of us, we’re the best kind of disaster. Apples and oranges. Well, more like apples and machetes.”

24. Alice in the Wonderland AU / “I really did think you were cute when you were jealous.”

25. Improvised Olympic Games out of Season/ “I’d find you whenever you were.”

26. Ancients Countries Appreciation Challenge / “Chaos isn’t meant to be understood”

27. University AU / “Never say “Goodbye””

28. Color’ (or body or personality) swap / “Puns are the highest form of literature.”

29. Crossover with Sesame Street or The Muppets / “I’ve missed you. But it seems like you’re not happy to see me.”

30. Alter Ego AU / “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have even come here tonight.”

31. Your favorite writer + his respective nation / “I wanted to end the world, but I’ll settle for ending yours.”

32. Candle in the dark / “I’m pregnant”

33. Orchestra AU / “You can run, but you can’t escape”

34. Trapped in a maze / “Can you keep a secret?”

35. Wingtalia / “Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off”

36. Space, stars, moon / “You’re better than you think.”

37. Villain AU / “I don’t want to sleep alone today. Will you sleep with me?”

38. African nations / “You promised that we would always be together… now, how I’m supposed to live without you?”

39. Love potion / "We didn't realize we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun"

40. Treasure hunt / “The only thing you’re good at is fake crying”

41. Asian nations / “You can see me?”

42. National desert / “Nice try. Better luck next time”

43. Death note AU / “How long will you keep me waiting?”

44. Kabedon / “What is your problem?”

45. Siblings / “Don’t just say nice things, give me advice.”

46. The 7 deadly sins / “Take that stupid grin off your face”

47. Reincarnation AU / “We have only one chance at life. And I want to live a life with no regrets.”

48. Autumn / “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

49. Red apple / “I want to crush anyone who dares to touch you. I want to hide you, monopolize you.”

50. Hot chocolate / “It’s too late now.”

51. Tarot Cards / “Take your hands off of me.”

52. Summon Demons /”Have I done something wrong?”

53. Ouija / “That’s the one thing I regret the most in my life.”

54. Underworld / “If you want, we could swap secrets.”

55. Supernatural creatures / “Close your eyes and listen carefully.”

56. Hunter / “Even though it isn’t a big deal now, it will be later.”

57. Shadow / “You helped me become who I am.”

58. Bloody sunset / “If you took well care of it from the beginning, then none of this would’ve happened.”

59. Ghost mansion / ”What the hell do you want from me?”

60. Mysterious box / “It’s not extreme, it’s the most effective way.”

61. Scream / “What makes you think I’ve changed?”

62. Evil laugh / “I thought I knew you better than this...”

63. Superstition / “There are times when it’s dangerous to approach something or someone when you don’t have sufficient knowledge about them.”

64. Roses / ”My understanding is that faith is something that one builds up through actions.”

65. Destiny / “I don’t want to live like that.”

66. Coincidence / “Growth always follows hardship.”

67. Broken heart / “They want me to find happiness more than anyone else.”

68. The wedding day / “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

69. Slow dance / “It’s better to spend the rest of my lifetime alone, than being stupid and crying over someone who broke my trust.”

70. By my side / “Time flew by.”

71. Holding hands / “I gave you a chance to pretend that nothing happened.”

72. Friendzone / “I won’t run away this time.”

72. Rejection / “Sorry, I let my emotions get the best of me.”

73. Forever alone / “If they’re your friends, they’ll understand and be happy for you. Just like how you were for them.”

74. BDSM / “Whatever you choose, I’ll respect your decision.”

75. Dirty talking / “You’re just taking advantage of the people around you.”

76. Love letter / “Money and Status... you’re nothing without those things.”

77. First love / “Seeing you happy means the world to me.”

78. First time / “Friendship isn’t about whom you have known the longest, it’s about who came and never left.”

79. Crush / “I’m in a threesome with anxiety and depression.”

80. Decorations / “Just fantasizing about it isn’t enough for me.”

81. Presents / “You just have to work hard to turn it into a reality.”

82. Traditions / “Anger cannot be dishonest.”

83. Family Dinner / “Relationships are like glass, sometimes it’s better to leave them broken than trying to hurt yourself putting it back together.”

84. Friends / “I’m glad I at least left an impression on you. Though apparently, it’s a negative one.”

85. Figure skating / “The mirror is my best friend because when I cry it doesn’t laugh.”

86. Snowboard / “The saddest people have the brightest smile.”

87. Ski / “I don’t think we wasted a single second.”

88. Hockey / “I wish I knew I was in the good old days before they became the good old days.”

89. Snow globe / “Those who are already dead don’t care about those who are still alive.”

90. Acts of kindness / “People only listen and believe in what they think is entertaining.”

91. Aurora Borealis / “If this is for the best.”

92. Church bell / “The more envy you show, the worse you look.”

93. The little match girl / “Whatever you do, I’ll never be disappointed in you.”

94. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star / “When people brag so openly about their past, if often means, that they have nothing to brag about now.”

95. Heart made of ice / “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

96. Message on a bottle / “I never truly fell in love with anyone.”

97. Bubbles / “This is all very suspicious... extremely suspicious.”

98. End of the world / “I was afraid kindness would make me weak.”

99. Halloween dolls / “No hard feelings but I hate you.”

100. Redemption / “I should apologize for this. But I won’t.”

101. Femme fatale / “Do you think you can handle it?”

102. (more challenges will be added eventually. If you want, send your challenge’ suggestions to the Ask Box)

Note: Most of the quotes aren’t mine and have no source.

#RULES #RULES + LIST OF CHALLENGES #LIST OF CHALLENGES #Helltalia-inc #hetalia #aph #hws #importante

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thethousandyearwitch · 4 years

Text

“Drowning Seems Favorable”

Pariging fics, 2493 Words; Humor/Romance. AO3 Link, FF.net Link

Ging and Pariston end up going on a cruise for work related reasons. But neither of them are true professionals, are they?

Or: Oh my god they were roommates.

The Ocean is a vast beauty. Endless waves framing the horizon, only giving a teasing glance of what could hide behind that infinite line. The deep blue so inviting, yet so dangerous and full of the unknown.

Ging Freecs leaned more on the railing of the cruise ship he was traveling this ocean with. A gentle breeze ran past his face, a refreshing break from the stuffy rooms inside the ship, carrying him away to someplace quieter, calmer…

“There you are!” …and far away from the man he was traveling with. Ging didn’t need to turn around to practically feel the smug smile that Pariston Hill must have had on his face. In a smooth motion, Pariston rested his arms on the railing next to Ging and stared out into the ocean with him.

When Pariston mentioned that a group of individuals were interested in funding Gings next expedition into a yet unexplored tomb, the older man had imagined a stiff meeting with a short presentation about the significance of excavation; A routine he didn’t enjoy, but could endure for the sake of his passion. It was only a day before departure, that Pariston informed Ging that his presentation would be held on a 4 day cruise.

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

“Its all-inclusive!” Pariston leaned on the table with his elbows, resting his head lazily in one palm, while gesturing lazily with the other hand. The café they met at was quaint, one of Gings favourite for their good coffee and even better hash browns.

“I don’t care.”

“Aside from your presentation, you can spend the entire time doing what you want!”

“I still don’t care.”

“I will be there.”

Ging had choked back a laugh, “Aren’t you trying to convince me to come with you?” He kept his eye contact with Pariston while he finished his second cup of coffee. The blond man has never shied away from his stare, a sign of confidence Ging could appreciate but would only voice over his dead body. “Besides, I just don’t see a reason why I can’t wait till the moneybags are back from their little cruise.”

Pariston sighed dramatically, leaning back in the booth. “Because! They have come from all over the world to hold this meeting. After the cruise, they will scatter again, and won’t be as much in the mood to humour your little trip expenses. You could be a little more grateful that I’m granting you access to this golden opportunity.”

“And what’s the reason you are presenting me this opportunity for?” Gings tried to hide how interested he truly was in the kindness of the other. Pariston had never done good things for the sake of doing good, but his ulterior motives were always well hidden away. An excavation site of its own.

“I want to do a friend a favour.”

“Bullshit; The real reason.”

“I want to spend precious time with you.” The blond leaned forward again, a tell-tale grin on his face.

“Gross; The real reason.”

“It’s the truth! You’ve been a pain to get a hold off, missing countless zodiac meetings, and I appreciate your company…. aslongasyoushowered.” He coughed half-heartedly to cover up the rushed insult, though it only provoked a raised eyebrow in the rougher looking man. “We could use the time to get you up to speed with Zodiac business, and you can continue running away from your son.”

Ging could feel a surge of surprise and anger rush through him. “Excuse me?”

“Your son, you remember him, right? You left him with your cousin when he was just a baby? Never contacted him once in his Life? How old is he now, Ging?”

As a fist slammed down on the table, the café quieted, and for a second it felt like the entire world came to a stop. But Pariston just continued smiling, rolling his head from one palm to the other, as if the surge of aura didn’t even register to him.

“You don’t have the right to speak of Gon.” Ging practically hissed the words. Gon was not a topic of conversation he’d like to have with anyone, but especially not the rat in front of him. In response, Pariston just raised his hands in defence and surrender, though the gleam in his eyes gave away how utterly satisfied he was with the response he had provoked. He had won this round of the unspoken game they kept falling back into, a constant power struggle of who had the upper hand, who could play the other in just the right way.

And Ging had to admit defeat. For now.

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

The Cruise had started about 4 hours earlier, and Ging had already been preoccupied shaking hands, running through the same introductionary sentences about 30 times. The smell of cigarettes had driven him out to the Deck, to that railing where now he felt cornered once again by Pariston.

Ging tucked uncomfortable at the collar of his own white dress shirt, hating how it already clung to him like a second skin, suffocating and irritating. A cruise with a dress code is fucking ridiculous. Meanwhile the man next to him wore one of his ridiculous fitted suits, most likely custom tailored just for him; Burgundy base colour with a windowpane pattern. Ging wondered briefly how he wasn’t constantly sweating himself to death in those heavy suits, but disregarded the thought. Pariston already took up too much space in his brain, that being any space at all.

The blond took a deep inhale of the fresh ocean breeze, before turning to his travel companion with his signature smile. “Are you enjoying the trip so far? I saw that you already got friendly with quite a few people.”

“Of course, I’m trying to find better company so I can ditch you.”

“Is that so? Because you looked about ready to dive into the sea and swim back to shore just now.”

The shorter man laughed lightly, “Maybe I was trying to find better company among fishes. I’m sure they are all far more interested in me and my work than anyone here.”

“I thought I was rather blunt about being interested in you, before.” Smoothly Pariston leaned more towards Ging, invading personal space as if it were nothing. The breeze gently loosened a few strands of hair from its usual well-kept form, and carried the smell of cologne with it. With a shallow breath, Ging turned to the taller man, supporting his own weight on one elbow seated on the railing. “How unfortunate that I’m not very interested in you.”

The two men let silence settle around them, only the machinery of the ship and the crashing waves against its walls filling the space. Their prolonged eye contact must have seemed awkward or tense to any outsider, but to the two of them it was just an opportunity to scan an opponent for new openings to strike. Paristons dark eyes drilled deeper into Gings, as if he could pull him apart layer by layer. But instead of retorting with a thinly veiled insult, the taller man simply straightened up, and waved his hand leisurely. “I think I’m going to go into my cabin, unpack my suitcase, get comfortable.”

“I could use a nap and a helping from the minibar...” The dark-haired man sighed, though he was curiously intrigued how he had won their little feud so quickly and effortlessly. He fished in his pockets for the small key and golden room-tag attached. Number 143. Pariston leisurely lead the way down the main hallway leading to the personal cabins. Something about the way he walked, just slow enough to check that Ging was still behind him, from time to time flashing a smile back to him, unsettled the other man. What is he hiding?

The elegant doors passed by Ging as he checked the number plate attached to each of them.

Hundred and two, hundred and three, hundred and four…

The tall blond was still walking ahead, his steps airy and rhythmic.

Hundred and twelve, hundred and thirteen, hundred and fourteen…

Ging noted how the carpet laid out on the floor almost had the same colour Paristons suit, and how he could best form an insult around that.

Hundred and twenty-three, hundred and twenty-four, hundred and twenty-five…

Something was definitely wrong. Was Paristons cabin really that close to his own? Even if so, Ging was convinced he could still play that to his advantage. Maybe he could bang his fists against the wall periodically through the night.

Hundred and forty-one, hundred and forty-two, h- “There we are!” The blond clapped his hands together. Ging checked the gold plate on the door, 143. He looked back at his key plate, 143.

“This is my cabin, scram.”

“Oh, did I not mention we were going to share a cabin? Or did you choose the ignore me while you were wolfing down 4 portions of hash browns?” Pariston already unlocked the door with his own key, its own number plate of ‘143’ mocking Ging.

“This is not happening. I am not going to fulfil whatever little fantasy you had in mind here.” He stepped into the small cabin, with the full intent to complain further, though his tired thoughts were a bit faster. “Oh thank fuck there’s two beds.”

The cabin was nicely decorated, as was expected. Two Queen sized beds, separated by one nightstand, a deep blue carpeted floor, and a good view of the Ocean. Opposite of the beds there was a solid wood cabinet, a wall-mounted TV, and, of course, the mini fridge.

“ We are two grown men confident in our professional relationship, I don’t see the problem.” Pariston had already positioned himself at the large window, only slightly tilting his head back to look at Ging. His dishonest smile was a challenge.

Ging could never say no to a challenge.

And so, he quickly threw off his shoes, and jumped on the bed close to the window with a long exhale. “You’re right, this is not so bad! Hope you don’t mind me getting comfortable.”

The blond slowly ran his eyes up and down the others form, making a significant stop at Gings socks. Dirty, worn, probably older than any clothes he himself owned. His smile didn’t fade, though it was significantly more strained. “Of course not, this is our home for the next four days, after all.”

“Great! Then how about you pass me something from the minibar, roommate?” Ging got more comfortable on the bed, rested his head on folded arms, crossed his legs and let one foot bounce loosely in the air. If he had to endure the presence of the other for four days, he would make sure to be as annoying of a roommate as possible. Maybe Pariston would even get fed up and ask for a new cabin for himself. The blond walked over to the small fridge and crouched down as he dug through its contents. “They have the worst brand of champagne…But the best brand of Whiskey.” Ging hummed in approval, eyes closed and not a care in the world. A stranger could never tell the difference, but he knew from experience that Paristons tone in voice had become bitter, sour. This round was a win for Ging. He felt the others footsteps come closer to the bed again, rounding around it to come to a stop in front of the window again. The familiar clicking of the bottle being opened enticed Ging to open his eyes, and start reaching for it.

But before he could even extend his hand, Pariston had already wrapped his lips around the small opening of the glass bottle, taking a slow swig.

“Oh! I’m sorry, did you want the Whiskey? You should have said so.” His smile was unchanged, but his eyes had that glimmer of victory that made Ging cringe. Pariston extended his free hand to reveal the small bottle of champagne, as if he expected it to be taken from him, though both really knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, Ging sat up and grabbed the small Whiskey bottle from the others light grasp. For some reason, he could feel the blood pumping through his veins as he took the bottle to his lips, never breaking eye contact. Without flinching, he emptied the bottle and disregarded it to the floor.

“Thanks for the drink.” His throat protested the harshness of the alcohol, though it was barely a drop on a hot stone.

“Shouldn’t roommates be able to share?” Pariston leaned forward, once again invading personal space, or at least more space than Ging would be comfortable with.

“You got a drop out of it, seems fair enough for a lightweight like you.”

“Maybe I can take more than just a drop.” With a low chuckle, he leaned even more towards Gings face, before coming to a halt. Carefully he wrapped one hand under the smaller mans chin, tilting it up, and slowly brushing his thumb across the others bottom lip, catching an escaping drop of alcohol.

As he quickly retracted his hand and straightened his back again, he licked away the bitter drop he had caught, before wrinkling his nose. “Maybe the most expensive things don’t always taste the best.”

Ging wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing, but it became noticeable through a sharp inhale he finally took. He got played. There would be no way that Pariston didn’t notice how his heart had been beating harder, and how motionless he became. Ging didn’t even know why he responded that way. It’s not like he was attracted to Pariston. The man repulsed him to the core, and his personality was unreadable.

But maybe opposites do attract. Maybe two wrongs make a right.

So Ging decided to make things right, as he grabbed the taller man by the collar and pulled him into a hard kiss. It was sloppy but got the idea across. Ging dragged his tongue across Paristons teeth, eager to deepen the kiss, and with a pleased noise in the back of his throat Pariston let himself be pulled closer. The shorter man didn’t loosen his grip on the collar he was holding onto, but before Pariston could steady himself by holding onto Gings hips, he pushed him back against the window, ending the kiss as quickly as it had begun.

Ging wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, flashing a confident grin. “Sorry, just wanted to take back what you took. I fucking hate sharing.”

Pariston shot him a pained smile, his left eye showing the faintest twitch “Say, whens the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“That’s for me and my toothbrush to know. I’m going to go check out the buffet, hope you’ll have the fridge restocked when im back.”

And with that, Ging left the room, leaving Pariston confused, disgusted, but somehow even more intrigued. This could be four very interesting days.

#Pariging #Pariston hill #Ging freecs #hunter x hunter #hxh

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potatocrab · 4 years

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Writer’s Review

@allisondraste tagged me for this GREAT game. I am tagging @gingerbreton @glowstickia @its-sixxers and @rhetoricalrogue ✨

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

I’ve been writing forever, but I don’t have access to any of my works pre-Ao3 (ff.net), so I went with my first published work to Ao3, which is a Mass Effect one shot (A Calm Before the Storm) for Joker x EDI that I wrote in 2012! I mean, what? I still like it, despite some overarching formatting (and tense) flaws.

And then switching to something from Noir AU. :)

Under a cut for length:

A Calm Before the Storm:

Joker smiled again; danger and fear of death really did get people’s hormones going. On the old ship, even Mordin assumed the relationship between Joker and EDI was much more than what it was. He laughed at the thought, but then froze, lips tightening as he realized EDI wasn’t the same AI she was the previous year. Now, the rumors might have some basis. He caught himself from daydreaming as the main battery doors slid open, an unusually relaxed Garrus immerging, stripped of his armor.

“Joker,” he sounded only mildly surprised. Seeing him outside of the bridge was like seeing Tali outside of engineering. “Something wrong?” he mused, tilting his head. Joker swallowed a chunk of his small meal before rising one eyebrow.

“Does something need to be wrong for me to be here?” he laughed as Garrus seemingly rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I was hungry and EDI kinda forced me to take a break,” he explained before eying his civilian clothes. “What are you doing out of the main battery?”

“There’s more to me than calibrating the guns,” he reassured. Joker nodded, eyeing the other end of the floor where the elevator was.

“Yeah, when you aren’t calibrating the weapon’s system you’re calibrating Shepard’s-”

“Keep talking and you’ll end up as ammunition for the Thanix Cannon,” Garrus’s voice rumbled as he spoke, but the small incline of a chuckle at the end of his sentence relieved Joker. He didn’t feel like breaking anything. A small silence came between the two men and Garrus sighed. “Do you think she’ll want some company?” he lowered his voice this time, and Joker refrained from teasing his concern.

“Uh yeah, sure,” he offered a grin, still trying to wrap his head around the commander’s relationship with the turian. Then again, he wasn’t one to judge when he found himself staring at EDI’s body more and more. He was convinced cross-species relationships made more sense than his interest with the ship’s artificial intelligence. “She could use a distraction,”

Garrus’s mandibles twitched, and while Joker was no expert on turian expressions, he wondered if the man just smiled. In return, he nodded, turning towards the elevator. Just like that, he went on his way, and Joker suddenly was met by the awful image of his commanding officer and Garrus doing things no vid could ever describe. A small chill met his spine and he winced, struggling to find his own diversion.

Salvation is a Last Minute Business: Chapter 5: Bad Luck Can Be a Big Break

“Have you had partners before me, Deacon?” she questioned next, resisting the urge to smile. Now she was just being nosy, even if it was a valid question that had run through her mind. “And why use the codename Deacon anyways? Have a fascination with religious symbolism, or something?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” he joked, feigning annoyance. “I feel like I’m being interrogated!”

Madelyn softly snickered at that. “I could cuff you and take you back to the agency, give you the real experience.”

His eyebrows shot up, lips twisted in amusement. “Kinky.”

Halfway through the maintenance tunnel they came upon a locked gate. Again, Deacon patted at his pockets before reaching directly towards her temple. Understandably, she flinched away, blinking at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Have a bobby pin I can borrow?” he explained, gloved fingers still reaching for her hairline and up-do. Madelyn dodged his invasive approach, pressing her body closer to the iron bars. Maybe she deserved that for testing his personal bubble.

“Good lord,” she sighed, exasperated, pulling free a small iron pin from her golden curls herself. “I can pick a lock too, if you’d only ask.”

Deacon was visibly pleased by her declaration, shining the light on the lock so that she might see her work. “And where might a lovely lawyer such as yourself have learned such a reprehensible skill?”

“My um—” she faltered, deciding now was not the time to tell Deacon about her deceased husband, or the little things he had taught her in their life together. She wondered if there ever would be a time—or if he already knew, and she even needed to broach the subject. The pin snagged and she steadied her hand. “Nick taught me.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as if he could tell she was being dishonest. She knew if she was going to continue working with him, she would need to get better at the art of lying. She didn’t go to law school for years upon years without developing a silver-tongue—now it was time to put it to good use. Deacon drummed his fingers along the torch.

“I’m used to running Railroad ops solo. But being partnered up with you?” Madelyn glanced out of the corner of her eye to catch a glimpse of his smirk—apparently it was the only expression he knew. “Isn’t too bad. Now that we’re a team, we should have a code name. Like Double Indemnity, or White Heat…the Big Sleep?”

She paused to remove her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pocket. Fingers bare, she had an easier time with the metal pin, even with Deacon’s rambling. “I’m partial to Bogart and Bacall—though I wonder if that movie was only half as good because of their off-screen romance.”

“If this plays out anything like a cliché noir film,” Deacon mused. “I can’t promise you won’t fall devastatingly head-over-heels in love with me by the end.”

Madelyn smiled, but she immediately dismissed the words as harmless banter. So he was a flirt—she could manage that. “I can’t guarantee you won’t be the one doing the falling, Mr. Deacon.”

“Oh, Charmer.”

#tagged meme #8 years is a long time ago #proof I once wrote a Mass Effect fic

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nnaly143 · 4 years

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3 Favorites Movies

1. An American Girl Stirs up Success

Movie summary:

The title of this movie is AN AMERICAN GIRL STIRS UP SUCCESS. Grace reluctantly goes to Paris with her mother where coping with her French cousin proves to be tough. Later, she sees that her grandparents' bakery is collapsing and tries to get it back on track. In Paris the cousin of her parent has a bakery. And to help her grandparent's bakery she learned the different methods of baking.

Following Questions:

What life lesson can be learned from this movie?

- In this movie it thought us to become fighter. Do not give up and practice makes perfect.

What part of the story told by the movie was the most powerful? Why?

-For me, the most powerful part of the story is the, when grace never give up from learning the methods of baking. Because even though that how many times she made a mistakes in baking she never give up from learning.

Who was your favorite character in the movie?

- Of course it's Grace because she is the one who prove that even though that it is hard do not give up because there is a lot of things to do so that you will make it better.

Did anything happened in the movie remind you of something that has occured in your own life or that you have seen occur to others?

- Yes, like grace she never stop from practicing on how to bake properly. When I am practicing my dance step I always make a mistakes but I never give up. All I did is practice and practice all over again until I make it perfect.

2. The Wild Child (2008)

Movie Summary:

The Moores - widowed father Gerry and his two teenage daughters Poppy and Molly - are a wealthy Malibu based family who have all the luxuries and modern conveniences of life. Ever since her mother died five years earlier in a car accident, sixteen year old Poppy has been acting out, causing her father grief most specifically in any of his attempts for meaningful relationships with other women. Although he has threatened to do so several times, Gerry, based on Poppy's latest actions, finally decides to send Poppy to boarding school, most specifically to Abbey Mount in England. It is an immediate fish out of water situation for Poppy, whose main goal is to get out of Abbey Mount and back to Malibu. Despite Poppy's initial antagonism toward her, she is befriended by Kate, who has been assigned her big sister in showing her the ropes around Abbey Mount, and the rest of the girls in their shared sleeping quarters. Kate can see that underneath Poppy's privileged exterior is a scared girl who just wants to get along in life. Kate and the gang counsel Poppy in that if she really wants to get out of Abbey Mount, the only way is to do something or a series of somethings to get expelled. This task is easier said than done as the school's principal, Mrs. Kingsley, can see in Poppy the same thing that Kate does. Through her stay at Abbey Mount, Poppy continually butts heads with the school's snobbish head girl, Harriet, who rules her entourage and the school's younger students with an iron fist. Harriet would like to see Poppy gone as well, especially as Freddie Kingsley, Mrs. Kingsley's teenage son, who Harriet fancies as her boyfriend, seems to be falling for Poppy. Poppy, in turn, decides to use Freddie in achieving her goal. But in using Freddie and seeing an old photograph hanging on the school wall, Poppy may come to some realizations about both her life and friends at Abbey Mount as well as those same aspects previously in Malibu.

Following questions:

What life lesson can be learned from this movie?

Wild Child movie is a movie about teenager with romantic comedy genre. It tells about Poppy more as wild child. Poppy Moore tries to reach her passion to get the life purpose through her acts. Her acts can be as guidance in considering bad or good acts in moral perspective. This research has two problem statements, what are moral qualities of Poppy Moore’s character in Wild Child movie and the effect of Poppy’s act in Wild Child. This research applied moral and philosophical approach and movie theory about moral. The method used in this research is qualitative method. The finding of this research reveals that there are five bad moral qualities of Poppy Moore’s character in Wild Child movie, they are disrespect, disobedience, arrogant, and dishonest. And there are two good moral qualities of Poppy Moore’s character based on Wild Child movie that are loyalty and responsibility. Moreover the writer also finds the effect of Poppy Moore’s act upon the acts that she has done

What part of the story told by the movie was the most powerful? Why?

- For me, the most powerful part of the story , when Poppy motivate her teams. Because of her they become a champion.

Who was your favorite character in the movie?

- Poppy's true friend from Abbey Mount. Because of them Poppy's attitude change. She learned how to respect and her artistic attitude was also change.

Did anything happened in the movie remind you of something that has occured in your own life or that you have seen occur to others?

- Yes, like Poppy, I also motivate others. When my cousin was so stress from her studying I always there for her to help her and cheer her up.

3. Hachi: A Dog's Tale

Movie Summary:

Eleven year old Robbie is giving an oral class report on the topic of "My Hero", his chosen subject, Hachi, who on the surface is an unusual choice. Several years earlier, Parker Wilson, who lives in Bedridge in suburban New York City, is a college music/performing arts professor, he who makes the train commute to/from the city every working day. It is on one of those routine days going home that he finds at the Bedridge Station a puppy, who he eventually will learn was being shipped somewhere unknown, with the shipping tag lost. He also learns from Ken, a Japanese professor friend, that the dog is a Japanese breed called an Akita, and that the Japanese character on the dog's collar tag is the number eight - "hachi". Parker does whatever he can to find out who the dog belongs to, and although his many acquaintances around the train station do their small part in helping Parker, no one is willing to take the dog, even temporarily. So Parker takes the dog home, despite he and his wife Cate long having dismissed the idea of having a dog. However Parker is able to convince her to let the dog stay temporarily. Eventually on the high probability that they will never find the dog's owner, Cate, upon seeing the interaction between the two, lets Parker permanently keep the dog, who he has since named Hachi. Although living in the Wilson home with Parker, Cate and their daughter Andy, Hachi becomes not a Wilson family pet, not Cate's, not Andy's, but Parker's alone as a special bond forms between the two. Although not a "typical" dog in that Hachi will do not what most dogs do such as fetch, Hachi demonstrates an unwavering and lifelong loyalty to Parker in an unusual way that all around him can see. Robbie chose Hachi as his hero because of this loyalty, despite he never having met Parker, who in nonetheless an important part of his life.

Following questions:

What life lesson can be learned from this movie?

A dog's love can never be measured by anything. Make them feel that you care and love them and they'll bring it back to you 10,000 times more. Being a loyal to someone is very important to have a better relationship.

What part of the story told by the movie was the most powerful? Why?

- For me, the most powerful part of the story , when Hachi was waiting for his owner to came back, the dog was waiting outside the subway station. There's a people who gave the dog a food so that while he was waiting for his owner to came back he will not get hungry. And there is still a people who are willing to help a pets.

Who was your favorite character in the movie?

- my favourite character is Parker because he is helpful and he is a good man.

Did anything happened in the movie remind you of something that has occured in your own life or that you have seen occur to others?

- Yes, like Parker I also adopt a pet that I saw in a trash bin. The cat was too young so I bring the cat to my home and took care of it.

#my3rdblogg #my favorite movie

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