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silverwhiteraven · 3 years

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Wings of Broken White - Ch. 4

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [ Chapter 5 ]

[ Summary: Alya takes Marinette somewhere, and it turns cute. ]

Alya decided that Marinette wasn’t getting out enough despite the fact that they shouldn't be going anywhere when it was still late winter.

“Girl, you hardly go anywhere anyways unless it’s for someone else!” Alya argues as she dragged a snugly bundled Marinette down snow and salt dusted sidewalks.

“Hey, I went to the school’s Valentine’s party last month, that should count for something!”

Allya scoffed at the weak defense. “You were, like, a ninth-wheel, Marinette. Rose and Juleka, Nathaniel and Marc, Mylène and Ivan, Nino and I, we were the wheels on that bus. You on the other hand…” She trailed off to emphasize her point.

Marinette scoffed. “I think you missed a set of wheels, Als. Max and Kim were there. Chloé and Adrien showed up, too.”

“Max was there sporting an Aro-pride flag pin and keeping Kim company,” Alya shot back. “They were just being single-wheels, together. And Adrien, with Chloé? More like she had kidnapped him to a secondary location! Adrien clearly wasn't the one to decide to show up. And remember the color coded cups? He was using the one for the ‘Single, just here to support my friends’ category. Just like Max, just like you. So my point still stands: You need to get out more often, just for yourself.”

Marinette sighed, relenting. “Fine, but next time, I get to decide where I go, so no more surprise trips.”

“Yesss,” Alya pumped her fist in the air victoriously, her wings spreading out, too. Marinette laughed and pushed her hand back down to her side while she dodged out of the way of one fairly the overexcited wing.

“Anyways, where are we going? You said something about, ‘You’re going to love it, my treat!’” Marinette quoted in an exaggerated mimic of Alya’s voice, causing both girls to burst into giggles.

“Just a café,” Alya says coyly, almost teasingly. It made Marinette squint in suspicion.

“It wouldn’t happen to be the same café you mentioned two weeks ago on the Ladyblog, right? The one they planned to theme after Paris’s new heroes?” Marinette asked, teasing her friend right back with her confident guess.

“You remembered! Yep, that’s the place! And it’s not just any regular themed café, either. It’s a cat café,”Alya revealed dramatically, while spreading her wings again to wrap them both in a mock cocoon of unnecessary but playful secrecy. Marinette balked.

“Wait, so you’re basically taking me to a ‘Chat Blanc emphasis-on-the-Chat’ Café?”

Alya snorted, pulling her wings back. “Yes, but it’s actually called ‘Hero Rescue Café’. They work together with the animal shelters around Paris, most of the cats they have are available for adoption. The profits are even donated back to those shelters to help keep the animals cared for. Isn’t that cool?”

“Mhm,” Marinette nodded along as Alya continued to rave excitedly and lead the way to their destination. I wonder if they’ll have any cats that look like Blanc? Probably not. Blue-eyed white cats were already popular, and no doubt are even more so now. Not that I could adopt a cat anyways, but it’s a niche thought. Wait, why is it a nice thought? It’s not like I like Chat Blanc or anything, no way! I don’t do crushes! Oh, who am I kidding? Marinette groaned in defeat to her own thoughts, making Alya stop talking and look at her.

“Something wrong, Marinette?”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I was just thinking about how sad I’m going to be if I see a cat I really want to keep but can’t?”

Alya nodded in acceptance of the awkward excuse, and Marinette sighed in relief. I can never tell her about my crush- I’m scared to find out what kind of match-maker she would try to be. Or even worse, tell me I have no chance! I mean, I know I have no chance, but still, ow. Would Ladybug have a chance? Wait, she and I are the same person! If I don’t have a chance, neither does Ladybug! Hold on, why am I even thinking about this!?

“We’re here~!” Alya announced, breaking Marinette free once more from her internal chaos.

“Is that a cat in the window? There’s a cat in the window!” Marinette let herself get distracted by the café and Alya laughed.

“Duh there's a cat in the window, it’s a cat café, what else would be in the window?” She teased, but Marinette only laughed.

“Well I know that, but I can still be excited over a cat, can’t I?”

“Save it for when we go inside,” Alya winked, opening the door for them both. There was a second set of doors past the first, and Marinette realized that they did the smart thing and made an enclosed entryway.

“Oh, this is to keep the cats from dashing outside, like at a dog park,” she mused, making Alya chuckle.

“Yeah, and gives people a fur-free place to hang up their coats. Oh, look!” She added excitedly, pointing to the opposite wall from the hanger rod. There was something that almost looked like a long shawl or a barber cape. Marinette recognized it easily. “They have wing-covers for patrons to borrow, in case we don’t want the cat’s playing with our feathers. That’s so thoughtful. They really went all-out on this place.”

Marinette smiled and nodded in agreement as she slid off her jacket and hung it up. “It really is sweet of them. Are you going to use one?” Alya shook her head.

“Nope. My wing’s are tough, I can handle a few clingy kitties,” she declared with a proud smile, and Marinette only chuckled as she opened the next set of doors for them both.

Unsurprisingly, Marinette enjoyed the café. She spent a lot of time admiring their logo that was embedded in the resin coating of their tables. The stylized lettering was inspired by some of the animal-themed Akumas. Then the entire name was encircled by the white belt of Chat Blanc and the red and black yo-yo of Ladybug. Symbolic of two heroes saving those in need. They really thought this out. Maybe Ladybug should show her respect here some time.

Surprisingly, the café’s cats also enjoyed Marinette. Alya was convinced they had met every single cat in the building before they even got their drinks. Marinette was just embarrassed and spent a lot of time spreading her attention between each feline before shooing them all off towards other guests. One of the cats, sleek black with yellow-flecked green eyes, was too stubborn to leave, so she let him claim her lap indefinitely.

But, completely unbelievably, the café got a surprise guest. Chat Blanc himself showed up out of the blue. Alya had spotted him running across a rooftop across the street, and proceeded to book it out the door, fly after him, and then shamelessly ask to take a photo of him with the cats that were inside the café inspired by him and his partner. He was stunned at first, but agreed, soon enough beaming happily as he surrounded himself with cats.

“Is he crying?” Marinette whispered to Alya as she recorded the feline hero sitting on the floor with at least five different cats climbing his back, shoulders, and into his lap.

“The happiest tears I’ve ever seen,” Alya confirmed.

Once Alya was satisfied she had taken enough pictures and video footage for the blog, she turned her focus to getting a few personal memorabilias.

“Mari! Come here! Take a pic of me with Chat, please? I want something for my desktop background, this would be perfect!”

Marinette agreed, to the annoyance of the cat in her lap. She managed to get the photo, a cute scene of Alya, her nerdy school friend, and Chat Blanc, her dorky friend-but-only-because-she’s-secretly-Ladybug, doing a silly pose with their arms linked, wings flared out, and several cats surrounding them.

She gave a thumbs up, and Alya whooped, standing to take back the phone. Marinette stepped forward, only for the clingy black cat from earlier to entangle himself with her ankles.

With a squawk, she went tumbling, but was deftly caught in the arms of Chat before she could meet an untimely end via a floor of cats.

Marinette flushed scarlet. Chat Blanc smiled shyly. The black cat jumped up on them, getting his lap-seat back. Alya, of course, got another photo.

All three of them managed to laugh it off, but not without Alya demanding another picture of the two and the cats before she would let them stand up.

“Marinette, I’m texting you copies to keep for yourself. Sorry, Chat, I’d send you some but-”

“No worries,” he chuckled and rubbed his neck, waving her concern away with his other hand. “Secret identity means secret number. You’ll be using your own pictures on your computer, though, right? Consider me honored by that,” he bowed dramatically and the two laughed as he straightened. “And Marinette, I’d be more than happy to let you do the same if you wanted, too,” he played the comment off with a wink.

“Time for me to go,” Chat Blanc continued before either girl could respond. “Chat out!”

They watched him dash out the doors and off over the rooftops.

“Girl...Did he just flirt with you?” Alya looked at Marinette, awestruck.

“What? No! There’s no way! Nope!” Marinette flustered and started walking out in a feeble attempt to escape the accusation.

“Uh-huh, because feeling ‘honored’ to be a screensaver for one girl and being ‘happy’ in case it were to happen by a second girl, is totally the same thing,” Alya followed after, determined to tease the life out of Marinette.

“Yes, exactly! Completely the same! It would have just been awkward to say the same line twice, so he just reworded himself, that's all! He was just giving permission to use his picture for personal use, nothing more, nope!”

Alya laughed before winking playfully. “Yeah, girl, sure. That was all, nothing more, nothing less. Whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Marinette nodded in finality, ignoring the teasing sarcasm from her friend.

Later that day, Marinette saved one of the café photos as her phone’s background, making sure to put a completely different photo as her lockscreen to avoid any further notice or teasing about her and Chat Blanc.

#marichatmay2021 #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml wing au #chat blanc #wing-binding #willowbendt

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ablednt · 3 years

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Relationships check

Quite a few people in the notes of that RSD post have casually mentioned just. Their friends making them feel like shit and while this does happen even with healthy friendships when you have RSD I want to go over thw red flags of toxic friendships with y'all

Note: not all of these things are automatically toxic on their own. You also need to take into account frequency (I.e if it happens a lot it's not the same as your friend having a bad day and being snippish etc.)

Your friend or partner should not

Insult you. (I.e "you're annoying" "you're ugly", mild teasing like "you're an idiot/lh" isn't the same but if you need to ask them to stop that's a healthy boundary to make.)

Belittle your efforts (I.e say your art is bad/not as good as others, make fun of your writing or projects, dismiss things you put effort into)

Mock your special interests or make fun of you for liking something or also just being excited about something. (If your interest is something genuinely bad it's on them to either communicate this with you or to distance themself. No one is going to learn "this media is harmful" from mockery they're just going to internalize "it's bad for me to like things.")

Threaten you (I'd give "kills you/j" and stuff like that a pass as long as it doesn't make you feel unsafe but like "I'm going to hurt you", "I'm going to [anything graphic]" etc. If its something graphic or heinous or if they won't go out of their way to add tone tags or make it clear they're kidding when asked then it's a bad sign)

Call you slurs (Even ones they can reclaim unless you're comfortable with it. This sounds obvious but the amount of people who let their friends call them ableist slurs like the r slur or the p slur is really sad.)

Do anything to punish you. (E.g you said something they didn't like so they ghosted you until you learned your lesson, blocking and unblocking you, doing genuinely malicious things to "get back at you" for something, bringing up traumatic topics because you didn't do what they wanted or disagreed with them, spreading lies/rumors about you because they got angry, etc.)

Tokenize you / act bigoted towards you (Can come in a variety of ways. One example may be always asking you to agree with or support them in discourses, ignoring or mocking you for calling out microagressions, fakeclaiming or dismissing your marginalized identity, using being friends with you to say they have experience with your marginalized identity for clout, or attempting to turn you against others in your marginalized group in an attempt to make you back them up in discourse, isolating you from your marginalized community in any way, holding exclusive views against your community but saying you're the "exception", etc.)

Hit, slap, shove, kick, or otherwise intentionally hurt you in any way. Yes it's still physical abuse even if they try to make it sound funny. Don't tolerate it.

If you find yourself feeling/thinking the following ways you may want to examine your relationship.

This stuff is more nebulous so none of it is a given that someone is toxic, you need to try and trace your feelings to specific behaviors causing them for either them or you and take mental illness into account but they do require reflecting on.

Power imbalance. If you feel like they're "more important" in the friendship, like they talk down to or demean you rather than seeing you as equal to them, or like you're the only one putting any effort into communicating etc

If you feel like you have to change your personality or interests to appease them and if you don't they'll become angry and lash out at you.

If you feel like you're walking on eggshells around them and if you don't keep them happy they'll lash out at or hurt/neglect you in some way.

If you feel disrespected for having a marginalized identity over which they have privilege. (E.g I have very few friendships with allistic people because many of them expect me to mask for them and fall all over myself to gain their approval.)

If you become upset, triggered, or your RSD consistently acts up every time you interact with or think about them.

If things they've said or beliefs they've held makes you hate yourself.

If spending time with them makes you feel depressed or suicidal.

There's more but this post is long enough already and y'all get the gist of it. Please remember friendships and partnerships are all about communication, equality/common ground, and healthy boundary setting. Relationships take work and you do need to do your part and no one is perfect but you deserve to feel loved and appreciated and if you don't sometimes that's not just rsd but the fact that you're being mistreated and need to find better friends.

#rsd #rejection sensitivity dysphoria #acruallyautistic #actuallyadhd #abuse tw #suicide mention #ask to tag

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peonybane · 5 years

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Agape and Pragma: Chapter 2

Pairings: OT7 (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 3.9 k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Angst, Sci-Fi, Smut (eventually)

Summary: Your entire world had be torn asunder by just one lab test. Time heals all wounds, but does it really? What will it take to feel whole again?

Warning: Nightmare scene surrounding the idea of an infant death and trauma coping.

Hybrid Types: Peacock Jin, Serval Yoongi, Golden Retriever Hoseok, Great Dane Taehyung, and French Lop Eared Rabbit Jungkook… with more to come.

a/n: So, this one is kinda all over the place. First, bonus points for whoever knows what show I’m quoting. Secondly, this chapter is angsty as FUCK in the second half. But I promise Chapter 3 will more than make up for it. I also have no self control and am posting a day early.

<--- Previous (Chapter 1)

“You sure you don’t want to stay a few more days? I’m sure Deeba wouldn’t mind.”

“Shortstack~”

You smiled sheepishly as your best friend called you out. You weren’t ready. Even though you knew that this wasn’t forever, you still weren’t ready to let him go. He had been your rock through one of the hardest parts of your life, just as you had been for him. He held you through your mourning, through your rage, through your joy.

But deep down, you knew this what needed to be done. You could see it in his eyes; there was life there, life that had never been there before. How could you take it away from him.

He gave you a tight hug, burying his face in your hair. He may not have been a Hybrid, but working and living with them for so long had him picking up some interesting habits, such as scenting. “I’m going to miss you, Beefcake. I can’t believe you’re actually going.”

“Come on, now. Don’t guilt me like that. You’ve got so much going for you.”

You giggled out, “What do I have going for me? Is it that I’m pretty? Tell me I’m pretty, Liam.”

He laughed, knowing exactly where you were going with this. “Were I unwed I would take you in a manly fashion.”

“Because I’m pretty?”

He laughed. “Because you’re pretty.”

You both laughed, pulling away from each other. Liam flicked your forehead. “Don’t overwork yourself. And if I find out from one of these three that you’re overworking yourself again, don’t think I won’t come back and ask Deeba to beat sense into you for me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m sure I can handle myself. And I’m glad that you finally found your other half.”

While Liam smiled down at you, you could still sense a bit of guilt and sadness radiating off of him. You knew why— he felt guilty about finding his own happiness when you’ve only started finding a new one. You lightly patted his cheek. “Go… be happy.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. No more needed to be said. You both had said everything you needed to. Besides, it’s not like this was goodbye for forever.

Liam turned his attention to the boys. Immediately, Taehyung pulled him into a tight hug, mumbling something about how much he was going to miss him again as he scented Liam. Liam just chucked and rubbed Taehyung’s floppy brindle ears, knowing that it was one of the best ways to calm him down, and more importantly, to stop him from bawling.

As soon as Taehyung was done saying goodbye. Liam did another couple of rounds of fair wells with the other two. Taehyung joined your side, his head hanging a bit in sadness. You leaned against him, reminding him that you were there for him. He rested his head on yours as you guys watched Liam wrestle with Jungkook and Hoseok one last time before he bid you all one last farewell.

Your giant puppy let out a sad little whimper as Liam disappeared into the crowd. You reached up and ruffled Taehyung’s unruly hair. “It’s not forever, Tae Tae. Just imagine, once he and his wife are settled in, they’ll come visit us.”

Taehyung nuzzled into your hand, looking down at you with sad eyes. He took your palm in his and brought it to his lips, leaving small kisses in the center of it. A light blush rose in your cheeks, still not used to Taehyung’s chosen form of affection with you. You continued, giving him a sweet smile, “Will getting some ice cream help?”

If you didn’t know any better, your roommates had teleported into the car, with Hoseok in the driver’s seat. You laughed, turning to join them. This was it. This was your family now.

^~^~^~^~^

The days before had been busy and tear filled as Liam explained his decision to the boys, with Jungkook being the surprisingly biggest weeper. In the few days that Liam was home, he transferred the deed to you; complete ownership of the house and the acreage that surrounded it now belonged to you.

It didn’t feel real yet, even as the boys helped Liam when they could with putting his stuff in boxes and helping him pack the things he would need immediately in some suit cases. It still didn’t feel real yet even as the boys starting moving things out of your room while you worked and into the master bedroom at Liam’s behest. It didn’t feel real even as Liam had Deeba Skype you all for the first time. It didn’t feel real even as you cooked Liam’s favorite meal of stuffed cabbage rolls and pilaf for his going away dinner.

No, it didn’t feel real until later that night after dropping off Liam that when you dragged yourself off to bed, only to find that your weighted blanket had been removed from your old room, along with most of your stuff.

You realized that the boys had moved it to the master bedroom when you hesitantly entered. You let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. This… this was reality. This was your new home.

After changing into pajamas you climbed into the massive bed. Sure it was the comfiest bed you had ever laid in, but it was cold. It was too big. It felt so… impersonal. You got up for a moment and gathered all of the pillows together, creating a barrier. Laying back down again, that barrier made it easier to fall asleep, almost as if someone was spooning you from behind.

^~^~^~^~^

“Hobi, are you sure it’s alright for me to tag along?”

“It’s more than alright. In fact, I think Jin would pout if he found out you weren’t coming with.”

You could help but chuckle a little as Hobi pulled into the drive away of this little cafe on the outskirts of town called ‘Seesaw.’ “Is that right, now? I didn’t think I left that strong of an impression.”

Hoseok nodded his head excitedly as he parked the car. He got out and rushed over to your side of the car, opening the door for you and you unbuckled yourself, his fluffy tail going at a hundred miles per hour. Upon helping you out of the car, Hoseok lead you towards the cafe.

As soon as you entered, Jin flagged you both down, calling Hoseok’s name. As you walked towards him, you noticed that there was another sitting with him as well. You were a bit surprised to see the Hybrid from the other night, Yoongi.

Both men stood as you and Hoseok joined them. Jin and Hoseok did a quick bro hug then Jin turned to you. He took your hand once again and kissed it. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“You as well, Jin.”

Stepping back, he waved towards Yoongi. “This is my dear friend, Yoongi.”

Eyeing you a bit, Yoongi took your hand and shook it. You smiled at him. “It lovely to finally meet you, Yoongi. And thank you for the drink from last time.”

“And you as well. I’m glad you liked it.”

Jin smiled from ear to ear; there was a knowing glint in his eye. As you all sat yourself down, a waitress came by to take your orders. Jin and Hoseok ordered some sort of complicated lattes, with Jin ordering a spiced coffee cake to go along with his. Yoongi ordered an iced americano and an old fashion donut, which surprised you a bit. His initial impression making you believe he was more of a black coffee type of guy. You ordered an iced caramel macchiato.

The waitress smiled and nodded, walking away to place your orders. As soon as she was out of earshot, Jin turned to you, “I hope the drive here wasn’t terrible. It’s a little out of the way but they make the best coffee in town.”

You smiled back, “Well, with your recommendation it must be absolutely spectacular.”

You all continued to exchange small talk and pleasantries. Well, you, Hoseok, and Jin exchanged pleasantries. Yoongi just sat there, staring off into the distance, kind of out of it actually. Soon the waitress returned with your drinks and promised to be back with the food. You all thanked her and took sips on your drinks. Well, except Yoongi. He was downing his coffee like his life depended on it.

Quipping an eyebrow, you asked, “Sleepless night?”

The ears perched high on Yoongi’s head swiveled around a bit. “A few actually.”

He sighed then leaned back, rubbing the back of neck. “Haven’t been able to write anything good enough for work. Not to mention the stresses of finding a new place.”

“A new place?”

Jin replied, “Yeah, our landlord gave us final notice that now instead of turning the condos into a hotel he’s going to demolish the whole thing and turn it into a store as soon as possible. We got until the end of the month to move out.”

As the waitress came back with the food (when she brought Yoongi’s doughnut, Jin couldn’t help but say, ‘The serval has been served,’ before letting out a windshield wiper laugh), Yoongi seemed to have sensed the question forming in the back of your mind. Taking a bite of his doughnut, asked for you, “You’re wondering how two successful working bachelors are rooming together?”

You blushed a little, hanging your head in shame.

“That one,” Yoongi pointed to Jin, “Is only good for cooking and basic cleaning. He can’t do laundry, plumping, or handle bills to save his life. I, luckily, am the opposite. Not to mention,” he took another bite of his donut, “He puts pretty much all of his extra money into his restaurant and helping some people with paying for their tuition. I get a head of myself and let Hoseok talk me into donating to every charity he’s involved in.”

You looked at him in mild surprise as he continued to munch on his doughnut, looking quite disinterested in the rest of the world. Jin on the other hand had enough shame for the both of them for once, the tips of ears turning a nice shade of scarlet. You sipped on your coffee for a moment to distract yourself.

As you looked out the window, you had a thought. The words were out your mouth before you could even stop them. “Why don’t you guys move in with us? Even if its just for a little while until you guys can find your own place.”

Jin choked a little on his coffee. Yoongi’s usual neutral expression was broken by raised eyebrows, his large ears at attention. Hoseok looked over at you with an excited smile, his butt starting to wiggle from the force of his tail wagging from under him. “That’s a great idea!”

Jin interrupted, “We don’t want to be intruding.”

You replied, “Believe me, you’ll be far from it. With only half of the rooms being occupied, it’ll be more than welcomed. Besides, if you really feel guilty about it, you can pay rent if you’d like. Though I won’t charge you rent if you cook once a week and Yoongi plays us a song once in a while. I’ll just ask that you contribute to the pool for utilities. We do it evenly between us.”

This time you couldn’t keep the smile from gracing your lips as you looked at the both of them. Jin and Yoongi exchanged glances. Jin spoke first, “Could we get back to you on that?”

Your smile grew even bigger. “Of course.”

And with that you let the conversation naturally flow, getting to know the two other men.

^~^~^~^~^

Just two short weeks later, Jin and Yoongi were moving in. Hoseok insisted that Yoongi take over your old room, conveniently making them room neighbors. Jin took the room across from Jungkook and as all the boys were moving the boxes in, you could already hear the yelling from Jin as Jungkook continued to make fun of the other man.

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself in the kitchen as you continued to cook the welcome dinner. You had tried to help the boys with moving Jin and Yoongi in but quickly realized that it was futile as five healthy, strong men were way more than enough as they moved Yoongi’s piano into a corner of the living room.

Dinner ended up being simple— just some pasta, grilled chicken, and a salad. Nothing too fancy, but certainly in big enough portions to keep up with five ravished Hybrids.

Their timing was perfect since all five ended up in the kitchen just as you were finishing up with cooking dinner. “Oh! Shortstack! This smells delicious!”

Hoseok came up behind you and hugged you, leaning in and sniffing your hair. You giggled and you tried to push him away. “EWWWWWWW…. Boy cooties!”

Hoseok laughed again, deciding to cover you in even more sweat as you protested, his tail smacking the counters in excitement. Finally he let you go, grabbing a plate to start piling food on. Taehyung showed Jin and Yoongi how dinner went when you all were able to sit down together.

Nothing fancy or formal, rather, it was comfortable and casual with everyone just grabbing a plate and piling on food. Jin looked at Jungkook, startled as he sat down across from him at the table, having piled on more chicken than anything else on his plate.

You laughed, looking at Jungkook’s plate as you also settled in to eat. “You think you got enough food there, Wild Boar?”

Stuffing his face, Jungkook replied, “That’s Bun Bun to you.”

You let out an unladylike snort as you peered over at Jin, a confused look gracing his face. “I- I don’t understand.”

In between mouthfuls, Taehyung replied, “Even though Kookie is a rabbit Hybrid, we’re pretty sure the scientists messed up and spliced him with some sort of predator as well. My money is on bear.”

In quick session Hoseok replied, “Mountain lion.”

Then followed by you, “Wild boar.”

Hoseok continued, “Kookie is big for a rabbit, even for a lop.”

You interrupted, “Don’t forget unusually strong.”

He continued as Jungkook just shot the room his usual bunny smile, “He’s aggressive as hell and the only ones that can take him on in wrestling are Liam and Tae.”

Indignantly you said, “What about me?”

Jungkook laughed. “Shortstack… hate to break this to you, but I let you win.”

You made a face of mock hurt, pointing your fork at him, ready to fence. “Raise your fork, Kookie! My honor is at stake! En garde!”

Kookie laughed, humoring you. You both sparred for a little bit, but as always, Kookie won. As you pouted, very unhappy with your loss, Hoseok leaned over and ruffled your hair. Jin finished his food, patting his belly, “Yah, that was wonderful. Thank you very much!”

You couldn’t help the smile that snuck its way onto your face. Yoongi looked over at Taehyung, who was pouting a bit. “What’s the matter with you, puppy?”

“I was hoping she’d make her famous poppyseed rolls….”

You sighed, clearing the table with Jungkook’s help. “Tae Tae, you know ‘Crack Rolls’ are only for birthdays and Christmas.”

“But it’s a special occasion!”

“You know I can’t make them while you’re working.”

Jin quipped an eyebrow. “‘Crack Rolls?’”

Jungkook started laughing as your face flushed a deep scarlet. Hoseok joined in on the laughter as he accompanied Jungkook in washing the dishes. He said, “She makes these fantastic poppyseed rolls. They’re so good, you can’t stop eating them until they’re all gone.”

Jungkook continued from there, “Tae gets his own roll for that reason. The biggest problem is that every time he seems to have one, he’s always randomly selected for a drug test at the school he works at. And he comes back as positive. Every. Single. Time.”

You all had a laugh at poor Tae’s expense. His entire face flushed and you were sure if you could see through the fur covering his ears, those would be beet red as well. You walked back over to Taehyung and kissed his cheek, which only made him turn even redder, but even as a regular human, you could tell it stopped him from being embarrassed. “I’ll make you a batch when school is no longer in session. Deal?”

You held out you pinkie finger for him. Even his own pinkie engulfed yours by its sheer size as he hooked it around your own. “Deal.”

The smile on your face grew bigger. You pulled away from Tae and turned to the rest of them. “You two get ready. Puppy piles are a regular thing in this house. So tonight, what will it be? Indiana Jones or Harry Potter?”

^~^~^~^~^

Nothingness. That was what surrounded you. Well almost. It was dark, except for the little pin prick of light, off in the distance. You stumbled towards it, the only refuge in this seemingly endless darkness.

Instead of feeling safer as you got closer, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. As you approached, you noticed that the light was emanating from an old television set. You advanced with caution.

At first, the screen was covered in static. But the closer you drew near, images would increasingly flash across the staticy snow. With each flash, you could tell what was appearing on the screen, each image making your heart hammer harder and harder.

At first it was vague, just a baby. But as the flashes increased, became clearer and clear that it was your baby. Once you were in touching distance, the static ceased. Instead this time, the sight before you had tears welling in your eyes.

From your arms, your baby was roughly grabbed, tearing them from you as she wailed bloody murder. You screamed for whoever it was to stop, but the you on the screen couldn’t do anything, it was as if you were frozen, completely unable to move a single muscle. The screen flashed static for moment before it switched to Taka’s face. An unknown woman, faceless, stood behind him as he passively dropped your daughter… as if he were dropping a ball.

Your wails started to mesh with the babies until she suddenly fell silent. You fell to your knees, clawing at the screen, trying to do something…. Anything to try to save her.

Your wails were cut short by a sudden, slicing pain in your abdomen. You pressed your hands your abdomen, looking down to find blood… so much blood.

Suddenly, you heard a wail once more… a baby’s wail. At first, the pain kept you from figuring where the sound was coming from. Your heart stopped as you realized it was coming from your abdomen.

You scratched at your abdomen, crying, scared and confused. You didn’t know what to do. You just needed to save her. Just needed to—

You were violently shaken awake, Taehyung’s panicked voice calling your name. Adrenaline still pumping through your system, you stared back at Taehyung’s panicked face. You looked around the room, seeing your other roommates standing in your doorway looking frazzled. Jin and Yoongi looked confused and scared. Jungkook and Hoseok standing on either side of your bed, ready to help Taehyung if need be. Heeding them for only a moment, your panic returned, the adrenaline and the images still fresh in your head.

Scratching at your now red stomach, tears still streaming down your face, you cried, “T-Tae, I have to help her. She’s hurt or worse. Tae! W-Where’s my baby? Where is she?! T-Taka! He took her—“

Tae took ahold of your wrists, using his strength to overpower you, trying to keep your from hurting yourself even further. He called your name over and over again, his voice trembling as you continued to fight him. You continued panicking, only to soon find a pair of strong arms hugging you from behind. Jungkook whispered your name in your ear, “Shhhh… please. Please stop hurting yourself. It won’t fix everything that’s already been broken.”

You started hyperventilating, your mind still reeling with fear, with anger, with grief. Slowly, you started to stop fighting. Weeping weakly as both Taehyung and Jungkook released their hold on you, you closed your eyes.

The boys shifted, Taehyung moved to get in a better position, pulling you into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his hands still loosely encircled around your wrists for fear of you trying to hurt yourself. Leaning his head against your own, he started singing to you. It was low and you weren’t exactly sure what it was he was singing, but it sounded like one of the lullabies he would sing to his kindergarteners during nap time.

Jungkook removed himself from the bed, keeping a wary on Tae. He let Hoseok take his place.

Slowly, Hoseok reached towards you, lifting your shirt to check if you’d added any more scars to your stomach. Hoseok kept an eye on Taehyung even as he examined you, knowing how protectively aggressive he would become around you whenever you had an episode like this. During these episodes, Taehyung barely let Hoseok near you, never mind Jungkook; the only reason Jungkook was able to hug you was because of how distracted Taehyung was, trying to keep you from hurting yourself. The only reason Taehyung let Hoseok near you was because as a fellow canine Hybrid, Hoseok had the same instincts as Taehyung, though not quite as strong— no one had as strong of instincts as Taehyung did.

As soon as Jin and Yoongi took a hesitant step into the room, Taehyung gave them a warning growl, making them both stop mid step. Jungkook swallowed, taking that as his cue to excuse himself, still keeping an eye on Taehyung as he did so. “Come on. Let’s go get the first aid kit for Hobi. I’ll explain what’s going on to you.”

Jungkook dragged the other two away. The moment they were no longer in view, Taehyung turned his full attention back on you. He brought one wrist to his lips (instead of your palm like he had down earlier that day), kissing the scars from the time you’d tried to scratch your wrists open from a similar nightmare. As he kissed, your finger grazed his cheek. The wetness found there brought your attention to it.

You turned slightly to look up at his face. His brow was knit together in worry, his normally perky and floppy ears were flush with his head. His eyes were brimming with tears he was desperately trying to hold back. Your lip trembled looking at him before you gave in and buried your face into his chest, weeping.

Taehyung held you tightly, grounding you as you wept, Hoseok stroking your hair.

Whispering in your ear, Taehyung reassured you, “None of this is your fault. If I could I would take your pain for you. Stop blaming yourself. Please… stop punishing yourself.”

He kissed the crown of your head and continued to sing softly to you. You fell into a dreamless sleep, still wrapped in Taehyung’s arms.

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

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incarnateirony · 5 years

Text

Terms and Conditioning and Meanings

Okay, so it’s something a lot of people heard me bang on about several times over the last few years, but recently I found a thread (x) by yet another lit professor -- this one in another fandom.

I’m sure some people will choose to reactively and malignly pick at parts of what they say without reading the heart of their body of work, in a blazing display of self-blind irony, but well-- I went off on my usual tear I go on ‘round these parts and unsurprisingly they went through and liked every single one while QTing other Typical Fandom Asshats to shoot them down, so let’s roll here.

I’ll start with the TLDR edition but then break down the actual content behind a cut -- because this? This is something this fandom DESPERATELY NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND THE DIFFERENCES OF, and how they DO and DON’T relate.

CODING = CONSCIOUS CHOICE OF CONSTRUCTION BY AUTHOR SUBTEXT = THEMATIC RESONANCE THROUGH MOST OF OR THE ENTIRE WORK THAT EMBOLDENS THE TALE INTERPRETATION = LITERALLY WHATEVER YOU WANT BUT STRONGER IF YOU KNOW WHAT THE OTHER 2 ARE AND WHERE THEY ARE. THANKS KIDS DEATH OF THE AUTHOR = NOT AN EXCUSE FOR EIGHTH-ASSED READINGS CANON = WHAT EXISTS WITHIN A WORK, OR AN AGREED UPON BODY OF ACCEPTED WORKS (episodes, books, etc not part of the ecclesiastical body) NO, it is not a MAGIC WORD for “NOW THEY KISSED” and there are MANY FORMS OF WHAT IS CANON WITHIN AN ACCEPTED BODY OF WORK. QUEERBAIT = VERY FEW OF THESE THINGS AND YET CAN BE ALL OF THESE THINGS AND THIS IS THE MOST BUSTED WORD Y’ALL HAVE FUCKING RUINED.

(Edit: I saw someone reblog this with “really aggressive in an offputting way” before a tag of “but I agree” so I’ma put this out here: Yeah. It fucking is. Because this fandom is fucking exhausting. And I am tired. Of having to fucking repeat things. That are literal common sense. In a fandom that insists on flushing common sense. Of otherwise intelligent people sending themselves into destructive spirals. Of even friends losing friends to people sliding off into bitter pits these problems lead to. So if you’re someone that favors common sense, maybe you actually should feel this frustration in your soul. The lit folks reblogging this with commentary so far seem to.)

To quote the linked OP and give credit where credit is due for resparking this conversation in my mind and realizing I haven’t said this for a long time and new followers may not know, even if this is familiar to like 90% of people who follow me -- but I feel they touched aptly on parts I haven’t even really done more than brush over.

queer-coding is quite sinister in a lot of ways (though can be employed subversively to great effect) but also very interesting! studies have shown that children who like or identify with queer-coded villains are more likely to be lgbt, even if they don't realise what's going on.

during the hays era it was mostly a way to show that a villain was bad (because gay = evil), but it could also be a way for closeted queer creators to sneak lgbt representation into their work, which is why so many queer-coded villains are so damn *likeable*.

what's also interesting is that lgbt creators would sometimes explicitly *straight-code* their villains - gaston from disney's beauty and the beast is a great example of this. highly recommend that you read up on the story of his creation!

all of which is to say: queer-coding has a meaning, it's not the same as queer-*baiting*, and it DEFINITELY isn't the same as "I'm gonna read this character as gay because I wanna imagine him as gay" - the name for that is fanon, and some trek fans

there are lots of academic works on the history of queer-coding if you want to spend an afternoon down a google scholar rabbit hole! just, you know. terms have meanings.

that's the thing. coding literally is intentional. what you're talking about is an alternate or resistant reading, or a world-context-centred critical approach.

you're right that it's got nothing to do with representation, but unlike semiotics, which is text-centred but may or may not rely on reading into intentional authorial choices, queer-coding refers specifically to an authorial choice. it's a defined term.

I didn't just take AP and honours english. I *taught* AP and honours english. for y e a r s.

--by @jaythenerdkid who I just accidentally found the tumblr of by preparing to make a twitter link but I checked and it’s the same person.

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Okay so let’s pick through this a little bit before people start spinning this up in their heads.

TO START: QUEER CODING

I’ve seen people say “This character has villain attributes or dark attributes ergo he is queer coded.” That is absolutely not the way to apply this history, this works in reverse. As handled here, villains were either malignly codified to make queer characters evil and/or were then used as a slip-in of representation. A villain being a villain is not in fact itself an actual queer coding point. A dark history is not itself a queer coding point. Addiction stories are not themselves a queer coding point. In fact, trying to apply itself in this order is like BLAZINGLY homophobic and gross as hell and if you’re doing this, you should stop now. Yes, I’ve seen this.

I fucking promise you Gaston wasn’t consciously “queer coded” in being a villain, being a villain does not give him a Magic Gay Point.

Are we good on that point? Have we figured out the direction these Magic Gay Points fly in and don’t? Cool. If the author consciously added elements that will harmonize with a straight audience as queer to make them seem bad, that’s malignant queer coding; if an author consciously added elements that will harmonize with a queer audience to make them somehow familiar or likable, that is subversive queer coding.

An example of subversive queer coding: In the Legend of Korra, the creators had limitations on what the network would allow them to do. Later, they confirmed their intent was a WLW couple being portrayed at the end, but it hovers in the area of a hand hold that people can unfortunately choose to negotiate away into bestest friends despite all the other story flags for them along the way.

People have/can/will call queerbait about this. In this case, this is not queerbait. This is attempted representation to bypass restrictions and is not malign, but are authors doing their best to give their queer audience something, anything, in the case of it. Yes, it was post-air acknowledgment but it was what they were goddamn trying to give us gays out here. It’s not hiding their gays on the creator’s part -- it’s hiding their gays on the network’s part -- WHICH IS A STEP A LOT OF PEOPLE GET VERY CONFUSED ABOUT.

Hell, just because *one* show or property on a specific channel even allows X Amount Of Gay in it doesn’t even mean they’ll allow their other properties that amount of gay every time, and can and WILL step in and block creators. It happens even on premium networks like HBO or Starz. Because they have their ideas of what the demographic they dump a bunch of marketing money into is okay with, half-educated and half massive fiery balls of projection from whatever old white dude is reviewing the data. So no, never just bank on “well X network made the Gay Bar exactly This Tall To Ride here so all their other shows can be Exactly This Gay.” -- you do that, you’re gonna set yourself up for a FUCKTON of disappointment.

Hell, LGBT aren’t even treated equally to other LGBT. Bi men have like 1/3 the representation of bi women because media is held in a largely male gaze corporately and well, bi women are sexy to straight guys, give them some of that lesbian action. But oh, nono, don’t put the bi dudes near their network, no homo. If you drape a rainbow boa on this lamp post though we’ll let you have a gay guy run around that is there to make other characters uncomfortable as a stereotype, that’s fine. LITERALLY do *NOT* simply assume for *ANY REASON* that because one kind of LGBT person cleared on one show that others will too, there’s so many ways that drops through the floor.

That small aside about network bullshittery handled, let’s get back to the terms.

Negative queer coding I can think of with things like, I dunno. Jafar. Honestly very few LGBT people will actively associate with most of these attributes because a great wealth of them are attributes in the eyes of straight creators villainizing gay people, rather than gay people making gay people that just happen to be villains, and this distinction *DOES MATTER.* The long, snaky body -- the coy, venomous tone, embellished gestures; I mean sure, some people are like that, and that’s fine, you be you, but it’s a stereotype most try to shed rather than play into. It’s not the sum of who we are but put into the wrong creator’s hands, they *make* that the perceivable sum of who we are, + villainy.

But queer coding CAN be suggestively used to paint positive role models in situations they can’t necessarily be written as Overtly Gay, and the list of those reasons is unfortunately Very Long. But they are always things that are active choice, and your interpretation of what is Active Choice is not the same as Proven Active Choice.

For example: “The wallpaper was green and blue in this scene so Dean is thinking of Castiel even if he isn’t saying it.” Okay. We’re gonna go to Subtext and Interpretation later, but summarily: no. Hell, maybe it even is, but that’s a huge vault you actually have to exorbitantly prove and you can’t just say “but movie lighting theory” because I promise Dean = Green Cas = Blue isn’t general lighting theory.

An alternate example: “Bobo Berens, the first LGBT author on Supernatural, affirmed that Castiel was written in place of Colette, Cain’s wife, in Dean’s mirrored life; this is recurring symbolism and reflects often in Beren’s work, wherein his first episode showrunner Carver opted them to act as jilted lovers, and made a vast wash of content involving bold partnership ideals such as ‘at the altar’, ‘secret admirer’, and more that mysteriously hit the cutting room floor, but resonates very loudly through several directly connected seasons and all future work by Berens such as classic romantic partnership gifts and ideas [mixtape, heart connect, etc].”

This is simultaneously coding and subtext. We could frankly make 200 page dissertations about this chain of text -- and most of us already have -- that doesn’t require loudly extrapolating interpretation of external elements or single unrelated lines.

“But subtext is just QUEERBAIT. It’s JUST SUBTEXT, it’s NOT CANON.”

Okay honey let me stop you right there. This is like the most common bad hot take in this fucking fandom. Like every part of it is bad but everybody kind of strings it together into one big Ball of Bad.

Subtext is, summarily, a hidden body of text that is felt in the work. Beyond Who You Want To Be Gay, subtext is a lot of things. Subtext is the value of humanity above all powers and principalities, in Supernatural. And there’s all kinds of other subtext. Whenever you see someone blink and have black eyes in SPN without them saying “I’m a demon” and you know they’re a demon, that’s... kind of subtext too. I mean, we know textually demons have black eyes, but nothing ever said only demons have black eyes. So what if I wanted to say it’s the ghost of big bird? It’s MY INTERPRETATION and MY INTERPRETATION IS VALID TOO.

Shit you can even cobble together half assed unrelated extrapolations--some demons have yellow eyes and Jack had yellow eyes so he wasn’t a demon so clearly not all black eyes are demons and uh... the angel blade kills lots of things, that black eyed thing still wasn’t a demon.

See how easy it is to absolutely BULLSHIT around it with decontextualized BULLSHIT? It almost passes at a glance until held up to the smallest bit of scrutiny and following episodes.

Okay, so look, “It’s my interpretation, and my interpretation is valid” is only as far as it holds up soundly to *you.* As long as it is truly valid to *you.* And that doesn’t mean big brave faces you put on For The Twitter Stan Wars because you don’t want to lose digital clout when the newest episode falls through and blows your entire house of cards out of the water because you weren’t reading the actual subtext being hewn into the story by the authors -- or even forming a resilient resistant read of your own subtext that can hold -- but once that interpretation leaves your mouth to try to bounce off of other people’s viewpoints, you’re now indirectly challenging their viewpoint with theirs. If you stay in your cabal where you think the spirit of big bird has black eyes, and never subtweet or @ or whatever anybody else about this Hot Take, that’s fine, just don’t be surprised when you’re left defending that to whatever followers you pulled into the Big Bird Cabal.

Or you all sit in angry silence with each other and then start helicopter swinging at the writers for ruining The Spirit Of Big Bird that was never fucking there. Because you’re trying to apply patchy, unstable, and generally very piss poorly founded readings to a still released work.

So THAT lead in shoved off to the side about interpretation and keeping your interpretation to yourself if you don’t want to be challenged by far more solid interpretations, Because that’s how content discussion works,

SUBTEXT IS OFTEN A FORMULATIVE PART OF CANON, ESPECIALLY IF IT IS CODED, WHETHER WE ARE TALKING QUEER CODING OR ANY OTHER KIND OF CODING.

Subtext is a thematic undercurrent. Subtext is the unspoken soul of a piece, what lies in the blank space between the lines, but not just whatever you take the lines to be. If you sit down and write a lit paper, you’re gonna have to explain where you pulled your subtext out of.

You can either go the “Death of the Author” route where you summarily erase any commentary ever made and build your own, but you still need to be able to read the sum of the text and present what it all is. And most importantly you can’t just present what it’s not. If your entire reading of a work is trying to explain away common sense bullshit and it ends up reading like All Work No Play Makes Johnny Dull Boy because you had to build 82 nonlinear explanations around what you don’t want, and those all lead to nowhere, that professor is going to flunk the shit out of you. And if you use Death of an Author DEFINITELY don’t simultaneously try to appeal to authority with other quotes convenient to you.

Not Wanting something to Be So and going completely over the river and through the woods in completely disjointed intentionally maladapted readings of refusal doesn’t mean you’ve found subtext, it means you’ve chosen to make a reading -- an interpretation -- that is not really thematically sound with the body of work but for whatever reason, you’ve chosen to make that the meaning it has to *you.* And that’s fine. Unless you’re trying to impress a professor. Or jousting your opinion off of somebody else that isn’t doing cartwheels around the content to avoid the parts they don’t like (and get mad about it later.)

Removing all genuine thematic subtext and disregarding it from any part of the canon discussion of a piece is, however, devastating and essentially rips out the foundation of a piece. This has become all the more common as junk TV gets junkier and continues to appeal to the lowest common denominator that need to be reminded that 2+2=4 every three episodes before they accept that 2+2=4 in their respective canon universe, because otherwise they’ll claim it’s just subtext or someone else’s opinion that it equals 4.

And that’s not what these words mean and I am left eternally climbing up walls, because in this fandom, like... subtext, interpretation, coding, queerbait have all become one amorphous blob that just gets hurled around like four stuck together balls of Gak at a grade school party and just seeing where they splatter.

It is entirely possible for content to be subtextual and canon, if it is thematically resonant with the piece and a loud and fundamental part of its storytelling that it can not operate without acknowledging. Discussion of queer content aside, there’s a lot of shit this applies to. There’s a certain sense of good faith most authors put in their readers/viewers/whatever that people will have an fundamental understanding of the spirit of a work they’re conveying. This good faith amount varies depending on their projected demographic, but let me assure you, if your respective creator essentially has the characters stop and do “today I learned” narratives, or interruption explanation inserts over everything, there’s one of two reasons: 1. It’s a literal parody/comedy 2. It’s either geared for kids or they think you’re all fucking idiots.

As I don’t tend to watch parody, comedy, or kid shows, I tend to favor shows that don’t feel the need to handhold me through every instance of the show. Because I am not nor do I appreciate being treated like an idiot.

Subtext is a valuable part of canon as long as we are talking by virtue of “coding” not “random unfounded interpretation.”

Now, to the topic of queer coding, is it fundamentally gratifying to our primitive lizard brain survival instinct if we see characters kiss or whatever your personal landmark for gratification is? I mean, sure. Does the romance leading up to the kiss absolutely not matter at all until the kiss, or was that early state of subtext, dance, and non-consummation itself a valid romantic journey?

Because honestly this is something I feel current LGBT dialogue is missing. We’re so wounded from being caught in the subtext veil that we want confirmation, but everybody wants to skip the journey to the sweet stuff. I’m not saying every story needs to be a years long slow burn, but y’all. You know how we talk about het romance being boring as fuck because it’s like “dude/chick look at each other and they fuck and now they’re insufferable, hahahah is this what het culture is like is this what they call romance what kind of standards--”? Yeah, we’re rapidly snowplowing towards that.

I’m also not saying quick confirmation is bad either. There’s shows and stories where even pre-confirmed LGBT couples are GREAT to see, just existing in the population. Not every story needs to be THE grand romance, or THE great coming out adventure, some can have already had their adventures just like the Totally Het Neighbors Next Door and that’s... fine. That’s great, even.

But we are approaching Absolute Bottom Barrel Trash Content at terminal velocity, mostly just being exploited and monetized by corporations that are virtue signaling us to give at best sub-par turnout. The amount of currently airing shows with quality queer content can probably be counted on your two hands.QED there’s hundreds of shows, thousands depending on which networks you’re counting in your numbers. Off the top of my head, Legends of Tomorrow has a fabulously queer cast that Just Is without being defined only by having a partner nor being a rainbow lamp with a sticky note of plot directions.

But we are also signaling creators that it’s no longer safe *to* give us gradual, slow burns, or genuine romance either. And we’re ALSO signaling creators -- INCLUDING QUEER CREATORS -- that it is no longer safe to make subtextual or coded content.

“Well good!” you probably say.

NO, THIS IS BAD, THIS IS REALLY, REALLY BAD.

Because while you may live in a fantasy universe where X Network had Y show exactly This Gay To Ride, it’s in blatant disregard of inconsistent landmarks and limbo sticks different shows, creators, and products have to go through, and some people in some shows are trying REALLY REALLY HARD to give you resonant queer content and you’re just shitting all over them and yelling that it’s queerbait.

I mean, queerbait is the idea that someone is giving queer content without intent to follow through and generally to exploit a queer audience. The problem is, all queerbait accusations are launched in default bad faith. Some of that bad faith is earned. Some of it is not. Sometimes there’s a lesbian with a network executive breathing down her neck that just wants to let her girls be together so she has them hold hands, even if she knows The Straights will talk it away as best friends, no matter how many canonically romantic storylines they’ve wedged into the subtext through loudly recognizable tropes.

Queerbait is a VERY DANGEROUS CARD and MUST BE USED WITH EXTREME CAUTION. Because depending on the longevity of what you’re crowing about, without understanding of what’s going on beyond the production veil, you can very easily even get creatives and creators hard shut down on a network level for wanting to protect the product. I’m sure you think “make it gay!” is the one answer to that, but no, it isn’t always, not depending on what the old white guy network exec I mentioned a while ago has in his papers about what or who he interprets pulls his income and what they like via demographics or inconsistent marketing test groups.

That’s not to say never call out queerbait, but the internet desperately needs to be more conscious about when and where they fling it around. What if Korra fans started horrifically screeching about queerbait and blasting it all over the internet and @’ing production or even network people and making devoted articles to make it a shitshow that even hit GA impact zones? Do you really think Nickelodeon would look at their demographic paperwork and throw it in the air and go “Oh! Well we make it gay then.”

Or do you think they’d have left a hard feedback note to further divide those characters with a strong warning about limits and restrictions.

We are slowly moving out of the area of things like queer coded villains and have more migrated into an area of subversive queer coding, but a great deal of subversive queer coding has people lose their SHIT because Some Idiot On The Internet With A Shitty Take And Quarter Assed Interpretation told them “it’s just subtext so it’s not valid until they kiss”, setting out this roving goalpost everybody keeps running after like a goddamn donkey chasing a carrot on a stick, and in some cases completely unable to be reached, despite the LITERAL BEST INTENTION of the authors.

I’ve heard “well if they can’t Bring It All The Way, they shouldn’t at all.” What the FUCK? What kind of UNBEARABLY STRAIGHT WASHED WORLD do you want to live in? What kind of world do you think we’re living in right now? I regret to inform you, Trump got elected to office somehow and reversed a lot of LGBT protections somehow and it’s not just “because Russia,” it’s because there’s still a SHITTON of assholes out there that make corporations that bankroll TV SHITTONS of money and whether we like it or not, TV is a BUSINESS and we’re all DOLLAR SIGNS.

Stripping subversive queer coding, especially from the hands of queer authors, sets us back into a weird offset of primitive ages and extremized content, where the latter becomes poorly packaged lesbians dropped as a marketing plan to upsell Trendy New Teen Show without daring to rattle the middle aged demographic of a split political demographic in another show. No. Absolutely fucking not. Use some responsibility and apply some critical thinking before yelling queerbait and figure out where a problem is in any given situation, that’s all I fucking ask.

Hell for all you know those queer creators could be pitching it again and again behind the scenes, or baited on that side with maybes, or being stalled out by being told to wait for test marketing groups, and generally tugged around on their own leash where corporate is summarily watching the feedback to the blatant but subtextual and coded queer content.

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Now, ALL OF THIS becomes a fucking mess in discussion when people don’t box off these definitions and issues.

If people don’t realize the value of subtext to canon,

And people don’t understand the difference between coding and interpretation,

And people confuse queerbait with any of this,

You end up with some giant VAT of literally EVERYBODY sounding like dipshits because Anti A told Shipper B who loves queer author C and relationship D that It’s Just Subtext, and then Shipper B turns around and yells ITS NOT CANON YOU’RE IDIOTS FOR LOVING IT in their pained bitterness, but then Anti A brings Anti B back and they decide they optically prefer relationship Z that has no actual coding or subtext, but they’ve strapped together their own interpretation, but they confuse interpretation and subtext, and break out all interpretations are equal even if they are not in the body of the actual canon work, but now everybody is yelling it’s not canon because nobody even fucking knows what any of these words mean anymore, and then Shippers A-Z turn around and start yelling queerbait at a gay author just trying to write his little gay heart out-- you see the problem, right?

On the other hand, there’s fandoms where people confuse these same points and think their uncorroborated interpretation is subtext simply because they chose to interpret it that way, and with enough voices drawn into it in the vat of “all interpretations are equal”, turn around and yell queerbait at authors who are scratching their heads going “the fuck are you on about”

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Other bad takes: The opinions of actors really don’t fucking matter. I don’t care if they’re pro-relationship or anti-relationship or just pro/anti any idea other than a relationship. This is like taking the opinion of some dude who played Hamlet an eternity ago for Shakespeare while Shakespeare was still alive and writing about what Shakespeare’s writing meant. His opinion may be meaningful to him, but it is his own interpretation. If Shakespeare wrote Hamlet The Sequel the actor could turn out entirely wrong about what he was babbling about.

Actors are just interpreting the art to screen like you are. Acting is an interpretive art. They’re just. Interpreting. Just like you. So stop whipping out statements of actors against each other. You might as well be quoting jared-uwu-cest.tumblr dot com as an authority for your bad fucking take. Stop it. If actors on the same set have conflicting opinions and are just talking about their opinion, their opinion doesn’t mean shit more than any other fan of the source content, unless they are hand delivering statements, cited, from specific authors they’ve communicated with about the work they’re interpreting from (coming to mind, the time Jensen Ackles went to showrunner Jeremy Carver confused about the romance with Amara feeling right, only to tell us that Jeremy Carver told us that Amara wasn’t his romance, she was his kryptonite).

Now if you’re choosing death of the author NONE of this is relevant, obviously, because you shouldn’t be citing ANY of this, because then you’re just playing to discussion points for convenience. But if you are looking for actual intent, the actor’s interpretation is only as valid as any other dedicated interpretation, albeit possibly more or less sounded in awareness of the text, but is otherwise only as valuable for how direct of a voice box they are being for what authors said about specific scenes. Hell, most things are filmed out of order and many actors don’t watch the whole piece. It already consumes their work life, it won’t consume their home life, no matter how much they love it, they haven’t reviewed the full body of the piece externally as a finished product, just processed emotions out of sequence.

THERE WAS A NEW AVENGER THAT DIDNT EVEN REALIZE HE WAS ACTING A NEW AVENGER UNTIL HE TOOK HIS KIDS TO THE MOVIES AND WAS LIKE “OH SHIT I’M AN AVENGER.” Stop BANKING on actor statements.

This also gets more complicated in group writing projects such as TV shows with multiple authors. And MORE complicated explaining that complication to fandom when they get positive statements from the creator of a show who is the *only* author and then turn around and yell “WHY DIDN’T [OTHER FANDOM]” do that when like, IDK, 6/40 authors have over the course of however long it’s been written on, most have been radio silent and one other had a different opinion and then you just expect some group borg rising of everybody who’s ever written on the show to come and hand deliver you individual hand-fed statements about what they meant.

This entire thing also foregoes the import of directors and how they work with their set dressers as part of the creative process; they’re what manifest the text into a visual medium of the story, which may or may not be identical to the author’s intent. Again, to hearken back to Supernatural as my root fandom here, it’s been mentioned Sgriccia knew how to work with everyone and get what they were meaning to convey with how long he worked on set, so generally, authors and Sgriccia cooperated really well in a full art. Whereas that nightmare of an episode Don’t Go In The Woods was directed by a VFX guy as his first directing experience and we could see he barely knew how to work with actors much less the spirit of the text; he just had great understanding of environment.

These things, these opinions, these takes also matter. Because TV is a different form. I generally don’t see people arguing Pride & Prejudice on twitter, it’s usually TV/movies. Lit theory is incredibly valid for understanding the pace and flow of a body of work but you also have to understand what authors are deeply plugged into that, what directors are deeply plugged in, who’s an experimental folly they’ll patch up the work of afterward, it’s not the same as just reading a novel by one author or, at most, a few co authors in immediate harmony.

Like I don’t know if people think I did my Crazy Pagan Magic to come up with the season 14 ending like I had a pages-long rant reel of direct quotes and shots that literally predicted that Jack was going to lose his soul, become faux-god, and Dean was going to be given an ultimatum of shooting him, probably after killing Mary, because getting the yellow eyed thing was the point right--but that the true scarlet letterman wasn’t their lost child, but the absent father. The Great Father who left all questions--the god of control. But dad told you to put a bullet in me, and you didn’t.

Like, anyone remember me spouting literally all of these things across different posts? It’s not magic. So while Christians in fandom are turning themselves into pretzels making shitbrained theories trying to explain why it Wasn’t Really Chuck Or Chuck Isn’t Really God, I’ve got a few hundred pages of thesises here talking about this being exactly where they were going because of SUBTEXT. Because it’s PART OF THE CANON AND BUILDING THE FUNDAMENTAL STORY.

If it comes to a textual head like Chuck, great. But people have to recognize whatever landmark they set for what they consider a textual head is entirely subject to the creators or, worse, a network. The same way in season 11 they got told they couldn’t kill God, here we go on take 2, maybe the network changed it’s mind, we’ll find out.

These things all interplay VERY IMPORTANTLY with each other and also, this issue goes WELL BEYOND Supernatural fandom. At some point in history a bunch of people in multiple fandoms started slinging these words around without understanding them and bounced them off of more people that don’t understand them and it turns into a goddamn hot mess because nobody’s using words like they mean anymore, just vaguely beating each over the head with it, and it’s driving me i n s a n e. Hell, y’all are undermining YOURSELVES half the time by the way people have taught you to misuse words.

ALSO WRT “CANON”

Most of the above covers what canon is within the way it’s abused in fandom, but I’ve seen some people take the idea of it being accepted into a body of work by the authors as meaning like, every reading of the material needs to be acknowledged by the authors. I already detailed what it means. It’s absolutely not that. 100%. I don’t give a shit how you choose to interpret that. Because there is literally no way on planet earth an author has made a full statement confirming every detail about every part of their book and that goalpost doesn’t just magically manifest when we’re talking about, say, gay shit. Or powers you don’t like. If it’s thematically there, it’s thematically there, you can’t hackjob it out of canon just because This Specific Idea doesn’t have a Canon For Dummies statement attached to it, or worse, one attached to it specifically to your liking, since people like interpreting away ones based on their preferences rather than reason.

Similarly it doesn’t mean there’s a magic goalpost of a vagueblogged percentage of people that must accept the content for it to be canon. Hell, like half the fandom still tricked themselves into thinking there was a reaper retcon in season 9 (x) that NEVER FUCKING EXISTED IN ANY DAMN CAPACITY. Large groups of people choosing to miss the point doesn’t mean the canon didn’t hold the point, simply that they chose to draw another point out of it. Generally, in a still releasing work, that also leaves them disappointed and confused later (such as when someone claimed they retconned the nonexistent reaper retcon, because I heard you like retcons.)

There is no magic percent, no magic statement. These things are nice, but they aren’t what makes canon. Canon is the actual accepted body of work such as seasons, episodes, books, movies, or whatever else as part of the universe. (Eg: Supernatural’s novels are officially noncanonical and not part of discussion of canon content. They are not accepted into canon. That’s what this means.)

Also if you’re talking about canon quantify it. You can be as tired as you want about bad rep, but bad rep quality has nothing to do with the canon source content. You can be as tired about lowkey gayness as you want but are you saying the canon material isn’t romantic at all, or are you saying the characters aren’t consummated yet. If the canon material isn’t canonically romantic why are you yelling queerbait; or acknowledge the value of queer unconsummated canon romances even if you aspire for more, but don’t bounce that goalpost around for convenience, fuck sake.

DID U KNOW that things can be CANONICALLY ROMANTIC without being CANONICALLY CONSUMMATED? Or that even a queer author’s idea of what reads as consummated canon may not be the same as yours? Did you know that a MLM LGBT author in his 40s may have very different ideas of how to express an MLM romance than a bunch of WLW LGBT women of any age, because there’s intersectionality at play? If you don’t want bi men determining how lesbians should be represented we need to apply that all around, kids.

-----

So sure, your interpretation can be valid, for you. But once you joust others, or pin your interpretation on the show without careful exploration of the actual intentful themes, you’re gonna probably be disappointed as it releases and uproots your ideas. Now the question is if you are willing to hold mature intelligent discourse about other people’s potential interpretations and readings, or if you’re going to grapple onto your old, broken interpretation like Gollum with the Ring because it’s your precious and you’ll let it send you crawling into a moldy cave hissing at anyone happily walking by.

Is Your Interpretation worth your anger when it falls through Do you even WANT to like the show? Do you literally prefer staying angry over reviewing your take compared to people who are still happy with it? Why AREN’T you willing to figure out where you went left of canon?

And furthermore, is your anger and broken interpretation/expectations worth holding onto a damn ring/show that clearly isn’t what you thought it was, or can you toss your fiery stan rage into Mordor before you turn into a twitter goblin and find a place you can interpret differently that makes you happy?

---

Lesson: Stop being fandom goblins

Also @tinkdw

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professorspork · 4 years

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I was going thru the frozen tag n thinking about all the things this is to me. Me my sister, her mental illness our pushing the other away, our confusion and all our loneliness. And all my longing, for more friends for more time for more connection and all this movie is in unwavering hope, and rebounds after loss and REBUILDING. And Love. And love. And going thru ur frozen tag, reading more takes. Making this movie MORE to me than it already was(which is: all the world) —cont

But also im still deeply reeling from the sequel. Which, while it has great great parts. Kind of feels like a rug being pulled out from underneath the healing of the first movie. Which. Cause this is my comfort movie. I’m kinda taking it hard. Idk. I just needed to share this. Separation anxiety and idk.. fear that eventually I won’t be enough for people around me and they’ll go other ways. I just. I’m too lonely for the *reconciliation* movie to turn to be abt still needing more

You said it was alright to post publicly, so here goes:

I can't tell you how moved I am that you'd come to me with this. I have a lot of things to say, and I think ultimately very little of it has much to do with Frozen 2--though I'll get around to that, so just flagging to everyone that the Read More is there for spoilers as well as length.

I'm not sure that everything that I have to say will resonate, so please feel free to take what helps and leave aside what doesn't. Know that every word is meant with all the tenderness in my heart. I ache over what you're going through, because it's as real a feeling as any of us will ever encounter.

First, I want to say that I've stood where you're standing--many, many times. The series finales of How I Met Your Mother, Warehouse 13 and Pitch felt like such slaps in the face I have never to this day been able to muster up the same love for the hours upon hours worth of episodes that preceded them, no matter how much they once meant to me. And just a few months ago, Endgame ripped my fucking heart out, tbh.

I could write a whole essay about the similarities between Steve and Bucky and Elsa and Anna, but luckily I don't have to because a bunch of my favorite people have gamed that out extensively. But the things you talk about, about how the most important things from the first movie-- the miracle of these two people finding each other and choosing each other after so much time apart, and how much that meant to you--I relate to that so deeply. And I can see how, in the face of that, the fact that after everything Anna and Elsa take steps in different directions, away from one another, can feel like the most cutting betrayal. I want you to know that I understand that, and that you don't have to justify that feeling to anybody, or apologize for it. It's not a childish reaction, nor are these childish notions. Learning how to be in the world and how to value others and be valued in return is what we turn to fiction for. We see us; we learn how to be an us. So like. If you take nothing else away from this, please know that. I feel you, buddy. I hear you. And you may feel lonely, but you're not alone.

I wish I had advice for you on how to get to the other side of these emotions. If you can, I hope you can talk to your sister about how you're feeling--and if not, to other family members or friends. (I also don't know if it's an option for you, but I can say from experience that therapy was super helpful for me in sorting through my own expectations for myself and the world around me and how to cope when I couldn't make them match up.) We're strangers, you and I, so I can't be as specific or as helpful to you as I'd like. I don't know you very well.

I do, however, feel like I know Anna and Elsa. And maybe talking that part out a bit might show you a facet that makes this a bit easier to swallow. (And it's fine if it doesn't! Feel free to take with many grains of salt, or to not take at all.)

I think something that's important to remember is that, before her coronation, Elsa hadn't left her house--had barely left her room--in over a decade. She wasn't just estranged from Anna, she was estranged from the whole world, and from all of the experiences that being in the world entails. When we catch up with them at the start of Frozen 2, she's had three years of a mended, tight-knit relationship with Anna. But whether it's through the responsibilities of being Queen or her own doubts, she hasn't built that bridge any further than her immediate circle--Anna, Kristoff, Olaf and Sven. When she sings "Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls," to me that tells me everything I need to know. They've opened the doors, but only just long enough for Anna to step in. They're still not confident enough to leave the castle that was a cage for both of them for so many years until they're forced to.

And when they are forced to, they learn that they have duties to other people outside of their immediate family. Not duties in the royal sense, but in the moral, ethical, "what we owe each other" sense. They learn that community means acts of loving service, to others and to yourself. Your mileage may vary, but I don't read the sisters' decisions as pulling the rug out from under their healing. To me, it's building upon that healing and sharing it with others. They're now secure enough in each other, in that bubble of love and safety that they created, that they can start to expand it. They can take the tools they developed to repair themselves and each other, and use them to repair the whole world. It's not that they're not enough for each other--it's that they realize they're overflowing with it. They have so much to give it has to carry on and out to everyone around them.

Or, to put it another way--just because Anna and Elsa are moving in different directions when we leave them at the end of Frozen 2, doesn't mean they're on different paths. No matter where they go in the world, they'll always find their way back to each other. And in the meantime, they walk together even when they're apart, because each carries the other with them. You know? To me, it’s not an “or.” It’s an “and.”

#i hope this helps #i'll be thinking of you #i am not an Authority #nor am I a mental health professional #but i can certainly hear you and give you a platform to grieve a bit #frozen 2 #frozen 2 spoilers #frozen #ashesandmint

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fandomele · 4 years

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it is a fact, though, that is is common for people to leave a bad relationship by falling into a new romantic one. it is not wise. it is a pattern of behaviour and codependency and can be a cycle that cannot be escaped. if I had a nickel for everyone I knew who just traded one relationship for another without dealing with what they needed to first, and then just want up making more excuses and putting up with more problematic behaviour, and trying to make it work. it's not about Chris. not

first of all: not only you (general you, the people of my original post, maybe you too, I don’t know) might be accusing a good, honest man and husband of being abusive or at the very least careless as hell, you are really assuming that Melissa must be unable to determine whether this relationship is okay or not because... everybody is the same, I guess, and you know her personally, know if she’s going to therapy, know what kind of support she has in her daily life, know how Chris behaves, know how aware she is of red flags and how careful she is now? Do the people posting about them know about any of this? Or are they just assuming things and deciding for her and publicly speaking about her as someone who can only be pushed around right now, something that frankly if Melissa read, or anyone in her position did, wouldn’t exactly feel great and would also feel pretty invasive and entitled?

yes, I’ve had friends in the same exact situation, in one case 3 monster-boyfriends in a row, and I’m well aware of how you must work on yourself too, it’s not enough to break up with a guy. I also have had friends who out of a toxic relationship and found the perfect guy and I’m so happy for her, she didn’t have to wait at all, it’s like he came from the sky and he’s the most sweet, respectful guy who takes care of her. Anything can happen. In no case, they’d want a stranger to start discussing their new partners in public, or their ability to say no, how much they might have healed before they dated someone new, how much detaching and healing and therapy was happening before they got together with the new person, and to doubt their ability to choose again. I don’t know about the people you know, but everybody I know would be disgusted and angry and feel very insulted.In fact, no one I know really wants even their friends to assume and imply and hint at them not having the ability to be in a decent relationship when 1 they aren’t asked 2 they don’t have all the facts 3 they aren’t asked and 4 they are actually discussing it in a public forum for other strangers. I’ll discuss how it is about Chris later, but even if it weren’t, nobody is entitled to spread suspects about a relationship between two people they don’t even know and who didn’t ask for those opinions (especially when they have been bullied for years and mistreated by loud parts of the public who was already making up stuff based on how they read the little they knew) and Melissa would be disgusted too, like anyone in her position. Like you would, if strangers started deciding how you are living and what problems you have and if your loved ones are assholes based on their experience.

Many abuse survivors have to also re-learn to trust their instincts, when they are in a new relationship they have to be careful about not becoming abusers themselves because they want to control the situation or expect the worst and mistreat their partner (happened to some of my friends as I said before), they have to re-learn to see what’s good and what isn’t without people, much less strangers, putting their two cents and filling their head with paranoia, insecurity, and honestly, straight up badmouthing the new guy based on their imagination, their prejudice towards him and/or their personal experience which is different for everybody. The abuse survivor could be in therapy, or sadly not, but they can read these things and still get more messed up because feeling powerless and unable to understand the situation they are in, it’s not all the same for everybody and I can’t imagine someone actually benefiting from these kind of posts, they can only cause harm (or delight for people who feel so excited about giving unsolicited opinions). Melissa won’t. Chris won’t. Abuse survivors reading this who already doubt themselves will be even more scared. Abuse survivors who are getting in another abusive relationship won’t realize what’s happening reading posts that gossip about Melissa’s new husband without proof. Melissa came out to help people in abusive relationships, not to have people start dissecting her life and her choices before and after.

And considering that some of the comments there were literally about Chris looking like her ex husband, some comments were about the things Chris does and that “”””must”””” make her feel bad but she’s too weak after her past problems to say no right away, I’d say that 1 it’s definitely personal and about Chris and there is hardly any good faith in it 2 in some cases people are projecting their own traumas. Don’t do that. It’s bad. You lose objectivity and you also mess up another person life 3 don’t assume you know how Melissa had changed now, what she’ll put up with, and what Chris considers healthy. It takes two to be in a couple. 4 don’t go spread your opinions about how she must be still manipulated by her new husband in tags where everybody can read and just take it at face value, which is not the same as you discussing it alone with your friend, it’s more like you standing on top of a table at the market and discussing the personal life of someone who works nearby and is an abuse survivor and telling people “I think her new boyfriend is still manipulating her because she didn’t take enough me-time after the divorce and he looks like an asshole and I have many other reasons to believe so”. You will get sued. You will get people to believe you even if they don’t have facts and make her more uncomfortable. You’ll get people to doubt their own instincts and hers, you’ll be dismissing what she says, how she feels, and somehow it’s still better than what’s happening on tumblr where people skip the whole ‘I think’ and go straight to ‘it’s like this, it’s a fact’. Look at the Melissa tag right now and tell me you don’t see posts speculating on what Chris has been doing and how it badly affected Melissa who was too weak to fight it. Or how men aren’t supposed to get together with women that fast (who cares about what the women want there, right). All put in words that would make anyone go ‘oh that must be true’ except you have no idea of what went down there and they are just, as always, making something look worse and worse so more people can later jump in and immediately go to the worst case scenario.

Also let’s not pretend that years after starring in a tvshow Chris doesn’t get regularly bullied by hundreds of people on all social networks because they can’t distinguish fiction from reality and also think they are bettering the world because they are punishing someone they deem morally questionable due to a role he played, and do so attacking everything from his physical appearance (classy and not at all going to hit people who have ‘flaws’ like his) and volunteer work and personality and mental issues.

And just to conclude with a personal and important anecdote: My friend, an abuse survivor, ended up adopting abusive techniques to deal with her new boyfriend. Because of how she described the relationship, with no facts, just my opinion and how I was so paranoid due to my past and due to tumblr itself, I was convinced he was the one acting with malice and being abusive because everything can be read that way if you have prejudices, and once she actually went to therapy it turns out that no, it’s not him, she’s manipulating him and he’s just an ass, and my idea that ‘I saw these two things he did, must be a pattern, she’s already been abused, he’s abusive too’ actually pushed her behind in her healing process. Because I spread my ideas as facts due to my own perception of what was happening, with the limited knowledge I am, I hurt people. What do you think what’s happening on tumblr will do to all the sensitive people reading? Don’t assume that something is happening just because ‘historically’ it can happen or because it happened to you and more importantly don’t spread it around. Don’t put malicious ideas in people’s heads. Hope for the best, if you believe the worst discuss it in private where it can’t harm anyone, but don’t tell me what Melissa must or must not be doing or feelings because we DON’T KNOW HER. You can barely try to guess what your friends do and feel with the knowledge they allow you to have, what more a stranger. Hell, even therapists have to be careful not to ‘decide’ what the patient has right away or they’ll only see what they want to see and dismiss the rest, it goes twice for people yelling about it on the internet.

#melissa benoist #abuse tw #I'm sorry this got so long but it all needs to be said #chris wood #Anonymous #ele answers

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dr-gloom · 5 years

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FandersPrideMeetup Week 2: Representation. You Are Not Alone

Week 2 of @fander-pride-meetup: Representation- Draw/Write/Edit/Express yourself with the Sides/TSCharacters to represent your LGBTQ+ experiences!

A/N: So this is basically just the story of my first Pride (which I went to this year) told through the sides with a few small tweaks. I chose Roman cause I made a post about how important it is to some of us to see Aro!Roman content and a lot of people have agreed with me so here we are

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: none

Words: 1,335

Summary: Roman’s both excited and nervous for his first Pride. With all the discourse online, and so many people telling him he doesn’t belong at Pride because he’s aroace, he can’t help but let his imagination run away with him. What if a TERF comes up to him and starts something? What if a fight breaks out? What if he’s kicked out of Pride because he isn’t “oppressed enough”?

Tags/Warnings: aroace Roman, trans Roman, genderfluid Roman, Pride, anxieties, genderfluid Remy, trans Patton, Patton is pre-T and Roman and Remy are on T, mentions of top surgey/post-op

Read it on AO3

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Roman groans, the hot June sun beating down on them and making them regret dressing for the aesthetic. This was their first-ever Pride event, and they’d wanted to look badass for the parade they were marching in. They were wearing their tye-dye trans shirt they’d made a year ago, their aro flag over their shoulders and dark wash skinny jeans that were tucked into their new military-grade combat boots. They’d jokingly called them their “TERF-kicking boots”, getting plenty of supportive high fives from the other Kaiser volunteers they were marching with.

They fanned themselves with the paper fan someone had handed them while they all waited to march, saying for probably the tenth time that morning, “It’s too damn hot.” They turned to their friend Remy, who was fanning themselves as well, though they were dressed in more weather-appropriate in short shorts and rainbow socks. “I wish I remembered my water.” Remy pats them on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ve got water if you need any.”

“I brought some frozen water bottles! You want one?”

Roman turns around to look at the shorter man behind them. Patton, they think his name is? “Oh uh, sure! Thank you Patton.” Patton smiles and nods, handing Roman a frozen water bottle that they immediately press against their neck. They groan at the cool mercy on their skin, making Remy and Patton laugh.

___________________________

“Woooooooooo~!” Patton cries, along with the rest of their group and the audience they pass by. Roman and Remy share a look, laughing.

“Wee-snaaaaaw~!” Roman cries, laughing at how pitchy their voice sounds. Not even five minutes in, Roman and Remy realized that they could no longer “woo” loudly since the T was changing their voice. Maybe in a year or two when it stopped, but for now?

“Wee-snaaawww~!” Remy crows, immediately cackling at the confused looks they received.

Roman unties the aro flag from around their shoulders, the fabric doing nothing to cool them off. Instead they hold it out in front of themselves, trying not to pay too much attention to the audience. The same thoughts that had been plaguing their mind for days come to the front of their brain. What if someone sees them carrying this flag and harasses them? What if they get pushed? Their chest is still healing, they can’t afford to get in a fight.

“Woooooo~!” Patton cries loudly right behind them, silencing their thoughts. Roman laughs shakily and looks around. They’ll be fine.

They aren’t alone anymore.

“I love your flag!!!”

Roman beams.

_____________________________

When they reach the end of the line and everyone starts dispersing, Roman takes Remy’s hand to make sure they aren’t separated in the crowd. The two of them, along with Patton and his mom, find the nearest shade and settle down for a moment. Roman lays out their flag in the grass and bodily collapses on top of it, laying on their stomach. It’s only then that they remember that they’re in fact healing from top surgery, and ow that hurts, why did they do that?

Roman sits up with a pained hiss, a hand over their left pec where it feels like they just got punched. Yeah, they fucked up. In their defense, they were super tired, hot, and possibly dehydrated.

“You okay, babe?” Remy frowns at them, hunching over a little to look Roman in the eyes. Roman does their best to give Remy a reassuring smile. “I forgot I’m not supposed to lay on my stomach. I feel like I just got punched in the tit.” Remy gives a sympathetic hiss, their face scrunched up in pain. “You good though?”

“I don’t know, it hurts like a bitch.”

Paton frown from beside them. “Maybe you should check it?”

Roman looks around. Lift their shirt, in public, and take their binder off? Their heart beats a little faster, and they have to remind themselves that it’s fine. This is Pride, they don’t have boobs anymore, and this is a health concern. Roman nods, lifting their shirt and pulling the velcro aside to take off their binder.

Everything looks the same; almost-flat chest, tape covered stitches… Roman prods at their sensitive flesh. It seems kind of tough, but that’s probably just swelling, right? They pointedly ignore a passing girl going, “Oh, gross” and put their binder back on. After fixing their shirt, they smile at Remy and Patton. “It’s fine. Why don’t we head to the festival?”

__________________________

“They’re blocking this entrance, too?” Roman grouses, starting to get really annoyed. And yeah, they get why people are protesting. The city had taken away their ban on uniformed cops at Pride and tons of people were pissed, but… “They do realize the only people they’re hurting by blocking all the entrances is their fellow LGBT, right? Like, we had no say in this shit, hell, I don’t want uniformed officers here either, but I still want to have fun.”

Remy nods at their side with a frown. “This is getting kinda redic. We’ve been walking around for twenty minutes now looking for an opening.”

Roman holds their hand out and Remy takes it without a second thought, letting Roman lead them through the crowd. The two keep walking, passing by a cop who was talking with some other people looking for an entrance. As soon as they round the corner, they see a large black woman dragging a knife back and forth over the zipties keeping the fence up around the festival. Roman slows to a stop, Remy at their side watching curiously. The ziptie snaps and the woman pulls at the fence, but it doesn’t move much. By this point, they’re starting to draw a bit of a crowd. Roman speaks up. “See that thing on the ground? You gotta pull the fence up- there you go.” They grin as she lifts the fence, freeing it from the stand and pushing it open. Roman rushes forward with Remy and the rest of the crowd, everyone spilling through the gap like water on a sinking ship.

Roman is practically giggling with glee, their steps almost like little hops with the sudden surge of excitement in their veins. They look back at Remy, who’s got a matching grin on their face. As they pass the metal storage crates and get closer to the festival they catch up to the woman, calling out a “Thank you!” and running off.

___________________________

Roman walks away from the stall pouting, dragging their feet.

“Not here either?” Remy asks, but pity and amusement in their eyes.

“No! You’d think one booth would have more flags than just- just the basic L-G-B-T! That’s so basic! What the hell!”

Remy pats their shoulder sympathetically. “Babe, we’ve been walking around for like… An hour. You’re hungry, you’re out of water, and your feet hurt, yeah?” Roman nods. “Then let’s get something to drink at least and then maybe we’ll go.” Roman sighs and nods again.

“Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

They’d gotten their drinks and walked around once more to make sure they saw everything, stopping at at least half the booths to spin their free-stuff wheels. Roman saw a girl walking around with an ace flag draped over her shoulders like a cape and their face lit up.

“I love your flag!!!”

_____________________________

“So how did it go?” Roman’s mother’s voice flows from the speakers of their car. Roman grins. “It was pretty good. The parade was really fun, and I got some free stuff. Met some really cool people. There was a guy there dressed as gay Satan! It was so awesome, he was like, rainbow everything. I got some good pictures.”

Roman’s mother laughs. “I’m glad you had fun. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah mom, see you at home.” Roman smiles as they hang up, reflecting on their day. They had no idea what they’d been so worried about. No one had bothered them, or questioned why they were there. In fact, they weren’t the only aroace there!

They weren’t alone anymore.

#fanderspridemeetup2019 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #aro roman #trans roman #genderfluid roman #genderfluid remy #trans patton #Pride #ace roman #aroace roman #roman sanders #patton sanders #remy sanders

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save-the-spiral · 5 years

Text

InkWizTober Day Twenty-One: Treasure + Summons

Welcome to day twenty-one of inktober! I wrote more about pirate101 because I Could Not Resist. I made a crew of OCs for Queen now, continuing on (this post). Tried to not accidentally mention SU characters or school gemstones in the process. Warnings for limb loss, weapon mentions, blood mention, general pirate stuff.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

She understands now.

The urge, the calling. Once out on the open skyways, where everything is laid out like a feast, the hunger sets in. It seems so simple, at first. Just a matter of survival. Her against the world now.

She wants. And for the first time, she can do whatever she needs to in order to get whatever she wants. She finally feels worthy of her name.

Masks become regular, a mask above a mask. A disguise of rags. One that quickly becomes a disguise of a gaudy, secretive captain. Dressed in rich blacks, draped in gold and silver, a large black hat with a broad ostrich feather dyed gold.

People mutter about her. They scatter in fear of this captain running a ship with no crew, who never drinks at pubs, who will stare with shadowed eye sockets from her mask. They wonder who and what she is. Most bets are that she’s a new rival to the young captain who had been both dominating and helping the Spiral in one swoop. Some think she’s some old legend revived by a witch doctor.

Queen is glad to know that no one suspects her. No one suspects a defective Armada puppet. Not even when she brings several haywire battle angels under her protection, giving them names and clothes and freedom like they’ve never known. They all call each other sister, and tell their tales.

No, at the closest people get is assuming she was once Valencian royalty, and got sick of the Armada. Only one of those is right.

Now when she walks its not the straight backed, aristocratic sway of a proper lady. Her left leg was destroyed by a Monquistan guard who tried to play hero. It still aches, even when replaced by the slightly shorter limb of a fallen Armada musketeer. She limps, and even that is enough for people to look away quickly, still able to pity her and feel disgusted in the same glance.

Queen loves the imperfection. It makes her more alive. It makes her feel like a pirate, battle worn.

She has stolen now. She steals and lies and cheats, even in her written notes to communicate with people outside her crew. She kills now, blood and oil and strange magics all the same when they spill under her blade. She does whatever she wants, never answering to anyone anymore.

And so she’s a pirate now. Enemy of every government. Something to be feared. Something free and living outside of any society. The power is intoxicating, but she works hard to remember to never put herself on a pedestal. Arrogance was Kane’s downfall, it could easily become hers.

Queen is humbled, however, when she and her crew finally reach the Skull Island Skyways. Every pirate here seems more vicious than they could ever be, all of them almost bored by the wanton violence. Crime is the way of life here, it is what builds every single home, what fuels every fire.

Queen feels like she’s coming home, another misfit finally finding her island. Her crew of fallen angels can only agree, all of them awed by the bright skies, the flourishing greenery, the intricate flags flying high. They’ve reached paradise.

Their ship is moderately sized, with plain black flags only depicting a delicate golden wing. A reminder of their past, what they all were meant to be. They wear black and don masks, metal bodies resistant to the heat. When they dock at Skull Island itself, they all glance at each other as if they cannot believe it.

Even Queen finds an artificial breath shuddering out of her chest, a protocol meant to quiet her gears. A majority of her old protocols were to make her quiet, unseen. She tends to ignore them gleefully now.

Her right hand, an ex-angel she gave the name Sterling, was gripping the plain wooden wheel to their ship so hard it had begun to creak in complaint. Queen gently places a hand on Sterling’s shoulder, hearing faint muffled clicks as every joint in her right hand’s body relaxes.

“Anchor down.” Queen calls, voice almost drowned by the loud sounds of ships and crews casting off or also docking. Two of her crew mates, Rhodium and Rhenium, the ones who insist on acting like twins, drop the anchor and high five, always more youthful than their sisters.

The dark wood of the deck clacks awkwardly with her limping gait, her heeled original leg sharper than the almost flat musketeer’s leg. Queen gestures for Sterling to follow, gathering her crew near the largest mast, waiting for their look out to slide down from the crow’s nest.

The crew’s lookout, given the name Malachite for her penchant for greens, slides down with ease. Her calm demeanor is betrayed by nervousness, and her hands shake under green gloves, fiddling slightly with her guns.

Malachite nods nonetheless. “No battles anywhere, seems as busy as usual.”

Rhodium and Rhenium are practically vibrating, eager to explore the island, too childish for their own good. “Let’s go then!” They say in unison, holding hands.

The crew all turns to Queen. She wants to protect them all, and her chest aches with something she has not been able to name. A dozen ex-angels, all of them lovingly named by her, named after precious and unique things, stones and metals. To remind them that they are all people now, that they have worth.

And now she had to decide if she could trust them to stay safe on an island full of pirates that would rip them to shreds if they caught wind of the clockwork hidden under baggy clothes and masks, boots and gloves and mystery.

Zircon, ever surly and combative, crosses her arms with a sharp click and, if she were able too, would surely frown. “Everyone settle down. We cannot all go at once, too many masked pirates draws attention.”

“Don’t we want that though?” Sterling asks with a quirked head. “We want to speak to Avery, after all. He would be intrigued by a new crew.”

“But they could think we were-” Malachite cuts herself off, “Well, they could assume the wrong thing. Shoot first, ask later. Then they get one of our bodies and-”

“We could take them.” Zircon scoffs. “But I still say only Captain and Sterling go.”

More of her crew chime in, Stichtite with her wild ideas, Spectrolite with the inevitable pun, Osmium trying to pick a fight with Meteorite. The others try to add their two cents, only for it to be drawn into arguments and jokes, all while Queen tries to decide.

“Okay- everyone, listen.” Queen says. And they all do, going dead silent, and it feels like a ghost ship for one dreadful second before Rhodium giggles. “So. The plan is now that I and Zircon will go to Avery. Malachite and Sterling, you go to the pub.”

Queen is proud of the way Zircon handles herself, adjusting the dangerous mace on her shoulder, not bragging as she once may have, not overcompensating. Malachite stands at attention as well, nervous energy gone now that she has a mission. Sterling is as reliable as ever at her side.

Queen continues to speak now, reassured. “Gather any intel about current events on the island, especially the young captain. Don’t make a big deal of being on my crew, but mention it. Cobalt, you are in charge of the ship while we are away, if anyone comes to talk to you, tell them to wait for our return.”

With a small nod to herself, adjusting her feathered hat, Queen holds one hand on her scabbard as she jumps ship, unbalanced on the dock. Sterling quickly follows, helping Queen regain her land legs.

Zircon and Malachite follow, and they begin to walk from the docks to the beach, all of them covered head to toe in cloth or armor, revealing only the flash of blade or the barrel of a gun.

Once Sterling and Malachite break off from the group, Zircon follows Queen closely, acting the part of loyal guard dog, staring down anyone who even thinks of grabbing the bounty on the head of her mysterious Captain.

It’s a rather high bounty, to be fair. Queen is rather proud of that fact. To not have an official name, but to be feared nonetheless, it is something that does her rogue heart proud.

They enter Avery’s Court to many stares, whispers in all accents like a rushing tide. A few people scamper, some of them off to tell others, some in fear.

Queen recognizes quite a few people who she has met in battle and thoroughly beaten. Even they leave her alone, pirate’s honor in this haven as coveted as gold, only the scum at the bottom of a yum barrel would bother attacking her now in this sanctuary.

They walk up to Captain Avery’s door and knock. This is a demonstration of fearlessness, of daring that only so few can possess. Avery is a respected man, too crafty for his own good. The pirate that bet everything and won, who made Skull Island, who guides the young captain through the Spiral, who was able to retire alive and wealthy.

Queen admires the man, but only as one can admire a leader, never as a person. She resolved to be attached to no man as soon as she realized what Kane had been turning her into.

The door opens to Captain Avery seated at a long table, sipping tea. The young pirate captain and their right hand are seated as well, looking uncomfortable. All three turn to look at her.

“I had been waiting for an opportunity to meet you, mysterious captain of the Pyrite Swan. Why don’t you and your friend come in for a spot of tea?” Avery grins, a gold tooth shining in the sunlight. “I promise we all can make it worth your while.”

When Queen sits, Zircon stands at her shoulder, mace in hand. Neither speak, and the similarly mute young captain looks confused, their face soft with baby fat and scarred by their journeys.

Zircon hands Queen a golden quill and a roll of parchment, and Queen turns to Avery, waiting for him to speak.

She can only wait to see what game they’ll be playing soon enough.

#Wiztober2019 #Wiztober #Inktober2019 #Inktober #Pirate101 #Writing #my ocs #Queen Pirate101 #Pirate 101 #Pitty101 #p101

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aboutcaseyaffleck · 5 years

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Casey Affleck Is a Full-Time Flag Football Coach, Part-Time Actor

The quiet Affleck is known for soul searching performances, but mostly he's just trying to call the right play.

Looking for Casey Affleck? Head to the park. It’s where he’s doing some of his finest work — and spending a hell of a lot of time.

“My son got into flag football so I started coaching it,” says the actor and father of two. “I coach his team and then the parents of his friends asked me to coach their team. I coach three flag football teams and a baseball team.”

The last time we saw Affleck, 43, on screen, he was a burnout saddled with raising a nephew he didn’t want after his own kids died in a house fire. The sublimely quiet performance earned him a best actor Oscar for Manchester by the Sea. But it was just a performance. Despite his introverted public persona — so much for that Ocean’s 11 loudmouth — Affleck is incredibly present in his children’s lives and specifically on the sidelines of their various games. In fact, Affleck explains that he has eschewed blockbusters to ensure he has time with his sons, Indiana, 15, and Atticus, 11. He didn’t want to show up after they were already out of the house. He wanted a major role in their lives.

But don’t think that his turn as a dad is a conventional leading man part. The actor who plotted a murder as a sociopathic teenager in Gus Van Sant’s 1995 classic To Die For, the guy who gunned down Brad Pitt in 2007’s The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, isn’t what you’d call a cool dad. He says he lectures his sons, annoying them constantly. “Here’s a tip,” he laughs. “If you’re driving in a car with two kids and you turn around and see they’re both wearing headphones, you’re talking too much.”

Still, that’s not going to convince Hollywood’s most notoriously reserved star to stop talking.

“I could talk about my kids all day. Being a parent has taught me more about myself and about life than any other experience I have ever had. I want to soak up every minute of it. It’s a priority I’m happy I have,” says Affleck, who will debut Light of My Life, an exquisite yet grounded film he wrote about a father and daughter navigating a post-apocalyptic world this summer. He says the science fictional elements are sort of a metaphor for his anxieties as a parent. (Not-so-much the flag football playcalling anxieties. More the bigger stuff.)

Affleck spoke to Fatherly about being a nearly full-time youth sports coach, how parenthood changed his career, and how his sons influenced his new film.

I’m told you are quite the dedicated coach. Are you, like me, all about winning?

I’m that coach inside, but I try to contain it. I love doing it. I was never into football when I was a kid. My son got into flag football so I started coaching it. I coach his team and the parents of his friends asked me to coach their team. I coach three flag football teams and a baseball team.

Coaching to me is incredibly rewarding. To have the kind of relationship with your kid in a different way is really great. They come home and they critique my coaching style. They write plays for me. They do it with me. It’s an extra little bonding experience. Also, I get to know other kids. When you’re the coach, they give you a kind of authority you don’t deserve. There’s a lot of trust and respect. There’s a mob of kids over here at the house all the time. They don’t always listen, but when you’re their coach, it’s a different relationship.

When I talked to you a few years ago, you were wary of even revealing your first son’s name. How have you kept them out of the spotlight? I mean, look at your brother Ben Affleck. He gets it so bad.

He does get it bad. If you’re two celebrities who are married, that is just gossip and fodder and crack. It’s double trouble. Jennifer Garner being so famous and Ben… they just get the worst it. I hate it for my nieces and nephew. It’s so intrusive. It’s so awful. They manage it really well. They talk to the kids about it and explain it. With my kids, I think it helps that the paparazzi don’t care about me that much, which is amazing and thank God for that. I was really vigilant early on about protecting my private life and making choices that would keep me out of the spotlight. I didn’t do that much press. I wouldn’t talk about my kids. But my kids now give me career advice. They’re old enough.

Like what tips do they give you?

My son told me I had to get a verified Instagram account. My heart sank. I need all the help I can get. My son is 15 and knows what it is. At a certain point, you can protect from the world but then you have to move into the world with them. To me, that has meant allowing them to be online with the rest of the world.

In terms of your career, did your Oscar change things for you in a major way? I know you’re particular about what you work on.

You can be very picky and still end up in things that aren’t great. There’s no formula. I would like to rethink my strategy of being so picky. I don’t put being successful or being in a great movie ahead of everything else in my life. This summer, I wanted to spend the summer with my 15 year old. I didn’t want to be away all summer, no matter how good a project it was. It’s been tough. I’ve had to let go of a lot of professional experiences that I really wanted. I wanted to be at home more. Winning the Oscar didn’t change anything. It’s not me being regretful.

Do your kids care that you’re an actor? Have they seen your movies?

They have very little interest in watching the movies I do. They care about when I talk to them about movies. That way they can understand that I actually do something. Some parents work in banks or in schools. I act. It’s a little harder for younger kids to grasp. I ask for their advice all the time on what projects to do. When the movies come out, they’re not that interested. They don’t go to the movie theater that much. They like plays. I took my youngest kid, at 11 and two of their friends, to the sound stage when I was shooting this movie. They lasted about four minutes. They went to the hallway and played tag.

Let’s talk about the new movie, Light of My Life. The opening scene with Anna Pniowsky, who plays your daughter, is so intimate, so sweet, especially when you’re telling her the bedtime story you made up on the fly.

It was pretty easy and relaxed. For one thing, Anna is just naturally a great actress. She’s relaxed on camera. She has a lot of emotional intelligence and depth that is apparent. But also, like with any scene, the scene begins the first minute you meet them. Anna and I — I love her to death. We got along so well. She’s such a sweet kid. But the time we got into shooting that scene, she was in a groove.

This movie is about an apocalyptic future, but it’s mostly about being a dad. Could you have written it before you had kids?

I wouldn’t have written the role if I wasn’t a dad in real life. It’s about being a parent to me. All the science fiction stuff, the action, that was secondary. My experience with being a parent… that’s what it’s all about. The dynamic with me and Anna is stuff I draw on from being a dad.

How did your kids influence the development of the film?

My oldest son came to a reading of a scene and he gave me two pages of notes. They were the best notes that I got from anyone. I’ll save them forever. At the end of every movie, I make a t-shirt for everyone on the crew. On the back of the shirt, I put all his notes. Some of it was from his point of view. Some of it was objective stuff about storytelling. There’s too many moments where I’m like this or like that. They were sophisticated suggestions.

So you’re basically saying, you benefitted from child labor.

Yes, for sure. I’ll put something extra in his allowance.

On a not wholly unrelated note, I’m curious how you, as a celebrity father and well-known guy, work to ensure that your children don’t become entitled. I think it’s something a lot of parents worry about. I know I do.

Oh man. Just the fact you care is 80 percent of it. But I have to give credit to their mom. Their mom has done the best job and has an innate understanding of how to raise good kids.

I’ve been in places where there is extreme poverty. Seeing those kids can really give you a great perspective on parenting — suddenly their finicky eating doesn’t seem like such a giant problem. Our culture of fear and hyper-vigilance and media saturation can be an obstacle to giving them roots and letting them go a little bit. You have to trust that they’ll be ok.

I think that’s dead on. I also think it’s hard not to overthink and under-do.

The thing that affects them more than anything is how you live. If you’re on your phone 24 hours a day, they will be too. If you’re an entitled person, they’re more likely to be that way.

And you can’t indulge their every demand or whim, which is pretty damn hard.

My son said he should start thinking about getting a car. I told him to start thinking about getting a job. I’m not the parent that will buy them a car. They will have to earn it like I did. They give me that look like, ‘Give us a break!’ and I wonder if I am being too hard.

I do want them to hang out with me when they’re older and when they have kids.

What do you do that totally, utterly humiliates your kids? Every parent has at least one of those behaviors.

I’m overwhelmed thinking about all the embarrassing things I do. The things that make me suddenly cringe are all the dumb things I’ve said and done as a parent.

Here’s a good one: My son had a birthday party. There are these kids over here. It’s the best party I’ve had in my house in ten years. I found out that 15 year olds are really fun and I wanted to hang out. I said, ‘Let’s play some ping pong’ and I got the look. My son just looked at me like I was the least cool person he’d ever seen. He wanted me to give them space. I was trying to fit in.

#casey affleck #family #interview #news #posted by us

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steve0discusses · 5 years

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Yugioh S3 Ep 25: We Finally Address the Dead Bakura in the Room

It’s been a long while guys, a long wait. We had a lot of filler. That filler ended up being just a hell ton of characters, and since the show knew they would only be filler characters, every single one of them had to die. So, now that they are all absolutely dead (at least until we’ll need more filler later) we can finally get back to what we were trying to accomplish since S2, to finish this one single tourney that has been going on for a week in the show’s timeline but about a year and a half in the timeline of anyone watching from home.

It’s finally here, we’ve finally made it to...

A tower that Kaiba really did make in just that shape.

Sometimes you can really tell that this kid is a 16 year old. (who is occasionally 18 whenever it’s necessary. But only occasionally.)

I want you to know that it was probably this image that got this post flagged from my drafts folder. This show and getting me flagged, I swear. I’ve now reached a point, that the moment I click “Save” in my drafts folder, I get an automatic flag. Just automatically. Maybe once you’re tagged enough times, they just start putting you into a special group? I dunno. I’m not concerned about it since this blog is quite kosher, it’s just kind of funny to me that this will probably continue to happen whenever I post from here on out, and the massive dick tower Kaiba made is not helping my cause.

In case you are wondering, Kaiba and Mokuba are completely over losing their only surviving family. They act as if getting trapped in a VR nightmare where your Dad is trying to control all human life is something that is completely trivial and something that everyone goes through at one point. They’re completely over it. Most people would cancel the tourney after seeing the horrors they just witnessed but...Seto still wants those God cards, so, no one has spoken a lip about Noah at all. And probably never will ever again. RIP, Noah arc.

This episode (as well as the next one, since I’ve gotten in the habit of doing these two at a time for weekend updates) is pretty short. This is mostly because they’re recapping S2. Luckily for you and I, this is not really necessary since this is a recap blog and I can just...scroll down...to see what happened in S2 (and I did have to do that because I forgot...a lot)

But, I imagine kids who started watching this show who with the Noah Season and just kinda walked into this situation aboard the blimpjet from Hell were...hella confused at all these rando characters and Egyptian curses coming out of nowhere. The Noah arc and the Real arc are like two completely different feeling arcs.

(Read more under the cut)

They were probably also super confused at this random blonde lady in the hospital who is Joey’s friend but also, if I had not actually seen this show before, I’d just assume was his own mother because she’s drawn so much older than him.

Joey and Mai are now like...basically dating. Honestly, this is probably the best relationship Mai has ever had, and it’s taken place entirely when she’s in a coma.

On the other side of the Blimp, Marik is also checking up on his own beloved coma patient -- but by checking up on him, Marik actually intends to kill him.

Still trying to kill Odion. How many times are we gonna get this guy hovering over Odion’s bed with a knife (that they leave the tip off of in the English version) ?

What follows is a bizarre scene of Marik threatening to kill his Sister but never actually doing it. Honestly, this would be them until the end of time. Marik is never going to kill his Sister. It would be too much effort. He couldn’t even kill Odion when Odion was just asleep right in front of him.

And this is probably there as a sign that Marik still has a slightly less evil side in there somewhere but also...Marik is a villain that doesn’t like actually doing the work required to be a villain, which is how that entire Noah arc happened, youknow? Everyone should be dead by now. It’s been DAYS.

Honestly this whole scene was freakin weird, but not as weird as the next scene.

That’s right, the thing I’ve been waiting for for so long. That thing I’ve brought up every freakin episode for 25 episodes. We’re finally going to talk about it. We’re finally going to address it. I can’t believe it’s actually happening, I honestly thought this wouldn’t get addressed until S5.

It is amazing how many times Yugi’s friends have walked into Yugi having a freaking melt down with himself and how many times Yugi’s friends have been absolutely cool with it. They’re just...used to this now, I guess. They’re just used to Yugi crying at the top of his lungs with the lights off in someone else’s empty room. Completely normal Yugi behavior.

And then...this happens.

For absolutely NO REASON AT ALL, Yugi decides to lie.

I mean if I had a quarter for every lie Yugi says in this show, we’d be drowning in loose change, but it still surprised me a whoooole lot that Yugi would bother to lie about THIS. This thing that you could so easily debunk. This would be so easy to catch on to. The fact that no one wonders “wait, how is he getting air if the jet is still in the sky?” or the fact that when they’re outside, getting some air later in this very episode no one wonders “wait, Bakura’s not even here?”

Like why does any of Yugi’s friends even trust him at this point? Yugi is constantly lying and he’s not even good at it.

And maybe it’s because Yugi thinks that if he says Bakura died, then everyone would get their confidence shattered by Marik and would become too weak to fight back but like...they just witnessed half of Kaiba’s family die and now Yugi thinks they can’t handle Bakura--their shadiest asshole friend--getting killed by the same serial murderer that put two other people in a coma?

He doesn’t even tell the Kaibas “hey, so Marik killed one of your duel champions, do you maybe...need to do something about that?” No. He just...lets it be. Why tell Kaiba? Why tell the guy in charge of this tournament that one of the people in your tourney killed the other tourney people? Why even threaten Moki to threaten to enforce the rules for once his life?

Yugi, I swear.

God bless the storyboarder.

It’s been a while since I praised the storyboarder, mostly because I forget, but man, seeing this pose from this angle is such a good joke. Kaiba just committing to his signature pose until the camera cuts away.

And then, they step off the blimpjet and unanimously agree that Kaiba has deffo brought them here to murder them all and hide the bodies.

Admire this hell hole and then remember that Yugi told everyone that Bakura went outside for “fresh air” and they didn’t immediately ask “you mean in the dump? The literal trash compactor that’s outside? You said Bakura just walked out into the piles of weapon’s factory and rusty sharp metal and is just...waltzing around out there?”

I mean, at this point they should have put two and two together but it’s this team so...I guess they’ll just never know the truth.

And then Joey decided it was time to fight club again.

Marik really did leap up here and go like, “man, this is SO pretty” and it’s supposed to be taken as a sign that Marik loves destruction, but honestly? I don’t think Marik has any idea what things should look like above ground in the first place. He might think this is what normal above-ground people like.

Then, Marik patiently asked Mokuba what the duel order would be and that’s when Mokuba lost his freakin gourd just out of nowhere.

I mean Mokuba doesn’t really like talking to Marik, I get that, but how much of an asshole do you have to be before Mokuba doesn’t like you?

Anyway, they all enter the tower and learn about a whole new mode of playing the game. It took a very long time, and since I don’t go over card games here, is another part of the reason why this update is mercifully short.

They go on these...elevator cars????? And, as they attack eachother they sort of get pushed to the top of the tower, and whoever gets there first, is the first to duel and so on.

They make a very big hullaboo about who they want to duel in the finals. Every single person here. We spend like 5 minutes in everyone’s head wondering about what their strategy will be in this mini game that makes really not much of a difference.

There’s not even guard rails, they could’ve just given him a little push.

I take that back, there are guard rails on these things, but because none of these people ever sit down, the guard rails that are a foot and half off the floor of their cabin will make absolutely no difference.

Like please notice that every single one of their weird duel cars has a padded seat that none of them will even use.

Overall this looks like a whole lot of dueling and I’m looking forward to skipping it. Honestly it’s nice, when was the last time I had a 25 length cap post? S1, right? Like all the way since S1. Ah, good memories.

Anyways, if you just got here, this is a list of the other recaps of this series, starting at S1 Ep1 and moving forward in chrono order.

#yugioh #yu gi oh #yugioh recap #photo recap #episode recap #s3 ep 25 #seto kaiba #mokuba kaiba #yugi muto #tea gardner #joey wheeler #tristan taylor #duke devlin #marik ishtar #ishizu ishtar #I guess mai was there for one scene too #ah a recap of a recap episode

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high-tidethunder · 5 years

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hard vocabulary (terrible softness)

Read it on AO3

The photograph is old, the edges are curling and yellowed. The subject is a young man, 19 or 20, dressed in a military uniform. The hat is crooked on his head. He looks straight at the camera, not smiling, a cold look in his eye

Alec Lightwood is 19 years old when he gets drafted into the Vietnam War.

It’s 1964 and America doesn’t yet know they’re fighting a losing battle.

(Even later in the decade, when they know, they won’t care, won’t do anything to stop the tide of blood flowing from the bodies of Americans and Viets alike. Innocent blood. Young blood, too young. Mothers are sending their children to fight for an honor that doesn’t exist, and what other choice do they have? To say no? To flee? Draft-dodgers are among the worst the country has to offer, everyone knows this.)

He’s a healthy boy. Athletic. A leader. His father assures him he’ll make command in no time. His mother weeps behind closed doors.

He’s a boy.

He was supposed to go to college this fall, not Fort Benning. He would have been studying medicine by 1969, not limping off a plane, hand on the shoulder of another wounded to keep steady.

Behind them are a parade of pine boxes draped in American flags.

###

The war trudges on with the men, slow and weary and unfeeling. Alec is a combat medic now. His men have taken to calling him “Doc Holliday” because of his uncanny accuracy with their standard issue M-16s, as well as the various non-issue weaponry they carry (from necessity or superstition, though sometimes he can’t tell the difference between the two).

After his second tour, Alec gets promoted to sergeant first class. The title weighs heavy on his shoulders. It comes too fast, too many men are dying, and too many have to take leadership too young in their careers. Alec deals with the responsibility with grace, likening it to helping his mother raise his siblings as a desperate attempt to keep sane. They’re your children, he tells himself, keep them in line. Keep them alive. Many of the men he leads are older than him. He’s scared most of the time, but he doesn’t let it show. He knows his men are scared most of the time, too. Knows how fragile all their minds are. They have to harden up, have to pretend like nothing around them affects them, certainly not as deeply as it does. If the facade falls, they’ll never be able to rebuild it.

They go through shit. Most of the time it’s literal, too. There’s no reason for this. They’ve known this on the front lines from the beginning. It’s all political bullshit and misplaced American pride.

Most of them are supposed to go home in three weeks. All of them will go home in one. None of them will be in one piece. Some will be buried in empty caskets. Some in pieces. Some in sixty years when the Agent Orange gets to their lungs. Some in closed casket funerals because half of their face was blown off with a .38 caliber alone in their bedroom.

They at least keep the dignity of returning before the American people spit in their faces for fighting a war they never asked to join.

The man in the picture looks older than his years. His eyes tell a story of horror, of scenes no man woman or child should have to see. He stands in a line with four other men, the side of his face and the dark fatigues he wears are soaked with his own blood.

SFC Lightwood is 24 years old when he comes home from the war.

He doesn’t feel like a man anymore.

He doesn’t feel.

(They call it “combat fatigue” but it’s more than fatigue. It’s emptiness. It’s a darkness where his mind used to be and an empty ribcage surrounding the cavity that used to contain his heart. Later, doctors will call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, they’ll give it symptoms and a diagnosis and medications and it will be too late for too many. Alec won’t be one of them. He’ll keep a loaded Smith and Wesson pistol in the drawer of his bedside table but he says he’s too much of a coward to go through with anything. Over time he’ll forget that excuse and remember how to live again. Over time.)

He’s crippled. There’s a bandage over the side of his face where an eye used to be and a hundred stitches run up the outside of his right calf. He’ll have to learn how to balance again.

His mother and sister are there to pick him up, what’s left of his platoon see him off. They’ll keep contact, when they can. They’d lost too much family already to not.

His brother is dead from the same war. His father too. They don’t hurt as much as the men he couldn’t save.

###

He lives in his sister’s guest room for the first few months, to get back on his feet. Her husband looks at him with more pity than she does. He hates it. He doesn’t need their pity, doesn’t want it. It makes him feel useless.

The VA is no help, but there’s no surprise there. He re-applies to NYU and gets accepted, feels awkward in a classroom full of naive, innocent 17 and 18-year-olds. The teachers have to reserve a seat in the back by the doors for him and he hates it, hates being so weak that he can’t even have children at his back or he’ll go crazy. His sister says it’ll just take time, he’ll feel normal again, feel better, but she doesn’t know. She’s never known what it feels like to be watched all the time. Can’t sleep without feeling watched, can’t eat, can’t take a shit. She doesn’t know, can’t say the feeling will ever fade. But still, he takes some kind of solace in her words.

It doesn’t take time. It never really goes away, not through college, not through the rest of his adult life, not when he’s fucking geriatric. But it stops feeling like weakness. After time he looks at it as something of a...side effect. He doesn’t feel fragile anymore. He learns how to make people’s pity feel less degrading. He learns how to hear “thank you for your service” without wanting to break down.

The picture shows two men sitting next to each other, their shoulders brushing. They're looking at each other, smiling in a way that only people who share a world to themselves can. There's no question about their happiness.

Alexander is 25 when he falls in love for the first time.

They meet at a march, under a banner that reads Vietnam Veterans Against the War. He’s handsome, and kind, and looks at Alec with a warmth that no one else has before.

(Later he’ll tell him about the men in his platoon who distrusted him, thought he was a double agent no matter how many times he’d protested that he wasn’t Vietnamese. “You’re all the same in this war,” one had told him. Alec’s blood would boil but he wouldn’t let it show. That wouldn’t help anything.)

He holds a sign that reads “Proud American, Ashamed Veteran”, Alec’s own reads “Lyndon B Johnson killed more than Ho Chi Minh”. His dog tags glint in the early October sun, striking against his dark jungle fatigues.

He wasn’t supposed to be a soldier either. He was a grunt. A medic, like Alec, but he never made it past PFC.

He’d only made it back from the war a year before Alec had. When they meet he says he wants to go into politics, wants to try and change the bullshit in their country.

###

They move in together only a couple months into dating. He tells his sister only vague details of their relationship, his mom doesn’t even know he’s with someone. He worries at first that it might be too soon, but they’re happy. They feel safe around each other in ways that they can’t feel safe around anyone else anymore.

Most nights, at least for the first few years, at least one of them will wake up from a nightmare, unable to recognize even the bed they lay in. Neither of them will be able to fall asleep again on nights like this. Their kitchen table will see more of them than their bed. They’ll sit, cradling mugs of coffee, damn the fact that they need to be at work or class the next morning, taking comfort in the other’s presence.

It’s easier to go to class on three hours of sleep and a whole pot of coffee than it is to face the nightmares, the memories of men dying in front of you replaying over and over and reminding you how powerless you were to stop it.

The photograph is of two men standing in a courtroom. They're both wearing suits. They face someone who's not in the picture. Their hands are clutched tightly.

They make it through anyways. Magnus gets his law degree and runs for mayor in 1978. Alec teases him about being New York City’s own Harvey Milk during his campaign. It’s funny until Milk gets shot five times.

Alec gets his medical degree in 1980, but none of his schooling could have prepared him for the ensuing years. The generation of men who would die without the President of the United States even saying the name of their disease.

The world changes, however slowly, it changes. Most of the time it feels like they take one step forward and two steps back, but there’s progress. Alec gets married in his late sixties when it’s finally legal. It’s a courthouse affair, they’re too tired for a fancy ceremony. And besides, there’s no telling whether the ruling would be overturned, but too many of their friends died before this, too many of them denied the right to see their lovers laid to rest for them to give up this opportunity that they were lucky enough to see.

Eventually, the nightmares will give way to restful sleep.

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #malec fic #alec lightwood #malec au #shadowhunters au #malec #magnus bane #my writing

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apparitionism · 5 years

Text

Helicobacter 14

The bering and wells tag got a little sleepy after Christmas, didn’t it? I can’t say this chapter is any sort of wake-up call, but ideally it’ll give you a laugh or two. Previously on Helicobacter, Myka was working on an idea. She told Helena about it in the wee small hours of the morning... sadly, over the phone. But they’ll be in the same physical space in this part, so who can say what will happen? Well, one thing that definitely will is that you’ll notice I haven’t cut and woven this part into a fully cohesive set piece. Everything was taking too long, so I decided to hone the little bits I had, take the hit, and move on. Also, in a break from previous practice, I’m not going to link to the other parts of this story here, because I’m having a problem with some posts not showing up in searches/tags. Probably due to all of that racy content I post. (Tumblr flagged me. Oh, the hilarity.) But there are thirteen parts previous to this one, and they should be easily findable on my tumblr. Which is not, for the record, home to content that is sensitive.

Helicobacter 14

That morning in her office, wishing she had not begun the day’s coffee consumption in the middle of the night, Helena found herself once again fatigued—yet the lack of sleep also rendered her energized, strung out on anticipation. She also found herself once again staring at those model trees, so valiant despite their small size. So valiant they had been, since the very beginning, and Helena envied them their ability to remain oblivious to the disaster that had befallen the model neighborhood they for so short a time called home.

Of course, the “plan” did not necessarily have to be the full catastrophe she was envisioning, for in the end, she and Myka could always swear that the (fictional) email-driven misunderstanding would remain that. No one in a position of power knew what had really happened. No one knew that anyone had said anything like “I love you” on the telephone in the middle of the night.

When she worked up her nerve, she asked Steve, “Do you and Liam have plans for Saturday night?” If he said yes, she could at least keep this... quiet. Somewhat quiet. A bit quiet.

Unfortunately, Steve said no.

“Would you like to participate in a disaster?” Helena asked next. “A theatrical disaster.”

“Is that supposed to make me want to say yes or no?”

“I have no idea. However, it might be better for me to have allies, simply as a check on my worst impulses where a certain someone is concerned. I find myself agreeing to things... so perhaps you can pull me back from that ledge.”

“The fact that we’re talking about plans for Saturday night that involve a certain someone suggests to me that you’ve already agreed to something,” he said, but he was smiling rather than observably attempting to control his breathing.

“That, I regret to admit, is true.”

“Have you jumped off a ledge?”

“Not literally.”

“But only because she hasn’t asked you to.” Still smiling.

“I regret to admit as well that that is the only reason. It might solve some problems if she did ask and I did do it. In the literal sense.”

He said, with a beleaguered air, “I guess we’d better come, if only to tie a rope around your middle.”

“You are the best assistant the world will ever know.”

“I try. Then again, so do you.”

“Not enough.” She looked at the model-piece. “We need to build more libraries.”

“That sounds like a ledge, or stepping off of one.”

“What does Liam like most?” she countered.

“Other than me? You’ll laugh.” In response to this, Helena again heard herself make the question-noise, which now would always remind her of Myka having recognized it. How that woman wormed her way into everything... Steve answered the now-Myka-reminiscent noise by saying, “Gardening.”

And Helena did laugh, as predicted. She’d expected the answer to be professional, such as “the law,” or perhaps something fitting Liam’s extraordinarily handsome looks, such as “Armani suits.” Then again, Myka was every bit as beautiful as Liam was handsome, and Myka loved books... Helena said, “Wouldn’t you build many, many greenhouses if you could? Because you could?”

“They’re pretty objectively good, right? Like libraries. Maybe we do need to build more of them.”

“I am not opposed. Find a project, or projects, and we’ll bid.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she told him, with feeling.

“You’re not just saying that because I’m bringing rope on Saturday?”

“Everything is connected, my darling Steve.”

He chuckled. “With rope?”

“If necessary.”

“What is this really about?” he asked.

“I’ll let Myka tell you—it will please her enormously to go into detail.” Saying “Myka” aloud pleased Helena herself enormously. So rare a pleasure, lately. “Also I don’t understand any of the duplicitous particulars well enough to explain them to you. Sadly, I don’t have Greek, so I can’t read the epic poem in the original... plus, I haven’t slept.”

“I can tell... please don’t tell me why not.”

“Would that it were that.” She sighed. “My darling Steve. Am I ever going to feel in control again?”

“Have you ever? Really?”

“Comparatively.” She had certainly at some point not experienced this career-off-a-cliff need to agree with every objectively ridiculous proposal of an irresistible, book-loving city planner...

“Do you want to? Feel that way again, I mean?”

“Yes?” Because she ought to want to.

“So cancel the Saturday plans.”

“I can’t.”

“Then no. You won’t ever.”

“Hence the need for the rope,” Helena agreed.

“I think I’m going to have to learn how to actually do roping. Maybe not the tricks with the spinning, but enough to throw the loop around you.”

“I suspect your doing that would be met with great enthusiasm from a particular spectator.” So easy to picture the enthusiasm—the delight—on Myka’s face if she witnessed such a performance, but Helena tried to return to pessimism. “Not that I expect any of this to work out.”

“You know the real reason Liam and I’ll both be into this Saturday thing?” Helena shook her head, and Steve went on, “What always happens is that we’re at his place or my place, and we don’t have the energy to come up with any ideas about what to do, so we stay in. And then he complains that we never go anywhere.”

“So it’s because this comes prepackaged as an idea of what to do?”

“For him, that’s my bet. But for me, it’s because after he complains, he smiles at me. And I give thanks that I get to witness it. Myka’s got a pretty decent smile... I think you should have the opportunity to give that kind of thanks.”

From anyone else, such words might have cloyed. From Steve, they calmed. “The best person the world will ever know,” Helena said, with certainty.

To which Steve replied an impish, “Ruth Bader Ginsburg.”

“I will concede that you may have peers. Six-fifteen.”

“I have six hundred and fifteen peers?”

“Myka wants you there at six-fifteen.” Her name, out loud, again...

“Do you really think this is going to be a disaster?”

“That question is, at this point, moot. I tried, but I have met my match.”

“In more ways than one, I guess,” Steve said, but he continued to smile.

That gave Helena leave to answer, “You guess correctly.”

****

At six in the evening on Saturday, Helena stood in her customary spot outside Myka’s door, her customary flowers in hand, second-guessing her decision to bring one extra-large bouquet rather than two this time. But then her thinking and deciding didn’t matter at all, for Myka opened the door and was there, a physical presence not in a City Hall elevator.

Myka didn’t let Helena hand her the flowers, didn’t even get them out of the way; she pulled Helena close and kissed her as if they were alone. A fussy part of Helena wanted to protect the poor bouquet, but that part was outvoted by every other part, bodily and otherwise, all of which were celebrating standing once again in this space, enveloped once again in these arms, being kissed—she kissed soft, Myka did. Belying the body-crush, her mouth was careful, solicitous.

Helena eventually regarded the no-longer-impressive bouquet with a bit of disappointment. “Much as I enjoyed that, you might have let me set these down first.”

“You’re going to have so many more chances to give me flowers, and I’ll give them to you all the time too, and floriculture will flourish around the world thanks to us.”

“‘Floriculture will flourish’? Are you drunk?”

“Not yet, you beautiful... hm. I was going to call you a cheapskate again, but those flowers look like they might have been expensive before somebody made a mess of them.” She raised her voice. “Mom! Helena brought you some pricey smashed flowers!”

Helena said to Jeannie, who wore an extremely smug (and, Helena had to admit, extremely justified) smirk as she approached, “In the interest of accuracy, Helena brought you and your daughter some flowers, which your daughter caused to be smashed. Cost notwithstanding.”

“I saw you participating,” Jeannie said. Helena supposed she could hardly have missed it.

Then came another familiar voice—from the hallway, for Myka had neglected to close the door, Helena heard Abigail say, “That is an interesting euphemism for what they were doing.”

Myka shook a fist at her. “You weren’t supposed to get here before six-fifteen!”

Abigail, unmoved, said, “Like I didn’t know the reason for that.”

Apparently everyone had known the reason for that, and they had all wanted to see the six o’clock show: Rick and Varsha appeared behind Abigail, and Steve and Liam did too, making for a traffic jam not only of bodies but of introductions. Abigail enthused to Steve, of Liam, “He doesn’t disappoint!”

Liam said, “I’m... pleased?”

“I thought he was overselling your looks,” Abigail told Liam. “What with being in swoony love,” she added, and Steve blushed.

Myka said, into Helena’s ear, “Speaking of swoony love, it isn’t possible to oversell you. There aren’t enough words,” and when Helena tried to shush her, Myka kissed the ear she’d just whispered into.

Varsha, upon being introduced to Abigail, said, “Overjoyed to meet you. I was honestly beginning to think none of them knew any actual people.”

Abigail nodded. “It’s just me. Let’s do lunch or something. But only if you aren’t planning to, one, bid on a city contract, and two, fall in love with me, because there’s only so much of this kind of drama I feel like I can handle.”

“I can promise the first one,” Varsha said. “The second, that’s up to fate.”

Rick said, “Wait, what? Are you joking?”

“No,” Varsha said, in such a way as to make Helena wonder whether she ever joked.

To Rick, Abigail said, “You might need to class up your personal plating, Myka’s ex. I’m pretty charming.”

“Also not wallpaper,” Varsha added.

Myka said, “Confirm. She is not wallpaper. Can additionally confirm the charming point.”

“Should I be the one who’s concerned?” Helena asked. “You two are together most all day every day.”

Myka kissed her.

“Thank you for the reassurance,” Helena said.

“I didn’t do it to reassure you,” said Myka, and after smiling at Helena’s raised “then why” eyebrow, she said, “because I can,” and that was even better than reassurance.

Rick said to Myka, “You and I never got this far.”

“This far,” Myka repeated. “This far?”

“Rehearsal dinner.”

Myka squinted at him. “I really like that we can joke about this,” she said.

“Still too soon?”

Now Myka swatted him, her palm against his head. “In perpetuity, you ding-dong.”

Ding-dong? Helena began laughing at how ridiculous such an utterance sounded, certainly from Myka’s mouth, and when Myka looked at her quizzically, she could offer only, “I’ve never heard anyone say that.”

Rick said, “You should’ve hung out with us in—what was it, fourth grade? Some entire school year, it was everybody calling everybody a ding-dong.”

This made Varsha bark a laugh as well. She said, “Oh my god, it’s worse yet also better when you say it.”

To Helena, Myka said, ‘I want to hear you laugh like that in perpetuity. And you are not a ding-dong”—which set Helena off again, and Myka said, “Well, maybe you are,” but she softened it with a sweet nuzzle into Helena’s hair.

In fact throughout the entire evening, Helena found Myka to be physically demonstrative to an extent that was... new. Every time Myka neared Helena, her right arm extended toward Helena’s waist, her hips, eventually settling onto the concavity just where fixed ribs gave way to floating, there on the right side—there, or resting, higher but just as happy, in the middle of Helena’s back. These placements of her hand: Helena found them correct. Feeling the fit, the lock into place. Like sides of the bed.

All this prompted Helena to ask Myka, at a later point when, for a moment, they did not seem to be the center of anyone’s attention, “How much had you been holding back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Before. In contrast with all this contact now, tonight,” Helena said.

“I told you I was going to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you.” And Myka proceeded to do that.

“I did think that was hyperbole. I’m not complaining, but you didn’t do this before.”

“Well, before. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You were doing me a favor with the engagement. Several favors.”

“I thought I was.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable now? I can stop.”

“Can you?” But Helena was teasing. “I haven’t seen you stop yourself from doing much of anything you want to do. Certainly not anything related to this evening.”

Myka shrugged. “I’m really committed to working toward certain goals.”

Helena regarded the relaxation of Myka’s posture, the playful smile on her lips, the glow of her gaze... and she was struck by, but couldn’t bear, the possibility of Myka being deprived of all this, of having to once again become the pale picture of irritated overwork she had been before. And this was no pretense of happiness, as Myka had said she’d been putting on as part of her project; rather, this was the real thing: Myka happy, not holding back. Yet had they spent enough time together for Helena to be sure that that was so? “Is this how you are, with me?” Helena asked. “Is this how we are?”

“I wouldn’t be bothering otherwise.”

Helena didn’t doubt it. “I’m sorry I haven’t worked as hard as you have. Toward those goals.”

“You can make it up to me later. Long game, you beautiful cheapskate.”

“The bill will come due?” Helena asked, pretend-rueful.

“I certainly hope so.”

“I do too. But can you promise me that we will never have to engage in a performance this ridiculous again?”

Myka put on a show of considering, then said a simple “No.”

****

Scenes from a Rehearsal Dinner

Helena pulls Abigail aside to say, because she has not had a chance to say it, “I thought we weren’t doing this. I thought we were actively keeping her safe. No possibility of public shaming. I did try very hard to—”

“Except for the glasses incident.”

“That was a mistake, one that I, if no one else, made a sincere attempt not to compound. Why are you helping her in this? Why are you not physically preventing me from helping her?”

“Didn’t she tell you her theory?” Abigail asks.

“Oh god, what now.”

“They’d never public-shame her over this, if they find out what she’s really been doing—and if she somehow gets in trouble for any part of it, they will definitely find out, because she’s planning to tell them the entire story, her idea being that it’s too insane.”

“That’s...” Helena begins, but she realizes she has nowhere sensical to go. “Well, that’s....”

Abigail nods. “Right? Because who’s going to call the org chart into a room and say ‘Here’s what you can’t ever do: put on a play about having your cancer recur so as to persuade your boss that you’ve fallen back in love with your ex-fiancé who it turns out is really a contractor who, if you can’t have her, you’ll waste away and die, but you would still like to keep your job, please and thank you.’”

“When you put it that way, I have no idea how anyone could follow it.”

“Exactly. In Myka’s own extremely special way, she’s brilliant... and as far as I can tell, the cancer—and you—really made her drill down on that.”

“Rick does say this isn’t how she behaved in the past,” Helena concedes. “But I’m beginning to think her newly revealed talents are being wasted in her chosen field.”

“Someday she’ll rule the world. And then, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I bet we’ll all be buckling our seat belts and hanging on for dear life. And enjoying it. I mean, look at you: you’re enjoying it right now.”

“‘Enjoying’ may be a shade too positive. In any case, you seem to have a part in the play too.”

“Point taken.” Abigail snickers. “I told her to buy grapefruit, and she asked me why. Never got around to breakfast after that glasses incident?”

“I did not punch her in the face.”

“You’ve said.”

“But I may yet punch you.”

Abigail waves off this concern. “I’m helping. Also, I’m not wearing glasses. So punching me wouldn’t get you going at all.”

Several pizzas arrive. Myka asks Helena, “Did you know there’s such a thing as lobster pizza?”

Before Helena can answer, Rick says, “Why wouldn’t there be? Can’t you slap anything on a pizza crust?”

Abigail says, thoughtfully, “Then again, Myka’s ex, you may be my kind of chef.”

Varsha warns, “Mind yourself, not-wallpaper. I don’t want to have to cancel lunch.” She eyes the pizza boxes. “I also don’t want to have to engage in any avoidance behaviors.”

“No allergens,” Myka tells her. To Helena, she says, “Which means your dreams are safe, too.” Myka then busies herself handing out what she calls “the scenario”—several stapled-together pages of which Helena is as terrified as she ever has been of creatures that are large and have claws. She reads the first line: “First, there was a fountain.” She wishes she weren’t driving; she needs several stiff drinks.

Myka says, “Okay, nobody’s got lines as such because I didn’t have time to learn all the medical terminology, and also I’m not sold on anybody’s ability to get it down by Monday.”

“I love improv,” Liam says as he receives his pages.

“So do I!” Jeannie tells him, and they make exclamatory faces at each other.

Liam continues, “Ooh, can I be one of the doctors?”

Jeannie, for her part, sighs. “I suppose I’m relegated to being the mother.”

“Relegated?” Myka demands. “Mom!”

Helena mutters, “How could this go wrong.”

“You’re such a pessimist,” Myka says.

“Why does that make you smile?”

Jeannie, for the moment embracing her relegation to the role of mother, says to Helena an indulgent, “Everything about you makes her smile.”

\Myka beckons to Helena. “Come with me,” she says, leading her down the hallway, in the direction of the bedroom... raising Helena’s hopes for a brief, scandalized moment... but their destination is instead a different room, this one an office (with air a bit chilly at the moment but not stale; Myka must in fact spend time here) featuring a computer with a large monitor. “Dad’s actually really going to call in this time,” Myka says, “and if I’m trying to hold my phone screen steady he gets seasick. So this works better.”

And indeed, after not much time, there appears a slightly choppy video image of a some-days-bewhiskered older man sitting in the stern of a rowboat. He wears a fishing hat of an incongruous bright red. Whatever technology is enabling the call seems to be his only companion in the boat, yet he regards it as if it has appropriated the entire armrest between them on an airplane.

Myka begins, “Hi, Dad. Any luck?”

“Fishing is not a matter of luck,” her father says; this must be a customary exchange. “It’s skill.”

“Any skill?”

He answers a solemn, “Only on the part of the fish.”

Myka pulls Helena into view of the computer’s camera. She keeps her arm around Helena’s waist as she says, “Dad, this is Helena. Helena, this is my dad, Warren Bering.”

“Helena.” He nods. “Myka’s explained.”

“Has she?” Helena asks. “Fully?”

“How should I know?” he asks in turn, and Helena has to concede that this is a reasonable question.

“I’ll go grab Mom,” Myka announces.

“Wait—” Helena calls, but she is gone. And there Helena still is, expected to speak cogently to Myka’s father. Having recently thought about the time she spent in his daughter’s bedroom. She coughs and says, “I’m pleased to... semi-meet you.”

Myka’s father, who does not seem, based on this first semi-meeting, to be someone given to sentiment, nevertheless offers Helena a kind, if gruff, lifeline. “Semi-same. You want to go fishing?” he asks.

“Do you mean right now?”

He shrugs. “Get on a plane.”

“You have no idea how appealing that sounds.”

“Oh, I have some idea,” he says.

“And yet your wife and daughter would, I suspect, exact revenge on me if I failed to participate.”

“Get used to the feeling. Or leave the family.”

“These are my choices?”

“From where I sit.”

“You’re in a boat,” Helena observes.

“Well, or spend a lot of time fishing.”

“I don’t know how to fish.”

“Guess you’d better participate, then.”

“Or leave the family?”

“Myka hates how red her face gets when she cries,” he says. Factually. As he might state Myka’s age, or her eye color.

“You’re saying that the ‘leave the family’ option is off the table,” Helena tries.

“I’m saying that Myka hates how red her face gets when she cries.”

“You are a member of an overall very strange family.”

He leans against the back of the boat; the change in posture makes him far less forbidding. “I heard your brother married some lady because she wrecked his car,” he says, with a little conjurer’s wave of his right hand.

“Touché,” Helena says.

Helena finds herself standing next to Rick. They are both watching and listening to Myka, who with great animation is detailing for Steve and Liam—and Abigail, but Helena knows that she already knows—the motivations of the characters in “the scenario”: “This is preposterous,” Helena says. “Does anyone honestly expect me to believe that this inclination—this readiness—to deceive is a new development in Myka’s character? It seems far too well-honed.”

Rick says, “She was always really really smart—especially in a get-things-done way—but I swear to you, if I’d known she was likely to turn into somebody like this, I probably wouldn’t have gone out with her in the first place.” He pauses to scratch his blond head. “Or maybe I wouldn’t ever have let her get away? I’m really not sure.”

“Well. Too late,” she tells him, and he bows that blond head in recognition.

He then says, “I need more food,” and wanders off, presumably to find some, mumbling words that sound like “lobster” and “pizza” and “I wish.”

Steve is telling Abigail, “I like your idea about not rerunning what happened before too exactly.” Myka has given her credit, in the written scenario, for this innovation. “I bet Helena likes it too—no blood on her this time.”

Abigail says, “We’re getting fake stuff that doesn’t stain. But also, history doesn’t literally repeat. Or it shouldn’t.”

“It can’t,” Myka says. “Same river twice.”

Abigail comes back with, “Or, better, first time as tragedy, second time as farce.”

“Whatever you say, Marx,” Myka tells her.

Helena mutters, “More like the Marx Brothers in this case.”

“In this case,” Abigail says, “which time is tragedy and which is farce? Genuine question for Myka. I mean the blood situation seems to support Marx’s version, but...”

“No times as tragedy,” Myka says firmly. “First time as TV hospital drama, second time as romantic comedy.”

“Not farce? Really?” Helena asks.

“Not unless the pies start flying,” Myka assures her.

Liam says, “I think that’s technically slapstick.”

Steve laughs and gives Liam a peck on the cheek. “I love you.”

“None of it oversold,” pronounces Abigail.

“You know, you’re right,” Helena says, for Myka chooses that moment to catch her eye and smile. And Helena gives thanks.

“I’m so happy,” Myka says to Helena, as if she’s been trying not to say it but can’t hold it in. Helena welcomes the words both as themselves, and as confirmation that her impression about pretense—or rather, its lack—had been correct.

“Are you?” She doesn’t need to ask the question, but Myka seems to be multiplying her joy by speaking it aloud.

“I am. About all of it. This”—a kiss—“and also that everybody knows everything now.”

Helena feels compelled to state, “Not everybody. Not yet.”

“I just said I’m happy. Quit raining on my parade.”

“It is quite a parade. And yet Rick seems to be sleeping through it.” She points at Rick, who is on the sofa, head back, eyes closed, mouth open.

“Hey, mister!” Myka says at him, and his eyes snap open. “Nap on your own time.”

“This is my own time,” Rick objects. But he says to Abigail, who happens to be beside him at that moment. “I think I did fall asleep during part of the briefing. Are they engaged in this version?”

“Not yet. The email proxy, remember?”

“Right. Sorry. I’m just tired. Long shifts. I’ll read the cheat sheet later.” He pulls a decorative pillow to him, clasps his arms around it, and closes his eyes again. Embroidered on the pillow is a fine-featured monkey, attired to assist an organ-grinder. If Rick were wearing a fez, their kinship would be unmistakable. As it is, Helena is left to wonder why Myka has a decorative pillow that depicts a fez-wearing monkey, why she herself has never noticed that fact before, and how Myka manages not only to say things Helena does not expect but also to decorate in that way too.

Helena feels a tap on her shoulder; she turns to see Jeannie. “Mm?” Helena asks. (She imagines both Charles and Myka laughing at her for it.)

Jeannie sighs, with great ostentation. Then she points at Helena and says, “Words about destiny.”

“Mm,” Helena now says. “Myka told you. That much of it?” Everybody knows a far greater portion of everything than I was aware, she thinks.

“My daughter is a lovely person.”

“I... know?”

“But she is a talker.”

“Also known,” Helena says.

“And yet not with everyone. In fact with very few. It’s a sign.”

“Suspected, yet not entirely known. Very much appreciated, however.”

“Destiny,” Jeannie maintains.

“I don’t disagree. Also very much appreciated.”

Myka, carrying two full wine glasses, clearly in transit, bends her head to kiss Helena’s cheek. She says, “Told you it sounded more upbeat than fate,” kisses her once more, then moves on.

“Thank you,” Helena says to Jeannie.

“For?”

The entirety of this gift. “The unanticipated.”

Rick and Varsha are the last to leave, save Helena herself. She suspects Abigail and Steve and Liam, who departed together, are staging some sort of private afterparty of their own.

Jeannie hugs Rick. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d find a nice young lady?” she says.

“I don’t prefer to be thought of as nice,” Varsha informs her. She evades a hug, as if to prove her point.

“You’ve been perfectly nice to me,” Jeannie says, though with a tinge of thwarted-hug disappointment. “I asked if you’d mind if I ate the last piece of the pizza that had the artichoke hearts, and you said ‘not at all,’ even though we both liked that one best.”

“I did say that,” Varsha allows, but with a hostile witness’s displeasure that this overzealous prosecutor is using her past statements against her.

“So you’re nice under certain circumstances,” the prosecutor continues, and Myka nudges Helena and murmurs what’s a circumstance. “Are you nice to Rick?”

Rick hurries to say, “It’s all good, Mrs. B.”

Jeannie crosses her arms. “I didn’t ask you, mister.”

Helena doesn’t bother to hold back a laugh. “And just like that, you turn into Myka.”

“I’m her mother.”

Myka, for her part, doesn’t bother to hold back a snort: “Don’t even try acting like you’re proud of that, Mom. Somebody named you was complaining about being relegated.”

“In the play.”

“Also, you’re the one who got upset about not being called in to get all relegated the first time.”

“That was real.”

“Would you be happier if this were too? I could always knock back a shot or two of H. pylori.”

Helena says, “Do. Not. Tempt. Fate.” Myka gives her a comical stare, and Helena sighs and amends, “Destiny.” To Jeannie, she notes, “But I am not saying words about it.”

Varsha says, “Fate or no, I would be very interested in the case if she did knock back those shots.”

“I’m not sure what reading that gets on the ‘nice’ meter,” Jeannie says.

“Throws its calibration off completely,” Rick says. “It never works again.”

“I do like you,” Varsha tells him.

Jeannie says she will busy herself “collecting pizza boxes,” a euphemism for “ignoring the two infatuated women saying goodnight in the magic foyer.”

Myka’s conspiratorial whisper to Helena: “I’d ask you to stay, but my mother’s here.”

“Sneak out,” Helena whispers back.

“Who sneaks out of their own apartment?” Myka says this as part of a smile against Helena’s neck.

“You make me so strangely happy.”

A chuckle. “I’ll leave her a note. Still think it should say ‘be right back’? How fast are you feeling?”

“Happy,” Helena reaffirms. “But strangely so,” she adds, as well as, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t find a part for Charles in the play? Otherwise he’d be at my house, and what would we do then?”

“It’s like you never heard of this amazing invention called a hotel room. They’re incredibly romantic, plus you get clean towels every day if you don’t care about the environment.”

“You make it sound like a very judgmental place.”

“Or you can hang up the ‘do not disturb’ sign and save the environment.”

“I don’t think that’s technically what that sign is for.”

“You’re not very into mixed-use design, are you? Which is weird for an urban architect. But I’m not worried; I’ll meet Charles eventually. And in the meantime, he’s not here.”

“He is not.” And in any case Helena would throw him out into the street if it meant she could be alone with Myka...

“Don’t tell him I said this—because I want him to like me—but: good.”

****

When Helena opened her door to Myka this time, she did not need to ask “why are you here,” and she did not need to wish that Myka would push her way in: after only a breath of standing and looking, Helena pulled her, because she wanted to get Myka to the bedroom as fast as she could, not because either of them needed to be fast, but to make sure that she was there, where Helena had feared she would never be, before anything happened to prevent it.

“If this doesn’t work,” Helena said, as Myka smiled at her haste, “and I don’t see how it could, so I should say when this doesn’t work...”

“Then it’s your turn to dream something up. I know you can.” Myka stopped moving, which drew Helena to a halt too. “You will, won’t you?”

Myka’s voice held not doubt, not exactly, but somewhere within that light won’t you Helena felt a vibration, a reed disturbed by a breath of unease. “We’ll move to Maine and refuse to fish for lobsters,” she said, because she would dream something up. Something, anything—because nothing was more important than this. How could she have thought otherwise?

“From a fountain that doesn’t exist. Don’t forget that part.”

She would dream something up. She took Myka’s hand, kissed it, and began to lead her once again. “I will never, ever forget that part.”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Helicobacter #AU week #part 14 #sorry about not linking to the other parts #but being flagged really shook me #plus the fact that ‘Santa’ (my second holiday story) didn’t show up in searches or tags #was I already on some watch list?#but while some characters in what I write do engage in adult behaviors #I wouldn't be embarrassed to show any of it to my mother #or to anybody else #(well maybe a little embarrassed)#(but I'm always a little embarrassed)#(if you aren't at least a little embarrassed then in my opinion you haven't put enough of yourself into the work)

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a-singing-carebear · 5 years

Text

Coming out-honestly

*Fair warning - it came out (pun intended) very very lengthy, you really don't have to read it, it’s just a mess-salad.

I decided to wait until the last day of pride (kinda, i won’t have the computer in the next couple of days so it’s now on the 28th and not the actually 30th) rather than on the first or some random day.

Last year i posted on Pride Month a short post about my sexaluy-just stating for those who didn’t know that i'm homoromantic (/ace lesbian / whatever) and happy pride...

A few weeks (or days) after i deleted that post.

I was scared, it was the first time i ever came out in a social/"public" place, and i know that a lot of other people who are closeted outside of the net find places like tumblr or twitter as a safe place.

But i panicked and the fact that an ex-friend (yes that a word i’m using) is following me didn't help. (even though i'm pretty sure she hasn't touched her account in years...)

I’ve known i'm queer for a while. Actually i was raised in a very heteronormative environment, (and in a pretty lonely and closed childhood, so i wasn't aware of a l o t of things) until i was 12 i didn't even knew what the LGBTQ+ community was (other than hearing people use "homo" as a curse word or an insult).

When i found out it was just like "oh cool". Then realised that i was falling in love with my best friend, what started everything. I started looking back and realising things that i thought were just me being too young, a late bloomer or just not interested in all of that. The thought process-maybe i’m bi-i think im bi-no lesbian-oh asexal is a thing- Until i finally understand myself completely. (Maybe one day i will make a post about that)

Almost two years ago i finally fully came out to myself (as weird as it sounds) as asexual homoromanrtic. I was desperate to find the correct label and explain it to others. I felt like i couldn't just be “queer”, that no one will take it seriously or believe it without a clear specific tag(\label). (i’m not that much into labels, they can help and make you feel comfortable but why can’t i just say:

“i don’t think i have sexual attraction to anyone, i don’t want a sexaul relationship, i like girls, i want a girlfriend, and hey maybe there will be a guy someday that i will want to be with, in like a 2% present if even but still” .

(found this post a few days ago, it made me happy, like it was waiting just for me to read it, so thank you - https://atalana.tumblr.com/post/184952782507)

Now i’m almost 19, and knew for the past 7 years that i'm not straight, but it was really hard for me to be out to someone else. What if they will not accept me? What if they will hate me? What if it will make things awkward and uncomfortable? What if they'll tell me i’m wrong? (It has come to a point that i feel more comfortable coming out to people at my base (military) then my closest friends)...

I always said to myself that when i will have a girlfriend, this will be how i would come out - "...this is my girlfriend..." But it’s so much harder, still single, been single all my life, i don't really know how the whole “asking out” thing works (especially with my self-doubt, anxiety, being an introvert, and of course my sexaulty- first i need to find a girl that i like than for her to be wlw then for her to want me and then for her to be fine with me being also ace.

Switching things up a bit, let's talk about Pride Parade. For almost three years now (maybe more) I wanted to attend Pride. but combining: closeted, social anxiety, not loving very big crowds and being alone (like not having anyone to go with), and you can kinda see why i haven’t even though i do want. i can celebrate in my own way for now, looking at gay stuff in tumblr, re-reading the events of Stonewall ,listening to The Prom or Ben Platt’s “Sing to Me Instead”, watching Steven Universe, rewatching Love, Simon, making some(bad) queer art for myself etc.

For some reason it's really really hard for my to celebrate pride...cause i’m alone(feel alone at least). And i'm really terrified of being out. Even at home, even a simple thing like putting a flag or commenting gay stuff...

"Cause no matter what, announcing who you are to the world is pretty terrifying, cause what if the world doesn't like you." [-Love, Simon]

It’s all i want to do, to come out. I’m happy to be a part of the community, In silence and alone i embrace myself and everything… but, my feelings are so complicated.

"I feel like I’m stuck on a ferris wheel. One minute I’m on top of the world, then the next I’m at rock-bottom." [-Love, Simon]

I want be be proud, but It's just... For example, last week i was talking to someone and told her a story with two girls getting married, which ended in a big discussion with me defending and explaining the community, and finding out she's pretty homophobic. Then she asked me "wait are you a lesbian?"

"Ya, what of it?" That's what i wanted to say. i panicked, just froze and didn't answer her. And i know what you're going to say "we do understand, you just found out she's homophobic". It's more than that, i'm not sure if i would have acted differently if she wasn't...

It's so hard to be closeted, especially when your trying so hard to keep it that way (for some damn reason). I don't think there something wrong with me because i’m lgbtq+. i just think i couldn't handle the types of rejection/denial that i could receive.

Being in the closet is hard, growing up changing the pronouns in love songs, having nothing to say in "boys talk" etc. My little personal bubble is colorful (like a soap bubble in the sun), it's just so hard to me to show it. I need the courage, the self-confidence and the safeness of my surrounding, i just don't have them…

[This is what i love about people from the community wearing pride colors, it helps. it gives me hope and validness, it’s makes me so happy, i don’t feel that alone. it’s like holding a big sigh “hey i’m queer too, you’re accepted & safe!”]

Here, My closest friends for example, we’re friends for almost 5 years now, but i haven't told them. at all. I know they will accept me. But it can affect our relationships so much. I hope it doesn't... It's like a bandaid, i just need to rip it off, but it will hurt. Like opening Pandora's box, who know what will come out.

I’m out to my younger brother, but he doesn't like that i talk about it too often. I told my previous therapist. I came out to a new friend of mine, and then(of other reasons)a few weeks after we stopped being friends. My mother kinda know but not really. Two weeks ago i came out to a good friend of mine (but that i know only 4 month), and the only reason i felt comfortable telling him was because i knew he moves away in a couple of weeks (so even if it will be a disaster, i wouldn't have to see him again).

That's it.

So I was wondering for a while lately why didn't i already came out yet to any of my close friends? To my family? Yes, we already realise that it’s because i'm scared of what will happen,

I think i get another reason why, Because what if i’m wrong? What if it will change? What if i am just a late bloomer? If it’s false? Or what if i tell someone for example that i’m homoromantic and down the line i will find out i’m actually biromantic or vice versa or just a lesbian...

The amounts of anxiety i’m dealing with on a daily basis in every aspect of my life and my low, non existent self-esteem, make me qustion evey single time my sexualty.

Even when i’m already out to myself and know what i like, there's this voice keep telling me that maybe i’m wrong. I’m fine with just being queer, with not using a specific labels (and i’m fine with). But it feels like the others, the society around me, need those tags. It can't end with “i was in love with that girl” or “i want a girlfriend”, and furthermore, a lot of pepole have no idea about asexalty. so telling them that i’m also ace or that i’m homoromantic will be completed...

Don’t get me wrong, i know who i am, what i like, i’ve known for a long time. But i also know that it’s a spectrum and its flexible, it just, like i said, I don’t think anyone will except/believe me if my "tags" would "change".

Then i realised. It’s ok... Even if i’m not totally sure, even if it could change, it’s an exploration, an experience. And most importantly- it matters, it’s real. whoever i am, now it’s real and i have to be more confident with myself (and not to let my already existing tons of self-doubt affect how i accept my own sexualy).

So “i’m gay, gay means Happy”.

Happy Pride! LOVE IS LOVE IS LOVE

Sorry for the huge, huge, enormous post. Thank you so much for listening, if you stayed until now (and coungration!) Just hope i don't regret it and delete this too…

Still not sure what to do… If you have any advices for me (or something else to say) i would love to hear.

Sorry again for the length, mess and probably grammar mistakes. I really needed to get it out there.

#pride month #pride #lgbtq #lgbtq community #coming out #closeted #lesbian #gay #asexuel #ace #homoromantic #wlw #gay pride #bi #love is love #queer

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chrisemrysfics · 5 years

Text

This is a masterpost of the three other posts out fou that were flagged, and I decided to repost them, and I did them all in one because they were all anons, and all Poker Pair.

You’ll notice the tag I’m using now for ns//fw!

The first time Tyki and Allen made love?

That tends to remain story-dependant for me, for example unless it changes last moment, it’s in chapter 6 of Journey of our Hearts that they first make love. Which I won’t say more on, to keep the surprise~

Still, there are little things I can see consistent, though that’s of course my own take (well, as most of my replies are).

I don’t see them planning it, at most they talked about it, and I can see very early on Tyki and Allen establishing a trust of knowing they can ask to stop anytime. It’s not just Allen, because sometimes Tyki is the one who is overwhelmed, especially when Allen seems to let his walls drop. Intense make outs session have happened before, and Tyki isn’t always the one who lead them.

But yes, there comes a day they just can’t stop, or maybe something happened that makes them unable to keep their hand off each other (one or both admitting to being in love; one speaking of how much they love a certain aspect of the other; etc).

And the thing is, while I can see Tyki having had experiences (but I am someone who headcanon he isn’t one who seeks sexual pleasure that much), Allen hasn’t. There’s honestly many ways one can interpret Allen in regards to such things as relations and being intimate, and my own take is that as much as he’s no prude and isn’t afraid of sex, there is a big difference between not being ashamed of himself, having desires, and with actually trusting someone with his body.

To Allen, there has been almost no one who touched him in a positive sense. The first one who did not harm him was Mana, but Mana is his father. Cross is a weird case for Allen, because the man is rough, but unlike others, Allen does trust not be harmed. He trusts that Cross won’t be the next Cosimov. Maybe Allen kissed some girls, and boys, but there’s also how Allen was fully focused on fighting.

For months, years, Allen lost himself in learning to be an exorcist, so he could pretend he isn’t still broken by Mana’s loss. By the time Allen starts to feel he might be interested, he’s walled himself big time. And he does not feel that ready to risk people’s reaction about his arm. I also headcanon that one time, his arm was treated as exotic, as an oddity to test, and this made Allen just as uncomfortable.

So Allen has been trapped in a place where he has wants, even if only to know how it feels; but he keeps being unable to lower his walls. He keeps not finding people he can allow close in such a way. And the few he could have, they have their own walls, and by the time it could have happened, Allen’s own walls have strenghtened (especially when it gets after the Ark).

Until Tyki, someone who has both white and dark enough to make all of Allen feel at ease. And Tyki isn’t surprised, because for a while now, he knew. He learned to know Allen, and that’s why he guessed Allen wasn’t able to let someone close before, in such a way.

So of course, Tyki is torn between the sides that want to turn Allen into a moaning mess, ravish him like a claim, and the side that want to treasure that trust with gentler lovemaking. And funnily enough, Allen feels both those wants, too. Their first time is heavy on attention, on communication, on little awkward times and littles laughs, because sometimes Tyki gets worried he got too rough, sometimes Allen doesn’t know what he wants anymore, and then both laugh.

I would also say they mostly spend it with foreplay, with kisses and touches, until Tyki discovers Allen really loves Tyki’s bites. It’s when they get more into it that the above comes into play, yet they don’t stop, because they don’t want to. In the end, they spend a good part of the night at it, between cuddles to rest and going at it again, between soft touches and rougher ones, holding each other and pinning each other.

When they finally have spend all their energy, they end up cuddled again, Allen more relaxed that he’s ever been, Tyki feels a deep fondness he doesn’t think he ever did, and both realize they can say with their bodies much more that what their words can.

They also totally sleep so much after that, and you can bet there’s a certain golden golem who records their peaceful sleepy faces and how cuddled they are.

Sexiest things they would do, positions and so on ? Sweetest things?

Sweetest things first, I totally see them both adoring to kiss the other everywhere. Tyki can never get enough of slowly having Allen come undone just with kisses, and soon learns Allen is so weak if you kiss his neck, his left arm, his chest scar or his face scar.

But then, Allen too loves to see Tyki grow weak. I kind of want to say it’s accidental the first time, maybe Allen kisses Tyki’s own scar, maybe his neck, and he notices Tyki shudders as he sighs, and Allen gets a glint in his eyes that make Tyki gulp, and heart beat wilder in anticipation. Tyki can never remember this one night without blushing.

Also: they cant go a lovemaking without sweet words, but also, heated talk. Tyki’s favorties are, “You’re beautiful” and “Forget everything but me”, with the occasional sighs of “My Allen”. Allen tend to be left without ability to form words, but he will often calls Tyki’s name is various ways, and it drives Tyki crazy.

Sexiest… Well it links with asking about positions and stuff. Allen tried to, he tried really hard, but one time Tyki felt so turned on, his vines showed. He assured that Allen wont be hurt, actually whispers about how Joyd wouldn’t harm Allen, and he hears a dreamy reply of, “I know” and then Tyki finally see, he realizes Allen staring at the vines and more flustered.

It was Allen’s turn to gulp, when Tyki smirked so smugly, because Allen knows Tyki has seen right through him. Let’s say that then, Allen cannot move arms and legs, cannot see, and for a second his heart is beating too wild, but then he feels the familiar kisses at his neck, and he’s never been more turned on. Laying on the bed at the mercy of Tyki, he’s never felt so safe and Tyki has to be slow because he can tell Allen could get overwhelmed, but he doesnt, Tyki listen and watches all the signs.

Poor Allen totally passes out by the end, Tyki is a worried mess, but then he has a very affectionate Allen on his hands when Allen wakes again. It takes everything in Tyki not to coo because Allen is like a happy cat.

Also: Allen totally gets back at Tyki another time, and gets the same brand of creative with Crown’s Belt. The fact Allen’s Innocence is apparently more than okay helping Allen make love to Tyki, make Tyki so weak in a few seconds flat.

Fun fact: you will notice I have never said exactly how far they go, if one tops or rides if they go full way, and that’s because any and all replies are true. Sometimes they’ll just kiss all over. Sometimes a bit more. Sometimes full way. Sometimes Allen likes to let Tyki take the reign, and sometimes it’s only to better take him. Word play intended. Sometimes it’s Tyki who let Allen do as he pleases, take command, and sometimes it’s only so Allen can take in as he pleases, leaving Tyki to control the urge to roll them over. Sometimes Tyki doesn’t control that urge, but it might be Allen whole goal. And sometimes it’ll be Allen, who pins Tyki, and Tyki is secretly so pleased and weak to this possessive Allen.

On a last note, they might or might not have gotten creative with whipped cream.

What's your favourite ns//fw poker pair headcanon ?

I think that might have to be that Tyki seems to just know what Allen wants, but also what he needs. And it’s nothing about being the Noah of Pleasure, it’s in fact fully because Tyki just learned to watch Allen’s expression and body language, and then Allen himself is more open.

(on another note: my favorite headcanon is that Tyki and Allen grows very intimate, but in more than one manner. It’s how Allen allows Tyki in his personal space, how he’ll learn on him, how he’ll let him touch his arm; and how Tyki steadily built trust between them)

Allen is persuaded he needs someone he trusts to break him, to make him desperate for their touches, and in the first heated kisses, Tyki almost fall for it. But Tyki is very observant, way more than Allen even realize (and especially when it comes to Allen), and he knows what Allen truly needs is to feel loved. Of course there are many ways they can go at it, but my favorite headcanon is how feeling loved is what works best.

So once Tyki started heatedly, just when Allen thinks he’s going to get rough or tease him mercilessly, Tyki becomes tender, and it’s more than enough to have Allen looks so vulnerable. He’s not used to it, he’s only used to people wanting to hurt him, or people being careful.

He’s not used to Tyki, who he knows could harm him in so many ways, instead treating him as precious and desired. And you can bet Tyki will touch and kiss everywhere, including his left arm. The first time that happens, Allen get so worried, but Crown Clown does not harm Tyki.

In fact he’s totally feeling pleasure, and Tyki is more than happy than he’s not treated as an enemy by Crown. He half knew though, because from the moment he first started to treat Allen as a lover, Allen’s Innocence had felt less hostile.

Also: Tyki makes sure to whisper in his ear that Allen is beautiful, and when he’s kissing the left hand, he places a kiss at the green cross, murmuring a thank you, and then he’s smirking a bit and looking right into Allen’s eyes, he adds, “You know I love your master as much as you do, that’s why isn’t it?”

What Tyki won’t be prepared, is for Allen to grow bold, to touch and kiss the scars he gave Tyki, and on some days Tyki is the one who is pinned down, kissed and marked. Tyki will still touch Allen everywhere, but he sure understands a bit more how Allen feels when Tyki the one making love to him.

Because that’s the thing: they make love. I’m pretty certain Tyki even says it once, telling Allen something like, “I’m not fucking you. I’m making love to you,” because Tyki knows Allen won’t realize it if he’s not told. And very early, Tyki wants Allen to know, to not misunderstand it and to realize he’s being loved, not used.

(Something else I grew to headcanon from rps, is that Allen grows to enjoy being bitten. Tyki is more than happy about it. And they might or might not love to have Tyki’s vines show. Personal hc is that Tyki can make vines stay on Allen’s body, he just touches somewhere and lets a vine slide on the skin, it’s almost like tattoos that move.)

(On that note, Tyki is extremely in control of himself, yet he’s not consciously thinking about it. He just knows he wants to make Allen feel good, and that’s why even if he gets creative, uses his vines or even his choose ability, Allen won’t be harmed. Tyki is still careful depending what he does, always hyperaware of whether or not Allen is growing uncomfortable.)

#this is so safish #Poker Pair #Tykillen #Mails

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