#and the ugly argument we had after New Years between us like then I signed a lease weeks later like nothing happened

[ghostking1]

I don’t really know what you’re into but I asked some of my other percico shipper friends and we made a list of some of our favs :)

•|| Five Times Percy Broke His Phone and The One Time It Wasn't His Fault ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524128

• Percy/Nico

• Rated G

• one-shot

• Words: 5,726

Summary:

As punishment for blowing up the Legions armory Leo is sentenced to work in phone repair for the camps. Normally this wouldn't be too bad, phones these days are pretty bulletproof. Unfortunately, he hasn't thought of the extraordinary circumstances Poseidon’s favored son tends to regularly find himself in. This is one battle the Son of Hephaestus is determined to win. Olympus helped him.

•|| Breaking the Ice ||•

https://www.deviantart.com/leukanthes/art/Breaking-the-Ice-Slash-287857101

• Percy/Nico

• no rating, but I guess G bordering T (?)

• one-shot

• Words: 2,574

[No Summary]

•|| Could Never Imagine ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10703658/1/Could-Never-Imagine

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• 46 chapters

• Words: 103k+

Summary: The war is over Annabeth chose to leave camp to allow her soul to heal, leaving a distraught Percy behind. Soon enough though the girls at camp are coming-on to the twice savior of Olympus. Percy however has no intention of finding a new girlfriend. So how will he get them to leave him be? It's a good thing Nico is around.

•|| Family Dinner ||•

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5439187/1/Family-Dinner

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• one-shot/1 chapter

• Words: 6k+

Summary: The fancy invite card read: Welcome to our new home! Please join Percy Jackson and Nico di Angelo's housewarming dinner. Please do not feel the need to bring anything. Dinner begins at 6:00pm. The address is 38501 Sunshine Lane, Long Island.

•|| Can I Clear My Conscience? ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250188

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• one shot/1 chapter

• Words: 12,222

Summary:

Death Touch: Nico’s powers have gone out of control and he’s killing living beings with a single touch. The only one who can save him is Percy.

•|| Revival ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287157/chapters/45872164

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: Explicit

• 4 chapters (complete)

• Words: 28,903

Summary:

After the events of The Titan's Curse Nico finds himself struggling to live on the streets. Exhausted, he recklessly uses his powers to take him somewhere safe. He ends up in an unfamiliar cabin and too weak to do anything else he decides to spend the night.

Percy still feels guilty about Bianca's death. He searched and searched for Nico but was unable to find him. Something is sending him visions of the boy though as if to tell him to go find him. At last Nico ends up in a familiar looking place and Percy seeks him out. What follows is something neither of them expected.

•|| on top of the world ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184790

• Nico/Percy

• Rating: T

• one-shot/1 chapter

• Words: 16,175

Summary:

In which Gaea wins and Percy breaks another promise to Nico, and surprisingly, Nico doesn't mind.

•|| The world will never take my heart ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712186/chapters/3646085#workskin

Summary:

where Percy and Annabeth break up, and Percy convinces Nico to move in with him and attend Goode

•|| Sensory Love ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12454985/1/Hitome-Chan-s-Sensory-Love

•Rating: M

•words: 237+

Summary:

Mortal AU where Percy and Nico are best friends, but Nico’s feelings run deeper than that.

•|| Coding and Codeine ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12457018/1/Hitome-Chan-s-Coding-And-Codeine

Summary:

post apocalypse mortal AU where Nico meets Percy in a near dead world, and the two travel the US and fall in love

•|| Seasons Change ||•

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/7838989/1/

Summary:

Mortal AU where in Nico and Percy were friends since they were little, but they had a falling out. Nico never recovered from Percy's rejection and neither did Percy. Through a twist of fate, they get a second chance

•|| The love we miss ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087406

Summary:

Canon divergent fic where Annabeth is killed during the days following the second war

•|| World Traverls ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649647

Summary:

a series of amazing fics by awanderingmuse which follow an older Percy and Nico

•|| Kiss a boy in Tokyo town ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/337259

Summary:

Japan becomes the new location for camp half blood after the fall of the United States.Nico comes to visit percy in Japan

while annabeth is still in the US and things transpire

•|| Tribulations ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061345

Summary:

Percy and Nico are caught in an argument between two goddesses and are put to the test. They must prove the strength of their bond to survive or lose their freedom forever.

•ll When the river meets the sea ll•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171134

Summary:

Nico di Angelo should be his best friend. He looks over, meeting Nico’s eyes; Nico, who looks patient and a little embarrassed for some reason, and he thinks, why isn’t he?

Or: Wherein Nico has an incurable case of being a martyr, Percy grows to hate The Muppets, and Poseidon surprises the both of them with a bouncing baby demigod.

•|| Fire escapes and friendships ||•

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810015/chapters/42019895

Summary:

“So it’s safe to assume you’re the reason she’s stalking around like she’s just sucked a bag of lemons.”

“She called me today.”

“And?”

“She just wanted to chew my ear off. You know, for ruining all her hard work and design for your cabin. And then for suggesting to Chiron that she shouldn’t be allowed to help with the refurbishment.”

Or where Percy and Nico burn the injustice that is the Hades cabin and Percy takes the blame.

Christmas parties, confessions and cozy death traps

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748753/chapters/67921453

Summary:

Ah, Christmas! That magical time of year where goodwill permeates the air, gifts are exchanged, and demigods question if they'll be smote down for singing the less secular Christmas carols! But as Nico will soon find out there are far more nefarious threats than carols this joyous time of year, a threat, in the form of an ugly Christmas sweater.

||• percico authors to support ||•

Likegallows

https://archiveofourown.org/users/likegallows/pseuds/likegallows

Bobinthecomments

https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobInTheComments/pseuds/BobInTheComments

Awanderingmuse

https://archiveofourown.org/users/awanderingmuse/pseuds/awanderingmuse

Midnightinjapan

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightinJapan

anitstar_e(Kailamahine)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaikamahine/pseuds/antistar_e

Let me know if you need more~ :)

First of all, thank you so much for these pics. All of these were disgustingly good, like extremely disgustingly good, and I enjoyed them all immensely. But, I figured you'd want to hear my thoughts on them, and because I wanted to share my thoughts on them, so here they are :D

•|| Five Times Percy Broke His Phone and The One Time It Wasn't His Fault ||• -Amazing, a 10/10, one of my favorites, short enough that my attention span never got me distracted, great writing

•|| Breaking the Ice ||• -Another great one, this one blew me away

•|| Could Never Imagine ||• -I loved this one because it showed all of Nico's insecurities

•|| Family Dinner ||• -sooooo cute

•|| Can I Clear My Conscience? ||• -this one was kind of sad but a great healing fic

•|| Revival ||• -showed the Nico living on the streets that we never saw, very well done

•|| on top of the world ||• -dangerous situation where all hope is lost and they can only lean on one another? sign me up

•|| The world will never take my heart ||• -this was a fun fic to read

•|| Sensory Love ||• -this was pretty good, but it had cheating themes which made it hard for me to absolutely adore

•|| Coding and Codeine ||• -loved this au

•|| Seasons Change ||• -this one was a little harder to swallow, it had mature themes in it and there was cheating involved, and I always have a harder time with that

•|| The love we miss ||• -*chef's kiss*

•|| World Traverls ||• -so cute, i love this au, it’s like that could actually happen in the canon book series

•|| Kiss a boy in Tokyo town ||• -percy jackson + japan? yes please

•|| Tribulations ||• -love, love, love, love, loved it

•ll When the river meets the sea ll• -a work of art

•|| Fire escapes and friendships ||• -I really like the change in pov, this fic was really well done

•|| Christmas parties, confessions and cozy death traps ||• -loved embarrassed Nico and the creepy ending

And all the authors you recommended are great! :D

Thank you so much for all your recommendations, they were really fun to read!

#nico di angelo #percy jackson #pernico #percico #percy x nico #nicercy #pjo/hoo #fic rec #fic reccomendations

[troquantary]

Cutting Hair as Punishment in the Twilight Saga

Okay, I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts around this into a sort-of-essay format for a while, because I find it disturbingly mean-spirited: Meyer has a pattern of using hair-cutting as a form of punishment for characters, especially female characters, who fail to embrace Bella and the Cullens with open arms. I’m talking particularly about Leah and Lauren, both of whom, while not outright antagonists like Victoria or James, are situated along with Rosalie as “against” Bella throughout the series. The Quileute pack, meanwhile, is situated largely “against” the Cullens, meaning Jacob and the rest of the pack get the Haircut of Shame, too.

(Also, I’ve been creeping through @panlight ‘s blog because I thought she had a recent post relating to this -- I was probably thinking of this submission and her addendum, which does discuss Meyer’s “punishment” of certain characters, but that post was about characters suffering for not waiting for True Love, or daring to do the Devil’s Tango before marriage. Still, it’s on-theme and very much worth reading, like all her stuff!)

So here’s the general outline: first I’m gonna talk about the shapeshifters and how their overall lack of choice frames cutting their hair as something forced on them and therefore punitive. Then I’m going to discuss Meyer’s FAQ response where she reveals that Lauren was tricked into cutting off most of her hair over the summer before New Moon, and how this adds an extra fun misogynistic element to the hair-cutting theme with respect to Lauren and Leah. I also use way too many words to do it, sorry.

Punishment | The Shapeshifters Are Given No Other Option

I don’t have the background or knowledge to discuss the significance of long hair to indigenous culture and identity in detail, and my understanding is that different tribes ascribe different meanings to it. What I’ve read it about it suggests that, generally, long hair represents strength of one’s individual spirit and of the community. It’s a source of pride, and is only cut off voluntarily in extraordinary circumstances, often as an expression of grief, or to mark a significant life change.

This sort of works in the context of the shapeshifters all cutting their hair -- phasing into a giant wolf, discovering the existence of the supernatural, and assuming the role of protectors is a major life event for these characters. But the negative associations make it a troubling choice on Meyer’s part, and that’s without even getting into the problem of her imposing her own worldbuilding onto the legends and culture of a real tribe. Because of the lack of choice involved in becoming a shapeshifter, the whole situation feels like a scenario in which the Quileute characters have their hair forcibly cut -- a degrading and traumatic act that (depending on their particular tribal belief) might symbolically sever them from their sense of cultural identity and connection with the rest of their tribe.

It all kind of begs the question: why does Meyer even have shapeshifting work this way? What narrative utility is there in having the length of their hair in human form determine the length of their fur as wolves, thereby compelling the shapeshifters to cut it so it isn’t a physical impediment? It’s another sign of the changes in Jacob, sure, but he’s already being uncharacteristically cold and distant, plus suddenly has the physique of a fit twenty-five-year-old; Bella already knows something’s very wrong. His short hair is just another jarring thing for Bella to notice and mourn, like the loss of Jacob’s “baby face” and general sunniness.

It does work as a symbolic thing, representing another sacrifice Jacob has to make and the change in how he now has to perceive himself -- but he’s already got a literal giant wolf form to represent that change in identity/self-perception. Forcing him to cut his hair too just feels like piling on. My argument here, which I hope will be supported when I discuss Lauren and Leah further in, is that it’s not just piling on, but actively punitive -- because much like Leah and Lauren are “against” Bella, the pack at large is “against” the Cullens pretty much through the end of the series.

The Quileute pack is definitely not a Cullen fanclub. The entire purpose of their existence is to destroy vampires, and the truce they have with the Cullens isn’t friendly. They still don’t particularly like or trust the Cullens even after allying with them in Eclipse, and in Breaking Dawn Sam is fully prepared to go to war against them to enforce the treaty. Bella expresses frustration with Jacob and the pack for not appreciating the Cullens more, yet is curiously less willing to scold Alice, Edward, or Rosalie when they call the Quileutes dogs and complain about their smell. (I think she might reprimand Edward for it at some point, but I don’t remember the exact passage.) Bella even starts throwing around “dog” and “mutt” as an insult herself -- I think we know whose side ol’ “Switzerland” is on, here, and whose side Meyer is on as well. The Quileutes aren’t exactly enemies, and in fact are crucial to the Cullens’ survival in both the newborn and Volutri conflicts, but they’re punished nonetheless because they aren’t wholeheartedly Team Cullen from the get-go.

So to explain why I’m so convinced that there’s a link between hair-cutting and punishment in particular, let’s talk about Lauren. There’s a definite gendered element to it this time, too -- by being tricked into cutting her hair, Lauren isn’t just diminished/shamed, but rendered (*thunderclap*) unfeminine.

Lauren Was Rude To Bella Like Twice, Let’s Humiliate Her

I think Meyer’s answer to the question “What happened to Lauren’s hair?” on her FAQ page speaks for itself:

Ha ha. I had fun imagining this one—I only wished that it had fit into the book somewhere. Lauren fell victim to the “model discovered in the mall” scam. An alleged modeling agent approached Lauren in a mall in Victoria, B.C., and told her she was a natural model. Lauren ate it up. The agent told her that if she did something edgy with her hair, and took some high quality head shots, her future was assured. Lauren followed the instructions—dropping fifteen grand on the pictures taken by the agent’s partner—and waited for her career to begin. She’s still waiting. Snort.

It’s pretty obvious that this was done spitefully. Here’s the list of Lauren’s crimes against humanity Bella at this point in the series: 1) she was jealous of the attention Bella was getting as the new girl; 2) she talked behind Bella’s back once, saying Bella might as well just sit with the Cullens now (and she isn’t wrong); 3) she eyed Bella “scornfully” the day of the La Push beach trip; and perhaps most damningly, 4) she’s blonde.

Post-haircut, she has the gall not to be thrilled that Bella’s deigning to speak to the lowly non-Cullens again, then sides with Jessica after Bella uses Jessica to make a point to her dad, is shitty company, and then risks getting them both raped and murdered in Port Angeles so she could get off on her hallucination of Edward’s voice.

I think it’s pretty common knowledge that long hair is tied to patriarchal notions of femininity and attractiveness. Women with short hair are still derided for being ugly, or assumed to be lesbians in a derogatory sense, or simply considered less feminine and therefore less desirable/worthy (because a woman’s worth depends on her desirability, after all). For many women and girls, losing their long hair -- whether because of illness, or gum getting stuck in it, or whatever -- is very upsetting and a hard blow to their self-esteem. Just look at Alice as an example of Traumatic Short Hair; her hair was shorn like that because she received electroshock “treatments” in an asylum. (Although in Alice’s case, I don’t think her having short hair is punishment, but a facet of the traumatic backstory all female characters in Twilight have to have for some reason. Plus, she started the series with short hair, which distinguishes her from the pack and Lauren, who were tricked or compelled into cutting their long hair during the series.)

But Lauren’s so bitchy, so she deserves it, right? Ha ha, she was mean to Bella and cared about her appearance too much, so now she’s ~ugly!

Leah Has It the Worst and It Makes Me Want To Burn Everything

The misogynistic aspect of hair-cutting as punishment is taken up to like, twelve with Leah. Not only does she suffer for being “against” the Cullens along with the rest of the pack (and Bella, too, so extra sinning), but she suffers uniquely for being the only female shapeshifter. A bunch of teenage boys regularly see her naked body against her will. Her previously devoted boyfriend imprints on her cousin/best friend, Sam dumps her and can’t even explain why, and the whole pack -- including her own brother -- resents her for being upset about it, even though she can’t help the lack of mental privacy. Because of that same lack of mental privacy, she has to hear every gripe the boys have about her, plus every enthralled thought Sam has about Emily while she’s still deeply wounded by their breakup.

She blames herself for her dad’s death, because she phased at the wrong time. We don’t get any indication that her fellow shapeshifters or the elders are trying to reassure her otherwise.

And of course, because she’s a shapeshifter, she has to cut her hair. In addition, because Leah’s a woman, this has the same misogynistic connotations as it did with Lauren. In Leah’s case, though, the de-feminization is compounded by her sudden infertility. It’s clear that Leah attaches her sense of womanhood to her fertility, rightly or wrongly -- she bitterly calls herself a “genetic dead end” in Breaking Dawn and thinks of herself as a freak. She feels like there must be something wrong with her, some un-womanly flaw, that made her one of the shapeshifters at all.

Then, just when Jacob starts to see her as a human being worthy of compassion, he imprints on Renesmee and doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything else anymore. No more bonding with Leah, no blooming friendship to help her heal and come to terms with the new realities of her life. (This is one of those dropped threads that aggravate me to no end -- what was the point of having Leah opening up to Jacob, or starting Jacob on the path of realizing he was being a dick to her this whole time and that she’s a person with  value, if he was just going to spend the rest of the book as Renesmee’s love-zombie and never think about it again? Disgusting.)

Leah was a lot more forgiving of Jacob than he deserved at that point in the story, for all the good it did her -- I think she’s mentioned maybe once in Book 3 of Breaking Dawn. At least she got her god-tier moment of yelling at a deranged, pregnant Bella Swan.

Speaking of Bella...

I’m just going to note, for no particular reason, that in Breaking Dawn we get to hear explicitly that Bella’s got hair that falls “almost to her waist” and that she looks like “a freaking supermodel” because she’s so “beautiful and pale.” It just strikes me as a telling contrast at this point.

#twilight renaissance #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #leah clearwater #lauren mallory #jacob black #the wolf pack #long post #i felt myself getting petty about bella okay -- i'm aware it's happening but i have no self control #i also know i sidestepped the racial element to this and it's because i don't feel qualified to speak on it #so any additions from more knowledgeable people on that score are much appreciated

[sabraeal]

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

*

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

*

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

*

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

*

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

*

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣 #but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Facebook employees stalk users

In Sheera Frenkel and Cecilia Kang’s “An Ugly Truth: Inside Facebook’s Battle for Domination,” the authors recount the company’s long history of insider threats in which employees (mostly men) used the company’s tools to stalk people (mostly women).

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/an-ugly-truth-sheera-frenkelcecilia-kang

The stalking targets included both strangers and intimate partners — for example, an engineer used FB’s tools to locate his partner after she fled their shared vacation hotel room in order to “confront her.”

https://www.businessinsider.com/facebook-fired-dozens-abusing-access-user-data-an-ugly-truth-2021-7

Another FB engineer stalked a woman who didn’t return his messages after a date, accessing years of private messages and photos, including photos that his target believed she had permanently deleted, but which Facebook had secretly retained.

All told, Facebook fired 52 employees for data abuses between Jan 2014 and Aug 2015, after a policy change eliminated many access safeguards in the name of eliminating “the red tape that slowed down engineers.”

In other words, Facebook was in a situation in which its users’ interests were at odds with its shareholders. By eliminating protections for its users, it allowed its engineers to work more efficiently, and increased its profits.

These kinds of conflicts — between shareholder and stakeholder interests — are the norm in business. Think of a busy retailer that cuts its cashiers: reducing payroll costs increases profits, at the expense of worker stress and longer waits for customers.

The question of how much value can be shifted from employees and customers to shareholders isn’t really an economic one — it’s really a policy question.

If we have strong labor laws — protecting cashiers from undue stress, extending unemployment benefits to workers who quit bad jobs, protecting workers from non-compete clauses, separating health-care from employment — then a business that screws its cashiers will lose them.

Meanwhile, the balance between customers’ interests and shareholders’ is likewise a creature of policy. If a retailer is the only game in town — if it’s a Walmart that used predatory pricing to create a retail desert — then they can force customers to wait in longer lines.

Or if the business has a regulated monopoly — a patent, a trademark or some other exclusive right that makes it the only game in town (say, the sole right to sell snacks in an airport), it can shift more value from customers to shareholders before the customers walk away.

Facebook — and other tech monopolists — have engineered a world where they get to side with shareholders over users, again and again, to the users’ great detriment, without losing those users.

Economic analysis of tech monopolies focuses on “network effects” — the way more users make Facebook more valuable (you join FB because your friends are there, more friends sign up because you’re there).

Taken on their own, network effects are cause for despair, predicting that tech will produce “natural monopolies” — an inevitable winner-take-all market. But that’s obviously not true — I’m not typing this on a Cray or using Altavista to look up facts while I do.

Far more important than network effects for antimonopoly analysis is switching costs — the things you give up when you quit a service. In FB’s case, quitting means leaving behind your friends, communities and customers.

Now, this needn’t be the case. You can switch phone companies or email providers without shattering your social connections. FB has engineered a high switching cost, blocking other services from connecting to it.

After all, the more you stand to lose by leaving FB, the worse FB can treat you before you’re willing to leave. Zuck didn’t abolish the safeguards that protected us from rogue FB employees because he’s nosy — he did it because it’s profitable.

He was betting (probably correctly) that no matter how unhappy the ensuring scandals made his users, it wouldn’t make so many of them unhappy enough to quit that the losses would outweigh the gains from exposing us to predatory Facebookers.

Which is why proposals like the ACCESS Act, currently working its way through Congress, are such a big deal. It’s a law that would force FB to let third parties plug into it, so you could leave FB but stay in touch with the people who stay behind.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/06/new-access-act-good-start-heres-how-make-sure-it-delivers

In response to this (and the EU’s Digital Markets and Digital Services Act), FB (and some lawmakers) warned that allowing third parties to connect to monopoly platforms would expose users to privacy risks, by reducing tech companies’ control over their services.

There’s an element of truth to this, but left unsaid is that reducing the switching costs for leaving Facebook will protect users from Facebook.

When FB says that it needs total control over its servers or Cambridge Analytica will steal our data, we have to remember that FB already let Cambridge Analytica steal our data.

When FB gutted its internal controls to increase profitability by decreasing user protections, senior employees went to Mark Zuckerberg to warn him against it. Alex Stamos, then FB’s then-CSO, reportedly strenuously objected, but was personally overruled by Zuck.

Like many sociopathic business-leaders Zuck is not swayed by arguments about the immorality of otherwise profitable conduct — but he is responsive to arguments about business-losses arising from his abusive behavior. Money talks, bullshit walks.

If the argument against loosening controls over employee access to user data had been, “We will lose ten million users per month to an upstart interoperator for so long as we do this,” THAT might have stayed Zuck’s hand. Unlike ethics, user-loss is a factor he cares about.

Contacted by Insider’s Sarah Jackson, an anonymous FB spokesperson (literally the only kind of person FB allows anonymity to!) said “We’ve always had zero tolerance for abuse and have fired every single employee ever found to be improperly accessing data.”

But that’s a dodge. “Zero tolerance” isn’t the same as “top priority.” If FB wants to prioritize preventing employees from stalking users, it would collect less data from users, delete data as quickly as possible, and put very strict barriers between employees and data.

If preventing stalking was FB’s top priority, it would collect no data, and/or never let employees access it. Obviously, FB won’t do that. it will always have to balance its users’ privacy and safety against its shareholders’ interests.

I am skeptical that FB will ever be a trustworthy guardian of its users’ safety and privacy. I don’t think the problem is that Mark Zuckerberg is the wrong self-appointed czar of 3B peoples’ lives — I think the problem is that no one should have that job.

But if you disagree — if you want to fix, rather than abolish, Facebook — then you need to figure out which policies will tip the balance in favor of the public interest.

Policies like interoperability impose immediate, meaningful, concrete costs on FB every time it sides against the public and with its shareholders. If you’re worried that interop will expose FB users to rogue companies or state actors, then regulate who can connect to FB.

But don’t leave that up to FB. FB will side with shareholders over users whenever it’s profitable to do so. Putting FB in charge of interoperability shifts that balance dramatically in favor of shareholders and against the public.

Image:

Cryteria (modified): https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

John Lodder (modified): https://www.flickr.com/photos/denisdefreyne/863085355/

Denis Defreyne (modified): https://www.flickr.com/photos/denisdefreyne/863085355/

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic

[pieces-by-me]

Strangers on the Road

Gif by the lovely @honestsycrets​ 

Words: 2605

Summary: Goodness can be found everywhere. Even for a stranger on a strange road.

Warnings: mentions of ablism

Kinda feel like this is not that good and lost inspiration at the end but I didn’t want to just delete the whole thing. Would love to hear what you all think of this✨

The Silk Road was a lot of things but never boring. People would meet from west to east to bargain about jewels, exotic foods, animals, slaves and as the name says silk. Anything you could ever need you could find on the Silk Road.

There was a market place. Close to the border where sand meets snow. It was colder here. The sun not having enough warmth to burn you, but still keep you a bit warmer. The market was not the biggest but the last one you would find for miles before the terrain changes from rocky mountaintops to frost covered grounds. Hundreds of people scuffled about to find the best goods. Different prices were being called around the area by the handlers to make the travelers come to their small stalls and seats. Many big men would shout at the top of their lungs. Some women would walk about and thrust their fabric in peoples faces. Anything to make yourself and your worth known.

One small stand, it was so tiny you might not even call it that, was at the end of the market. At first sight one couldn't even see what was presented for trade or purchase. But the closer you came the more you saw. Small clay pots with lids on them, little bowls with salves and a basket filled with weirdly looking dried leafs. Medicine.

The young women behind her small stall made herself useful by cleaning small crumbs of dirt from her pots. Smiling at buyers that walked by and greeting the once that came to her.

Y/N may not have a lot of supply but the demand was high. So the little she had she could sell for more then some other merchants. With made her life a little easier. But even if she sold everything each day she would still scrape at the ends of her revenues. It's only enough for her to live each day. Which was fine. She didn't have anyone she needed to support. Her parents died when she was young and she never had any siblings. So anything she made was for herself.

It wasn't easy at the beginning. Having to collect plants in a mountains was not an easy task. Walking miles upon miles into the nearest forrest for maybe an hour just to run back as soon as the sun went down. It would be a death sentence to walk on the Silk Road at night as a little girl. And Y/N had to start make a living for herself at a young age. But she managed. The knowledge she inherited from her mother helped her a lot. As soon as she found the little round leafs buried under the snow she knew she could survive.

They weren't just normal weeds. If you cooked them they would make a tea that would help with the biggest pains. If you chewed them raw you could help your teeth stay strong. And when you stomp them together with with goat fat and a specific snake venom it would help heal wounds in half the time. That was her biggest seller. It was hard to come by. Having to milk her snakes herself and trading things for goat fat took time. Every time she made it it would sell out in seconds and it would be worth it.

Today was like every other day. Waking up. Skipping breakfast to open the stall. Standing your feet into the ground for the day. Closing up. Making preparations and tinctures for the next day. Sleep.

Y/N knew nothing else so she was happy with it. Every day she would stand between Bran the forger, the nice guy that couldn't really stand anymore due to an old injury he obtained in a fight, and Lorah the jewel seller, a hardheaded women with to many opinions and a need to gossip. It was noisy between the constant banging on metal and women's chattering about the best new stones or quality of an arm ring. But it was her little place and she couldn't imagine standing somewhere else on the market.

The sun stood high in the sky when, for the first time in years, something changed. A lot of different people would travel the Silk Road to trade and buy. Different people from different places of the world praising different gods and coming around with the weirdest foods. But never in all her years had Y/N seen a cripple being carted through the market.

He was not hard to spot. The wagon he was sitting in was a big telltale. There weren't a lot of people with carts like that. The next thing she spotted were his legs. Two legs in metal braces. They looked old and rusted, as if they were about to fall apart. And then, the last sign of the stranger were his eyes. Y/N only caught them for a second but the shade of blue that pierced though hers was something she had never seen before. They were clearer then Lorah's jewels. Bluer then the sky. She could have looked into them for the whole day and never would tire.

“What in all the lords name is that?”

The disgusted voice of Lorah snapped the young woman out of her staring. She looked at the cripple with so much hate it seems he had killed her first born child.

“What do you mean? He's just traveling through here.”

Bran voiced his thoughts.

“I can see that you old fool. The question is why is it even here in the first place. It should not be here.”

“He's not a thing. He's human just like you.”

Y/N small voice grew colder then what it usually was when she talked to the women. She didn't like the tone and words her stall neighbor used for the stranger.

“Y/N dear you're young and naive. Human puh. No we are humans, you and me. Bran even. But the likes of...him should have died right after the birth. See the legs. They're crippled and wrong. We used to bring them outside to die when children like it were born. It's not natural. It's evil and bad and must be banished from the world.”

Y/N was shocked. She knew that Lorah was opinionated on a lot of things and that she would stand for her word. But this? How could she decide that this men should have died when he was a babe? What kind of monster could decide who lives and dies just by the way they were born?

“How can you truly think that? Your jewels might be beautiful but your heart is ugly Lorah.”

“I'm not the only one with that knowledge little witch. You'll see. That creature will not get anything from the people here on this market.”

Witch. Lorah knew that Y/N was called that behind her back and that she didn't like it. But she was rather a witch then heartless. She turned around to face the evil women once more but was met with nothing. Lorah must have stormed away in believe of having the last sentence and won the argument. Pathetic.

“Let her be Y/N. She sometimes seems as evil but she has truth to her words. The poor man won't find anyone to trade with him. He looks like he will travel farther east and probably die in the cold. Crippled people don't make it far in life. It's a wonder he made it this far. God must've be kind to him.”

“There are a lot of people here who will trade with anyone. They need the money and don't care if he's a cripple or not. And screw your God Bran. Your God would want me to burn alive for simply knowing some herbs.”

The clanging from bended metal was the only answer she'd get from the smith. Maybe she shouldn't have insulted his believe. Whats done is done.

Movement from the stranger caught her eyes again. He was making his way out of the cart with the help from a crutch. Also looking as if it would fall apart. Something was off about him though. His motions looked ragged. Tugging, almost as if his muscles would give out. She looked at him and again her eyes met his. This time she could see that not only the color of his eyes were blue but also the whites around them. Pain.

She knew what blue whites meant. In her live she met some men that came back from battle with light blue colored eyes. And they always proclaimed to be in the worst kind of pain they've ever felt. Him walking around with his crutch you wouldn't see that he felt pain with every step he took. It could simply be hard to walk on this ground. But she knew. And her heartstrings pulled tighter at the picture of this man struggling to only get food or whatever it is he needs.

Y/N hadn't realized how close the stranger has come. He was close enough to see the goods that were sprawled out on her little table and for her to see that there was a silver of a necklace peaking through his tunic. It looked like a hammer and she recognized it immediately. Nothing interested him though for he just walked by her without a glance. But she couldn't let that stand. Back in her head she searched for the old language her father tried to teach her. It was hard but she managed. She turned to him and with little confidence she called.

“Stranger”

That made him halt in his step. Turning around he met her eyes. This time on purpose. His eyes were filled with a sort of anger and he answered to fast with too many words for her to understand.

“Please, talk slower”

“How do you know my language?” It came out more of an demand then a question.

“My father thought me.”

“But why did he teach you Norse. You don't look like a Viking.”

Her answer came after a short minute but with a small smile on her face.

“I'm not Viking. But my father was friends with some. Back when he was alive.”

That made the stranger pause again. He was considered what she told him. You could see it.

“What is your name?” This time it was a question.

“Y/N and yours?”

He hesitated. Should he tell this woman who he was? Could it come back and bite him in the ass if he told the truth?

“You don't have to tell me. It's not of my buisn..”

“Ivar”

His interruption made her to stumble over her words but after she heard that he told her his name her small smile grew larger. Ivar had to say she had a nice smile. And she was the first one to start a conversation with him and not the other way around.

“Well Ivar, is there something you might need that I can help you with?”

“No, I'm looking for food and you only sell weird looking porridge.”

Her smile didn't falter. “Well I don't have food but you can buy something six stalls to your right. Bella sells the best and cheapest dates on the whole road. Also if you say that I send you she will probably give you more for your money. But here please take this”

With the last words she turned around, ducked behind her stall and when she came up again she held a small brown pouch filled with dried leafs inside a yellow cup.

Ivar looked at her with skepticism. Why would this weird, yet beautiful, women talk to him and then also help him?

“I don't have enough gold to pay for...whatever that is. And why would you help me with food when you would gain nothing in return?”

“I don't want your gold. I just want to help. I see the way your eyes are blue and I know that you are in pain. So why wouldn't I help you when I can? Also Bella owns me one for making medicine for her son so it's nothing really”

Y/N held the pouch still in her hands but with the missing answer form Ivar her smile fell just a little. But she wouldn't take no, or the lack of one, as an answer. So with a little smirk that looked more mischievous than the smile she held before she threw the little bag to the side of him that didn't hold him up on his crutch.

With a startled look, as if he was expecting a knife, he caught the bag. The stare he threw back at her made her laugh so hard even on Bran's face grew on. He observed the weird interaction between the two even though he couldn't understand a word they'd said. He hand't seen Y/N laugh and smile for a long time.

“Well now it's yours and I don't take returns” Her voice matched her smile and after a moment to overcome his initial shock Ivar smiled back. And Y/N swore her heart skipped a beat.

“Fine... then as it seems that I am stuck with this..would you explain to me what I have to do with it?” His smile was a little dimmed but still on his face.

“You'd have to boil the leafs for a while and then drink it slowly. Little sips. And no more then one cup.” She gave him the cup too and he hid both of her gift somewhere in his robe.

They held eye contact. Knowing that their interaction would be over soon. Him still plagued with hunger and her with the need to sell more of her goods, now that she gifted some away. But neither wanting to let the other go. Y/N was the first person since he fled Kattegat that was actually nice to him. She treated him like a person and not ogled at him like the freak he was. Well as the freak he saw in himself.

And Ivar was the first men that made her laugh and made her truly feel happy for a little while. She could forget the struggle of having to be alone in this world. She would miss him. Even though they only knew each other for an hour she would truly miss this stranger with the blue eyes.

And what she didn't know was that Ivar would miss and think of her for the rest of his journey. He would see her act of kindness a far greater thing then just a small favor. And her laugh would bring him warmth when he went into the snow filled forests.

“Thank you” His small voice was filled with honesty.

“You are more then welcome. I wish you all the luck and that your gods help you on your journey”

He hadn't expected to hear that but it brought him a little bit of hope. If the gods made him meet her he was on the right path.

He only bowed his head a little, a sheepish smirk on his face, and made his way away from her and to the mentioned stall from Bella. Dates sounded magnificent right now.

Ivar vanished in the masses of people but her smile stayed on her face.

“Well someone is a little smitten”

“Ah shut up Bran” 

Her insult was met with laughter from the old forger.

__________

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius​

#history vikings #vikings #vikings ivar #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #ivar fanfic

[enchantmentable]

Think of All the Years Gone By

Summary: It’s been five years, and Tubbo is still mourning his lost country. (a clingy duo fic)

Warnings: there’s a short argument, allusions to death and character death, grief (though it’s not horribly heavy, this is still a fic about grief and loss)

Word Count: 1710

AO3

There was a small hole in the glass floor that lay over a crater. The hole was small and jagged and hidden under an overhang of rock, but it was there and Tubbo had found it pretty easily when he’d walked over the crater the first year. He wasn’t one to miss little things like that.

He’d wondered as he’d approached if he’d be able to slip past the sharpened edges of the glass without cutting himself, but he needn’t have worried. After the first three years, he’d mostly stopped growing and had remained almost as small as he’d been during— during it. He slipped past the glass and into the crater easily. 

Sliding down the cliff face with an arm raised and a careful hand dragging over the rocks as he passed, he landed safely on the same ledge he’d landed on for the past five years. He followed the trail of footprints that had remained branded in the dust and ash down a few more meters of rock to get closer to the bottom of the crater. Once his feet hit bedrock, he spotted the boulder he’d sat on every year prior and settled himself on top of it. 

Tubbo looked up, up, up at the sky and saw it still covered in traces of night. He took a deep breath of the trapped air and waited for the sun to rise.

Briefly, Tubbo was distracted by the sound of someone walking over the glass, but after reminding himself of the overhang of rock above him, he assured himself that no one would be able to see him all the way down here unless they already knew where he’d be. Reassured by that, his gaze returned to the crater, prepared to wait at least an hour for the winter sunlight to reach him down there.

He’d been considering the red vines that still crawled all along the bedrock floor when he heard noise above him again. Frowning, Tubbo stood up from his boulder and stepped out from beneath the overhang of rock. He scanned the glass above him, looking for any sign that someone he knew was out and about at this hour. He nearly called out a curious ‘hello?’ out of habit before he remembered that he didn’t really want to talk to anyone this morning and stayed silent, watching warily for movement instead.

Not a moment later, Tubbo heard a quiet yelp and watched as a few pebbles tumbled down the cliff and landed at his feet. Unable to stop himself this time, he called out, “You alright?”

This caused another, louder yelp followed by another, larger waterfall of rocks to cascade down the cliff. There was a moment of silence as the person above him presumably caught their breath. Tubbo watched as a hand forming a thumbs-up gesture stuck out over the ledge. “Yep,” came a weak voice in reply after the moment had passed. 

Tubbo frowned, recognition ringing immediately through his mind. “Tommy?” 

A head replaced the hand. “Tubbo?”

“I didn’t know you knew about this way to get into the crater.”

“I didn’t! I just found it today.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another pause as Tommy and Tubbo just stare at each other before Tommy speaks again. “How’d you get down?”

“I slid.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I did! I did! All the way ‘til the ledge, at least, then I followed the path I made earlier. There are footprints.” 

Tommy shook his head and pulled back from the ledge. A second later, Tubbo watched as a figure fell towards him, a bucket of water gripped in his hands. There was a splash, and Tommy was standing next to him, unharmed but for the fact that his shoes and the hems of his pants were soaked through. “My way’s better,” he claimed before Tubbo could even properly say hello.

“Sure.”

“The path though—you’ve been here before?”

“Every year.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Tubbo shrugged, walking back over to his boulder, landing hard against it. “Didn’t want to.”

“I was there too, you know. I miss it as well. I mean, that’s why I’m here now, innit?”

“It’s not the same,” Tubbo said quietly, staring down at his folded hands.

“Well, no, it is.”

Tubbo looked up sharply, his eyes full of something cold and hard. “It’s fucking not! It wasn’t your country that got blown up, was it?”

Tommy recoiled. “I mean, guess not, but—”

“Then it’s not the same.”

Tommy went quiet for a moment before responding. “It wasn’t your fault though. It was mine.”

Tubbo just laughed. “No it wasn’t.”

“Without me though, Techno never would have—”

“Trust me,” Tubbo cut him off with a scoff, “they’d have razed this place to the ground even if you’d done everything right.”

“But—”

“It was never about you, Tommy. It was the fact that we were a government, and under my leadership, we were still seen as oppressors.”

They both let the silence hang heavy in the air.

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but Tubbo nodded anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know. It’s alright. I’m… more pissy today anyway. Another reason I prefer to just be alone these mornings.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Tommy sat down on the ground next to Tubbo’s boulder. “D’you… want to talk about it or something?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

They both went quiet again, but Tubbo could see from the look on Tommy’s face that he wanted to keep talking. Sighing, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Can I?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I offered, didn’t I?”

“Right. Yeah. You did.”

“Right.”

“Okay it’s just that— I don’t know. I just miss it. A lot. I miss the feeling we had, being a part of something, and I miss when it was easier to just… be.”

“I don’t think you really miss L’manburg then. Or, well, New L’manburg. I think you just miss when you didn’t think you had to save the world.”

“Do you not miss it?”

“Well, no, I didn’t say that, but it was— it was more than what you said. It was protection and safety, and at least for my New L’manburg, I wanted it to be somewhere where we didn’t have to worry about dying all the time. I miss that feeling. And losing that feels like— it almost feels like losing a parent or something, I don’t know. The type of grief is similar at least, I think. I’ve never lost a parent though, so like… yeah, I’ve got no clue.”

“No, yeah. I’ve never lost a parent either, not really, but… like. I know what you mean. Wilbur… he was similar to that, at least. And losing him November 16th was like that for me. Losing L’manburg, though, that was like losing a home, losing a place I could call my own. I wasn’t— I didn’t have anywhere like that after—” he gestured to the destruction in front of them— “after this.”

“I guess this place was just different for us, then.”

“Yeah.”

Tubbo had to take a long breath before he was confident his voice would be steady again. “And like— today is bad, and that day was worse than I could genuinely ever say, but… I get it, I guess. I know why they’d want to destroy it. But it still— like, it still, uh—”

“Hurts?”

“Mhm. For both of us. All of us, probably.”

They lapsed into silence, looking up at the sky again, and Tubbo slid off from his boulder, sitting beside Tommy and pressing their shoulders together. “It’s been five years now,” he said softly, “and I’m still not over it. Still makes my chest ache a little bit every year.”

“I don’t think this is ever gonna be something that you’re gonna just. Get over.”

“Yeah, I know. I still— I still try.”

“If it helps, I can tell you do a lot to keep it alive still. It’s nice. Makes me miss it less, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were the one who made New L’manburg all the good things it was, so even though it’s gone, it’s still… you. You know?”

“Not really.”

“Well, it’s the truth. I wish I could be that for you.”

“I don’t think anyone could be what New L’manburg was to me. It’s not the sort of thing that could be replicated, even if we tried again.”

Tommy sighed. “I know. I still want to help you miss it less.”

Tubbo went quiet, but what he wanted to say was that mourning alone had hurt so fucking much and that Tommy just being here had helped more than anything else ever had. He didn’t say that, but he asked, “Would you come down here with me next year too?”

“For year six?”

Tubbo nodded. 

“Of course, Tubbs.”

“Thanks. The sunrise is boring without anyone to see it with.”

They were both fully aware that’s not why Tubbo wanted to bring Tommy along, but that went without saying. So they didn’t say it, and the truth lay between them, forever unsaid.

“Winter sunrises are my least favorite,” Tubbo commented, forcing the air around them to feel light again.

“Yeah, they’re real ugly, aren’t they?”

“The light’s so watery. Kinda sucks that they didn’t destroy the country a few months later, you know? It would’ve been nicer to watch the sunrise then.”

“We’ll have to mention that to Techno next time he’s dead set on destroying a country, yeah?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“This sunrise doesn’t even have the decency to be that much later in the day. It’s still so early for such a boring experience.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo laughed, glancing over at Tommy with a smile. “Yeah.”

Shoulder to shoulder, they watched in silence as the sun rose over the edge of the crater, marking an official five years since one of the worst days of their lives. Quietly, Tommy pulled a bottle of champagne from beneath his jacket. He popped the cork and raised it in Tubbo’s direction. “Here’s to one more year.” He took a sip and held it out in offering.

Tubbo took the bottle into his hand and took a sip of his own. “To one more year,” he repeated. 

#dream smp #mcyt #tubbo #tommyinnit #clingy duo #enchants #fun fact i wrote this bc i was sad on behalf of my friend so emotionally this is dedicated to her

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 12

Click here if you are a first time reader.

Summary / TWs: Steve Rogers does not pass the vibe check yet again, le sad face. Loki is a good bro. Bruce fluff but what else is new? Literally everyone is a good bro, yo. Reader has best people. Tony's in there, kind of. Parents still suck.

For taglist: please send an ask if you changed your @! I noticed several people are unavailable :(

As always, my baby gay @miscmarvelwritings is the bestest beta!

"I think I am going to murder your father." Bucky's angry statement didn't surprise me. Neither did Steve's initial reaction, or anybody else's mostly pitying looks.

Bruce, my Bwucie, was calm and dejected. That worried me. I expected him to be at least a little bit green around the edges when Steve forcefully sat me down and made me explain the drunken, drugged stunt I'd done the night before, but alas, it seemed like Jolly Green was just sad. Or disappointed. And I didn't know which was worse.

The more I thought about it, the more defensive and abrasive I became. "And you'll kill yourself trying, he'll drive you fucking nuts" I responded to Barnes. "Honestly, I don't fucking see the problem here. My dad shows up five times a year at best. It's been like that forever. And it's not like I'm some kind of junkie," I defended myself, and my dad, because I really didn't see the huge deal about it. Relaxing once in a while doesn’t hurt anyone.

"It's not right!" Steve exclaimed, loosely banging a fist on the table. The self-righteous prick, seemed like he wanted to pick a fight just for the sake of it.

"And who are you, exactly, to say that? The moral police?" I blew up, standing and turning to the blonde man, hands on my hips. "Or you've decided to be my parent without asking me first? Keep your hopes up and maybe a fuck will magically appear, so I could give it to you."

He stood up in turn, getting uncomfortably close to my face. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was a very large, very strong man. "We want what's best for you! Can't you see it?" Rogers was getting red in the face, crossed arms, staring at me down like I was dirt under his shoes.

"How about..." I seethed, having to stop mid-sentence to swallow the scream that wanted to erupt. "How about... You FUCKING ask me what I want?"

"I suggest the Captain leave to go calm down," Loki suddenly piped up. He stayed silent throughout the whole conversation, picking at his food instead. Only after his sharply uttered words I noticed he had stood up. His hand hovered over my shoulder, body discreetly wedging between me and the Captain.

I heard Steve growl before he stormed off, throwing an annoyed look at Loki. A pregnant silence hung in the room. The longer it lasted, the more I wanted to crawl out of my skin, suddenly hyper aware of all these people - strangers, save a few - debating on what to do with me. Like I wasn't a person. Like...

"Ugh, fucking hell," I growled, beelining for my bag. I had definitely overstayed my welcome.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked, standing up to follow.

"Home," I replied curtly, nodding my thanks to Loki for the intervention. He nodded back, walking off. I would have probably started swinging at the Icicle Dick if not for the raven haired Asgardian's timely interruption.

"I'll drive you," Banner trotted after me like a dejected puppy. I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with this, at all.

"I need to see Tony first. Meet you downstairs?"

Bruce nodded, looking even more confused.

Tony kissed me hungrily, in between promises to kill Steve and cancel my dad and get me my own apartment in the tower. Believing in fairy tales wasn't something I was ever prone to; I smiled, nodded along and did my best to shut him up with my own mouth on his. I left with the promise to text him as soon as I got home.

"How are you?" Bruce asked me as we once again drove through the busy city. This was becoming a nice habit but we really had to meet up when I wasn't going through another one of my turmoils.

"All things considered, I am great. Better than I've been in a while." I answered honestly, meaning it. However brief Tony's attention would be, it still satisfied me. Then and there I decided to always, always cherish what happened during my brief stint in his arms.

"Really?" Banner's warm smile was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. "Care to share?"

It threw me for a loop. I didn't know how much Tony wanted to disclose regarding what happened between us. I didn't know the extent of his friendship with Bruce. I didn't know...

"Tony," I choose the usual option. Admit what you can't deny, deny what you can't admit.

"I know the feeling," The good doctor chuckled, companionable-like and meaningful. "He tends to go all the way for the people he cares about. Too much, if you ask me."

"What do you mean?" I was confused. Sure, me and Tony were friends. But not, like, super close or anything. We'd fucked, or more like messed around, so I expected our friendship to grow colder. That's what happened when friends decided to bump uglies.

"I mean... He'll move mountains and challenge the government and bully them into dropping charges against you," There was a hint of sadness in Brucie's voice. I vaguely recalled seeing something on the news, something about the Hulk and a massive destruction spree. It didn't take long to put two and two together.

I reached out, putting a hand on his knee. He covered my palm with his own, giving it a brief, warm squeeze.

"It must be great having a friend like that. You're both wonderful and brilliant. You deserve no less," The smile threatened to split my face in two.

Bruce returned the smile but the sadness didn't go away. "You realize that extends to you, right?"

"Me? I'm just me, Bruce." I wasn't sure where this was going. "I'm Peter's classmate and the resident hot mess express."

Bruce frowned, deep and long, up until he parked. Life seemed to be taking back all the happiness it gave me previously-in fucking buckets. The strap of my bag was going to get its threads pulled out with the way I was fiddling with it.

"Baby… Princess?" The scientist turned to me, tone torn somewhere between stern and pleading. "Listen to me. You are brilliant. Incredibly smart, talented and beautiful. Don't ever, ever think of yourself as less than any of us." I gaped at him.

Did he mean us as the Avengers? Us as Tony and Bruce? Meanwhile he continued, "In fact, I think you are the one who deserves so much better. I don't know what Tony found in me… Or what you found in me."

Was the man an idiot or yes? That was the question of the day. Cursing Tony's affinity for small cars (bless me and my own SUV), I only hesitated a moment before grabbing the dumb Banner by his face and startling him into looking straight in my eye. "If you don't quit talking all that fake-ass bullshit, I will kiss you. On the mouth. With tongue."

"Uh," Was his articulate response. I watched him squirm, blush and lose the heat to his argument.

"Exactly. I've had it all with you idiots today. Next time someone says some stupid ass fucking thing, I will kiss them. On the mouth, with tongue. Pass it on," I exhaled, releasing his face and dropping my head onto his shoulder.

"Some way of solving conflict you have," Banner chuckled weakly, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I'd like to see Steve's reaction."

"A boner, probably, because he needs to get laid before he spontaneously combusts," I grumbled venomously, still bitter about his reaction. The Capsicle needed to chill. Hehe.

"I'll pass it on too," Bruce remarked wryly. "See you next week?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Bwucie, you're the fucking best," I kissed the scientist on the cheek, giving him a tighter than usual parting hug and walking up the pathway. Home.

Mother was nowhere to be seen - and the obvious reason for that laid on the kitchen floor. Couple of smashed dishes, a bottle of whiskey laying half-empty in a puddle on the grey tiles. The living room rug bore more stains and the smell of alcohol, bitter and acrid (like my soul, hardy har), hung heavily throughout the whole house.

At least I wasn't the only one who fought for myself that day. Mother probably had landed a good one on dad, too, by God the woman could be ruthless with her icy words. Dad never stood a chance. I've felt begrudgingly respectful of the way mother put people in their place with her words ever since I understood sarcasm.

First things first, I cleaned up the mess and opened the windows a smidge, cranking the air recuperation system to the max. Hanging around a place that smelled like a bum on a good Friday night was a horrible way to spend free time. Having successfully cut myself and bandaged the cuts up, I retreated to my room, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the quiet, stinky, creepy house that my home had become.

My phone was long dead so I plugged it in, waiting for the 2% to appear, turning it on. A few messages from Peter, first cheerful, then worried and then relieved. Tony must've placated the spider child and told him I was staying at the tower. Good call, Tones, or else poor Peter would've worked himself into an anxiety attack and crashed in a dumpster while patrolling. Or something. I still didn't quite get his spider-hero side-gig.

A text from Bruce - rather, a photo, of a disgruntled Steve with his eyebrows raised, titled "I told him the next time he freaks out, you will kiss him. With tongue. Barnes cackled for about ten minutes until he ran out of air."

And a text from Tony. My chest tightened when I opened it. "Good tactics. Sneaky, clever, I'd give it a B+."

I snorted. Then the phone beeped again and I froze. A text ordering me to be ready tomorrow, for a date night? Unreal. I was torn. A part of me was elated, thinking Tony wanted to keep me around like that. The other, more sensible part, was firmly telling me to chill TF down. He'll most likely kindly reject any further intimate interactions, maybe have me sign a few NDAs.

I still answered positive, mushy and cute and all. Feelings aside, I wasn't about to change my texting style for any man. My God, I was turning into a monster. A horribly cheesy, pink, soft, fluffy monster.

The next day, school was nearly unbearable. People talked. Not to my face, of course, since the rumours of me putting away Flash Thompson were still fresh enough for everyone to be cautious around me, but the whispers followed me throughout hallways, tongue in cheek remarks thrown at me from the bathroom stalls, behind the teacher's desks. Did I care? Nope.

Okay, I did, but not in the way one would think. The little spring in my step, a slight smirk. My thoughts were occupied with my upcoming dinner with Tony.

Peter and his pet nerds stood at my side, the ever watchful guards. I had no idea why they decided I needed reassurance or their comfort (I did not), but I had to admit it was cute. MJ, in particular, glared her Death Ray Stare at any male-identifying student that dared to as much as look wrongly in my direction. I mostly ignored the trio. Pete himself did a great job with entertaining his friends, he babbled on as usual, about everything and nothing in particular. Mouth ulcers. He was going to get them one day.

Dad called me during third period, saying he was flying off to California. I would have been lying if I said I didn't know why he scheduled the sudden trip; mother's total radio silence and the absence of her laptop in her own office spoke volumes about the state of my family's affairs. They had a fight and ran off to the opposite ends of the continent. I didn't understand why mother was upset with me, though. I saved her face during dinner at Tony's, so why is she mad about me going to a party with dad? Baffling woman.

Admitting the house felt like home when either of them were absent was hard. Or, perhaps, I felt nothing at all. Spending so much time around the Brady Bunch- the Avengers made me too soft for my own liking. It wasn't just Tony that lived in mind rent-free all the time now; there was Bruce, with his kindness, Bucky with his overgrown teenager attitude, Wanda with her wit and hair that smelled like cheap shampoo - seriously, I absolutely had to show her the benefits of decent hair products. That was just to list the few little quirks. There were so many people, all of them different and wonderful in their own way.

To summarize it, I was both happy for them and bitter for not having any of that to myself. Although it made me kind of glad I didn't have a sibling - looking after someone in the mess that mother and dad created would've been a nightmare. They say it's always a better place where we are not.

I went through a whole pack of cigarettes in a span of a couple of hours. Plagued by strangely melancholic thoughts, trying to push down the anxiety over my upcoming date, my choice of outfit proved to be a cumbersome task while in process.

Expensive but simple dress with spaghetti straps, in my favourite colour. That was the easiest part. A good base for any accessories. Would Tony like it? Would the press make outrageous comments?

Either way, it would. Dad's comments cut deeper than I probably realized it until now; in a sudden bout of self-awareness and a couple of mouse clicks later... Tony wouldn't care. Tony wears suits with sneakers. The Manolos flew back, towards my shoe closet, and a pair of Chanel trainers made their debut. A Hermes 2002 barely weighed down by my wallet, keys and phone. A nice coat, too, appropriately light and so very conceptual and fashionable.

I spent way too much time deciding on what to wear. A stern talking to, however, didn't help me, and I had to redo my make-up - the "nude", "all natural" look was one of the hardest to nail. Or so Marie Claire said. Whatever, my highlighter game was, as usual, on point.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway (it finally let me tag you)!

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

[daydreamingsora-fics]

omg can u do a part 2 for “what just happened” i really loved it its so diff from other manager fics

What I only want

◣ sora’s memo ◥  HEY~~ it’s been a while now, sorry for not posting so long. I’m still adjusting with my new schedule in school and college sucks jdeouwhd. I will try to post more blogs if I really can, there’s a lot of stories/ headcanons save in drafts so stay tune with it hNg. Anyways I hope y’all enjoy this imagine. Stay safe sunshines!! and take care <<33

Here’s pt.1

After the incident in the gym, the tension between you and osamu got even thicker, and it became more obvious than before which made the other members more curious about what happened between you and Osamu in the past. The other members, like Akagi, ask Atsumu about your past with Osamu but just like before, the second-year setter will just shrug it off saying he didn’t know. Meanwhile, Kita as the captain of the team, asked Osamu, however Osamu just shook it off and told the captain that there’s nothing wrong and the two of you just had a misunderstanding that time. Of course, he didn’t believe that but he didn’t push the boy to say something as he knew that one day Osamu will admit it to him.

It's lunch time and you’re eating lunch with Atsumu at the gazebo, where the two of you along with Suna and Osamu mostly have lunch before. Today is just an ordinary day, where your teachers give you overloaded school works to do at home, teachers giving you overloaded information making you and the whole class loses brain cells.

“Say, Y/n, is there really no chance for you and Osamu to make up and go back as friend?” Atsumu asked you again. This is the first time, after the incident that incident happened last 3 days, he asked you about making up with Osamu. You rolled your eyes when you heard that question again and drank your water before answering the fake blonde boy.

“Why are you keep on asking me about that? Aren’t you like tired of asking that question?” you asked feeling irritated with his question. Atsumu sighed, feeling unsatisfied with your answer but he already expected that from you as the person who has a high ego.

“Well, I want you and my brother, who I argued with a lot, to see happy again even as friends” He answered you like he is stating the very obvious answer to your question.

“Well then I am sorry but that would never ever happen” you answered back and let out a ‘hmmph’ at the end of your sentence.

“why? Why do you think it would never happen?” he questioned you or more like challenging you to state a very valid reason of why you and Osamu could never be friends again. You glared at Atsumu as you feel again the emotions you are trying to hold for almost a year now, rising up and your heart starting to ache as you recall the ugly-messed-up break up with his twin brother.

“You wanna know why huh?” you nagged at him as you put your chin up to him.

“Yeah tell me why, why did you and Osamu will never go back like friends again!?” he copied your actions as he provokes you to tell him your reasonings about your broken friendship with Osamu.

While the two of you are busy provoking each other, Suna and Osamu entered school yard to spare some time before the afternoon class start but the noise that you and Atsumu were making caught their attention. The two of them stopped walking and look at the two of you, who looks like having an on going argument to each other.

“Why? y/n? tell me, stop bluffing around” Atsumu provoked you and this time, all your emotions that had been kept inside since before burst out which caught his attention off.

“because I am still hurt from what happened before!” your blurted out, heads lowering and tears started streaming down from your eyes. Atsumu was shocked to see you crying, especially the two audience at the back, Osamu and Suna.

Osamu started to feel uncomfortable as soon as he saw you started crying, that’s why he made his way to exit of the school yard but Suna stopped him and dragged him at the gazebo that is placed behind yours and atsumu’s. The gray headed boy glared at the raven-haired boy but Suna just gave him this ‘we will stay and listen to their conversation’- look.

“y/n-“ Atsumu was about to say something but you interrupted.

“It still hurts because our break-up is too sudden. We were happy earlier those days but why with the sudden break-up?” You cried as you tried to wipe the tears that continuously fall down like a water falls. Atsumu remained seated beside you as his gaze you with empathy while the two behind listening were shocked, mostly it’s Suna. Osamu’s gazed shifted from you and Atsumu’s back to his hands that is resting on the table while Suna is looking at his friend with one eyebrow raised as heard the new information.

“what it even more hurt is that he didn’t gave any reason why he wanted to break up with me, he just said that he needs to focus in his study and volleyball which it doesn’t make no sense!” you continued as you looked up to your ex-boyfriend’s twin, who’s silently listening to you.

“It doesn’t make sense ⏤ my insecurities went back; a lot of unanswered question runs inside of my mind. What happened to us? Isn’t he happy anymore with me?” you ranted as you tried to seek for answer to those questions.

“Y/n, he is happy with you, I could tell-“ Atsumu tried comforting you but you just shook your head.

“then why he left me? Am I only convenient when we were in middle school, and now we are in high school he suddenly realizes that I am useless after all because he met other people?!” you complained as your tears falls down non-stop. It’s now Atsumu’s turn to shake his head as a sign of disagreement with your statement, but he could say a word as he too doesn’t know why his twin brother did that you.

“did he find someone new?! Did he found someone that’s better than me; that’s prettier than me?” you let all the questions running inside your mind out but none of this are answerable by Atsumu and he wished he could give answers to stop you from hurting anymore.

“You know what, it’s actually fine if he said that there’s someone knew, that would be hurt less because we can’t stop that, we are still young but…” you wiped your tears but they kept on falling and you lowered your head again as you feel embarrass crying but you can’t hold the pain that you’re feeling anymore.

“he didn’t said a thing, he just left me up hanging with these unanswered questions then watch me fall as I crashed down the asphalt” you slowly begun to calm down but tears won’t from falling, you bit your lips as remained silent for a while and wishes to stop the you’re feeling and to find the answers for the questions that kept you from holding something that would never come back again. Atsumu looks you with pity, he want to go to his twin brother and gave him a sweet punch on his face for causing the girl that they or maybe he cherish.

“All I want is just answers. That’s all I want, Atsumu, is that even hard to give” you yearned as you looked at the boy sitting in front of you. Atsumu’s heart ached as he saw his best friend so broken, so he reached out to you and pulled you into a tight hug. With his action, you can’t help but to cry again, you just want to let all the pain out even just for now. You cried in Atsumu’s arms while he caresses your hair to comfort you.

Meanwhile, the audience behind you and Atsumu have heard everything. Suna was in fact, shocked with this revelation, he understands now why you give Osamu a cold shoulder but what he didn’t understand is why did he broke up with you. He looks at his friend who’s sitting right in front him that’s obviously avoiding his gaze. But Osamu felt the gaze so he looked at Suna with his one eyebrow quirked up.

“What?” he asked which made Suna shook his head.

“you’ve got a lot of explaining to do”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu inarizaki #inarizaki #Inarizaki High #inarizaki scenarios #inarizaki manager #inarizaki imagines #hq inarizaki #inarizaki x reader #haikyuu osamu #osamu scenario #osamu x reader #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #hq osamu #Miya Atsumu #osamu imagine #atsumu imagines #Suna Rintarou #atsumu scenarios #suna rintaro imagine #suna scenarios #haikyuu angst #miya twins #osamu angst #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu suna

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt. 1]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Summary:  Struggling with the death of your husband, you find comfort in someone unexpected.

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death 

A/N:  It’s a military AU with the loss of a spouse. This was the only WIP of mine I was really upset to discontinue. Which is why it’s the only one I left up. After some love from my @moonbeambucky​,​ I’m posting the first chapter and we will see how it goes. No, I do not have a posting schedule nor do I know when the next part will be up. No Bucky yet but the next chapter is nothing but Bucky.  It’s still very heavy in the angst but hang tight. It gets better once Bucky comes home. If you like it write a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s breath warmed your skin, making you shiver. “It’s time to wake up, my sweetheart.” 

You pulled the cover over your head, hiding the grin on your face and blocking out the sun along with your husband. Steve’s chuckle made your smile widen enough to make your cheeks hurt. There was a gentle tug to the blanket, and you knew Steve was attempting to tenderly coax you out of bed. You slowly lowered the quilt down to your nose, only letting your eyes peek out, and you find your husband’s gorgeous smile beaming down at you, making your heart flutters from the sight. 

“It’s Saturday, Steven.” 

“Steven?” Steve chuckled and tried to pull the covers off your face yet again. “I’m in that much trouble?” 

You narrowed your eyes and tightened your grip on your blanket. 

“Yes, Steven, you are.” 

Steve settled himself on top of you, leaving the blanket wedged between you, but he pulled it down far enough to see your whole face. He placed a kiss to the tip of your crinkled up nose and smiled at the exaggerated pout you put on. 

“We have brunch with everyone, or did you forget that it was your idea?” 

“I did forget,” You whined quietly. “You know better than to let me plan things when I’m excited, and I’ve had more than two glasses of wine.” 

He only grinned wider at that. Didn’t say a word, and you started to fidget from your own self-consciousness. You hated and loved it when he looked at you like that. It made you fear the day he would stop. Eight years in, and it was still there despite fights over how to load the dishwasher, silly tiffs about money and arguments over what way the toilet paper goes on the holder. 

“What are you going to do when our kids come running in here to wake you up? Are you going to send our sweet babies away?” 

He just had to go there. Steve just had to go and mention sweet moments of babies and cuddles -- Your weakness.  

You relented and finally wrapped your arms around his neck, dipping your fingers into his longer than usual hair. He would have to cut it soon.  Couldn’t be a soldier and have hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. You liked when he let it get long, though. It made him your Steve again. Which sounded ridiculous. He didn’t have long hair and beard when you met, or the night he kissed you for the first time, but it didn’t matter how silly it was. This version was your Steve, and the short-haired, clean-shaven one belonged to the Army. 

“Well, if they are running up here to wake me up because their daddy made me breakfast, I could be convinced to get out bed for some kisses and cuddles.” 

Steve’s sweet laugh made your skin prickle. You wondered if he would let you record it before he left this time or if that was going too far. Probably not. Steve would do just about anything you asked of him, so you couldn’t imagine he would ever tell you no for something that would put your heart at ease while he was gone. 

“Maybe we skip brunch and get started on those babies, hm?” 

You grinned. 

Steve always knew exactly what to say.

“God, I love you, Rogers.” 

Steve’s right hand slipped under the sheet and under the white cotton shirt of his that you were currently using as a pajama, his fingers dug into your ribs making you squirm, and he dipped his head down, barely brushing over your parted lips, he whispered, “And, I love you, baby.” 

Your eyes opened, and you weren’t met with the sight of your husband. It was the same ugly white ceiling you’ve stared at for the past month, the past thirteen months, really.  It’s been a month since everything was finalized. By someone’s good fortune that was not your own, Steve had insisted you buy your house off base so at least you could keep the home you built together. It hadn’t made this last month any easier. Thirty-six days since you got the news and thirty days since you laid Steve to rest. You were supposed to be improving, or so the books and all your friends and family said. You didn’t know how anyone expected you to get better. You could barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone think about moving on with what little bit of a life you had left. 

The sun was hitting the full-length mirror hanging on the far wall at the perfect angle, and you knew it was nearly seven, judging by the position of the glare coming off the glass. You could spend the rest of the day in bed, and you would have every right to. No one would let you get away with wallowing today you had a feeling. Besides, you had to stop by Sarah’s and make sure she was okay. It has been far too long since you checked in on her, and that wasn’t fair to her. She was grieving just as much as you were. So, you forced yourself out of bed, stood on shaky legs, and made the short, dreadfully long walk to your closet.

The red flannel you pulled out of black felt-lined hanger still smelled like Steve. All of his things did, and his scent hung heavy in your room. You pulled it on over your tank top and brought the collar up to your nose, taking in a deep breath. That earthy citrus smell still made your knees a little weak. Eventually, you were going to have to wash his things. You glanced at your bed, the pile of crumpled sheets you would typically insist on making before your day started. What was the point in making them now? No one would see them but you. No one would know if you made your bed or left it a wreck for days on end. 

You should wash them, a voice in your head nagged. 

No, you shouldn’t. 

His pillow is still his pillow, so long as you don’t wash it. Maybe next month. You haven’t been sleeping much as it is, and when you do, you usually fall asleep on the couch so the sheets could stand to go a while longer.

The house was eerily quiet in the mornings. Steve was always the first one up and the last one down. The quiet made those times harder. It was the heavy reminder he was gone, and the weight of that on your chest left you unable to rest. Landing at the bottom of the stairs, you found Sam still fast asleep on the couch with no signs of waking any time soon. He had shown up last night claiming he needed to see you, but you knew Sam was there to check up on you. It had nothing to do with his own grief. Sam became your shadow the moment the funeral ended, and part of you wished he would just go away. 

You wanted everyone to go away and let you grieve in the only way you knew how. 

The coffee pot was empty, and it glared at you the moment you entered the kitchen. As it has been for the last year. Another reminder that Steve was gone and never coming back. When he was home, Steve would set the timer before his run, so by the time you woke up and made your way downstairs, there was always a fresh pot waiting for you. You’ve been making your own coffee since he deployed, and not one morning had it come out right. 

You should have known then something was wrong. 

A large, calloused hand slipped around your waist from behind, and gentle kisses landed on your neck. He shouldn’t be here, and yet, he was. He was late for PT and was surely going to get yelled at the second he arrived. Steve didn’t seem bothered by the thought, or maybe kissing you was really worth it like he claimed.

“I believe you're wearing my favorite shirt,” Steve’s voice rumbled against your skin, and you tried to suppress the shudder it sent through you. 

“What’s yours is mine, Husband.” 

Steve chuckled. 

“How many cups of coffee does that make for you, Wife?” 

“Two,” You said with shaky confidence and a scrunched nose that said you weren’t being entirely truthful.

Steve nuzzled his nose along your jaw, and he roughly whispered in your ear, “Liar. Wanna try that again?” 

“Fine,” you conceded with an eye roll. “This is cup three, but I’m not having any more for the day because you’re here stealing the rest.” Steve smiled fondly and took his travel mug from its spot next to yours. 

“No more until you have some water. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” Steve cupped your jaw with his free hand and tilted your head back to rest on his shoulder. He pressed a tender kiss to your lips and one to your nose. 

“I’ll see you tonight beautiful.” 

“Y/n… Hey…”

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise, baby. When do I ever break my promises to you?” 

“Hey, Y/n.” Sam tried again, more forceful his time. “Are you okay?”

You blinked, finding Sam standing in front of you with a look of concern drawing his brows together. You looked down at the counter where two cups were resting, full of black steaming coffee. You had only meant to pour one cup. Or had you? Sam realized the mistake before you did. The cup was for Steve. He quickly leaned forward and slid the mug towards him. 

"Mind if I get a cup? Didn't sleep great last night." 

A breath of relief.

You nodded and slipped the carafe back where it rested, avoiding Sam’s watchful eyes. 

"...How are you sleeping?" 

"Fine." 

Sam raised a brow. 

"Decent." You reluctantly confessed. "Enough that I can make it through the day."

"And what are you doing... to make it through the day? Have you tried to play?" 

Your eyes shifted to the piano that sat in the den, and you quickly looked away. There was no point in beating around the bush with that one. Someone was coming to look at it at the end of the week, and you were hopeful by the weekend to have it sold. There were some things that you wouldn’t be able to pick back up again, and falling in love and playing the piano was on the top of the list.  There was no reason to pretend. 

"No. I don't--" You shook your head. "It's as if my fingers can't remember the keys. I don't know. Nothing feels right anymore." 

That was normal. Everything you were feeling was perfectly normal, and Sam wanted to tell you that. You knew he did, but he didn’t, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. This was hard enough without feeling like your closest friend was counseling you. 

“It’s not fair.” 

“No, it’s not--” 

“I haven’t washed his pillowcase yet.” You blurted without thinking. “I, uh, I’m scared if I do it will lose his scent, and it won’t be his anymore. Which is stupid. He hasn’t slept on it in over a year. I could easily spray more cologne on the cover like I have been since he left, and it would be the same. It feels different now. Final. Am I going crazy? Because it feels like I am losing it, Sam.” 

“That’s all normal. You’re grieving. It’s normal to not be rational--”

No. That was not what you wanted. 

“I don’t want therapy Sam right now,” You snapped. “I want Sam. My Sam.” 

Sam leaned back against the backing of the barstool and stared at you. Your gaze didn’t waver. You picked at your nails, and your bottom lip was trembling, but you held your gaze steady. Sam knew when to push and when not to. Right now, you were right. You didn’t need him to baby you, to walk on eggshells, and repeat well-rehearsed phrases meant to aid in your recovery like everyone else was doing. You just needed him to listen and tell you your life wasn’t over.” 

“Okay.” 

Sam reached across the counter and cupped a large hand over yours. There weren’t many people you would let see like this, or at all. Since the funeral, you haven’t been getting out much. You were sure Wanda called Sam and tattled on you after your meltdown in the market yesterday. It wasn’t a big deal. Yes, you cried over an apple pie. It was not the first time someone has gotten upset over baked goods. It happened every day, you were sure of that, and no one made a fuss until it happened to a widow. 

Widow. You really hated that word. It was a stupid word, and you refused to use it. However, the incident in the market didn’t help the way people were looking at you, widow, or not. You had thought things would be slightly easier once you talked to Bucky. He’s always had a way of calming you and putting your restless soul at ease. You waited on a call from Bucky, but none came. He hasn’t even sent a letter. That might have been part of the reason for pie-gate 2020. 

At first, you were angry. He was ignoring you? After everything? You lost your husband, the man’s best friend, and Bucky couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone and make sure you were okay? But you realized he was grieving, too. It was different from yours, but it didn’t make it any less real, and he had a right to do it in his own way. Besides, Bucky probably didn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t if it was you because there was nothing anyone could say or do to make this okay. That was when your anger turned to tears, and that moment just happened to be in the bakery, in front of twenty or so people. 

It wasn’t like there was some guidebook on how you should grieve and move on with your life. You wished there was, but there wasn’t a ‘right way’ to navigate this. You had to take one day at a time and handle each moment as it came along. 

“I’ve loved him for most of my life am I supposed to just stop now?”

“No one expects you to stop loving Steve.”  

“It feels that way sometimes,” You mumbled weakly. 

Sam gave your hand a gentle squeeze, but he didn’t say anything else. You needed to sort through what you were feeling on your own, so he was letting you decide what you needed; from him and yourself.  When you finally looked back up, he could tell by the murky waters in your eyes, you were still just as lost as the day Steve left you. Only now, there were expectations for improvement and time limits on how long you were allowed to stay floating in the dark. Even though it had only been thirty-six days, eight hours, and forty-three minutes, everyone was tired. Your friends and family wanted to move on. After all, they didn’t lose their other half. They were tired of being sad, and you were tired of pretending it was okay. 

“How am I supposed to move on without him, and what? Just start over?”

Sam gave you a small smile and tightened his grip on your hand. “I don’t know, but we are all here to help you figure it out.” 

“Not everyone is here,” you grumbled petulantly. 

Bucky didn’t have a choice, but he did. He could have been the one to come home, and while you were not upset with him for sending Sam in his stay, it still hurt. The three of you had been close, and once upon a time, you were closer to Bucky than you were Steve. He was the first person to talk to you when you moved to town, and if it wasn't for Bucky, you never would have met Steve. 

“He will be home at the end of the month and from what he said last night. I think he’s hoping it would be okay for him to stay here.” 

On the one hand, you were relieved to know Bucky was coming home. You needed to see him, to hear his voice tell you that Steve would want you to move on and be happy. On the other, Bucky hadn’t called you. He called Sam instead. That stung. 

“Why?” You slowly pulled your hand back and crossed your arms over your chest, shielding yourself from Bucky’s reasoning and maybe a little bit from Sam, too. “Why does he want to stay here?”

“Well, he didn’t re-enlist, so I think he’s trying to figure out what his next step is and what he’s going to do with the rest of his life and… I think he wants to be close to Steve and maybe to keep an eye on you. You could help each other, you know?”

“Right,” you snorted. 

As if anyone could help you, let alone the friend that left you in the lurch when you needed him most. You didn’t know what Sam was putting in his morning coffee, but Bucky didn’t want to help you do anything. He has made that very clear from the moment Steve died.  

“I doubt he wants to be here with me, and what exactly are we going to help each other do?” 

Sam sighed and shook his head, “Grieve, Y/n. Grieve and move forward.” 

That would be easier said than done.

Previous // Next 

#past!Steve Rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #alternate universe #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #tw: character death #tw: military death #tw: death of a spouse

[trvelyans-archive]

i am on my hands and knees begging for u to tell me about lila and margot 🙏

jasmine.............. thank you for this gift

under the cut because i expect it’ll get very long <3 :) update after i finished writing: it is, in fact, very long and also took me over an hour. so. take that as whatever sort of warning you might want.

let’s start with margot !

she was born to a couple of really young parents who..... did not want to be parents. at all. they were still in the party-and-get-drunk phase of their life and didn’t want to have a kid to worry about, so a large part of her childhood was spent couch surfing between relatives, mostly her grandfather.

they were really close! he would help her with her homework, they would cook together, he would let her drink underage so that she was well-versed in beer by the time she was like. idk. 16 lol. but she felt closer to him than her own parents, who were good when they were around but. they mostly weren’t around <3

when she was 19, her grandpa starting showing pretty serious signs of memory loss and whatnot and eventually had to be moved into a home. she was living with him by that point, so she had to continue to spend a year or so of her adult life couchsurfing. it didn’t help that she was in school full-time to get an engineering degree of. some kind. i think mechanical engineering. idk. and didn’t have a job, so to pay back her roommates she took up a majority of the housework as well as picked up odd jobs on the weekend. her grandpa’s health continued to decline through this time so she didn’t actually mind being busy because then she. didn’t have to think about it at all <3

and then.............. when she was 20......... her boyfriend of a year  suggested that she not only move in with him but that they get married and margot, who has never had stability ever in her life, jumped at the opportunity !

after she graduated, she found it incredibly hard to find a career (even though they were in the same program and He had no trouble finding one), so she was back to not working but her husband didn’t mind and he supported her whole-heartedly. during this time she started running and then eventually started going to a gym with a couple of her female friends from their neighbourhood! she would also spend a lot of time at her grandpa’s but his health was still rapidly declining. eventually her now-husband said that she should probably stop visiting him and margot was like “.... ok i guess”

And then. :)

she kept spending time outside of the house and started taking self-defense classes with a few of her friends and her husband was started to get very antsy. he wanted her to be at home, told her that he didn’t like her going out at night or, eventually, at all, and would find ways to keep her home every night so she didn’t go out. during this time he also started getting. um. very manipulative. he was easily triggered into starting arguments. so she increased the frequency of her self-defense classes and, eventually, they became Very Useful in an argument with her husband. so. we hate him :)

after that she filed for a divorce, moved away and changed her name to her late grandmother’s last name. she started working at a gym in her new town and eventually decided to open her own ! she had gotten the building about 2-3 weeks before the outbreak hit and didn’t have any furniture or equipment of any kind, so she met up with 2 middle-aged women from her old gym and they travelled together until one of them was bitten in a fight with walkers and dragged into a big crowd of them to be eaten and the other one was bitten and margot had to shoot her when she got zombified and tried to attack. :(

that’s where i have left off for now but i am going to develop her More the more i watch the show !!!

okay. backstory over. now for the fun bits:

her faceclaim is mackenzie davis specifically in terminator (without the. lines on her arms and whatever idk what those are) and this picture is the most margot-vibe imaginable.

the haircut was an incredibly recent choice but it came in handy during the outbreak because she didn’t have to worry about keeping hair out of her face. girlboss !

she is 6′2 :) her and her husband were funnily enough the 2 tallest people in her graduating class

she spoke occasionally to her parents after graduating and moving away but they fell out of touch a year or so before the outbreak began and she......................... unsurprisingly doesn’t miss them at all

she has 1 keepsake and it’s an old keychain of her grandpa’s and if anything happens to it. she will kill everyone in any room and Then herself !!!

she likes to where tank tops to show off her big arms. is this very ergonomical in the apocalypse where zombie bites can kill you instantly ? nope! will she do it anyway to intimidate people ? yup!

she Cannot cook. at all. she lived off of take-out and microwavable meals for the first 20 years of her life and then she always had someone else making food for her until she moved away on her own when it was back to takeout.

on the topic of food :) her fave foods are mac and cheese with breadcrumbs and meatlover’s pizza !

she will do literally anything for a good beer. anything. she keeps an eye out for them every time she goes scavenging in buildings and will try to get at least 1 bottle per trip. girlboss !

she cannot sing. in fact she’s not just average, she’s Terrible. she can, however, play mad guitar because her grandpa taught her.

now onto miss lila :)

she was born in a town a couple over from rick’s and was the younger sister of 2 ! she had a really great family and a very very happy childhood :) her dad was a wildlife rehabilitator and her mom was a landscaper who took a lot of pride in their nice big backyard and garden and Land where they. you know. rehabiliated the wildlife and what not

she worked a lot with her dad and mom at their wildlife centre and also helped her mom garden a lot (their house was on the same property as the centre so it was a nice big plot of land). she took a lot of interest in rehabilitating animals and it sparked a very early childhood interest in Caring for things (namely little wild critters) which extended to her helping out little kids on the playground when they got scraped knees and things. she always had a package of bandaids in her backpack from second grade on. an angel <3

in her final year of high school she had a very quick fling with a boy from her high school that ended… poorly. and then she got pregnant! which she. Did not expect. nor want. nor need in her life because she was planning on moving to atlanta to go to medical school and kickstart her career. her sister, who had recently dropped out of school and lost her job, decided to Take One for the team and claim the baby as hers so lila could go to medical school and stuff. their parents promised to take good care of her and they all made a plan to hide lila’s pregnancy from their town (although i’m sure literally everyone knows anyway) and then she moved away in the summer after giving birth to go to school

she quickly finished up her nursing program but was out of job for a few years until she got a job offer to be the nurse at king county elementary school aka the school were one Carl Grimes goes to school. she moved there in may and one night, when her car Squealed to a stop in front of a dog who had run away from his home and was being chased by. Um. a certain sheriff’s deputy who was intending on bringing the puppy back home <3 they got to talking and. Well. the rest is history…..

she was a very beloved member of the staff and kids would often fake sick just to come to her office and get a sucker and she grew esp close to the grimes family :D after a couple of years living in king county she got a job to start working at some fancy prep school in atlanta and decided that actually she might want to. You know. start being a mom now that she was finished with school and had a career. so she moved away from king county at the end of the next school year and was unfortunately in atlanta when it was bombed by the government at the start of the outbreak so she and her daughter and sister all died :) and that’s that !

some fun facts because that was a very depressing end to her story:

she always has suckers in her office at school and her favourites are the watermelon ones.

she can often be found gardening in her backyard or watching the birds in the trees like a little nature baby !!!

she is very meticulous about planning. she Does have a daily agenda. she Will kill you if you touch it. shane likes to leave her little notes in it for her to find when she’s at school. sometimes they are not Just cute. she usually erases those.

she likes collecting ugly thrift store paintings of animals and hangs them up in her dining room and she Does think they are incredibly funny.

she is a vegetarian !!! very unwavering about it. shane finds it annoying because he’s good at cooking steak but she just has a salad and then they’re both perfectly happy <3

sends basically everyone she knows a Christmas/holiday card every year. even the teachers at the elementary school who don’t like her and or barely talk to her !!!

she is a terrible maker of tea and usually forgets about cups before she’s even halfway through them (thank god for her). makes everyone tea when they come over except shane (stupid ass) because he doesn’t like it and usually people just politely swallow it even though it’s too steeped or. sorry idk how tea works. she just Makes It Bad ok

she perpetually forgets to do laundry. Most of her non-scrubs have dirt stains or dressing stains or whatnot (except for her Really nice clothes) which is why she tries to buy a lot of patterns. makes things easier to hide <3

and that’s it for now !!! i have so much other lore for them but i will stop here for now :) thank you very much if you read this also i’m very sorry i have twd brainworms i cannot help it. anyway ok that’s it thanks love you bye

#me writing nearly 2k of oc facts that is literally nothing more than comprehensible gibberish ? yes #also ig i'm just a villainfucker now sorry not sorry babes can't be helped when your villains are mr. jon bernthal :/ #BUT ALSO we only stan pre-outbreak. after that he is dead to me so. #ANYWAY YEAH JESUS CHRIST these are probably shitty backstories and also just um lame ocs but <3 that's that #oc: margot #oc: lila #ask #thank u jasmine.... i love u

[cassieschaosdimension]

Okay! Here it is the fanfic some of you have been requesting!

Enjoy it!

"Nico!" Will called to his boyfriend. "Put that sweater on right now! You know you want to!" He starts running after Nico with said sweater in hand. He knows his boyfriend wants to wear it, but the goth message is too strong.

Nico is being chased all over their apartment in New Rome by his overly energetic boyfriend who wants to match for their first Christmas on their own. He would have put the sweater on by himself, but it was too ugly to be seen on anyone. Even Hephaestus and the guy was ugly!

Will stopped all of a sudden and stared at the sweater in his hand. "Nico, it's not that bad! Please wear it! For me!"

Oh no Nico thought as he watched his boyfriend turn on that Southern charm and the puppy dog eyes. He tried to look away, but found he couldn't because Will was advancing slowly towards him.

"William," Nico says slowly edging towards the front door of their one bedroom apartment. "Be reasonable, would you want your dad, the fashion guru of Greek mythology to see me in that?!" The horror is present in his tone. "First off, I would not wear it and you know I would wear almost anything to please you. I draw the line at that thing!"

This gives Will a pause as he considers the question. He stares at the jingle bells stripes and Christmas tree underneath them. The green and gold don't work out and the red of the presents aren't helping the poor sweater's case. He thinks back to the time his dad yelled at him for wearing sandals with socks because he was in a rush after being late for cabin clean up duty. He shudders. He does not want a repeat of his over dramatic father flapping his arms while lecturing him on fashion choices.

Will sighs. "Alright Nico. You win this one. My dad's fashion lectures aren't for the faint of heart and I've had enough of them to last a lifetime. But please dress in green or red okay? You would look really good in emerald green." He starts walking to their room.

Nico grins to himself. He's won this round with his mad reasoning skills. Then again, he almost always wins his arguments with Will. Decades in the Lotus Casino arguing over games will do that to you. Then he registers what his boyfriend requested of him.

He starts to run after Will. "Will! I don't have emerald clothing! I have brown, black, and grey! What are you talking about?! William! Get over here!"

Will cackles to himself while going through their closet. He bought his boyfriend colored clothes for occasions with his father and Nico looks delicious in cool, dark times so that's what he bought. He was lucky he hid them on his side of the closet. He turns to see his boyfriend glaring at him.

Nico stares at his poor boyfriend he only knows wants to help him make an impression on Hades. It was only supposed to be the two of them and Hades and Persephone, but of course Apollo had to invite himself. Rolling his eyes at the memory he turns back to Will with his hands on his hips glare still in full force.

With a pleading look on his face, Will is desperate. They're running late and he doesn't want to leave the three gods alone more than they have to be. "Nico," cue the sigh. "We're already running late and I don't want to find a war going on with your stepmom in the middle. She's scary."

"Will… Fine!" Nico says throwing his hands up and walking to grab the shirt from his boyfriend who is now grinning broadly. He walks to the bathroom and changes into the shirt grumbling about Will and if he didn't live him he wouldn't do this.

Meanwhile Will is getting dressed in a dark maroon, fluffly long sleeve sweater and dark blue jeans with black vans. When Nico comes back from the bathroom his heart stops.

His boyfriend stands slightly slouched, uncomfortable with the attention. The emerald shirt sets off his long lashes, dark eyes, and raven hair perfectly. Will wants to swoon, but they have business to attend to.

"Good you're ready to go. Hades confirmed he's ready for us?" Will says coming next to Nico.

In response Nico nods and they head out the door. "Just so you know," Nico says with an undertone. "I'm only wearing this shirt and making nice with your dad because your mom loves me so now I need to win over your dad."

Will doesn't tell Nico his dad was won over the minute Nicon said hello, I'm only here because Will made me. Maybe he might actually behave. One can hope.

They head to the car deep in each of their thoughts. Nico is worried how long his dad is going to last in Apollo's presence. Will is worried how long Hades can stand to be in his dad's presence because Apollo is overbearing.

They have agreed to meet in the Underworld and Zeus has given Apollo permission to head down there to celebrate with them. As Will starts to drive south, the air in the car turns warmer. They banter and whine about the music choice. Nico wants Green Day and Will wants to listen to Blake Shelton.

They left around eleven in the morning on Christmas Day and it takes them about seven hours to get to Hollywood because of traffic in the LA area. They park the car and walk behind the Hollywood sign, Will grabbing Nico's leather jacket in the way behind the sign because even with a sweater on the Underworld is a child, unforgiving place. There Will grabs onto Nico and they shadow travel down to Hades' living room.

Nico wonders why they couldn't shadow travel in the first place and why Will insisted they drive when they walk in and he immediately knows why.

Persephone is standing by the wall her hands over her head while her husband and cousin are going at it.

"This is my domain Apollo you do not have the authority to say what's going to be served for dinner. I can do that on my own."

"But Uncle, you're serving turkey! It's supposed to be ham! Most mortals use ham!" Turning to his son he implores him. "Will tell Hades most mortals use ham for their Christmas dinner!"

Will is torn between getting the approval of his boyfriend's father and his dad. He ultimately goes for the one that will save his life. "Dad, many mortals celebrate Christmas differently or not at all. If Nico's dad wants to serve turkey then let him serve turkey! We are here as his guests and I expect you to behave!"

Apollo looks torn but nods and says "Will, I know you want to make a good impression on Uncle over there, but I am your father!"

"No dad. Mom raised me to have manners and her manners have taught me to accept all food unless I am allergic to it and I have no food allergies. Now sit down and we can eat." Will turns to Lord Hades. "Please excuse my father Lord Hades. I had a talk about this with him earlier, but it seems to have not rectified in his brain."

Hades nods and strides over to Nico. "Nico. Thank you for coming. I am starting to warm up to the boy, but I still need time."

Nico sighs his left hand clenching in a fist involuntarily. "Father you have been given years to accept Will. And it seems you have, but you don't want me to know. Father, the spirits talk."

Hades looks shocked and now angry. "Now listen here Nico. I may have approved of him, but he must be worthy of Maria DiAngelo's child. Bianca wishes she were here, but she is having fun in the fields of Elysium."

Meanwhile Will and Apollo are having their own discussion.

"But Will, Uncle said he didn't mind me coming!"

"Dad, you invited yourself here, remember? I know what mom saw in you, but really. Your manners need brushing up. For real. Just because Lord Hades is your uncle doesn't mean you can barge into his domain even with Lord Hades permission." Will feels like a dad reprimanding a child.

"William," Apollo strikes a pose. "I am the god of music and medicine. This is a celebration with my son and son in law. I had to come." He dramatically sighs and heads to the table. "Come now Will, let's stuff our faces!

As Will follows his dad he wonders who exactly the child is. He looks over at his boyfriend and his dad. They look like they're still having a heated discussion. Luckily for Will he has Nico's jacket so the chill in the air isn't as bad as it could have been. Nico hasn't noticed the jacket is gone until he brings his hands up to tig it around himself and it's gone. Looking up he mock scowls at Will.

Nico walks up to his boyfriend with an air of I don't care. They both know he cares very much. "Will, give me my jacket."

In response Will sticks out his tongue and says no. This results in a banter fight much like the one back at the apartment.

Will doesn't want to give the jacket back because it's warm and he's freezing. Nico says he can get him another one of Nico's leather jackets. But Will isn't having it. He knows this is Nico's favorite jacket hence why it was in the car, he takes that thing everywhere he goes. He wants to wear his boyfriend's favorite jacket. His boyfriend wants to wear his favorite jacket. The two of them are so engrossed in their argument they don't see the three adults smiling at them.

Persephone was reminded of how she first felt arguing with Hades over the fact she was kidnapped against her will by a much older man. She was intimidated by this man yet she felt some sort of weird connection to him. She pitied him because he was older and lonely down here with no one but Cerberus to keep him company. Eventually she came to care for this man unlike her stepson and his boyfriend who genuinely seem to get along even when arguing.

She goes over to break it up. "Boys, you can have this argument later. Nico, let Will keep the jacket, you can feel him shivering. I'll go turn up the fire. Will dear, come sit and stuff your face as your impatient father has been doing for the past half hour.

At this Apollo looks up turkey gravy dripping from his mouth. They all sigh and hope this is over soon. The dinner drags on and on and suddenly Hades can't take it anymore. While the rest of the group has polite conversation, Apollo finds it necessary to butt in and make it funny when it's not.

Normally Will accepts this behavior with grace, but not on Christmas and not when he is trying to get approval from his boyfriend's father who happens to be Lord of the Dead.

"Hey Dad," Will says from across the table where he has watched his dad pack away most of the food on the table. "I don't appreciate this and maybe I'll tell mom about this little gathering and how your Southern manners disappeared." He raises an eyebrow and Apollo's response is hilarious.

He sits up straight and acts like a Southern gentleman the rest of the time. Will signs in exasperation and turns to Nico and Lord Hades.

"Lord Hades, please forgive my father for his behavior," here he pauses while throwing side glances at his father.

Hades waves his hand in a gesture of peace. "Please boy. This is almost tame for my nephew. Did you enjoy your meal?"

Turning to Nico for reassurance Will answer carefully. "Yes Lord Hades. The good was quite delicious. Thank you for inviting us over for dinner."

"You are welcome boy," Hades says turning to his son. "Now, let's get the gift giving over with so my nephew can go home." The two snicker together and Will tries not to join in. It's impossible though as Persephone is talking to Apollo utterly bemused while he sprouts haikus about the meal.

"Father, here is my gift to you," Nico's voice carries as he hands a gift to Lord Hades.

"Thank you son. I appreciate it." His voice also carries. Apollo is beginning to quiet down and not be so energetic. Now he begins to get downright cocky. He's no longer dramatic.

He heads to their end of the table near the tree Persephone insisted on having. "Ahhhh presents. I remember when I was youn-" Apollo is cut off when Nico hands him a gift.

They're all speechless and Will stares at Nico in shock. Looking around at all of them he asks "what? I can give gifts."

A shocked silence falls over the room when Will throws himself in Nico's arms. He whispers in his boyfriend's ear. "He didn't expect to get one from you Nico. Look, you made him cry. " They look over still wrapped in each other's arms. Apollo is in fact hugging the gift while grinning with happy tears running down his face.

The look on Will's face says it all. Nico grins as he watches his boyfriend watch his dad open the gift. Suddenly Apollo is rushing towards Nico and grabs him in a hug. Stiffening Nico is confused but then reaches around the god and hugs him back.

Hades looks on with pride at his son who with Will Solanc's aid will grow to be a fine young man. He already was, but since he met Will he had grown in leaps and bounds in height and personality. He was proud of his boy.

Will is beaming with pride at the fact his boyfriend was thoughtful enough to get his dad a gift. To their surprise Apollo hands a gift right back to Nico.

The night is just full of surprises and after the gift giving and opening, Will and Nico start to clean up to head out. They had fun despite the rocky start and by the end of the night Hades had laughed out loud more times than Apollo can remember and Apollo hadn't felt the need to be cocky or arrogant. He was the man Will's mom must have fallen in love with.

As Nico and Will get up to leave Apollo hugs each of them, but Nico's is especially long. He whispers thank you for everything in his ear. Nico is absolutely shocked. He didn't think Apollo knew the words thank you. But here he was a mere demigod getting thanked by a god! Wow, Will's dad is full of surprises…

Apollo then goes over and hugs Hades and Persephone. He really is full of surprises today. He goes and leaves. In his wake four very confused people discuss what happened.

Hades wants to know how his nephew behaved all nice and sweet. He almost didn't recognize him! Persephone told him it was because he realized he could be himself and not have to put an image up.

Nico says he doesn't know which Apollo he finds most sickening, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Will.

They discuss it more and the four grow closer. The Christmas dinner really was a success even with Apollo there. Nico hugs his father and stepmother then gathers up their gifts. Will goes up to Hades and shakes his hand thanking him for inviting them. Persephone hugs Will saying he must come back soon when Nico next visits them.

Soon the two fade into shadows with the two immortals waving after them. Will takes off the jacket and puts it back in the backseat of the car with a grin.

"Well Neeks, I'd say it was a success though I was worried for a second." Will says getting into the driver's seat.

"Me too Will. Your dad actually seems like a really nice guy. I bet it gets tiring putting up a facade all the time," Nico responds through a yawn. "Will, don't drive all the way home. Stop at a hotel okay?"

Nodding Will turns the ignition and starts to drive. They talk about the dinner and how different it turned out from what they expected. Then they start to banter tearing each other with how they expected the night to end up.

"Neeks, you look really good in emerald holy Hera!" Will glances over at his tired boyfriend who is drifting off.

"Will, don't even start you look amazing in my leather jacket. Maybe I'll let you wear it more often." Smiling to himself Nico thinks he'll let only Will wear his leather jacket now. They can share it. His last words before he falls asleep are: "I love you William so pull into a hotel and we'll spend the night there. You're not driving all the way home this late."

Nico's soft snores fill the car and Will can't help but think he and Nico are made for each other. They complement one another perfectly and he thinks back on all the memories they've made together since they got together all those years ago.

Seeing a vacancy sign at a motel he pulls into the parking lot. He leaves Nico snoring away while he goes and asks for a room. Coming back out he rouses Nico and tells him he can sleep in a real bed.

Half asleep Nico leans on his boyfriend for support. The night turned out better than he could ever expected. Maybe next year they could shadow travel or even stay the night.

As Will supports his boyfriend while walking to the room he thinks of how grateful he is to Apollo for catching the eye of his mother so he could he born and also Lord Hades because he made Nico come into existence.

Opening the door, Will walks over to the bed placing the dozing Nico on it. After giving him a forehead kiss he goes to the other side of the bed. "Love you too Neeks."

Both Nico and Will dream about the wonderful Christmas dinner they just had and wonder what will happen next year.

And that's a wrap (lol) on they fanfic! I hope you guys like it! Please let me know what you think of it!

#solangeo #solangelo fanfic #fanfic #short fanfic #riordanverse #hades #apollo #persephone

[keijikunn]

Yellow

pairing: bokuto koutarou x neutral!reader genre: overall fluffy, there’s this tiny bit of angst but nothing too hurtful  summary: the yellow things in love that reminds you of bokuto koutarou word count: ~2.5k author’s note: happy birthday to my favourite loud boy! i know i’m a bit late, but here it is my special fic to our owl

WARNINGS: mentions of car crash

If you enjoy it please leave a comment or a reblog!!

               a life with bokuto koutarou is painted with yellow. like the sunshine on your skin, a cold lemonade on a hot day, or a smile face on every text exchanged. a life him his was never dull, he just… brings color into it. in all honesty, you were nothing but blessed to have such a great man on your side through the ups and downs of life.

              waking up next to him – with his arms securely wrapped around your waist, his soft breathes hitting your neck and his head on your chest – always filled you utter joy and warmth. even when his lips let snores escape or how his hair would tickle your face, the peace on his features was enough to melt your heart. and when the rays of sunshine illuminated both of you? that was the moment koutarou looked absolutely like an angel – and perhaps he is.

              “good morning, love” his raspy voice has never failed to pull the strings of your heart, the same ones bokuto knew all too well – after all, years of relationship taught him enough about you.

              “good morning, kou” you replied with a quick peck on his forehead, letting a hand run through the locks of gray and black hair. the man let out a content hum as he pulled you even closer, that way he could kiss the soft skin of your neck just the way he knew you liked.

              as odd as it might be, mornings were the only moment bokuto would be the calmest he could. the aura around him would be a pastel yellow. soft, discreet, but lovely. the most tender and loving gestures are exchanged in a half-sleep conscience – but still the purest actions. your own world is filled with such color, your bedroom – despite the blue grey-ish shades on the walls – was a safe haven illuminated with it.

              koutarou, however, wasn’t a simple man. therefore, he hadn’t in himself only one variation.

              bokuto was also as yellow as your highlighters: bright, flashy, but helpful with sort of a guidance within it – just like the actual object. he reminded you of it because of the many sleepless nights both of you spent during your exam’s seasons in college, even though he was not much of a help and his schedule required him to wake up early.

              “I might not be a college student, but I need to hype my significant other” he commented on the first time he stayed up until 3 in the morning with you, sitting on the kitchen table scanning with his eyes through the many pages scattered around. “it’s hard, but I believe in you. and I can’t let you pull an all nighter, you’ll be absolutely shit on your afternoon classes”

              just like that, koutarou would make you company in silence. sometimes he’d fall asleep resting his head on his folded arms over the table, in others he’d try to help you organize what you’ve already been through. and on the top of all of that, bokuto koutarou would ground you whilst your mind you’d be drowning in anxiety and self-doubt.

              the same way you’d highlight important things on your books and notes, bokuto would highlight the best qualities of you. pointing your smartness, beautifulness, gentleness and loving personality. this man would not let you forget how far you’ve come, all hardships you’ve won against and how your future is going to be as bright the yellow pen that you constantly use.

              by himself, kou would be under the spotlight as the great athlete he is. you, however, couldn’t help but give him the focus he deserved. he was inspiring to you, always trying to do better, to be the best version of yourself. in your life, bokuto koutarou was a highlighter, but also something highlighted so you can – and will always – remember his importance and meaning to you.

              there are these certain shades of colors that just don’t look as pretty as others, but are as just important to compose the whole one. like any other people in the world, bokuto also had the slightest ugly tones of yellow.

              the sunset and sunrise can be both renewing and melancholic. the hue that transitions to orange has two different meaning when you’re talking about your boyfriend: can be both the argument and the reconciliation. the contraposition between these two is essential to understand why one color brings two types of feelings.

              “koutarou, you aren’t being reasonable” you argued certain night, it was after a msby game – which his team won. it was a hazy memory to you, everything passed by in a blur. at one time you remembered hugging bokuto as the two of you celebrated the end of the game, then all you could see and hear was him dragging you out of the commemoratory party.

              “how not, y/n?! that guy was fucking touching you” kou’s voice was loud, as he always is, but that volume wasn’t filled with love or excitement; no, all you could hear was angriness and jealousy. “and you weren’t doing a thing to stop him! you acted like your boyfriend wasn’t there”

              “it wasn’t like that, kou!” the scream match wasn’t going anywhere with both of you stressed, with a deep breathe, you held eye contact with him. “I tried to stop him! tetsu saw me pushing his hands from me, but he ignored whatever I did! he still touched me and all I could do is act as if nothing was wrong, or else I’d be the hysterical significant other”

              “c’mon, y/n, you’ve never really cared about what the media would say about you” bokuto mocked as he rolled his eyes, your heart clenched at those words. they weren’t true, how could you tell him about how you felt reading mean comments online? you treasured the bright smile he had, it was enough for you to keep going while receiving those kinds of insults.

              “you know what, koutarou? I’m going to my friend’s house tonight. we are not going anywhere right now” with that, you left your shared apartment with the jacket you were wearing and the cellphone on your pocket.

              leaving bokuto for the night was awfully painful. each day, before you fall asleep, the man’s embrace was like a sunset, a way to conclude your day. the explosion of orange, red and yellow as the sky grows darker was a signal that another milestone was completed with koutarou by your side.

              arguments between you two were exactly like watching, by yourself, the sun hiding under the horizon after having company for so long. it felt wrong, but sometimes it would unfortunately happen, because no couple was perfect. but, what made bokuto and you different from others was the way that always the sunrise would come with closure of whatever hurtful feelings were reminiscent.

              later on the next day, you’ve returned to your home. bokuto’s shoes were organized by the entrance of your apartment – contrary to the other night, when he just took them off and kicked aimlessly. the rice cooker was on, you could even smell the cleaning products you use around the house: an indication that kou did some of the chores you had to delay to attend his game.

              “I’m home” you announced rather quietly, eyes scanning around in order to find your boyfriend. he emerged from the kitchen, a basket full of clean clothes on his grip and a tired expression on his beautiful face. “what… are you doing?”

              “I know you use Friday evenings to do some chores, and since I’ve dragged you to my game you couldn’t do them, so I decided to be helpful at least once” he answered with a small smile. you could tell koutarou was tired – maybe feeling his muscles ache after such an intense game or just because he couldn’t sleep without you. “akaashi gave me the biggest lecture ever to knock some sense into my head, I wasn’t being fair with you”

              “neither was I” the aftermath of every argument between you two would be like this: silently, spoken in whispers and reluctant touches. “I should’ve told you how I truly felt about those online comments… we’re supposed to share our worries, right?”

              “yeah… and I should be more understanding about your fears and insecurities” koutarou placed the basket on the floor and stepped closer to you, a timid hand reaching out for you own, which you obliged quickly. “sorry, love. i had no right in yelling at you”

              “it’s okay, baby” a smile crept on your face, your other hand brushes aside the tip of his hair over his forehead (being at home with kou meant seeing him with his hair down, it was a beautiful sight). “I’m sorry too”

              as your lips touched once again, your own little world, where only you and bokuto were allowed to, was painted with the most beautiful sunrise. because that was what a relationship is: every disagreement ends with a reconciliation, a new day would begin from that. you two learned with a few painful sunsets that, after a fight, the way the sun would come up would be even prettier than the day before.

              the most unusual shade of yellow in bokuto koutarou would probably be the same one as from warning signs. this simple association emanates all worry and fear that lays on the deepest part of koutarou – and you thanked god you don’t usually see it. his emo modes back in high school managed to hide the feelings behind his lack of motivation after many failures in a row; now, he shone bright yellow warning signs every time his heart wasn’t at ease.

              despite of that, no emo mode would have prepared you to see the restless and worried features on bokuto’s face when you opened your eyes on a cold day. all your body hurt as your chest raised and fell from your breathing patter, the lights above you weren’t making the pounding headache of yours any better.

              “y/n, love, how are you feeling?” koutarou asked frantically, needy for answers so his brain could finally calm down.

              “where… am i?” you uttered, the words almost getting stuck on your dry throat.

              “you’re at the hospital, babe” with that information, numerous scenes rushed back to your mind. how you were on the bus on your way home, the way it drifted on the street covered with a thin layer of snow and the side you were sat colliding against a lamp post. “you were on a car crash, do you remember?”

              “yes, sort of…” still a bit confused, you turned your head to completely face your boyfriend. you could tell by the reddish skin around his eyes that he had cried and judging by his clothes – the msby track attire – that he was on a match before rushing to the hospital. “did you finish the game?”

              “are you insane, y/n?” bokuto whined shaking his head, the grip on your heads tightening a bit. “how could I play volleyball knowing that the love of my life was hurt and on their way to the hospital? my coach allowed to leave as soon as the first set was over. when- when he told me you were involved in a car crash, I was so worried that you’d leave me- and seeing you laying on this bed makes everything so much more intense that-”

              “hey, kou” you raised your hand to cup his wet cheeks, the tears once again started to stream from his eyes and that was one of the worst views you’ve had: his yellow eyes dull and watery. that sight would never match the ball of sunshine bokuto truly is. “I’m here, right? I woke up, see? I’m here, holding your face as we speak. the worst have already passed”

              “I was so afraid, y/n…” he confessed quietly, leaning into your touch to ground himself. “I love you lots, babe, I am so damn glad you’re alive”

              “I wouldn’t go anywhere without you, bo… you don’t have to worry”

              bokuto was shining a bright yellow, indicating his wariness and worry, for the rest of the time you spent at the hospital. the big warning sign on his mind was put aside as soon as all doctors assured him you were fine, completely healed after almost a month after the incident.

              even if that shade wasn’t a pretty one that bokuto has in himself, that makes him exactly the man you are head over heels with. he cares for you, he worries for you, he would do anything in a heartbeat just to make dure you were fine. koutarou gave all of him to you when you started dating, just the same way you did to him.

(the yellow warning signs would only appear years later when your first kid got sick for the first time)

              and last, but no least, the most beautiful, breathtaking hue of yellow was the exact one he always shows you: his eyes. the way they’d look at you with such adoration and fondness, like he was screaming with his sight “this person next to me is the love of my life”, “I love you”, “you’re everything to me”.

              this kind of shining yellow summarized koutarou perfectly: the excitement when he’s playing the sport he absolutely loves, the happiness whenever he is around his friends. but, on the top of everything else, the state of being completely – both mentally and sentimentally wise – filled with the purest emotions he could gather. that only happened with you by his side.

              through the ups and downs of adulthood, you and bokuto faced them together as a couple, as best friends, as growing people. as every single day passed by, both of you were completely sure that this situation – you and him against the world – needed to last forever. you two needed to wake up illuminated by rays of sunshine cracking through the curtains of your bedroom; have in each other’s embrace every sunset and sunrise, eve the ugly ones; put every single yellow sign up whenever the other was in danger.

              and the newest thing you added on your mental list like a masterpiece painted by your love was the way koutarou’s eyes shined so bright while kneeling on your knee. you saved in your heart the image of him holding out a black velvet box with the most beautiful ring inside, his hair down – the same way you love – and wearing his pajamas.

              “will you marry me?” that sentence came in a blow, your knees buckling as your arms found their way around his broad shoulders. the tears of joy stained his shirt as you exchanged words of ‘I love you’ and ‘yes’ between sobs and fits of laughter.

              your world was already full of color, but bokuto koutarou happened to make everything brighter and, at last, complete.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #bokuto koutarou imagines #bokuto koutarou x reader #haikyuu!! #bokuto imagines #bokuto x reader #x reader

[dwellordream]

“In February 1924, Illustreret Fagblad for danske Damefrisorer, one of the leading trade journals for Danish women's hairdressers, reported that short haircuts for women were becoming increasingly common throughout most of Europe. Although the trend had not yet reached Denmark, it was likely to do so, the journal predicted, since "we have seen within the last couple of months the first signs of .. . shorn hair here in Copenhagen." The prediction proved correct. In July 1925, Ugens Spejl, another trade journal, reported that the new fashion was spreading "like fire in old houses." That same year, the president of the Ladies' Hairdressers Association estimated that 25 percent of Copenhagen's female population had their hair cut short.

The following year, one Copenhagen barber claimed that no less than 75 percent of women under the age of 30 had adopted the new styles, leading the editor of yet another trade journal, Danmarks Barber-og Frisortidende to conclude that "there is something almost epidemically contagious about the advancing shingling. Each and everyone who lets her locks fall for the scissors immediately draws four or five others with her." Although contemporaries may have exaggerated the numbers, contemporary street photography and surviving photo albums suggest that a significant number of young women did in fact dispose of their long hair in the second half of the 1920s. 

It is also telling that no fewer than 48 of the 59 women interviewed for this project recalled having their hair cut short before 1930. As Anne Bruun explained many years later, "That was just what you did. If you were young and wanted to be in style, that was definitely the look. Anybody who wanted to be up-to-date did that." Helene Berg agreed. "Short hair made you look chic, made you look modern," she claimed. Besides, as Louise Ege pointed out, short hair "kind of fit with the other things that were fashionable. Short dresses and all that." But despite their enthusiasm for the new hairstyles, actually acquiring one of the fashionable bobs was not always easy. While the number of beauty salons had been growing since the turn of the century, women's hairdressers generally shied away from providing their female customers with the short haircuts they desired.

For decades women's hairdressers had worked hard to create a respectable female profession by promoting themselves as specialists in hygiene and conventional feminine beauty, an accomplishment they were not willing to sacrifice by embracing the controversial new styles. Moreover, since most hairdressers were only used to working with combs, brushes, and curlers, few were actually competent to cut hair. As a result, many women had to enter male barbershops to have their hair cut, a step many took with considerable trepidation. The difficulties of finding a stylist both willing and able to cut a woman's hair was not the only obstacle to a fashionable appearance. Many fathers and husbands explicitly prohibited the new styles. Others let their disapproval be known more indirectly.

As Magda Gammelgaard Jensen recalled, "I really wanted to get my hair [cut] short, but I didn't know how to go about it. It wasn't so easy when there was a man around." According to Mr. H. M. Christensen, the president of the Danish Grooming, Toilet and Sanitary Workers' Union, many women therefore chose to "have their hair cut at a time when their husbands and fathers [were] not at home." Outside the private sphere, other forces also strove to contain "that unfortunate tendency among young ladies to shear their hair." Some workplaces openly discriminated against women who adhered to the new fashion. Several prominent department stores did not hire women who sported the new hairstyles. Others fired employees after a visit to the hairdresser. 

In 1924, the personnel director at Crome & Goldschmidt, one of the leading clothing stores in Copenhagen, flatly declared that he "would absolutely not engage or employ any young woman with bobbed hair." Other businesses had similar policies. The president of Salomon David Jr. Inc., Inger Diemer, explained that she had "banned bobbed hair." "I demand," she continued, "that the women who work with us, sign [a contract] that they will not wear short hair. In my mind, that is not proper in an old, highly esteemed firm." The director of Bispebjerg Hospital, Charlotte Munck, also banned short hair for all nurses under her supervision.

Even women in less publicly visible occupations faced ostracism if they chose to adopt the modern styles. Inger Mangart, for example, who worked as a part-time cleaning assistant in a private home in the late 1920s, recalled being dismissed the first day she arrived with short hair. The press was equally adamant in its stance against the new styles. To discourage young women from following fashion, newspapers and popular magazines delighted in sensationalist stories about domestic turmoil caused by short hair. Divorces, physical abuse, family disintegration, and even murders were described as tragic, but predictable, outcomes of women's changed appearances.

Assuming, however, that young women were more likely to follow fashion prescription than sensible guidance, journalists and other commentators figured that the most efficient way to combat the modern styles was simply to declare them unfashionable. "Bobbed hair is no longer in style," one beauty advice columnist thus warned as early as 1922, several years before the new styles hit Denmark. "We hardly have to repeat that bobbed hair has already received the death sentence abroad," another fashion expert claimed that same year. "There is no doubt that this fad, the short hair, is coming to an end," Ugebladet asserted a couple of years later, and in 1925, B.T. was pleased to report that "all countries now agree that the fashion of short hair is finally on the retreat."

Yet despite these elaborate efforts to suppress the new haircuts, women's enthusiasm did not wane. Many critics therefore felt compelled to explain the dangers of the new styles in the hope that young women would be swayed by their arguments. Some journalists and beauty advice columnists sought to discourage young women from having their hair cut through use of the kind of racist imagery that permeated early twentieth century European culture. By labeling the new styles "Hottentot hair" or "Apache cuts," they strove to impress upon young women the incompatibility of short hair with refined Western womanhood. "Surely, no young lady wants to look like a monkey," one reporter thus argued, apparently hoping that young women would recognize the similarity between women's short hair and animal fur. 

Other observers claimed that short hair simply made women look ugly and unattractive. Cutting one's hair was therefore inevitably at the risk of losing "the man's admiration and desire." Although some men admitted that a short-haired woman might serve "as a drinking buddy," those who participated in the public debate all insisted that the new styles did not mix with marriage and motherhood, implying that short-haired women could expect to live out their lives as spinsters and old maids— an argument that presumably would dissuade any young woman from such reckless behavior. While most female critics tended to focus on the aesthetic aspects of the new styles, it was quite different considerations that fueled much of the vehement male opposition. 

Like many other people in the early twentieth century, these commentators believed there was a direct correlation between external appearance and internal self. When a woman cut her hair, she was not only defying conventional standards of femininity but was also prone to develop some of those mental traits that usually characterized people with short hair—namely, men. As Ludvig Brandt-Meller, a male hairdresser who opposed the new styles, explained, "Short hair tends to emancipate the woman. It is as if it affects her psychologically." Others found that short-haired women became "like men in character and gestures," insisting that "that 99 out of 100 women with short hair have simultaneously acquired boyish or mannish manners."'

A few alarmists saw even greater dangers ahead. The very act of cutting a woman's hair, they argued, would eventually alter a woman's biological constitution and turn her into a man. Believing that the mass of hair on a human body was constant, some argued that short hair would necessarily cause women to grow beards. Others predicted the advent of female baldness. "The evidence is right there, since 60 percent of all men over forty [who presumably had cut their hair since childhood] are bald, while less than 0.1 percent of all women [who had never previously cut their hair] suffer from this weakness," another critic of the new styles explained. 

While men had tended to object to short dresses because they rendered women too attractive, their reactions to short hair were therefore quite different. According to male critics, short hair "emancipated" women and made then unwomanly, even masculine, and not attractive enough, a violation of gender norms that seemed to them much graver and ultimately more unpleasant than women being overly sexy and seductive. Even those who did not necessarily believe that short hair would actually turn women into men found this quite disturbing because, as one correspondent wrote to the editor of the newspaper B.T. in 1925, "If there is something we men cannot stand, it is precisely women void of femininity. "

Young women's seeming disregard of men's opinions about the new styles only made matters worse. Apparently, young women were no longer pursuing physical beauty and style for the purposes of male pleasure and admiration. How, then, were men to understand women's enthusiasm for short hair as anything but a sign that women cared less about male approval than about their own "emancipation"? Some even feared that the popularity of the new styles might indicate an explicit sexual and emotional detachment from men. In comparison with those who defended short dresses when they first appeared, supporters of the new hairstyles were therefore faced with a much more difficult task. 

The opposition to women's short hair was much fiercer than the opposition to short dresses had ever been, as short hair connoted emancipation, female defiance, and rebellion against men's judgment in a way that short skirts never had. During this entire controversy, the voices of women who cut their hair were rarely heard in public. Under heavy fire, most young women seemingly preferred to avoid the discursive battles that raged around them. On the few occasions that any of these women did speak up, they generally adopted a very cautious stance, seeking to diffuse the opposition by reassuring critics of their whole-hearted commitment to femininity and respectable womanhood. 

In 1925, one young woman who described herself as "old-fashioned" despite her short hair thus sought to counter criticisms of the new styles by denying that there was any link between appearance and identity. "Why in the world should a young girl not be equally feminine and good whether she has bobbed hair or long hair?," she wondered. "It does, after all, not change the nature of the young girl to have her hair cut off." More often, young women simply tried to skirt criticisms by emphasizing the very pragmatic concerns that allegedly had led them to the barbershop. "Much can be said both for and against the bobbed hair, but the fact that it is a practical way of wearing one's hair, nobody can deny," one woman argued.

Nonetheless, the relative silence on the part of the women who wore the new hairstyles did not mean that no voices were raised in their defense. Complicating the picture of vocal male opponents and a largely silent group of female supporters, the chief public advocates of short hair for women in the 1920s were in fact male barbers. Not that barbers were a particularly fashion-conscious bunch or especially committed to young women's right to determine their own appearance. These men simply saw the new styles as a means to propel their profession out of the crisis in which it had lingered for decades. 

The rise of the medical and dental professions had dealt the first blow to the former surgeon-barbers, eliminating what had been the most profitable areas of their occupation. Later, when men began to shave themselves rather than frequenting the barber twice or three times weekly, the financial base of most barbershops had been further undercut, and scattered attempts at cultivating new areas of business expertise such as facial massage and manicure had contributed only little to their economy. 

In this context, the fashionable new styles for women seemed a god-send for barbers eager to cultivate both a new clientele and new sources of income, and since women's hairdressers generally opposed the short hairstyles and most often refused to cut women's hair, barbers were left with the uncontested responsibility for providing young women with the look they desired. Of course, barbers were not oblivious to the offense women's short hair provoked or the wrath they might incur by accommodating female customers. 

It was therefore in their own best interest to counter the opposition, and toward that end they adopted the same strategy that fashion advocates had successfully used a few years earlier, namely, to attempt to disassociate short hair from any kind of subversive intentions on the part of women. Short hair, they insisted, had nothing to do with defiance of feminine conventions or even modern fashions. It was a style adopted for reasons of comfort, ease, and practicality only. "It is not the senseless mimicking of fashion follies that has led women to allow their hair to be cut off," one barber thus insisted in 1926. "Rather, it is the natural development in all social strata that has forced the women to choose a practical hairstyle."

To give credibility to this claim, barbers traced the origins of women's short hair not to feminist rebels or decadent fashions, but to that highly respectable, self-sacrificing female heroine, Florence Nightingale. "When a war begins," one writer explained, "masses of younger and older women who wish to be nurses in the army immediately sign up. The healthiest among them are selected, and the first step on the road to their new vocation is to cut their hair as short as men's, first, because the daily care takes too long time, and secondly, because a nurse cannot run around with a zoo of carnivores [sicl] in her long hair." Upon their return, the reasoning continued, admirers adopted similar hair styles. 

Although there was little historical evidence to support such an explanation—after all, Florence Nightingale's reputation had been established during the Crimean War almost three quarters of a century earlier, and few women had followed her example in the intervening years —this argument had several advantages. First, it disassociated short hair from any kind of female defiance. Second, it sought to ground the popularity of the new hairstyles in admirable, patriotic concerns. And third, it tied short hair to notions of health and hygiene. From the mid-1920s, particularly the latter, combined with arguments about the practical requirements of the labor market, formed the core in the defense of women's short hair. 

In addition, barbers also sought to address anxieties over the seeming dissipation of gender differences by calling attention to the cultural and historical versatility of hair styles. In an article entitled "Masculine Girl Hair and Feminine Boy Hair," the author set out to prove that "women have not been 'the long-haired sex' for as long as we believe." A sampling of Greek, Roman, and Persian traditions led him to conclude that "long hair appears just as frequently on men as on women when one examines history, which is why hair has nothing whatsoever to do with sexual character." 

Just as long hair did not make men less masculine, short hair would not eradicate women's femininity. In fact, some argued, it held the potential of actually heightening it by drawing attention to women's fine facial features. "The shape of the face, the beauty of the skin, as well as the soft lines of the neck" were accentuated by short hair, one barber wrote, poetically comparing a woman's face to a "painting [that] is also seen more clearly in a simple frame." In the case of modern dresses, fashion advocates had gradually managed to convince most critics of their compatibility with conventional womanhood. Short hair fared differently. 

Short, simple haircuts for women never gained acceptance in the 1920s, at least not among the men and women who publicly expressed their opinions. The controversy over women's hair only died down at the end of the decade, when a new, modified style of short hair became popular. Ironically, this new short style, which eventually appeased critics, emerged from the beauty salon run by women's hairdressers. Having been entirely unsuccessful in their attempts to coax women into preserving their long hair and eager to regain some of the professional territory lost to barbers, women's hairdressers found themselves forced to dispense with their rejection of the short fashions. 

Still unwilling, however, to embrace the bobbed look, they devised a new strategy. Arguing that short hair unfortunately had been "carried to extremes... by the less cultivated segments of the female population" and was sported by "each and every factory and shop-girl," (middle-class) women were offered a chance to distinguish themselves as "finer ladies" through "feminine and graceful styles with curls and waves" while they were waiting for their hair to grow out again. By fashioning themselves as aides to women concerned with the reestablishment of their femininity and by presenting their care for short hair as a form of damage control, hairdressers were able to legitimize their growing interest in women's new hairstyles. 

With relatively few ideological scruples they were therefore able to plunge into this profitable market during the last years of the 1920s, gradually recapturing the patronage of most women. However, that women left the barbershop and (re)turned to the beauty salon did not indicate that long hair was regaining its popularity. Fashionable hairstyles for women remained short for the rest of the decade. What did change was the way short hair actually looked. Female hairdressers, one fashion columnist noted with applause, did "everything to give the short style a more feminine air than earlier." 

Permanent waves and curls, artificial hair pieces, decorative combs, ribbons, and barrettes all contributed to this goal. This new, feminized version of short hair quickly gained popularity among women interested in variation and possibly weary of public hostility. Within just a few years the original simple, straight styles had virtually been abandoned. Customers, one hairdresser noted with pleasure in 1927, now wanted "to become more feminine, not with completely long hair, but with longer short hair, enough to be curly in the back and around the face .. . so that the repulsive boyish head becomes beautified and more feminine."

Thus, after a brief but troubling intermission where women's adoption of short hair seemed to be blurring gender differences, new curlier versions of bobbed hair marked the reestablishment of gender distinctions in fashionable self-presentation. Even though women continued to cut their hair, the clear stylistic differences between short hair for men and short hair for women soothed critics, and gradually their opposition faded. With their confidence in the stability of sexual difference restored, some of the harshest opponents were even able to admit a few years later that they actually found short hair quite charming and attractive—if not on their wives, then at least on their daughters.”

- Birgitte Soland, “The Emergence of the Modern Look.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#becoming modern #birgitte soland #danish #fashion #hair #1920s #history

[olivieblake]

I know we are concerned about trump rolling back many rights such as Roe v Wade and gay marriage etc, and if there was ever a time it would be done it would be now with the court the way it is but I wonder sometimes if those two issues are kinda like carrots dangling in front of a horse. A major issue we have is the left has nothing to unite them there are so many ideas about what needs to be done and it's impossible to have everyone be represented by one person. (1)


the right seems to push most everything to the side for the issues of abortion and gay marriage, and I guess guns and money. To me it feels like there would be benefits to stringing them along in order to get their votes year after year. Fighting to keep a law doesn’t give the same fire as fighting to change something as seen by how many on the left are willing to not vote cause Biden is exactly like trump despite the very real threat of the loss of these rights. I don’t mean like there is no reason to worry/vote cause it won’t happen, I think the threat the most serious its ever been but I wondered your thoughts on how much these issues are used to keep the GOP votes rolling in or if you think they’d struggle once those issues were gone or am I totally wrong, ha. It’s frustrating as a christian (or was idk anymore its turned so ugly) to watch others give up their morals for something they might not get just cause they are so simple to manipulate imo

I won’t lie to you, anon, this was... hard to make sense of, so let me open by restating what I think you’re trying to say? it seems like maybe you’re arguing that abortion and gay marriage are hot button issues that generate a controversial polarity where everyone is driven to vote based on their position on those issues, so if those issues were no longer on the table there would be nothing to keep people actively participating. it also seems like maybe you resent this because you’d like to vote your morals, but based on these controversial social issues you’re being forced to take a political position you don’t align with fully. 

here’s what I think you’re right about: the american two-party system forces a polarity that favors centrism, or has up to this point. yes, the left is a collection of extremely variant positions that are forced further and further center-right as a party as a result of the right becoming increasingly fundamentalist. this is arguably the greatest flaw in american policy construction: the founders did not believe that anyone after george washington would ever garner 51% of the popular vote, meaning that there would always be a tie and then the senate, representing the states, would choose the next president. basically, they set up a system much more like the british bicameral legislature than what we have now, where the states would select the next president from among themselves. but because the federalists and democratic republicans mobilized the way they did, we have the system we have now, where every issue is essentially black and white; either yes or no. 

dichotomies are inherently problematic, and while I do not agree that the left lacks unity in their policies, you’re correct that a “true” left does not exist in the united states; aka bernie and even warren should not be democrats if biden is also a democrat. that’s fair, or would be, if we did not have only two ideologies to choose from.

I do think there are some flaws with your premise (? as I interpret it) that these specific social issues are “hot” and/or controversial enough to drive people to the polls vs. being the actual, true defining issues for each party. I disagree. the politics of abortion are not about the value of human life, but the autonomy of women. the politics of marriage are not about whether homosexuality is morally reprehensible, but about whether the state should allow faith-based policy to control how two consenting individuals choose to live. in my mind, these positions are consistent with the concept that government should interfere against systemic prejudices, especially where it’s necessary to maintain our foundational separation of church and state.

the fact is also that the right is a mess. a true conservative party in this country would oppose ALL government regulation; they should be anti-gun regulation AND pro-choice, and essentially pro-everything that isn’t government interference. the fact that the republican party doesn’t fall within these theoretical lines is a flaw as a result of who holds power in that party: white christian men. in order to maintain their social power, they bend their political agenda wherever necessary to ensure that women and minorities do not gain autonomy where they have always maintained control. this is what unites the right, which means that the “left,” which is really more center AND everything left of center, supports politics that do dignify minorities. 

would this be the case if we had multiple political parties? probably not, so your frustration is shared by many. you’ve probably heard this many times, but essentially the argument for biden, even by those who know he will not provide them the policies their consciences dictate, is that he has already shown he—and the party—can be pushed further left. he did not sign on with concepts of the green new deal until bernie and liz warren’s campaigns dictated that politically he needed to, at which point AOC signed on to help him build his own. so is he perfect? no. but if biden wins, there is room to keep fighting for what we want from democratic policy; he is responsive to public pressure. if 45 wins, we lose, end of story. fascism cannot be pushed.

morals are difficult to argue when it comes to politics. for example, the very popular but nonsensical “socially liberal but fiscally conservative” dichotomy is an untenable paradox that a person can only hold as a beneficiary of the existing system. when only one group of people has maintained generational/inherited wealth that allows them to benefit from a lack of social programs and government intervention, of course there is no such thing as having only one foot in the water. the overlap between the christian agenda and white supremacy is also difficult to separate, because while theologically christianity should promote certain values, christianity as an institution was born from imperialism, forced conversion, and a doctrine of constant proselytization. I say this as a catholic; I don’t dislike religious beliefs. but the way religion motivates political decisions is fundamentally flawed.

if your argument (or the argument of those around you) is that the problem with this election is that the left is a collection of ideologies lumped together in order to oppose some very narrow policy decisions, yes, you’re right. but if we pushed even remotely left from where we are now, we might be closer to the center, and then we can continue to push left. I would argue not that this is a time to abandon your principles just to win the presidency, but to at least be unselfish enough to realize that institutional change must be affected incrementally; to recognize that even if your life is not severely affected by 45 and the republican party winning over biden and the centrist-dems, far-right or alt-right policies do undoubtedly cause damage to countless others. you may not get everything you want from biden, but the opportunity to continue to achieve policy decisions you support is there.

try not to allow others around you to create a false dichotomy where this is somehow a choice between two evils; it isn’t. it’s a choice between a closed door and an open one, and even a baby step is a step. 

#unpopular opinions #american politics #sorry I should have created that tag earlier #if you want to block it go ahead #I promise to be more diligent #Anonymous

[land-under-wave]

As promised, here’s the complete draft of the weird Scott Pilgrim Red/Green fic in its current state. For information about what’s going on with this fic, please see this post. If you’d only like to read completed sections, please start here and keep following the links.

This is very much a rough draft. Aside from simply incomplete sections, there were a lot of things that needed to be revised, such as: awkward tone shift, two sections being too similar to others, a lot of transitions I didn’t like, a really just inadequate Misty section, bad wording choices, etc. I would estimate it was about 85% done. 

Content warnings: some amount of creepy old man behavior which I did my best to mitigate but was somewhat unavoidable given the premise. For section-specific warnings, in the first part, Green gets close to panic attack territory, and the ending contains physical slapstick comedy and a few references to Officer Jenny I was trying to edit out. A more detailed warning (which touches on ending spoilers and explains how I tried to handle the creepy behavior) can be found here, and the full spoilers with all the details can be found in this post (also linked above).

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A year after Red finally comes down from Mt. Silver, Green gets his head out of his ass long enough to ask Red out on a date. 

Surprisingly, Red agrees. Even more surprisingly, the first date is actually a resounding success. Sure, Green panics for half an hour about what to wear, and it gets off to an incredibly awkward start — Red’s mother is hovering anxiously in a corner because he insisted that it be at his mother’s diner, the douchebag, so they spend twenty minutes in stilted conversation while Green makes attempts at small talk and Red gives monosyllabic answers — has he mentioned that Red is a total douchebag? But then Green loses his temper and starts shouting, which gets Red fired up at last, so they start bickering over training regimens, Green’s childhood dickishness, and that time Red vanished up a mountain for four years, and by the end of the meal, they’ve hashed out most of their issues. 

On impulse, he grabs Red’s hand on the way out, and Red lets him. His fingers curl around Green’s in response, and it sends a jolt of electricity right up to his spine.

This is . . . good. It’s new and unfamiliar and a little terrifying, and sometimes Green just wants to bury his head into a pillow and scream angrily to deal with the confused tornado raging in his chest, because what the hell are emotions, but it’s good.  

A month after they make it official, Green brings Red to a gym leader meeting. Red gets a couple of surprised looks when he walks in, but it fades quickly, and Misty waves him over to the usual corner where she, Brock, and Green sit. If anyone asks, Green is prepared to point out that Red’s still technically champion, but no one does. Everyone must like him enough that it doesn’t matter. 

They wait till after the meeting, when everyone’s milling about and talking to each other, in order to announce that they’re dating. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“What? Green?” Misty shrieks, while Sabrina looks at him with silently judging disapproval. 

“Oh my,” Erika says delicately, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Red, no!” Brock wails.

Green is pretty sure he should be offended. These are his colleagues, after all. He’s been working with them for half a decade — when’s the last time Red even talked to any of these people? Why are they all on his side?

Surge snorts, arms folded. Just when Green thinks he might restore some sanity to the proceedings, he declares, “Think again, boy. You’re not tough enough to make the cut.” 

Green bristles immediately. He and Surge have always had a slightly contentious relationship, because Surge is all hard-nosed discipline and Green is — well, he can admit that he’s a cocky bastard. “And why do I need your approval to date Red anyways?” he sneers, with the full disdainful force of all his teenage attitude. The contempt is not hard to muster up. Nobody here is related to them, and even if they were, he and Red are both adults who can make their own decisions. 

As expected, Surge stiffens at the implicit taunt in his voice, but just as the tension is about to boil over into an argument, Erika steps in with a raised hand and a warning glare to silence him. “Surge,” she says, and that one word is all she needs to restore order. 

Before Green can feel grateful for their calm, sensible supervisor, she turns to him and resumes the thread of conversation. “We have a league,” Erika informs him, serene. “You may not date Red until you defeat all of us.”

Green’s jaw drops open. “Are you serious,” he says, and looks to Red, who just shrugs. 

Great. Big load of help he is. 

“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I’m afraid you’re no match for me,” Blaine says, before laughing at his own stupid pun.

“Why the hell are you so concerned about Red’s love life anyways? What are you, his possessive loser exes?” Green demands. 

He’s expecting a response like, “Don’t be ridiculous,” but instead, to his horror, Erika merely smiles. “What do you think?” she says.

Silence.

Green stares at his colleagues, the seven elite trainers who have been charged with safeguarding all of Kanto, and wonders if he’s losing his mind. Has his hearing gone? He doesn’t think he’s that old, but maybe it’s hereditary. God knows how many times Gramps has misheard his name.

He knows Misty had a crush on Red at one point, but all of them? How the hell did that happen? Red’s never exactly been Kid Casanova here — some days, Green can barely believe Red seduced him — and when did he even have the time for that? He’s spent most of the years since he’s met them alone on a mountain! And hold on a second, Blaine is at least four decades older than him! For that matter, how old is Surge? 

Green is about to have an aneurysm.

He holds his head in both hands as he struggles to wrap his mind around the concept. “Okay. So you’re saying all of you have dated Red, and now I need to defeat you to date him,” he says slowly, hoping that saying it out loud will make things sound more reasonable. It doesn’t. It just makes his head hurt even more. 

What’s worse, Erika doesn’t correct anything he said. She just smiles and nods. “That’s right,” she says, and as if that’s a cue, the others fall in line behind her in a perfect V formation, sliding into battle-ready stances with smiles just shading into predatory. All traces of friendliness have evaporated, turning them into consummate professionals. Even Brock has dropped the doofy attitude for something serious. Surge’s grin is a little too maniacal for comfort, exposing both gums and teeth, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it’s downright feral. 

Green takes a step back, almost involuntarily, and sees Surge’s smile widen in response. Out of spite, Green squares his shoulders and moves back in place, pretending he’s not as uneasy as he actually feels. He scans the seven faces before him, hoping to see a sign of their normal collegial acceptance, but their faces are as solid as stone.

He can’t say he really expected anything else from them. This pose is familiar and well-rehearsed, and they’re all beyond the point where they let the mask slip during official business. Still, Green was hoping that there would be some sign that things would be different for him. After all, this isn’t official business, and in any other situation, Green would be there too, flashing one of his trademark smirks while staring down whatever poor schmuck who Erika decided had earned their ire. But this time, it’s not some hapless criminal or an interfering bureaucrat. He’s the schmuck, and for once in his life, he’s feeling the part. 

Green knows he shouldn’t feel this rattled by a battle stance. As a fellow gym leader, it’s easy to notice all the work that went into constructing it, and the flash of eyes and tilt of head that Erika used as a signal is all too familiar. But it gnaws at his stomach anyways, and it’s not even because all his colleagues have turned against him at the drop of a hat. It’s the space. Or the lack of it. Because the spot where he would be standing has already been taken up. Misty and Brock closed the gap without so much as an exchanged look, and in doing so, they’ve erased his years as Viridian Gym Leader like it was nothing. 

He didn’t think it would be so easy to replace him. 

Green looks at the inch-wide gap between them and swallows, hoping he can swallow down the uncomfortable lump at the bottom of his chest along with it. He’s always tried to ignore it, but sometimes, he gets this sneaking suspicion that they haven’t fully accepted him as one of their own. They’re civil, of course, and sometimes even kind. But kind is different from warm, and that’s what he thinks they lack.

He can’t nail down exactly what it is that separates him from the rest — in terms of join date, Janine’s less than a year his senior, and he doesn’t think any of them except Surge would hold his old, immature attitude against him, since he was mostly grown out of his bratty stage by the time he took over Viridian. But none of that has banished the [sinking feeling] that he’s on the outside, just a little.

So he’s kept his head down like an animal exposing its belly, and every time the doubt rears its ugly head, he redoubles his efforts to earn his way in. He had a hard road from the start, with the stain of Giovanni’s legacy seeped into his gym’s very foundations, but over the years, he’s earned fantastic evaluations, the loyalty of a cohort of talented trainers, and an official commendation here and there. He’s even got a sickeningly gushy page in the Viridian guidebook that made Red laugh at him for twenty minutes straight after one of his challengers showed it to him. When you’re on a mountain with bad reception, those twenty minutes count for a lot.

Green carries all his accomplishments with him, close to his chest, but they don’t do much to dispel the doubts that hang like ghosts in the back of his head. And he thinks that if he stays quiet and still for too long, they might eat him away until he’s nothing.   

He sucks in a breath, but his lungs don’t feel like they’re absorbing air. He presses his hands against his thighs, but that doesn’t do anything to ease the trembling. He tries to count in his head. One. Two. 

“Wow,” says Red’s voice from behind him. “I didn’t know that all it took to defeat the great Green Oak was dramatic posing.”

The sound of that innocent tone sends Green whirling around on instinct. “Oh, shut up, like you can talk!” he shouts, and it comes out as easy as breathing, so easy that he doesn’t notice how much lighter he feels at first. “All it took to defeat you was realizing Mt. Silver would never return your love!” 

“The mountain and I have something special. You’ll never understand, Green,” Red says, very seriously. If it were anyone but Green, they might’ve believed he meant it, but you don’t grow up with someone and not know when they’re just yanking your chain. 

“You know, the only thing I got out of being your childhood friend is the ability to tell when you’re being a dick,” Green tells him sourly.

“Love you too,” Red croons, and okay, he’s definitely doing that on purpose. But if he’s doing it to be a distraction, it’s working. 

He brushes his hand against Red’s. “Thanks,” he says, low enough so that only Red can hear it. Red curls his fingers around the palm of his hand and looks him in the eye, unspoken question burning in his gaze. 

In response, Green draws a breath, takes one final glance at his erstwhile colleagues, and nods.

He can do this. 

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What he might not be able to do, Green reflects as he starts his first match, is endure any more of Brock’s stupid rock references. 

“My Pokemon and I are all rock-hard,” Brock declares proudly. He’s always been cheesy and goofy — probably because of all those younger siblings — but his horrible battle introductions have always taken the cake. And does he realize that by doing this, he’s also teaching his siblings about innuendo? Maybe that’s why they giggle at him all the time.

In all honesty, once you get past all the quirks, Brock is kind of an admirable person. You don’t raise nine kids without earning some respect from Green Oak, and he knows all too well about growing up with absent father figures. But unlike Green, Brock didn’t let that hurt define him growing up. Instead, Brock took on that responsibility without reserve and without complaint, and he grew with it to become a good man. A lot of kind, loving people would’ve broken with it. In comparison, really awful puns and a tendency to hit on every girl in the room aren’t that bad. At least he’s sincere about it instead of just being a sleaze. 

But Brock makes it really goddamn hard to get past those quirks. And when he starts urging Onix to use Harden, that only proves his point.

Things go downhill from there.

With the proximity of their gyms, it’s convenient for Green and Brock to have practice matches together, and he uses the knowledge he’s gleaned from those to plow him down in their fastest match yet, one eye twitching the entire time. There’s no way Brock could be making that many hardness references by accident. “I took you for granted, and so I lost,” Brock says glumly. Then he looks in Red’s direction and cries, “Red, my love, I have failed you!” throwing an arm across his face theatrically. Geez, get a grip. Or a life. Or both.

But instead of treating him with the contempt Brock deserves for this patheticness, his traitor boyfriend pats him on the back sympathetically. Ugh, why is he even dating this jerk? 

At any rate, at least this catastrophe is over. “Loser,” Green scoffs, and heads out to schedule his next match. He catches Red giving Brock a shrug before following after him.  

He never thought he’d say this, but thank god Misty is the Water type Gym Leader. After rocks, they have the most potential for innuendo, but Misty has too much angry dignity to be caught dead like that. If someone tried, steam would come out of her ears and she’d probably yell something about disrespecting the beauty of water types. This shouldn’t be an issue again until Blaine. 

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Misty might not be a fan of innuendo, but she makes up for it with determination and skill. There’s something different about her this time, a strength in her stance that didn’t used to be there, and it centers Misty too much for him to rattle her. 

The first time they fought, she was fourteen years old to Green’s thirteen, a skinny kid who bristled with her inferiority complex and hated anything to do with flowers. Provoking her was a piece of cake, and any suggestion of her inadequacy could send her into a spiral of rage or just as easily send her collapsing in tears. 

In hindsight, it is funny how Misty rejected her famous family while Green embraced his too much, opposite ends of the same spectrum. Green dealt with his issues with his cockiness, Misty with her anger.

This Misty is fully in control. She holds the reins to her anger and reels it in, harnessing it as fuel instead of distraction. She’s ruling her emotions instead of letting them rule her, and in doing so, she’s taken on a bright, focused zeal he’s never seen from her before.

She’s growing into herself, he thinks, and out of her sisters’ shadows.

He’d be proud of her if she wasn’t giving him such a hard time right now.

“You definitely weren’t this hard to beat the first time around!” Green growls, sending out his Scizor.

“Oh, that was just business,” Misty says, rather cheerfully, enough so that Green wants to wring her neck. Her smile widens to just this side of menacing. “This is personal.”

Green gets out of it with his dignity intact, but it’s a close one. Not for the first time, he rues having taken over an Earth-based gym, because it means he has to keep at least a respectable amount of Ground types in his regular training rota and he’s a far less flexible trainer now.

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“About time you showed up,” Surge says, arms folded, boots planted shoulder width apart. Green looks at the severe military cut and the stern expression and wonders what Red ever saw in him. It can’t be a thing for older men, everyone but Surge and Blaine are within a few years of Red. It can’t even be a thing for men. The league is half women, after all.

“Why did you date him anyways?” he hisses to his boyfriend, low enough that Surge won’t hear.

Red shrugs. “We both like Pikachu,” he said. 

The utter loser. 

“I can’t believe you,” Green mutters in disgust. “And people think I’m shallow.” 

“It was only once or twice,” Red says, in what sounds suspiciously like a consoling tone. He pats Green on the shoulder a few times.

He stares at him in confusion until the dots connect. “What the — I’m not jealous!” Green cries indignantly. He’s just perplexed, and that’s a very different thing. Green Oak is above such petty things as jealousy. 

Red just pats him on the shoulder some more. 

Green Oak also does not need such things as consoling, so before his boyfriend can be even more of a passive aggressive dick, he turns to Surge. “Let’s just get this over with.” And maybe it’s sheer frustration or his natural tendency to be a brat to Surge, or maybe it’s just type advantage finally being on his side for once, but for some reason, this time the victory comes easier than all the previous.

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“Are you sure you want to do this, Green?” Erika asks. She cocks her head to the side, and for the first time since he accepted this stupid challenge, Green feels a sense of trepidation. Erika is, after all, kind of his boss, and she’s also one of the most terrifying people he’s ever met. 

You wouldn’t think it to look at her. Most of the people in Kanto never get the chance to see anything more than a sweet woman who likes gardening and flower arrangements. Her colleagues, on the other hand, experience a whole different side of her, with all the talents that got her appointed as Kanto supervisor. Things like her ability to calmly reason with anyone, her backbone of steel, and a carefully hidden serial killer crazy that can outstrip Surge at his worst.

He breaks out into a cold sweat. Is he ready for this? Sure, he’s beaten her before, but the first time he battled her, he was still stupid enough to think Erika was soft and beating her would be easy, and weirdly enough, that stupidity gave him the reckless brilliance he needed to take her down instead of causing his downfall. He might’ve become a better battler in the meantime, but now he’s too cautious to use those same crazy strategies and he also knows that she was taking it easy on him — all gym leaders adjust their level to their opponent’s in official matches.  

More than ever, Green is acutely aware of the differences between him and his thirteen year old self. There was a kind of fearlessness that came with being young and feeling like the world was at your fingertips. He spent pretty much his entire Pokemon journey swaggering around like being thirteen meant he was now a real adult and the world would just fall at his feet, and even losing the championship to Red didn’t quite jolt him out of it. Green’s only eighteen now, but he feels unbearably older, more off balance, uncertain of everything he needs to do. It’s funny how he couldn’t wait to get older when he first set out from Pallet Town, but now he just wants the carefree bravado of thirteen again. Why did he decide to grow up? Who told him it was a good idea? 

“Backing out now, Green?” says a dry, challenging voice, and all the air goes out of his lungs. But in a good way. 

He didn’t have this at thirteen.

Now that he’s back in reality, Green pulls up his disdain like a barrier against his fear. “As if,” he sneers.

“Good. After all, you still have to win me,” Red says. He bats his eyelashes, and the sight is so horrifying that it wipes all thoughts of Erika from his head immediately. “Your princess awaits inside the castle.” 

“Princess? Yeah, right. You’d never be able to pull off the dress,” he shoots back automatically. He feels himself ease, the seas inside him settling down as he sinks into the rhythm of the familiar. He even lifts his chin and smirks as he says, “You know what, I think I change my mind. Let’s call the whole thing off, I need someone who’s better-looking than you.”

“Aw, but nothing’s as ugly as your personality,” Red says, and that tone would sound sweet if it weren’t coming from someone who’s halfway allergic to sincerity. But at the same time, he covers Green’s hand with his and gives him a smile like a secret. “You can do it,” he says, with an iron, quiet faith. 

Green breathes out, long and slow. “You’re right, I can,” he says, turning back to Erika. He flashes her a smirk full of confidence that he’s actually starting to feel and declares, “I won’t back down.” It comes out as an oath, and he’s not sure if it’s to himself or to Red, but he knows he won’t lose. 

She shrugs elegantly, but it doesn’t feel like as much of a threat this time. She’s just an ordinary woman now. “Very well,” she says, and sends out Tangela. 

Throughout the battle, Red doesn’t let go of his hand.

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Sabrina’s waiting at the door of her gym when Green and Red walk up to the entrance. “You’ve arrived, as I predicted,” she says.

“Uh, yeah, we scheduled the match in advance,” Green points out. Beside him, he can hear Red muffling already-quiet laughter. Why does he enjoy Green’s discomfort? Is he just a sadist?

“We did not arrange that you would arrive twenty minutes early,” Sabrina responds, and turns around to lead him inside before Green can get the last word.

Green fights the urge to make a rude gesture at her back out of sheer spite. He and Sabrina have never been that close. They have a shared interest in freaking people out for fun and games, but Sabrina does it by being sinister and cryptic, while Green prefers sheer power with a dash of douchebaggery instead of mind screws. Even though he knows he’s still a total dick, being around Sabrina makes him feel weirdly benevolent in comparison. 

In that regard, she’s a little more like Red—they’re both closed-mouthed and hold their cards close to their chest until something makes them give them away. But it’s weird to think that Sabrina is anything like his boyfriend, so Green shuts off that train of thought as fast as he can. He can’t really explain why he likes Red so much more than Sabrina. It’s not just shared history, there’s something deeper there between them that he can’t quantify. Maybe it’s just that the things Red holds to his chest align with Green’s own brand of awfulness, maybe it’s just that Sabrina somehow manages to be even weirder than Red. 

Whatever the case, Sabrina’s tactics might have a point. This battle feels like the worst one yet, not because of the difficulty, but because of the tense, hard air in the gym, Sabrina’s ever-present smile like another ghost skulking in the background. This battle doesn’t excite him, it just exhausts him. He just wants it to be over, and in his haste, he makes mistakes. Sloppy ones, like trying to use Tackle against Gengar even though he’s grown up knowing Normal type moves don’t work on Ghost types. It doesn’t help that the mere presence of Gengar in the Psychic gym had thrown him off to begin with.

Sabrina seems to be sensing his discomfort, because the funny little grin on her face widens with his growing unease. For the first time, he truly sees what a formidable opponent she is, wielding both psychic powers and psychology against her challengers to damage them physically and mentally. It was another thing that his complete and utter self-confidence had made him immune to the first time. 

Idly, he wonders if that was the point of this, one big scheme to make him appreciate his colleagues more as trainers. If so, it worked. But was he really that bad before? Maybe he’d ask Erika once this awful quest was over.

If that is the case, though, ironically, it’s also her undoing, because as the match goes on, Green also starts to see the woman he knows inside the mysterious figure at the other end of the gym, and focusing on that familiarity helps combat the unease. In the end, Green can’t really say that it’s his skill that wins the day. It feels more like luck, just a game of who can outlast the other and he happened to draw the winning card. But when Alakazam falls, it seems to break the spell over the room. The lingering tension dissipates, just as ghostly as the atmosphere that had created it, and the world comes back into focus.

Sabrina looks at her fallen Pokemon and, bizarrely, smiles as she recalls it back into its Pokeball. “Your love for Red overwhelmed my psychic power . . . The power of love, I think, is also a kind of psychic power . . .” Sabrina intones.

“Okay?” Green says. Even ignoring the psychic powers, Sabrina has always been a weirdo. 

Sabrina says something else, but he’s not really paying attention. Instead, he grabs his boyfriend’s wrist.  “Red, let’s get out of here,” he says. He’s ready to blow this joint, and if he has to be in this creepy gym much longer, he’s going to make that literal. 

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Out of all the other Gym Leaders, Green thinks Janine might be his polar opposite. Sure, they’re around the same age and their names kind of rhyme, but Green is brash and confident and walks like he owns the place, while Janine . . . well, Janine is naive and enthusiastic to the point where she’s pretty much tripping over her own feet. She seems too young for her authority, while Green wields his so easily that people are startled when they find out his actual age.

It’s weird to think that Red could date two such different people. Heck, it’s weird to think that he could get two such different people to date him. Maybe he realized he didn’t like that type and that’s why he’s dating Green now, he muses.  

That still doesn’t explain why both Janine and Green agreed to date him. Insanity? That must be it, because it also explains why he’s fighting all of his colleagues over his dick of a childhood friend.

But the biggest difference between them, Green thinks, is that Janine has never gotten over her yearning for her absent father. She still desperately wants to make Koga proud. Even now, he sees in the way she forms her stance that she’s trying to follow his teachings.

Still, in spite of their [different] reactions, struggling to cope with the fame of their family line and its looming shadow over their entire lives is something they have in common. Someday, she’ll have to figure out how she wants to be a gym leader, separate from her father’s legacy. Someday, she’ll have to make a name for herself as Janine, Gym Leader of Fuschia City and not Janine, daughter of Koga. No one will ever respect her if she doesn’t — Green’s learned that the hard way.

Someday, she will have to walk her own path. But that day is not today.

“Are you ready, Green? Cause I’m not going to wait for you to catch up!” Janine calls, sounding very un-ninja-like. Green briefly mourns the loss of the mystique. He used to think ninjas were cool.

“It’s my duty to defeat you on the behalf of all evil exes everywhere!”

“You can’t be serious,” Green says.

“Sure, I am!” Janine says. She pulls out a small, colorful rectangle from somewhere with her magical ninja arts and waves it around. “After all, I’m a card-carrying member of Red’s League of Evil Exes!”

There are cards now. Green looks at his boyfriend and says, “Red, what did you do to them?”

Red just looks at them and shrugs, looking mildly confused himself. But not confused enough that he’ll actually do something about it, Green notes sourly. 

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Cinnabar’s volcanoes are as fascinating as always, but Green is too busy stewing to enjoy it. He marches past all the ads for hot spring resorts and into the Gym, braced for what lies ahead of him. Blaine is waiting for him inside. “You’ve made it, my boy,” he said, and the expression on his face is almost like a proud parent.

Green scowls. He used to respect Blaine. He is, after all, one of the finest scientific minds in all of Kanto, and while Green isn’t a scientist, Gramps has instilled him with a healthy respect for their work. Even the punning had been bearable. He had earned the right for a quirk. 

But this? This was going too far.

Blaine at least has the decency to wait until they’re all set up for battle before he springs the next part of his awful sense of humor on him. “And now, a quiz! What makes you worthy to date Red?” Blaine asks.

“What made you worthy? You’re an old man! Red was a teenager!” Green shoots back. He’s pretty fuzzy on the timeline of Red’s awful lovelife, but there’s no way Red was any older than fifteen whenever the hell they dated. He’s pretty sure Red wasn’t in some demented long distance relationship while still on that goddamn mountain. 

Blaine gives him a creaky shrug. “What can I say? Red really lights a fire in my heart,” he chuckles. 

“I’m reporting you to Officer Jenny when this is over,” Green informs him. Gym leader or not, perverted old creeps shouldn’t be allowed in society. Especially not the punning ones.

But reporting him to the officer and letting her punish him for his sins would be cheating if Green does it before he beats Blaine fair and square. He doubts the rest of this stupid league would accept that as defeating Blaine and their ridiculous challenge, so he sends out Rhydon and prepares for a fight.

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After an excruciating moment, Arcanine falls.

“Oh,” says Red’s voice. Green looks over his shoulder to see him standing along the wall of the gym, near the entrance. It’s completely like the sneaky bastard to come in secret and Green can’t even be mad at him as he looks at the battlefield and asks, “Is it over?”

For a moment, Green doesn’t know how to answer him. He doesn’t even know how to speak. He just breathes, as the adrenaline drains out of his lungs and euphoria replaces it. His shoulders slump. He looks at the ceiling. It’s over. This ridiculous journey is finally over. He can now date Red in peace. 

And then the applause starts.

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Erika is the first one to emerge, from behind one of the outcroppings of rock near the back of the gym. Brock is next, followed by Misty, while Surge, Janine, and Sabrina come out from the other side. They form a line at the head of the gym, and bizarrely, every single one of them is clapping, even Surge, though he looks like he’s been forced into it. While Green looks at them, too stunned to react, Blaine moves back to take a spot next to Sabrina.  

“Congratulations, Green,” Erika says, smiling. She looks genuinely happy for him, as does Janine, but Surge still looks vaguely murderous and Brock looks like he might cry with happiness. 

“What’s going on?” Green demands. On closer inspection, Brock’s “about to cry” face is more like a father watching his child leaving on a Pokemon journey, so proud that it’s spilled over to sad. It worsens the distinct feeling that something’s been going on in the background that he doesn’t know about.

Erika coughs delicately. “I’m afraid we must admit to a deception,” she says, serene as ever. “We are not actually a league of Red’s exes.”

If Green gets any more revelations in the next week, he’s going to have a stroke.

After a beat of frozen silence, he splutters out, “You’re not?” in a tone that’s half confusion, half demand for an explanation. He looks all around him and then waves his hand at the entire gym, a gesture which turns sharp and wild with his anger. “Then what was all of this for?”  

“Well, we’re not a league of Red’s exes, but we are all members of ‘Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart,’” Misty explains. She frowns at him. “He was pretty torn up over you during his Pokemon journey, you know.”

Dumbfounded, all Green can manage is, “You can’t be serious.” 

“But we are,” Janine says earnestly. She produces her card out of nowhere again and hands it over to Green, who’s now close enough to read the letters embossed on the front. It does, as she’s claimed, state Gym Leader Janine of Fuschia City to be a member of Red’s League of Allies Against His Evil Ex-Best Friend Who Broke His Heart. It’s even made out of red plastic.

Well. One part of him is touched to know that Red had valued their friendship so deeply. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, with his stoic man of mystery act. 

The other part is just plain indignant. “That was over five years ago!” Green screeches. They started their journeys when they were thirteen, for God’s sake!  

A new thought occurs to him. “And if this was all fake, why was Brock going on about his love and hardening?”

“Did he? Oh, that scenery-chewing ham! I knew he would get carried away!” Misty says in disgust. 

“I was trying to go for realism!” Brock protests 

“That’s only realism for you, you sleazy flirt!” she snaps, and yanks at his ear. 

“Ow, ow, ow!” he yelps.

While Misty’s handling that headache, Green tries to replay the conversation where this all started. “I was the one who first brought up the idea that you were exes,” he mumbles, a little horrified. 

“Once you made the assumption, I thought it might work to our advantage,” Erika explains calmly. “A test of your reaction to his supposedly storied history, so to speak.”

“So you just made it up on the spot?” Green says, nearly speechless. How on earth had he fallen for a hastily thrown together scheme? What had it even been centered around, seeing if he was the kind of douchebag who’d storm off and call Red a slut? He’s Green Oak. You don’t get to be one of the top trainers in Kanto by the time you’re fifteen without being a good strategist.

Then again, clearly, all of his colleagues are absolutely insane. No one ever taught Green how to anticipate that. 

Erika smiles apologetically. “Please do forgive us, Green, but we had to make sure you two were serious about this. Your friendship ended so badly, and we didn’t want this to end the same way. After all, the poor boy was so heartbroken that he went up a mountain to get away from you.”

Green’s jaw drops. “Okay, that one was not my fault!” He’s willing to accept the blame for being a dick, for being generally unhelpful with Team Rocket, and a lot of other things, but he draws the line at the goddamn mountain.

“Sabrina?” asks Janine curiously.

The psychic in question is studying her nails, looking bored. “My powers aren’t meant to be used for answering this sort of nonsense,” she says. “Ask him yourself.” 

“Hold up!” Green shouts, before they can get too off topic. “How was this supposed to make sure I was serious about him?”

“You can be a fickle, capricious sort of person, Green,” Erika explains. “So we thought that, with a series of challenges in your way, if this was some kind of idle whim, you would abandon your quest.” 

Green tries to wrap his head around that logic and fails. “How was that supposed to work?” he demands. “What if I was just in it for the challenge of beating the entire Kanto League again and not for Red?” 

Erika just smiles. “You don’t have enough of a death wish for that,” she says, like she’s sentencing someone to execution. 

Green freezes and feels his spine go rigidly straight at the sound of her tone. That smile looks sweet at first glance, but it’s just a little too perfect, a little too gentle, carefully controlled in a way that says she could easily let that control snap at a moment’s notice. It’s the kind of smile that might be the last thing you see before you die. 

Holy Arceus, there are no words in the universe to describe how terrifying Erika is. 

Green breaks eye contact as soon as he can and shakes his head a few times, just to get out the lingering feeling of dread. He quickly turns his mind to another topic. “Okay, so who really has dated Red?” he asks, just to get everything straightened out once and for all.

“None of us. Particularly not me,” Blaine answers. “You young whippersnappers are practically infants.”

“Misty did ask him out once, but he turned her down,” Brock chips in. 

“Hey! That was years ago, and I’m over him anyways!” Misty splutters, cheeks bright red. She shoulders him hard in the chest and snarls, “Stop bringing that up!” still blushing furiously.

“Ow, that hurts!” Brock yelps.

“You deserve it!” Misty hollers back, and the two of them start arguing again.

You know what, maybe Green doesn’t need to get revenge for all the innuendo after all. Misty’s been doing a pretty good job of enacting it for the both of them. 

Misty stomps on Brook’s foot, and Blaine winces. “Please don’t call Officer Jenny,” he says. 

.

.

.

In the chaos, Green realizes there’s one party they’ve forgotten about entirely. “And you!” He whirls around and points at his erstwhile boyfriend, whose expression is blankly nonchalant. To a stranger, he might’ve even looked innocent. “There’s no way they could’ve gotten away with it unless you played along! But you haven’t dated any of them!” 

“Nope,” he confirms, wearing a funny little smile on his face. He’s clearly enjoying himself, and the smugness of his expression only increases as he coos out, “You’re my one and only.”

That tone he’s using is the stuff of nightmares, and Green blanches, reeling back on instinct. He can hear Red laughing at him inside his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, refusing to let that deter him.

“It was funny,” Red says, and then, in a perfect deadpan, “Besides, it was a nice revenge. You drove me up a mountain, after all.” 

Green is at least seventy-five percent certain that isn’t true and Red’s just playing along to be a douchebag. “Why, you—!” he growls, and instinct born of ten years of childhood games takes over. He tackles him to the ground, fisting his hands into his shirt so he can drag him up by the collar. He hears someone shout behind him, and it’s probably because they’re a little too old for roughhousing, but Red, Red understands him. Red doesn’t panic or protest. Red just lifts his head to meet his glare with a smirk, and then leans up, grabs his head, and kisses him.

There’s still noise in the background, but it fades away as the world becomes nothing but Red. 

.

.

.

Later, while they’re falling asleep, Green asks, “You didn’t really go up the mountain because I broke your heart, did you?”

“No,” Red answers, but before Green can let out a breath of relief, he says, “I went up there cause you were so annoying that I wanted a break from you.”

In a display of supreme maturity, Green kicks Red in the shins. Some things never change.

#Fanfiction #Pokemon #OriginalShipping #Green Oak #Red #Crack #Scott Pilgrim AU #At Last I Am Rid of the Albatross

[loreofthekidults]

fruit snacks & wonder bread | lee chan

focus: dino

words: 1.7k

genre: stranger things au / high school au / dnd au? / fall themes

description: More stranger things au for the beautiful fall season! This is a continuation/addition to the fic with Jeonghan from week one, but can be read independently. Just piling onto this svt x stranger things universe hoping things make sense. Anyways made it in the nick of time for week two of #caratrevival, whew! This week’s themes were Dino and the lyric « Here’s the baton, man ». Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

(Quick note, I went a bit ham with the dnd game at first because I miss playing, but I tried to edit the scene to be as simple as possible so hopefully it’s not too confusing for non-dnd players. To all dnd players, BSS are all bards and that’s canon.)

____________________

“Don’t forget to say your thank you-s and excuse me-s!” 

“Yup!”

“And remember to wash your hands and clean up after yourself!”

“Yup!”

“And also share your snacks with everyone!”

“I know, I know,” Dino swept an armful of fruit snacks off the kitchen counter into his backpack as his mother stood beside him with hands on her hips. “And I know, don’t be too mean to Seungkwan, yup, got to go now!” 

Dino rushed out of the kitchen to the back yard and tugged on the door handle to the shed. His bike was leaning against the wall in its usual dusty corner beside the rakes. After retrieving his bike, Dino hurriedly waved to his mother seeing him off through the parlor window. As he reached the line where the grass met the asphalt of the driveway, the garage door grumbled open to his test.

The dingy Ford Station Wagon thrummed to life and slowly backed out into the sunlight. The windows rolled down, and the scream of the electric guitar paired with the bass and snare heartbeat of Prince’s When Doves Cry flew out into the air. Dino’s older brother Jihoon glanced at him in passing as he reversed down the driveway. His friend Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat and nodded at Dino in greeting. 

“Where you headed?” Jihoon asked him nonchalantly while twisting around to see if he was going to hit any trees.

“To Seokmin’s. We’re starting up a new campaign.” Dino kept pace next to the car as it crawled down the driveway.

“You guys still play Dungeons and Dragons?” Wonwoo pushed his glasses up. Dino could feel the gentle mockery in Wonwoo’s piercing gaze. 

“Yeah, we do. What bingo session are you senior citizens off to join?” 

Jihoon snickered and shook a finger at his younger sibling. “What a smartass. Who’s DMing this time? Your campaign sucked last time, hope it’s not you again.”

“You have poor taste in adventure. And Seokmin is.”

“Good. Well have fun, then. Remind Soonyoung that we’re meeting later. And tell him not to be late again.”

“Where are you guys meeting?”

“He’ll know.”

“Come on. Tell me.” 

“Bye Channie.” Jihoon gave Dino a curt look before changing gears and turning onto the road. Dino bugged his eyes out at him in retribution. 

“See ya, Dino.” Wonwoo raised a hand in goodbye. 

They think they’re so cool. Dino smirked internally as the two drove away in the ugly wood-paneled car. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his headphones, attached it to his walkman, and pressed play. The falsetto of Michael Jackson’s Beat It filled his ears. Hopping onto his bike, Dino pedaled furiously in the opposite direction.

Seokmin’s house, only a short 15 minute ride away, was located in a general northern direction from Dino’s home. In between were lengths of forest and hills, and driveways dotted here and there. The schools and hubs of Plediestown were on the other side of town, so this part of the woods was quiet, with only families and farms going about their lives like happy smurfs.

The autumn air had chilled the air and shriveled leaves were sprinkled across the grounds. Another, more attentive person would have better appreciated the gradients of red, burgundy, pumpkin orange, and mustard yellow foliage of the forests around them. The neighborhood contained snapshots comparable to Bob Ross landscapes. But to Dino, this was nothing new to admire, it was just home. 

Like Nuest Court, where the houses of the cul-de-sac were clustered together at the bottom of a large hill with the massively old oak tree. It wasn’t just a scenic view, it was where all the kids in the neighborhood went sledding in the winter and played manhunt amongst the fireflies until the summer sun disappeared. 

Dino zoomed past the hill, the oak tree standing majestically as ever. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement of a figure strolling under the tree.

Is that Minki?? What was he doing here? 

Dino blinked furiously. It had been years since the boys of Nuest Court had left town together to follow their dreams in the city. If one of them had returned home, it would have been the buzz of the town. Turning his head, Dino squinted at the lean figure . He had shoulder length black hair, loose-fitting white shirt, thin—honk. HONK.

Whoa. 

Dino screeched to a halt and twisted his bike sharply towards the curb. A car drove around Dino, and he saw Seungcheol giving him a happy wave in his sky-blue marching band uniform through the driver’s window. Even with the windows closed, Dino could hear the guy giggle his ridiculous giggle as he passed.

Dino turned his gaze back towards the oak tree atop the Nuest Court hill, but the figure was no longer there. 

Oh well. Dino merely shrugged and went along his way. He’d hear about any new visitors sooner or later in this small town. 

By the time Dino was pedaling up the driveway to Seokmin’s house, he had all but forgotten about the possible Minki appearance. The garage door rose as he neared the house, and Jeonghan appeared, donning the same ridiculous blue uniform as Seungcheol. Dino threw his bike onto the grass beside their perennial bushes and rushed into the garage, swinging his backpack at Jeonghan.

“Hey Jeonghan. Nice outfit.”

The older boy dodged his attack and called after him, but Dino was already two steps in the house and purposely ignoring him—he hated being babied by Jeonghan. The warmth of the house tickled his cheeks, and he lightly plodded down the familiar stairs into the even toastier basement. 

“Eyy Dino!” Hoshi yelled, jumping up from his chair. Vernon raised a hand in greeting. Mingyu and Seungkwan were in the midst of an argument over who’s dice were prettier, so Dino plopped down next to Seokmin, who gave him his trademark sunshine smile and high-fived him.

It wasn’t long before the group huddled seriously around the small table and quickly descended into the magical realm of Seokmin’s imagination.

“The party leaves the inn well stuffed and equipped with shiny new weapons.” Seokmin’s eyes widened dramatically as he narrated the story and built the world up around them. “You all head towards the edge of the forest where the old wizard said the gate to the Noir dimension is located. There is no sign of any life, but there is a stream of gurgling water and trees lined the shoreline. In the shadows of the woods, three—”

“Can I attack the stream?” Hoshi interrupted. 

“Why in the world do you want to attack the stream, Soonyoung? It’s not going to do anything,” Seungkwan rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. 

Hoshi stood with one foot on his stool, his chest puffed out, and his imaginary sword in his right hand pointed towards the ceiling. “Because I can!” he laughed mightily.

Mingyu groaned and swiped his hand through his hair impatiently. “We’re not even going to get to start the quest today,” he muttered. 

Vernon smiled and shook his head, used to Hoshi’s goofy antics. Seokmin laughed heartily, clearly enjoying this turn of events. 

“Ok! Roll to attack!” Seokmin declared.

Hoshi took his d20 and dropped it into the center of the table. “Oyyyy, Nat 20!!!”

“You successfully attack the river!” Seokmin screamed. “Hoshi slices at the water, and you can hear a soft gurgling sound eerily similar to the word ‘ouch’.” Hoshi religiously followed the words of the Dungeon Master and mimed poking his sword at an imaginary river.

Mingyu doubled over cackling and managed to fall off his chair. Vernon was shaking Seungkwan’s shoulder in glee as they both guffawed incredulously.

“What a waste of a nat 20!” Dino exclaimed, but he was struggling to breath from his own shrieks of laughter, too. 

Seokmin suddenly slammed his hand on the table, startling everyone into silence. His face grew serious and he looked at everyone with a sinister glare. “Little did you know, the water began to shine and part. A glowing ring with a dark center appeared out of the water and a freezing wind blew out of the circle. Roll for investigation check.”

They each rolled in turn and Hoshi—and only Hoshi—failed the check.

“Alright,” Seokmin rubbed his hands together mischievously. “Everyone but Soonyoung realizes this is a portal to another world. You know, probably the portal you guys were looking for. Soonyoung, on the other hand, thinks it’s a really cool blow dryer and sticks his face through the glowing portal.”

“What do you see in there, Soonyoung?” Dino asked, only half serious. 

“I don’t know. It’s really dark, hahaha.” 

“Do we have a torch or something?” Mingyu asked.

“I got one. Here’s the baton, man,” Vernon pretends to hand Hoshi the imaginary light source. 

“Suddenly, you hear a terrifying ROAR!!!” Seokmin howled at the top of his lungs. Seungkwan hugged Dino in fright.

“And with that, Soonyoung is pulled into the other dimension and the portal closes.” Seokmin sits back down and smiles sweetly at the party, waiting for them to react. They all just stared back at him in shock.

“Dude!” Hoshi broke the silence. “Am I dead?”

“Nope!” Seokmin stated simply and chuckled a bit embarrassedly. “I just didn’t plan for you guys to discover the portal this early, so I needed to get you guys back on track first.”

“But I’m stuck in the other dimension now? Separated from the party???” Hoshi squished his cheeks in despair. 

“Don’t worry. You’re fine.” Seokmin laughed and patted his friend’s back reassuringly. “You guys wanna take a quick snack break?”

“Yes please.” Mingyu stood up immediately. Dino peeled Seungkwan off of him and poured his hoard of fruit snacks onto the table. 

Hoshi slumped into the sofa dejectedly. “Guess I’ll just sit here and watch you guys play then.”

“Oh right, Soonyoung!” Dino called out as he climbed the stairs to get some more food. “Jihoon said to not forget to meet him and Wonwoo for something. He didn’t tell me where, though. Just make sure to be very late.”

Dino reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the kitchen.

What the—”HEY!” Dino shouted. The rest of the boys clambered up the stairs and peered into the doorway behind him. 

An unfamiliar boy stood beside the counter stuffing his face with wonder bread and the leftover chili. He was dressed in a wrinkled white hospital gown that reached mid-thigh and thin pajama pants with dirt smudges all over. His long jet-black hair hung limply, and as he reached his hand out to grab another piece of bread, the kitchen light shined down onto his thin forearm. Along the inside of his wrist, the inky numbers stood out against his pale skin: 008.

Dino gasped.

“You’re the Minki impersonator!”

#caratrevival #seventeen #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen scenarios #dino #stranger things au #fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #dino fanfiction #my writing #svt #dino imagines #seventeen imagines #lee chan #whew #this was close #fic #writing #kpop fanfic