#and she was always 'too poised and stiff' or 'she's always traveling in europe!' (she was GRIEVING HER HUSBAND'S DEATH)

[benwvatt]

i'm thinking about jacqueline bouvier kennedy onassis (known to most as jackie kennedy, JFK's wife) who got a coveted fashion magazine internship only to quit on the first day. i'm not sure why.

whose high school yearbook life goal was simply "not to become a housewife"

who read and translated french political philosophy books into english for JFK's senate campaign in massachusetts because she thought that maybe, if she proved she could be pretty AND smart, he'd finally propose (he, um, slept with marilyn monroe instead? and jackie kept dating him?)

whose beloved boss john white had a running $5 bet with her that JFK'd never marry her, and on her wedding day, john white gave her a $5 bill and he smiled and they laughed together because she was SO bubbly and happy. it was a magnificent day.

who cried when jfk routinely joked that she had "too much status and not enough quo", and she ran out of the room crying when he laughed and said, to a room full of people, "maybe the voters aren't ready for jackie in the advertisements. maybe we'll need to use subliminal messaging and embed her in, one frame at a time" because she wasn't good enough to be seen with him when he was running for president

(EVEN THOUGH A MAJOR REASON HE STARTED DATING HER WAS TO PROVE TO THE VOTERS THAT HE WAS AN ALL-AMERICAN GUY WHO COULD SETTLE DOWN INSTEAD OF BEING A PERPETUAL BACHELOR!!!!! i'm so mad about this)

who took care of him after he had major spinal surgery, and he was miserable and angry, and he still found a fucking way to cheat on her by writing international love letters to the girl he wished he'd met before he got engaged to jackie (this is gunilla von post)

who pretended not to be upset when JFK arranged vacation on yachts with friends instead of staying home with her when she was pregnant (and he probably cheated on her while on those yacht trips, too)

who refused to vote for anyone in the election after JFK died because, if she couldn't vote for her husband, she wouldn't vote for anyone. he was important. he was beloved.

(fuck him, oh my god, she was so ambitious and she was crushed by all of the sexism around her. she just wanted to be a reporter.

she was a reporter, for a little bit, and then she left that job. she became a housewife. she became every college friend she'd mocked for dropping out or not taking internships/jobs in favor of marrying a guy. she became the person she didn't want to be.)

source for all these facts: the jacqueline biography by barbara leaming. it's SO GOOD, OH MY GOD.

like, to be entirely clear, jackie was a fantastic society wife. she was smart and she was a fucking GOOD first lady, smart and well-traveled and cultured and savvy and fluent in french. and I personally believe she showed the world how well-behaved women can still be so important and valuable and kind and good.

BUT. you shouldn't have to be in a loveless marriage, and you shouldn't have to labor under the pressure of american rumors and cry and cater to the public and run away from your husband when he makes disparaging remarks about you.

I believe that fame is abuse. a gilded cage, no matter how beautiful, is still a cage.

thinking about clara bow and how her art defined that era but then married her husband who denied their marriage and then she never acted again and ariel who lost her voice after chasing the man she loved and how masie peters says in her song wendy "if i'm not careful, i'll wake up and we'll be married and i'll still flinch at the sound of the door" and "you could take me to neverland baby, we could live off of magic and maybes, but i know the girl that you want and it scares me, behind every lost boy, there's always a wendy" and "lose the world that you live in, pretend that it's what you wanted, it's a life i could have, i know" and "what about my wings? what about wendy?"

and i'm just feeling like the theme of the tortured poets department is going to be: what about my art? what about my voice? what about my wings, what about wendy?

[dothewrite]

Scenario for akaashi and makki with a sarcastic s.o who likes to bicker with them about literally anything and it kinda gets on their nerves but its also extremely endearing? Thanks!!

I fully believe that Akaashi is fully capable of channeling a little shit whenever he wants to. Which is quite often, imho. Hope you like!

It’s a quiet day outside in theheady heat of mid-summer and the sun is muted graciously by the shroud of greyforms lounging above the mountain caps; the ground so warm from the morningsunshine that the raindrops almost hiss as they hit the concrete, one waveafter another.

They’re the only ones still outside.In a stroke of luck, the café they had discovered the day before yesterday hadremained open despite the warnings on the news channel the night before and thecorroborating showers, but most of the chairs for outside seating have beentucked away underneath massive square-shaped umbrellas to preserve the delicatewood from soaking through.

Akaashi can feel the baffled, andoccasionally disgruntled, gazes lingering on the back of his head from the wise,sensible patrons who had opted to sit indoors in such weather. It’s a grumpy,good-natured sort of gaze, gazes from people who can’t really be bothered to beparticularly critical when there’s warm coffee tucked between their palms, afresh set of newspapers sprawled over the narrow tables, and a comforting humof steady rain against the tinted glass on an early afternoon.

He can taste the rainwater that’ssplashed into his own cup of black coffee, but it’s too bland of a taste forhim to consider buying another one and brave the grouchy looking owner who keptthe store. He takes a quick sip, and with a hand that brushes away the moistbangs that plaster to his forehead, he watches her lean forwards on the slattedtable, a yearning on her face almost as if to leap out into the dense showerand become one with the storm.

He keeps his phone tucked carefullyunderneath his jacket to keep it safe from stray droplets and lounges backagainst his stiff backrest, the scent of damp pine rubbing its tendrils into hisback.

“If you stick your head out somemore,” he cautions before taking another deep sip, “you’re going to look veryinteresting with only your face wet.”

He can see her shoulders shake oncewith a possibly befuddled laugh before she shrugs them.

“The dewy look might be in vogue.Think I’d look more interesting than you?”

He flicks his thumb up to move ontothe next BBC article. “Hard to say. I can be a very interesting man.”

She cranes her neck to give him aglance-over: a navy shirt, just like the one yesterday, and oh! Happycoincidence! The same one as the day before that too. His pants have changed,she’ll concede. Sometimes. On days when she hides the rest. His watch, the sameone he’d been wearing for the past four years—it being a graduation present isnot a viable excuse for lack of fashion—matched the small coloured twine aroundhis other wrist. She’d forgive that one though, considering she’d given it tohim as a matching anniversary present when they were young enough to rely onallowances for gifts. He hadn’t taken that one off either, ever. Not even forshowers, white-water rafting, nor torrential rainy days.

“Mhmm.”

They share a serene moment ofsilence before Akaashi puts away his phone and sighs, heavily, from the bottomof his old, weary heart. “I can hear you holding your breath all the way overhere. Go on, say it. What’s wrong with my outfit today?”

She shrugs again, this time muchmore dramatically. Empires could rise and fall on those bony little shoulderswith a drama that even Caesar would envy. “Nothing.”

“Is that so,” Akaashi says dryly. “Doesthat mean I can wear this again tomorrow without hearing another word fromyou?”

“It really depends on what sort ofwords,” she grins, and vaults a leg above the other to twist around just theright amount for Akaashi to catch her sharp profile against the drizzlingbackground. “If you’re filing a complaint, I can always replace those tricksywords with other ones you might find even less appropriate.”

“Yeah. And what exactly is wrongwith my shirt again?”

“Nothing,”she repeats emphatically, “if you’re on a tight budget and brought a single shirt on holiday with you toEurope.”

“I see. So, if it’s anywhere butEurope—”

“Then you can wear that same shirtall week at home with the exception of Sundays when you have practice?”

“Possibly.”

“Ah yes,” she says, throwing herhands up in exasperation. He’ll give it another few minutes before they startdrawing frenzied little diagrams in the air with her finger as a wand. “Let thescent of your armpits saturate into the corners of your shirt, and may itattract some unwitting females during mating season.”

Akaashi doesn’t give in to the urgeto lift his arm to double check his armpit. He is a much better man than that,and an even better one when he shouldn’t be. He leans back and settles down withthe comfortable knowledge that he’s washed this shirt quite thoroughly, and hisgo-to deodorant hasn’t failed him yet if she’s still willing to endure hispresence.

“You like how I smell,” he mentionswith a small smile, “but if you insist, I can always buy several more likethis. To reduce my, ah, scent.”

He is an expert indeed in keeping astraight face after many, many years of practice with exasperating fellowsaround him, and he lets it rest on his face with ease when she squints at him,brows stretching between a raise and a furrow, and her blunt fingernails diginto the armrests to keep her uncomfortable twist in place.

It does make her look rather poised,with crossed legs and a carefully positioned arch to her back. Akaashi keepshis eyes politely on her face, but his peripheral vision goes off, as they say,and swallows every inch that he can. He wonders if it’s part of why she oftenchooses to be so prickly about everything, even in good humour; if he took thatmuch care to look half as good when indignant about something, he’d probablyinstigate a lot more rows too.

For now, he thought, bringing hiscup to his lips, he was content with simply admiring.

“You’re insufferable,” she says,rolling her eyes.

Akaashi pretends to be stung. “Me?Do I smell that much?”

She grumbles something under herbreath, but she’s not quite taken her eyes off him just yet. He watchespatiently as she comes up with a different approach to the problem. After all,they have all afternoon, as long as they’re willing to shell out a few morecups of coffee.

“I smell fine, don’t I?” Akaashiprods. She really brings out the worst in him, and deep down he finds itendlessly entertaining. “Unless you want me to wear more cologne? Should Ichange my shampoo?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s great,” he says, turninghis phone back on with his worst attempt at sounding enthused to date.

“It’s just…” she adds, and he hearsher chair grate against the coarse ground as she tugs it closer to him. “It’s always blue. And always a shirt. I know you wash your clothes, but youcan’t possibly expect that from anyone else.”

“Navy is a nice colour. What’s wrongwith blue?”

“It reminds me of the thing with thefriends on American television, but every day, all day.”

“Foster’s home for imaginaryfriends? He’s sky-blue.”

And muchless fit,he thinks, but he is a humble man, not prone to lapses in judgement, so thatcomment stays obediently in the back of his mind as he swirls the last dregs ofhis coffee around, watching the course grounds dance in a storm. The poker faceremains where it is, performing its role perfectly and any tells stay strictlyaround his lips in an unwilling upturn.

She’s far too busy rummaging aroundher mind for more analogies to properly notice, anyhow.

“Pictures,” she says triumphantlyafter a minute or two. Akaashi looks up from his sports news and gives this newattempt of hers another go. “Maybe I might be mistaken if you’re aiming for thetime-traveller look, but you’d look exactly the same in all the pictures wetake. New landmark? Same shirt. New city? Same shirt. New girlfriend? Sameshirt.”

“New girlfriend?” He repeats with aneyebrow raised. She meets his look defiantly, her angled chin daring him to firesomething back. “I wasn’t informed that I was in the market for a replacement.”

“Well perhaps you should read thebook, then.”

“Have you?” He asks incredulously.“Have you really finally gotten around to it?”

There’s definitely a small twitch toher mouth as her eyes narrow, twinkling a bit at the corner. “Wikipedia is thenew SparkNotes. My point still stands, time-traveller.”

Akaashi thinks about it for a while,tapping his fingers against his chin. “It’s not such a bad concept, really.”

“Your mum would be disappointed withthose photos. You know it.”

“But you’re so very good at makingme look attractive.” He rolls his eyes ever so slightly. Not enough to get himinto trouble, but enough so that it’ll stop pushing at his eyelids for freedom.“Or is it all just me? Or maybe, is it alljust this shirt?”

“Okay, let’s test that.” she thrustsher arm out at him and beckons imperiously with two fingers. Her eyes flash asif daring him to do otherwise. “Hand over that shirt, I’ll try it on Tetsu thenext time I see him.”

“As if he needs any help.” Akaashidoes a full-on roll with his eyes this time, with a smidgen less amusement. Hedoesn’t want to think about it—as much as he loves his irritating as all hellfriend—least of all in his own shirt, stolen unrightfully, and with her all over Kuroo. Alright, maybe shemight not be, but the imagery is very much unappreciated all the same.

He swallows the rest of his cooledand watery coffee in a single gulp and rests it on the damp table with morefocus than intended.

“Just my shirt? Does nothing elsebother you more than my fashion this morning?”

She gazes at him with an inscrutableexpression whilst Akaashi refuses to avoid her eyes, unyielding as hechallenges her in silence for something else to nag about, another tiny littleproblem that seems almost impossibly insignificant underneath the madness thatis drinking hot coffee on an equally hot and equally soggy noon. A slightbreeze, however, has begun to blow somewhere between their bickering, grazingalong the soft weeds that frame the banks of the Danube they face, and the rainhas quietened into a gentler morning shower. It would be walkable, albeit onlytowards their temporary home considering they’d be soaked to the boneafterwards, and Akaashi almost considers asking her. Almost.

He waits to see if she’s gotanything more to say that’s smart, snappy, and altogether exhausting onoccasions.

She’s still staring at him with aspectrum of emotions flickering in her eyes when she speaks again, words tingedwith a beleaguered sigh.

“If I think about it, then maybe thiscoffee. It doesn’t taste so good with rain. There’s this weird salty taste toit, but salt doesn’t evaporate, so it’s possibly entirely in my head.”

“A lot of things might entirely bein your head,” Akaashi replies, and he takes the side eye she shoots him withcomposure and grace. “Like how I’ve only got one shirt, ever.”

“You wore it yesterday. And the daybefore.”

“The washing machine is broken,love,” he reminds her patiently. “Our host hasn’t responded to me yet.”

“Alright, maybe not navy, but they’reall shirts,” she insists. She twirlsher empty cup around her fingers, seemingly unaware of how precariously it sitson her fingertips, and Akaashi can’t quite recall when she’d managed to finishit earlier than he. “I’m not saying you’re a boring person—” she shoots him alook heavy with meaning, “—but dressing to reflect that wouldn’t be a bad idea.On the contrary, in fact.”

They had been brainstorming in therain for activities they could head for to replace their outdoorsy excursion toseveral palaces that day, but Akaashi thinks he’s got the right idea in mind.Never say that he’s an inattentive, inconsiderate partner. A shade petty whenpiqued, perhaps, but that all pales in the various hues of sarcasm she paintswith when unoccupied.

Still, there is the way her nosescrunches up when she frowns, and the brisk way she rests her weight on herarms that has her stretched out into fine lines and soft edges that Akaashikeeps safely to himself whenever he watches her as inconspicuously as he canmanage. It just about makes it worth it, he wagers, tossing his new idea back andforth in his mind, to listen to her furrow her brows verbally again.

“Thrilling, you say.” He murmurs. Hereyes follow with suspicion as he slides his phone into his jacket pocket, zippingit up all the way for protection. “Are you sure this isn’t just a ploy to getme to take off my clothes?”

“Not in public,” she says calmly,but the twinkle in her eye has returned, and a reluctant smile eked out of her.“Honestly, as if I’d share.”

His cheeks, despite their longfamiliarity, still flare up against his will and Akaashi tries his best to coolit down with a hand as discreetly as possible. Her smile only deepens, and hehas to clear his throat to prevent his poker face from cracking.

He pushes back on his chair andstands up, abandoning his seat to the elements. When she doesn’t follow, heleans in with a brow elegantly raised and a teasing smile tickling the edges ofhis lips.

“Let’s go home.”

She looks at him as if he’s gone offhis rocker. “The weather,” she says slowly, pointing up at the grey skies, “wedidn’t bring an umbrella.”

Akaashi shrugs a shoulder. “That’sthe point.”

“You’llget sick.”

“Not if we run,” he begins to counton his fingers, “not if we take a shower, not if we turn on the heating, andnot if I make you a cup of hot chocolate after.”

Her eyes are almost sparkling, andAkaashi finds it a hopeless battle against falling right into them. “So, you’vehad the time to come up with this whilst listening to me all this time?”

“I can be a very interesting man,”he repeats sagely, and easily dodges the smack she aims at his arm. “Trust me.”He offers a hand to her, palm up, and a soft smile awaiting her answer.

Multitudes dance along the edge ofher lips, and Akaashi watches every single one as they drizzle past the precipicesof her cheeks and along the faint laugh lines blooming from her eyes. He doesn’tmind for as long as his arm doesn’t ache, and he could stand underneath a beigecafé umbrella with the splashes of rain drenching their trouser hems for amonth if it meant that she would be able to turn that diamond edged glint towardshim and place her palm in his.

She does, after a small shake of herhead, and it takes only a minute or two. He laces her fingers together,slightly clammy from the wet, and draws her up against him. He can feel herwarmth seep through his dreaded navy shirt, and when he tugs her closer, herhair frizzy from the weather tickles where he’s left the last two buttonsundone.

“You wanted thrilling, remember?” Hebreathes lowly into her hair, and without another warning, he jerks the both ofthem out into the pouring rain. She lets out a startled yelp, but Akaashibarely flinches as he turns towards the street and pulls her along with him ina steady jog.

He swears he’s about two timesslower than his usual morning jogs, taking her lack of exercise into account,but he’s still surprised when halfway there she begins to drag his arm back, clothesand hair utterly soaked and sluiced against her face with breathing as ifsomeone had punched her in the gut.

Akaashi pauses, feeling the rain nowconcentrating on his shoulders, and leans against the railing along the riverbank.

“Need a rest?”

“You—” she gestures vaguely in hisdirection, “—yes. Stop—looking so—”

“Composed?” He offers calmly. “Healthy?Not dangerously unfit?”

“Thankyou, Keiji. We all know how you feel about my cardio.”

“Non-existent?”

Finally catching her breath, shegives him a good glare. “Yes. That.”

Feeling slightly in better humour, Akaashilets his free arm fall and reaches out for hers. “I didn’t want you to get sick,but you love the rain.”

“What I said at the start,” she beginswith a snort, but seeing his confidence slowly melt into a thin layer ofconcern, she leans into him, ignoring his jolt of surprise. “It’s too late now,so let’s not worry about it. I brought medicine.”

“So did I.”

“Well, then.” She’s a good footshorter than him, but with a good firm tug, Akaashi allows himself to be pulleddown enough for a warm kiss on his cheek. “Let’s do a power walk back instead.”

The image popping unbidden into hishead makes him bark out a startled laugh, and he lets his smile stretch out aswidely as hers does, all trembling and chilly and feeling his toes curl fromthe warmth that seems to pulsate from where their hands are joined.

When she throws her head back to whipher hair back from her eyes, there’s a moment where steals his breath away; hisbeautiful little storm witch. She lets her head fall forwards again and thatmoment passes, the only thing that lingers is an absent beat in his veins and aturbulent grin that reaches her eyes.

“I could piggyback you, you know,”Akaashi says when they resume at a brisk stroll, both completely drenched andhis shirt pulling at his skin with each stretch. “I’d probably still be able torun faster than you with your feet.”

She sniffs. “I’m declining that onprinciple, you ass.”

Confident that nobody else will be ableto spot him in the midst of the downpour, Akaashi laughs as quietly as he can,and lets the smile stretch as wide as it wants all the way back.

He did have something else plannedfor the rest of the day; he wasn’t lying by any means. It just so happened thatit would come later at night, when the rain would die down, ready for astreet-lit shopping venture for the very thing that she sniped so much about.

That is, he’d tell her, after they’dtaken a shower, turned on the heating, and each with a mug of hot cocoa intheir hands.

Neither of them was in a particularhurry to do any of those things when their door finally closed behind them.Akaashi had slotted her against the back of it immediately, letting his fingerstrail their way slowly up the rises and dips of her sides. Their lights wereforgotten, the only sound in the apartment a cacophony of the storm outside,their dripping hair and heavy breaths ghosting against each other’s mouths. He leanedin, languidly tasting the rain along her skin.

Despite her unfocused gaze and breathhot against the crook of his neck, she managed a warm laugh, and reached outwith determined fingers to remove that dreaded navy shirt.