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writers-hes · 3 months

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Growing Pains | c. berzatto x reader

A broken promise between friends hangs heavy in the Chicago air. He was haunted by a loss, seeking refuge in the city he never considered home. She was a wisp of stardust who finds herself back in the city she always considered home. A rent-dispute sets the stage for them to meet again, only to realize that dreams, both realized and abandoned, are so much brighter when you’re younger. (trauma, mentions of alcoholism, sexual harrassment, angst, some bad words…) A/N: This is entirely different from my other fics and I hope that you enjoy it. I really do.

MASTER LISTS TAGLIST “I want to become an artist,” That was what nine year old Carmen Bezatto told you when you asked him what his dream was. He was shy and kept to himself. You were different. You were magnetic and the boys in class all had a crush on you. The teachers loved you and the girls from the higher years doted on you.

“I want to become an actress or a singer,” you confessed, sitting beside him. The crayon that he was holding was blue and he set it down. “What are you drawing?”

“A car,” You peered over his shoulder.

“You’re really good Carmen,”

“Carmy,” he whispered, his heart beating fast. You look at him in confusion. “Call me Carmy,”

“Why do you want to become an artist?” you asked him. You were looking at the drawing of spaghetti and meatballs on his sketchpad. He drew it with a crayon.

“It’s what I’m good at,” he shrugged. “I’m not good with words but I’m good at this. Why do you wanna become an actress?”

“I want people to love me! I want to be so rich and buy my mom everything she needs. I want to star in movies. I can also cry on command. See?” you asked. He watches you clench your eyebrows and wobble your lip. Soon the first tear falls. He’s never been so mesmerized by another person before.

“Carmy,”

“Hm?”

“Let’s promise to achieve our dreams and revisit this place after we’ve done it,” you said, sticking out your pinky for him. He beams at you, the rare smiles he gives and intertwines his pinky with you.

“I promise,”

You two made unlikely friends. Carmy was still on the sidelines when he reached high school while you were still in the spotlight. You joined theater. Carmy was sure there were some who still harbored feelings for you. Who wouldn’t? You were the same magnetic, charismatic, charming girl he knew from childhood. Everyone was so sure that you’re on your path to become an actress.

“Carmy!” He turns around and sees you rushing towards him with a smile on your face. You loop your arm with his and walk to the next class together. “You didn’t wait for me,”

“Sorry,” he chuckles lightly, seeing you pout. “You were just talking to some guys and I didn’t want to just stand there,”

“Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he looks at you.

“I saw you talking to Claire,” you teased. He told you once that he had a crush on her. “What did you guys talk about?”

“She just asked me about homework,” he says looking away.

“You’re so cute, Carmy!” you gushed, pinching his cheek with your free hand. He blushes harder. He should be used to such remarks by now.

“Let’s just go to class,”

“Wait, hold that pose,” he says. School ended and he found you sleeping at the library. He decided to sit in front of you until you woke up. The sun was already setting and it seeped through the windows of the library.

“Huh?” you asked. You were craning your neck to the side to stretch it.

“Hold that pose. I’m sketching,” You look at the paper and the pencil in front of him. “I’m trying to draw different angles,”

“Alright,” you replied. You stayed like that until Carmy says that it’s alright. You watched him draw more details and add more shadows. “You’re really good…but why do I have a mustache?”

“It’s called hatching,” he chuckled. “But it looks like a mustache,” He erases some shades and shows you his sketch. “I know it’s not good…”

“It’s good!” You snatch the piece of paper from him and hold up the portrait beside you. “See? Looks exactly like me,”

“Your nose is crooked,”

“Carmy!” you pouted. He laughed, his curls falling down his face as he hid his smile from you. Your heart beats fast and you look at him. It was your first time actually taking him in. He is beautiful.

“Let’s go home?” he asked after laughing. He tries to take the drawing from you but you snatch it away.

“This is mine as a punishment for saying that my nose is crooked!” you told him, opening the folder that you were sleeping on. He tries to chase it but you keep it.

“I’ll give you a better one!”

“I like this,” you told him earnestly, keeping the folder in your backpack. “When you’re a really famous artist, I’ll sell it for a really expensive price! From Carmen Anthony Berzatto’s earlier work. Come on, Carmy! Let’s get out of here. You promised to walk me home today,” he heard you say. He stands up from his seat and waits for you. He takes your lunchbox for you as usual. Dede likes to cook your and Carmy’s lunches. She makes him bring your lunchbox home. Carmy thinks that she’s just making sure that you’ll still be his friend.

The walk home was usual, your and Carmy’s lunches on either hands, you trying to catch up on his steps no matter how much he tried to slow down. Carmy walks you home and you thank him, hugging him to the side before leaving. You watch him walk away from your window.

Looking back, you and Carmy had always been close. However, sometime in your senior year, you watched him pull himself away from you. It was quick. It felt like someone plucked a rib from you. It was painful. One day, he just decided not to talk to you as much. He doesn’t wait for you during theater practice anymore and he hasn’t been walking home with you. You’d always be walking home, alone. Carmy wasn’t there anymore.

“Carmy, can we talk?” you asked, running after him when he ignored you again. You look up at him with sad eyes and he just looks away.

“For what?”

“Oh, well—I just…” you stammered. You looked at his sweater instead of his face. “I just wanted to know if everything’s fine?”

“It is,” He shrugs you off like you didn’t matter.

“Oh,”

You nod to yourself, looking away. What else was there to say?

“Um, do you…do you want to walk together?” you asked.

“No,”

Your heart drops and you swallow thickly. He hears you whisper something that he doesn’t remember anymore. All he knew was that he felt like absolute shit. His mom has been drinking more, Mikey was pushing him away, Richie was giving him a hard time, and Sugar locked herself in her room most of the time. He hasn’t been thinking straight and his home environment was just so draining that he forgot to reserve some of his energy for you. You leave without waiting for him to reply. He watches you run away from him. He should’ve ran after you that afternoon.

The day after that, Carmy thought of seeking you out. He wanted to apologize for how he behaved the past couple of days. He wanted to tell you everything but you were nowhere to be seen.

You returned to school a week after that due to a family emergency. He lost his courage by then. The teachers were kind enough to give you extra credit and you aced them all because soon, you were getting acceptance letters from colleges. When you were younger, you and Carmy both agreed to go to the same university that offered the courses you wanted to major in. You both agreed to go to the same college and rent an apartment together. You were just about to knock on the Berzattos’ door to ask Carmy if your plan would still push through. What Dede said broke your heart, though.

“He didn’t tell you? He left for Copenhagen last night. He got a scholarship from Noma!” she excitedly told you. She blows smoke away from you and your face falters. You shook it off though and decided to congratulate Dede. You emailed Carmy that night but he never replied. You remembered during graduation when Carmy’s family asked you to have a picture with him. You both stood awkwardly as Dede, oblivious as ever, clicked on the shutter multiple times. Sugar felt uncomfortable and looked for your mom but she was nowhere to be seen. Mikey and Richie were giggling among themselves as usual. You went home with a defeated sigh. The acceptance letter in your hand was clenched tightly. You remembered how you and Carmy filled up the forms together. He was fussing over every detail while you laughed at him. Where did it all go wrong?

Your hand shook when you sat on your bed. You couldn’t even celebrate the fact that you were going to college—that you were about to pursue your dreams.

The first person that Carmy wanted to talk to after learning about Michael’s death was you.

He didn’t give himself the time to cry over him; just like how he didn’t give himself the time to cry over his mistake of leaving you without saying anything. Mikey always told him that he was weak because he was sensitive and was in tune with his emotions. He didn’t know that he always had to have to guard up at his own home because he was scared of what his mom and brother might do next.

When he arrived in Chicago for the first time in years, his heart dropped. You weren’t there to pick him up. Who was he kidding? He left you to yourself without so much of an explanation. He didn’t even tell you that he changed his dream. Was it a dream? Or did he pursue it out of spite? To show Mikey that he was better than him? He wanted Mikey to look at him with such jealousy…such envy because Mikey didn’t graduate from college. He was a drop out with too many plans and too many failures. Carmy was better than him. Carmy managed to go to Noma without anyone’s help. He wanted Mikey to seethe when he sees him. So why was he in his brother’s failing sandwich shop instead of cooking for the President?

He’s been looking for you for weeks now but he couldn’t see you. He couldn’t ask Richie because he was ashamed. He just wanted to walk home with you again. He was sure that Sugar knew where you were. She was the type to be in touch with everyone but he never brought himself to it.

When he was in a relationship with Claire, you were momentarily put on his back burner. She was beautiful, he knew that. As kids, you’d always find a way to make Claire talk to Carmy.

“Remember Y/N?” Claire asked. Carmy’s back tenses as he prepares to go to what will soon be The Bear. Claire watched him put his white shirt from the bed.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know. She always found a way to make us talk to each other,” she shrugged. “I used to think you guys would end up together…or were together,”

“Why-why would you think that?” Carmy asked, facing her. He furrows his brows like he was so confused. The notion was foreign to him.

“Everybody thought so too. You walked her home everyday and you’d draw her all the time. You guys were so close. Some guys didn’t bother to ask her out because they thought you were together. I didn’t make a move on you because I thought the same,” she swallows. She feels shy about what she just confessed to him. Did he catch it? “Everyone thought you broke up because you suddenly stopped hanging out,”

Carmy stood there, speechless. What was he supposed to say to that? Why did his girlfriend say that?

“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” he hears her. She gets out of bed and walks over to him. She hangs her arms on his shoulder. “We’re together now,”

“Yeah. We are,” he says, kissing her forehead. He didn’t feel how embarrassed Claire felt. He was thinking about something else.

“Should we invite Y/N to the opening?”

His question caused the chaos to stop. Sugar drops the pen that she used on whatever it was she was writing while Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Or not,”

Sugar looks at him quizzically. She looks at Richie next and then, Eibra. They knew you. You frequented the sandwich shop with your mom when you were younger. Carmy brought you here to piss on Michael.

“What?” he asked. “We don’t have to. Fuck—okay, let’s not,” he stammered, his last word was weak. Sydney was confused. “Anyways, I uh—fuck. Let’s take five,”

“What?” Sugar asks. “No, no, no. We have to finalize this list now, Carm.”

“Yeah, I know that. I-I—“

“Even if we were to invite her, I don’t know where she is anymore,” His heart stops beating. He was so sure she knew.

“What?”

“She left for college,” Richie explained. “Seemed like her whole family left with her too. Their house is occupied by a new family now. We’re surprised you didn’t know. She told us that you guys were still in contact when you left,”

It was his turn to be confused. His mind was racing. Were you alright? Where are you now? Do you remember him? Do you still have the drawing he made of you?

“I totally forgot about her,” Richie confessed, chuckling. Carmy looks at him, his eyes turning into slits. His cousin raises his hand in surrender.

“You didn’t bother to ask?” he asks Sugar. “You grew up with her too, right?” He couldn't help but feel resentful. Why didn’t she treasure you like she treasured everyone else?

“Carm, she was your friend,” He runs his hand through his hair. He closes his eyes and counts to three. “Besides, she disappeared without a word…just like you did. As far as I know, she left first and then, her mom did.”

“Let’s take five,” he declares before leaving.

He rummages through his phone and tries to remember his old email address. He really wanted you to be there. He wanted to hear about your dreams and he wanted you to hear about his. He never found the courage to look you up on the internet. He didn’t want to know the hard truth.

His hands tremble as he holds his phone when Claire’s name pops up from the screen. He shouldn’t be worrying about you—he should be worried about Claire. The girl he loves. The girl he’s always dreamed of. Right, Claire. Claire. Claire Dunlop. They met again by the frozen aisle of the store.

“Hey,”

“Carm,” Her voice soothes him. “Just wanted to…check-in. You left feeling kind of not okay? How are you now?”

“I’m good,” he says. “Just remembered Y/N. I wanted to—uh, I wanted to invite her to the opening…if-if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course, it is. She was your best friend,”

“I don’t know how to reach her…would you know?” he swallows. He felt like shit for asking about another girl to his girlfriend. “Claire?”

“Hm, let me ask around. I’m sure somebody knows. She kind of fell out of the radar after you left,” she says. Everyone thought you eloped. She kept that part to herself.

“Cool. Thanks. Let me know,” he says. He looks at the time. “I have to go,”

“Alright,” she says. I love you. She kept that too. “See you tonight?”

“I’ll let you know.” He ends the call and sets his phone down. He rummages through the drawers to look for clues you might have left behind. He wanted to look for you. He didn’t know why he had the sudden urge to do so. It’s not like he has any right to. He pauses, looking at a distance. He tries to rack his brain for that stupid email. He rushes out of the office and sees Sugar.

“Do you remember what my old email was?”

The Bear opens and you weren’t there. Sugar can’t remember his old email. Carmy forbade her to look you up. It could have been as easy as that but he didn’t want to. He can feel himself slipping away from Claire the more he busies himself with work. He tries to busy himself with work because he tries to bury the guilt of leaving you behind. Sugar told him that you went to his childhood home the day after he left Chicago. She said she got into the arts school that you both applied to. You were probably on the way to tell him about the news. He feels horrible.

Carmy knew that despite your charm, you were self-destructive. You were both alike that way. You have the tendency to self-isolate whenever you feel upset. One time, Carmy accidentally said something hurtful towards you. You pushed him away. He had to climb to your window and apologize before everything was alright again. When your mother scolded you, you’d lock yourself in your room and stay in the library until it closed so you wouldn’t have to see your mom. When you didn’t get the role that you wanted for a play, you’d distance yourself from everyone until everybody started to miss you.

“You’re the only one who can get me out,” you once told him. You said it in such a teasing manner that he only brushed it off. He didn’t think about it before but it’s all he’s been thinking about now. Would you let him bring you out again?

Claire broke up with him when The Bear opened. He brought all of his anger out to Richie. He was an island. He was alone and was out of touch. He’d go to work, cook, and then leave. He didn’t talk to anyone. He’d just scream his head off until he blows off the steam. This is the dream, right?

He decided to go out and explore today. He had to go to Aurora, a city near Chicago to meet up with a potential supplier. He wanted to introduce a new item to the menu. He let go of the bucatini and other items. Last night, he stood a foot away from the island, looking at the food he just prepared. They were so intricate…they reminded him of you. All the food was reminiscent of your childhood with him. He didn’t know what happened for him to finally feel the gaping hole in his life shaped like you.

He arrives at the spice store hidden from the main road. It was quaint and the shelves were lined with jars of tea and various spices from around the world. Jugs of flavored vinegars were displayed for purchase. When he entered, the aroma of the jars enveloped his nose. He happened to find this spice store on the list of possible suppliers that Sugar prepared before The Bear opened. He felt right at home with the creaky wooden floors and warm lighting.

“Can I help you, sir?” the attendant from the cashier at the corner asked. He walks over to her and studies her corner. A framed paper caught his eye. It was too easy to miss to the unknowing eye but he saw it. The frame was on the very top, almost touching the low ceiling. His entire world stops and he sees it. He sees you. He sees the drawing that you took from him on that afternoon in the library.

“I…,” he swallows. “Do you know the—the artist of…of that portrait?” he asked, pointing at his sketch.

“Oh. I’m not sure, sir but the owner might know,” the attendant replied. Carmy nods.

“I’m actually here for uh, a meeting? I’m the owner of a restaurant in Chicago and I-I…am here to meet for a possible partnership,”

”Oh! Of course,” she nods, looking at the piece of paper the manager gave. “Mr. Berzatto?”

“Yes,”

”The manager will be here soon. May I lead you to the backroom? Would you like some tea?” she asked. She sees him play with a plastic of tea bears. “Tea bears. It’s the first of its kind. It’s a gummy bear that you can dissolve in water for tea. You can also eat it as is. Would you like to try a flavor? I recommend the blueberry and blue pea,”

”Oh, uh—sure,” he nods, following her to the back. Carmy sits down and the attendant leaves. He looks around the room. The walls had awards and other accolades. The attendant arrives with a cup of hot water and some colorful tea bears.

“Just add one to the water and snack on the rest,” she smiles. He picks up a tea bear and studies it. It kind of reminds him of you. He remembers how much you loved tea. He gifted you exotic and expensive teas every time. He knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up but what were the odds? There was only one copy of that drawing in the world and it was supposed to belong to you. The manager arrives just right after he bit on the head of the first bear. Vanilla and raspberry.

”Hello, Mr. Berzatto,” he says. He was a stout man with a kind face. “Sorry for my lateness,”

”I was early,” he says, standing up to shake the other man’s hand.

“Tea bears,” he acknowledges and Carmy smiles a little bit. ”I hope the drive wasn’t too tiring,”

”It wasn’t,” he replied. “I have the documents with me,” He lays the folder on the table with information about The Bear.

“I take it you’re the owner?” he asks Carmy. He nods, and the manager reads over the company profile. He wastes no time asking Carmy about The Bear. Carmy answers them and he’s so tired. He should have made Sugar come here instead. The meeting ends without a fuss.

“Do you have any questions?”

“It’s not really about the spices but the portrait on the counter. I want to have a portrait made,” he says.

“Oh,” the manager looks at the cup of tea that Carmy drank. “I’m not quite sure but I’ll be sure to ask the owner. Bea has a couple of spice samples ready for you outside,”

Carmy stands up and exits the room. He drives home with a brown paper bag and a picture of the portrait that hangs on the wall. It was you. It was you.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The spices for the new menu sits on his kitchen counter, untouched. He thinks about it. What happened? He thought you were an actress. That was what your dream was. He couldn’t help it. The itch that his fingers have makes him reach for his phone. Before he knew it, he was on Google, typing your name.

“Fuck!” he shouts, throwing the phone from across his bed. “Fuck, no, no, no.” He shuts his eyes close and pinches his nose. Why now? The Bear was in shambles. Richie hated him, Claire hated him, he hated himself. Was he only reaching out to you because he knew that he wouldn't feel the hatred?

“There were some problems with the renter of your house in Chicago,” you heard. You looked up from your office table and frowned.

“I thought that house was rented properly?” you asked. It’s been ten years since you went there. Or was it five? You couldn’t keep count anymore. That house was a house of horrors that you’d never want to revisit again. Hell, you never wanted to set foot in Chicago again.

“The renters want to meet up with you. They said that you purposely kept important information from them when you leased the house. They were complaining about the backyard and would not budge until you go there,” he says. You pinched your nose.

“Can’t we look for other interested renters?” you were annoyed. ”Or just give them a refund?”

”Sadly, nobody wants to rent the house anymore because it hasn’t been renovated for years,”

“Fuck,” you sighed. “Alright,”

Your flight to Chicago was long. Your college was quickly spent in New York. You decided not to stay there. You thought of your old house. It could have been sold ten years ago but you didn’t want to. Your uncles and aunts all agreed that if there were no renters, it was going to be sold. You couldn’t defy their demands, they all inherited the house with your mom from their father. You all shared the profits yearly and you didn’t want to sell the house. You couldn’t just leave everything behind entirely.

Stepping back in Chicago was…something. There was a rush of emotions that filled you and as you met up with your driver, you felt weak. You didn’t want to be back here but you had no other choice. You were tied down to that two storey house. You were just hoping that you won’t run into anyone. The plan was to stay here, four days at most and then leave before anyone else sees you. You didn’t want to make up stories in your head again about how you and him kept in contact when you knew that it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. None of it was. You just wanted to be comforted by the lie that you tried so hard to believe.

The hotel was nice. You were thinking of driving outside of Chicago to check some matters before going to New York. The next morning, you decided to go out for a run and grab coffee. You wondered if your old favorite cafe still opened. It was fairly far from your old home and The Beef. You wondered if people still went there. It wasn’t hip and the food was greasy but their brewed coffee was heaven.

The city has changed a lot since the last time you’ve been here. You don’t remember the streets being this way. Vacant lots turned into buildings and skyscrapers. It was odd. You once knew every nook and cranny of the city but not anymore. That afternoon, when you arrived at your old house, you couldn’t even recognize the street. The old houses were torn to pieces and were built with modern houses. The only houses that remained exactly the same were yours and the Berzattos’. It seemed empty, though. It used to have cars and chaos but it was quiet. As if…it hasn’t been lived in. You paid it no mind and knocked on your old door, revealing the new tenants of the house.

They immediately showed you what their problem was. Fucking grass. You booked a flight and stayed at an expensive hotel for grass. It wasn’t the same as in the pictures. That was their main concern. You stood there, in your backyard, mouth pressed into a thin line in annoyance.

“I see,” you only nodded. “I can arrange landscaping services for you,”

“But that would be expensive. The only reason why we rented this old house is because we wanted to have a garden. Otherwise, we would’ve rented somewhere that’s actually…nicer,” the tenant says. Seeing your souring expression, she added, “This place is nice…homey. I can’t afford landscaping services,”

You only nodded, trying to think of someone who might know a landscaper.

“Can you give me until tomorrow to sort this out?”

“Sure,’

When you arrived at the hotel that night, you thought of the people you knew who had good lawns and backyards. Your agent can’t obviously do shit. You have to fire him soon. All the services in Chicago were way more expensive than you were willing to spend. Who had a good lawn…whose mother always had a manicured garden?

“Fak!”

The man rushes into the kitchen, looking at the ensemble of people gathered where Sydney and Carmy usually stood.

“The light,” Carmy pointed. “It’s doing that thing again,” The light buzzes and blinks, as if Carmy ordered it to do so. He had that ability sometimes. He can make the world move.

“I got it, I got it,” he says, going out and coming back soon with a ladder and his tool box. He listens to the crew made up of Richie, Tina, Sydney, Carmy, and Sugar bicker while he tries to fix it. They always bickered and it stresses him out most of the time. ”Ugh, you guys! Stop screaming at each other!”

They ignored him, Carmy was in a screaming contest with Richie while the others tried to pacify the situation. Their relationship hasn’t gone back to the way it was after the fridge incident.

”We’re closed today, right?” Fak asked, trying to tighten the screw.

“Yes, darling,” he hears Sugar.

“Great because Y/N asked me to come by their old house,” he says. He takes note of the sudden silence and takes it as his permission to continue. “She’s back in town and wanted me to check their lawn because she told me that she remembered how nice Ma’s garden was, remember? Anyways, she wanted me to check and get her a connect with a gardener or a landscaper,”

“Wh-what?” Carmy sputters. “What the fuck are you saying, Fak? Y/N hasn’t been here in-in-in fucking years,”

”Yeah but she’s here,” he shrugs. He climbs down the ladder with a smile on his face. “It’s a good thing I never changed my phone number. She wouldn’t have been able to call me if I did,”

Carmy visibly disintegrates before everyone in the kitchen. He stands there, memories of his abandonment haunting him and his eyes blinking rapidly. You were in town?

”When are you meeting her?”

“Today,”

Fuck. If only he didn’t promise himself to do something today. He needed to focus. He didn’t need you, right?

After treating Fak to a quick dinner, you immediately went home. He sadly told you that he wished you’d visit The Bear. Carmy was here now and he opened the restaurant. He told you that you’ll be welcome anytime as long as you tell him first so he can tell Richie. Richie was the front of house staff now and Fak said that Richie improved, like a lot. He showed you photos of Sugar’s cute baby. He told you that Eibra and Tina still worked there but most surprisingly, he told you that Mikey was dead.

That part shook you. You were never really close with him but he was always nice to you. Carmy idolized him and always sought his approval. It must have been hard for him. Hearing that he didn’t attend the funeral didn’t surprise you, though. You always imagined that Carmy will do some fucked up things if it really came down to it. Years of not knowing what Carment Berzatto became brought both a hollow feeling in your chest and assurance. You never had to know if he was better without you. You chewed on the hangnail on your perfectly manicured finger. Carmy was here again and so were you. Would it be so bad to see him again? Even if it was just a glimpse…would it be so bad to see how he was after all these years?

The night before left you with eyebags. The thought that you and Carmy were here woke you up all night. You didn’t know what to do. Does he know that you’re here too? You tried to cover the bags with a concealer you brought. You were on auto-pilot as you went to the basement to take your rental car. You were going to Aurora today to look over the shop. What was a drive anyway? You were in Aurora every other month for the business that you built when you were younger. It proved to be successful, though.

You arrived at your first business venture, The Alchemist. You were young and full of wonder when you named it. The Alchemist…you used to call your mother that because she made so many things in the kitchen with nothing. It was a way to remember her legacy and other mixes that she made when you were younger. Now, though, you asked chefs and homecooks to make recipes for pre-mixed spices for your business. You always went back to ‘Alchemy No. 1’, a spice blend made and frequently used by your mother when she was still alive.

You entered the store lined with jars of spices and flavored vinegars. The smell of herbs that you sourced from all over the world create an aroma that reminds you of home.

“How is everything?” you asked her.

“Mr. Lee just is about to close a deal with a promising restaurant,”

”He told me about it,” you told Dana. “Sorry if I can’t come here as often as I’d like,”

”That’s alright,” she assures you. You pick a packet of assorted tea bears that you give to the customers to sample and open it. Taking a pink one, you melted the bear in the paper cup with hot water to drink the raspberry and vanilla flavored tea. “Mr. Lee makes the job easier, really,”

”I’m glad,” you told her. “I heard there’s a meeting today?”

”Yes, ma’am,” she replied. “It’s about to start in thirty minutes, actually. Are you planning to join?”

”Yes,” you told her. “I hope they won’t mind,”

You were sitting on the chair in the meeting room when the door opened. Your heart drops for some reason. Your palms sweat and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. You stood up, looked towards the opened door and saw him. Carmy. Carmy was here. He stops his movement—even his breathing and lets go of the door knob. He clutches the folder in his hands and looks at you with wide eyes.

He’s aged. He looked tired and his face matured but his eyes were still as blue as ever, demanding you to open up to him.

You looked older but you looked content. The fine lines that he’s never seen on you before makes you look more beautiful than you’ve ever been.

He opens his mouth first but no words come out. You tried to do the same but you suddenly forgot all of the words that you could say. The pain in your lungs and the quiver in your voice manages to croak out something that snaps him out of his shock.

“Hey,” a wobbly smile graces your features and he steps forward. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back but you didn’t.

He watches your hand tremble and he wonders if he could still hold them like he used to.

You watch him take shaky breaths and remember how you used to soothe his back to stop him.

“I can leave,” you said, looking down. He frowns and licks his lips.

”You don’t have to,”

”No, I’ll—“

”You don’t have to run away,”

”You ran away from me all those years ago,”

Snap. If you could break his bones with your words, you already would have.

”But…” you swallowed thickly. “but it doesn’t matter anymore,” you whispered. You resented yourself for bringing that up. You should be happy that he’s doing fine, right?

“Y/N—“

”Let it go,”

”Please,”

”Carmy,” you finally look at him. You still called him Carmy.

“I have to talk to you,”

”I understand, alright?” you grit. “I—I—“ you breathed in. “I can’t be here,”

”Y/N, please,” you hear him plead. His voice breaks and you do too. Maybe because you always had a soft spot for him. Maybe it was because you realized that you loved him. Maybe it was because you pitied him…either way, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying what you said next.

“The Peninsula,” you told him. “Under my last name. Tomorrow,”

It was all you said to him before you left him in the meeting room. A few minutes later, Mr. Lee greets him and they close the deal.

Today was Monday, which meant that Carmy had either the morning or after the restaurant closes to come to you. If he comes to The Peninsula after, you might leave thinking that he never cared. If he comes tomorrow, he might not be able to prepare. He thinks that he’s at his best and he knows that he wouldn’t be able to focus if he didn’t go to you. He’ll just fuck things up in the kitchen if he doesn’t go to you. So, at 5:30 a.m., he goes to your hotel and asks for your room number. It seemed like you’ve already informed the receptionist of your arrival and they let him come up.

He knocks the door erratically. You rouse from the bed, alarmed because who would knock at 5:30 a.m.? You couldn’t sleep no matter what you did. With a grip on the remote control of the TV, you peeped into the hole to find Carmy.

“Y/N?” he calls from the outside. You tossed the remote control away and opened the door.

“It’s not even six yet,” were the words you told him as he sees you in the robe. “Carmy?”

“Sorry but—but I,” he draws in a breath. “Sorry I just, I wanted to go here before anything else because…because I know that if I don’t, I’ll be thinking about it and I won’t be able to focus,”

“Come in,”

Carmy steps inside your hotel room and looks around. Fancy. You used to dream about going to a place like this when you were younger. He stands there awkwardly by the foyer and you motion for him to sit down on the couch. He does so and watches you lean on the wall, as far away from him as possible without it being really obvious but it was.

A beat passes with Carmy’s eyes trained on you. You’ve never felt out of touch in his life than now. He watches you with wide eyes while you look everywhere but his face. There were no stains in his shirt and his curls were messier than you remember. You purse your lips and Carmy sighs. Really, Chicago felt so suffocating for the both of you. Being trapped in the small hotel room made it harder to breathe. What could you say? What could he say? The last time you saw each other, you pushed him away. What if you do it again?

“I’m sorry,”

Your head snaps up to look at his face. You frowned.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers, feeling ashamed of everything. Now that you’ve looked at him, he feels like he was under a microscope and he grew to hate the feeling of being studied like that. “I’m so, so, so, fucking sorry,”

He bows his head in shame just as you look away, to the window so he wouldn’t see you wiping your tears. The sun was about to rise and it pains you because you realized that you loved him more when you spent that sunset in the library.

“Why did—“ you stop yourself. “Why did you leave me, Carmy?”

His heart beats fast, his fists clenching on his lap. Why?

”I didn’t deserve that,” you told him. “I didn’t deserve that and you—you just pushed me away. You could’ve at least said goodbye before—before you left the country. Fuck. I spent the past years wondering what I did wrong, Carmy. Do you know how that feels? I followed you like a lost puppy every fucking day and you suddenly decided that you were done with-with-with me. With us,”

He frowns, he doesn’t remember your childhood like that. For him, he was always in the sideways. He was the one who always had to follow you.

“My mom thought that making you lunch was the only way for you to s-stay,” he tells you, looking down. He studies the cuts he earned in the kitchen. “I felt—I felt like that too, you know? Everybody liked you wherever you went and I only…I only had to catch up after you,”

”Carm, you don’t even like people,”

That stings him for some reason and he frowns deeper. He bites his lip and shakes his head. How would you understand? Everybody loved you and he was so hard to love that his brother decided that he was done with him.

“Why did you push me away? Why—“ you choke back a sob. “Why did you leave me?”

The string that you tied around his heart grips it tighter. Memories of you, him, Mikey, that Christmas with his mom, the first time he smoked a cigarette, and the last time he looked at your house comes rushing back to him.

“You know, I started—started smoking when I left,” he chuckled. “It made sense…once I arrived in Copenhagen, the next logical thing was to, uh, buy a pack of cigarettes,” He hopes you understood what he tried to say.

”I’m not your babysitter,”

”I know,” he says. He thinks and you do too. You realized that too much resentment and emotions will get you nowhere.

”Carmy, I know you’re sorry but…but for tonight, can-can we just pretend like you never left?” you asked. He looks at you now, the sunrise illuminating your face differently from that sunset you shared. “Can we..can we pretend like we just lost touch and-and that we’re catching up?”

You look at him sadly, with your mouth downturned slightly. There were so many things to say and emotions to be felt. You couldn’t afford to unpack everything in a day and you were unsure if you wanted him back in your life just yet. You missed him but you didn’t know if you could handle another person leaving you. You’ve had enough people leaving you in this lifetime. Maybe that’s why you were so lonely. Maybe that’s why you don’t have friends and maybe that’s why everyone else seemed to have had enough of you never letting them in. What was the point anyway? Everything’s going to end and love doesn’t last forever. Who would have thought that the two people you loved most can teach you such a harrowing lesson?

Besides, you were unsure if you were ready to let all the love you’ve had for Carmy come to the surface and overflow again. The last time he left, would be the last time he leaves.

“Y/N?” he calls, standing up from the couch to walk towards you. Maybe just for now, this is enough. You smile at him, just like you did when you were younger. Like everything was alright.

“Carmy,” you smile as you let his calloused hands wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry for crying,”

”I’m sorry for making you cry,” he tries to say but his stutter breaks out and he looks down in shame. You reach out to him, your hands clutching the sides of his white shirt. He tries again, this time his voice was much clearer. His head seemed to put everything in his backburner. He has to savor this moment because who knows what will happen? He decided that the last time he left would be the last time he leaves you. A sob threatens to rip his chest but he swallows it down. “How have you been?”

Your arms snake around his waist and you lay your head on his chest. You can hear his heart beating so fast. Does he hear yours too? He takes in your scent. You smell different now.

He caresses the back of your head and kisses it. You take in a sharp breath. He’s never done that before. He tightens his grip around you, afraid to let go.

“Did you achieve your dream?”

You’re both laying down on the bed. The tender moment you shared was interrupted by your alarm. You watch each other now, wondering who breaks the ice first. Carmy’s arms wrap around you while you snuggle closer in his chest, clinging onto every piece of hope left. Your forehead is tucked under his chin and you breathed.

“I became an actress for a while,” you started. The air feels heavy but you decided to push it aside. “but I decided not to continue.”

“Why?”

“I went to college after you—after high school. I stayed there for a semester before…before I dropped out,” you said. “Carmy, they were so much better than me—“

“That’s not true,”

“But it is,” you chuckled sadly. “That wasn’t even the main reason but…but remember mom was sick?” He nods. “Well, she got…she—she got sicker and we had to use the college fund for her treatment,” you said. You don’t try to hide the sniffles. “In the end…in the end, I never went back to college and she didn’t…she didn’t make it,” your voice broke. The images of your mom in her casket never seemed to leave your mind. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “My mom and I—“ You shuddered, remembering the time when your mother had to personally refuse any more care. You knew that she didn’t want you to be in debt. It was hard to spend your college fund but she couldn’t leave you with debt that you’ll pay forever.

”I know,” he says. He couldn’t bear hearing your voice break again. His eyes were red and tears threatened to spill. Fuck. He wasn’t there when you needed him. He knew how close you and your mom were. He couldn’t even say sorry because you both didn’t want to and didn’t know how to address the elephant in the hotel room.

“But then…then, I tried to act,” you chuckled, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of the white robe. Carmy hears the tiredness in your voice but doesn’t mention it. “I had an audition and I got lucky. I got a recurring role in a hit TV series. I thought I was happy. I thought—I thought that I finally got what I wanted but I felt so alone, Carm. I didn’t have my mom with me…she will never—she will never watch anything that I’ll do but I persisted,” the small circles he drew on your back soothed you. “But then…the producer wanted to meet with me and I—he said that if I removed my clothes, he’ll make me a star,” his grip tightened. ”I removed my shirt and sat in his office half naked. It didn’t bother me. I knew…I knew what I was getting into but he-he wanted more and I had to leave,”

Carmy lets go of the breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“I was fine with sitting there…like…like I was some fucking object. He could look all he wanted and I didn’t fucking care but he tried—he tried to touch me and I pushed him away,” you cried. He was around your age and was already successful when you came to the picture. He made you trust him. “He had my name blacklisted. I could never…I couldn’t do shit about it. I couldn’t land a job before I realized that maybe…maybe acting wasn’t for me,” you whispered. “I was only there because…he wanted someone to take advantage of,”

You cry in his arms as you share your burden with him. You had nobody to talk to when it happened. You were alone. You were so, so, so alone.

”I opened The Alchemy with the money that I have left and my business grew from there,” you said after calming yourself down. “I have the money but…but I feel so, so, so alone,”

He cooes and you bury yourself deeper in his arms. He mutters things you couldn’t understand. Carmy lets his tears flow as you calm yourself down. How can he tell you all about him if you’re so frail? He didn’t want to burden you any longer.

He doesn’t know how many minutes passed before he heard your breath even itself out. He unwraps his arms around you as carefully as he could. You were fast asleep and didn’t want to wake you. It takes a lot for him to remove himself from the bed that you shared for a few hours but soon, he finds himself wearing his jacket, walking away from the Peninsula. He forgot to count the number of cigarettes he smoked ever since he stepped his foot outside. He forgot to take his heart with him when he left it with you.

He runs a hand through his hair and arrives at the kitchen with profound sadness that his staff has never seen him carry. He locks himself in the office and takes out the notebook he managed to find in his apartment the night before. The email address and the password that he tried so hard to remember glares at him before clicking on ‘Next’. Emails from his childhood pop up but one stands out. Who would have thought that his email address was as easy to remember as combining your names together?

He shakily clicks on your old email address and takes a sharp breath as he reads the last thing you’ve sent him.

Carmy,

I heard from Donna that you’re in Copenhagen now. I hope everything’s fine between us because the last time I tried, you refused to speak to me. I don’t mind. I hope we talk again someday because you’re the only person in the world who I can talk to without hiding anything. I hope you gave me the chance to say this. I was planning on telling you anyway before we enter college. I don’t know why I’m saying this now. Maybe I’m doing this because I’m selfish. I’m hoping that you’d come back or maybe talk to me again if I do. If you don’t reply, I’ll take it as a rejection and try to move on with my life. I’ll be happy for you either way.

I love you, Carmy. I love you so much and I hope that you’re out there, pursuing your dreams. I will always be rooting for you.

I love you.

He throws his phone on the floor. He’s positive that there’s another crack on the screen now. He screams profanities and ignores the urgent knocks that Sugar was making outside his door. His head falls in his hands and he sobs. You were right. If he read the message, he’d book the next flight home.

He only dreams to be loved and to love without anything holding him back but dreams have a way of appearing brighter when you’re younger.

END. A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for waiting for me! I hope this was worth it. I’m really proud of this and as always, don’t forget to reblog / comment / tell me what you think! Love you.

TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt@morgthemagpie@hal3ynicol3@1800-queen-trash @ummvengers @thottywizard

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #angst #fluff #the bear #the bear fx #the bear s3

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theglamorousferal · 1 year

Text

The Halfa King and His Court

So this is a fic that I started at the beginning of the pandemic that I kinda just hit a block with. I really like it as a starting point, but I’m not sure what else to do with it. I had a sort of bullet point outline but it seemed more like I was just tossing in every different DP fic plot line all together so it wasn’t going to make much sense. I was going to have there be a field trip into the GZ where the Trio judge whether the a-listers and Val have changed enough to have them join in with Team Phantom, there was going to be a reveal to his parents of him and then later on after Plasmius had been helping out then Vlad as well. It was gonna be this whole thing, but anyway. I’m not sure if I will continue this, so feel free to add your own spin on it or take it for adoption, I’m not sure how to do that exactly.

*****

“No.” Danny said, in a tone that rang with finality and a general sense of “I am so done with this whole situation.”

“Danny, I know this is hard to believe, but technically by the laws of the Ghost Zone Frostbite gave to you-” Sam started, only to get cut off by Danny's glare. She sighed. “Seriously Danny, it says right here in the text he gave you.” Sam shoved the scroll at Danny who scoffed and passed it off to Tucker.

“Oh man Danny, do you know what we could do with this? The new laws you could put in place?” Tucker laughed as he read what was written.

“The protections you could put in place for Amity and the Earth?” Sam hinted at poking Danny in the shoulder. Danny sighed.

“Guys, I get it, I could use this to my advantage, but there's so much more responsibility to go with it. I'd have to take over the general affairs from the Observants and Walker, though I guess Walker would have to do what I say wouldn't he.” Danny seemed to think about it.

“Let's say I did do this, what would I do? I don't have time to take care of the whole Ghost Zone! I'd need to pick advisers and establish some sort of method for figuring out small disputes, some way of checks and balances. Guys, you know I'm failing History and Government, and this is basically saying that I'd get complete control over the Ghost Zone and have to set-up an entirely new system!” He gripped his hair in frustration and panic. And it caused his friends to sit and think some solutions through.

“Well,” Sam began, “you could start with getting a few people you know that do know about this kind of stuff together and getting their opinion about it. Frostbite, Dora, Clockwork, Pandora, maybe Ghostwriter from what we know of his library and... maybe... Vlad?” she added the last person hesitantly. Danny shot a look at her of surprise and confusion, dropping his hands from his hair to his lap.

“Vlad? Why the hell would I ask him for anything?” He was honestly baffled as to why she would bring him up.

“Besides the fact that he has more knowledge of modern government compared to the others I listed, I think he would relish the idea of being able to mentor you at something.”She paused to consider something. “He seems to have calmed down a bit after his last scheme almost got your mom killed instead of your dad. He almost seems to realize now that your mom is completely dedicated to your dad and finds him a bit creepy. I mean, last time he was over, he actually asked Jazz some stuff right? Doesn't he usually ignore her completely?”

“Crazy-man acting less crazy?” Tucker snorted. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

Danny thought about it for a second and realized that Sam was right, he hadn't needed to fight the Fruit-loop since his last scheme put his mom in the hospital. She was fine, just had a concussion and a fractured leg, but it still had shaken him. In fact, Danny hadn't seen any sign of Vlad as either Masters or Plasmius since the incident except for when he visited when Mom first got out of the hospital.

“Yeah, maybe you're right, I should go and pay Uncle Vladdie a visit.” Danny stood and paused. “Should I bring the scroll with me to show him as proof? I doubt he'd believe me if I just told him.”

“Yeah, probably should. It's not anything that he can modify to fit his own needs anyway, just a list of laws.” Sam rolled it up and handed it to him. “Want either of us to come with?” She offered.

“Nah, I should be good to visit the cheese-head on my own. You guys mind covering for me until I get back?” They were supposed to be having a study-sleepover at Sam's.

“Sure thing, we’ll just cover our electives while you’re gone and tell my parents you went to get pizza.” Sam fished out some cash and handed it to Danny. “Actually, while you’re out can you grab some?”

“Sure, the usual?” Danny put the scroll and the money in his pocket.

“Yup, a large all veggie vegan cheese for me.”

“And a large extra meaty supreme for me!”

Danny laughed, “and a large extra cheese for me. I’ll place the order as I’m leaving Vlad’s. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that he transformed and took off through the ceiling.

Tucker turned to Sam. “Do you really think going to Mayor wack-job is a good idea?”

Sam sighed. “Tucker, you weren’t there that day, the look on his face when he saw Mrs. Fenton take the hit instead of Mr. Fenton…” Sam looked away thinking. “He looked devastated, and not just in the ‘the love of my life will never love me’ way but more in the ‘my actions are hurting those I love’ way. He looked like he realized that if he continued the way he was going that he might just accidentally kill either Mrs. Fenton or Danny and I think that would hurt him more than anything.”

#danny phantom #fanfic #danny fenton #dp #ghost king danny #ghost king au #Vlad masters #Sam Manson #tucker foley #Vlad redemption #fic for adoption #or for continuation #writing wip #WIP

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thequestionisalwaysmangoes · 4 months

Text

“Oh good, you’re all here!” Percy Jackson rather boldly strode into the Olympians throne room, wearing a backpack and looking as if he had come straight from school.

“Percy?” His father’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“Why have you interrupted our meeting, boy?” Zeus boomed.

Percy looked unimpressed. “It seemed only fair given the amount of interrupting you lot have done in my life. I can’t go on random quests three times a week, it’s not practical, it’s not sustainable, and frankly, there are other demigods around that actually want to go on quests!”

Several of the gods looked sheepish, while others looked outraged.

“What exactly do you find more important than the quests you have been given?” Athena asked, eyebrows raised.

Percy sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not that my life is more important, though it may not continue for much longer if I keep having to leave during dates with Annabeth, which can only happen sporadically anyways given that we’re both in school right now, it’s more that I have a life and things I need to do.

“My grades have been in the toilet for years between my ADHD, dyslexia, and monster attacks, and now that it’s looking like I may actually live to see my twenties, I need to get my shit together and figure out a career for myself. I can’t do that if gods are giving me quests at all hours of the day and night, especially if those quests are easy enough that other campers could do them! I get that my success rate is kind of through the roof, but honestly? It’s ruining my life! And I don’t say that lightly. You are needlessly ruining my chances at a future!”

“You are just one person, Perseus,” Zeus argued, “Do the needs of the gods not outweigh your own?”

Poseidon and Percy stared at him for a long moment, matching blank expressions nearly making the gods shiver. But before Poseidon could defend his son, Percy spoke up.

“I have fought two wars for you.” He said quietly, dangerously. “I have settled disputes that should never have been made my business. I have protected and trained your children, and given them reasons to have faith in you when they had none. I have lost months of my life, for no good reason. I swam in the Styx and the Lethe and the Cocytus Rivers and lived. I have killed monsters and gods and titans and children for you. I survived through Tartarus surviving off of water from the Phlegethon and Drakon Meat Stew and came out fighting in your name. I am hanging onto my sanity by a thread and have been since I was fucking twelve and saw the Fates cute Luke Castellan’s. I can’t sleep. I can barely make it through the day without flashbacks, and even before that I could barely function in society. What. More. Do. You. Want. From. Me.”

His words hung thick in the air, heavy and accusing and true. But he wasn’t done.

“Do you know how many times I’ve laid awake at night wondering if I should just end it all? I am so fucking tired. I haven’t stopped fighting since I was twelve, and I’m starting to wonder why I continue. I’m burnt out. I’m traumatized. I’m starting to feel like I can’t live with the things I’ve done.”

He sighed. “I’m not saying I won’t go on quests anymore, I just—I can’t keep doing it like this, you know?”

—————

This has been languishing in my notes app for years now and I’ve never been able to figure out where to go with it. If you have an idea and want to add on, feel free, just tag me so I can read it too<3

#pjo hoo toa #percabeth #fanfiction #wip #up for adoption #the gods are assholes but are more scared of poseidon than zeus for good reason #angry percy jackson #tired percy jackson #percy jackson needs a nap and an excederin #bringing my bad tagging habits with me from ao3

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babyrdie · 3 months

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Could you talk about Penelope family? I tried searching but it seems very confusing

This is a kind of interesting ask for the simple fact that it’s unexpected. But hey, here I am! First of all, I'd like to make a few things clear:

I'm not a classicist, it's just a hobby. If there's something wrong, you can say it and I'll fix it. If you have something to add, feel free to comment too! Penelope has A LOT of genealogy versions and some of them aren't even translated, so I REALLY may have missed something.

I’m considering Greek mythology sources, and I’m not considering Roman mythology. Not because I think Roman mythology is a farce, but simply because I consider the two separately and I don't know much about Roman mythology.

I don't usually write this because I feel like it's obvious, but when it comes to Penelope's family tree I feel like it's necessary: a version of the myth doesn't become invalid or false because you don't like it or because it doesn't match another source. Mythology is not a series of books where one book NEEDS to follow what the previous one said, it’s something much more organic than that. Yes, there were more "popular"/"traditional" versions, but that doesn't make the unusual ones invalid. So I'll consider all possible versions here, no matter if I like it or if the general public likes it. In other words, "ah, but you like this version…" it doesn't matter if I like it, what matters here is that it's a version.

PARENTS AND GRANDPARENTS

Father: Icarius

King Icarius is, fortunately, a constant in Penelope's myths. However, Icarius' ancestry varies. There are two possible family trees.

Perieres and Gorgophone:

Perieres took possession of Messene and married Gorgophone, daughter of Perseus, by whom he had sons, to wit, Aphareus and Leucippus, and Tyndareus, and also Icarius. But many say that Perieres was not the son of Aeolus but of Cynortas, son of Amyclas; so we shall narrate the history of the descendants of Perieres in dealing with the family of Atlas

Library, 1.9.5. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

[...] Perieres, with whom Gorgophone the daughter of Perseus, according to Stesichorus, had Tyndareus, Icarius, Aphareus and Leucippus. [...]

Ad Lycophronem, 511bs.

Oebalus and Batia:

[...] But some say that Aphareus and Leucippus were sons of Perieres, the son of Aeolus, and that Cynortes begat Perieres, and that Perieres begat Oebalus, and that Oebalus begat Tyndareus, Hippocoon, and Icarius by a Naiad nymph Batia.

Library, 3.10.4. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Gorgophone:

Pausanias offers a version in which Gorgophone married both Perieres and Oebalus.

In Argos, by the side of this monument of the Gorgon, is the grave of Gorgophone (Gorgon-kilIer), the daughter of Perseus. As soon as you hear the name you can understand the reason why it was given her. On the death of her husband, Perieres, the son of Aeolus, whom she married when a virgin, she married Oebalus, being the first woman, they say, to marry a second time; for before this wives were wont, on the death of their husbands, to live as widows.

Description of Greece, 2.21.7. Translation by W.H.S. Jones.

It also describes that Tyndareus is the son of Oebalus and Gorgophone, although it doesn’t specify Icarius.

Amyclas, too, son of Lacedaemon, wished to leave some memorial behind him, and built a town in Laconia. Hyacinthus, the youngest and most beautiful of his sons, died before his father, and his tomb is in Amyclae below the image of Apollo. On the death of Amyclas the empire came to Aigalus, the eldest of his sons, and afterwards, when Aigalus died, to Cynortas. Cynortas had a son Oebalus. He took a wife from Argos, Gorgophone the daughter of Perseus, and begat a son Tyndareus, with whom Hippocoon disputed about the kingship, claiming the throne on the ground of being the eldest. With the end of Icarius and his partisans he had surpassed Tyndareus in power, and forced him to retire in fear; the Lacedaemonians say that he went to Pellana, but a Messenian legend about him is that he fled to Aphareus in Messenia, Aphareus being the son of Perieres and the brother of Tyndareus on his mother's side. The story goes on to say that he settled at Thalamae in Messenia, and that his children were born to him when he was living there.

Description of Greece, 3.1. Translation by W.H.S. Jones.

Personally, I got the impression that Gorgophone was perhaps the most popular version as Icarius’ mother. Regardless, any of these versions are valid. Anyway, it’s because of Icarius that Penelope is cousins with Clytemnestra, Helena and Dioscuri.

Mother: Periboea, Asterodia, Polycaste or Dorodoche

On Tumblr, the consensus is to consider Periboea as Penelope's mother (probably because she’s a Naiad), but Penelope doesn’t have a well-established (that is, constant) mother. Through surviving sources, we know of at least four possible mothers for Penelope.

One of these versions is that Penelope's mother was Periboea, a Naiad (don’t confuse this with the Oceanid Periboea. Not the same character, despite the names and the fact that they’re both nymphs). The interesting part is that Pseudo-Apollodorus says that Periboea had 5 sons and 1 daughter, which means that she isn’t the mother of the Iphthime we see in The Odyssey.

Icarius and Periboea, a Naiad nymph, had five sons, Thoas, Damasippus, Imeusimus, Aletes, Perileos, and a daughter Penelope, whom Ulysses married.

Library, 3.10.6. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Another possible mother of Penelope is Polycaste, daughter of Lygaeus. Again, there is no mention of Penelope having a sister, although brothers are mentioned.

[...] Tyndareus, however, went back home, having married Leda, the daughter of Thestius, whereas Icarius stayed on, keeping a portion of Acarnania, and by Polycaste, the daughter of Lygaeus, begot both Penelope and her brothers [...]

Geography, 10.2.24. Translation by H. L. Jones.

In other version, Penelope's mother is Asterodia, daughter of Eurypylus. She’s mentioned in a scholia on The Odyssey as mother of Penelope, Iphthime and other children not mentioned by Homer, which I have only found in Greek (see here in 797). The credits for this version are given to Pherecydes. Still using this scholia as a reference, another wife attributed to Icarius is Dorodoche, daughter of Ortilochus (see here in 16).

None of them are mentioned more than the others in the sources, so it’s difficult to know which of them was the most popular version, although Asterodia particularly makes the most sense in my opinion.

SIBLINGS

Sister: Iphthime (Asterodia as mother) and Medes/Hypsipyle/Laodamea (Asterodia as mother)

You're probably already familiar with Iphthime because she already appears in The Odyssey. Athena uses her appearance when communicating with Penelope at one point, and we learn this about Iphthime:

Then the gray-eyed goddess Athene thought what to do next. She made an image, and likened it to Penelope's sister Iphthime, the daughter of great-hearted Ikarios, whose husband was Eumelos, and he lived in his home at Pherai.

The Odyssey, IV.795-798. Translation by Richmond Lattimore.

Years later, a The Odyssey schoalist said that Iphthime is the daughter of Icarius and Asterodia, just like Penelope. This scholia is available in Greek here (see 797), and in that same part it’s said that Penelope had another sister (also daughter of Asterodia), who was called Medes, Hypsipyle, or Laodamea (same character, differents names).

Brother: Thoas, Damasippus, Imeusimus, Aletes, Perileos (Periboea as mother) or unamed brothers/Alyzeus and Lucadius (Polycaste as mother) or Amasichus, Phalereus, Thoon, Pheremmelias and Perilaos (Asterodia as mother)

In the Periboea is Penelope’s mother version, it’s said that Periboea and Icarius had Penelope as their daughter and Thoas, Damasippus, Imeusimus, Aletes, Perileos as their sons.

Icarius and Periboea, a Naiad nymph, had five sons, Thoas, Damasippus, Imeusimus, Aletes, Perileos, and a daughter Penelope, whom Ulysses married.

Library, 3.10.6. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

And that's it. They don't have much mythological relevance in surviving sources. The most we have is Pausanias saying that Perileos wasn’t very happy with Orestes after he found out that he killed Clytemnestra, Perileos' cousin on his father's side. (Pausanias, Description of Greece, 8.34.4). I didn't know if there is a named nephew/niece for Penelope by her brothers.

Strabo, in the version in which Penelope's mother is Polycaste, mentions that Penelope has brothers, but doesn’t name them. He doesn’t even say how many, by the way.

Geography, 10.2.24. Translation by H. L. Jones.

A little before this, he had mentioned Alyzeus and Lucadius as Penelope's brothers, but he described them as sons of Icarius and didn’t mention Polycaste, so I'm not sure if they’re her sons. Furthermore, in the case of Polycaste Strabo wrote in a “they say…” vibe, which harkens back more to oral tradition, while Alyzeus and Lucadius he specifically attributed to a work called Alcmaeonis (we don’t know about Alcmaeonis). I imagine that if Polycaste, Alyzeus and Lucadius were the same version, he would have simply credited Alcmaeonis when he spoke of Polycaste as well. So in my opinion it's uncertain whether they are Polycaste's unnamed children, but, interpret it your way. I think it's possible Polycaste is the mother.

The author of the Alcmaeonis says that Icarius, the father of Penelope, had two sons, Alyzeus and Leucadius, and that these two reigned over Acarnania with their father; accordingly, Ephorus thinks that the cities were named after these.

Geography, 10.2.9. Translation by H. L. Jones.

In the scholia I mentioned before, the schoalist says that Penelope and Iphthime's mother is Asterodia and also attributes to them the brothers Amasichus, Phalereus, Thoon, Pheremmelias and Perilaos in 797. Perilaos is just another spelling for Perileos, thus being a constant between the Periboea and Asterodia versions. In 275, Penelope’s brothers (with Asterodia as mother) are Polymelos and Damasiclus. I've seen sites claiming that Damasiclus is another name for Amasichus, although I don't know what the source for this is.

CHILDREN

Telemachus

Telemachus as Penelope and Odysseus's son is a constant, so I certainly don't need to provide sources. An interesting fact that you may already know and that may not change anything in your life is that the name Telemachus means something like “far from war” or “fighting from afar” — etymologically "fighting from afar," from tēle "from afar" (see tele-) + makhē "a battle, fight" (see -machy); see here. Regarding this, there are the possibilities:

It refers to Telemachus being far from the Trojan War (and still “fighting”)

It's about his father being away because of the war.

Telemachus is the firstborn of both Odysseus and Penelope, regardless of source.

Poliphortes/Ptoliporthus

Another son of Penelope and Odysseus is Polyphortes, born only after Odysseus returned from war. His name is a combination of πτόλις (city) + πέρθω (perish), meaning “destroyer of cities” (see here), probably a reference to Odysseus's pivotal role in the destruction of Troy. The contrast between his name and the name of Telemachus is ironic to say the least.

This son was mentioned in the Library in a version in which Odysseus marries Queen Callidice and reigns over Thesprotians for a time until she dies, Odysseus leaves the kingdom to the son he had with her (Polypoetes) and returns to Ithaca, where he finds his second son with Penelope. It’s possible that Pseudo-Apollodorus was talking about the lost epic Telegony, as the plot is similar.

And after sacrificing to Hades, and Persephone, and Tiresias, he journeyed on foot through Epirus, and came to the Thesprotians, and having offered sacrifice according to the directions of the soothsayer Tiresias, he propitiated Poseidon. But Callidice, who was then queen of the Thesprotians, urged him to stay and offered him the kingdom; and she had by him a son Polypoetes. And having married Callidice, he reigned over the Thesprotians, and defeated in battle the neighboring peoples who attacked him. But when Callidice died he handed over the kingdom to his son and repaired to Ithaca, and there he found Poliporthes, whom Penelope had borne to him.

Library, E.7.34-35. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

This son is also mentioned by Pausanias, but he attributes this version to a poem called Thesprotis. What poem is Thesprotis? Well, there theories, but unfortunately, none of them are really conclusive.

In addition to the roads mentioned there are two others, leading to Orchomenus. On one is what is called the stadium of Ladas, where Ladas practised his running, and by it a sanctuary of Artemis, and on the right of the road is a high mound of earth. It is said to be the grave of Penelope, but the account of her in the poem called Thesprotis is not in agreement with this saying. For in it the poet says that when Odysseus returned from Troy he had a son Ptoliporthes by Penelope. [...]

Description of Greece, 8.12.5-6. W.H.S. Jones

Italus

Son of Penelope with Telegonus, son of Circe and Odysseus, who depending on the version is Penelope's second husband. This character is used to explain the name of country Italy. Furthermore, this isn’t a cheating version, as Odysseus was already dead when Penelope married Telegonus.

[...] from Penelope and Telegonus Italus was born, who called the country Italy from his own name.

Fabulae, 127. Translation by Mary Grant.

Although Penelope marrying Telegonus appears in other sources, this is the only one where I found Italus as their son.

Pan

This one is a long story. Finally, Penelope's son with the god Hermes.

Pseudo-Apollodorus says that Penelope was seduced by one of the suitors, Odysseus finding out about this sent her back to Icarius and eventually Penelope gave birth to Pan at Matinea. When I saw that she was seduced by one of the suitors in this version, I thought it would be Amphinomus, that suitor who tried to prevent the other suitors from killing Telemachus and who Odysseus wished to spare, but Athena had him killed along with the others. He was the best-behaved of the suitors and was said to be the one that pleased Penelope most.

Now Amphinomos spoke forth and addressed them. He was the shining son of Nisos, son of the lord Aretiades, and led those suitors who had come over from the abundant grasslands and grainlands of Doulichion, and pleased Penelope more than the others in talk, for he had good sense and discretion.

The Odyssey, XVI.394-398. Translation by Richmond Lattimore.

But it wasn't him, it was Antinous! The most insufferable of suitors!

But some say that Penelope was seduced by Antinous and sent away by Ulysses to her father Icarius, and that when she came to Mantinea in Arcadia she bore Pan to Hermes

Library, E.7.38. Translation by J.G. Frazer.

Herodotus, when trying to establish a chronology for the births of the gods, talks about a version in which Pan is their youngest. He says this is because he was born to Penelope and is therefore post-Trojan War. He also claims this is the version believed by the Greeks.

[...] and Pan the son of Penelope (for according to the Greeks Penelope and Hermes were the parents of Pan) was about eight hundred years before me, and thus of a later date than the Trojan war.

Histories, 2.145. Translation by A. D. Godley.

Pausanias also writes a version in which Penelope was expelled by Odysseus, although he doesn’t mention her having children or that child being Pan. However, he says that it’s a Matinean version and that Penelope went to Matinea, the same place as Pseudo-Apollodorus said that Penelope and Hermes had Pan.

But the Mantinean story about Penelope says that Odysseus convicted her of bringing paramours to his home, and being cast out by him she went away at first to Lacedaemon, but afterwards she removed from Sparta to Mantineia, where she died.

Description of Greece, 8.12.6. Translation by W.H.S. Jones.

There is a possibility that this myth exists because it got mixed up with the myth in which Pan's mother is Penelope, a nymph from Arcadia, and not Penelope, queen of Ithaca.

In the Homeric Hymn to Pan, there is no name of the mother, but it’s said that she is “daughter of Dryopos” and therefore not Penelope daughter of Icarius.

[...] For there, though a god, he used to tend curly-fleeced sheep in the service of a mortal man, because there fell on him and waxed strong melting desire to wed the rich-tressed daughter of Dryops and there he brought about the merry marriage.

Hymn to Pan. Translation by Hugh G. Evelyn-White.

Nonnus, in the Dionysiaca, says the mother's name is Penelope, but she’s a nymph and therefore not the human Penelope. Also, there are two Pans instead of one.

[...] With these were two other Pans, the sons of Hermes, who divided his love between two Nymphs: for one he visited the bed of Sose, the highland prophetess, and begat a son inspired with the divine voice of prophecy, Agreus, well versed in the beast-slaying sport of the hunt; the other was Nomios, whom the pasturing sheep loved well, one practised in the shepherd’s pipe, for whom Hermes sought the bed of Penelope, the country Nymph.

Dionysiaca, Book 14. Translation by W.H.D. Rouse.

In some sources, a Penelope is mentioned, but there are no specifics about which Penelope is referred to. In some versions, Pan's father is not Hermes.

Fabulae says that Pan's parents Hermes and an unspecified Penelope. But the mention of Pan being initially mortal made me think it's not a nymph he's talking about, since all the nymph + god children I know were born immortal and the mortal nymph children were the children of nymph + humans. But of course, I might have missed something.

MORTALS WHO WERE MADE IMMORTAL: [...] Pan, son of Mercury and Penelope [...]

Fabulae, 224. Translation by Mary Grant.

Despite the chances of Penelope of Ithaca being confused with another character and this giving rise to this version, over time the idea of Penelope as Pan's mother became its own version. Therefore, I consider it valid, as apparently the ancient Greeks also considered it a possibility (as seen by Herodotus' statement). However, this was most likely not the most popular version of the myth, since Penelope was often used as an example of an ideal chaste wife (e.g. Aristoteles, Economics; Plutarch, Conjugalia Pracepta; Athenaues, The Deipnosophists. Also notable in visual depictions of Penelope in which she has her legs crossed so protecting chastity).

GRANDCHILDREN AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW

Through Telemachus (Penelope's other sons don’t have children attested from what I saw), Penelope has some possible grandchildren (and, consequently, daughters-in-law), as follows:

Latinus

This name is also attributed to two half-brothers of Telemachus. One of them is the son of Odysseus and Circe (Hesiod, Theogony) and the other is son of Odysseus and Calypso (Pseudo-Apollodorus, Library, E.7.24). This Latinus here is none of those, he’s a son of Telemachus and Circe. This character is used to explain the name of the Latin language.

[...] By the advice of Minerva again, Telegonus married Penelope, and Telemachus married Circe. From Circe and Telemachus Latinus was born, who gave his name to the Latin language [...]

Fabulae, 127. Translation by Mary Grant.

Poliphortes/Ptoliporthus

This name is also attributed to a brother of Telemachus, son of Penelope and Odysseus. In this case, I’m referring to the version of the late source Dictys Cretensis which described Polyphortes as the son of Telemachus by the princess Nausicaa. Yes, the same person who wanted to marry Odysseus in The Odyssey.

Soon afterwards, in answer to Ulysses’ hopes and prayers, Nausicaa, the daughter of Alcinous, was married to Telemachus. This was also the time when our leader Idomeneus died in Crete; and, according to the right of succession, the kingdom passed to Meriones. Laertes, three years after his son had returned, ended his life. Nausicaa and Telemachus had a son, to whom Ulysses gave the name Ptoliporthus (Sacker of Cities).

Dictys Cretensis, 6.6. Translation by R.M. Frazer.

Persepolis/Perseptolis

This name is also attributed to...okay, relax! There are no other children of Odysseus that you need to worry about, this time Persepolis is just Telemachus' son with Polycaste. Polycaste, in this case, was a princess of Pylos, daughter of Nestor (she isn’t the same character assigned as Penelope's mother). She appears in The Odyssey when Telemachus visits Nestor and is the princess who bathes him.

Meanwhile lovely Polykaste, who was the youngest of the daughters of Nestor, son of Neleus, had bathed Telemachos. But when she had bathed him and anointed him sleekly with olive oil, she threw a splendid mantle and a tunic about him, and he came out from the bath looking like an immortal and came and sat down beside Nestor, shepherd of the people

The Odyssey, 464-469. Translation by Richmond Lattimore.

Years later, a schoalist of Homer presented a version of the myth in which Telemachus and Polycaste had a son named Persepolis. He attributed the credits to Hesiod, and is currently considered part of the Catalogues of Women.

FRAGMENT 12 - TELEMACHUS Eustathius. Hom. 1796.39: "So well-girded Polycaste, the youngest daughter of Nestor, Neleus' son, was joined in love with Telemachus through golden Aphrodite and bare Persepolis."

No grandchildren

In addition to Circe, Nausicaa, and Polycaste, Cassiopheia is also an attributed wife of Telemachus, but they didn’t give Penelope any grandchildren. This version is told in a scholia on Lycophron’s poem Alexandra, which shows the Trojan prophetess Cassandra prophesying. Ioannis Tzetzes, while trying to decipher Cassandra's enigmatic prophecies, offers a version of the myth in which Circe and Odysseus' daughter Cassiphone is the wife of Telemachus.

Telemachus married Cassiphone, the daughter of Circe. Telemachus kills Circe, not wanting to bear her commands, and he himself is killed by Cassiphone, his wife, avenging her mother. What he says is this: Odysseus will die seeing the sufferings of Circe being killed by Telemachus, and him by Cassiphone, his own daughter.

Ad Lycophronem, 808.

I only found Cassiopheia in this source.

#Ask #Anon #Penelope #Other important characters:#Telemachus #Icarius #Odysseus #birdiethings #birdie.txt

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nateconnolly · 1 year

Note

But sharks do cuddle!

I’m honestly not sure what you’re trying to say. I could probably respond more helpfully to this ask if I knew a few basics: are you responding to the ask I answered about whether sharks sleep, to the description on the top of my blog, or to a post about sharks that I reblogged from somebody else? Your ask begins with the word “but,” so it seems like you’re trying to dispute a claim somewhere on my blog. I can’t really defend that claim because I don’t know what it actually is. I’m also not clear on why, exactly, the fact that they cuddle is relevant to the conversation. I’d like to be informative and have an open dialogue (provided that you’re polite, and I have no reason to assume that you won’t be). But right now, I don’t have enough information to respond thoughtfully.

I will add a few comments, but these are just my gut reactions to what you said.

Observing sharks cuddling doesn’t really prove to us that they’re experiencing some humanlike cognitive state. You can believe that they do, if you want—it’s also a claim fundamentally impossible to disprove. You might be able to make a convincing argument, but you’ll never do a demonstration.

I, personally, *like* that I’m not sure the mind of a shark is fundamentally similar to my own. It makes the world a more diverse, and therefore more interesting place.

Sharks are still worthy of respect—and, as a group, they are still worthy of survival!—even though they are unlike us in many profound, provable ways. Our understanding, or lack of understanding, is completely irrelevant to the question of whether sharks are beautiful. Or whether they are an important part of an ecosystem. Or worth preserving. Science and philosophy are traditions based on curiosity. If everything were known, then we would have no reason to be curious. We must not be afraid to say, “I don’t know.”

Again, I don’t know if what I’ve said actually helps you. Please feel free to reach out if you have anything else to say.

#asks

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harrowing-dump · 6 months

Text

Happy Easter! I'll load a few chapters on here today, then probably more tomorrow. I'm actually up to chapter 11 on AO3, so feel free to read through them all.

Chapter 6: Advisers

Excerpt -

Hel huffs and paces the hall. Ganglöt, Modgud, and Ganglati look at each other and share a question: who could take this responsibility off Hel’s shoulders? Certainly not them, though they have comparatively more experience than she in, well, most things. She’s a child. She’s their student while also their queen. They don’t have the right to pluck this duty out of her hands. But what will happen if they can’t steer her and this realm properly?

If they knew, they might be surprised that Hel is having similar thoughts. Frustrating as this all is, she doesn’t wish to give up. She and her guardians have been putting together the laws and overseeing the housing across the realm. Things are progressing. But this question of her authority, her right to rule, keeps turning up snags. There’s so much to learn. Regardless of her age and lack of experience, she must be the queen, as Odin has dictated. Yet she wants to be queen on the merits of capability, not simply because Odin has given her the reins. For all she knows, Odin wants her to make a mess of it. Maybe that’s what he expects of a child of Loki.

Pabby … what does her father think of this? Anything at all? Will she ever see him again? What would he do if he were here? She can’t picture him being a king. She can’t picture him other than a special guest at her mother’s house, full of jokes and games and half-baked promises. Maybe he’s different in Asgard, with his other family. She’s figured out who those boys Narfi and Vali are. How interesting that Odin didn’t make either of them the ruler of the dead. He must expect more from them since they are children of the Æsir, too.

Or maybe it could be the opposite. Maybe Odin saw something promising in her. But to think that, to give Odin any credit for believing in her, feels like a betrayal of herself and her family.

No, neither Odin nor her father can figure into her reasons. She will be a good queen because … well, she just ought to be, right? But what does it mean to be a good queen? Give the people more power to govern themselves, at the risk of making herself weaker and letting their foibles lead to problems? Or should she keep a firm grip on her authority and prove to the people that she can be trusted to govern them, at the risk of never pleasing them, leaving the door open for revolts?

She deliberates on this with more pacing. Her companions silently deliberate, too. Finally, she directs a question to Ganglati and Ganglöt. “When you had children, were you stricter with them in the beginning?”

“Naturally,” answers Ganglöt.

“You have to be when they’re little,” Ganglati adds. “As they grow up, you trust them with more responsibilities while keeping them accountable when they make mistakes or don’t listen.”

“And that was hardly easy.”

“You think it’s better that I trust the people more,” Hel says with a frown.

“Well, they’re not children, mostly,” Ganglöt says.

“But the elders act like children sometimes. No, I need to be entirely in charge right now. Once they get used to how I want things to be, I might trust more of them to rule themselves. I’m already letting some of their elders make a council so they can tell me their problems and solve disputes. But for trials, it should be me who decides guilt or innocence.”

Uneasiness slowly stifles the room.

“Well,” Modgud hesitantly interjects, “I don’t think you’ll have long to wait to prove yourself.”

#norse mythology #hel #hel lokisdottir #helheim #niflheim

0 notes

troglobite · 2 years

Text

tried to download an app to watch a japanese channel so i could watch the livestream of yuzu’s show tomorrow night

but my fucking laptop wouldn’t allow me to open it and it was such a hassle to try and forgo the fucking preventative measures (i confirmed online reading various accounts that it is NOT malware) that i just decided to use another one

but that one had been a FREE one month trial

and this one was $3.50 for 3 days

and i was like whatever it’s cheap it’s fine

and it was recommended! by yuzu fans!

so i tried!

and it just WOULDN’T WORK

it charged me through fucking paypal,. paypal verified it, seems fine

but i couldn’t fucking REGISTER AN ACCOUNT i was supposed to get an EMAIL to register the account! but i couldn’t!

i tried using the code as my password, but that didn’t work

then i tried registering again but it said i’d already been registered

WHICH IS NOT TRUE BECAUSE I CANNOT SIGN IN

and so i tried the “forgot my password” thing and i didn’t even get THAT email

so then i had to go to dispute it through paypal

but they have a message on there to convince you NOT to

so i did what it said--forward the receipt email to them and request a refund

and i just--I’M SO DONE.

and then on TOP of that

worldshopping fucking cancelled my ENTIRE ORDER of yuzu merch FOR NO FUCKING REASON and WOULDN’T REINSTATE IT

i FINALLY got my refund from them, but i just had to try and REORDER the items they cancelled

but i could only add ONE item to my cart! the t-shirt that i wanted KEPT GIVING ME AN ERROR. so i reported the error to them! bc it was ONLY those TWO items (the two t-shirts) that wouldn’t add to the cart!

and then they respond w screenshots saying “look it’s fine, it works. clear your cache. it’s your fault.”

NO IT’S NOT!!!! I CAN ADD OTHER ITEMS TO MY CART NO FUCKING PROBLEM *IT’S YOUR FUCKING FAULT*!!!!!!

i’m so tired of this

i’m so past the end of my rope and i just want to experience something that’ll make me happy and instead i feel like i’m being cheated and scammed and i HATE making these kinds of decisions alone, i hate it i FUCKING HATE IT

i’m just really overwhelmed and i just feel STUPID i feel so fucking stupid and i’m tired and i just want this to WORK

PLEASE

eta

i sent in a request for a refund and they just said “look in the spam folder” I ALREADY CHECKED THERE A MILLION FUCKING TIMES

and then they GAVE ME a password

so i log in

and now i’m running into the SAME FUCKING ISSUE that i CAN’T OPEN THE APP bc my laptop WON’T LET ME

and i’d have to go through all of this bullshit to open it and I DON’T WANT TO! AND IF I HAVE TO DO THAT THEN I WANT THE FREE APP, ANYWAY! GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING MONEY!

i’m so tired and i HATE this kind of shit it freaks me out so fucking badly I HATE THIS

eta

thank fuck they just gave me my refund

i’m just tired

i just want things to be simple and i just want to have fun and enjoy things and not be fucking miserable and i’m so tired i’m so tired of everything being hard and stressful even though it’s not that bad in the scheme of things i’m just SO FUCKING STRESSED OUT BEYOND BELIEF I HATE THIS

0 notes

wyverian-lady525 · 2 years

Note

Hello^^

I hope you are well :),

i wanted to ask you, if you could write headcanons (or whatever you feel comfortable with) with a rider, who has a seregios and astalos duo, but they’re both complete dorks ? They grew up together and are like brothers. Like stealing each others food, sitting or laying on each other, having petty arguments, always together, protecting each other, sabotaging each other and are pretty friendly and chill, if they sense a good aura on a person. They are the definition of ‘sharing one braincell’ and can be clueless about certain tasks. Protective of the rider on missions and people, but will loosen up, if the person has a harmless aura. Could you please write, how the boys would react to such a thing, please ?

I’m sorry that it was so much, have a great day/night :)

(Feel free to ignore this request or to add characters !)

Sure thing! This is a cute idea! XD💖

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

The Boys (Kyle, Reverto, Cheval, and Alwin) React to a Rider with a Seregios and Astalos Duo

Kyle

-At first, Kyle doesn’t think much of it. You are a rider, so of course you are going to have monsties. He doesn’t get the significance of your seregios and astalos until you tell him the backstory. It was then that Kyle started to see some resemblance between those two and his brothers. The picking on one another, but ready to die for each other were some similarities he managed to pick out.

-However, one thing he didn't like was how your seregios and astalos didn't seem to like him. Apparently, they can sense the good aura of a person, and to them Kyle still smelled like trouble. They seemed to gang up on the hunter, using both lightning and sharp scales to get their point across.

-If they get into petty fights over something like food or space, Kyle is quick to leave the area. For some reason, they tend to take that anger out on him. On the bright side, it brings the two of them together again.

Reverto

-In reality, your seregios and astalos are like you and Reverto. Just “sharing a braincell” as one says. Just like how they are a pair of dorks together, so are you and Reverto. Perhaps, just like you two as well, one shares the majority of the braincell while the other simply hangs on for dear life. Either way, the hunter vibes with your monsties on account of having the same mindset.

-Your seregios seems to like Reverto more than your astalos for some reason. This leads to the two of them getting into some squabbles which Reverto is usually in the middle of. However, he also somehow manages to calm them as well, which surprises you. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get a scratch or two in the scuffle.

-But your monsties like Reverto as they can sense his good intentions, and in the end, are ready to protect both of you. That’s something your seregios and astalos can agree on.

Cheval

-Cheval thinks it’s so wholesome to see these two monsties act like brothers. It kind of reminds him of his upbringing, with the petty squabbles and doing dumb stuff simply for the fun of it. However, what surprised him was how these two very different monsties could be so close. I guess it goes to show how the environment you live in can change you.

-Both of your monsties can sense how Cheval is a good man, and they like him a lot. However, they might like him more because of Rathi. The rathian seems to have charmed both your seregios and astalos, for some reason. However, the whole territorial dispute thing with rathians and seregios have made Rathi a bit distant towards that particular monstie. Still, catch the two either fighting or working together to catch her attention. They are a pair of bros there.

-The best thing about that is during fights they will be extra attentive to work together and protect both you and Cheval. That’s another thing too. When you engage in a battle, both monsties have to join the fray, not just one. They are a pair after all.

Alwin

-In all his years, Alwin has never seen a pair of wyverns ever be so close, except for a rathian and rathalos of course. He finds their backstory to be something out of a fairytale; two monsties that grew up together under a rider’s care, not even the same species, and became like brothers. The wyverian thinks it’s incredible though, to see how they developed together. He knows Shaulk could never get along with another wyvern like that.

-Your seregios and astalos absolutely adore Alwin to the point where they end up fighting over him. The wyverian just has such a kind heart that the two monsties want all his attention. Heck, sometimes Shaulk even joins in and then things get really messy. Poor Alwin ends up getting scraped, but at least you managed to break up the fight. Also, they act like brothers in the sense of getting in dumb situations. Once, Alwin witnessed the two of them working together to steal food from some wyverian chefs. It didn’t end well.

-Fighting over a food is another big thing they do, as well as sabotaging the other when it came to things like sleep space and such. But they also care for each other very much. Alwin will find them curled up with each other in the stables, only to squabble over space moments later.

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dollanganger-in-the-attic · 3 years

Note

Hi, I'm new to the fandom side of VCA (aside from adoring complete VCA when it was running), and I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of information about why everyone seems to hate AN? I don't have any strong feelings on him, but if he's a bad person, I want to beware. I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go or who to ask.

Hmm im not sure if i know of like a mega thread with all the reasons many VCA fans dislike him so i can only speak to what I feel and what others have told me.

For me its really only a matter of opinion. I still enjoy the books he’s written, the Landry series is prob my second fav vca series in fact. I just don’t agree with certain decisions he’s made. And a lot of it might even be coming from the publisher rather than him personally.

For example: its hard to trust Andrew Neiderman when he was introduced to us under false pretenses. When he took over ghostwriting for VCA, fans were told that he was just finishing the manuscripts and ideas that VCA left behind. But that ended up being a lie and he was just writing new material under her name. He’s even stated that there were no manuscripts ever given to him, before changing his statement. And the family confirmed that none of Virginia’s unfinished work for the casteel series was used in the final books. Anyway to me it seems strange he was chosen at all, considering VCA wrote a lot about what it means to be a young girl terrorized by men- so… you replace her with a male writer? Strange choice. That’s probably why his identity was hidden by the Andrew’s family for quite a while.

To me that wasn’t egregious on its own. He was under contract to create so many books for the VCA brand anyways. But my thinking changed when the fanfiction works started being published. After VCA’s last close relative died, Andrew Neiderman suddenly started taking over works that he didn’t write. He started messing with the original series like Flowers in the Attic and My Sweet Audrina. It felt very disrespectful that not only was he trying to add to a series that was not his own- but he tried to change the canon that Virginia created! He published the Diary series and brought Cory back to life even though Cory was not his character to toy with. It upset a lot of the fans because it was a blatant cashgrab. One that he is still milking with the “first corrine” books. Mind you, his original contract stated that he was PROHIBITED from creating any stories with existing VCA characters. They tried to protect Virginia’s original works and i guess once no one was left alive to stop him, he thought it was free game. Which is yucky.

Another personal grievance of mine is that I’ve seen him be introduced in articles and interviews as the creator of Flowers in the Attic when that is absolutely untrue. Stolen valor lol it feels like he isn’t confident enough in his own work that he needs to tie himself as tightly as he can to Flowers in the Attic. Its like he completely took over the name V.C. Andrews and believes he IS the real Vc Andrews since hes written more books under the name than actual Virginia did. And so with the name he thinks he now owns all of her works- such as Flowers in the Attic etc

Even this biography feels disrespectful and untrustworthy. It feels very much like another cash grab because AN knows he can say anything he wants about Virginia because she isn’t here ti dispute it.

I don’t blame anyone who likes him and his works. And i dont think every fan needs to be in the know about this sentiment. Its ok to just be a fan of the books and not look into the ghostwriter’s approval ratings. It’s just something I feel a bit strongly about so I tend to speak up on it. I hope I shed some light on where I’m coming from. If you’re interested to know more I’d suggest joining one of the VCA fangroups on facebook and asking around. There are people who feel stronger than I do and have more insight :)

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levantea · 3 years

Text

Day 4 | hyunjin *ೃ༄

╰┈➤ 14 ways to say”i love you” series

Pairing: hyunjin x y/n

Genre: angst, insecurities, fluff at the end, established rs

Rating: G

Warning: insecurities, breaking down

Word Count: 1.65k

⇢ ˗ˏˋ prompts: 39 — “Don’t cry!” + 41 — “go back to sleep” + 90 — “you can tell me anything”

“Honestly, i’m not sure what is so good about y/n.”

“Why did Hyunjin even like her at the first place?”

“I feel like, she is nothing but just a plain Jane?”

“Is there anything special about her?”

“Does she deserve him?”

Yeah, do i deserve him?

—

You have been flipping on your sheets through countless nights, trying not to disturb your boyfriend who is sleeping next to you. The conversations you overheard from your other friends have been bugging in your head for the past few days, causing a plunge in your emotions.

It was supposed to be a gathering, but it ended up becoming a gossip session about you and Hyunjin when you both attended. You always thought that your relationship with Hyunjin is strong because you have nothing to be afraid about, but those statements that your friends had made caused you to think twice after returning home.

Subconsciously, your body has been pushing Hyunjin away from any physical contact. Definitely not because he did anything wrong, but more of you feeling that you don’t deserve his touch. He questioned multiple times on why you did that, was it because you were unwell, or anything that he did makes you feel unhappy, but he only received a shallow answer from you — you were unwell and you wanted some time alone.

You were hesitating if you should talk to him about your insecurities but everytime you see him coming home from work and being all lethargic, you decided to brush it off as you do not wish to add anymore worries on him. It was prominent that he has been working very hard to give you a good environment to stay with him, finding opportunities to pamper you, all wanting to prove to you, to your family and friends, and to the world that he is the best decision you ever made.

It is true that you never regret choosing him because he has always been so patient, empathetic, transparent and loyal towards you, often making you feel guilty for keeping your concerns from him as you do not want to affect him too. He is not oblivious to your actions, is just that he wants to wait until you are ready and tell you what is on your mind.

He is literally everything you ask for, but it also makes you feel worthless because you felt like he deserved someone better than you.

You gently flip over the sheets, slipping on to your sliders and gently opened the door, in hope that he was not disrupted by all your little actions. Entering the kitchen, you make yourself a cup of chamomile tea and moved to the balcony, breathing in some night air to sooth your exploding mind down.

Your mind has been disputing many thoughts, positive and negative. You started to revaluate your whole relationship with him, and wondering if you should persist on or let it go. Self-blaming also appeared frequently and you didn’t notice yourself tearing up until it dripped onto the table.

“Babe? Why are you crying?” you were too engrossed in your negative thoughts and didn’t notice Hyunjin already walked behind you, giving you a warm backhug and light peck to your neck.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” you wiped your tears away as you take a sip of your tea, gently releasing his hands from your shoulders. He sighed and took over the seat opposite you, bringing your hands into his despite you pulling away from it.

“Babe, i know you are not okay. I have observed it since we came back from the gathering a week ago, what happened?” he asked in the softest tone as possible while you kept silent and fiddled the tea label with your free hand.

He knows that you will need much courage to bring it up, and he expressed his patience by rubbing slow circles on your hand, trying to sooth your emotions.

Should i say or not?

“Babe, we are a couple for a reason, you can tell me anything. Please, talk to me instead of keeping silent, you are making me extremely worried and i have been overthinking if i did anything wrong, or you don’t love me anymore…” he probed after you kept quiet for a period.

He is afraid, he is very afraid that you will leave him someday without letting him know the reason why, because you see it all in his eyes.

“Hyun, why did you choose me, out of so many people? Like, why me?” you gathered all the courage you have and asked softly, finally showing him your hurtful expression after masking them for the previous days.

He knew it, he knew that something happened which hurted his beloved girl to the extend that she can’t even function well during the day, not to mention falling out of sleep at night.

“Babe, there are so many wonderful things you hold that i feel i can’t even finish describing them in a day. To summarise, the moment my heart starts racing whenever i see you, i am sure that i want you. I want you to be mine, i want you to be by my side, i want you to be with me forever,” he slowly puts your hand over his heart area, as you felt his toned chest beneath the thin couple pyjamas shirt you both bought.

You shouldn’t have doubted him. His heart, his blood was racing and burning and it feels like his DNA enlightened because of you. Even after 4 years of being together, his heart still beats insanely fast for you, no doubt.

Mountains of guilt starting to gush in as you retracted your hands, covering your face while letting go the icy wall you have built to hide your feelings. You couldn’t remember how long it has been for you to cry your heart out, but thankfully it is infront of your loved one, not others.

“Aww babe don’t cry! You are better than you think!” your boyfriend heart shattered on the floor when he saw you weeping silently, trying not to alarm the other neighbours from their slumbers.

He then rushed over to your side, bringing you into his embrace, cooing you from your cries and constantly whispering sweet encouragements to give you more confidence and assurance. You took quite awhile before settling down, and he brought you into the living room after closing the transparent balcony door as the breeze was cold.

You were still sobbing as you sit cross-legged, directly opposite him while facing down. You felt embarrassed for crying like a baby but Hyunjin didn’t mind at all. Whereas. he felt happier because you are showing your true self and letting out your feelings without filtration.

He wants you, he wants you to be transparent to him too.

Once again, he took both your hands into his, gently requesting you to face him. You slowly lifted and met his eyes, seeing him flashing his healing smile at you and it make you feel at ease.

“Babe, i understand all your concerns. I kind of guessed that something happened during the gathering or you had overheard something which resulted in your insecurities. I just want to let you know that, you are the best decision i have ever make in my entire life. There were people who told me that we will not turn out well but no, we have proven them wrong. It is inevitable for us to receive criticisms from others but i want you to know that, you are perfect the way you are. I love all your strengths and your flaws, just like how you love mine. I am not sure who and what they said, but all you need to bear in mind is that, i am yours and you are mine, and nobody can ever break us apart. Also, i am your partner and you can tell me anything. I am aware that you are afraid to add on more burdens or worries for me, but babe i am more than happy to listen to you, providing you support because that’s what we as couple are supposed to do. You have been suffering alone for too long and i am here now, so lean on me more,” he reduced the distance between the both of you, landing a soft kiss on your forehead before embracing your vulnerable body.

You were too tired too reply him after all the release of tears and simply nodded as you hugged him back, mentally chanting how blessed you are to have him as your boyfriend. You also told yourself not to listen to others’ comments anymore and put more faith in yourself, and him.

He is perfect, he is yours, so you need to grab him tightly and appreciate him.

“So princess, shall we go back to sleep? It is 3am and we need to work tomorrow,” he gave another kiss on your cheek, finally seeing you smile again after a week of gloom.

“Yes,” you breathed your reply as he carried you in bridal style back into the room you both shared, gently laying you down beside him as he hold you close to him.

“Babe, you know, i can’t breathe without you being right by my side, i’ll die. So can you please come over closer and hold me tight, right like now,” you heard Hyunjin muttered weakly as he cuddled you, showering you with little pecks across your face and neck to express his affection towards you. You understood what he meant by ‘hold me tight’. Not just literally, but mentally and emotionally as well.

“I am, because you know i can’t leave you alone,” you uttered under your breath, giving him a firm kiss on his lips before closing your eyes.

“Good night hun, tomorrow will be better for you and me, i’m sure it will.”

-> Well, i merged Red Lights lyrics in too HAHA

-> Networks: @thesunshineshop @ficscafe @koffeenet

-> Taglist: @ajxreads @xa21x @reallyloudstarlight @lunaflvms @elmi-chan (wanna join? simply comment below or send in an ask!)

-> Navi | Masterlist | About

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shurisneakers · 4 years

Text

harmless (ii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, stealing cultural landmarks, frustrated bucky

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: made a header 4 this fic but i couldn’t take it seriously enough <3

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! it’s always fun to hear from y’all.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

It’s roughly a week before he sees you next.

Right on time too, according to the briefings he had received. Once a week you’d come up with your next batshit crazy idea and someone would be sent to make sure you didn’t execute it.

It was more of a babysitting gig than anything. Most people would do one, maybe two assignments before asking to not be sent again.

He was not most people. He volunteers to go again. His afternoon is relatively free and he’s bored.

Also, and more importantly, he needs to get out of the house before Sam finds out what he did.

“You’ll find her near the Statue of Liberty.”

“How do we know?”

“Oh, she tells us.”

“...she tells us where to find her?”

“Most times, yes. She says it’s time efficient.”

Absurd. He thinks you’re absurd.

Bucky finds you in line to board the ferry. You’re dressed to the nines like an obnoxious tourist, even though you were a local, topped with binoculars and a bucket hat.

On an unrelated note, he thinks that maybe the mission today is to kill you for daring to wear sandals with socks like a suburban dad. A shudder runs through his body when he sees it.

He’s wearing all black and a baseball cap. Somehow he’s standing out more than you are.

He boards the ferry behind you, keeping a close eye on all your movements. You take your place near the railing, a seat near the front of the boat.

His phone rings. He answers it, expecting Sam to screech at him for painting Redwing neon pink again. He should have known it was coming after he shoved Bucky off the quinjet before he had time to strap his parachute on properly.

“I thought I told you to bring a cape.”

He quickly looks up at you but you’re not facing him. You have your phone held up to your ear, however.

“How did you get this number?” he asks icily.

“I knew you’d show up again.” Your head tilts to look at the statue in the distance. “Also, thanks for the door money, but I’m not sure I appreciate how you think the least creepy way to give someone money is to drop it off anonymously at their doorstep.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He swiftly gets up, stalking over to where you’re sitting. He was advised not to do anything aggressive. Advised was a flexible word.

“Because I wasn’t going to answer it.” You look up at his figure looming over you. “Oh, hey.”

The phone is still pressed to the side of your face even though he’s right beside you. He cuts the call, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Allow me to introduce my pl-”

“What are you doing here?” He cuts to the chase.

You send him a glare. “I was going to say it before you told me to. And sit down before everyone thinks you’re going to kill me.”

“Why are you going there?” He doesn’t have time for this, he thinks. He has important things to do. Like watching the reruns of Masterchef Junior.

He sits in the seat beside you.

“Look at us.” You grin at him. “Me with the evilest outfit I could think of, you with your... Addams Family cosplay. We’re like, two peas in a po-”

“Start explaining,” he interjects.

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to shrink the Statue of Liberty and use it as a keychain.”

“What?” It’s probably the most benign plan he’s ever heard in his life.

“I’m kidding.” Oh, good. “I’m not using it as a keychain, I’m taking it to class.” Nevermind.

“What?” He finds himself repeating his previous question.

“I’m shrinking all the statues I can find. I want to use it in my classroom to teach the kids.”

“You’re... a teacher?” He blinks.

“You got a problem with that?” You look offended, to say the least.

“No.” It’s not what he would peg your occupation as. He didn’t think you had one at all. “How are you planning on shrinking it?”

You rummage through the ugliest fanny pack he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. You pull out a small ring box, complete with a bow tied neatly on top.

“I was saving this for our third anniversary, but-” you offer him a nervous laugh.

His stony expression doesn’t change, not even a blink.

“Fine, Jesus, you’re no fun,” you huff, dropping the emotional act when he doesn’t look amused.

You flip open the lid. Inside there are a few small disks. It looks familiar, he realises.

“Your friend Ant-Boy didn’t file a patent, so I just took his whole shtick.” He wants to defend Scott’s honour; it’s Ant-Man not boy. He doesn’t. He’s too transfixed on what you have in your hand.

“Pym particles.”

“The diet version.” You pick up one of them carefully. “A ripoff, but effective. Just gotta attach it to the thing I want to shrink and give it a few minutes.”

“You’re going to steal the Statue of Liberty,” he says, frankly a little taken aback that you were serious.

“Would you relax? I’ll put it back.”

“That’s not the point,” he damn near exclaims. “You can’t take away the Statue of Liberty just because you feel like it.”

“I literally can.” You point to the chips in your hand. “That’s the point of this, keep up.”

He feels exasperated. He didn’t sign up for this when he became an Avenger.

“Give me the box.” He makes a grab for it but you yank it away from his reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t have time for this.” His reruns would begin in an hour.

“That’s my problem, because...” you trail off.

He rolls his eyes, makes a grab at the box again. His tactic is different this time. He stealthily pins one of your arms down so that you’re basically incapacitated.

“Hey! Stop that.” You fumble against his reach, shoving him with your elbow.

“Just give me the thing and we can all go home for the day,” he huffs, unfazed by your squirming.

“No! Over my dead bod-”

He doesn’t immediately notice what goes wrong in the scuffle.

Until you look at the ground near your feet. A disk lay there, undisturbed.

“Is that-” All of a sudden, either he’s getting taller or the ceiling of the boat is getting lower.

“Oops,” you say, not remorseful in the slightest.

“Are we going to-”

“I’d give it five minutes max.”

Great. He was stuck on a boat that was beginning to shrink. The other passengers were either oblivious or ignorant to seats that were starting to become too small for them, but Bucky’s heightened senses and extreme reflexes made it hard to skip.

He nudges the piece of tech with his foot. Maybe he can kick it off the boat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn solemnly. He wants to disagree but doesn’t know enough about the device to dispute you.

“Fix this,” he hisses, panic slightly rising. His fingers find their way to his phone to send out an emergency text requesting backup and mass evacuation.

“I think it’s a rather lovely day for a swim, don’t you?” You stare dreamily at the waves that were inching closer up the boat.

Or you were inching closer to the water. Technicalities were frivolous.

“There are other people on this boat.”

“River’s big enough for all of us, I reckon.”

“Fix it.”

“Or what?” There’s a wicked gleam in your eye. “We both know I have the upper hand here.”

“Or I call the entirety of the Avengers here and haul your ass to prison.”

“Will they bring snacks?”

You’re insufferable. You know it. But you also are the fastest way to get out of this situation and right now, he didn’t want to be responsible for a shipwreck simulation.

“Fine. Tell me what you want.”

“I like soy chips.”

“Soy chi-” He nearly throws his hands up in frustration. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I want one historical artifact so I can impress the kids. They think I’m the cool teacher and I want to keep that reputation alive.”

“What makes you think I can arrange for that?”

“You’ve been alive since goddamn dinosaurs roamed this earth, I’m sure you have some connections.” You pause to assess his face. “You know, you don’t look a day over 29. Dermatologists must hate yo-”

“I’ll get you an artifact, now fix the fuckin’ boat.”

“You promise?” You grin brightly.

He stares at you. You are unyielding.

The boat’s uncomfortably small and people are beginning to take notice. Worried murmurs fill the air behind him.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You shrug simply.

You kneel over, picking up the chip from the ground. You do nothing else for two minutes, instead turning away from him to look at the Statue of Liberty that was coming closer.

It takes him a while to realise that half his body isn’t hanging off his chair anymore. The ceiling is moving further and further away from the top of his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wants to strangle you.

Why did he listen to you when all of this would have been over the minute he kicked it off the ship.

“You can drop it off at my lair on Monday and pick it up on Friday.” You gather your belongings, leaving him steaming behind you. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Sergeant.”

You step over him, flashing him a quick smile before walking off the boat with the rest of the tourists as if nothing had just taken place. When he looks down, the stupid ring box is on his lap.

He sits there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the container.

The ferry conductor asks if he’s going to get off the boat.

He simply shakes his head.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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themagnuswriters · 4 years

Text

Writing a Muslim Character

The Mods of the Magnus Writers discord server and community are putting together a variety of resources for Magnus Archives fan creators; these have been collated from articles on the topics, our own experiences, and the experiences of the members of the Magnus Writers discord. These are definitely not comprehensive or the only viewpoints out there, and are by no means meant as a way to police fanworks, but as a way to support and inspire fan creators in creating thoughtful and diverse works. Please note that external links will be added in a reblog to outsmart tumblr’s terrible tagging system, so make sure to check those out as well!

This resource in particular was put together by Mod Jasmine: hi, all!

While there are no canonically Muslim characters in TMA, Muslim headcanons are common in fanworks—particularly for Basira, and sometimes Jon (which I love to see!). I have cobbled together this post from my own experiences to help support and inform fans in these areas, and as part of my diabolical plan to get more Muslim!Basira and Muslim!Jon fics to shove into my brain.

First, two gigantic caveats:

I was raised Sunni Muslim in Egypt, which is a majority Sunni Muslim country, and still live there. This means my experience will be very different from someone raised in a majority Christian country like the UK, and different again if they are not Sunni and not Arab.

I am currently ex-Muslim. This does not mean I bear any ill will towards Islam or Muslims, just that it wasn’t for me, and I felt it was important to be upfront about that. I’ll be linking to resources by practicing Muslims in the reblog to this post, whether to add to my opinions and experiences or provide you with a different opinion. I am not here to put my voice over that of Muslims, just to do some of the work so they don’t have to. Obviously, if any Muslims have any additions or suggestions for this post, I’m happy to accommodate them.

Alright. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get started with the basics of writing a Muslim character.

(Warning: this is absurdly, absurdly long)

Basics:

Muslims follow two main sources of religious instruction: Quran and Hadith.

The Quran is the holy book, considered to be dictated by the angel Gabriel to the Prophet Mohammed, who then relayed what he was told to his followers. It is composed of surahs, or chapters, which have individual ayat, or verses. There are no varying versions of the Quran, later additions, or anything considered lost in translation. Any Arabic Quran is considered to be the same text that the Prophet Mohammed relayed, unchanged. As a result, while Muslims can debate interpretations of the Quran (although that’s often still left to the scholars), none debate the actual words of the text.

Hadith, meanwhile, are the sayings or teachings of the Prophet Mohammed. Their validity can be disputed, as they were written by his followers after his death, and mainly depend on having several witnesses for a specific saying or situation. The more witnesses there were, the more valid the hadith is considered to be.

When in doubt or should there be any contradiction between the Quran and Hadith, Muslims will always refer to the Quran first and foremost.

Denominations:

The bigggest (but not only!) divisions of Islam are Sunni and Shia, and both of those have separate madhabs, which are the separate thoughts and stances of specific Imams. When writing a Muslim character, a good first step would be to decide where your character’s family might have come from, as that could help inform which denomination your character might belong to. This will in turn inform things like the beliefs they grew up with, how they pray, their holy holidays, and so on. Obviously, all denominations fall under the bigger umbrella of Muslim, but can vary in practice.

Background:

The intersection of culture and religion affects a character beyond which denomination they likely belong to, such as whether they call prayer salah or namaz, the foods they might associate with Ramadan or Eid, and their community’s stance on things like hijab and alcohol.

One thing to keep in mind is that being Muslim is not synonymous with being Arab and vice versa. Not all Arabs are Muslim, not all Muslims are Arab or even Middle Eastern. In fact, the largest Muslim country in the world is Indonesia. That said, depending on your character’s race and backround, there is the potential they may have faced Arab elitism or other strands of racism within Muslim circles. Please see the reblog of this post for an article about one Black British Muslim woman’s experience with racism.

And, of course, your character and their family do not need to have been immigrants at all. They or their family may have been converts instead. According to most Muslim schools of thought, all that’s required for a person to be Muslim is stating the shahada in Arabic, honestly and with intent. It goes, “Ashhadu an la ilah illa Allah, wa an Mohammadan rasul Allah,” which translates as “I bear witness that there is no god but God, and that Mohammed is His prophet.” Shia Muslims, I believe, have an additional section, but otherwise that’s it. Recite that in front of witnesses with sincere belief and that’s all you need to be Muslim.

Pillars of Islam:

These are the duties or cornerstones of a Muslim’s faith and considered to be acts every Muslim should strive for. What the pillars are can, I think, differ between denominations, with Shia Muslims having additional ancillaries as well (any Shia readers, please feel free to correct me!) but both denominations agree that the following are important:

Salah—prayer

Sawm—fasting during Ramadan

Zakat—giving a certain percentage of income to charity or the community

Hajj—pilgrimage to Mecca

In all cases, these are considered mandatory only for those who are able. A person who cannot perform hajj, whether due to not being physically able to or lacking the funds to travel, is under no obligation.

Prayer:

Prayer is performed five times a day while facing the Qibla, which is the direction of Mecca. Prayer is formed of units, called rak’at, which consists of a set of actions done in a specific order. The “How to Pray Salah, Step by Step” article linked in the reblog of this post provides fairly good prayer instructions for beginners, so check it out for details! These include bowing, prostrating, and reciting some surahs.

Each of the five daily prayers has a different number of rak’at, as well as its own name and allotted time of day, as follows:

Fajr, which means Dawn and can be performed at any point until the sun rises (two rak’at).

Dhuhr, which means Noon (four rak’at)

Asr, performed in the afternoon (four rak’at)

Maghreb, which means sunset and can be performed at any point until it’s dark (three rak’at)

Isha, performed at night and can be done at any point until dawn (four rak’at)

The specific time of prayer will differ day to day and place to place, according to the sun, but those are the rough timeframes for each. It’s generally preferred that a Muslim does their prayer on time, but in practice some Muslims find it difficult to wake up for Fajr, for instance, and just try to make sure they get a morning prayer in before noon.

On Friday, there is a congregational Friday prayer at Dhuhr in a mosque called the Jumu’a prayer (which, fun fact, literally means gathering and is also the Arabic name for Friday!). Only men are required to take part in the congregation, however.

In Muslim majority countries, the time for prayer is announced by the adhaan, the call to prayer, from mosques and in media. This won’t be the case in the UK, and the character will likely have to rely on an adhaan app or looking up what time prayer should be.

There are various requirements for a prayer to be correct, chief of which is facing the Qibla and purity. Before performing prayer, a Muslim must purify themself by performing wudu, or ablutions, which basically involves washing the hands, arms, nostrils, face, head, and feet a specific number of times using clean water. The way I was taught these must be performed in a certain order, and the person shouldn’t speak during or after until their prayer is finished. This may be different for others.

Wudu is considered valid until nullified by bodily functions such as urinating, defecating, vomiting, flatulence, or any sexual activity. For Sunni Muslims, it’s also invalidated by going to sleep. If none of these have happened, a Muslim can perform more than one prayer using the same wudu.

Notably, a Muslim cannot pray if they’re on their period, as they’re considered in a state of impurity.

Another important requirement is that a Muslim be dressed modestly for prayer. The general guideline is that Muslim men should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing, and that during prayer it’s preferred that they cover their chests as well Muslim women should cover everything except their face, hands, and feet. This means that a woman who isn’t hijabi would still wrap a hijab for prayer. For nonbinary Muslims, I don’t think there are specific guidelines yet, although please feel free to correct me.

If praying at home, a family may choose to pray together. In this case, the male head of the household usually stands at the front and acts as Imam, leading the prayer. Other men will tend to be in front of or beside women, as generally women should not pray in front of a man. This is the case even, especially, if he is not praying.

Children aren’t required to pray, as they’re considered innocent and have no obligations, but may want to take part early on or may be encouraged to practice.

Praying is one area you’ll find denominational differences. For example, while Sunnis fold their arms in prayer, Shia keep their arms to their side, and while Shia Muslims make sure their foreheads touch a piece of clay or earth when they prostrate, Sunnis do not. If you write your character praying, keep these details in mind.

Fasting:

During the holy month of Ramadan, Muslims fast from Fajr (dawn) until Maghreb (sunset) every day. This means they abstain from consuming anything—yes, even water, cigarettes, and medicine. They should also abstain from sexual activities and cursing. Most importantly, they must have the intention to be fasting. This means that not eating and drinking because they were asleep for that entire period of time or just lost track and forgot does not count as fasting.

Generally, the idea is more to try to be more pious and avoid sin throughout the month. It’s thought that the shaytan (or devil) is chained up during Ramadan, so any temptation or sinning is a person’s own doing. The way I was raised, I was taught that sawm/fasting is invalidated by sexual thoughts and raising your voice as well. Many people also try to dress more modestly during Ramadan, with some women opting for looser clothing or a headscarf. Many Muslims will try to read the whole Quran during Ramadan.

After Maghreb, Muslims break their fast with Iftar (which means breakfast, hah) and have a late night meal called Suhour. Since the Muslim calendar is a lunar calendar, Ramadan is 11 days earlier every year. Depending on when Ramadan falls in the year, there can be barely any time between iftar and suhour in certain parts of the world, as the sun is up for so much of the day.

Given the length of time and difficulty involved, there are exceptions and allowances for fasting. A person is not required to fast if they are:

A child (up to puberty)

Ill or has a medical condition such as diabetes

Pregnant

Travelling

On their period

In fact, if they are on their period it will not be counted, even if they do fast. That said, sometimes people choose to fast while travelling anyway, as travel is less strenuous now than it used to be. If they’re crossing time zones they will have to consider which time zone they’re breaking their fast to. As far as I remember, it’s based on the time zone of the place they just left or started their fast in.

If an obstacle to fasting is temporary, such as their period, they’re expected to make those days up with additional fasting before next Ramadan. Otherwise, they are allowed to make up for the lost fast in another way, such as by donating money or feeding fasting people. Whether due to societal pressure (which is formidable in Muslim-majority countries) or out of consideration for others who are fasting, those who are not fasting for whatever reason may often choose to hide this and only eat in secret.

If a person forgets they were fasting or accidentally consumes something, it does not invalidate the fast , and as soon as they remember or realise the mistake they can have the intention to fast again and continue with their day.

While children are exempt, many families will start them off by fasting for half a day so they can build up to a full day when they hit puberty.

Ramadan traditions vary wildly from country to country and culture to culture, but generally it’s a time for family gathering and celebration. Often there are special Ramadan-specific food, drink, and decorations, and it ends with Eid ul-Fitr which has its own specific foods and celebrations. Basically, imagine if Christmas lasted a month. That’s how big a deal Ramadan is.

In my experience, the first few days are usually the hardest. Water is what I tended to miss the most, even if I managed to stay up long enough or set an alarm to wake up to drink just before fajr, followed closely by swearing. Anyone who drinks caffeine or smokes cigarettes will likely find abstaining from those more difficult than water. By the end of the month, though, it gets much easier and I often got to the point where I barely noticed. I will say, however, that the longest I’ve had to fast has been maybe 16 hours. A summer Ramadan in the UK would be more difficult due to the much later sunsets.

Halal and Haram:

Halal means “permissible,” while haram means “forbidden.” You might have heard these words in passing before, such as halal food, but they are used for many areas of life.

Things that are considered haram include:

Consuming, serving, or trading in intoxicants, such as alcohol

Consuming improperly slaughtered meat or meat from forbidden animals, such as pork

Extramarital sex

Tattoos

Gambling

Men wearing silk or gold

A Muslim woman marrying a non-Muslim man (although it’s fine for a Muslim man to marry a non-Muslim woman)

Being immodest

Modesty is expected of all genders, including men. If you’ll recall from the section on prayer, the general guideline for male modesty is that they should cover the area between their navel and knees with loose, non-revealing clothing. Note that for women, modesty does not necessarily involve wearing a hijab. There is actually a ton of controversy as to whether the hijab is a fard (requirement) or not, as described in the following section.

The Hijab:

To be hijabi takes more than just throwing on a headscarf. As a word, hijab means “barrier” or “veil,” and a hijabi person would be expected to cover everything except their face and the palms of their hands, and to ensure that their clothes are loose and non-revealing. It all comes from an interpretation of two verses in the Quran that many scholars nowadays agree to mean the hijab is required, and that some say actually call for a face covering as well, which is called a niqab.

This wasn’t always the case, however, and these days there is still the occasional controversial scholar (I remember a few kerfuffles coming out of Egypt’s Al-Azhar mosque recently) saying it isn’t and has never been required at all. At least in the Arab world, this is largely due to the wave of Wahhabism (which is a specifically fundamentalist interpretation of Islam) that’s taken over the region in the past half a century. Before that, the idea of a hijab being a religious requirement was less widespread.

I’m not here to argue who’s right or wrong, just to make you aware that the hijab as we know it today hasn’t always been considered a requirement for a Muslim woman. Most of the women of my family never wore any form of head covering, but more and more they are an exception rather than the norm.

The choice of whether to wear a hijab can mean very different things, depending on the surrounding culture. For instance, my grandmother, the strictest woman I have ever known, got married in a very cute sleeveless dress that went just under the knees, and when she grew older she wore a head-covering more as a cultural indication of age rather than any religious reason. In my generation, in a country with a Muslim majority, lack of visible signs of devoutness have become almost a class marker, with some upper-class women using their lack of head-covering as a sign that they are “more Westernized” or “modern.” And again, I want to emphasize that this is the case for my country only.

This will be completely different for Muslim minorities, where the hijab can become a symbol of pride and unity.

I will say that it’s very rare for women to be forced into getting veiled, whether in Muslim minority or majority countries. I’m not saying it never happens, just that it’s not the “oppressive tool of the patriarchy” outsiders sometimes think it is. Women may face some societal pressure, but by and large it is considered a choice and often an empowering one. In fact, I have friends whose families discouraged them from wearing a hijab too young and emphasized only taking the decision when they were sure they wanted to. If writing a Muslim character when you’re non-Muslim, I strongly suggest not trying to tackle the story of someone forced into a hijab, as there’s a lot of nuance there and it’s very easy to fall into harmful stereotypes. The hijabi woman who gets “liberated” and takes off her hijab is also overdone and harmful. Please don’t.

Everyday Life:

Muslims are not a monolithic entity, and some will be more devout or religious than others. There are those who will pray their five a day and others who only pray during Ramadan or Eid, some who don’t drink and some who do, hijabis who dress only in loose clothing and those who wear tight trousers or show some of their hair, some who have tattoos, and some who may date or even have sex before marriage. However, this isn’t a carte-blanche not to do research when writing a Muslim character, because even if they break a rule of Islam, they will be conscious of it, may be concerned about their community’s response to it, and in any case will be affected by it.

For instance, I know many Muslims who drink alcohol. Some interpret the text differently, saying that since the sin is getting drunk then they won’t drink enough to get drunk, just buzzed. Some only do it on special occasions or on vacation, saying they know it’s a sin but it’s fine on occasion and they’ll repent later. All of them would probably dive under a table if they thought their family was nearby.

For more opinions on Muslims and dealing with alcohol, take a look at the “Islam and Alcohol” article linked in the reblog of this post.

Here are things that a character who is a practicing Muslim might do or be concerned about in their day to day life:

Checking ingredients to make sure they’re all halal. This goes for things like food, drink, medicine, anything consumable. Things like gelatine capsules are only halal if the source of the gelatine is itself halal, for instance.

Keeping up with their prayers. With five prayers a day, some will inevitably happen while they’re out of the house. Some Muslims prefer to just group their prayers when they get home, but since it’s preferable to do prayers on time, others may try to pray while out and about This means considering the following:

Finding a bathroom for wudu. Part of wudu involves washing feet and the head, which isn’t feasible in a public location or if the person is hijabi and doesn’t want to unwrap and rewrap their hijab. In that case, they can generally wipe a wet hand over their socks and top of their head covering.

They may carry a prayer carpet or have one stashed in a convenient location, but it’s not a must.

Finding a clean and secluded place to pray. Generally, it’s not done to pray in a place where someone will pass in front of you, and a woman must also take care to pray away from men’s eyes.

Figuring out where the Qibla is. Luckily, there are apps for that.

If a woman is not hijabi, she would have to carry a veil and, depending on her clothes, something to cover up so she can pray.

If they’re hijabi, they’ll probably have to adjust or re-wrap their hijab throughout the day, depending on the material and their activities. This would typically happen in bathrooms or any other space that doesn’t include men, as they can’t reveal themselves to any men who aren’t of their immediate family. For more on the hijab, and the day to day realities of wearing and wrapping one, take a look at the links provided in the reblog of this post.

A Muslim woman may choose not to accept handshakes from men who aren’t family. She has probably considered how to deal with that potential awkwardness.

If they’re fasting, they might carry some dates or biscuits or something in case they need to break their fast while on the go.

If making plans, they might say, “Insha’allah” which means “God willing.” I was always admonished to do so to acknowledge the future is entirely within God’s hands.

If asked how they are, they might reply with “Alhamdullilah” which means “Thanks be to God.”

When starting to eat, they may say, “Bismillah,” which means “In the name of God” and when done eating may say “Alhamdullilah.” These can also be invoked silently.

As you might have noticed, Allah’s name is invoked pretty often. While it’s not preferable to swear using God’s name just to make a point (“Wallahi”), there’s nothing against it, really.

Fundamentally, an important thing to remember is that Islam is a religion of ease and not hardship. This is an actual Quranic quote. What this means is, it may seem like there are a lot of rules to keep in mind, but there are also a ton of allowances for when those rules aren’t feasible, just like the case for fasting above. Other allowances include how an elderly or disabled person who may not be able to perform the motions of prayer can pray while sitting in a chair or even lying in bed. If there isn’t any clean water to purify before prayer or if using the water would mean lack of drinking water, a Muslim can use dust or sand to purify, and if no dust or sand is available then they don’t need to purify at all and can simply pray.

This means that, say, if your Muslim Jon wants to pray while kidnapped by the circus, he can, even without being able to perform wudu, even without knowing where the Qibla is, even without being able to move or say anything at all.

For more day-to-day tidbits, check out the “More on writing Muslim characters” link in the reblog of this post.

LGBTQ Muslims:

Needless to say, Queer Muslims absolutely do exist, and their being Muslim doesn’t cancel out their queerness or vice versa. While there are Quranic verses that have been interpreted as condemning homosexuality, there are also other interpretations, and queerness has existed in Muslim societies for ages. There was a ton of homoerotic imagery among Abbasid poets during the Golden Age of Islam, for example.

However, modern-day attitudes can be difficult to get around, and queer Muslims may have difficulty finding their place in both Muslim spaces and queer spaces, the latter which often expect them to reject religiosity.

Although I am queer myself, I don’t feel it’s my place to speak for queer Muslims and their relationships with their communities beyond this, so I’ll let some queer practicing Muslims speak for themselves. Please see the reblog of this post for valuable contributions from queer Muslims about their experiences.

Miscellaneous:

This is mostly for all the random tidbits I thought up while writing this that didn’t fit anywhere else and also because I don’t know when to quit apparently, SO!

Allah is just Arabic for God. Muslims can and do use these terms interchangeably, such as saying “God willing,” instead of “Inshallah,” even in an Arabic-speaking country.

Also, God has 99 names! Just a fun fact for you there.

The Devil in Islam is pretty different from his Christian counterpart. Referred to as Iblis or Shaytan, among other names, he is not a fallen angel and there is no great revolt story, nor is he considered a root of all evil. Instead, he is a djinn made of smokeless flame who refused to bow down to Adam, as he felt he was made of superior stuff and not about to bow to a creature made of mud. His disdain for humanity is what has caused him and other shayateen/demons to try and tempt humans.

A person’s right hand is considered purer than their left, so it’s encouraged to always eat with your right hand. Unfortunately, this does mean left-handed people face something of a stigma—or at least that’s the case here in Egypt. My cousins, both lefties, both eat with their right hand, though they do everything else with their left.

Similarly, it is considered better to enter spaces with your right foot, though only the most devout are likely to think of this all the time. This is especially considered for entering a mosque or new home.

A Muslim might say or write “Peace be Upon Him” whenever the Prophet Mohammed is mentioned, written as (PBUH), and “Subhanuh wa Taala” when mentioning Allah, written as (SWT).

The Evil Eye is mentioned in the Quran as “hasad,” and considered to be a very real thing. This jealous or envious energy is considered able to ruin good things in your life, even if the jealous person didn’t intend to. There are some surahs that are considered good to ward against it, as well as incense, the colour blue, the number five, and the symbols of the nazar (which is a round, blue-ringed eye) and the khamsa (an open five-fingered palm, also known as the Hand of Fatima). The nazar, khamsa, and belief in the evil eye aren’t unique to Islam at all. What is unique to Islam is that a Muslim might preface a compliment with “Masha’allah” which means “As God wills it,” to ward off their own evil eye.

Much of the Quran in Arabic rhymes and is very poetic, which can make surahs easy to memorise by rhythm. It can also make recitations by a skilled reader very lovely.

#the magnus archives #tma #writing resources #muslim characters

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ellsbclls · 3 years

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" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship.

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking.

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit.

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing,"

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand.

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly.

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment.

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x stark!reader #3K ????????????#3?????????#K??????????#IDK HOW I GOT HERE #MOM PICK ME UP IM S C A RED?????#idk i think there's just something about stark!ready x peter parker that just gets me going #mine*

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thevalleyisjolly · 4 years

Text

Ok, I’ve rewritten this post several times because I really want this to be a productive and respectful discussion, but this is a conversation that does need to be started. I’ve been thinking about the whole cultural appropriation story line in this season of The Unsleeping City so far, and of course I think it’s great that Cody is starting to realize why that’s wrong and that Murph is making it explicitly clear that it is wrong, but I want to reorient the conversation away from Cody now and talk about Ricky as a Japanese-American character.

Because when Zac went “Just to paint a picture for you...” during the museum fight episode, there was quite a bit of surprise from non-Asian people in the fandom that this was really a serious issue, and one that Ricky would be bothered by or speak up about. But why wouldn’t he? I mean, the character is Japanese-American, and so is the player. Doesn’t it make perfect sense that he would at least be a little bothered by a white person appropriating Japanese culture? Asian fans certainly noticed and pointed it out before that episode aired. Ricky/Zac certainly noticed - go back through the episodes and observe how every time Cody pulled out a kunai or threw a shuriken, Ricky was cringing or facepalming with an uncomfortable laugh. Even with seven different camera perspectives to watch at the same time, it should have been pretty clear in the fandom that this was an ongoing issue that would bother and was bothering Ricky.

And I think there are several different facets to this, but the one I want to address is how there’s a tendency in fandom to ignore or erase Ricky’s Japanese heritage. Not literally (although there is a particular sting every time I see another Ricky fancast where the actor is of another Asian heritage than Japanese - Asian people are not interchangeable). But especially prior to Season 2, there was a general trend in the fandom that liked to simplify Ricky’s character and overlook him as a complex player character because of traits that are very common in East Asian immigrant cultures.

Perhaps it’s because my heritage is East Asian and I’ve had more exposure to general cultural customs and behaviours among East Asian immigrants, but Zac’s portrayal of Ricky has always read as a very obvious Asian-American child of immigrants to me (and, y’know, Zac and Ricky are actually Asian-American children of immigrants). Not expressing negative emotions out loud, not verbally articulating thoughts and feelings but expressing them through actions, deferring to other peoples’ needs first instead of expressing his own wants because it’s not about him. With the caveat that I’m Chinese and not Japanese, these are common practices that I’ve observed in my own family, among friends and acquaintances (of various Asian heritages including but not limited to Chinese), in broader experiences with other East Asian immigrants.

(Asia is not a monolith and I’m not familiar with the immigrant cultures and experiences of people from other Asian heritages. I specify East Asian here because that is broadly what I can speak on and because Ricky is Japanese, but other Asian people please feel free to discuss your experiences as well)

And obviously, these are not monolith traits observed at all times, I’ve definitely met plenty of East Asian immigrants who did express their emotions loudly, who used their words, who were assertive about their own needs and wants (this is not the post to be getting into different generations of immigration and the culture differences between those generations). And it also depends on the context - from my own experience, in private within families, both emotions and words can get extremely loud (if you dare to risk the wrath of your elders by arguing with them!) But my point is that the habits I pointed out above are still relatively common in East Asian immigrant cultures, even if not all individuals follow them at all times.

Particularly prior to Season 2, there was a common perspective in the fandom, usually couched in “uwu, I love that Zac is playing a hot dummy!!” that would go along the lines of “Ricky doesn’t have a character arc, he doesn’t get into conflicts with other people, he doesn’t say anything and is just happy to be there, he’s a shallow character who’s just a himbo.” All of which I’d dispute, (*insert post here about Ricky as a character reclaiming Asian masculinity*), but I want to focus on how the main traits -refraining from overt emotions, remaining reserved in speech, not bringing up his own needs and wants- that were brought up and used to simplify and dismiss Ricky’s character were traits which are commonly found in East Asian immigrant communities. The whole “remaining reserved/trying to avoid conflict” is something a lot of East Asian-American kids pick up at home because what you say or don’t say isn’t as important as what you do or don’t do.

And I mean, so much of Ricky is about doing things for people, showing his feelings through his actions, not his words. Just because he wasn’t getting into PC conflict in Season 1, or expressing his emotions in the same ways as other PCs, doesn’t mean he was just a silent, cheerful himbo. Which there’s nothing wrong with being a himbo, and it can be particularly empowering in Ricky’s case as an Asian man (see above linked post about Asian masculinity), but that’s not all there is to Ricky’s character! And don’t get me wrong, I personally love that part of his ongoing character arc in Season 2 is speaking up about his feelings and expressing to other people what he wants (because there’s the “American” part of the Asian-American experience that’s not just about having Asian heritage but is also about negotiating that relationship in a place with different norms and customs). But it doesn’t negate the “Asian” part of “Asian-American” either, which does impact and shape the way Ricky interacts with people and the world.

In hindsight, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that interest and meta in Ricky skyrocketed once he did start being more vocal and assertive in Season 2, which are common traits in many Western cultures. And it’s not the only reason that there’s a deeper interest in Ricky now (shout out to all the Asian fans and allies who’ve been really diving into Ricky’s character this season!) and I choose to believe in good faith that it isn’t intentional or malicious (audiences do tend to gravitate more towards tangible moments of conversation and conflict rather than background acting). But I think we as fans need to start questioning why as a whole, we really didn’t start giving deeper thought to Ricky until he began displaying more typically Western traits, because I think it’s emblematic of how, very subtly and unconsciously, we are used to privileging white “American” behaviour and ignoring or glossing over Asian (immigrant) traits.

In many ways, Ricky prior to Season 2 (and very arguably up until the museum fight), has been perceived in the general fandom as a sort of post-racial American-melting-pot character. Fans don’t wholly ignore that he’s Japanese-American, you can’t really do that when his family name is “Matsui” and when the Season 1 finale showed that his interactions with the American Dream pretty strongly involved his parents’ immigrant experience. But knowing intellectually that Ricky is Asian doesn’t always translate to actually perceiving him as an Asian person with all the implications and racial dynamics that entails.

An example of how this manifests: Ricky and Esther become a canon couple. Numerous posts begin to appear (and periodically still do) that express opinions along the lines of Ricky/Esther being the only tolerable “het” couple. Ignoring the fact that we don’t know Esther’s sexuality and we only have an offhand Ztream comment for Ricky, Ricky/Esther is a canonical interracial relationship between two non-white people, a Japanese man and a black woman. Interracial relationships are already extremely poorly represented in media, to say nothing of interracial relationships between non-white people. Yet we overlook the racial dynamics and only focus on the perceived queerness (or not) of the ship.

Or, for another example, taking the discussion on cultural appropriation and making it all about Cody’s flaws and character development, rather than considering how it affects Ricky as a Japanese man to see a white man disrespecting a part of his cultural heritage.

Anyways, I really urge D20 fans, especially if you’re not Asian, to start questioning and challenging how you really perceive characters, what kind of characteristics you tend to privilege and be drawn to and why, and what kind of fandom environment you shape in your interactions with the show and with other fans. This is not to say that Ricky should be everyone’s favourite character or that you can’t dislike him, but it is important to think about why we have the preferences that we do. I especially urge you to remember that Ricky Matsui is a Japanese-American character, that this was a deliberate choice which has been repeatedly brought up by Zac (who is a Japanese-American actor), and that you cannot and should not ignore Ricky’s heritage when you think and talk about him.

(And if you think Ricky is being an “asshole” to Cody just for being, frankly, mildly perturbed in his direction because Cody spent most of the season so far being very offensive to Ricky’s cultural heritage, I really encourage you to think critically about your opinions and why you hold them. And if, after thinking critically, you still don’t see why they’re wrong, please don’t let the door hit you on the way out. Your conscious racism is not something that is welcome in this fandom, and Asian fans are not here to teach you better)

((White and non-Asian people can and should reblog this, but don’t clown around. Productive, respectful discussion is welcome. Asian fans are more than welcome to add their perspectives/agree/disagree, especially people with Japanese heritage))

#dimension 20 #the unsleeping city #d20 spoilers #tuc ii spoilers #ricky matsui #diversity in fan spaces #asian rep #white people can and should reblog this but don't clown around #non-asian people can and should reblog this but also don't clown around #productive discussion is absolutely welcome but please be respectful #asian fans are more than welcome to add their perspectives/agree/disagree; especially fans with japanese heritage #i really love tuc but being an asian fan in the fandom is just like *avoids twitter* *avoids discord* *curated list of blogs to follow*

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