#girls are trained systemically to never fight back specifically BECAUSE it makes them easier to victimize is all

[3liza]

we underestimate the power of making someone who is trying to victimize us go "oh my god this bitch is crazy" but i really cannot recommend it enough

we need to start training girls to physically attack and brutalize stalkers and harassers. 99% of the time whatever stalking/sexual harassment situation i was in would have been resolved instantly and conclusively by chasing the stalker around with a baton and injuring him as much as possible instead of trying to handle it the "right" ways. and the times where i did actually freak out and physically confront/shout at/strike them (or made a sincere and credible threat to do so) the stalker just stopped being a problem basically immediately. the myth that's told to girls is that you can, as a victim, be responsible for "escalating" a menacing person or situation into the point of violence by fighting back or attacking, and trying to manage the situation politely and quietly is "safer". i really have not observed this to be the case.

i also really believe from experience at this point that publicly acknowledging being scared of people who are trying to harass you in any capacity is always the worst possible decision you can make. they['re relying on you to act Sane and Reasonable and just sit there and take it, making yourself into an immediate and dangerous problem is the better decision in 99% of cases and i wish there was a public health campaign about it. this human social dynamic entirely depends on the freeze and fawn responses by the victim to empower the attacker. creating severe and material consequences for menacing you will instantly disappear the majority of these guys because they're extremely terrified of anyone standing up to them in any capacity

authorities as a rule never help harassment/stalking victims anyway but causing a huge, embarrassing scene is also one of those only ways to force "security guards" and bystanders to step in, because it suddenly becomes impossible to ignore and now it's everyone's problem

[chaoticevilbean]

I have decided to write A story about a teenage Girl who ends up an Ambassador for the Terran Alliance after accidentally aiding in the Stopping of several global take-overs, three of Which were from cyborgs and AI, and four of which Were aliens that surrendered in Under a month.

It will be Weird, and it will Include:

- An attempt At world dominance by a mad Scientist and his robots. Bella (the name of The protagonist) and her group of Besties befriends the robots And they send the scientist to Jail while also aiding In reprogramming the bots To have free will.

- An attempt at World domination made by cyborgs Who are thwarted by Bella’s friend Jeoffe Screaming whenever he sees one. Not in fear. Just screaming. Many join. They Scream and scream and if A cyborg lands, they start to sing carols And camp songs. They just... do this. Jeoffe learned many Songs from Bella, which is her indirect Contribution to the thwarting, until she Finally joined her friend.

- AI’s try next. Bella’s smartphone has a Lot to say. And her sister. Bella sees a toaster Whose cord got stuck in a Fence while it was moving On new wheels, and she got it Free and helped train it to Properly use the wheels. People follow suit. The AI’s sort of Went “well, it seems humanity ain’t that bad” and stopped.

- A group of aliens Thwarted by the fact that they Can’t handle soundwaves well. They are very sensitive to Volume and Bella gets her friends to Hack into every speaker on a global Scale. The entire world Screams. And starts to sing Yogi Bear. The aliens surrender And start discussing terms of Allying.

- The next species thinks all songs Are war songs or Summoning songs. Bella and her friend Trinity end up Protecting government convoys together by Singing Yogi Bear whenever they see aliens. Since the others hear it, They join the two and simply sing loudly and do The motions so that they can terrify their Enemies.

- The third group is taken down By arts and crafts. Bella’s sister knits (with help) sweater armor and They use Nerf guns and Glitter and slime bombs to take Out the opposing forces. Glie-terr is a Weapon that covers One in a reflective dust and it Can suffocate, it can Cut sensitive skins, and it never comes off. Unless you’re human.

- The last invasion, they’re prepared for the Noise, and the songs, And the weird weapons. They decide to study The planet’s fauna so they Aren’t attacked by it and also so they can Possible figure out how Humans survived so long with them. Jeoffe, Bella, and a 19-year-old named Jeremy stowed away On a transport after Bella’s dog got Stolen. They got into The vents, studied the control room for a little, Then took out the Beings within, closed off communications And doors, got all the specimens Inside a transport, sent a message to the Fleet to return asap, set the autopilot to Leave once all transports were aboard, and Went back home. Then the transport returned As well via autopilot again. The aliens had been Tricked by three teenagers.

- All four alien Species become a part of The Terran Alliance, and Bella becomes the Ambassador for Them all.

- Because the education System has changed in Merica (Merica, not ‘murica or America) and also Worldwide, Bella actually has PhD’s.

- Also, since she’s a weirdo Surrounded by weirdos, she’s spent a lot of Time learning very obscure things and different Fighting styles, and she ate as many spices and Spicy food and bitter stuff as possible, And built up tolerances to poisons with Help from a professional, and She knows how to speak a lot of Languages and she just learned whatever her friends Or family suggested. Also, she used Tumblr for ideas once aliens Began invading. No way was she passing Up such an opportunity.

- There is a prank Involving dyed hair and social Status because Bella was sick of explaining things And decided to just make something up.

- The Intergalactic Alliance tried to say that the Terran Alliance was too New and humans Too young to join. Bella decided to educated Them on the number of wars humans have Had. Just telling them that Merica was founded because Of wars convinces them that Terrans are very Much ready to join.

- Bella gets assigned to An exploration group so that she Can find more allies and also learn About different planets. She calls Cptn Lo’k I. “Cap’n Loki”. They’re blue like A frost giant and they gets frustrated that she Calls them that (she took the time to describe human Pronouns and each crew member decided On ones for her To use so that translation was Easier for the adolescent human.

- Bella very much Enjoys telling about the specific Foods humans can’t eat, then eating them Herself. The others don’t dare Risk feeding another Terran those substances, but the Fact that she can.

- Befriending animals is taken To a whole other level. Bella rushes off the Ship to explore on a planet, and Returns at the designated time, perfectly unharmed...

With a three-headed canine, a serpent That can change from Scales to fur, and two brightly colored Primates. She refuses to let them be Sent away, hugging the serpent close.

Bella is no longer Allowed to be alone while Exploring.

She still brings Back new specimens as companions.

- Bella insists on learning all possible Alien languages. Eventually, She just doesn’t use a translator.

- Fire? To basically every Species: absolute danger unless properly Controlled in a laboratory. To Humans: their best friend besides pets. To Bella: sMoKe BoMbS and fIrEwOrKs and CaMpInG and a LoT oF rEaLlY fUn StUfF.

- Bella has an eidetic memory, making remembering every Special day in the calendar Really easy. Also, it’s incredibly Confusing to the other crew Members when she walks In like, “Happy National Dragon Day!” and “Happy Boxing Day!” and “Happy Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day!”

What the stillo is ‘bubble wrap’?

- If asked about Something that seems very strange, Often high-ranking officials will act like whatever it Is is true because Bella likes to Mess with other species when they are Condescending or she’s stressed or other reasons. And it’s Not like she does it to be Mean (unless they’re mean). She just told Cap’n Loki that as a Female Terran, she requires a monthly Day off from any required meetings or Tasks so she doesn’t become Violent. And told Technician Fis’mo that Terrans often have parties Specifically to make hit lists (based off Sleepovers). Harmless misinformation, but terrifying All the same.

~if ya wanna, add some more ideas, cuz I’m gonna anyways~

[notchesandbullets]

Saving Her (Ojiro Mashirao x Wolf!Reader)

Art credits: @floatzxs​

Part 11: Internship with Hound Dog, Aizawa’s totally not jealous. You and Shinsou get along great, except when you don’t. Kayama and Yamada’s endless teasing of Aizawa who’s turned into a total dad to you both. Heavily inspired by the picture above.

Word Count: 4.7k

Aizawa didn't like it.

You were getting way too close to the Hound Dog. He watched as you threw your head back and laughed at something he said, running around in circles around the pro-hero you were doing your internship under.

Yup, definitely way too close.

He tried to convince himself it wasn't because he was jealous. After all, you were the only one he called 'dad', right?

That had to mean something

He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a frustrated sigh. Seriously, he was being too irrational.

You were on a security patrol with Hound Dog on campus, the hybrid teaching you how to put your enhanced senses to good use, looking for discrepancies in the air on a whim.

Aizawa knew you weren't going to ask him for him to take care of you and train you. You already knew he was busy with Shinsou, that kid in your general studies with a brainwashing quirk.

Sure, the two of you hit it off, his endless sarcasm and attitude bringing you out of your shell and causing the two of you to banter back and forth every time you were in the same vicinity.

It drove him up a wall.

But it was because you saw how much time he was dedicating to Shinsou that he knew you weren't going to ask him to train you as well.

So when Hound Dog extended you an opportunity for an internship, Aizawa couldn't turn you down once you turned those shining eyes on him.

You were all too eager when you asked him for permission, bouncing up and down the entire time you told him about it. He was pretty sure you made a point about it being a good way to prepare for the Quirk Traffickers just in case and that's what made him finally agree.

He never regretted the decision more.

Look, it wasn't because he didn't want you to get strong. Quite the opposite, in fact. You both had already been through all that and he didn't wasn't keen on the same misunderstanding happening again.

But he didn't see why it had to be with Hound Dog of all heroes.

True, your quirks were somewhat similar. And you seemed to get along really well. Not as well as you and him but it was decent enough.

Oh.

He stopped and stared.

I'm jealous, aren't I?

Turning away with a sigh, he headed back to his office. He had papers to grade and rowdy students to round up.

Several yards away, You danced rings around Hound Dog, waving your hands around excitedly.

He had been the one to help you design your hero costume. Clothing that was sleek enough to give you a speed advantage and a pattern that could conform to your surroundings would help you blend in with your environment without any trouble.

The utility belt around your hips held several throwing knives to make up for your lack of long-distance combat ability and canisters of ointment so you could administer first-aid on sight. Credits of the idea went to Todoroki when he showed you his one evening when you asked just before sparring.

Your shoulders and legs were built to withstand severe impacts, making you able to run faster and for longer periods of time without wearing them down.

Hound Dog had recommended combat boots and braces to reduce the strain on your muscles for your arms and legs while you engaged in combat, making it easier to fight knowing that you didn't have to worry too much about the repercussions.

Hatsume was a little too eager when she gave them your requested upgrades but that girl was damn gifted so you didn't complain.

"Watch out for that wire." Hound Dog barked at you as you aimlessly almost crashed into a tree.

It wouldn't do anything except set off an alarm and put up UA's defense grid. Which is why he couldn't have you tip it off.

The pro-hero shook his head as you righted yourself sheepishly. You were like a pup, literally. Still, it was rather endearing. He didn't have any children but if he did, he reckoned that they'd be a lot like you.

"Eraser's kid, come on." He growled and you pouted, stomping your foot childishly.

"I have a name!!" You huffed, hands on your hips indignantly.

"Yeah, Eraser's kid. Now let's go." He ordered and you passed by him with a small frown, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rude.

You were happy though. After all this time, you had someone you could call dad. It was weird but in a homely sort of sense. You rather liked it.

The two of you patrolled UA's grounds without much trouble. He taught you the route to take as well as escape paths in place if you ever found yourself in a tough situation you couldn't get out of.

UA's sensors were top-grade, one of the best security systems in the country, but he had to prepare you for all scenarios. Just in case.

You padded behind him as you made your way through the thicket that surrounded the school, thanking him as he helped you pick your way through the forest.

There were a bunch of hidden traps and you were surprised when he told you the reason behind it.

"UA's been reforming security since the USJ incident." Hound Dog snarled in what you figured to be equal parts anger and irritation. "Remember, if you're going to go anywhere after hours for any reason, you must have a guardian with you, is that clear?"

You nodded firmly, unfazed by his aggression. It wasn't like you had thought about breaking the rules, even if there was a certain charm to it that enticed you, you were sure it would give Aizawa and Ojiro a heart attack.

Soon, it was time for a lunch break.

You were pretty surprised when he suggested a hunt but were extremely enthusiastic at the prospect of satisfying your instincts. The urge to maul and maim only came about if you were starving and even then, it was still possible to suppress it if you concentrated long enough.

Creeping around a tree, you utilized the foliage as a cover as you crept up on an unsuspecting prey.

You didn't make a sound as you crouched down, hiding between the blades of grass. Your lips drew back in a snarl as you locked on your target, springing on it and catching it by surprise. With one swipe, you killed it and took it in your jaws to carry back to where Hound Dog was.

He raised an eyebrow at you as you practically pranced over to him, beaming proudly at your first kill in a decade.

It had been far too long since you had a fresh kill.

You licked your lips as soon as you set it down in front of him as some sort of peace offering, wagging your tail as you waited for him to say something.

But you shrunk back and whimpered as he glared at you.

"Sloppy!!!" He bellowed, howling with spit spraying from his muzzled mouth. "Your control needs work!!!"

Your ears drooped and your eyes saddened but you nodded meekly.

Hound Dog sat back on his hunches. He had watched you closely while you hunted and seen what you could improve on.

"You need to work on your patience." He growled out gruffly and huffed when you fixated your large eyes on him. "You almost let it escape. Just because you were able to pin it down in time doesn't mean you did it right!! That was only the result!!"

You hung onto his advice, finding it sound beneath his brash way of wording it and trying to learn as much out of it as you can.

"You're fast but you're not as strong yet." Hound Dog stated, pointing to the shoes on your feet. "Hatsume made those specifically for your speed so your surprise attack should come from behind, not the front."

He scratched his head, grumbling out reluctantly, "But it wasn't bad for your first kill."

You sat up straighter at the begrudging praise, eyes shining and a huge smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Grrrr, but don't let it go to your head!!!" He snapped, pushing your fresh kill towards you so that you could eat it.

Your smile got impossibly wider and you nodded so fast your ears flopped back and forth.

"Eraser's kid, huh?" Hound Dog mused to himself as he collected firewood so that you could cook it.

Although the both of you could eat it raw, you both preferred it cooked unless you were in a particularly savage mood.

He huffed as he gathered a bunch of sticks for kindling.

"She's already strong."

After school let out, you walked home with your purple-haired friend from your general studies class. Annoying little brat.

You found out in a very short period of time that you could not stand him when he got like this. Ever since he found out about your little crush on Ojiro, he hadn't let up.

"Don't you dare." You seethed through clenched teeth as he dangled your notebook in front of your face. "Shinsou, I'm warning you."

The two of you were sitting in Aizawa's living room area. School had let out an hour ago and knowing that your teacher/parental guardian would be going home for the weekend, you two had decided to tag along and bug him.

Unable to get rid of the two of you annoying leeches, Aizawa had firmly instructed the two of you to at least get started on your homework if you were going to be here.

An array of textbooks spread out in front of you while the TV played in the background. You had studied and got through a decent amount of reading but that had only worked for all of ten minutes.

Shinsou smirked, keeping it high above his head. "If you want it, come and get it."

You snarled, pouncing on him before he could blink. The one good thing about the way his quirk worked was that you had to answer his question or jib. It was good because you only ever growled at him when he got like this.

He shoved your face and you whined as your fingertips brushed your notebook, licking his hand.

Shinsou recoiled in disgust. "Ew, Y/N!! That's so gross!!!"

"Serves you right!!" You quipped, grabbing at the spiral that was kept out of your reach. "Give it backkkkk."

"Oh no," He said with a smug smirk. "Not until I see just how many times you wrote Y/N x Mashirao with hearts drawn around it in here."

Before he could follow through with that threat, the notebook was snatched from his hand, the cry of outrage dying on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes flickered up to your dad who was now hovering above the both of you. You hadn't even heard him come in.

He was dressed casually, his hair pulled back away from his face, revealing his scar that he had gotten when the League attacked his students and instead of his hero costume, he was wearing sweatpants and a black, long-sleeved shirt.

Coffee, his tortoiseshell cat, purred at his feet as he fixated a glare on the two of you for not behaving.

"If you have time to play around then maybe you'd like more work to do." Aizawa threatened Shinsou before turning to you. "And you should know by now not to respond to him when he's like that, he's just provoking you."

You hung your head, pushing out your bottom lip as far as it would go.

He sighed, walking over and patting your head. "It's alright, kid. I know you're just playing."

You tail thumped happily in response at being let off the hook.

Shinsou's mouth twisted down into a frown. "Hey, why are you coddling her and not me?"

Aizawa promptly smacked him over the head and the teen winced at the brute force that his mentor delivered.

"Because she's been through a lot and you're being a cheeky brat." He deadpanned.

You flinched as Shinsou turned his sharp glare on you, but relaxed when you saw him soften slightly, letting you know that he was just teasing. Wiggling your eyebrows playfully, you snickered but hid it quickly as Aizawa's attention snapped to you next.

"Oi, you two better get along." Aizawa ordered, turning to leave the room to go back to where Kayama and Yamada were at. "If I hear one peep out of either of you, there will be consequences."

"Yes, sensei." You both chorused together, but not before sharing an evil look with each other that passed under his radar as he left to continue the conference.

The second he stepped out, all hell broke loose.

Your eyes shot to him when he stood up, taking up the practiced stance Aizawa had been teaching him, gesturing for you to do the same. You popped up to your feet but you didn't get a chance to swing as he rushed at you.

"Don't you even think about— SHINSOU, YOU IDIOT!!!!!"

Your shriek carried clearly to the other room and the three teachers sitting in Aizawa's office.

"Aw, isn't that precious." Kayama cooed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand and drummed her fingers on the table she was sitting at.

Yamada was sprawled upside down on his couch, nearly falling off and crashing to the ground when the shared wall between you guys and them shook.

"Uh, Shouta." He called to his best friend as he sighed in exasperation, the underground hero pinching the bridge of his nose. "Aren't you going to take care of that?"

Aizawa groaned, his head lolling back to thump against the opposite wall. "I'm too tired for this."

Kayama's grin grew mischievous and her eyes sparkled. "Shouta, they're your children for goodness sake!!"

Yamada matched her crazy smile and he flailed a bit before getting the right equilibrium to sit up straight. "He's a dad!! It finally happened!!!"

The rugged underground hero threw a pillow at both of their faces to get them to stop laughing as his best friends chortled obnoxiously.

"Shut up." He grumbled, throwing an arm across his face.

He flinched as the racket kicked up from the living room suddenly stopped at the sound of a very loud crash.

Aizawa stalked towards the door and ripped it open, narrowing his eyes until they became slits. "If they broke anything..."

The other two shared a knowing glance with each other.

"He's going to chew them out for messing up his living room." Kayama gloated, bounding over to peek outside so she could see what was going on.

Yamada skipped over, tripping over his feet in his haste to not be left behind. "Then he's going to feel bad and then he's going to leave and let them do it again."

"Discipline, Shouta," Kayama tsked as she murmured. "You need to discipline them."

Raising an eyebrow at her, he commented, "That sounds a little weird coming from you, Nemuri."

"Oh hush!!" She snapped, smacking him on the arm so hard that he yelped. "Not like that!!"

Her energy and bubbly nature resurfaced as she heard Aizawa doing exactly what she and Yamada panned out.

"He's such a dad." She crooned, wanting to see how you were wrapping him around your finger this time around.

It always was the most entertaining thing, seeing her stoic best friend crumble underneath your adorable pouts and watery puppy eyes. It never failed to force Aizawa to throw up his hands and give into you.

Soft Dadzawa was the best.

You and Shinsou lowered your heads as Aizawa strictly admonished the two of you.

The once clean and tidy living room had been thrown out of order and you had feathers in your hair. You weren't exactly sure how Shinsou managed to rip the pillow as he was throwing at you, but you weren't keen on finding out now.

You yelped in pain as Aizawa smacked you upside the head, giving the same treatment to the sheepish-looking boy next to you.

"Honestly." Aizawa exhaled forcefully, gripping his head, frustration coming through clear. "What am I going to do with the two of you..."

You grinned but bit your lip when he shot you a glare, blinking up innocently at him.

Shinsou chuckled, petting Coffee nonchalantly as she climbed into his lap, smiling as the cat purred, loving the attention he gave her.

Aizawa sighed, done for now. He had things he had to finish so that the two loudmouths waiting in his office would leave. He wanted to sleep.

"Thirty minutes."

You and Shinsou straightened up at the tiredness in his voice, casting a slightly worried look between the two of you. You had heard him angry and frustrated but never tired like this. He must really be exhausted.

Aizawa took no notice of the silent dialogue between the two of you. "Can you two please behave for that long?"

He was surprised when there was no snark from Shinsou or witty answer from you as the two of you bowed at him but thought nothing of it as he left the room once more.

If either of you kicked up a racket like that again, he would send Yamada out to deal with you.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the two of you were up on your feet but now for another reason entirely.

"Where is it?" You asked, looking in every cabinet but coming up short.

"Here."

You caught what Shinsou tossed you, nodding in thanks. Opening the garbage bag, you got to work, picking up what you had broken while he grabbed a broom and swept up the feathers littering the floor.

In all of ten minutes, everything was cleaned and put back in its original position and the two of you returned to your studies.

Aizawa was shocked to find you in that same position another twenty minutes later when he was showing his nosy colleagues out the door but didn't comment on it, merely shoved Kayama out when she cooed at how cute you two were.

She tried to whine in protest. "But Shouta—"

"Get lost, Nemuri."

Shinsou frowned as Coffee jumped up from his lap as the door slammed closed, making her way over to Aizawa.

"Mean." He said under his breath, making you laugh.

You closed your notes and textbook, done for the day. Packing them away, you noticed Shinsou had finished, too.

"Want to walk back together?" You asked.

He snorted, smirking at you. "No."

You stuck out your tongue, puffing out your cheeks at him. "Rude."

He ruffled your hair and you scowled, swiping at him but he darted out of reach before you could grab him. You two squabbled all the way to the front door, just about to put on your shoes when there came a quiet murmur from the edge of the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?"

You froze and Shinsou cocked his head, turning around slowly. Aizawa's frame was braced against the corner of the wall somehow when you weren't paying attention, he had rolled up his sleeves, revealing countless scars and a lot more muscle than you originally thought.

His eyes narrowed at his students. "You two didn't eat yet."

"Ah..." Shinsou winced. "It's alright, sensei, I have some food back at the dorm."

Without changing your expression, you deadpanned. "He's lying."

"Y/N!!!"

Squealing as he charged at you, you launched yourself into your dad's chest, hoping he would protect you.

"Dad, Toshi's being mean again!!!" You cried as Shinsou chased you.

"Get back here!!" Shinsou mock snarled, snapping his teeth at you.

You clutched on tighter to Aizawa's shirt, sending him a pleading look.

He sighed but even you could tell he was holding back a smile as he put an arm around you while warding off his student with the other.

You slyly stuck your tongue out at the defeated brainwashing kid but your dad caught the action.

"Y/N..." He warned. "Don't instigate."

"Yes, Dad." You said seriously, snuggling into his side before peering back up at him. "Can Toshi stay for dinner?"

You already knew he wanted to cook for you. That much was evident when he asked if you had eaten yet. He had this uncanny habit of doing things indirectly and with how much you knew Shinsou was like him, you knew if you called him out on it, the two would flatly deny that that's what he meant.

Better to play along.

Not that you were complaining. Aizawa's home cooking was actually really good, when he had the time and energy for it. Usually, you did most of the cooking, having enough skills thanks to Sato to make things that were edible.

"Only if he wants to." Aizawa told you before glancing up at Shinsou shuffling his feet awkwardly. "You're more than welcome to, kid."

Shinsou didn't say anything at first but he moved closer to you guys, away from the front door.

"Are you sure, sensei?" He asked, a hint of worry swimming in the depths of his eyes, afraid he wasn't being genuine.

That he was only asking out of politeness and that he didn't really want him there. But looking at you, he only saw pure, radiating hope in your gaze.

You were being honest with him and though Aizawa's was vastly more subtle, he saw the truth in his teacher's eyes, too.

Shinsou nodded hesitantly, his own way of answering and you beamed.

"Great!! I'll get started!!"

You dashed into the kitchen, pulling out the vegetables and started the fire to get the water boiling for the noodles. Your dad had already pulled out and marinated the meat for tonight, all that was left was to cook it.

But in all your excitement, you were moving a little too fast.

Aizawa stiffened, then shook his head as another crash could be heard from the kitchen, followed by a sheepish 'oops'.

He crossed his arms over his chest, already making his way over to where Shinsou couldn't see. "Kid..."

"It wasn't me, I swear!!" You blurted out.

Pouting as you were banned from the kitchen anyways, you skipped over to where Shinsou was awkwardly sitting on a chair by the table. He looked so uncomfortable.

You frowned, then beamed as a light bulb went off in your head.

He leaned back warily as he saw the glint of mischief in your eyes as you came closer. "What are you doing?"

"Aw, you don't trust me?" You asked playfully.

"Never." He retorted and you pouted childishly.

"Meanie."

He waved you off but you could already tell he was much more relaxed than before. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, what did you want?"

You gestured for him to come closer so your dad wouldn't hear and whispered in his ear. "I know where he keeps his capture weapon and goggles."

Shinsou tried but even he couldn't wipe the excitement off his face fast enough. He never told you but he was a hardcore Eraserhead fan, even before coming to UA. Since he was an underground hero, there was no media coverage on him, no merchandise to be sold in stores but he knew.

Aizawa had saved him once, a long time ago.

His parents were rich and completely absent from his life. He didn't grow up with a family because they were never around and he didn't grow up with friends because of his quirk.

Independent from a young age, he had distanced himself from almost everybody, living a life of solitude no matter how many presents his parents tried to throw at him to buy his love.

He was glad that he moved out of their ridiculous mansion ages ago, moving in with a cousin until he was old enough to live on his own, but what he didn't plan on was being attacked by a villain one day as he was walking home from school.

Aizawa had saved him back then, acting quickly to rescue him and take down the other.

Shinsou once questioned that if this hero knew back then how villainous his quirk was, would he have saved him?

Of course he would have. And that's what spurred on his decision, his path that he wanted to take.

All because of Eraserhead.

It thrilled him when his hero, his idol himself, offered to train and teach him personally how to become a hero before his transfer into the hero course. When he approached him after the sports festival, he almost passed out right then and there.

That must have been what a lot of people experienced towards All Might.

He never talked about his admiration of him before though, so you must've been much more observant than he gave you credit for.

Shinsou attempted to look disinterested at your proposal. "Really?"

Your grin grew wider and you grabbed his hand, hauling him up out of the chair as you snuck into Aizawa's room. You knew how much he wanted to see them up close and try them out, even if he wouldn't admit to it.

"Come on!!" You giggled, ushering him inside quickly and digging into the nightstand by the futon.

Needless to say, when Aizawa found the two of you once dinner was ready, Shinsou was caught red-handed with his capture weapon on and his trademark goggles on his face.

Even with both the scarf and goggles covering his face, you could still see him turn bright red as he was caught by his mentor.

"Don't worry!!" You threw over your shoulder as you flounced away, leaving the two of them alone. "He's not mad!!"

Shinsou tensed as the door closed behind you, ripping off everything as fast as he could even though it would've prevented what had already been done. A hand on his shoulder halted him.

Aizawa's mouth twitched and his gaze held a glimmer of amusement. "Cool, right?"

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Shinsou nodded and apologized for trying them on without his permission, embarrassed beyond belief.

The older man tried to soothe his worries by casting him a purposeful look. "You know, it might come in handy later on."

Tucking away his capture weapon and goggles, Aizawa pretended not to notice how Shinsou's jaw dropped in shock at what he was suggesting for him.

"If you go to the Development Studio, I'm sure they could make something similar for you." He told him while suppressing a proud smile.

He had come so far since the Sports Festival. He had trained hard on his own and while he was already proud of him for all his efforts and his drive, to have him admire a gruff, anti-social man like him sent warmth blooming in his chest.

Shinsou couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Would...."

He swallowed thickly, pushing aside his pride and the remnants of his embarrassment.

"Would you teach me how to fight with it?"

Aizawa's mouth quirked up in a small smile. "Sure thing, kid."

Shinsou thought that was the last behind him when he followed his mentor out the door to go eat the dinner waiting for them. You were already at the table, portions served out, kicking your feet as you waited impatiently for them.

But Aizawa wasn't finished.

"The goggles suited you." He commented nonchalantly, causing the boy's face to flush in embarrassment once again.

"Aizawa-sensei!!" Shinsou protested.

You doubled over, clutching your stomach. "Good one, Dad!!!"

Looking on fondly as the two of you began to bicker, you teasing Shinsou and him furiously defending whatever dignity he had left, Aizawa's smile softened.

You two.

He guessed he didn't mind that it was the two of you.

Taglist: @katsukis-sad-angel​

[butwhatifidothis]

3H and Bleach: Where the Fuck am I

So, I’m finally hunkering down and trying to write out this post lmao. I’ve mentioned here and there how my personal experience with the 3H’s fandom is similar to my experience with the Bleach fandom’s in more than one way, and - look. Like, I get there’s definitely a semi-universal thing that goes on across all fandoms. I don’t mean for this to say that this only happens within these two fandoms, because duh, of course they don’t. But!! This post is partly me wanting to air years long annoyance towards the Bleach fandom that just so happens to coincide with my feelings towards the 3H fandom, sooo... yeah lmao

I’ll probably be skimming over some bits about 3H, since most people who come across this will already be familiar with what I’d be talking about in that regard vs Bleach, so just a heads up

Note: This is gonna talk about Bleach which will spoiler territory (writing this off the cuff so not sure where this is goin’ yet lmao but I know that much), so if you don’t wanna see that then don’t read this post lol, I know for sure I’ll be spoiling something ahhhh... noticeable, lol

Ableism against the mentally ill

Now, most people reading this post will be familiar with the blog and how this very, very much applies to 3H, but for the sake of this post I’ll lay it out anyway with a brief summary

Dimitri and Rhea are both characters within 3H that suffer from severe trauma that heavily impacts their mental state. Both are the sole survivors of a horrific slaughter, with that slaughter redefining who they are and leaving a permanent marker within their minds in some way (Dimitri with having auditory and visual hallucinations, Rhea with having obsessive tendencies towards bringing her mother back from the dead). Specifically in CF, both characters are set up in the plot as antagonists, with both characters having to relive their trauma in some way due to the actions Byleth and Edelgard take against them (for Dimitri, having his home be razed to the ground and everyone he cares for dying around him, for Rhea having someone use her mother’s mutilated remains be used to end her and her race) and express extreme anger towards Byleth and Edelgard before they are killed to progress/end the story

Now, uh, sad shit right? Not exactly fuckin’ happy sunshine rainbows. These two characters are put through the wringer and are then murdered. They are rightfully not the fuckin’ happiest because of what happened to them before and what happens to them within the present story. But we’ve heard it all before: “They were crazy!” “They couldn’t be reasoned with!” “They had to be put down out of mercy because they were too ~far gone~ to live happily!” “They needed to be killed for the good of everyone!” It’s an extremely ableist rhetoric that gets passed around the fandom as though it’s totally fine to directly state that mentally ill people should be put down if they’re deemed a “lost cause.” Especially worrying because. You know. If they are a “”””lost cause”””” then it’s directly and specifically because of actions Byleth and Edelgard take against them. 

But how does this remind me of Bleach? What kind of similar extreme, worrying ableism exists there? Well, let me introduce to best girl a certain character with... a reputation, to say the least:

Meet Momo Hinamori.

Holy shit it’s so weird writing this out because I’ve been wanting to for years but have never worked up the nerve to do it lol

It should be noted, in the Bleach verse there’s two worlds out of three - Soul Society and Hueco Mundo, though I’ll only be talking of the former - that deal with “souls” (the essence within a living human). Souls age far more slowly than human bodies do in terms of body, not necessarily the mind (so a teenage soul will likely behave as such for a long while) so keep in mind that I’m going to be using numbers that may seem weird to someone who hasn’t seen Bleach lol.  With that out of the way, here’s a similar, if longer for context to those who haven’t seen Bleach, summary for Momo’s character as it relevant to this post:

Momo is a character in Bleach that grows a deep admiration towards Sosuke Aizen, a respected captain of the military force called the Gotei 13. She comes to views him as the most important person in her world due to him both noticing and paying direct attention to her as well as saving her and her friends’ lives during a training mission gone wrong while she was younger. Note that “younger” here means 40 years ago from the start of the story. Aizen would praise her all the time, allow her to sleep over in his quarters, would drape his cloaks over her when she looked cold, and would overall treat Momo as though he was his daughter for most of the time we see them interact in the beginning portions of the show. Note that none of this is sexual in nature, nor is it ever implied to be seen as such. That’ll be important later in this post

To make a long story short, Aizen comes to betray her. He stabs her through the chest and shows and tells her that she never meant anything to him, throughout the 40 years they’ve known each other (which, mind, for a soul Momo’s approximate age 40 years is still a noticeable amount of time), and he was only using her to help bolster his image as a loveable captain so that he can hide his plan from everybody that much easier. He did horrible things to Momo - from setting her alarm clock back to a later time so that she would more likely come across his pinned, bloody fake corpse. to framing her childhood friend for the apparent murder and tricking her into fighting that friend, to far later in the series tricking that friend into stabbing her (hypnosis shit, to sum that up) for literally no stated reason - that ended up mentally breaking her. She couldn’t believe that the last four decades were all nothing but lies and she fell into a deep denial about Aizen’s true nature - someone else made him do everything he did, she must have missed something that would have warned her about Captain Aizen’s unfortunate situation that forced Captain Aizen to hurt her and everyone else. This denial would take the majority of Bleach’s entire runtime for her to get over completely, with her having hiccups in her recovery even as she works up the nerve to fight him.

Now, uh, also not the fuckin’ funnest of times to be had here. The deep, long-running mental and psychological manipulation of what approximates as a teenage girl from a trusted older figure is something that is very clearly horrific and bad of the older figure, right? Like, we’re on the same page here on that?

This wouldn’t be in this post if that was the case. No, Momo was the one constantly on fire for what happened to her. She was one of the most hated characters in the western audience, and there were endless jokes about “lol look at Momo, the pincushion!” “Crazy bitch Momo, better watch out!” making fun of her and her trauma relentlessly. If you managed to find a Momo fan in the early 2000′s you should have also bought a lotto ticket because holy fuck, everyone hated her. She acted in a startlingly real if deeply uncomfortable way in regards to years long manipulation and she was lambasted for it. She didn’t immediately get over decades long psychological abuse and she was called useless, weak, a horrible representation of female characters, stupid - you name it, she was likely called it. To this day I still tense up when I hear that someone likes Bleach and they mention Momo at all because I’m always thinking “does this person think this abuse victim is dumb for being abused?”

Dimitri, Rhea, and Momo are all victim-blamed to a disgusting degree in the 3H and Bleach fandoms. Dimitri and Rhea are always hit with “well if Dimitri hadn’t have fought back against Edelgard/Rhea caused the “”tyranical systems” in the first place, nothing would have happened to them!” and Momo was constantly hit with” well, it’s not Aizen’s fault Momo was so clingy to him, what could he have done!” and I get so fuckin’ mad dude.

But for Dimitri and Momo specifically, there’s one thing in particular that caught my attention:

The “Rejection Theories”

This had my head spinnin’ a bit when I first heard it, cuz I had managed to avoid the theory for a while in the 3H’s fandom, but apparently a sizeable amount of people seem to believe that Dimitri wasn’t just mad at Edelgard in the Holy Tomb because of... you know *waves hand* fuckin’ everything, but that the primary reason for his anger was that Edelgard... rejected his advances to her? And that the dagger he gave to her when they were 13 was a phallic symbol of baby Mitri’s want to have sex with Edelgard? And. Like. What in the fuck are you talking about. 

But like?? Bleach did this shit too with Momo?? It was also a sizeable amount of people - not everyone, but a noticeable amount - that believed that Momo was just mad that Aizen wouldn’t sleep with her? You’d see it pop up in fics so often, that Momo would want Aizen to fuck her and she’d “go crazy” when he denied her and Momo was actually just this shallow bitch who wanted a good fuck like... what.

Like, when I first heard the Phallic Dagger take the first thing that came to mind is “wait Momo was also accused of just wanting to have sex with the person who traumatized her wtf” 

“Actually it was the perpetrators that should be forgiven because lonely and also some shit about ruling better”

Those in the 3H fandom know how often the “Edelgard was lonely!” line gets thrown by just about every one of her stans. Edelgard was lonely and couldn’t trust anyone, so of course she did what she did! If she had someone near her she could trust she wouldn’t have acted like she does in the rest of the game! Nevermind that she “gets” this in CF in the form of Byleth and still acts just as shittily as she does in the other routes, or how being a little lonely doesn’t fuckin’ mean you get to start war. But anyway, we also hear that Edelgard was justified in doing what she did because her ruling Fodlan would have lead to more peace in the end, once she got rid of the power structures in place now (except that doesn’t happen but whatev I guess lmao)

Aizen? He was lonely too! He was far too strong for anyone to truly be able to understand him, and so he tragically fell down a dark path. If he had known someone who could be considered an equal to him he would have never done all the horrible things he did. And the Soul Society is unjust! It needs to be reformed! So him slaughtering hundreds of thousands of souls at the minimum to harvest all of their power to use as his own is justified because it’ll be used to create a more just society under his rule!

Like. Y’all. Lowkey? I’m so fuckin’ glad Edelgard proved herself to be just as fuckin’ awful with Byleth as without because this shit drove me up the fuckin’ wall back in the day. There was 0 ways to prove that Aizen would damn sure be just as fuckin’ bad if he had an “”equal”” to stand by him than if he didn’t, and I get to kinda be right because without fundamentally changing these characters’ backstories they would not give two flying shits about whether or not they had someone “equal to them” (which is still kinda degrading to think about anyway).

Now, this is where I move away to a different topic lol

A split in the narrative cause divides in the fandom

With 3H houses this is really fuckin’ easy to point at: there’s 4 routes, three consistent stories and one radically different story, and that difference in story causes heavy contention within the fandom. It’s very obvious so I won’t go over it much.

But how in the fuck is there a divide in Bleach? It’s not a fuckin’ Choose Your Own Adventure manga, it’s an anime and manga showing off the characters of Bleach’s stories and interactions (with, you know, plot and shit thrown in).

Well. It’s more accurate to say the anime told a story about the characters, and the manga told... the story about the characters.

In terms of plot, the anime didn’t change much from the manga, but hoo fuckin’ boy, did they change shit about some of the characters. Specifically, they changed a shit ton about three characters: the two main protagonists, Ichigo and Rukia, and another main character, Orihime.

Orihime. Got. Fucked.

The anime would make her far more ditzy and clumsy, her crush (turned growing love later on in the story) for Ichigo during more deeper moments that showcases her feelings for him were downplayed if not removed entirely in exchange for talking or thinking about food, key moments she has with Ichigo early in the manga were cut or deadass changed to something else in the anime, some key moments with her relationship with Rukia were cut, her backstory was watered down - so much of Orihime was fucked with in the anime (her fuckin’ introduction was changed drastically). Meanwhile Ichigo and Rukia were given moments that didn’t exist in the manga, they have filler arcs (remember those lmao) that would be stuffed with shit ton of moments for them that have no basis in the manga, other characters would change their behavior from the manga to reflect a sort of “thing” going on between Ichigo and Rukia.

Look, guys, the anime fucked up so bad the fucking mangaka, Tite Kubo, has said he gets stomach aches watching the early anime because it was that awful. And this divide between the anime and manga’s portrayal of these three character helped spawn the ship war of Bleach: Ichiruki vs Ichihime (oh but more on that in a bit). It tanked Orihime’s popularity because people thought she was the stupid dumbass that would stumble ass first into situations when that wasn’t her character at all. And because the majority of anime watchers only watch the anime... yeah, you can see where this went. So just like in 3H in Bleach you have these radically different tellings of the same characters that drove a big-ass wedge in the fandom

Marketing

Imma be transparent, like I’ve said before I managed to avoid nearly every marketing tactic for 3H so it’s a tad hard for me to speak personally, but from what I’ve been told Edelgard was heavily marketed towards the player base pre-release. She was the poster child of 3H, she got the figma, she was in the spotlight - unless you cleansed your board of 3H content you knew exactly who she was. On top of that, it doesn’t stop in-game - loading screen messages would assume you picked BE, Adrestia is the first option to pick when you want to impress one of the lords in the prologue, the BE class is the first option to pick in choosing which route to play, every character has some moment in the game post ts where they express sympathy with the woman who waged war on them for five years (even characters with no business doing so, like Seteth entertaining the idea that maybe Edelgard isn’t that bad during Myrddin). With all of that good PR for Edelgard in and out of the game it heavily impacted how people saw her, and much of it is used by stans to justify her being a good guy (mostly in the game marketing) despite everything else in the game clearly showing that Edelgard is the bad guy

With Bleach in that regard... you have Ichiruki

holy shit it’s so weird talking about Ichiruki i’m still lowkey nervous about talking about them lmao

With Ichiruki stans, they would cling onto outside material that promoted Ichigo and Rukia together as proof that their ship was going to be canon. Spreadsheets, calendars, poems (some of which didn’t even apply to Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship but they insisted they did anyway), novels - outside material that either wasn’t canon or didn’t pertain to Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship. They would shove it in the face of Ichihime shippers that “see, we have all this stuff for us! We ain’t starving tonight!” when the canon (note: in the manga particularly) would clearly show Ichigo and Orihime’s relationship being the one that leans romantic in multiple significant ways. They would latch onto irrelevant shit that ain’t had nothin’ to do with anything and wave around as a paragon of romance when it literally wasn’t even canon

Just fuckin’ ignoring the creators deadass

Creators and developers of 3H: Edelgard is the typical Red Emperor the only difference is Girl

Stans: that’s just a headcanon

Kubo: Ichigo and Rukia have a platonic relationship and I’ve publicly said this since 2008

Stans, now, to this day: Ichigo and Rukia were robbed

Making people reject what they’re stanning for

I’ve seen a few people express that the more they interact with the fandom and see what her stans are doing, the more they grow to dislike Edelgard despite (some) initially liking or even loving her. To put it simply, the same thing happened with Ichiruki - hell, this happened with me with Ichiruki. I can’t fuckin’ stand the ship anymore because every time I think about it I’m reminded of the absolutely rancid, disgusting things Ichiruki stans have to done to others in the fandom, and even after nearly five years after Bleach has ended I still tense up when someone says they like Ichiruki over Ichihime precisely because of the behavior of the stans, just like I side-eye people who say Edelgard is the best lord. Do they like them because they simply prefer them over the other(s) and they’re not totally fuckin’ bonkers, or are they totally fuckin’ bonkers. 

And, like, that’s not fair! I know that! But I can’t help but think that when such a loud amount of people act in such deplorable ways just because someone didn’t like a bunch of lines on paper/pixels on a screen.

To all the nice Ichiruki and Edelgard fans, hope y’all are havin’ a nice day.

Long, crazy ass explanations as to why X =/= X (and if anything actually means Y)

Teacher theory for 3H. How Edelgard totally didn’t hire Kostas to kill Dimitri and Claude and was only thwarted because Claude booked it, but how she definitely actually meant to simply scare away the teacher that was with them so that Jeritza could be pulled from his already existing position in Garreg Mach to teach one class so that Edelgard can kinda keep a sorta closer eye on exactly one of the other classes (and just do shit all about the other one I guess), because Jertiza’d be able to gleam so much from teaching a class for a few hours a day I promise 

But for Bleach, you also have one particularly infamous theory positing shit that don’t real, with enough renown to be known by a specific name, and that’s the Lust Arc = Fail essay

To explain what the essay is about, I have to set the scene up a bit. Imagine, you, with your tiny little monkey brain, are watching Bleach, and you get to the part where Main Boyo is fighting against Villain to save Girly. Other Guy is there too - this is important. Main Boyo tries his hardest to fight Villain, but is ultimately shot through the fucking chest with a laser from Villain and dies. Like, for bit actually dies. Girly breaks down, has a straight up mental breakdown because she always “knew” that Main Boyo could do anything, and now he’s been killed and is dead in front of her. She screams out Main Boyo’s name, hysterically begging him to save her and protect her because holy shit the love of her life has been brutally murdered in front of her what the fuck. But Main Boyo, from literally beyond the line of death, hears her pleas and snaps back to life as a monster, with the sentence “I MUST PROTECT” repeatedly running through his head and being the only sentence he ever says while in this form, with him fucking destroying Villain and even going so far as to directly hurt Other Guy when Other Guy tries to stop Main Boyo from utterly stomping on Villain. Girly is the only person Main Boyo does not directly hurt, and when Villain is damn sure gonna fuckin’ kick the bucket that is when Main Boyo reverts back human. Everyone is more than a little shocked at what happened, but it’s clear from how relieved Girly is when Main Boyo comes back safe and sound that while this event fundamentally will change their relationship (and it does), it is still one that is extremely strong and they won’t let it get between them (and they don’t).

Now, when looking at the summary, you, with your absolutely miniscule peanut of a brain, might come away thinking, “Hm, Main Boyo might kinda care for Girly given that he literally rose from the dead to protect her and only her and went back to normal once she was safe” and you poor fool would be oh so wrong, because actually, this is all proof that Mian Boyo doesn’t care for Girly and that Villain actually cared more for Girly than Main Boyo ever could.

Without diving too deeply into the absolute lunacy of the Lust Arc = Fail essay, that was its main premise. That Ichigo, after rising from the literal dead directly after Orihime begged and pleaded that he protect and save her and then going on to protect and save specifically her (as Uryu - Other Guy - is also a friend of Ichigo’s and got his fucking arm cut off by Monster!Ichigo), is proof against Ichihime being romantic in any way and was not, in fact, a fuckin’ giant neon flashing sign that read THESE TWO ARE GONNA GET TOGETHER. It was the dumbest shit ever, but Ichiruki stans, much like Edelstans with Teacher Theory, clung to it like white on rice. It didn’t matter how much it was utterly debunked, it didn’t matter how the base premise was stupid as fuck, they point to it as the pinnacle of meta for their respective fandoms in their respective spaces.

And all of this leads me to um... the one I’m kinda the most worried about?

Stan Behavior

Edelstans are their own unique brand of awful in that that the shit they spew is particularly... worrying (”genocide isn’t bad if they aren’t human and also they kinda deserved it” “imperialism isn’t that bad really” the mentally ill should be put down if they’re deemed ~too far gone~” among other... wonderful takes...), and their behavior is also quite shitty, harassing content creators that go against the Approved Opinions (Ghast) or forcing people to take down fanart and in general infecting nearly every Rhea space with all kinds of disparaging comments no one asked for. They actively make the fandom a worse space, and when they flare up it’s almost always noticeable (again, Ghast)

Bleach?

Oh boy.

Guys. If you weren’t there for the Canonization of Ichihime (2016). You dodged a fucking bullet.

The outrage was out-fuckin’-rageous. Their behavior was some of the worst reactions anyone has ever seen come from the canonization of a ship in a shounen. This includes, but is not limited to:

Someone tearing apart all 70+ volumes of Bleach and burning it in their bathroom

In fact, multiple people tearing up Bleach and burning it, while keeping the Ichiruki moments and taping it to their walls

A Rukia cosplayer, in Rukia cosplay, printing out the final color spread of the end-game couples and their friends lounging about - with colored ink and all - and burning it, while filming herself doing so

Ichiruki porn being sent to Tite Kubo

Tite Kubo being accused of grooming a 15 Orihime cosplayer with no proof

Tite Kubo being accused of lying about his various health issues

Ichigo and Rukia being drawn cheating on their spouses with each other - and some of that also being sent to Tite Kubo

Tite Kubo being chased off Twitter by Ichiruki stans... again

Ichihime shippers getting sent death threats

Ichihime shippers getting called delusional for thinking their ship had a chance before the endgame couples were revealed, and then being called delusional for thinking their ship had any real basis and wasn’t pulled “out of nowhere”

Tite Kubo being accused of hating women because of Orihime being shown in an apron in the last chapter and Ichiruki stans jumping to the conclusion she became a housewife, and then Tite Kubo being accused of hating women because when it was revealed that Orihime has a job in a bakery to pay for college later they insisted what Kubo should have done was have Uryu, who’s a doctor at that point, pay for Orihime’s college instead of having Orihime pay for it with her own money 

And mind you, this is only the stuff I’ve personally seen and experienced

I am hoping and praying that Edelstans never get as bad as Ichiruki stans did in 2016, but with how otherwise similar they are my hopes are dwindling more and more. I guess I can take solace in the fact that they aren’t quite... that bad yet? In terms of actions, at least? Their sentiments though are infinitely worse, so like... cool

[lucytara]

Bumbleby. Blue. “And now that you’re here realized I need you for survival. I know from the awe in your eyes”

On the day of the reaping, Blake never expects her own name.

She’s never taken tesserae; her name’s in there six times because of her age, and that’s it. It’s her second-to-last eligible year, and she’s six among thousands. She has no reason to expect her own name when some girls in her class have their names in thirty, forty, fifty times - she brushes the nagging anxiety away for days leading up, finding comfort in the words of her family, in Adam, who’s on his last year and isn’t quite as lucky.

“Twenty-one times,” he says, but he’s still scowling. “Could be worse. But it’s still a flawed system. The poorer you are, the less value your life has. Here in Twelve? The Capitol doesn’t even think of us as people.”

Blake’s heard this speech a thousand times, but she hasn’t shared the hardest of his experiences and so she doesn’t stop him. “But what do you want to do, Adam?” she asks. “We can’t do anything. We can barely survive.”

She doesn’t miss the brief, scornful look in his eyes before he masks it with fire. She’s survived easier than he has, with her father as the Mayor, but it hasn’t been easy for any of them. “You’re right,” he says, though his tone’s taken on an odd, darkly thoughtful quality. “We can’t. But victors…” he trails off, shredding a loose leaf in his hand, strip by strip. “If I were a victor, I might.”

–

“Blake Belladonna!”

She rewatches the scene from third-person, as if it’s a dream she’s having, only it’s happening a split second after inside of her own skull. The perfectly manicured hand of their escort dipping a hand into the jar and pulling the crisp, white slip of paper with Blake’s name on it caught between her fingers. Her hazy, disoriented walk to the steps, the hem of her dress batting against her ankles. She’s not there. She’s in the Capitol, watching herself called to the death and starting, already, to murmur about her odds.

But Adam. She sees Adam perfectly.

Sees him step forward to volunteer for a boy whose name Blake doesn’t even know. Sees the crowd shifting uncomfortably, uncertain what to make of the move. Sees some of them clutching their hearts, some of them shaking their heads. And she sees Adam, unable to hide the victorious smirk in the corner of his mouth.

–

“I’m so sorry, Blake,” her father says, his hand on her shoulder as her mother embraces her, weeping. “I never wanted this for you. For any of us.”

If so many people don’t want this, Blake thinks numbly, why do we still have it?

–

Their mentor’s a woman named Sienna Kahn, now in her early thirties after having won her Games at fifteen. She’s tough, hard around the edges, as Blake imagines anyone would be who’s watched countless children die under their watch. Blake doesn’t understand, but she understands - Sienna doesn’t want to get attached.

She and Adam barely speak - her silence falls to the fact that she’s on her way to her own murder. But Adam’s?

Well, she’s seen this quiet intensity from him before. And he’s making plans.

–

There’s more to work with than Sienna thinks there is: for one, she and Adam both know their way around a sword, and she’s no stranger hitting a target with a knife. Teenage boredom, she says when Sienna asks, and despite the doubt, she doesn’t push it further.

I wanted to help people, is the real answer. When I saw how Adam had been treated, I wanted to help. And then I saw how many people were like him, I wanted to do more than that.

“Your father’s a good man,” Sienna says instead, arms crossed over her body. She’s holding a far-off look in her eye, and instantly Blake knows she’s being told information specifically because Sienna thinks she won’t be alive to repeat it later. “He fought for people the only way he could, and I’m sure he almost died for it. I thought he wasn’t doing enough, back then. But I get it now.” She fixates her gaze on Blake again, solidly in the present, still on the same train car to a mass grave. “What do you have to fight for, Blake?”

Adam’s listening for her answer, and she says the only thing she’s thought since her name was called the day before. “Honestly? I don’t know why we’re fighting at all.”

A smile works its way to the edge of Sienna’s mouth, but it isn’t happy. It’s full of regret. “Yeah,” she says. “I used to think like that, too.”

–

They watch the other reapings. There’s a pair of volunteers from One who seem like they come as a set, with equally stupid names: Emerald and Mercury. Then she only really remembers the girl from two, who looks fourteen and innocent, but Blake knows better. The red-headed girl from three, who stands tall. A girl from five, missing an eye. A large boy from eight.

But the one reaping that sticks in her mind from the minute she sees it is the reaping from Four.

A girl’s name is called, and there’s a brief bout of hysteria from the crowd while a girl with long, blonde hair tugs her back and volunteers in her place. The younger girl just screams, but the older girl - Yang - just stands on the stage, slowly putting herself back together. It’s like Blake can see it happening - see her locking her heart away. Putting all that love she has for her sister somewhere it can’t be used against her.

“Pathetic,” Adam murmurs, because he hates weakness. He’s proud to see himself volunteer, steady and confident. “To protect you, of course,” he clarifies, and nothing’s ever been further from the truth.

Strangely, all Blake can comprehend is that she’s looking forward to tomorrow - getting to see Yang in person.

–

Their outfits are stunning, as is their debut. They have a compelling story: the mayor’s daughter from Twelve and the boy determined to keep her alive. It’s a television show, Sienna says. It’s about the narrative.

Blake finds that flash of blonde hair in the crowd. She thinks she sees seashells winding their way down a braid, and a net is woven to create some sort of dress. Yang clearly hates it, but she says something to the boy from her district, and he laughs.

Laughter isn’t a simple thing to come by in the Hunger Games. She decides, for no reason at all, that she likes Yang.

–

After the parade of horses, their team is riding on a high; she’s kept herself grounded, though, unwilling to entertain any ideas of survival. She’s walking to the elevator when she swears she catches Yang staring at her, but she blinks and she’s only met with Yang’s profile, her chin dropped and her eyes averted down.

–

Yang is a mystery in the training room. She spends most of her time at the wildlife stations, learning to tie knots, painting patterns, identifying poisonous plants. She never spars, or uses any of the weapons, really, but she lifts weights, punches a bag around a bit. Blake can tell everyone’s set on edge by her presence, not able to tell the extent of her power, skill, ability. It’s uncommon to hide that sort of thing during training, but her muscles tell their own story. There’s more to her than she’s allowing them to see.

That doesn’t stop Blake from watching her, though. From cataloguing where she spends her time and how it allows her to feel. She’s not as guarded as the rest of them - she seems to like making traps, because she gains this look of concentration as she follows along with the instructor, knotting rope around her fingers. She spends a little bit of time with the boy from her district, and almost against his will, he appears slightly enamored with her. In fact, a lot of them do, though they try to hide it. Blake isn’t the only one who watches her.

She’s so absorbed with the state of affairs that she doesn’t notice who isn’t, but she does notice there’s an energy between her and Adam that wasn’t palpable before, and now it seems to be coating the room.

“Thinking about allies, Blake?” he says over dinner, light enough to pass as a joke but sinister enough to be a threat.

“No,” Blake says, because she’s only thinking about the quickest way to die.

She hopes she can at least see Yang, wherever she is when it happens.

–

Her knife sinks directly into the red dot, signaling a bulleye on their human-shaped target. She’s not paying attention to the show she’s putting on; all she’s really doing is daydreaming while she idly throws knives. It helps her think. Gives her clarity.

They’re easy to flick. Most people don’t understand the wrist movement, the finesse - they tie it to strength, rather than purpose. That’s why Blake’s so good at it; she’s about precision, not power. That’d always been Adam.

Someone is watching her. Actually, as she comes back into herself, many people are watching her, but only one she cares about: Yang, back at the trap station, staring unfettered.

Blake abruptly puts her knives down. The worst part of the Hunger Games, she’s starting to understand, aren’t the games themselves. That’s going to awaken survival instincts, desperation for life - primal, unhindered urges. No, no, the worst part of the Games is now, these few days before, when they’re taken care of so exquisitely, when shiny, beautiful things are dangled in front of them and cruelly ripped away.

“Why?” she can’t resist asking, kneeling beside Yang. “Why did you do it?”

Yang’s eyes haven’t left her, but her fingers stall around the rope, as if surprised by the question. She examines Blake with a strange intensity, but an openness Blake still isn’t used to from any other tribute. Everyone’s either closed off or showing off, genuinity nowhere to be found. Except perhaps the redhead from Three. Pyrrha. She’s been spending some time teaching a much smaller, younger boy how to throw a spear. He doesn’t stand a chance, but Pyrrha must know that.

“Don’t you have someone?” Yang says, drops her gaze back to the knot. “Someone you’d die for?”

Her parents. Her friends. Adam. “No,” Blake admits honestly. “Nobody.” There are no cameras yet. No one to hurt with the admission. Adam had called her selfish, once; maybe he’d been right.

But Yang laughs, once and under her breath. “Maybe you’re better off that way,” Yang says, not unkindly. Her smile’s sad and quiet; whatever memories rise, they’re memories for her to cherish one last time. That’s how all memories feel these days. “My sister is my life.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Blake says, captivated by every word out of Yang’s mouth; how real she sounds. There’s no show; she’s not aiming to impress, or grasping at pity. She’s here because of a choice she made, and she’ll live and die with that. Blake wonders what that’s like: to have a choice. “Not many people would do what you did.”

“Well, what about you, Belladonna?” Yang questions, sitting up a little straighter, expression a sliding door that suddenly gives way to teasing. There’s a tone underneath, though - heavy - like a lingering doubt. “The guy who volunteered for you. To protect you, right?”

She’s close - she’s kept her volume low. She’s not stupid. She’s playing this conversation with an angle, but it isn’t for her own benefit.

Blake turns her head, locks onto Adam’s hand clenched around the grip of his sword, lunging strikes at a dummy. She feels the familiar uncurling of fear in her stomach, a dark and massive shape lingering just below. Ominous and foreboding.

“Yeah,” Blake says, and looks away. “He did.”

Picking up on her discomfort isn’t hard, and it isn’t something she’s actively tried to mask; Yang pauses strangely, gaze flickering between them. She infers, “It’s not a good thing, is it.” And trains her focus on Blake again. “It’s not good that he’s here.”

“I don’t know,” Blake admits. “He - I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Maybe you aren’t.”

“He wants me to believe it is,” she says finally. “He told me all he wants is to see me safe.”

“And you think he’s lying?” Yang asks, like a story she’s invested in, though Blake isn’t quite sure why.

“I think,” Blake starts, and at last puts into words what exactly has haunted her since the reaping days earlier, “that Adam wants to win, and he thinks he can use me to do that. Use my loyalty to him.”

The knot effortlessly tightens and unravels between Yang’s fingers. It seems to be an unconscious habit, and one she’s better at than her hours at the station might’ve led them to believe. “Hm,” she says, poking her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “You’re good with those knives, that’s for sure. It makes sense that he’d rather have you as an ally than an enemy - help him take out all the threats, and take you out himself.”

“Perceptive,” Blake says, impressed despite her dawning horror; she’d been so good at pushing it down, at talking herself out of circles, at trusting him despite the signs. In one conversation, Yang’s forced her to undo all that. She echoes Yang’s earlier words to her. Maybe it’s for the best.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Yang says, and subtly jerks her head in his direction. “With how purposefully he’s showing off his swordplay, I’m amazed he even remembers you exist.” She rolls her eyes. “Men.”

And Blake laughs. Like Yang’s district partner at the parade. It’s accidental, and nearly shocking in its sincerity, but she laughs anyway. She doesn’t have a choice. “Men,” she agrees, and Yang laughs too.

That’s the first time Blake thinks about living.

–

The first time Yang thinks about dying - dying willingly - is their final day in the training center.

Blake Belladonna, beautiful and clever and entirely obvious to everyone but herself, locates her at the camouflage station, attempting to blend her hand into a sandy coastline. She stares quizzically down at the pattern, eyebrows knitting together, and Yang makes the connection with a laugh. “You’ve never seen the ocean.”

“No.” Blake shakes her head. “What’s it like?”

“Well, I’m no artist,” Yang says, wiggling her fingers, “but kinda like this. Blue, green, boundless - sometimes I think about just diving in the water and swimming as far as I can. Swimming away.” She adds, “Salty.”

And then Blake reaches for a paintbrush, deliberately dragging her fingers along the back of Yang’s hand, leaving streaks of blue paint. She pauses; Yang keeps breathing, but it’s a struggle. She says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Yang says.

“Don’t die.” She takes the brush, and swirls it into the yellow paint. “Don’t give up.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Yang asks, almost unnerved at the sentiment, fighting against the way it makes her want to cry. Her skin feels raw where Blake had touched her, and the marks remain.

“Because,” Blake says softly, “I think you deserve better than this.”

“I think we all do,” Yang counters, flaring up - it’s not just me, she wants to say. You deserve better. You. There are so few beautiful things left. You.

“But the rest of us aren’t here because there’s someone we care enough about to protect.” Blake lets it hang between them. “You’re a good person, Yang. Anyone can tell that much.”

Yang’d never understood the Capitol and its fascination with tattoos as a statement. Now she stares at the blue streaks across the back of her hand, and wonders about wearing it forever.

She’d die, she thinks. She’d die for Blake, too.

–

She spars for the first and last time after that, and one of her blows sends the trainer flying off the practice area and into the concrete, knocking him unconscious.

But she sweats the paint off, and finds without it, it’s a little easier to breathe.

–

Their scores aren’t surprising. Adam pulls a nine. Blake gets a ten - Adam pretends to be happy for her, but she sees that facade cracking instantly.

Yang gets an eleven.

“Her?” Adam spits out, clearly infuriated. He’s already seeing red.

“She’s a genius,” Sienna says at the revelation, shocking Adam into silence. “You’re good with a weapon, Adam, and anyone will give you that. But unarmed? You’re nothing.” She jerks her head towards the blonde girl on-screen. “You can’t disarm her. She’ll kill you with her bare hands.”

“Her?” Adam snarls. “If she gets within my line of sight, she’s–”

“You think she doesn’t know how to dodge a sword?” she asks, and Adam bristles once again with no response. “Do you truly believe a girl whose primary skill is hand-to-hand combat doesn’t know how to evade an attack? You’re a fool if you cast her aside as a threat, Adam. She’s the most dangerous one here.”

Blake stares blankly at her picture, wondering if it’s intelligence, if it’s determination, passion, will. Wonders if Yang’s trained for this, if she’s excited, if she’s terrified. Wonders if it’s all just luck, a mixed bag of rot and gold.

But Blake recalls the tapes of the reapings, across every district, and she remembers none of them as clearly as she remembers Yang’s - not even her own. Yang’s; a reaping that wasn’t supposed to be hers at all.

Ruby! Ruby! No!

Armed guards in white holding her back, or trying to, but being no match for her strength.

I volunteer! She hears Yang’s scream in her mind, even now, days later, sees her pushing her way to the platform. I volunteer as tribute!

Or, Blake thinks, maybe it’s just what she’s always done to survive.

–

Blake’s tactic, they’d decided, is mysterious and alluring: she’s to answer her interview in short, vague answers, and smile as though she’s hiding something. It’s not hard. She’s hiding so much from herself already that it barely even feels like a tactic.

Yang goes for sexy and powerful, and she doesn’t even have to try. People in the audience are literally fanning themselves as she’s interviewed. She looks stunning in her dress, her heels, red-lipped and eyes that seem to match underneath the stage lights.

“I just want my sister to know I love her,” she says at the end, a calculated vulnerability that makes every citizen watching want her even more, moaning about how strong and brave she is, protecting her younger sister like that.

“She makes me sick,” Adam says, face warped with hatred, and suddenly, it isn’t her own safety she’s worried for.

–

It’s a diversion. Confuse Adam, make him scramble for a new plan, make him rethink his strategy. Because Yang had been right, and Blake’s instincts had been, too: he wants to win. And when you want to win, everyone else is a target.

So during her interview, she confesses, “I know I can win. But I’ve met someone here who I’d really like to keep alive, even more than that.”

The interviewer goes insane. “Another tribute?” he says. “You’ve met someone here?”

Blake shrugs, pretending to be coy. “That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

He groans, begs her for details, and she says next to nothing, but the audience eats it up - she sees the camera focus on her as the show closes, hoping to catch her eyes flickering to another tribute. She stares straight ahead, speaking to no one until they’re backstage.

“Adam, not now,” Sienna says immediately, pointing him to the elevator. “Go upstairs. We’ll meet you there.” He grits his teeth, but does as he’s told. Sienna turns on her. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Blake says lowly, “and neither are you. We both know what Adam’s plan is. Or was.”

It’s a statement that forces Sienna into a corner, and she relents after a few seconds of the two of them staring each other down. “You’ll be his first target now, not his last,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“It doesn’t matter the order,” Blake says, brushing by her to the elevator. “I’ve been number one on his list for a long, long time. But I’m not playing the Games on his terms anymore.”

“Well, you’ve given them a hell of a narrative,” Sienna says, following her, reluctantly impressed. “The whole Capitol’s dying to know who your lucky love interest could be, since it’s not him.”

Yang shoves her arm through the elevator door just as it’s about to close. “Mind if I catch a ride?” she asks, stepping inside, her heels held in her hand.

So, maybe Blake should’ve thought through her plan, because at the moment, Yang’s a foot away from her and absolutely the most beautiful girl Blake’s ever seen in her life, and her story for the cameras turns out to be more true than she’d meant it to be.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sienna says, throwing up her hands. Apparently Blake’s staring is noticeable. “Of course it is. Blake, you’re on your own.”

“No, she’s not,” Yang murmurs, and brushes her fingers against Blake’s, hanging between them. “She’s got me.”

–

There’s a vibrancy to her when she disembarks, an urgency to her mouth. Find me, she says, leaning close, grasping Blake’s hand. Find me in the arena. Or I’ll find you. Okay?

“Why?” Blake asks again, unable to comprehend anything Yang does or says, unable to reconcile the motivation behind it.

“Because I want you alive,” she says, and lets go. “I want you to live.”

You’re insane, Blake wants to say. None of us will live except one. And out of all of us, it should be you.

But the next morning, standing on the platform, she finds Yang three spaces down from her, and their eyes meet as if by gravitational pull.

Find me, Yang mouths, and the cannons blast.

[j0elmill3r]

It’s Quiet Uptown

Bucky Barnes x Daughter!Reader

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Warnings: Death, Angst, swearing,

Word Count: 3,006

A/N: This is 100% inspired by Hamilton, the lyrics are in bold and italic. I watched this and actually sobbed, so what better way to take out my emotional instability on all of you! This is really fucking sad, so yeah, beware of that I guess. I promise I'll get some requests done at some point! I hope you all enjoy this because I really liked writing this! The angst is right up at 100 for this, so have your tissues handy boys!

--

A shudder twisted through your body as your eyes peeled open to take in your rather grim surroundings. Nothing in this room gave you a feeling of safety or assurance, in all honesty, you thought you were already dead and you were a ghost. Grime and dirt coated the damp walls, creating an awful smell. The only light in the room was the dimming light bulb that was hanging over your head, illuminating you and only you, so you had no clue what kind of monsters were lurking in the shadowy corners of the room. You tried to struggle against the ropes you were tied to, but they had no give and you were only causing yourself more pain by struggling against them. Anxiety spiked in your chest - did your dad know you were here? Did he even know where you were in general? Your head snapped up to the huge, steel door in front of you creaking open. Grim nausea came over you, 3 men, all much stronger and larger than you walked in.

"I see our little fighter is awake," One of them said, crouching down beside you and brushing your hair away from the side of your face. "We were scared you would never wake up." He said, grinning at you evilly.

"I'm beginning to wish I didn't," You snarled, giving all three of them a dirty glare. You were doing your best to try and appear strong, but inside, you had never been more scared in your life. The rational side of your brain told you that you had no way of escaping, even if you did manage to get out of your restraints, these guys would easily catch up on you and put you right back on square one.  But the other side of your brain told you that you were good enough to outsmart them and that you were trained well enough to escape and get back home without getting hurt.

"You're going to. After the state you left poor Logan in, we're gonna have to hurt you, sweetheart," Another said, coming out of the shadows and standing in front of you. "You put up one hell of a fight, did your daddy teach you how to fight like that?" He asked you mockingly.  You sighed and smiled innocently.

"Yeah, he did," You said, experimenting in moving your legs so you could wake them up and make a run for it. "He also taught me that guys like you have the brain capacity of a goldfish." You said, looking up at him. You kicked him in the crotch and pushed yourself back on the chair, falling back and breaking the weak chair. Hope began to raise, you were actually going to get out of here. You slipped your arms out of the ropes and grabbed two of the legs of the chair, using them as your weapons of defence.

"You little bitch," You ducked as one of the men ran at you, hitting on the back as hard as you could with the leg of the chair, groaning when it did nothing other than snap in half. You gulped and saw you were surrounded. "That was the stupidest escape plan I've ever seen, what about you boys?"

"I've seen some things here, but a girl trying to outrun us and thinking she has a chance of getting out tops them all," One of them says, walking towards you. The other one followed him and soon you were surrounded. You didn't know what happened next, but you screamed, and then everything around you disappeared and turned to black.

-

"Where the fuck is she?!" Bucky roared. You were never one to go out without informing him, and the fact you hadn't answered anyone's phone calls or texts were making Bucky's anxiety levels spike through the roof. The rest of the team were sitting in one of the meeting rooms, trying to figure out where you could be. Steve was the first one brave enough to meet Bucky's enraged face. Bucky's anger wasn't aimed at the team, anything but. It was for himself for not being there to protect you, he felt as though he had in some way failed you.

"We're still looking for her," Steve said, looking up at Bucky with sorry eyes, a glint of remorse in his blue eyes. "But we know who took her." Steve added on.

"And who would it be?" Bucky asked. In fact, Bucky already knew who had taken you. Who else would be looking for a 16-year-old kid and try their damnedest to hide them? Steve sighed.

"HYDRA has her," Steve said. Dread filled Bucky's system and paralysed him. "We're still working on specifically where Y/N is, but we have everyone looking at every single possibility." Steve assured Bucky. Bucky scoffed and shook his head, running his hand down his face and holding tears back in his eyes.

"You better fucking find her, Steve. Because if you don't, I won't hesitate to knock the ever-loving shit outta you." Bucky threatened. Steve knew it was empty and that Bucky wouldn't do anything if they they couldn't locate you, Bucky would be too overcome with guilt to even think about harming him. Bucky wasn't angry at Steve or anyone else, he was angry at himself for letting this happen to you.

"I know this is difficult, Buck, but we're gonna find her," Steve told him. "I promise." Bucky looked up and looked at Steve with an aggressive furrowed brow.

"Do not promise shit, Steve! You don't know that we're gonna find her!" Bucky yelled, frustration on his features. Steve sighed and gave Bucky a sympathetic look.

"Okay, I don't. But we can't just rule out that we're not going to find her," Steve said. "You have to stay optimistic, Bucky."

"I stayed optimistic for years and look where it got me, Steve," Bucky said. "It's just easier to assume the worst, then when it comes I'm never surprised." Steve hated to see Bucky so hopeless, it was heartbreaking. No one else said anything, just trying to ignore their own looming fear. They all sat for a minute before one of the S.H.I.E.L.D agents came in, a nervous look on their face.

"Mr.Barnes, we-we uh, located your daughter,"

-

The dull throbbing of your head subsided as your eyes opened, you found yourself in a different room from the one you originally woke up in. This room was straight up dark, nothing gave you any light, you couldn't see anything. It felt like being trapped in a void, it felt like you couldn't even breathe. Your bones ached and screamed for you to sit back down as you stood up and tried to figure out where the door was, you found it bolted shut, but despite that, you tried your best to beat it open. But as soon as your fists made contact with the solid steel, you screamed out in pain as a burning feeling spread throughout your body, making it feel as though your whole body was on fire. You fell to your knees as a cries tore through you, you were doubled over, clutching your stomach. A crackle came across the intercom system, making you look up at the ceiling. In all honesty, you didn't know if it was the ceiling anymore, your whole sense of orientation felt off.

"Good morning, Y/N," A voice said, it sounded like one of the men that had knocked you out. "If you can't feel it already, there's a deadly serum in your blood that will  kill you if your father does not get here within 10 hours,"  You could picture the grin on his face as he spoke, telling you of your inevitable fate. "If he doesn't get here, you will die alone in a dark room, where no one is likely to find you." He finished. Fear hit you like a speeding train that dragged you along the tracks. Everything fell silent, making it all worse for you. You fell into a corner, sitting with your legs out and head against the corner. The fear of your dad not finding you made you burst into tears. You didn't want to die, no, not right now. You wanted to go to prom, have a real boyfriend, get married, have children, have a life. But you didn't even know if your dad knew you were missing, or if he even cared. You didn't know how long you had been crying for, but it was long enough for you to know it was getting closer. You knew you were really alone, there had been no snide remarks from your captors. You were hot, sweat stuck your hair to your forehead and your clothes to your body. At some point, you had ran out of tears and had become numb to the situation facing you. You felt tired, like you could close your eyes and just go to sleep for days upon days. It was a peaceful numbness, it felt good to finally feel like you could sleep without fear of nightmares. You could finally rest well and not have to worry about anything anymore.

-

Bucky's anxiety was spiking, he was filled with fear and dread. He didn't want to think of the unimaginable, but knew it was a high probability, probably the highest among all of the other options. He and Steve decided that they would go, you trusted them both the most and if there was anyone who could calm you down after something going wrong, it was Bucky. The base was quiet, were you even here? Steve and Bucky searched for any trace of you in the seemingly abandoned base, but found no trace of you. Bucky peered into one of the rooms and saw a bloodstain on the floor, it made his stomach lurch.

"Steve," Bucky called out, turning on his heel. Steve came into the room and grimaced, then looking to Bucky. "Do you think it's hers?" Bucky asked fearfully.

"It's dry, Buck. I don't think so," Steve murmured. Bucky let out an exasperated groan, where the fuck were you? A shrill, pain filled scream got both super soldiers attention. They both followed the sound to a huge, steel door. Bucky knew that scream, he raised that scream.

"Y/N?!" Bucky cried. Relief flooded him, but it was replaced by fear, why were you screaming? "Y/N, honey, tell me what's going on?!" Bucky yelled, watching as Steve made attempts to try and get the solid door open? You didn't answer him, causing the fear inside of him to rise. "Dammit, Y/N, answer me!" Bucky yelled, his voice breaking. Steve got the door open, they waited in fear as it creaked open. Bucky was the first to walk in, freezing when he saw you slumped in a corner, your eyes glassy and tired. This is what it was. It was the dreaded unimaginable. Bucky made his way over to you, his guiding light being that from the hallway of the base. "Y/N, honey."

"Dad," You said quietly. Bucky smiled and nodded as tears came to his eyes, he tried to hide them from you, but knew you were smarter than that. You sluggishly brought your hand up to his face to wipe away his tears. "Don't be sad." You told him. Steve had taken a step back, standing outside of the room to keep his own emotions in check. Steve wanted to push away the unimaginable. Bucky smiled and pushed your sticky hair away from your forehead, smiling at you sadly.

"You're gonna be alright, honey," Bucky assured you, maybe also himself. "You can rest, you can let go. It's okay." He said, kissing the top of your head. You smiled at him lazily.

"I love you," You said quietly. Bucky let out a sob and pulled you onto his lap gently, sitting against the wall.

"I love you too, Y/N," Bucky whispered. Your head lay on his shoulder as your already shallow breaths became more and more shallow, until they eventually stopped all together. Bucky felt his heart stop at that very moment. He broke down, sobbing into your shoulder and hiding his face. Steve felt his heart shatter, you were like the daughter he never had, any time Bucky couldn't have with you, Steve was always happy to make up. And now you were gone.

can you imagine?

-

There is suffering too terrible to name. Bucky didn't want to know if you suffered, part of him wished that you didn't feel any pain, but the part of him that knew HYDRA told him that they didn't do painless. He resigned from the Avengers, they understood, they didn't pretend to know The challenges he was facing. Bucky moved to uptown New York, he had to get away from everything, but had to learn to live with the unimaginable. Bucky never quite understood grief or loss before, in fact, he had never truly experienced it before. No amount of preparation could have prepared him for the amount of grief he was going to experience due to your death. It tore him apart in the most brutal of ways, every time he walked by a park and saw parents with their young children, he couldn't help but a shed a tear. That had been him once, he had to put your plasters on your scrapes when you fell off of the swings, he had to pull you away while you cried and screamed. Now, he didn't get to have a child. The days blended into each other, every day felt the exact same, quiet, dull and lifeless. Bucky came to the conclusion that he never realised just how much he never liked the quiet before. You were the light in Bucky's life, and now he was left in the dark without you.

Steve and Natasha stood outside of the apartment that Bucky lived in, a bag of groceries in each of their hands. The door opened to reveal the dishevelled Bucky Barnes, he looked broken.

"Hey," Bucky said quietly. They could tell he'd been crying, his voice was hoarse and his eyes were red. "Come in." Bucky moved out of the door, letting Natasha and Steve in. They looked around, seeing old photo albums out on the table, multiple cups of coffee placed around the apartment. Both Natasha and Steve sighed, turning to face the vulnerable looking Bucky.

"Buck-"

"Steve, please don't give me any of the it's gonna get better bullshit, because I've heard too much of it," Bucky said. "I don't get why people are telling me that. My daughter is dead. I'm never gonna get to scare away any potential boyfriends, and the one I don't scare off won't get to ask me if he can marry her. I won't get to do any of that," Bucky's voice broke, so did Natasha and Steve's heart. "God, if I could just see her smile one more time, that would be enough."

"I'll leave these here," Natasha said, putting the plastic bag on the counter top. "I have to go." She said, smiling at Bucky, who returned the gesture. Natasha left, leaving Steve and Bucky.

"How are you doing?" Steve asked, sitting down on the couch beside Bucky. Bucky sighed and looked up.

"Okay, I guess," He answered.

"Do you want to talk about her?" Steve asked him. As much as it hurt, Bucky liked to talk about you. He nodded.

"I think she would like it uptown, it's quiet uptown," Bucky said. Steve nodded and smiled. "It's just like the moments when you're in so deep It feels easier to just swim down," Bucky explained. "I just really miss her." Bucky looked down as he felt the all too familiar sting of tears come to his eyes.

"We all do," Steve told Bucky. "I never told you because Y/N begged me not to, but she was going out with that Parker kid before she died." Steve revealed. Bucky laughed and nodded.

"I already knew. I just didn't want to burst their bubble, they thought they were doing well at hiding it," Bucky said, a smile on his face. "I just didn't want to say anything because I thought it would upset her." They both sat in comfortable silence for a minute before Steve decided to speak up.

"I know there's no replacing what you've lost, and you need time, but if time is what you need, then you'll get it," Steve told him, noticing that Bucky was tearing up.

"I just really want her back. If I could spare her life , I could trade her life for mine, God, I would do it in a heartbeat," Bucky said. "She-she was barely 16, Steve. She hadn't even gotten out of highschool. She wanted to do so much, and now she'll never get to do it." Bucky broke down into tears, Steve too had shed a few, but he didn't have the same rights to mourn as Bucky, he didn't even want to begin to understand how he was feeling. Steve put his arm around Bucky and let him cry into his shoulder. Bucky hadn't ever cried this much, never in his century of living. Everything hurt, Bucky wanted to give up, but knew if he did, you would come and kick his ass in the afterlife. He had to keep going and work through the unimaginable.

For you.

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[henshengs]

Welp, here’s my take on the Hunger Games AU. I went in a bit of a different direction from @la-belle-et-la-bete, but this definitely owes a lot to their amazing fic and all the brilliant ideas I stole from it.

I made Zonghui a girl since mdzs oppresses me specifically by not having any female Qinghe cultivators.

---

Under other circumstances, Meng Yao would have enjoyed the view outside the train window. There was a certain harsh and rugged beauty in the mountains of Qinghe, or so certain poets claimed. Meng Yao couldn’t see it. He’d spent four years in Qinghe, and begun to despair of seeing green fields and wide rivers and placid lakes ever again. Under other circumstances, he might have glued his face to the window and gazed enraptured at the landscapes rushing by.

Things being as they currently were, however, he simply didn’t have the time.

The train carriage was thankfully large enough that he and Zonghui could sit almost ten feet apart from each other. She was staring at her untouched food in grim silence. He was watching the televised broadcast of the Reapings.

He was unsure where Nie Mingjue was, and normally, that would be cause for anxiety. Right now, it was something of a relief. It allowed him to concentrate on the screen.

The Yunmeng reaping had been first, and he’d missed that one, standing in the heat in the Unclean Realm’s main courtyard next to other dressed-up seventeen year olds, most of them peasant children but a few in the gray or black of outer sect cultivators. Then had come the Qinghe reaping; he’d have to wait for the replay to see how he’d looked, walking steadily up to the podium. How much damage Nie Huaisang had done with his cries of protest and the way his small fists had pulled at Meng Yao’s robes. He knew what his own face had looked like, and he knew what expression had been on Nie Mingjue’s, because he’d been looking at it, across the podium, for the whole ceremony.

After Qinghe came Gusu, and he’d missed that one too, because he’d been sitting very straight, hands folded across his lap, in a cool air conditioned room inside the Qinghe Regional Administration Office, and Nie Huaisang had been sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.

Now, sitting on the train, the screen in front of him showed banners of gold and white, crowds of people gathered before a familiar vast set of stairs. Something inside him tightens. Of course, Lanling is after Yunmeng.

He watches a name be chosen from a giant golden emblazoned bowl. A girl steps forward, in the robes of an outer sect disciple, an empty sword belt at her waist. A cultivator; that explains why she doesn’t look terrified, only furious. She looks like she’s fourteen or fifteen.

His competition, he thinks, and a wave of nausea hits him. He breathes through it.

They draw the boy’s name.

“Jin Zixuan,” the announcer reads, with a bit of a smirk on her face. The commentators make noises of surprise. The Jin heir, how thrilling, what a coincidence! Meng Yao’s hand tightens on the arm of his seat.

So it isn’t just Qinghe that’s being sent a message.

The cameras zoom in on the ranks of teens in the deep yellow of the inner Jin disciples. They focus on a handsome boy in very expensive clothes, with no expression on his face. He doesn’t seem to move. The cameras circle his parents, catching their reactions. Meng Yao does not blink.

After a long moment, an older teenager in the deep yellow of an inner Jin disciple saunters forward to volunteer, and even before the cameras zoom in on his face and his life details pop up in bullet points on the screen, Meng Yao has him identified as Jin Zixun. A cousin. Not a surprise. Jin trains its well born children as competitors- though not its heirs- and four times out of five they win. They have the money to buy any number of advantages in the arena. Meng Yao guesses this one chafes in the shadow of his cousin, is itching for a chance to prove himself and bloody his sword on the bodies of peasant children at the same time.  Meng Yao does not think it will be difficult to kill him.

As the tributes reach the top of the stairs, the Sect Leader comes forward to congratulate them. Meng Yao wants to look away. He doesn’t. It’s important, to glean any information he can from this. His fingers twitch, longing for his notepad, but his memory will suffice. Physical notes are a luxury he can no longer afford.

After Lanling come the minor sects. Often, in Qinghe and in Yunmeng, people would turn aside and go back to their daily work, after the tributes from the major sects had been chosen. Meng Yao knows better, even though he wants to see the Yunmeng and Gusu reapings, needs to see what message their leaders have been sent. He watches. For about a third of the reapings, a clan heir is chosen. The commentators pretend at surprise, but not too much of it, apparently choosing to preserve the laughable pretense that the drawings are random. Most of the heirs who are chosen are saved by volunteers. The volunteers are usually younger children, looking underfed and threadbare. No sword belts at their waists. No minor sect cultivators are going to volunteer their children to fight the well trained and equipped Jin and Lan tributes.

The big surprise is Yueyang, where both tributes selected turn out to be blind. Not utterly insurmountable, Meng Yao thinks, with a high cultivation level and a strong spiritual tool- but spiritual tools are banned in the Cultivation Competition, and these two are children, the girl looking much younger than twelve, the boy also small and delicate. He ought to be pleased. Two less threats to worry about. He isn’t, really.

The commentators laugh about Yueyang’s bad luck. Meng Yao wishes he could see their faces. It would make it easier to imagine killing them.

After Yueyang, the channel shows a condensed replay of each ceremony, with additional commentary now that the news crews have had a chance to frantically research each competitor. Meng Yao watches an aerial shot of Yunmeng appear on the screen, and then a wide angle of Yunmeng’s largest square. The nausea returns, because he can remember standing in that square, holding his mother’s hand, before she gently pushed him to go stand with the other twelve-year-olds. By that point she’d been very frail, and he hadn’t wanted to leave her to stand by herself in the heat.

“Keep your hat on straight, A-Yao,” she’d said softly, and held his hands in hers.

At this point, it’s not a surprise to him when the first name drawn is Jiang Yanli. It’s a shock to the Sect Leader’s family, though, as the cameras zoom in on a well dressed man who’s gone pale and nearly fallen from his position on the podium, on a beautifully decorated woman who’s gone white with rage. On the rows of purple-clad teenage boys, and the two in the front who appear to be scuffling. When the cameras show a close-up of Jiang Yanli herself as she walks to the stage, she’s also gone white under her makeup, but she’s composed and dignified enough. Meng Yao doesn’t know anything about her, and that’s both embarrassing and worrying. The commentators don’t know much either, though since this is a recap they’ve had time to remember that she’s engaged to Jin Zixuan. “An exciting problem for him,” one of them says, “he’ll have to decide whether to root for his cousin or his betrothed!” He sounds thrilled to have found such a juicy angle.

The faces in the crowd don’t appear pleased, so the Jiangs have at least some degree of loyalty from their people. Or perhaps just Jiang Yanli does. But no one volunteers to take her place. The sect leader looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. Meng Yao is unable to summon up much sympathy for him, though he understands why it would be harder, to send your own child to die, rather than someone else’s.

“Jiang Cheng,” the announcer reads, drawing the boy’s name, and the crowd goes very still. Well, Meng Yao thinks. That certainly is a message.

The boy in black and maroon at the front of the rows of teenagers wins his fight with the boy in lavender and violet, and somersaults onto the stage, landing with a showman’s bow. A cultivator, and a recognizable one. Wei Wuxian, the chief Jiang disciple. “I volunteer,” he says, and grins. Jiang Yanli bursts into tears. Madame Yu’s mouth twists. Wei Wuxian winks at the cameras. The commentators go wild. Jiang’s chief disciple is already a crowd pleaser. The cameras don’t show what happens to Jiang Yanli’s brother.

When the view switches to the gates of the Unclean Realm, Meng Yao glances over at Zonghui. She’s shifted from staring at her food to staring out of the window. There’s no sound inside the high speed train but the mechanical noises of the air system and the low volume voices of the commentators coming from the television. Nie Mingjue and the Wen escort must be in another cabin.

Ten feet away from him, Zonghui stares out the window. On his screen, she stands, back straight, and moves to the podium. Meng Yao tries to remember what he’d been thinking, watching her. He’s afraid it might have primarily been consideration of who would make the best replacement aide to keep Nie Huaisang out of trouble. He and Zonghui had never been friends, and it would have been something of a relief to have her gone.

Then, on the screen and in his memory, the announcer calls out the name of the male tribute. Nie Huaisang.

He remembers, with crystal clarity, the frozen moment when understanding of the situation had passed through him like a sword through his chest. The Cultivation Competition had never quite served its true purpose, when it came to keeping Qinghe in line. The Nies had developed a tradition, in response to the first Competition; each Nie heir, in the year they turned eighteen, volunteered as tribute. Most of the time they won both the competition and the loyalty of their people, who did not resent the sacrifice of their children as much as they might have, knowing that each of their rulers fully understood the cost.

(Though did they? There was a difference, between an eighteen year old trained nearly since birth in the saber, and a twelve year old peasant child chosen on one of the years there was no Nie heir to take her place.)

And so the Wens had decided to disrupt the balance by selecting the name of the sect leader’s useless baby brother, who would die five minutes into the Competition.

In that moment of clarity, Meng Yao saw the future. In all likelihood, one of the younger disciples would volunteer. The army was not particularly fond of Nie Huaisang, who was a brat and an embarrassment, but they loved their young leader with an intense ferocity, and so one of them would volunteer to save his brother. And that volunteer would die. The Qinghe disciples were trained for war, but they were not trained for the Competition, not like their leaders were, not like the Jin were. The volunteer would die, and the survivors would resent Nie Huaisang for needing to be saved, for being such a disappointment. That resentment would spread and corrupt their love for Nie Mingjue. And next year, Huaisang would be selected again.

If the Wen didn’t simply tire of Qinghe’s defiant attitude and send Wen Zhuliu to crush Nie Mingjue’s core. 

“They want humiliation,” he had explained to Nie Mingjue in that air conditioned room, speaking almost too softly to be heard over the roar of the fans. “They want your brother to make a fool of himself in the arena. But they will be satisfied with your lover making a mockery of you on every screen from here to Qishan.”

Nie Mingjue flinched from the word lover, and Meng Yao resented that, too, when he’d been careful not to say whore. Others would say it. Nie Mingjue did not have the luxury of delicate sensibilities, now.

Nie Mingjue’s hands squeezed so hard, when he lifted Meng Yao up into the air, that there would certainly be bruises, later. “We do not submit,” he growled. “We do not accept their humiliation, we do not play their game.”

Meng Yao had a horrible urge to laugh in his face. What did you think you were doing, last year, when you killed four other teenagers? he wanted to ask. But Nie Mingjue’s red eyes were filling with tears, and Meng Yao remembered that he was, in the end, only nineteen. Only a boy who wanted to protect his brother. Who wanted to make his father proud.

On the train, Meng Yao blinks away the memory, pressing his head back against the velvet seat, but it is only replaced by a worse one: Nie Huaisang, his hair undone and falling around his face, looking very, very young. He’d insisted on redoing Meng Yao’s braids himself, holding them in place with that silver hair ornament. “Your token,” he’d said, leaking tears and snot, and Meng Yao had thanked him, very sincerely.

On the screen, in the train, Meng Yao watches himself walking to the center of the courtyard, head bowed, eyes modestly downcast, a small drab figure distinguished only by his Nie braids and subtly expensive robes. This time, watching on the screen, Meng Yao can see the faces of the Nie disciples. The anger, the resentment, the humiliation that he, the servant son of a whore, had stolen their chance to die horrifically.  

You would die, Meng Yao thought now, remembered thinking then. They would die. And it would be a waste. Tributes were brought inside Nightless City. Victors had access to the highest levels of cultivator society, and travelled throughout the sects.

If that victor was someone who was able to make use of the opportunity-

It was not how he had imagined winning his father’s attention.

The screen changes to a commentator’s face, caked in makeup and perfectly coiffed. “We regret to report that seasonal weather is continuing to disrupt broadcasts from Gusu,” she says. “The competitors have been selected and we look forward to you meeting them tonight at the Nightless City parade.”

Meng Yao stops digging his nails into his arms.

What is happening in Gusu?

[everydayanth]

Question re: cultural appropriation: I am Vampirically WhiteTM (I combust/evaporate if exposed to sunlight over 5 seconds), but I sometimes do *all* my hair in tiny, uneven plaits that don't hug my scalp. Answers on various forums seem to only distinguish between big/sparse braids & Black hairstyles, so there isn't a nuanced answer for, "This style isn't Cornrows but I *do* use all my hair." [1/2]

The intention *isn't* to cuddle up as closely to traditionally African styles as possible, but rather so I can take the braids out 3 days later to poof up like a lion/Princess Merida. Humans are a braiding, weaving species, I really do like doing this thing, & I'm not always of the mindset that just b/c something *might* be problematic, I should just bend to my anxieties/White Guilt. Am I still sending the wrong message with my style? [2/2]

Honestly, I have to start by saying I’m a white female, so the action/consequence of this process holds no harm over me and therefore my answer cannot speak for the people (black, specifically women) being potentially appropriated. I can only speak of my own development and understanding of appropriating black culture, specifically with hair.

I grew up in a “black neighborhood” (a problematic concept in itself) and in school, we sat in a train-line of girls during read-aloud and braided each others’ hair. I learned to braid black hair by 2nd grade. We were kids, we saw the differences in our phenotypic traits, but we adapted and didn’t mind much. One time a friend tried oiling my hair and it did not end well, lol, I was a greasy mop the whole day. Braiding was culturally relevant to us as friends, but also to me as an individual: my mom would braid my hair on her good days. In the summer, she would put my hair in many tiny loose braids, similar to what you described, not cornrows, but small braids because it was hot and we didn’t have ac and it was an easy solution. We were judged accordingly based on uniform and size and I distinctly remember the day I learned about the use of a long pinky nail, lol. I didn’t think about it much until I got to high school, then college and studied social science and talked to POC friends there and really began to understand the problems. 

It’s not the act of wearing your hair in a particular style, we humans learn from each other, we copy, we reproduce, we recreate, and we do it for decoration and efficiency or usefulness. Every culture plays with hair and braids and for every example of appropriation, someone has a counter example perceived to be “their ancestors” or some sort of genetic heritage (”I’m 1/32 Native”) giving them rights to partake in a specific kind of decoration or practice. But that’s not the issue. The issue is that when black people, specifically black women, wear their hair in braids, they are treated disrespectfully by our society, while when white people, specifically women, wear locs or braids, they are often rewarded for being worldly or exotic or interesting. 

There is not a common consensus; “black people” are not made of a uniform opinion, and whether something is problematic or offensive varies from one person to another. Appropriation, however, is a little easier to spot because it comes with a reward to some but with a punishment to the people who owned, initiated, or historically created or utilized a thing in the same way.

Black hair and hairstyles have been historically degraded, and its easy to think we live in a better world, but when Kim Kardashian wears “boxer braids” it becomes a trend, while Sasha Obama’s braids were criticized or attributed to past trends rather than her own rich ancestry. When Zendaya shows up in beautiful dreads and dressed to the nines, she is met with racist remarks, while Christina Aguilera’s were considered an “urban” phase.

Appropriation comes from capitalizing off something that isn’t yours, or that you can remove from your identity should the oppressor challenge you (thus why “white-passing” is often part of the conversation). Actively fighting against it means educating yourself on histories of oppression and abuse, modern social perspectives of white privilege, and what we do with all those pieces. 

Black girls are sent home from school or suspended all the time for wearing their hair naturally, in traditional styles, or in styles like weaves that make black hair easier to manage in a non-African climate. Loose braids worn by black girls are still condemned in schools today, while white girls back from Jamaica go unpunished and their braids and beads remain a symbol of money, experience, and privilege. Black men, as well as black LGBTQ+ individuals, are also judged harshly by different (often white-dominated) groups for their own styles and are definitely part of the conversation. 

Understanding the role of hair in culture and seeing the ongoing inequality is the most important thing we can do. Ideally, someday, we live in a world where we can all do what we want so long as it doesn’t harm another person, but we do not live there, and BIPOC are much more subjected to policing of their images, bodies, and especially hair than white people. 

Hair dressers learn white hair by default, not both, most kids never learn about different hair textures or the evolutionary purpose for the differences, they simply learn that one majority group can do whatever they like without negative reinforcement, while the other must adhere to strict rules to emulate the look of the majority with chemicals, expensive tools, and treatments, or be mocked, judged, degraded, and not able to participate in society without fear or ridicule of their personhood, their bodies, their natural selves, as well as the potential loss of job security, violence, or harsher social punishments, like ostracization, being jailed, or murdered by police without consequence. How a majority identifies an “other” has historically included hair texture and style as well as skin color.

Personally, I think intent matters. I don’t braid my hair anymore as a public style. Sure, I braid clumps of it while watching TV or hanging out around the house if I want something of a uniform wave (my mom has type 3 and my dad has type 2 and I got a franken-head of both lol), but I don’t wear many braids as a style out in public. Wearing braids as a young kid made me look like the girls in my class, it connected me to the people around me, and I was subjected to judgement by the black moms based on quality (at least those who spoke up, again, I was a child). I was blending, but when I got to high school, I realized that wearing braids brought an attention with it - oh, you’re interesting, or pretentious, but for my POC friends, employers made them remove braids. They heard condescending things like “your hair is too ghetto” while I began to hear that I was the “ghetto friend, wow so cool and cultured and street smart.” It was always insulting, but one is shittier (you know which one) because it is only condescending, and seeks to erase culture and judges based on racist biases.

If we normalize black hairstyles through popular trends, that seems like a good thing, right? But if white people are the ones normalizing it, then the agency of black people has been taken away from the black communities and restored through a white-savior complex. Not free will or choice, but through the appropriation of their own culture which then replaces the act of demonstrating culture (like wearing braids) as an act of the oppressor mocking and being praised. 

I know or plenty of white girls who wore braids or dreads or black hairstyles as a counter-culture identifier, in the way of popular artists and celebrities, but also activists and stoners appropriating Rastafarian culture. This makes black culture a counter-culture instead of an aspect of American culture or black culture within America that is respected and valued inherently. It otherizes, fetishizes, and tokenizes black culture, takes advantage of the current racist system and white privilege/bias, and gains an aesthetic. That is an intent to appropriate for social gains, and it’s all over the music industry and Hollywood. 

At the end of the day, I don’t think my opinion here can matter, I’m not harmed by your action. Braids are braids and I have a... not-normal history of exposure and love of black hair that most white girls don’t, but even then, I had to grow and listen and understand the nuances of my environment and the society around it. Is it different wearing styles in the middle of nowhere with no social interactions vs. posting on social media or interacting in society? Yeah, I think it is.

So I suppose the sum of the parts is:

Are you benefitting socially from wearing your hair this way? If so, then yeah, that’s sucky for the BIPOC people being pushed down for doing the same and is harmful appropriation. How you measure that seems to depend on intent, so the bias of wanting to keep doing something you like has to be accounted for. 

Is your intent to fit an aesthetic? If so, yeah, definitely a problem. 

Reflect on why you like doing this, what is it you gain or feel or imbibe or get out of the experience in the first place? I’d say at the end of the day, know the history of oppression that exists in America and around the world. Being aware and able to identify appropriation in media, pop culture, and everyday life, as well as the history of it, allows you to be an ally.

And finally, do you listen to what people are saying?

If/when people say things about your hair, understand that you are a social exception to the style and address it. I do think there is a responsibility to engage in these conversations when we ride the line of these grey areas, like when culture is shared with us, to what extent we participate and own it is 100% dependent on that relationship. Be willing to hear black people if they say it is uncomfortable, listen to what they mean, have a conversation about it and be willing to let go of a thing you want if that is the feedback you get.

I think a lot of appropriation comes from the denial of history and the ignorance of oppression. If Kim K made a statement that said “these aren’t boxer braids, they are cornrows, worn by African American women for centuries, mocked and ridiculed by white culture, but have been an efficient way to manage African textured hair in the new climate environment of the Americas when forced here as slaves. Many were forcibly shaven, but for those who were allowed to express themselves in small subtle ways as slaves, through jim crow, and even today, the decoration and design of cornrows was and is incredibly meaningful.” That’s a different conversation about appropriation, that’s using privilege and platform without placating or denying the experiences of others to educate and address appropriation, rather than solely profiting off the attention and claiming to create a “trend.” Black hair is beautiful and should be appreciated and allowed to be as bold or big as an individual wants it to be. 

Hair is one of the coolest, most useful phenotypic traits of thermoregulation in humans/primates, and science still has a few questions yet to research regarding the evolution of different textures and colors. Your own hair texture can change over time, as you grow, especially in women, depending on hormones, especially through pregnancy, nutrition, and chemical treatments like chemotherapy, as well as genetics, and even environmental changes in water hardness, haircare routine and treatment materials. 

With slavery, migrations, immigrations, and other historic and contemporary movements of humans comes the issues of adaption and change to fit the new environment, fighting forced assimilation, colonization, denial of cultural expression, and active racism. We need to be able to talk about these aspects of race in society and listen if and when people say what we are doing is harmful. I think the most important thing to do is educate ourselves on the purpose, history, and meaning of a thing, particularly if we are gaining positive attention from it while others suffer for it. Talk to people of color around you who are willing to offer an opinion, and listen to them. Research the history and speak up when you see the double standard in practice. 

My line is here: if I can find evidence of a POC being criticized for a style (and it’s not my natural hair), I’m not going to wear that style in public or on social media, but I am going to praise it, and criticize those racist comments degrading or demeaning it, I will champion it and demand schools do away with discriminating hair policies, and ask my library to spend money on children’s books about black hair, and do the work of finding black people voicing their opinions, or having a vulnerable and authentic conversation with a friend, then listen and make a judgement from there. If the consensus is that the style is harmful and you continue to wear it, then yeah I’d say that’s a pretty bad message that says: I just don’t care, I want to do this so I will. 

This follows a moral judgement for me: if you love someone and they tell you a thing you do is actively harming them and show you evidence of the harm (as in: it’s not just annoying, but actually harmful to them), but you continue to participate in the thing, that’s not love. I can’t fully picture the specific style, and I don’t know your intent or if/how you gain from the style, so I’m having a hard time forming a full opinion. Is this a style that has been addressed by black communities as harmful? Is it a few different styles put together? Are you in a diverse place, are you criticized for the look, is it even a look to you? 

Personally, I’d say it rides too close to the line for my own comfort and I wouldn’t be wearing a multi-braid style in public (as in more than two, I rock the french-braid pigtails while hiking because its easier to find ticks), but again, I’m not someone who would be being harmed by it. I often try to resist judgement of strangers’ hair unless I know them and their background or platform, because I don’t know their culture, ancestry, or heritage, so I don’t hold others in society to the same standard as myself.

I’d love to hear other peoples’, particularly POC, opinions and experiences with hair and appropriation. 

If there are a few un-uniform braids, is it different than many uniform loose braids, what about compared to cornrows, where is your personal line? Is it different from your social line? How would you judge or hold people accountable in society?

P.s. Thanks for asking and trying to learn more about the potential social impact you are having. I think that’s a great step toward a more equal world that can appreciate culture without taking advantage of others. It sounds like you’re trying to do your research to learn more about whether your action is having a negative consequence, and I appreciate you taking the time to be vulnerable and research and question yourself. I think that also has to be rewarded.

[irandrura]

Third and final post: what were my other thoughts?

 Let’s talk about the game’s mechanics first.

I am overall very pleased with the battle gameplay. On the battlefield itself the gameplay is more-or-less unchanged from the past, but the character advancement and customisation system is significantly improved. Moving to a single overall character level and giving every character the ability to change classes at will is a much more fluid and elegant system than in the past, and the ability to choose the specific combat arts and abilities each character takes looks like it adds a lot of depth. It’s probably appropriate for the overall ‘teacher’ theme of the game that you have much more power to mould each character’s skills and talents, but I’d like to see it in other games as well. There’s an important balance to strike: on the one hand, characters should not be infinitely malleable, and should all have their personal strengths and weaknesses. On the other, so much of the fun of the game is in developing characters and watching them grow that it’s really good to be able to specialise them.

Speaking of battle gameplay, divine pulse is great. The Fire Emblem series has always struggled a bit with accessibility, and while casual mode definitely made the series easier, it also felt to me like missing the point. Casual mode is too easy, and by removing any risk of permanent death, it felt like it removed a lot of the game’s tension. Divine pulse is a much better way to make the gameplay a bit easier and less frustrating while still keeping the same feel as classic FE gameplay. It gives you just enough room to survive a lucky enemy crit, or a small misjudgement on your part, without totally removing the need to be careful. I approve. That said, I did feel that by late-game you probably had access to too many pulses and it removed the need to conserve them. With a dozen pulses, there isn’t much risk any more, whereas if it stayed capped around three to five, each individual pulse might have felt more precious.

 (Apparently Mila’s Turnwheel in Shadows of Valentia actually did the mechanic first, and I totally forgot about it. Oh dear…)

Other gameplay innovations were more hit-and-miss, for me. Battalions were fine, but I don’t think I would have missed them if they weren’t there. They helped make the battlefield seem busier and more populated, but they don’t seem to have had a massive impact on the game. Similarly, monsters were mostly fine (Cindered Shadows boss notwithstanding), but again, I don’t think I’d mind very much if they didn’t come back. They rarely actually felt like the most dangerous enemies on the battlefield, and just required a slightly different strategy, and… well, maybe it’s just me, but it feels weird for FE to have boss monsters like that. I suppose arguably it’s been a tension in the series going all the way back to the original game? Marth was supposed to fight monstrous dragons, but his entire game was about enemy soldiers, and dragons didn’t stand out as the terrifying beasts they ought to have been. Still, I’m not sure I’m sold on them here.

When I started playing I complained that exploring the monastery was tedious. You can get into a routine later on, but for the most part, I did think it could have been streamlined more. Having lunch with students or going for special training or browsing the marketplace are all fun things to do, but a bit less sprinting all over the map to talk to everyone and return lost items would have been appreciated. The lost item mechanic in particular feels like busywork. A bit of exploring is nice, but only as long as it doesn’t get tedious. It might have been lovely to explore other locations as well – Enbarr, Fhirdiad, the army camp outside Gronder, etc. – but I can understand that the amount of work required would not be practical.

Speaking of tedium, though… I really could have done with a few more maps. Maybe this is my fault for constantly choosing battles, but I found myself replaying the same forest, plains, beach, or volcano map too many times for comfort.

I might also have liked for crests to be a bit more mechanically impactful, given their important to the world and the plot. I regularly forgot which of my units have crests, and what any of the crests do, since most of them have so little effect as to not matter. The only one I did usually remember was Felix’s Crest of Fraldarius, and that was mainly because it makes him do more damage and sometimes made him kill people I’d hoped to leave on one or two HP. I don’t think crests should have been overpowering, but a little more power would still have been nice. It should not have been so easy to forget that they exist.

Similarly, by the time I finished the game I realised that I had never used a Hero’s Relic, even once. I would like to say that this was a principled decision on my part, given that they turn people into monsters (and it looks like I was right about them being made from bone?), but it was mostly just the BUT-WHAT-IF-I-NEED-IT-LATER effect. They all have quite low durability, and while I understand that infinite durability, as with relics in previous games, was not an option due to breaking how combat arts work, it was still enough to discourage me from using them. Perhaps on a higher difficulty they would become necessary? I always feel a bit sad when for mechanical reasons I never let characters use their most iconic weapons.

 Moving on from mechanics…

There is technically a shipping mechanic, with an S support for the protagonist, but it really felt like an afterthought to me. I don’t think the game would lose anything significant if you just removed all the S supports. Compared to a game like Awakening or Fates, where the second generation makes it mechanically important and the plot seems like it works best with a bit of romantic drama (f!Robin/Chrom and m!Robin/Lucina looking particularly intended), Three Houses is surprisingly chaste. I suppose picking a character to be your waifu might be part of the culture now, perhaps looking also at the growing influence of waifu gacha games, but for me it felt tacked on. I can imagine potentially rewriting the game to make romance a more important theme – perhaps talking about Jeralt and Sitri a bit more? – but to be honest I think that that would have been worse for the game overall.

In particular, it stands out to me as sitting a touch oddly alongside the teacher concept. One of the things that stands out to me about Byleth as a protagonist is the way that Byleth is in a superior position relative to the other units. You are a professor, in a position of authority, and you have more life experience. Your job is to teach and mentor these younger characters. This contrasts strongly with Robin, who I think was presented as the equal of the other Shepherds (your relationship with Chrom is that of comrade and friend), and with Corrin, who was presented as an inferior or junior (your siblings are older than you, and they start off with higher status). Because of that superior position, then, I found the game suggesting a feeling of responsibility towards them, and a feeling of pride in their accomplishments.

This might be a bizarre comparison, but in some ways a game that Three Houses reminded me of while playing was Princess Maker 2, a weird little DOS game from 1993 about raising a girl. The core loop of choosing activities to raise the stats of a character in your care, punctuated with occasional outings to fight monsters and get loot, felt quite similar. Similarly, the emotions that seemed to be evoked, to me, were emotions of care and pride: perhaps not paternal as such, since Byleth isn’t that old, but certainly the satisfaction that comes from nurturing a younger and less experienced person.

For the most part that actually worked, and I certainly applaud it for feeling less icky than Fates. If I compare tea parties to that weird Fates mechanic where you could invite characters to your room and touch their face, it is vastly less creepy. So I’m glad that the romance has been toned down.

And speaking of things that I’m glad aren’t prominent…

I’m deliberately burying this part in the middle of a long post. Tumblr is famously ruthless on issues like this, but fortunately I have a very low follower count and you’re all nice people. Basically, one of my worries going into the game was that Three Houses might be the ‘woke’ Fire Emblem game. I am glad to find that concern averted, at least so far. A person could perhaps make some pretty cringeworthy interpretations of Duscur to do with racial politics, but the game itself does not push you in that direction. Tumblr and AO3 love slash shipping, but as far as I can tell that remains as canonically unsupported as ever. Interestingly, while Three Houses has a small handful of same-sex romantic S supports and endings, as far as I can tell they’re all for Byleth and they’re all simply copy-pastes of the opposite-sex versions. It’s enough for me to genuinely wonder whether they’re in the original Japanese at all, or if they were added. I know translations of FE games have played around with character sexualities before, so it’s possible. At any rate, part of me was concerned that this might be the Dragon Age: Inquisition of Fire Emblem, and fortunately it isn’t. (I mean, I did actually enjoy Dragon Age: Inquisition, but at times it did get to be a bit much.) I’ll take this as a valuable lesson when it comes to not believing posts I see on Tumblr. You’d think I would have learned from previous games: popular fan interpretations of a character are often completely wrong. Three Houses seems for the most part to be a very traditional Fire Emblem game.

In terms of the overall series trajectory, I take Three Houses to be an overall positive sign. Awakening and Fates seemed to be taking the series in a direction that I didn’t care for as much, with heavy use of player avatar characters, much more fan service, and more trope-driven plots. Three Houses seems like a return to deeper worldbuilding and characterisation. The cast of characters overall has definitely been a high point: in Fates I sometimes struggled to build a team of characters that I felt truly fond of, but in Three Houses there were usually more characters I wanted to use than I had space for, and there were no recruitable characters that I truly disliked.

Really, the biggest disconnect between me and Three Houses, in the end, is the fact that Three Houses is built for replayability, and I don’t like replaying games very much. However, I don’t think I can in good faith call that a flaw or poor design: obviously there are a lot of people who love replayability, and considering that I got a good eighty hours of gameplay out of my first playthrough (DLC included) and enjoyed it, I’m not really in a position to complain.

So in the end, then, I think that while Three Houses is not my favourite Fire Emblem and does have some places where it could be improved, for the most part I think it’s quite a good outing and a significant improvement on the last few. It is not designed entirely to my tastes, but what is here is mostly good. Three Houses leaves me feeling much more optimistic for the future of the franchise than Fates did.

[kadeu]

Accepted — Alis Nazarian

♣️   Alis Nazarian aka. Vesper looks like Angela Sarafyan (actor) ♣️   She was born August 5th, 1869; making her 150 years old but she appears 37 ♣️   This Shifter is Pansexual and an Ace of Clubs ♣️   She is the Owner of Boxing Clubs

Biography

They regarded her with pity.

For valid reasons, of course. To be born to low ranking parents—a 1 of Clubs and 2 of Clubs respectively—was one thing, but for said individuals to remain distant, burdened by their own string of issues that they couldn’t care for each other, for her, was another matter entirely.

Alis Nazarian served as the perfect example of how one’s pedigree mattered little in the scheme of things. Her father’s former status as a formidable Ace and mother’s position as ruthless Queen were a distant memory; something akin to a myth, a tale drummed up by intoxicated patrons over one too many. A once fearsome reputation ultimately lay in ruins, courtesy of destructive habits, and she was the unfortunate victim of their poor choices.

But it wasn’t in her nature to dwell over the details.

There was no point in criticising her father’s penchant for Chrono and mother’s fascination with the gambling scene. No point in wondering just who would guide her along the shifter path, some day, when they were busy with other pressing… matters.

As easy as it might have been to pin her suffering on the pair, she couldn’t find it in herself to indulge in such. The only viable choice was to proceed and push through, regardless of the difficulties associated with it. Sure, the hardships were aplenty, and it would be a blatant lie to say that the frustration hadn’t driven her up the wall on multiple occasions— but it could’ve been worse.

And so, she did what she did best in situations such as these when the odds were heavily stacked against her: survive.

In the hands of distant relatives, family friends, or anyone kind enough to take her in on a temporary basis, she was raised among a bevy of both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Armed with a razor sharp wit and keen eye, Alis seamlessly adapted to each environment she was presented with. Not even subpar sleeping arrangements or measly meals could bring her to tears—in public, at least. Humour quickly became a source of comfort. It was far easier to joke than worry over the fact that she’d eventually have to figure her own way out. Alone, in a society that had it out for her.

What exactly was a girl meant to do in this instance? Sit back and wait for the end? Allow the other Clubs to trample right over her when she was down and almost out like this? Well.

Ask her and Alis would swear that she hadn’t meant to steal that day. Promise. The thought of dipping her hands into the pockets of a highranker was absurd. No one had to tell her twice. Consequences were deadly for someone lowly like her, except the possibility of hitting gold—perhaps in the literal sense—gave her the incentive to give it a go. Just for today, anyway. Better to be taken down on a high than wither away like many had assumed she would.

What she hadn’t expected, however, was to be caught red handed. More specifically, to come face to face with a person who apparently knew her father far better than she did. Even knew her, for that matter.

Huh. It was a goddamn joke that not even Alis could laugh at.

Boris Kuznetsov, he’d introduced himself as over a meal later on. A childhood friend of her father’s, a training partner, a close confidante; the poor soul who’d personally witnessed his demise and didn’t want the same for her. Or so he claimed. Alis barely took note when the abundance of food before her was considered significantly more interesting than whatever he chose to ramble on about at the very moment.

It was a sight that prompted the man to ultimately take her under his wing. Either to keep her off the streets and give her the chance to live, or to restore honour to her family name once more. Maybe both.

In a matter of days, Alis finally understood the very definition of stability: a roof over her head, never-ending meals, proper clothing. There was no risk of having everything snatched from right under her here; a far cry from what she was usually accustomed to. It was the kind of life she’d long been deprived of, yet a life that could be hers, so long as she was willing to, quite literally, fight for it. And was she? Was a reckless street kid capable of making it to the top? Boris thought so.

Whereas he was stern and implemented a strict training regimen as preparation—but also to keep in her line— she was fond of bending said rules when possible. Whereas he emphasized the importance of upholding tradition, she opted to break it and put on her own unique spin on it, instead. And when he’d requested that she get her shit together and actually take him seriously, Alis would pretend to deviate for the sole purpose of hearing him grumble angrily in his mother tongue—only to turn around and prove that she’d excelled in everything he’d taught her so far.

Let it be known she’d developed a soft spot for the old man and would vow to work hard in his name, shit talking and all.

To put it simply, the first few fights didn’t go to plan. Battered, bruised, and brandishing a new scar; her friends considered it an absolute miracle she was still alive by the end, let alone capable of cracking a joke about having her ass handed to her. Trust Alis to see the lighter side when others (see: Boris, always Boris) did not. Although the outcome was widely viewed as a disappointment, especially when her parents were capable of so much more, there was no denying that she was one to be watched.  

Unconventional in her use of weaponry, and unpredictable in her movements; it was startlingly clear that the young woman had all the makings of someone great. Pair that off with a never say die attitude, and her potential would become a popular topic of conversation among the masses. It was only a matter of time until Boris honed her in and polished her up until she emerged gleaming, glittering. Unstoppable.

Whoever said her ascension through the ranks was an easy one had no idea. Not one. The years were marred by unexpected losses, in addition to accumulating a steady amount of injuries; some of which would leave Alis stranded on the sidelines. No one made mention of the mental toll involved in going from Jack to Queen to King, nor the fear in having the hard work fall apart in its final stages. How a poorly timed move could unravel everything achieved so far, leaving no other choice but to start over, with no guarantee of returning to where they’d left off.

The road to Ace hasn’t been pretty. Alis wouldn’t hesitate to vouch for that, pointing to her numerous battle scars as proof of how much she’s had to endure. Plenty has been lost, although just as many has been gained. She isn’t the type to brag of her achievements and prefers to remain humble, biting her tongue against the compliments regarding her fancy ranking.

But she’s done it. Pulled off the impossible, and by God, no one is going to take it away from her that easy.

Not without a damn good fight, at least.

Personality

At first glance, it would be easy to assume Alis Nazarian was anything but the Ace. Often caught in the midst of some farfetched tale that may or may not be true, she’s often regarded as unthreatening by many at The Boxing Club. A complete jackass, in fact, by those closest to her. Her laidback nature, along with her fondness for a good time, tends to distract others from straying too far, and instead encourages them to stay close, just to see what kind of entertainment she’d drag them along to.

The faction and ranking system holds little to no importance to her. Having risen from the bottom herself, Alis doesn’t deem it fair to judge people according to their ranking, and chooses to rely on interactions when determining whether someone is worthy of her attention. She finds grudges utterly draining, petty conflict even more-so; thus, she won’t outwardly express her displeasure towards certain individuals when it’s perceived to be a waste of time and energy.

Saying that, Alis is capable of switching to deadly in an instant. Anyone who’s seen the woman in action is well aware how ruthless she can be when the situation calls for it. Her tolerance for mayhem is high, except if a person has chosen to cross her, time and time again, for the sake of riling her up, she will see to it that they never do so again via a personally delivered and violent message. All because she’s relaxed, doesn’t mean she should be messed with.

Congratulations Bee your app has been accepted and your personalized plot drop will be sent to you soon

Please follow and welcome @alisnaz to Kadeu!

[artyrogue]

Blind Date Gaming: Konami GB Collection Vol. 3

Boy, I am WIPED after my date last night. It all started out as it usually does -- a quick visit to PRANG for an introduction to my next potential video game suitor. Who could have guessed that I would served up 4 dates! They all came together at once under the guise of Konami GB Collection Vol. 3.

I was greeted at first by an anime schoolgirl with a huge hand and quite possibly a contender for the weirdest hairstyles I've seen in a while. What is that, a grass-inspired mohawk laid over top a normal haircut?

Is this what the cows that make cowlicks eat?

What happened next was an eventful set of speed dates. This onslaught left me with no down time, thus the exhaustion. However, I did end up meeting some nice games. I'll speed through them each quick-like to keep this from being overly long. Luckily each of the games are pretty short (as expected from Game Boy games)!

First up is Gradius II! Now, I've never actually played a Gradius game, so I can't say if this is a port, some reconfigured version of Gradius II, or what. What I CAN say is that it has tight controls, beautiful graphics, interesting bosses, and some fun gameplay.

Looks like a rocky magic 8 ball

You start off hangin' out with what I assume are your dad and mom starships. Aww, family time! Soon, however, someone decks your old man and blasts your momma fulla lasers. Obviously disturbed, you fly forward and get chased by the perpetrator through a buncha rocks until you escape.

Good thing this guy doesn't feel like firing at me for whatever reason

...Except you kind of don't? You end up going through a bunch of planetary landscapes, shootin' dudes and grabbin' powerups that let you fire lasers and stuff. Pew pew! You eventually get captured, break out, and summarily fly through a ship, an asteroid belt, and I think some alien's guts? I'm not sure; I never went to med school for interplanetary digestive systems. Bosses fight you at every turn, and they are so sweet. Like, I don't always know what I'm attacking, but it just looks so cool that I really don't care!

Ever want to fight a kneeling, fanged alien stuck in a wall with detachable mouthy-brains? Yeah, well now you do, obviously!

In the end you find the enemy ship that assassinated your nuclear family with nuclear weapons, commit your own brand of galactic revenge, and I assume go on with your day in a half-arsed way, never addressing the journey you just went through for fear of sparking up some majorly weird PTSD.

Next up is some Castlevania game! It claims to be Castlevania II, but don't think it's Simon's Quest since it doesn't have slow-scrolling text boxes telling me that night is a poor time to explore the world when suffering from a magical adversary's angry sentiments. Instead, you just go about whippin' junk. Alright, I can be a lion tamer for the undead.

Why do cultists always gotta wear hoods? Can't they wear like a polo and some comfy slacks?

So in this installment, you can apparently shoot fireballs from a fully-upgraded whip, so it's instantly MUCH easier than most Castelvania games. The list of enemies is kind of lacking, but it was enough to feel competent. The level design was pretty spot-on, which is par for the course, though for some reason this game has a love affair with ropes? They're EVERYWHERE, but there's enough variation in the levels to give them pass. For example, some areas have auto-directional-pulling ropes, some ropes are spider webs made by enemies, some require quick sliding to avoid obstacles, etc.

You gotta wonder, does the guy living here have to go through all these traps every day just to get his mail? And how does he carry groceries back to his (probably rope-decorated) kitchen?

The boss fights were definitely memorable. Some of their designs were flat-out brilliant, and they were all pretty fun! Your sub-weapons weren't really that useful here, but that's fine. The bosses, too, were made a little easier with the projectile whip, but the designers struck a good balance between fun and hard.

These guys shoot out vertebrae in an arc, transferring them from one head to the other. I don't have a quip here, it was just a stupidly awesome designed boss that I wanted to gush about for a bit!

Well, perhaps I spoke too soon. The bosses were all fun except for the last 3 in the game. Allow me to whine and complain about them for a bit, if you will! The first was a tunneling snake on a forced scrolling screen that made you take damage unless you memorized where he was going to surface next (I HATE memorization-by-death gameplay). The next was a fellow Belmont who would relentlessly whip the crap outta you, throw swords all over the screen, and would probably be nigh impossible if I didn't have Holy Water. The final was Dracula, who I suppose gets a pass for being hard since he was the final boss...but he, too, was pretty much a memorization-by-death fight, too. The dude has 6 orbs revolving around him that spread out, essentially making 85% of the screen unsafe. Unless you know the specific spot to crouch down for the given position he's in, you get hurt, and you get hurt pretty badly. Oh, and you can really only hit him once per attack, so you'd better learn the safe spots for all 8 of his attack spots and hope you can hurt him and get into your safe position before taking damage.

ouch ouch ouch OUCH

In the end, it was overall a pretty fun time. Konami definitely knows how to make a good sidescrolling action game, which is probably why they're half of the name of the 'Metroidvania' genre. Go team Belmont!

Next up: Yie Ar Kung~Fu! What is this? I've never heard of it. It's a simple fighting game where you face off against 5 fighters, each with their own weapons and special moves. You play as a normal weaponless guy who can only kick and punch, because that's fair? Regardless, you must persevere through 4 rounds of these 5 fights, each time with your foes getting slightly harder.

Mmyep, this is fair.

My trademark fighting game strategy of sweeping seems to work for the most part, though as the difficulty ramps up, the other fighters move with ridiculous speed between attacks. Eventually, the game just becomes 100% about approaching a foe with more range than you, which obviously is the main focus of fighting games. What's that? Combos? Pffft, those are lame, just have the enemies fly across the ring like a sugar-high Jack Russel Terrier.

So this guy's power is to propel himself like a missile and look like an absolute goon while doing so

There's also a mini-game where you hit things thrown at you, but like they show up so quickly and your animation speed is so slow that it's impossible to do very well. It was an okay game overall, though, but I can sort of see why it isn't as well-known as Gradius or Castlevania.

Last game: Antarctic Adventure! It's a penguin-based racing game! I think? Does this count as a racing game? Well, you race against the clock, so sure. You gotta move at top speed through an icy wasteland, avoiding sea lions and holes in the ice.

I like how this sea lion looks after getting plastered in the face by a penguin moving at ~120 km/hr. Is he in shock? Is he alive? Should I notify his next of kin?

The lore is actually pretty deep in this game. The world has fallen into ruin due to global warming, and the glacier sheets on Antarctica are slowly melting away. As a penguin trained in espionage and terrorism, you must travel to the different embassies that many countries have propped up in an attempt to stake a claim in possibly the only livable area in the near future.

The french are planning to build replicas of their famous landmarks here, like the Ice-full Tower and Arctic de Triomphe.

You're not exactly racing as much as you are keeping ahead of the authorities pursuing you for planting bombs in the embassies. If you successfully plant your payloads in all of the embassies across all of Antarctica, you destroy their chances of bringing cultural imperialism to the local wildlife. Your customs are at stake! You must cast your empathy aside for the greater good of penguin-kind!

Also, you can sometimes turn into a helicopter? Not sure what that was about.

Okay, okay, yeah, I may have embellished a bit there. No, it's not as cool as that. You just run from one place to the next and heck if I'll ever find out why miscellaneous countries happen to have little castles in a barren arctic wasteland. People's taxes at work, I guess!

Oh right, there's also a fifth option on the main menu. It's Ms. O.C. Anime Girl explaining things about the games to you. I can't read anything she's saying, though, so I can only imagine the shady koala statue in the back has some relevance to her dialogue.

So that ends an exhausting series of dates. Whew! Glad you toughed it out with me. As I've completed all of the games this time, I didn't think another date was warranted. However, Gradius and Castlevania were fun enough to say that sure, I guess, it's worth going on another date in the future. Maybe it'd be better to find the original games, though, instead of this particular port. I can only assume the extra screen real estate, better sound effects, and greater ROM size would only enhance their experiences. And speaking of experiences, grab a Sprite of Passage from the jar over there on your way out! It's mint-flavored and can double as a water purification tab if you're ever stuck somewhere in the wilderness!

Man, I would kill to watch a skeleton ballet

[caps-lockdown]

Operation: Man Flu

Alright guys here it is the first part of my new series! I thought of this awhile ago but my life has been absolutely bonkers lately and I didn’t have a chance to get started on it til now! I hope ya’ll enjoy this insane and (hopefully funny) romp I’ve come up with.

Tagging @kaytizzle and @cuffski for now, let me know in the comments if you would like to be tagged for future parts!

Summary: As a hacker nobody agent of S.H.I.E.L.D you get roped into what might possibly be your worst nightmare come to life. Will you survive the long weekend? Will you have a chance to get closer to a certain reserved Captain during this extremely stressful (and hilarious) situation?

Pairings: Steve x Shield Agent Female Reader!

Words: 3,397

Ratings/Warnings: I’m going to put hard R here for the whole thing because there’s going to be cussing, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, physical fights, mental breakdowns. Jealousy, love triangles (sort of), angst, drama, and lots of crude humor. Just strap in.

Also no Beta so my mistakes are my only thing to claim, I don’t own any characters either, with the exception of the reader, a doctor, and some random characters here and there.

It is in Y/N (Your Name) L/N (Last Name) format. Enjoy!

 Part One

“Y/N I need more water!”

“Y/N my eyes hurt!”

“Y/N can you tell Bucky and Tony to shut the hell up? I’m trying to sleep off this headache!”

“Shut up Wilson!”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, nostrils flaring, you released a slow and irritated breath. The shouting was coming from the makeshift quarantine section in the Tower. Never in a million years would you be able to guess that this was going to be your job at some point. In fact, you would have laughed in anyone’s face if they told you that at some point in your life you would be stuck in Stark Tower taking care of a bunch of sick and over dramatic man children. This was supposed to be your weekend in. You were supposed to be comfy and cozy surrounded by happy things, not a bunch of sick cry babies. You were so getting a raise when all of this was over.

You looked to the ceiling praying to anyone upstairs for just a small moment of peace. The moment of peace could come in the form of a giant mallet to knock all of the whiny men in the next room unconscious. Perhaps a dart gun with Nyquil loaded ammunition? Anything to help you cope with being stuck with this lot of ill idiots for the next 48 hours. Why of all people did it have to be you? You were not someone that saw The Avengers in close quarters, you were sort of work friends, but you never thought your friendship would be put to the test quite like this. Who were they to ask this of you anyway? It’s not like you have any medical experience. Hell you get squeamish just thinking about blood. You rarely got sick. You cried watching Grey’s anatomy for cripes’ sake! You must have been cursed by some otherworldly power. Loki was messing with you. That had to be it. You were sure that had to be the reason behind this cruel and unusual punishment.

“Y/N BUCKY KEEPS STARING AT ME!”

“Well you keep sounding like you’re gonna puke Stark! And if you puke I puke! So don’t puke!”

“Damn I need a drink.” You uttered before squaring your shoulders and heading back into the fray. When did it all go to hell in a hand basket?

~~Friday Morning~~

0600

The crisp early autumn air made its way into your room from your half opened window. The birds chirping slowly woke you from your slumber as your eyes opened to take in the leaves changing colors on the trees outside. The smell of coffee starting to brew at your small desk invaded your senses and you smiled out to the rising sun in a good mood.

Your alarm clock went off which caused you to scream and nearly throw it out the window, groaning as you heard the rumble of the Quinjet touching down a few floors up. So much for a quiet, easy day. They were back early.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you hastily threw on your uniform and secured your hair up, reaching for your travel mug to hold your life juice as you sloshed it into the container and headed out the door.

Life hadn’t always been this fast paced for you. You were never a morning person, and even though it had been years that you have been with S.H.I.E.L.D, these caffeine fuelled mornings were something that never got easier with time. Being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D just wasn’t a picnic for you most days, but you certainly had it better than some of the others in your line of work. You weren’t one of the people willing to put their life on the line out in the field. In fact it was the complete opposite. You were behind the scenes, knee deep in technology. Hacking files, constantly bypassing security, you name it. You never had to leave the comfort of your own country. It was hard work, but it was also your calling. It had been since you were a teenager in high school. It was a habit that got you caught several times breaking into the school security systems, changing when the bell would ring so you and your friends could get out a few minutes early. Especially during Geometry with Miss. Wilkins.

You had been given a scholarship to New York City College of Technology after you graduated high school and you packed your bags and moved from your small town in Ohio to the beautiful state of New York. After graduating in record time with high marks you were recruited by Agent Coulson to join S.H.I.E.L.D. You accepted without any hesitation (Along with constant reassurance to your always worried mother that you would not actually be in the field. Ever.)

After a few years, and more importantly the battle of New York, Nick Fury created a small unit specifically trained to work alongside The Avengers. It was truly amazing getting to move into the Tower, always being there in case of emergencies. Which there often were plenty of. You were under the command of Agent Keaton, your unit possessing a mere ten agents total. No one knew who you were, or what you did, except The Avengers and a small number of others. You were shadows, able to breach the toughest security, get what you needed, and get out without a trace. Or in most cases, get Earth’s Mightiest Heroes into places they previously didn’t have access to. Everyone called you “The Ghosts of Stark Tower”. The hours were sometimes long, missions often stressful, but it suited you just fine. One of the many upsides was knowing that you were making a difference in this messed up world.

The down side was these way too early mornings. At least it was Friday and you could look forward to the three day holiday weekend ahead of you. It was Labor Day weekend which meant that after today you wouldn’t have to return to work until the following Tuesday, unless an earth shattering catastrophe happened. Trudging your way down the hallways your mind drifted to the future that awaited you at 1800 hours. All you had planned was a giant fort of blankets and pillows to call sanctuary as you caught up on the six books that sat unloved in a box by your bed. They were feeling extremely neglected since you had gotten most of them as birthday gifts, which had been some time ago now.

Stepping into the elevator you let out a wistful sigh as it began to climb the few floors leading to the floor that held the landing pad for the Quinjet. Smiling to yourself as you day dreamed about being nestled in a blanket cocoon and not seeing a soul for 72 hours, you couldn’t stop in time and ran smack into Sam Wilson as you exited the elevator and took a sharp turn. His back of toned muscles acted as a wall as it threw you backwards and onto the floor with a loud and ungraceful oomfph.

“Shit. Sorry Y/N. My head isn’t on straight today.” He offered a hand to help you up which you gladly took, pulling yourself up and pretending to brush yourself off.

“It’s fine Sam. Ya miss Bucky that much?”

“Ha. Ha. Ya I missed him like a hole in the head.” You snickered as the two of you made your way down the hall together.

Sam Wilson and you went way back. Back to before you were working (usually) with the Avengers. Back when you were just starting out and he wasn’t cleared for all the “fun” missions, as he called it. Those were the days when you trained together, ate together. Hell you even shared a bed together. It was only once, and nothing romantic happened, but you two only got closer because of it. You didn’t know where you would be without him in your life. He always seemed to know what to say to make you feel better after a hard day, and he always had you laughing. It usually bummed you out when he went along for missions, so you were extra thankful he opted to stay behind this past week when they announced a new mission would take place. It had been nice spending time with each other outside of work hours, catching up, shooting the breeze.

He was one of the only people here that seemed to see you for everything that you were. With the exception of today of course.

“Any issues with the mission? Why are they back two days early?”

Sam raised an eyebrow as you reached the double doors that lead outside to the landing pad.

“Now how did you know they were supposed to be back in two days? That was classified information L/N.” You quickly shot your eyes to the ground, releasing a heavy sigh.

“I…I may have hacked into the mission details…”

The look Sam gave you made you bite your lower lip in embarrassment before he merely shook his head in response.

“Damn Y/N, you should have come with a warning label. If you missed Steve that much you could have just called him.” You swatted his arm as he pushed the door open for you, the fresh air hitting you in the face and causing your eyes to water.

Sam had known about your small crush on Steve Rogers, otherwise known to many as Captain America, since the first time you had met the larger than life super soldier. He pegged you as a giddy school girl from the gate and you found yourself threatening his life on a weekly basis to keep his mouth shut about the whole thing. Steve and you had a professional work related friendship, nothing more. It’s not like what you and Sam had, and you had come to accept that it never would be that. Or more, no matter how often you caught yourself thinking about it.

“Why would I miss Steve Rogers when Sam Wilson has been here to keep me company?” You batted your eyelashes at him, causing the man to chuckle as you neared the group of fellow agents that were gathered around the jet.

“Nice try slick, but I’m still telling Tony you broke into the mission files. Again.”

You pouted at him but he only clicked his tongue at you.

“I swear Tony just needs to give you a raise already and put you in charge of that tech stuff here. His old ass mind is clearly slipping.”

“You suck Wilson. I was only worried.”

“Worried ol’ Blue eyes was gonna take a dirt nap? Come on Y/N,  he’s stronger than that.”

“Actually I was worried for Tony and his,” you made air quotations “Old ass mind”

You and Sam’s laughter was quickly silenced as the jet ramp lowered and you watched Steve Rogers exit, a deathly pale Tony leaning on him as they disembarked.

“Shit. He looks worse than normal. Pepper is gonna pitch a fit when she sees him.” Sam remarked, the team headed towards you.

Your eyes couldn’t help but dance across the Team’s faces. They all looked beat. Thor and Bruce seemed deep in conversation, their hushed voices angrily biting at each other. Clint kept quiet, focusing his vision forward and not looking at anyone. You noticed Nat and Wanda were missing, only for a moment before you realized they were on a separate mission elsewhere. They were slated to come back sometime next week.

Your vision drifted over to Tony, taking in his sickly appearance. The color was drained from his face, the area around his eyes dark and his body too weak to walk very far. Bucky walked to his left, his worried expression evident as they neared you and Sam through the crowd.

You quickly snapped your line of sight to Captain Rogers, your pulse picking up just a little at the sight of him. His uniform was still in really good shape considering how ragged he was looking. Apparently he had forgotten his razor or something because his facial hair had grown a considerable amount since they had been gone. His strong jaw was set tightly, his lips in a thin line while his large intimidating frame effortlessly helped the injured billionaire along.

“Why do I have a feeling my weekend plans just got cancelled?” You grumbled, clearing a path for the Captain as the rest of the team followed behind him, none of them sparing you a look. You were used to it by now.

“Wilson, debrief. Now.” Rogers’ voice boomed with authority and you couldn’t help but grimace in Wilson’s direction.

“Sorry Sam, tough luck.”

“L/N you too.”

Jumping at the acknowledgement you cast a worried glance to Sam who merely shrugged before picking up his pace to catch up to the group headed into the building. That could not be good at all. You followed after him, struggling to keep your mind calm with all the questions currently swimming in it. It didn’t take you long to reach the small conference room, paramedics cutting off your journey about halfway to take Tony into the medical bay to run tests.

You quickly took a seat next to Sam, everyone at the table looking to Steve for answers you were fairly certain he didn’t have. It didn’t mean you couldn’t admire his tall, gorgeous body though as he stood in front of all of you. Nope, you’d drink in the sight of him any day and any time you could. It wasn’t illegal to look after all, even if most of the time he saw right through you. Just like a ghost.

“Look L/N, I’m going to give you the extremely short version,” Steve started, blue eyes staring into yours and you could only bring yourself to nod. His voice was hard, short, he was clearly on edge with worry.

“Might as well shorten it even more Rogers, L/N here already hacked the mission files. She knows the mission.”

You could only give Sam a “What the hell?” look, trying not to let the disappointed sigh that came from Steve’s lips sink into your stomach like a boulder of guilt.

“As much as I want to be angry with you L/N, I need to know how much you know. It might help speed things up so we can get to work faster.”

All eyes seemed to shift to you as you began to fidget with the edge of the table, training your eyes to stay focused on the smooth wood surface as you recalled the details you briefly scanned last week.

“You were all sent to Tal-q’eiek to retrieve an energy source for another planet…Mon…mon something..who’s current environmental health is unstable. The planet’s self defense measures made most of the planet toxic to keep predators from other neighboring worlds away.” You started, looking up at the people around the table as they all nodded in agreement.

“ You were made special suits and would split up into teams to search the planet for the energy source. You were sent out of your element considering Danvers was unavailable to join you, as well as Quill and his team being currently MIA as well.” Taking a deep breath you couldn’t help but notice the smallest of smiles on Steve’s face as you finished divulging what you knew.

“Correct L/W, I’m always impressed by your sharp memory.” Steve complimented you and you had to grasp the chair to make sure you wouldn’t fall out of it. It was the first and so far only time Captain Rogers had made a positive comment in your direction. Usually he was far too busy to pay you or any of the other Ghosts of Stark Tower any mind. Not that you could blame him. If you were being honest, you didn’t even think he knew your first name for the first two years you worked together.

“So based on your knowledge, what conclusion can you come to on your own?” Thor pried, your gaze moving to catch his.

“ My assumption is that Tony was simply  in the wrong place at the wrong time and managed to inhale some of the toxic air of the planet, and that’s why you had to come back early. Because he’s showing symptoms of a sickness and you didn’t know what to do.”

“Two for two L/W, well done.”You felt a swell of undeserving pride at Steve’s words, wondering if this was to be your Christmas gift or something. Two compliments in one day? Within minutes of each other? You most certainly weren’t complaining but it did make you a bit nervous, especially when those beautiful blue eyes weren’t leaving yours.

“So now what? We just wait for the doctors to come back and tell us Tony is going to be ok?” Sam’s voice broke you out of your trance, Steve clearing his throat and Thor nodding in agreement.

“Unfortunate, but until we know more there isn’t anything to be done.” The other blonde’s deep voice boomed and you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread.

“I don’t understand why I was needed here…” You trailed off, Bruce chuckling at your statement causing you to blush with embarrassment.

“You never know when we may need a Ghost on our side Y/N.” Bucky smiled at you, giving you a small wink.

“Yea besides,” Clint continued, “We actually like you. You’re not some stuck up, loud mouthed, cocky know it all like some of the others.”

“You shouldn’t talk about Tony like that, after all he’s the one sick right now.”

Your comment earned you a chorus of laughter.

“I’m gonna put that in Stark’s Christmas card this year.” Sam got out in between laughs, patting you on the back.

“That’s my Y/N, always one with the fast quips.”

His statement caused you to beam in response, allowing yourself to be grabbed in a small side hug. The expression on Steve’s face was a bit puzzling to you as you looked at him, but no sooner had it appeared, it was gone.

What seemed to be hours passed, but your eyes shot up at the sound of one of the doctors on standby walking into the conference room, her HASMAT suit creating a hideous scratching noise against the floor as she moved. You recognized her as Doctor Kelly Hooper, she had been working for Stark for years. She was a short and stout woman, with dark blonde hair that was always up in a tight bun on top of her head.

“What’s the diagnosis Doctor?” Clint tried, his voice humorless despite the poor attempt at a joke.

“Firstly, you should know that Mister Stark is going to be alright.”

The entire table collectively sighed in relief at the Doctor’s news, a huge weight seemingly being lifted off of everyone’s shoulders. You and Tony didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but you still respected the hell out him, and definitely didn’t want him dying anytime soon.

“However, there is some bad news.” The older woman continued, turning her attention to Steve.

“He’s going to be sick the next forty eight to seventy two hours, and will need constant care. He’s going to experience the worst equivalent of the flu we’ve seen in years. Fever, vomiting, dehydration, chills, extreme pain, and maybe even hallucinations. What’s also troublesome is we don’t have the proper staff to take care of him, as most of the day and night crew have left for holiday, and we can’t risk taking him to a hospital where it might spread.”

“Got it, can it get any worse than babysitting a sick Tony?” Bucky groaned out, his head hitting the table.

“Actually it can Mister Barnes. I’m afraid the illness he has contracted from the foreign planet is very peculiar in the fact that it only seems to attack beings with the combination of XY chromosomes.”

“Doc, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Bucky suddenly looked up at Doctor Hooper, who had now locked eyes with the winter solider before nodding her head.

“That’s right Mister Barnes, any male who has come within contact with Mister Stark within the last twenty four hours has a seventy five to eighty five percent chance of falling ill as well.”

[sneakerdoodle]

in honour of the third @glimadora-week being an au one and today being a free day here comes my superhero au that i came up with like half a year ago. the gist of it is 

“a local not-well-known young superhero (Glimmer) gets a huge crush on other superhuman girl’s alias (She-Ra) and dreams of teaming up with her and kicking ass together, until she accidentally meets the girl in question (Adora). she is flustered and embarrassed and stops her fangirling, only to realize she’s actually falling for her now friend and teammate, this time for real”

a more detailed summary follows

Glimmer is a second-gen superhuman (teleportation powers obviously); her mom’s a first-gen with an impervious immune system who worked closely with a group of scientists to figure out the nature of her and other superhumans’ powers, which is how she met Micah (a scientist)

Glimmer juggles being a vigilante behind her mom’s back and attending college (tho skipping classes quite a lot). she exhausts and stresses herself out but refuses to quit because she wants to actually use her powers and make a difference. her and Bow are a hero duo (Bow is a regular human but is smart as fuck and one heck of an archer) and have matching costumes. they mostly watch over the protesters on rallies making sure cops or provocators don’t bother them. very occasionally there are actual criminals they get to stop, but usually nothing serious, just stolen bags and stuff. Glimmer is antsy and wants to do something big

one day a new superhero catches everyone’s attention. she’s strikingly different from everyone else: she doesn’t hide her face, she doesn’t talk to press, she vanishes from the scene as suddenly as she appears, and people only know her supposed name from the letters engraved into the massive blade she carries: SHE-RA

Glimmer gets a very obvious huge crush on her, which Bow won’t stop teasing her about. but it’s not only that ’girl pretty’ (altho, yes, that too): Glimmer is also absolutely enamoured by She-Ra’s seeming courage and confidence. while she has to hide her powers from everyone, wear contact lenses to mask her eye color and unnatural glitter, avoid other college students because she can’t trust herself to not accidentally blurt her secret out over lunch, while she feels like the whole world (and most often her own mother) is telling her to be ashamed of herself, She-Ra’s walking the streets without a mask on. Glimmer won’t stop dreaming about finding her and teaming up with her - until she bumps into a homeless blonde girl in some shady bystreet and the oh so familiar sword falls out of the girl’s backpack

Adora is a subject of an organization that experiments on kidnapped orphaned kids, trying to artificiality enhance their DNA and raising them to fight superhumans who are deemed dangerous. the organization considers itself kind of like a counter-force to the growing population of people with mutated genes and wants them under governmental control

being one of the most resilient and strong trainees, Adora is chosen for the project “SHE-RA”, gets injected with the DNA of a deceased superhero which gets triggered through the exposure to radioactive materials in She-Ra’s sword (specifically the stone). during the procedure things get out of hand, Adora is overwhelmed and loses control over her body, goes full berserk She-Ra mode, crashes the lab in a frenzy and escapes with the sword; she finds her way to the nearest city and, suffering a temporary memory loss, wanders its streets scared, confused and alone, only vaguely remembering that the sword is important and clinging onto it

she finds herself near sites of accidents more frequently than she would like to, and in these moments feels the sword responding to her emotion and desire to help. she doesn’t like the feeling of it almost forcing itself into her hands and is pretty scared of her powers - but can’t seem to let go of the blade. until it’s forcibly taken away from her by a total stranger (who apparently can teleport?), and the stranger is very angry and demands to know who Adora is and how she got her hands on a superhero’s property

Adora’s pretty angry too - both at the accusations of her stealing the damn thing and at the yelling girl herself. and wary of her, ready to take her down. she still can’t recall how she got where she is now but she does remember her childhood, her training and the things she was told: superhumans are unstable and dangerous

they both immediately dislike each other out of various prejudices and are this close to throwing hands while Bow is desperately trying to mediate the conversation. after somewhat diffusing it he asks Adora about her situation and offers her help. she, altho reluctantly, accepts it: she doesn’t have any better options, and these two seem... nice? Glimmer too starts feeling quite empathetic towards her very soon, finally noticing that Adora’s tired and clearly hungry, completely anihilating Glimmer and Bow’s lunch subs in under a minute. however she is still not entirely sure she trusts her, especially since Adora herself can’t really explain how she got She-Ra’s sword - that is until Glimmer get to see the transformation with her own two eyes, and is. quite overwhelmed. she’s only seen She-Ra on tv before, and now she is right here in her full radiant glory and that is a bit too much to handle

the squad of three starts their investigation trying to figure out what happened to Adora, at first unaware that the Horde is on their tail looking for their project

actually meeting Adora and getting to know her better makes Glimmer stop unconsciously idealizing She-Ra; she finally gets over her fangirly crush. eventually tho Glimmer catches herself developing actual deep feelings. the thought of Bow’s a) intensified teasing, b) happy excited meddling is terrifying

Adora is going through a lot. she doesn’t want to fail people who helped her, and Glimmer, not fully understanding the complicated feelings Adora has about her powers, comes off as a bit pressuring when she talks about the asses the three of them are going to kick together, now that She-Ra is on their side. they go through some communication issues, but eventually through her actions Glimmer manages to get it across that she genuinely cares about Adora’s well-being, making it easier for her to open up, so they can finally work it out. Adora in her turn learns about Glimmer’s complicated feelings about her powers and capabilities, how she desperately wants to be herself unapologetically and prove that she is worth something and use whatever power she has to make the world a better place. over time they both get to really know each other and learn how to help and support each other, growing closer and closer and developing warmer and warmer feelings. it’s a nice and cozy slowburn

Some other not glimadora-centric stuff:

Bow started his hero training before realizing he was trans, and ‘Bow’ was his first alias, kind of like a working title; being addressed by it instead of his deadname made him very happy, so he just adopted it as his actual name once he came out

‘Glimmer’ is also Glimmer’s actual name; Angela’s just Like That

the two have a freaking. Patreon page with 10 whole patrons. all of whom are gay college students who joined after Glimmer and Bow showed up at the local pride in their hero costumes carrying a huge banner with their team’s logo against the bi flag. ‘local teenage leftist heroes’ is kind of their whole thing

Bow lies to his dads about working towards his bachelor degree in history, while in reality he spends his days working on tech hoping to get a scholarship from Entrapta, a state-famous superhero and a brilliant inventor, quite wealthy and so influential she doesn’t need to hide her identity. she sponsors autistic kids and kids of colour who want to get into expensive STEM programs and holds regular engineering contests looking for candidates. Bow’s a huge fan

George was a part of the scientists’ group Angela worked with; after a horrible accident that costed them lives of superhumans and scientists alike (including Micah) he quit and cut off everyone he knew from it; the only exception is Spinerella and Netossa, because wlw/mlm solidarity. he and Lance needed another gay couple of their age to have brunch with

Spinerella and Netossa (that have. other names. normal ones) also helped Angela raise Glimmer and were her cool gay aunts. they had to move cities when Glimmer was 5 or 6 tho which Angela was quite happy about: it was painful and unnerving being around people from her old team, and she didn’t want her daughter following them on their path since the couple continued being superheroes. it was too late for that tho because her aunts were Glimmer’s biggest inspiration both through coming out and starting her vigilante business

Angela herself quit being a hero after losing Micah and currently works as a doctor, and is brilliant at her job. she often volunteers to work in quarantined areas, putting her immunity to a good use. it is possible that she doesn’t age and is immortal, they never got around to defining the exact limit of her powers

Angela, Micah, Casta, Spinerella, Netossa and George all knew Mara and worked with her. she died before the team fell apart, her sword and body were preserved by her friends. Weaver was a part of the research group as well and left when things started going south. she took (i.e. stole) some samples, including Mara’s sword and DNA, which she then used to bargain for a higher position in the Horde. project “SHE-RA” was her initiative

needless to say, everyone who knew Mara was deeply shocked by the new She-Ra suddenly appearing on the news. which makes Glimmer double as unwilling to let her mom in on what’s been going on in her life: Angela clearly doesn’t want to hear a single word about the new super in town

[thecaroliner]

That awful CBR Kataang article

I don’t normally do metas but this was so bad I had to respond. I think I actually had a stroke reading it

1. She shouldn’t teach him waterbending

At the beginning of the series, Katara was a waterbending novice, barely capable of maintaining a feeble orb of water in midair. As she traveled with Aang, they grew as waterbenders simultaneously, each growing through their journey to the north pole where they were taught by the same teacher.

After that, Katara assumed the duty of Aang’s waterbending tutor, which doesn’t really make sense considering that they should both be at the same approximate place in their training. In fact, Aang was shown to be more naturally adept at waterbending and capable of picking up the techniques easier.

So, like, did you completely miss the episode where Katara is shown to have advanced more than Pakku’s other students who have been training for months or maybe even years at this point? Yeah it’s a little weird considering that she’s only been there about a month, but Katara is just really, REALLY good at waterbending once she had a proper teacher. And yes Aang did pick it up really quickly but we also see in said episode he was lounging around playing with Momo rather than practicing, unlike Katara who it seemed like practiced hours each day.

2. They did their best work separated

Both Aang and Katara were intensely powerful benders who accomplished many amazing feats through their powers. However, it’s interesting to note that their most formidable feats were accomplished by themselves and separate from one another. Katara learned her most powerful techniques, bloodbending and water healing, completely without Aang’s aide. And the amount of incredible things Aang accomplished without her are immeasurable.

For starters, he was able to embody the spirit of the ocean, beat Fire Lord Ozai, and impressed the last dragons. In fact, he had to intentionally abandon her to attain his highest form and gain control of the Avatar State, pretty much definitively proving that they are more powerful when separated.

....What does this have to do with anything. Like, seriously, anything. Should they not be amazing, powerful benders unless the other is there to help them?? I genuinely don’t understand the point you’re trying to make here. Also do you not know how the Avatar state works? 

3. The Cave of Two Lovers

One of the defining moments in Aang and Katara’s romance was the episode “The Cave of Two Lovers.” In it, Aang and Katara are separated from everyone else in a system of caves on the way to the city of Omashu.

The romantic nature of the story inspires Aang to hint his true feelings to Katara and, after some rom-com levels of shenaniganry, the two almost kiss for the first time as their light goes out. Without the light, however, the pathway of glowing crystals becomes clear and the two are able to escape. The episode is generally never brought up, both in discussion and the show’s lore, because it is, for lack of a better word, cringy.

Great argument, just explain what happened in the episode and then don’t explain why it’s bad or weird

4. Political Disagreements

Their biggest obstacle came in the comics, where they came within moments of splitting up over political disagreements. Specifically, their fight was over the Harmony Restoration Movement, which attempted to remove Fire Nation colonies following the end of the war. After Zuko had a change of heart and wanted to keep the older colonies in place, Katara agreed with him.

Aang was initially of the mind that all Fire Nation presence in the Earth Kingdom needed to be removed to ensure peace. Their conflict came to the point of violence when Katara had to talk Aang down from the Avatar State to prevent him from ending Zuko.

Again you just explained what happened and not why it was bad

5. Aang’s grandkids are better without him

There’s clear evidence that Aang and Katara weren’t the best parents, as evidenced by the emotional and psychological hang-ups of their kids, but the most telling proof that they weren’t fit to raise kids is how their grandkids turned out. Given that Aang never met them, Tenzin’s kids were never directly influenced by their grandfather and they were all nearly ideal children. Sure Ikki and Meelo are hyperactive, but they’re kids and are shown to mature somewhat with age while retaining their energetic personalities.

Free from Aang’s influence, Jinora even becomes a more powerful spiritual advisor than her father, who was so burdened with Aang’s pressure that he was never able to fully embrace his spiritual side.

Um, WHAT? Are you freaking serious right now? Of course we gotta go with the dumb “Aang was a bad dad” argument, AGAIN, which obviously was blown way outta proportion. But I can’t believe you’d actually say that they are better off not knowing him

6. They both have PTSD

While to romance between Aang and Katara is often framed as being between two kindred souls who knew from childhood that they were meant to be together, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Even from the first moments they met each other, both exhibited acute symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder.

Katara’s maternal instincts are likely derived from witnessing her mother’s demise and the prospect of vengeance. Aang had a tendency to misdirect, project, and avoid his issues over abandoning his culture and being lost in time. He also demonstrated a consistent lack in ability to process his anger, often snapping and yelling at his comrades over his perception of their failures.

ONCE AGAIN. WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING. Also, are you literally implying that PTSD victims shouldn’t be in a relationship? ok

7. Aang kept her from seeing her dad

In one of the most despised episodes of the entire series, “Bato of the Water Tribe,” also featured a moment that probably should have destroyed Katara and Aang’s relationship. In the episode, Aang intercepts a letter that would provide Katara and her brother information on where their father, who they haven’t seen for three years, might be stationed and give them a chance to see him. Worried that they might abandon him, however, Aang hides the letter from them.

Katara’s father was at war and could have died at any time. If Aang had prevented the water tribe siblings from seeing their father, there’s no guarantee that they would have ever seen him again.

This is as close to a legitimate point as this article gets. But I guess they’re forgetting how Aang felt guilty about it and how neither Katara nor Sokka took it lightly and it took a while for them to forgive him. 

8. They gave their kids inadequacy issues

If there’s one thing that could be gleaned from the Legend of Korra spin-off series, it’s that Aang and Katara weren’t the best parents. The oldest, Bumi, was born a non-bender and even in what appear to be his mid-50s, and after an illustrious military career, was still dealing with the inadequacy issues imparted by his father who always wanted an airbending child.

His sister Kya was so affected by her parents’ pressures that she spent several years traveling the world by herself before being forced to return to the south pole to take care of her co-dependent mother. Tenzin, the only airbending child was denied a childhood by his father hoisting the burden of an entire culture on his young shoulders.

Nothing in the show implies Kya was forced to come back and live with Katara. Katara was an elderly woman, devastated by the loss of her husband of 50+ years. My grandpa died many years ago, and if we hadn’t already lived in the same town as them, my family would’ve definitely moved up there to be with my grandma who was all alone. Taking care of your family is bad, I guess.

9. Their relationship got worse in the comics

The romance between Katara and Aang was a slow build on the show, developing infrequently from beginning to end. After the show ended, the generally laudable comic series took over the narrative and fumbled their relationship worse than a clumsy wide receiver. After affirming their relationship, the series depended entirely on an unfair dynamic between the two.

Katara was jealous of Aang constantly flirting with other girls closer to his own age, Aang bragged about being able to kiss her to everyone who would listen, and neither could think of a better pet name than “sweetie.” Overall, their romance just sort of went on automatic in the comics.

Show me ONE TIME where Aang flirted with other girls. Being friends with other girls is not flirting with them. Aang only mentioned being able to kiss her ONCE, and it wasn’t in front of close friends. He didn’t freaking go out in the middle of a crowd and go “HEY EVERYONE LOOK I CAN KISS KATARA”

10. Their kiss at the end was weird

The only time when Katara and Aang’s romantic relationship really picked up steam was in the final season of the show, culminating in the final scene of the original series where the two finally share a reciprocated kiss. As romantic as the tone was, it was offset somewhat by the atmosphere between the two leading up to that moment.

Mere episodes earlier, with the looming threat of genocide, death, and continued global war hanging ever-present over their heads, Katara was still uncertain and upset over Aang’s advances and made that abundantly clear to him.

Whoa, Katara took time to think about her feelings before jumping into a relationship?? Wow, how stupid of her.

11. They worked better as friends

The Kataang relationship was present throughout much of the series, but was only addressed and developed a few times at sporadic intervals. For the vast majority of the series, their relationship was one of matriarch and dependent. Aang needed Katara to keep him humble and focused while Katara’s motherly nature made her want to keep Aang safe.

Put bluntly, they were friends and their relationship worked well in that regard. But whenever romance was forcibly inserted into the equation, Katara began questioning how she felt about Aang and stated openly that she was uncomfortable with his affections. I.E. red flags that they probably should just stay friends.

Man, how dare Katara and Aang have a solid friendship before being romantically involved!!!!!!! You’re not supposed to be FRIENDS with your significant other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

12. The age difference

Though Aang is technically over 100 years old, he’s biologically only 12. And though Katara herself is only 14 at the start of the series, the gulf between a 12-year-old and a 14-year-old is far greater than that between a 30-year-old and 32-year-old.

Despite having moments of genuine sage wisdom, Aang’s everyday behavior is more on par with an 8-year-old than anyone in his actual age bracket. This might not be his fault as his isolated, holistic upbringing instilled in him a strong sense of detachment, which might have prompted some of his more selfish actions, but even the most mature 12-year-old should not be making out with someone two years older.

I am forever baffled by y’all thinking that someone with a fun-loving, carefree personality is childish. When you get to a certain age are you supposed to stop having fun?? Stop telling jokes??? What a miserable life that would be

13. It was a one-sided relationship

When Aang was freed from the iceberg he’d been trapped in for the past hundred years, his first instinct was to fall head over heels in love with Katara. However, she didn’t see things the same way for quite some time. In fact, during the entire series, their romance was viewed through Aang’s lens with little to no input from Katara’s opinions on the matter.

In fact, she made it obliquely clear from the beginning of the series that she saw Aang more as a little brother or pseudo-child rather than a potential love interest, a view that didn’t change until very late. And even then, she was more embarrassed and confused by Aang’s affections than reciprocal.

Yeah, because relationships in real life are always 100% mutual from the beginning, and one person is never interested before the other is. That NEVER happens.

14. Their romance was unnecessary

While they were one of the primary pairs of the show, Katara and Aang’s relationship was only focused on in a handful of episodes in the original show’s three-season run. And those episodes tended to be considered weaker or filler between more significant arcs. Overall, their ship was not integral to the narrative of the show, both figuratively and thematically. You could remove all the Kataang content from the show and it wouldn’t change anything.

It wouldn’t even effect the series’ general quality, only improve it slightly. This might have been an issue in the writing staff as central breeding pairs are a trope in most shows, animated or otherwise. But just because stereotypes exist doesn’t mean they have a purpose or need to be used.

This was a show about magic, martial arts, and war. All the romance on the show was technically unnecessary. Doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have happened.

15. Zuko would’ve been a better match for her

The main rival of the Kataang ship is the Zutara vessel, the faction of viewers who believed that Katara would be better off with the series anti-hero Zuko. And they’re probably right. Zuko and Katara have expressed an interest in each other before, launching their ship in the first place, but it’s more because Zuko is more mature and, for lack of a better word, attractive than the alternative.

There’s also the pretty significant matter that they both have similar emotional baggage. Katara has issues with her father abandoning her for the war, Zuko has problems with his father being a dictatorial jerk, and they both lost their mothers at a young age due to the intricacies of politics and conflict.

*eye roll* “Zuko and Katara have expressed interest in each other before” Where? Show me where.

Ok so before you said that one of the reasons Kataang doesn’t work is because they both have PTSD. Buuuuut Katara and Zuko having PTSD is a reason..they should’ve been together? And full offense, but Katara having hard feelings towards her dad for a short time in one episode that was resolved quickly is in no way equal to Zuko experiencing lifelong physical and emotional abuse by his father. I’m actually really angry and kind of offended you would even think this was a reasonable comparison.

16. Their personalities never changed

One of the most important aspects of fictional characters is how they change. Round characters are indefinitely more interesting than flat, one-note characters. And while Aang and Katara are in no way flat characters, they didn’t change much within the confines of their relationship. That is to say, while their presence in each other’s lives changed the others’ personalities, they did not change all too much to each other after their childhood.

As seen in Legend of Korra, Katara is just as maternal and wise as she was in her youth. Korra’s brief flashbacks to Aang’s life demonstrated that he grew somewhat more serious as he aged, but was still immature enough to pose for pictures of him doing his marble trick.

fklafj;afjea;fef; if AANG MAKING A FUNNY POSE FOR A PICTURE IS IMMATURE. god i’m just. i am so done with this article.

17. Aang decided how many kids they had

One of the biggest decisions a long-term couple can make together is if they want to have children. It’s a choice that, if made in the affirmative, can never be taken back, and if they do decide to have kids, they both need to determine how many kids they want or can afford to have.

While Katara never said anything on the subject, their kids were more than happy to discuss how Aang was insistent on having children until at least one of them developed airbending so he had a surefire way to pass on his near-extinct culture. Presumably Katara was more than happy to have three kids with Aang, but if Tenzin had turned out to be a water- or non-bender, he would have demanded that she continue.

LITERALLY WHAT SHOW ARE YOU WATCHING HERE, MY DUDE. Where was this EVER said or even implied. Might I point out in Legacy where Aang literally says that he and Katara were open to the idea of having more kids after Tenzin

18. She lived without him for 20 years

t’s stated in Legend of Korra that Aang died when he was 66. Given that Katara is approximately two years older than him, that means she was about 68 when he passed. By the end of the spin-off series, Katara was 89, according to the official wiki.

That means that she had around 20 years to live, grow, and evolve as a person without Aang around. In all likelihood, if Aang had somehow returned to her after all that time, he might not even recognize Katara as the same woman he fell in love with. As far as the series is willing to tell, Katara’s only company after Aang’s death was her daughter, the Order of the White Lotus, Korra, and infrequent visits from her other children.

Wow, how dare Aang DIE and leave Katara all alone. What a jerk!!!!!!!! I guess my grandpa is a jerk for dying and leaving my grandma all alone, too! Men SUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

19. She had a crush on Jet first

Kataang shippers tend to consider the start of the relationship to be the moment Aang saw Katara. He looked at her through rose colored glasses the moment she broke him out of the iceberg, framing her in light and a romantic breeze. It took Katara a little while to come around to having feelings for him, but she had a few different non-starter relationships along the way.

The first, and by far most impassioned of these, was with the freedom fighter Jet, who she met all the way back in the first season. Her crush was apparent and strong enough that she was disproportionately upset when she saw him several months later. She may have wound up with Aang, but she clearly had stronger initial feelings for Jet.

Wow because nobody in real life ever has multiple relationships throughout their lifetime or crushes on other people before meeting their significant other. And yeah, Katara totally shouldn’t have been upset to see the guy who tried to wipe out an entire innocent village unless she was madly in love with him

20. The (older) age difference

Despite only looking like a pre-teen, Aang is actually over 100 years old. He was born and raised before the start of the 100-year war at the Southern Air Temple. Upon learning he was the reincarnated Avatar, Aang was surprised. He and Appa were caught in a ferocious storm that sent them below the waves.

In a moment of self-preservation, his Avatar state activated for the first time and he bent himself into a frozen iceberg, which preserved him as he waited for a century beneath the seas near the Southern Water Tribe. The series is riddled with Aang’s hang-ups about his long-dead culture. It often causes rifts between himself and the other characters.

What does this have to do with their age difference or Kataang at all

[machinakrpx]

>> OPEN LEE YANI’S FILE …

:// AGE — 25 :// OCCUPATION — drug runner :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT ...

:// MAGIC —  

on the point of biochemical magic, yani is a newcomer to the science. to the art. it’s a lost talent in so many ways, and one that she had no exposure to as a child. maybe things would have been easier, if she had. but yani has always had books, the promise of the old, of sprawling forests and wild grown gardens. yani has always had a deep, near spiritual connection to the biological, the natural, almost in defiance of her mechanized and austere surroundings. since beginning to work with apollo, she’s become adept at the hydroponic arts as much as the magical, becoming a provider of materials, grown in test tubes and under stark lights, recreating heirloom plant varieties and hunting down long lost seeds, attempting to scientifically and magically recreate the germination process, propogating long lost flora in modified greenhouse boxes, imbuing them with the enchantments that apollo has shared with her.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

moderate reflex enhancement system - wired in under the skin, implanted in her neural network, yani has taken on the physical advantage of an enhanced reflex system, programmed to anticipate danger signs in order to systematically avoid those clients who might attempt to take advantage of her. this was implanted after her time with apollo began, necessary for her to efficiently complete her jobs for him.

microscopic eyes - she has implanted natural appearing visual enhancements that allow her to more accurately pinpoint potential issues with her crops, machinery, and so on. alongside her enhanced reflexes, this allows her the ability to work more successfully and precisely with her hydroponics, in terms of creation and maintenance of both biological and mechanical components.

cranial bomb - in order to ensure her discretion as a runner and apprentice to apollo, she’s had a cranial bomb installed, designed to specifically target the section of her brain storing information relative to the enterprise. should she attempt to start her own business, short apollo in general, or share relevant industry secrets, the bomb will detonate. while she won’t die, she’d be assuredly damaged, lose the relevant secret information, and be incapacitated requiring hospitalization for an indeterminate period.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY ...

“i taught you to fight and to fly. what more could there be?”

lee yani is born to elysium like a peter pan is born of neverland. perhaps as soon as she existed, the city welcomed her, open armed, it’s cavernous maw yearning and open, eager to take in one of its own. 

her mother dallied amid late night suitors with full enough pockets, her father a footnote left forgotten. and in time yani too was forgotten, with a pat on the head and the instruction to come back by supper. 

and so the city raised her. slick streets and neon lights her playground, the dull slick of the rain on her cheeks companion to the dreary concrete structures she made her home. hours spent honing clever fingers and making use of childish winsomeness to fill her stomach and her mind. crushed into the back corner of cramped school rooms, overworked teachers that didn’t notice if she was there or not, didn’t notice if she snuck into the classes of older children, if she stole textbooks from the cluttered shelves, dusty and unraveling at the bindings. 

and when she returned one day to find her mother absent, she took this new reality in as much stride as anyone can. it’s a common scenario in the slums of a slum, after all. people go missing. and when she appeared there was a spark of enthusiasm and cheer, but there was also a changing that had occured, an acceptance of individuality and independence. a trust that had died. 

and so when her mother did disappear, for good that time, she wasn’t all that surprised. 

“they have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time.”

raised by the city, she thrives in it. it’s not the sort of thriving that comes with full pockets or a full stomach, but she survives. she adapts and overcomes. it’s a band of them in the end, a tangle of lost children who carve out a home for themselves in a dark world, under the glare of the lights. 

but she feels. 

she’s a creature of emotion, from one to the next in record time and impossible intensity, a signal flare in the dying light of a burned out city, a beacon. it brings people to her, it draws them in. they turn a blind eye to her half empty pockets, they keep her just above the edge of destitute. let her take the empty back room of the basement as a makeshift home, and someone leaves a spare space heater for her. it’s broken but she fixes it, discovers a knack for the mechanical. 

a knack for survival. 

she’s a young girl forced to grow up too soon, and there’s a spirit of youth she holds onto. a wild intensity and an innocent selfishness. she eschews the benefits of implantations and augmentations, at first for the sake of finances and later for some misplaced integrity. retains a strange purity of body that leaves a rosy flush to her cheeks and a lingering youthfulness to her expression, some gleaming promise of what innocence and beauty might once have been. like a rose in a case, a relic of a lost time. 

“sometimes, though not often, she had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of others.”

she’s a ringleader, though she doesn’t know when it happened or how. there’s something innate to it, a kind of charm that is lost on many and loved by few. but those who respond to it, they pull into her thrall. she steals her way through life, a mix of odd jobs and slight of hand to get where she’s going, to take what she needs. and usually not much more. she’s got a bit of a moral compass- just a little. its an old book that takes her by surprise, a biology textbook, a botany grimoire, one that offers up knowledge of long lost materials, plants and flowers and herbs that she’s never been able to imagined, more than she can fathom. she becomes obsessed, reclusive, fascinated with the promise of greenery, lushness, the garden of eden calling out to her in siren song. she devours information, collects samples, and they wither under her hands, left unable to master something with one piece of the puzzle missing. 

that’s when she finds him, apollo, and his concoctions. whispers of a magic that calls out to her, sings it’s song siren to some secret part of her soul that is yet unexplored. she hears of it and it sounds right. it feels right. she gets her hands on a potion and when it hits the tip of her tongue she knows. 

she just knows. 

the formula plays itself out in her mind, a catalogue of herbs and adjustments, a latticework of molecules and modifications that she only partly comprehends. it rattles around in her head, a buzz of information on overload. and like a child she is obsessed, fascinated, begins to try to piece it together, attempts to recreate the drug on her own time, her own turf. it’s a herculean task for a girl without resources or training, and as she goes about stealing and purchasing and chasing down ingredients, she draws attention to herself, at first unwanted. 

when she’s hauled into apollo’s backroom, she wakes strapped to a chair with an unfamiliar face sneering down at her. the whirr of a mechanical arm rearing back for a slap is the first precursor to the pain that erupts next, has her spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor. 

they want to know what she knows and they want to know who told her. 

and in the end, it takes hours before they acknowledge that, perhaps, she’s telling the truth. that the knowledge came from within. this is what earns her an audience with the sun himself. 

“ you can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.”

its as good as medicine, as bright as the sun. salvation in a bottle. she salivates for want of knowing, and when he offers her apprenticeship with strings she leaps first and doesn’t look back. 

its not until she’s on the table that she thinks she might have made a mistake. she’s strapped down to cold metal and pinned beneath instrumentation. they craft her to the task, lay implantations in her eyes and a wiring through her nerves, snaking along the lines of her bones and in the fibers of her muscles. 

they offer her the chance for cosmetic upgrades- wild hair or holographic tattoos, multicolored eyes or jeweled implantations, but she denies. 

and as she learns those secrets, as she trains in endless hours of bent heads and hyperfocus, she is reminded of that excruciating trade she has made. of how they’ve opened her skull, fingering the line of a scar that runs beneath short shorn hair, growing back slow where it was shaved for surgery. a failsafe,  a modern non-compete clause, a cyanide pill hidden in her teeth to keep her silent, remote detonated and programmed, hopefully, not to kill. but it’s an illegal technology and as always, your mileage may vary. 

but she trades in secrets and magic now, and such a failsafe is to be expected, insurance of her trustworthiness in this wholly untrustworthy world. 

“and thus it will go on, so long as children are innocent and heartless.”

what does it mean to be too much? to feel too much, to love too much, to hate too much. she is a creature of absolutes, she is all or nothing, she is all and all and all and all. erratic and wild, like hebe she is a force of life, she is a wild thing that breathes youth into those around her. feeds ambrosia to the miserable and uplifts the fallen, a creature of excess and of gladdening, cupbearer to the broken. and, oh, there are many. she has too much heart for elysium, for a girl born into its clutches, too much want and too many dreams for a world long barren of hope or promise. anachronistic and native to the landscape of elysium, she is an impossible creature of contradiction. she is as much beholden to the hedonism of elysium as she is the desire for the purity of long past times, at odds fascinated and enamored with the progress of neo seoul and disgusted with the opulence and austerity of olympus. she dreams of impossible things, lush gardens and the promises of eden, and lives eternally unsatisfied, selfishly chasing after her own longings. 

[ohlovelywar]

Stark and Parker

a/n: this took me forever to get out ANON SWEETIE I AM SO SORRY, this takes place right after civil war and italics are flashbacks!  

request: hi so I tried to write a fic but it didn't come out good, so can you do it? because yours are so good!! The reader is Tony Starks daughter and she can't tell anyone for her own safety. she is dating Peter parker, and they don't know about each others secrets until one day he is recruited and see each other at the compound :) I know this is really specific :))

paring: peter parker x fem!stark!reader

warnings: playful teasing and banter, peter being an awkward shy mess that we all love, edited but i haven’t slept all night or day or let’s just say unedited to be safe, cursing cause ITS MEEE, some angst somehow, some fluffy moments, i miss the avengers fam

word count: 2,473

He was late...again. It was the third time this week that he was late for patrol. Peter mentally scolded himself, knowing that he should be helping out more. He was running, running through the bust sidewalks of New York city. Typically, Peter just stuck to watching over Queens. He rarely even went into Brooklyn. But something told him that he needed to be there today. He couldn't figure out why, his spider-senses only telling him to be alert. He tried to decipher his feelings as he squeezed through the crowd of people. He was nervous and...giddy? Well that makes no sense. Right then and there, Peter's body collided with another person, a hot liquid spilling on both of them, causing them both to cry out in pain.

Peter looked up and was met with a girl, no older than he was, now covered in coffee.

"I-I'm so so sorry!" Peter apologized, further scolding himself. She tucked her slightly long, dark hair behind her ear and smiled at him.

"It's okay! It's crowded here so it would have happen regardless," She tried to make the situation better even though she lost all of her dysfunctional families coffee including her own.

"Still, I'll-I'll buy you some new ones! And, uh, a new shirt. Shit. I'm really really sorry." He pulled out his wallet to hopefully reimburse the poor girl for the spilled drinks and spoiled shirt, only to find no money. "Just my luck," he thought to himself.

"Seriously, it's okay! Accidents happen! All the time! Especially here in New York." Sure her skin was burned from the give or take 64 ounces of fresh, steaming coffee poured on her, but she was just as clumsy and she didn't want this poor guy to suffer.

"But," Peter looked down at his watch. He was really late for patrol now. He groaned as he struggled with what to do. He knew he need to start patrol as soon as possible and get to his backpack where his homemade superhero suit was waiting for an adventure and justice. But, he also knew that he couldn't just leave this girl after ruining her day.

She could sense that he was in a hurry. To where? Who knows, but she decided to make this easier on the both of them.

"Give me your phone."

"What?"

"Give me your phone."

"Why-"

"Just do it!" Peter reluctantly handed her his phone, absolutely clueless of her plan. She added her contact into Peter's outdated iPhone, smiling as she returned it to him. "There. You seem like you're in a hurry so you can make it up to me on a date," she winked at him. Peter began to blush as he stuttered. She laughed and waved bye to the boy, hoping that it wouldn't be the last time that she gets to see his cute face.

Peter looked down at the phone and found her contact. Y/n. He smiled as he watched her figure retreat down the sidewalk, further and further away from their little coffee accident. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

Y/N walked into the huge compound, instantly being met with the loud clamor of her expansive and not all completely related family.

"Little Stark!" Wanda greeted, drawing the team's attention to the teenage girl who entered the building.

"Yo Stark! Where's the coffee?" Sam yelled asked.

"Ha. About that-"

"She's wearing it," Natasha pointed out, a teasing smile now on her face.

"Ms. Stark, what happened?" Vision asked, concerned as to why the young was suddenly covered in coffee but still seemed in a fabulous mood.

"Ran into someone."

"Damn kid just cause we have money doesn't mean that you can go spilling it and wearing it," Tony looked at his pride and joy, trying into to laugh.

"Steve doesn't like that language Tony," Rhodey joked.

"You know what? For a Colonel-"

"I'm fine by the way. In case you case were wondering ya know. Just some minor second degree burns no biggie," y/n interrupted Steve.

Wanda gasped, ”You met a boy!"

"You met a boy?!" All the adults formed a chorus. Tony, Steve, and Rhodey were all concerned, protective parents, Vision was trying to figure out what was so specially about meeting someone of the opposite sex, all while Sam and Nat were happy that their niece was finally going to get some.

"Wanda you snitch!"

"I'm sorry! I'm trying to control it I swear! It's just, your thoughts were so loud I couldn't help myself!"

"Who's the boy?" Tony questioned, a million emotions flooding his system.

"Dad-"

"Who's the boy?" He repeated.

"No nobody! No one! Wanda," y/n sent glares to the other young girl in the house.

"Guys stop with the third degree. It's obvious nothing happened. She's literally wearing coffee."

"Jee thanks Sam."

"Anytime y/n/n. Anytime." At that moment, a small ding came from y/n's phone.

"Hey y/n! It's Peter the guy that ran into you earlier today. Would you might to maybe like go out sometime this weekend?" A smile followed by a blush took over y/n's face. How could she say no?

And thus was the beginning of their beautiful relationship.

Five Months Later

The compound was quiet, far too quiet. Y/N hated it with a burning passion. She missed all the clashing and banging from the training center. She missed the awkward, flirting tension that would follow Wanda and Vision everywhere. She missed Sam yelling at Steve to stop running so fast. She missed Nat trying to teach her basic combat skills behind her dad's back. She missed showing Steve all the new things about the internet and watching the greatest movies of all time that he didn't get to see due to the ice. She missed bantering with Sam about who's Steve's best friend was: her or Sam. She missed Rhodey and Sam ranting about the "two crazy white boys" in their lives. She missed her dysfunctional family more than she ever thought possible. And she was so incredibly pissed at both Steve and Tony for not finding a common ground for the accords.

Tony was just as upset. He hated silence, he always knew he did. But he never knew he could hate it so much. He never thought that he could miss Steve, or Wanda, or Clint, or Sam, or Nat. He never knew how much he could miss his daughter yelling at Vision for barging into her room. Or her and Wanda screaming Taylor Swift lyrics at the top of their lungs. Or Steve's thousand questions as they watched some classic movie that he never got to experience. Or the mess the team would leave the kitchen, training room, living room, hell, practically the entire compound. He missed catching Nat teaching y/n how to fight. He missed the dysfunctional family he never knew he had, until Steve and Bucky left him to die in the snow, all alone and cold, bleeding out, wondering where the hell did he go so wrong. Seeing the after math of the Avenger's "civil war", Rhodey struggling to walk on his own and y/n barely leaving her room, made him feel even more guilty. Even thought the fight was both of their faults, Tony couldn't help but feel that it was all his. That he could have, should have, would have done more to fix it...but he did it. And now everyone, even Clint: the retired Avenger, Scott: the man that suddenly entered the team's lives during the fight, and his own sweet daughter: y/n, are facing the consequences.

He sighed, checking his phone while hearing the news blare from his daughter's room to make up for the quietness of the compound.

"Sir, Mr. Parker is here," FRIDAY informed him.

"Send the kid in." He put away his phone and put on his "I'm Tony Stark and I have my shit together" mask.

Peter was, well, to best explain it: the love child of the emotions excited, nervous, anxious, and worried. No matter how many times he had talked to Tony  Stark, he could never get over the fact that he was talking to Tony Stark, THE Iron Man himself. He wondered what Ned would say if he knew. Probably something extremely fanboy-sih like: "Oh my god what did he smell like? If you don't say iron than I give up supporting him." He then thought about what his girlfriend would say to all of this. She didn't exactly know that her boyfriend was the spider vigilante. Or that he had superpowers. Or that Tony Stark had taken him under his wing and had him fight alongside him to stop Captain America. She didn't even know that he left the country just a week ago per Mr. Stark's request. He didn't know what her reaction would be. And he didn't get much time to think about it as the elevator doors opened up to the compound.

Peter's eyes widened in a childlike wonder. He was so caught up in his surroundings that the doors almost closed on him. He stumbled out, still looking around.

"Hey underoos," Tony greeted, putting his phone away.

"H-Hey Mr. Stark. This place is amazing!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes still roaming around the room.

"This used to be the Avengers compound."

"Used to? Oh! Right! Berlin."

"Yeah...Berlin. Let me show you around."

While Tony took Peter on the grand tour, Rhodey thought he'd pay a visit to his favorite Stark.

"How you doing y/n/n?"

"I hate this," she grumbled, lowering the volume of her television.

"I know."

"No offense Rhodey, but you guys are adults. Grown adults. Why couldn't you guys have come to an agreement or something?"

"It's not that simple. You know that."

"But it should have been." She looked down at her lap, trying to hold back the tears. "I'm sorry bout your legs."

"You can't expect to come out with everything in a war like that."

"But it's your family."

"Makes it just a little worth it."

"So, why are you here? Don't get me wrong I love your company Rhodey but I'm sure my dad would prefer you in his sight."

"Came to check in on you. Also, to tell you that the new recruit is here."

"New recruit?" She perked up.

"Yeah. I think you'll like him too. He's your age."

"My age?" She started to laugh. "Rhodes there's no way in hell that Tony Stark, the Iron-Man, my father, would ever recruit a kid my age."

"Well, why don't you just come see for yourself?"

"Is this an attempt to get me out of my room and to face my dad?"

"No, but I'm saving that for future reference. Just come see."

"I'm going. I'm going."

Tony stopped the tour in the living room as soon as he heard his daughter's giggle.

"Pete, there's someone I want you to meet."

As soon as she walked in, Peter froze. Y/N turned her gaze from Rhodey to the two people in front of her and her eyes widened.

"Peter?" she gasped, a smile finding her face for the first time in a week.

"Y/n?" Peter's brows furrowed. He was trying to figure out how the hell his girlfriend got here. Tony looked between the two kids and then back to Rhodey, mentally asking what was going on. Rhodey shrugged his shoulders, just as confused.

"What are you doing here?!" she gave him a hug. She had missed him, esspecially with all the crazyness that had taken over her life the past week.

"Mr. Stark invited me," he hugged her back, also missing the way her voice sounded and how soft her skin was. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here. Wait, invited you?"

"Y/n, this is the new recruit," Tony informed her, scared that she was going to tear him apart.

"Wait what?!" She looked at her dad.

"Wait, why do you live here?"

"She's his daughter," Rhodey answered.

"YOU HAVE A KID!?" Peter yelled.

"Yes.." Tony took a step back, the whole scene feeling too much for him suddenly.

"AND YOURE HIS KID?!"

"Yeah wait why is he recruiting you?"

"He's Spider-Man. How do you two know each other?" Rhodey was more than curious to figure out the drama going on before his eyes.

"YOURE SPIDER-MAN AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!!!"

"IM SORRY!! YOURE TONY STARKS DAUGHTER AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME!!"

"...YOU HAVE A POINT BUT IM SORRY!"

"Screaming kids," Tony snapped his fingers in-between the two, "yeah, hi! How do you two know each other?"

"Oh, well, uh, y-you see Mr. Stark. The thing is..." Peter scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"He's my boyfriend," y/n cut him off. 

"I did NOT see that coming!" Rhodey exclaimed, laughing. "He's the guy that spilled coffee on you two months ago??!" Y/n nodded sheepishly as Peter blushed.

"You told them!?"

"Pete, I was covered in coffee. What did you want me to do? Say I threw up coffee?"

"Really underoos? My kid?" Tony asked, still refusing to believe that his work child and his blood child were dating.

"I DIDN"T KNOOOW!"

"Really y/n? My underoos?"

"Really dad? My Peter?"

"Hey I found him first."

"Actually, I did."

"Actually the spider did," Rhodey intruded.

"Am I being fought over by Tony and y/n Stark?" Peter asked, still confused as to what was going on.

"Yup. It's a pleasure isn't it?" Rhodey teased.

"Listen, as much as I want to be mad I really can't cause you're both good kids so, knock yourselves out...but not up. Please, not up. But Peter, if you hurt my daughter, I will hurt you. And y/n, if you hurt Peter, I will hurt you. Alright?"

"Yes dad."

"Yes Mr. Stark."

"So wait. Is Peter, like, living with us now?" y/n asked.

"For a bit. Just so we can train him." Peter and y/n looked at each other with huge smiles on their faces.

"Let's give them a moment Peter," Rhodey dragged the teen boy out.

"So, do you forgive me?" Tony looked at his daughter with hopeful eyes.

"I'm still upset with you...but I guess I'll forgive you're letting my boyfriend stay for a bit."

"I love you y/n/n, you know that right?"

"And I love you too dad." The two shared a hug for the first time since the spilt of the Avengers, finally feeling as if they had a family again.

"Is this a bad time to ask: where exactly am I staying?" Peter interrupted.

"Jeez kid, can't you see we're having a moment?" Tony rolled his eyes.

"Come on," y/n laughed, "I'll show you to your room."

"Remember to use protection!" Rhodey called out after the two teens. He received a shove from Tony and a middle finger from y/n. Yup, all was finally going to be right in the compound again.