#that’s actually just the hair that grows out mt scalp

[hvly]

it never gets easier explaining to people that medium/dark skinned black women aren’t limited to just 4C hair and can have naturally looser hair textures just like light skinned black people.

[estinininininen]

it'd be very messy as a dragoon in the air! even corraled into a ponytail! i have headcanons that baron men and dragoons especially have an emotional attachment to their hair. not everyone buys into it in baron, it's like an old tradition and superstition, but kain probably would.

it's not like "no uncovered hair except around family" like some real-world cultures, including most of historical medieval europe fantasy rpgs are based off of, it's more like they associate loose hair with being out of armor/off the clock as soldiers. so sometimes people at court wear it out, for formal events (fun hair time!) and also casual time, and the king does because he's king, he has people to fight for him. it's another reason why the mages have hoods (for baron anyway), they are culturally subconciously acknowledging they're subordinate soldiers and on active duty. nobody cuts their hair short unless they're losing it which is then just a sign of aging. it's seen as a bit progressive/shocking/foreign/rebellious/presumptive of command when cecil comes back with no helmet and hair out. just a headband, very himbo. when they see adult rydia with her bright green hair frizzing every direction some gasts are flabbered until they learn who she is

i've heard people wonder how kain crams all that hair into his helmet, but i've also seen people trying to fit a wig mistakenly make thick braids and pin-curls that make fitting a wig on worse. braids add thickness! actually with board-straight fine hair, like kain's seems to be, the easiest thing to do to fit a helmet is exactly what he does: pull it through in a ponytail. if you have to fit it all under you club it, folding it flat and pinning it tight in a few smaller tails, and use a headband to catch flyaways. i think loose hair should stream out at the back like the crest of a dragon which dragoons want, but controlled if possible, so maybe a few braids. so dragoons have more reason to grow hair long, and lean into it, but they gotta be good enough to not get it caught on anything. so it's about showing off skill as well

i know there's a fanfiction somewhere on ao3 where kain remembers his father disgracing a dragoon found guilty of something or another by cutting off their hair in public. i don't know if i headcanon it that far, where they cut it for extreme punishment, regret, or mourning (again, like some real-world cultures do), or if maybe older generations did that

anyway this is all just an excuse to add some more emotional impact, but in an unsaid way kain won't think consciously about, to kain taking off his helmet in the ending scene. he wears the helmet all the time, wound-up about being under control and also admitting he's following cecil, which he thinks is displayed openly by wearing a helmet around cecil, which rosa and cecil pick up on but edge and rydia don't. rosa and cecil let him have the helmet safety blanket even though it'd be nice to see his face sometimes, meanwhile edge and rydia are thinking "what the hell is wrong with this guy still?"

but on mt ordeals he is open, he is working on himself, he is following only his own will. however he acknowledged cecil's command over baron by waiting until he's truly alone to let the hair fly free. kain was the other adoptive son of odin, and older. baron's monarchy seems loosely inherited with some electoral approval from others? so no one was going to make kain king at that point, but in the most brutal political interpretation of the situation, for establishing cecil's rule it's important if kain leaves baron to not leave that thread hanging, so kain waits until up mt. ordeals to admit he even has a scalp again, outside of bathing

Not enough people draw Kain with fun hairstyles (myself included)

[hopelesshawks]

NO WAIT KEIGO WITH A REALLY SUBBY READER THAT DECIDES TO BE A TOTAL BRAT LIKE THIS TIKTOK https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMdKmojPV/

Link

Ok but this was kind of adorable tho? Gotta love kinktok. Reader is gender neutral

18+ due to explicit mentions of sex, minors dni

Warnings for dom/sub dynamics, general horniness, and mention of blowjobs, but no actual sex

Your boyfriend might not be the hardest of doms but you already know that what you’re about to do is a terrible idea anyway.

Mt. Lady’s the one who found the idea on tiktok and had eagerly showed it to you, insisting it would be hilarious. You’d been resistant at first but in the end you relented. After all, Keigo teases you all the time. A little teasing on your part for once couldn’t hurt could it?

Your phone blows up with texts from Mt. Lady asking if you’d done it yet and how Hawks had reacted but you alert her you’re just about to do it now if she’d stop blowing up your phone. You flick the device onto silent and pocket it before taking a deep breath to calm the nerves and anticipation swelling in your chest and make sure you can maintain a good poker face. Finally you step into the kitchen where Keigo is preparing dinner. “Hey babe?” you call out. “Mhm?” he hums in response, eyes not leaving the cutting board as he meticulously dices ingredients. “Look up?”

You can see his eyebrow quirk up in curiosity but he trusts you so he does as told.

“Look down.”

His eyes shift again, confusion growing more now as he tries to identify whatever it is you’re trying to show him.

“Good boy.”

The minute the words leave your lips you sprint for the bedroom door, giggling the whole way and heart racing as you briefly catch a glimpse of Hawks’ scandalized look. Your quirk makes you pretty fast but not fast enough to outpace the number two hero. Within moments you feel his strong arms wrapping around you and hauling you back. “Where do you think you’re going?” he teases. You can’t see his face properly but you can practically hear how smug he sounds already. You squirm in his grasp trying to get free but his grip is unrelenting. “Stop squirming,” he warns, voice still light. “Nope!” you giggle as you continue trying to get free. “I don’t think you heard me,” he starts, squeezing you just a little tighter.

“I said stop squirming.”

The words are a harsh whisper, his voice dropping what seems like a full octave right in your ear.

It jolts through you, making your mouth run dry as your hormones take an interest in the direction this interaction is rapidly heading. Your movements still as your heart starts pounding in your chest.

“Turn around,” he commands, his tone unwavering as you do as told. Your eyes naturally shift away in deference as you spin in his arms, your front pressed to his as your sex stirs to life.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his, your pupils blown shamelessly wide as you search his golden irises for any possible hint as to what exactly he’s thinking.

“On your knees.”

He lets you go and you drop to your knees without hesitation. Mouth watering now at the thought of what you could do from your new position to please him, to apologize for daring to be a little brat and tricking him the way you did. Your hands twitch where you’ve got them in your lap, eager to reach for the zipper on his jeans.

“Good baby,” he practically purrs, looking smug. You don’t care how easy it was for him to flip the switch, all you want in that moment is to show him what a good little sub you can be. Anticipation flutters through your stomach and adrenaline rushes through your veins as he reaches one hand out to touch your hair and scratch along your scalp the way he always does right before making you deep throat him. Your mouth practically drops open in anticipation. “You know what good subs get don’t you?” he asks and you nod eagerly. “Good,” he replies, before suddenly releasing his grasp on you and walking away to return to his previous position from before you even entered the kitchen.

Heat suffuses through your body after having been denied. “Wait, but, I thought-” you sputter, staring at your boyfriend as he resumes cutting vegetables as if nothing had happened. “You didn’t really think you’d get to be a brat and still get what you want did you?” he smirks, his entire demeanor triumphant as he watches you try to process the shift.

“You- I- but-” you gape.

“Go get washed up for dinner (y/n). You must be starving with the way you were just drooling all over yourself,” he grins. The bastard’s won and he knows it. No matter how much you rack your brain you can’t come up with a suitably witty alternative, leaving you with one option: compliance.

As you go to wash your hands before eating you pull out your phone to see Mt. Lady still spamming your notifications. You tap over to your messages with her and alert her you had indeed tried out the prank on Keigo. When she asked how it went you shared with her exactly the lesson you had learned.

When it comes to teasing, trying to one up Hawks is a losing game.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @larkspyrr @oliviasslut @black-rose-29

[secret-engima]

Ardyn doesn't know his own strength and accidentally helps Niflheim topple Insomnia like, eleven years too early. So he scoops his tiny would-be killer out of the rubble and smuggles him to the Nox Fleurets, presumably to stash for a few years--only, Tenebrae soon falls too, with the rumors of them harboring Prince Noctis (who the Emperor rather badly wants dead, as the Crystal still. won't. accept. him). So now Ardyn has to figure out how to semi-raise Noct into something NOT hopelessly (1/2)

alyss-spazz-penedo

said:

(2/2) civilian and strong enough to fight the gods and fulfill the Prophecy, even as he definitely still hates the child and would quite enjoy seeing him suffer. On Noct's part, he totally knows who Ardyn is and what he wants (thanks Luna), and sure he's glad he wasn't cut down in the raid on the mansion but he's SO unhappy to see Ardyn again.

Me: Oh my word do you even KNOW how angsty I could make this ask? DO YOU EVEN KNOW????? Of course you do you just want to see me suffer.

But just- this could get SO DARK. So abusive. So brutal and even though I would not go full dark there’s still so much ANGST no matter how you look at it.

The worst part is I actually have a bby AU very much like this. Does anyone remember the slightly unstable Imperial!Noctis that showed up in my All Nocti Dissidia AU blurb?

This is basically him.

A Noctis who grew up having lost his home TWICE. First Insomnia, then Tenebrae, both to the same Empire and the same Accursed, and then the Accursed had to RAISE HIM and it was- it was hard. It was brutal. Ardyn raised this Noctis to be a weapon strong enough to destroy him, a politician cunning enough to overthrow him, a scientist smart enough to outthink even Besithia. His only light was Luna, who Ardyn allowed to visit to keep Noctis on his “destined path”, and partially Aranea, who drifted into the young “Chancellor’s Nephew” orbit out of happenstance and then later pity, because she could see the brittle sharp glint in the boy’s eyes and knew an abusive situation when she saw it, and if him hiding in her airship sometimes gave him respite, if that was all she could do to help because Ardyn wasn’t someone she could arrest-.

She tried. At least. She did what she could.

And one of the most angsty bits of this is-

In some warped way, Ardyn and Noctis grow to love each other. Because there are days when Ardyn’s sickness loosens it’s hold enough to let bits of the Healer King and Big Brother shine through, and his touch becomes gentle and his teasing words lose their poison, his hands card through Noctis’s hair and do not scrape at his scalp, and when he speaks of Prophecy there is longing there for rest and repentance rather than poison and mockery for the fate that awaits them both. This is the Ardyn that peaks through when Noctis falls sick after climbing up a mountain in a snowstorm for training, or when he’s too sore to move after a night battling in Ardyn’s daemon training arena learning how to forcibly purify the creatures even though purification is Luna’s magic and not his. This is the Ardyn that holds Noctis close sometimes and sobs apologies into his limp, shivering nephew’s hair because he is aware, at least for a moment, that this child-teen-young-adult is not Somnus and does not deserve to be molded into a weapon of Astral and Accursed alike. This is the Ardyn that Noctis calls Uncle and bitterly, angrily loves in his heart, the one he looks for in the Chancellor’s every morning and quietly mourns when he cannot find him.

The Accursed trains and molds a weapon, a politician, a cunning, sharp mind that can rival his own and someday kill him.

But it’s the little bits and pieces of Ardyn that raise Noctis, a king and a nephew and a son that holds on to the morals Luna gives him with an iron grip, that makes sure Noctis is not completely drowned beneath the Chosen King.

And in the end it is the work of both sides, Accursed and Healer King, that raise up the one who saves the world. It is the Accursed who forged the weapon that hunts down the weapons of the Lucii and steals the lost ring, who steps into the Crystal without flinching and comes out ready to kill.

But it is Noctis who spent years stealing away children from Besithia’s labs so they would not become MT units, who fosters the rebellion and organizes the factions of Lucian, Galahdian, Altissian, Tenebraen, and Niflheim rebels so that they become a more cohesive whole that the Empire cannot isolate and crush beneath it’s boot. It is Noctis who sometimes sneaks into Luna’s rooms at night so that they can just- hold each other, so that Luna can run gentle fingers down his back and remind him what it means to be human, not a weapon, not the King of Light, who shows him the innocent people he must protect and proves to him that they are worth fighting for and keeping safe when it would be so much EASIER to just wage his war and not care about the collateral.

It is Noctis who teaches his stolen not-MT units to be people and to stay safe, Noctis who clings to the sunshine soul of the one who names himself Prompto and follows on his heels into the maw of Ardyn’s brutal training without flinching. It is Noctis who finds Lucis’s Marshal Immortal deep in one of Niflheim’s dungeons and arranges for the rebellion (his rebellion) to break him out. Who gives the Galahdians his magic in the dead of night with a ghoulish mask and cloak to keep his identity hidden from them. It is Noctis who finds the Last Amicitia leading a rebel cell and offers him hope and gains in accidental exchange a protector and Shield. It is Noctis that is tracked down by a young man with glasses and green eyes and loyalty in every fiber, a man who says “I know you are our secret leader, let me help you” and Noctis who is still human enough to be grateful and say yes.

It is Noctis who orchestrated the Empire’s downfall long before he stepped into Crystal, and who’s forces have hemmed and imprisoned the Accursed in the ruins of Noctis’s first home during the ten years he is gone.

It is Noctis, not the Chosen King (weapon, war beast, broken tool) who gently pillows Ardyn’s head in his lap and pets red-violet hair and sings ancient, long-forgotten lullabies as the Accursed (his tormentor, his Uncle, his worst nightmare, his parent) breathes his last.

It is Noctis who ascends the throne of an Empire and reclaims the Crystal (with Luna and a Retinue at his side to keep him from becoming as heartless as the Chosen King that was forged from him) rather than rolling over and dying, because Ardyn gave him training and honed his mind and gave him access to all of Besithia’s knowledge, did he really think Noctis wouldn’t look for a way to weaken and end the Scourge without sacrificing himself for it?

(He thinks perhaps that Ardyn didn’t, that his Uncle-captor-Chancellor-father always intended him to find a loophole in the Prophecy so that he would survive, that even when buried underneath the Accursed, the Healer King still fought to protect the last of his family)

(Then he clutches the cane he has to lean on ever since that final battle and goes to find some wine, because he does not want to think those thoughts. They hurt even worse than his limp and his joints and the lifetime of scars he hides under elaborate black tattoos.)

There.

THERE.

ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

Or do you want me to ramble about how Cor feels the day he finally meets the mysterious head of the rebellion, who is now the emperor and how he’s suspicious and willing to keep fighting if this man turns out to be corrupt, because he’s heard this is the Chancellor’s nephew, only to feel his heart stop when he sees the profile of the man leaning heavily on a cane and thinks for one second it’s Regis’s ghost before realizing this man is younger and clean-shaven and dressed in a way that shows off the elaborate, scar-hiding tattoos on his arms and shoulders. How he makes some noise in his throat and when their mysterious Chosen turns to look at him Cor finds himself looking into armiger blue eyes and Regis’s face if it had been softened by Aulea’s jawline and made borderline feral by a lifetime of intrigue and abuse thinly veiled as training.

And Cor whispers the name of his best friend’s long-dead son, and the new Emperor’s eyes sharpen as he says, “How do you know my real name? I never told anyone outside my Retinue.” And something in Cor twists with realization.

And there’s also the realizations of Ignis and Gladio years earlier, who don’t KNOW at first who Noctis really is to them until he trusts them enough to reveal his magic and they realize THIS IS THEIR PRINCE. This is their long lost charge who they thought was dead, but has instead been raised by the man who hates him most and yet loves him dearly by turns and all that entails.

And there’s also LUNA. Luna who doesn’t die, but who grows up watching the gentle, smiling boy she first met in Tenebrae get shaped and sharpened and molded into a Chosen King and a beast of war and a tool of destiny, who could so easily become a monster just like the Accursed in all but name, but who FIGHTS it every step of the way even as his light falls away and Luna becomes his only cornerstone for years. His only reminder that there is a life and a purpose outside the Accursed’s plans and the Prophecy that Luna grows to hate, because if it did not exist then the Accursed would have no interest in her friend.

Luna who cries with relief the day the not-MT named Prompto glues himself to Noctis’s side and refuses to leave, because there is an innocent, stubborn light to the boy’s eyes that gently draws Noctis out of the armor that is the Chosen King even when Luna is not there. Luna who rails at the Astrals (at Bahamut, who prevents Shiva and Ramuh from acting) because they can SEE what is happening, yet they will not step in to rescue him, because even now Ardyn is pushing Noctis toward his “destiny” and that is all that matters.

Luna who, years after all is said and done, after the Accursed is laid to final rest and Noctis slowly dissolves the Empire back into free and healthy kingdoms, still has to hold him when he shakes and still has to talk the icy, too-sharp glaze from his eyes when he forgets to be human rather than weapon. Who pushes golden magic into his body even though she knows some scars can never be healed, and who has to talk Noctis down with Ignis’s help from the heights of his utter, visceral horror the day she tells him she is pregnant and Noctis realizes he’s going to be a father, but that he doesn’t know how, because what role model for fatherhood has he ever had and remembered that wasn’t the very man who took his real father away and made him the fractured mess he is?

...

There I think I’m done being brutally angsty now.

Happy notes for an AU like this would be-

Noctis and Luna both live. Ignis does not go blind.

Noctis and Luna have like- five kids and Noctis adores them all once he gets over his visceral panic. He is the gentlest, kindest father. Luna and Ignis and Gladio have to do all the disciplining because Noctis will not raise a hand or voice to them ever, and he has never looked more peaceful then when he is napping with his children in the garden.

Prompto has like- several hundred brothers because Noctis stole bby MT’s whenever he could. Prompto is the unofficial “oldest” brother of them all (even though chronologically he isn't) since he has the ear of the king, and all the clones have fun making themselves unique via hair and accessories and tattoos and clothes and weird names.

Gladio and Aranea are snark buddies, and neither are entirely sure how they got married but they’re pretty sure it was Biggs’ and Wedge’s faults and that Ignis officiated (which isn’t too far off).

Cor gets to spoil all of Regis’s and Clarus’s grandkids like crazy.

Galahd gets rebuilt and gets to be it’s own country. Nyx Ulric and Crowe and all our other fav glaives live and aren’t traitors.

Titus Drautos was one of Noctis’s most loyal double-agents during the rebellion, and frankly he isn’t sure how his retirement still involves him braincelling his Galahdian idiots, but their islands are pretty and its far, far away from any and all Niflheim/Lucian politics so eh, he’ll take it. Now if Nyx would just STOP using him as a babysitting service for the adorable adopted bby Ulrics of his newly remade Clan, that would help his blood pressure so much.

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Bakusquad, An Extended Scene About The Joys And Pains of Dyeing Hair

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. No additional content warnings apply. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

⚡💖⛰️🎸📼

You have added Best Bakubro 💣💥!

You have changed the name from “⚡💖⛰️🎸📼” to “⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼”!

hehehe we’re all set (sent 12:10)

welcome baku!! 💪🏻 (sent 12:10)

- 

God 💡: 👀 (received 12:11)

Simply Mina: 👀👀 (received 12:11)

MT Tape: 👀 (received 12:11)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: shitty hair (received 12:13)

- 

you promised!!! (sent 12:13)

no take backs 👀 (sent 12:13)

- 

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fuck (received 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: okay two things (received 12:13)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: one i’m muting this so @ me or fuck off (received 12:14)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: two give me your names (received 12:14)

God 💡: wait srsly?? (received 12:15)

God 💡: c’mon bro it’s been months :( (received 12:15)

Simply Mina: yea wth blasty that’s so cold :(( (received 12:15)

MT Tape: answer the people explosion man @Best Bakubro 💣💥 (received 12:17)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fine you’re staying random numbers then (received 12:18)

God 💡: OH (received 12:18)

God 💡: kaminari denki here!! (received 12:18)

MT Tape: this is sero 🙏🏻 (received 12:18)

Simply Mina: mina!!! (received 12:19)

Simply Mina: @Guitar Hero is kyoka 💖 (received 12:19)

* 

Best Bakubro 💣💥

who? (received 12:19)

-

jirou!! (sent 12:19)

-

? (received 12:19)

-

🔌 (sent 12:20)

-

ah (received 12:20)

* 

⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼

Best Bakubro 💣💥: k (received 12:20)

God 💡: anyways (received 12:22)

God 💡: this is the best day of my life (received 12:22)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: shut it jolteon (received 12:22)

God 💡: dude i didn’t even @ u asdfkjsfk (received 12:22)

God 💡: wait omg is that an upgrade?? (received 12:23)

God 💡: did i get upgraded from pikachu to jolteon omg omg (received 12:23)

MT Tape: DIBS ON UMBREON (received 12:23)

MT Tape: we’re picking eeveelutions right? (received 12:23)

-

!!!! pls pls flareon pls!!! (sent 12:24)

-

Simply Mina: espeon or sylveon (received 12:24)

Simply Mina: espeon or sylveon??? (received 12:25)

Simply Mina: GUYS (received 12:25)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: this is a nightmare (received 12:25)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: and wtf espeon of course (received 12:26)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: better stats and none of that affection shit (received 12:26)

Simply Mina: the council has spoken (received 12:26)

-

what about flareon??? (sent 12:27)

plsplspls (sent 12:27)

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: kirishima (received 12:27)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: it’s red. (received 12:28)

-

HELL YEAH ❤️ (sent 12:28)

-

Guitar Hero: hi what the HELL are you guys spamming about (received 12:30)

Guitar Hero: oh hey bakugou (received 12:30)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: plugs you’re glaceon (received 12:31)

Guitar Hero: i’m cool with that (received 12:31)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: good (received 12:31)

MT Tape: ok kiri i think i get it now (received 12:34)

MT Tape: putting every decision thru the baku filter is so much more fun (received 12:34)

- 

right??? (sent 12:34)

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: don’t fucking start (received 12:35)

Simply Mina: too late <3 (received 12:35)

God 💡: our trap card activated the moment you stepped into this chat man (received 12:36)

MT Tape: Bakugou Katsuki has been designated Chief Executive Brain (CEB) of the squad, effective immediately. (received 12:36)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: i’m leaving (received 12:37)

-

:( (sent 12:37)

-

MT Tape: … 👀 (received 12:40)

MT Tape: he ain’t leaving huh? (received 12:44)

God 💡: kiri’s puppy eyes once again confirmed as world’s strongest force (received 12:45)

Simply Mina: it’s kiri so we’re all safe tho <3 (received 12:45)

-

<3 (sent 12:45)

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: for the record i hate all of you (received 12:46)

*

⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼

Simply Mina: hey hey blasty (received 14:48)

Simply Mina: which eeveelution are you? (received 14:48)

Simply Mina: @Best Bakubro 💣💥 (received 14:50)

God 💡: 👀👀 (received 14:50)

- 

👀 (sent 14:50)

-

MT Tape: 👀 (received 14:51)

Guitar Hero: ^ what they said (received 14:53)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: eevee, duh (received 14:56)

Best Bakubro 💣💥: i don’t need a type advantage to win (received 14:56)

-

😭 bro so manly (sent 14:56)

also (sent 14:57)

You have changed the name from “⚡💖💣⛰️🎸📼” to “🦊 Eevee Squad 🦊”!

-

Best Bakubro 💣💥: fucking fantastic. can we shut up now? (received 15:00)

*

Best Bakubro 💣💥

see? told u it’s fun 💪🏻 (sent 15:01)

-

i guess (received 15:02)

-

like i said u can just ignore the chat if ur not feeling it (sent 15:10)

they’re cool, they won’t mind (sent 15:10)

+ i’ll text u stuff directly if it’s important (sent 15:12)

-

kiri (received 15:12)

-

ok ok hhh just saying (sent 15:12)

- 

i know (received 15:13)

you got that shit for ectoplasm yet? (received 15:17)

-

ummm (sent 15:17)

-

fucking knew it (received 15:17)

you coming or what? (received 15:22)

-

!!! o7 (sent 15:22)

*

Bakugou is staring.

Eyes on the page, Kirishima tries to focus on the function he’s been struggling to get for fifteen minutes now. Something about tangents and right angles? No, cotangents, which is different from a non-cotangent tangent because–

Bakugou has stopped writing a while ago, the fabric-covered pen resting loosely in his hand, his head propped up on a fist.

–the cosine does… something with the sine of X. Division? Maybe? X pops up in a bunch of places, actually, and Kirishima longs for the days math still featured numbers and not whatever nonsense this cos-sin-tan stuff is–

Bakugou is staring right at him, has been for ages now and Kirishima can’t help it. He looks up, only to catch Bakugou looking away, and huffs a nervous chuckle.

“Bro, c’mon. What’s up? Is there something on my face ‘cause you’ve been–”

“It’s black.” There’s a pensive twist to Bakugou’s brow. He breezes through the part of the problem Kirishima’s stuck on like it’s nothing, scribbled down in permanent ink like the monster he is. “Your natural haircolor. It’s black, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Kirishima picks his head up from where he’s slumped across Bakugou’s desk, the bean bag he’s sitting on shifting under his butt. Since when does Bakugou care about his hair? It hasn’t been black for over a year, anyways, so what does that have to do with…

“Wait, why do you–”

Bakugou’s eyes wander back to him, landing on Kirishima’s hair for barely a second but it’s enough. With a mortified noise, Kirishima slaps both his hands over his forehead – or more specifically, his roots.

Because Kirishima completely forgot he’s overdue on a redye for a good week and styled his hair as he usually does: gel evenly spread into carefully towel-dried strands, quirk on until it dries, done. He hadn’t looked into a mirror before heading to class or he would’ve seen his tips straying from cherry red to berry pink.

And that jet-black line where it’s growing back out. The roots that are the bane of Kirishima’s existence and that Bakugou saw.

Kirishima groans, curling into himself until his head hits wood with a dull donk. “How bad is it? Don’t spare me, bro, I need to know.”

That rhymes, the part of his brain not burning in the hellfire of shame chimes in. Kirishima firmly tells it to shut up.

“Your hair?”, Bakugou asks from an unknown realm beyond the bit of desk Kirishima’s staring at, a beat late. Probably to treat him to a glare he can’t see.

Kirishima rubs his forehead across his math homework in a miserable nod.

“It’s not more or less shitty than usual, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou scoffs. “What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, nothing”, Kirishima shrugs, his voice a fake-cheerful mumble, “Just that I’ve been walking around like this all day. A whole ass day. Kill me, now.”

“Nah. Wasn’t the idea to ‘die like a man in chivalrous battle’?”

Kirishima shoots him a dirty look. Bakugou doesn’t even bat an eye; he flashes his teeth in a bright smile and knocks his fists against each other, whispering “manly” under his breath and okay, why does Bakugou have to be good at everything, including impersonating Kirishima?

“I hate you”, grumbles Kirishima. Bakugou breaks character to cackle, only stopping after Kirishima balls up his pitiful attempt at math to throw it at his head. Bull’s eye, right on the forehead.

“Oi! That’s your homework, moron.”

“You started it”, Kirishima points at him with his pencil. His notepad is pulled closer with a deep, long sigh. “Now I gotta do this stuff again and stress about my hair. Amazing.”

Ah, the God-help-me eyeroll. It’s been a while. “Just go fucking dye it and come back if it bothers you so much. Can’t be that hard.”

“Says the blond guy”, Kirishima huffs. “Dude, do you even know how long getting rid of this” – a gesture to his roots – “takes? Black hair is a pain to bleach. Literally.”

Bakugou considers his hair with a frown. “…How long are we talking here? Like, an hour?”

A laugh, louder than Kirishima intends. “Try three. Sometimes more, it depends.”

“Three hours?!”

“Or more.”

A little smug, Kirishima watches disbelief bloom on Bakugou’s face. When it comes to this, destroying the innocence of the uninitiated is the only joy he’s got. There’s really nothing fun about sitting through those hours every six weeks, give or take – just plain, boring routine. At least he isn’t anxious about making mistakes anymore, not like his first few times.

It’s definitely worth it, though. Kirishima loves his red hair.

“And it, what. It hurts?”

Bakugou is still processing it seems, a hand going to his own hair. (It looks so soft, that even light color Kirishima has envied since the beginning of time. Such a nice base for any type of dye, especially bright ones or pastels.)

Kirishima scrunches his nose. “The developer does, yeah. Anything over 9% makes your scalp burn like crazy so I stick to 9% and do multiple rounds. I can’t go light enough for the red I want, otherwise.”

“And then the dye?”

“Then you dye it, yeah. Roots first, then the lengths in small strands, let it sit for twenty more minutes or so, rinse it out and then you’re done.”

It’s weird to explain things that have become totally obvious to him step by step, but Bakugou looks strangely fascinated by what he’s hearing. He does likes things to be more complicated than simple in basically any regard, Kirishima muses with a private snicker. Perhaps it’s not that surprising, after all.

“I use pure red on everything but you can mix colors, too, there’s a whole science behind that. And if you decide ‘Hey, I haven’t suffered enough!’, you can do individual highlights as well. But that’s a production all in itself! Ask Kami, he does some wild things to get that lightning bolt just right.”

Bakugou slowly shakes his head. “You people are crazy. That can’t be worth it.” He squints at Kirishima, hums to himself and starts nodding, instead. Vaguely terrified of what’s brewing in that brain of his, Kirishima waits for him to finish thinking.

“Let’s do it.”

There it is, a suitably terrible idea. Also: What?

“Color or highlights?” Kirishima sputters. “Wait, you or me? Bro, I can live with my own mistakes but dyeing your hair is too much pressure. Like, I’ll do it if you really want me to but, um–”

“Color. And you, obviously. Who of us is freaking out about hair, huh? Sure as fuck ain’t me.”

I’m not freaking out about it, Kirishima wants to say. Okay, he had been freaking out a little. Maybe. Not anymore, not with the mental image of Bakugou with Riot-red hair sort of making his braincells implode.

It’s impossible to imagine. Kirishima tries to anyways, fails, shakes his head. Focus!

“But…”

He draws a blank. Actually, Bakugou helping him with his hair does sound kind of fun. Until his patience inevitably runs out and he explodes the pot of dye, or something. Which could be hilarious, too.

“…Homework?”

(Not that he particularly wants to go back to puzzling over non-tangent cotangents – Ectoplasm always seems to know when he didn’t do the thing, though, and Kirishima hates disappointing his teachers more than he does the variable X.)

Bakugou sparks off in his direction. “We got three hours. 'nuff said.” He snatches up the math book they were sharing, Kirishima’s notepad and even the pencil out of his hand, and is out the room before Kirishima has fully registered they’re doing this.

“Shitty Hair!”

Kirishima jumps to his feet.

“Coming!”

*

“This is so damn messy. How’s your bathroom not stained to hell already?”

Coming up on their third round over his bathroom sink, Kirishima feels little sleepy as he blinks up at Bakugou. That expression of intense concentration hasn’t budged all three rounds, Bakugou’s hands steady yet gentle where they’re starting to dab red dye over freshly bleached roots.

There’s a dot of crimson on his cheek already. After forcing gloves on Bakugou and explaining to him how red pigment is the hardest to wash out – on clothes, skin, hair, wherever it lands – Kirishima isn’t inclined to point it out to him just yet.

“I asked admin about it. They said everything in our rooms is practically indestructible, including the sinks.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, right? They thought of everything, it seems.”

Bakugou continues. Kirishima dozes.

“Your hair is dry as fuck, by the way.”

Kirishima shrugs with his eyes closed, following the nudge to turn his head so Bakugou can get to the back. This is so much more comfortable than doing it by himself.

“Can’t be helped, man. The dye by itself is fine, actually, it’s the bleach that’s causes most of the damage. Oh well, with the gel it’s hard as concrete, anyways.”

“Mhmm. You’ll go bald by the time we’re outta here.”

“Hey!”

“Bald Hero: Red Riot”, Bakugou muses out loud, easily evading the kick Kirishima blindly aims at his shin. “Stop it, you’re gonna fuck up my hard work here.”

He’s smiling though, Kirishima can tell. It’s all in his voice, roughness replaced by warmth when it’s the two of them in Kirishima’s tiny bathroom.

“Stop dissing my hair, then. Besides, I know your secret.”

This Kirishima wants to see. He opens one eye and yup, Bakugou’s brows are doing the thing where they twitch and pull together. Not exactly a frown, more caught off guard than anything. Bakugou’s lips press shut, stubbornly silent as he brushes dye on every inch of Kirishima's hair.

Then: “I’m done. What am I s’posed to do with this shit?”

Kirishima glances at the pot Bakugou holds out to him. There’s still some of the thick liquid left.

“Just pour it on top. Can’t hurt and it’s better than throwing it away.”

Bakugou does exactly that. He tosses the empty pot and the thoroughly stained brush into the sink. Kirishima helps him wrap his hair in cellophane and a towel to reduce the possible mess, relocating to the closed lid of his toilet so Bakugou can take off the gloves and wash his hands.

“Okay, I’ll fucking bite. What secret?”

Lingering on the tension between them, Kirishima grins with all the confidence in the world. “That you like my hair.”

Bakugou barks a laugh. “After I went all Van Gogh on it? You better believe it’s good.”

“Nope, I mean before that”, Kirishima challenges.

“Proof?”, Bakugou shoots back without hesitation.

“Oh, I can give you proof.” Kirishima’s arms cross over the ratty shirt he always wears for this, its fabric dotted and streaked in interlacing shades of red. “One, it’s the first thing you noticed about me, hence ‘Shitty Hair’. Two, you were distracted by my roots growing in so you pay attention to how it looks–”

“I don’t–”

“–and three, you just spent hours dyeing it for me.”

Bakugou’s mouth snaps shut. He growls in his throat, grabbing an additional towel and drying his hands. Kirishima wasn’t aware those are actions that can be done aggressively but hey, he’s learning something new every day.

“Maybe”, Bakugou finally concedes. The towel is thrown in Kirishima’s face when all he does is smile. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Bakugou’s cheeks are dusted pink. Still, Kirishima shows the guy some mercy: Bakugou spent all afternoon fixing both his hair and his math homework, after all.

“Hey, Baku?”

“… What?”

“Thanks, man. You’re a good friend, you know that?”

Somehow, that makes Bakugou look even more flustered. “Whatever, Shitty Hair.”

Because Bakugou is Bakugou, namely a man who doesn’t know when or how to quit, he sticks around until Kirishima can rinse out the dye. He emerges from the shower feeling fully restored, a towel wrapped around his waist and his shirt draped over his shoulder.

“And that’s how you do it.”

Bakugou throws him a look from his sprawl on Kirishima’s bed, manga in hand. His gaze flicks to his hair immediately; his lips twist upwards, obviously satisfied.

“Told ya, it ain’t hard.”

Kirishima chuckles, shakes his head. “You’re so full of shit, dude.”

Now that the hair situation is under control for a few weeks, he realizes how hungry he is. The evening has barely begun, too, which means there’s time for a movie before Bakugou’s ridiculous sleep schedule comes a-knocking, either taking him out or making him cranky. Each scenario has about a fifty-fifty chance of happening.

“Hey, you wanna–”

Out of nowhere, his door bursts open to reveal one Kaminari Denki, out of breath and clutching a very familiar book to his chest.

“Kiri! Please tell me you guys figured out the–”

His eyes fall first on the splattered shirt on Kirishima’s shoulder, the trails of watery red dripping from his hair to his naked chest – and then on Bakugou, hands stained a faint red despite the gloves, that smear of color on his cheek Kirishima forgot to tell him about still very much there.

“Is that blood? What happened? Oh my–” Kaminari gasps. “Did you kill somebody?! Oh fuck, we have to hide the bo–”

“Kami”, Kirishima tries between bouts of laughter, “No, what the hell!”

A familiar cackle behind him does absolutely nothing to help their case.

>>Chapter 8.

[gabberwockywrites]

“Blind”- A Promtis Story

Prompto looses his contacts and doesn’t have glasses. Luckily Ignis has extra frames and knows a guy in Lestallum. 

AO3 Link

Prompto knew, as soon as he slid those frames on his face in elementary school, that’d he’d need some form of vision correction for the rest of his life. It was just a fact; one that became more and more obvious as his vision got worse and worse, lenses growing thicker and more obvious.

The option of contact lenses when he turned thirteen was a blessing, one he accepted excitedly, foregoing his glasses for poking himself in the eye every morning.

Whenever he needed a prescription change, he focused one what he used most: his contacts.

Which was how he found himself in this predicament: missing contacts and out-of-date glasses left in Insomnia, probably cracked and broken by now.

“Shit.”

“What’s up, Prom?”

“Nothing!” he squinted up at the figure in the tent’s entrance. “I’m fine, Noct.”

He wasn’t fine.

His head was pounding, right behind his eyes, as he tried to focus on anything. Eventually, he just closed his eyes with a groan and leaned back against his seat in the Regalia.

“Prompto, are you quite alright?” Ignis asked, concerned. “You sound ill.”

“’S just a headache, Iggy.” Prompto replied. “I’ll be fine after I lay down.”

Ignis frowned. “Do you want to switch with Noctis? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. And Gladio would let you lie down.”

Prompto hummed, nodding, as Ignis pulled over and shook Noctis awake.

“What is it?” Noctis groaned, slowly waking up.

“Switch with Prompto, he needs to lay down.”

That woke Noctis up. “Prom, you ok?”

“Just a headache.” Prompto responded, climbing out of the car.

Noctis followed suit, letting Prompto settle into the seat he’d just vacated. Prompto groaned with relief as he laid down.

“Hey, kid.” Gladio rumbled as Prompto’s head hit his leg. “How’s your head?”

“Pounding.” Prompto replied, blinking up at Gladio and wincing.

He chuckled, a hand moving to rest on the younger’s head. “Just rest, ok?”

Prompto nodded, falling asleep.

Noctis startled him awake a few hours later with a shout. “Imperials above us!”

Prompto groaned as everyone sprang into action; he hung back a bit as usual, trying to shoot the enemies and clear some of them out. He used his gun sparingly; all the MT’s and even his friends blurred together into one mass.

After the fight, and a few bullet dodges, Ignis turned to Prompto.

“Prompto, do you need glasses?”

“Uh.. what?”

“Do you need glasses?”

Prompto hesitated. “Uh… yeah. I usually wear contacts though.”

“And you’re not right now, are you?”

“Ummm…. No. I couldn’t find them.”

“And your glasses?”

“In Insomnia. They’re practically useless, I don’t remember the last time I changed the prescription on them.”

Ignis sighed. “Luck for you, I have extra frames. I recommend we head back to Lestallum to find someone who can get you new lenses.”

Prompto groaned. “I hate glasses.”

“And yet you need them for emergencies such as these.” Ignis replies. “We’ll try to get you contacts as well.”

“Thanks, Iggy.”

“Of course.”

They settled back in the Regalia, Noctis gently pushing Prompto towards the back seat.

“Lay down, Prom. It helps, right?”

Prompto nodded. “A but but… if you want the back, I’ll be ok.”

Noctis shook his head. “I’ll be ok in the front seat. I just want you to feel better.”

Gladio chuckled, shaking his head at the two of them. “Sit in the back with Prom, Noct. I’ll take the front.”

“You sure?”

“Yep!” Gladio smiled. “Now go before I change my mind.”

And that was how they sat, Prompto sprawled across Noctis’s lap as the two older men took the front, for the drive back to Lestallum.

Once there, Ignis checked them into the hotel before leaving to find the correct doctor for Prompto.

Prompto flopped onto the bed, closing his eyes. Noctis laid on top of him, resting his head on Prompto’s chest.

“So… how blind are you?”

Prompto opened his eyes and blinked down at him. “What?”

“How much do you need glasses? Are you like Iggy, like how he can like… mostly see but prefers glasses? Or are you actually almost blind?”

Prompto laughed. “Nah, I’m pretty blind.”

“Really.”

“Yep! Pretty sure I shouldn’t be handling a gun until I get glasses.”

“I’ll say,” Gladio cut in, looking up from his book. “Pretty sure I almost caught a few of Prom’s stray bullets.”

Prompto winced. “Sorry, big guy.”

“It’s OK.” He chuckled. “Nothing hit me.”

“Did he manage to hit anything?” Noctis teased.

“Hey!”

Noctis laughed. “Prom, babe, I know you’re normally a great shot. But blind…”

“Not so much.” Gladio finished, grinned.

Prompto whined, “Guys!”

Noctis smiled, leaning up to peck Prompto’s lips. “Still love you, babe.”

“Thanks.”

Ignis walked in, startling the two on the bed. “Got you an appointment for tomorrow, Prompto.” He said, settling next to Gladio on the couch.

“Thanks, Igs.”

“Of course,” he nudged Gladio’s arm up so he could snuggle under it, starting to relax. “How’re you feeling?”

“About the same.” Prompto answered. “My headache won’t go away until I get my glasses.”

Ignis nodded. “Well that will hopefully be fixed tomorrow.”

Prompto hummed, shifting with Noctis as the other moved behind him. “Noct?”

“Lay your head in my lap, I’ll massage your scalp.”

“What?”

“It helps with my headaches.”

Prompto looked up at him. “Is that why you’d just come lay on my lap in the afternoon?”

“Umm… yeah?”

“Huh,” he laid down in Noctis’s lap, letting him run fingers through his hair.

A few moments of silence passed before Noctis spoke up again. “I bet you’ll be cute with glasses.”

“Huh?” Prompto opened his eyes and looked up at Noctis.

“I bet you look cute with glasses.”

Prompto spluttered. “I- uh… nah. Besides, I’m already cute.”

Noctis smiled. “Ok, so you’ll be even cuter in glasses.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“… you’re not gonna let me win, are you?” Prompto sighed.

“Nope.” Noctis grinned. “Come on, I only vaguely remember you with glasses and I thought you were cute then.”

Prompto squawked, sitting up and turning to Noctis. “You remember that?!”

“Course I do. You were the first person in that school who talked to me for me.”

“Oh…”

“Only the once though. You didn’t try again until high school.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow, keying into their conversation. “Was Prompto the little blond boy you were always looking at, Noct?”

Noctis blushed. “Yeah. I wanted him to talk to me again but I didn’t want to scare him into it.”

Prompto squeaked, face red. “You were watching me?!”

“Well it sounds creepy when you say it like that…”

“I thought you looked rather wistful,” Ignis cut in again, “whenever you looked at him.”

Noctis’s blush deepened. “Well, anyway. You looked cute in glasses then so you probably look good in them now.”

“Noct, stop!” Prompto whined as Noctis laughed.

“Sorry, babe, just stating facts.”

Prompto groaned again, triggering the other three’s laughter, before flopping back into Noctis’s lap and letting him massage the headache away.

Prompto got lucky the next day, as he left the office with a new pair of glasses perched on his nose. They’d had his prescription on hand, though he would have to wait a few weeks for contacts.

Noctis stared when Prompto got back to the hotel room. “You’re adorable.”

Prompto shook his head. “If you say so.”

“You are!” Noctis said, walking closer. “They… I don’t know… suit you?”

Prompto laughed. “They suit me?”

“Yeah, they like… frame your face well and draw attention to your eyes and shit.”

Gladio laughed at Noctis’s attempt at a compliment, only growing louder when Noctis whirled to glare at him.

“What?”

Gladio shook his head, trying to speak through laughter. “Just… you sounded so earnest. And then you ended it… with ‘shit.’”

Prompto, on the other hand, was staring at Noctis, almost as if surprised.

“You really think so?”

Noctis turned to him. “Huh?”

“You think I look good with glasses?”

“Of course. You always look amazing, Prom.”

“O-oh…”

Noctis smiled. “I know… you’re not always a huge fan of your body…” he trailed off and wrapped his arms around Prompto’s waist. “But… I think you’re gorgeous. No matter what.”

Prompto nodded, hiding his face in Noctis’s neck. “…thanks, Noct.”

Noctis smiled and eased Prompto’s face up to kiss him. “I love you, Prom. Glasses and all.”

Prompto laughed. “I love you too, Noct.”

Like my work? Buy me a coffee!

[taylorowelch]

8/15 - 8/19 Mile 2292.4 - 2390.6 - 98.2 miles

I woke up at 7 or so, thankful for the thick motel curtains that blocked the sun, letting me sleep. I looked at the mountain of my gear piled up in the corner next to the mini fridge. I decided I had better get up and get moving. I cut my hair in the motel bathroom. I love cutting my own hair. I downloaded the last things I needed to on the motel wifi, put on my still-damp clothes, ate the rest of my strawberries I had bought at the grocery store, and went to get a coffee. The mountain air was chilly. I put my socks in the sun on top of my pack to dry in front of the coffee shop porch. I sat on the porch and drank my coffee and met some other hikers who were hanging around. We headed back to the trail at about 11. I saw nine horses on trail today. The last time I saw horses on trail was before I hit the 100 mile mark, way back around Mt. Laguna, California. The trail wound through a new section of wilderness, still in the Wenatchee National Forest. By four in the afternoon shards of sunlight were scattered across the trail. Light shone down on leaves of the lush Washington greenery. The sharp smell of spruce was heavy in the air. I passed lake after glimmering lake. I listened to podcasts, a quote in one of them catching my ear, “the experience of being alive is being thrown out of the nest over and over and over until you die.” I couldn’t hear who it was who originally said this. I thought about the way I perceive joy now, about how much easier it is to create, to find. I reflected on how much more adaptable I’ve become, about how even though there are parts of a stable life I miss sometimes, I am thriving in this transience. I thought about what it meant to be secure in life, about what it meant to be happy, about how happiness and stability aren’t always one in the same. I thought about things people or society expected of me, or even things I perceived they expected of me. I thought about how much I used to stress out about that, about the possibility of falling short of those expectations. I decided I’ve already lost too much sleep about that and started listening to an audiobook, Chelsea Girls by Eileen Miles. I hiked for another while, stopping at a lake to filter water. I got to camp around 5:30, which felt so early after hiking long mile days. I was glad to hike only 12 miles today. I made taco rice and drank an Emergen-C, listened to the creek gurgling behind me as I looked out onto a meadow, tall spruce rising from its edges. I awoke to a chill in the air. The breeze off the creek was cold. I did as much in my tent as I could, packing up quickly and hiking fast to try and stay warm. I saw more animals today than any other day on trail. In total, I saw: a boston terrier (wearing a pink fuzzy jacket), a golden retriever, two black labs, a rottweiler, a jack russell terrier, a pika, a duck, many many marmots, probably twenty chipmunks and a garter snake. The morning was chilly for quite some time. I passed a sun drenched wetland with tall green grass, mountains of green spruce in the distance. I passed a giant blue lake, and stopped to eat lunch. I laid out my tyvek and ate too much peanut butter wrapped up in a tortilla. I laid around in the sun like a snake. I packed up and climbed for a couple of hours until Mt. Rainier appeared. It’s so big it almost looks fake, like someone hung a photo of it against the sky. It’s blinding white was difficult to look at for too long. The afternoon soon became windy as dark clouds bounded across the sky. I hiked quickly again, trying to keep warm. I reached a pass, continued over to the other side of a mountain, descended two switchbacks and heard Dustin yelling at me. “LOOK TO YOUR LEFT, IT’S A WOLVERINE.” I saw only marmots. “What? Those are marmots?” Dustin insisted there was a giant wolverine very close to me. I waited for him to catch up. “Oh. I guess they looked a lot bigger from up there.” We laughed. We watched the marmots sitting on rocks. We wished we could be so lazy. A pike darted around carrying some leaves from one pile of rocks to another. The marmots whistled like they do. We hiked through wildflower-smattered green hillsides until we got to camp. The wind was chillier still and we ate quickly, getting into our tents as soon as we were done. As the days grow colder my hiker hunger becomes a dangerous force. I eat dinner and an hour later it feels like someone has thrown a giant scary lever that opens up some kind of second stomach I didn’t know I had. The emptiness of it is irritating as I try to sleep. Every time I take something from my food bag I look longingly at all the food, wishing I could eat it all in one sitting and bask in the fullness of my growing incinerator-of-a-stomach. The morning was damp. Water pooled in my rain fly, under my sleeping pad. We were in a cloud and there was little actual rain, just constant condensation hanging onto trees and shrubs. I listened to the news as I walked, everything still talked about Charlottesville. It hung heavy in my mind for the fifth-or-so day now. I felt like I should have been there, I saw countless posts from friends who were traumatized by the event, but I was proud of them for going and for standing up to such a disgusting show of outright white supremacy. Many people on the trail are politically apathetic, or they are privileged enough to ignore politics. I feel too much community and societal responsibility to be politically silent or apathetic. I sat at a spring and wrote a letter of thanks to my eleventh grade U.S. History teacher who required that we read A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn. It taught me how much power history has, that especially regarding who records history and how they view it. Zinn’s account disputes many common historical narratives that are recorded in textbooks. It gave me a political cornerstone to build from, it taught me to question who records which side of what story in the regards of history and modern events, and it gave me a new idea of my place in the world, and the United States, as a privileged white person. I hiked and I watched thin clouds blow through a deep valley, like steam from a hot shower moving through a bathroom. I rounded a corner, Mt. Rainier on my left, a wildfire burning in the distance. I thought about the eventuality of things, about the selling off of public lands for private interest, the wildfires and the climate change behind them, fracking, pipelines, big money, losing my health insurance, the constant struggle all of it. My mom told me she was pregnant with me while she watched the Rodney King riots in LA on TV. She said she remembered thinking “How could I bring a child into this world?” Maybe in the womb I could read her mind. Maybe that’s why I feel compelled to try and do something about anything. I looked at water flowing from a spring and wondered how much longer will it be safe to drink? I felt like I was late all day even though I had nowhere to be. At lunch I laid out all my things to dry on shrubs near a spring. Dustin gave me half a pink lady apple that someone gave him as trail magic yesterday. It was so cold and crisp and clean-tasting. A blister filled with blood nagged at the back of my heel all day. I put duct tape over it and it only got worse. I listened to podcasts and tried to forget about it. The location of it made climbing painful and it took me a little extra time to get to camp. As soon as I got there I popped it. I thought about how I would soak my feet in Snoqualmie in a couple of day, how nice it would feel to have a clean blister. I made rice for dinner and drank electrolyte water in the chilly evening. It really felt like fall here. The sky was all blue and bright and there was that fall feeling in the air, like instead of that fuzzy summer air this air had an edge to it, and that edge was hard and cold and fresh. Wispy clouds glided around way up in the sky. We were camped in a tiny meadow next to a spring surrounded by lots of spruce trees. As soon as I was done brushing my teeth I got into my sleeping bag to hide from the chill. I woke up and felt lazy. I ate breakfast in my sleeping bag. I eventually got going, put super glue on my bloody blister and cranked out some miles before lunch through dense forest. The trees were all thick, their roots covered in moss like a little skirt. Mushrooms grew large on their trunks after all the rain. We ate lunch at a spring and then climbed for a long time, the canopy breaking occasionally as we crossed open hillsides or walked along bits of ridge. When I got to camp a southbound hiker was already there and he was really nice. He wore a polyester Hawaiian shirt and a purple hat. I asked him about places he had already been and he asked the same of me. We talked while I set up my tent and made dinner. By the time I finished eating it was nearly eight. I rushed to get into my sleeping clothes and go to bed so I could get all the sleep I wanted. The morning was cold again. I ate a pop tart, drank instant coffee and started hiking. I felt a little burnt out but town helped to motivate me to hike the 17 miles there. I walked down the road to the Chevron where my package was. Other hikers sat outside drinking coffee and soda and going through their boxes. I dropped my pack and walked through an isle of auto products to a freezer that was turned off. A sign written in sharpie was taped to the door. It read “PCT BOXES”. I picked up my box and went to the bathroom. Just outside the bathroom were probably 100 PO Boxes. I remembered reading something about this Chevron being the post office for this tiny ski town. I got a burger from a food cart outside. The owner was really nice and helped us find a place to sleep since the inn was full. I did some chores in exchange for my stay at a place nearby. It was really nice. I took a shower and scrubbed all of the grime off my scalp. I felt the water run over my freshly uncovered skin, so stark and new and stinging. I scrubbed the dirt from my legs, between my toes, washed my face until it was bare and squeaky and shining. I whisked back the shower curtain and watched the steam from the hot water hanging thick in the air. I thought about how nice it was to have warm steam instead of the cold, damp, Washingtonian notion of standing in a cloud for six hours a day. I dried off with my gross shirt. I got my other filthy clothes. I washed them with hand soap in the bathroom sink. The water was murky dirt colored. I wrang and agitated and drained and rinsed. The water never ran clear. I stopped after a while, hung up the clothes and drank a beer outside with another hiker. We laughed about our poor social skills, the way microfiber attracts offensive odor more than any other fabric, the hilarity of our bubbled and ridiculous existence. We couldn’t decide if we felt more nature or more human. We decided that question meant it was time to go to sleep.