#WRONG! ''Housing Market'' exists!

[thorne1435]

You can tell society is broken because I, a 21 year old woman, in the prime of her life, have two (2) partners, and get to sleep with zero (0) of them during the cold months.

[topaztimes]

Hi this is a vent post! Continue scrolling if you'd rather not see that

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[aquaquadrant]

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…” 

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’. 

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.” 

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop. 

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second. 

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it? 

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

 “... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is. 

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

[mostlysignssomeportents]

No, “convenience” isn’t the problem

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Using Amazon, or Twitter, or Facebook, or Google, or Doordash, or Uber doesn't make you lazy. Platform capitalism isn't enshittifying because you made the wrong shopping choices.

Remember, the reason these corporations were able to capture such substantial market-share is that the capital markets saw them as a bet that they could lose money for years, drive out competition, capture their markets, and then raise prices and abuse their workers and suppliers without fear of reprisal. Investors were chasing monopoly power, that is, companies that are too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

The tactics that let a few startups into Big Tech are illegal under existing antitrust laws. It's illegal for large corporations to buy up smaller ones before they can grow to challenge their dominance. It's illegal for dominant companies to merge with each other. "Predatory pricing" (selling goods or services below cost to prevent competitors from entering the market, or to drive out existing competitors) is also illegal. It's illegal for a big business to use its power to bargain for preferential discounts from its suppliers. Large companies aren't allowed to collude to fix prices or payments.

But under successive administrations, from Jimmy Carter through to Donald Trump, corporations routinely broke these laws. They explicitly and implicitly colluded to keep those laws from being enforced, driving smaller businesses into the ground. Now, sociopaths are just as capable of starting small companies as they are of running monopolies, but that one store that's run by a colossal asshole isn't the threat to your wellbeing that, say, Walmart or Amazon is.

All of this took place against a backdrop of stagnating wages and skyrocketing housing, health, and education costs. In other words, even as the cost of operating a small business was going up (when Amazon gets a preferential discount from a key supplier, that supplier needs to make up the difference by gouging smaller, weaker retailers), Americans' disposable income was falling.

So long as the capital markets were willing to continue funding loss-making future monopolists, your neighbors were going to make the choice to shop "the wrong way." As small, local businesses lost those customers, the costs they had to charge to make up the difference would go up, making it harder and harder for you to afford to shop "the right way."

In other words: by allowing corporations to flout antimonopoly laws, we set the stage for monopolies. The fault lay with regulators and the corporate leaders and finance barons who captured them – not with "consumers" who made the wrong choices. What's more, as the biggest businesses' monopoly power grew, your ability to choose grew ever narrower: once every mom-and-pop restaurant in your area fires their delivery drivers and switches to Doordash, your choice to order delivery from a place that payrolls its drivers goes away.

Monopolists don't just have the advantage of nearly unlimited access to the capital markets – they also enjoy the easy coordination that comes from participating in a cartel. It's easy for five giant corporations to form conspiracies because five CEOs can fit around a single table, which means that some day, they will:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

By contrast, "consumers" are atomized – there are millions of us, we don't know each other, and we struggle to agree on a course of action and stick to it. For "consumers" to make a difference, we have to form institutions, like co-ops or buying clubs, or embark on coordinated campaigns, like boycotts. Both of these tactics have their place, but they are weak when compared to monopoly power.

Luckily, we're not just "consumers." We're also citizens who can exercise political power. That's hard work – but so is organizing a co-op or a boycott. The difference is, when we dog enforcers who wield the power of the state, and line up behind them when they start to do their jobs, we can make deep structural differences that go far beyond anything we can make happen as consumers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

We're not just "consumers" or "citizens" – we're also workers, and when workers come together in unions, they, too, can concentrate the diffuse, atomized power of the individual into a single, powerful entity that can hold the forces of capital in check:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

And all of these things work together; when regulators do their jobs, they protect workers who are unionizing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

And strong labor power can force cartels to abandon their plans to rig the market so that every consumer choice makes them more powerful:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

And when consumers can choose better, local, more ethical businesses at competitive rates, those choices can make a difference:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/10/view-a-sku/

Antimonopoly policy is the foundation for all forms of people-power. The very instant corporations become too big to fail, jail or care is the instant that "voting with your wallet" becomes a waste of time.

Sure, choose that small local grocery, but everything on their shelves is going to come from the consumer packaged-goods duopoly of Procter and Gamble and Unilever. Sure, hunt down that local brand of potato chips that you love instead of P&G or Unilever's brand, but if they become successful, either P&G or Unilever will buy them out, and issue a press release trumpeting the purchase, saying "We bought out this beloved independent brand and added it to our portfolio because we know that consumers value choice."

If you're going to devote yourself to solving the collective action problem to make people-power work against corporations, spend your precious time wisely. As Zephyr Teachout writes in Break 'Em Up, don't miss the protest march outside the Amazon warehouse because you spent two hours driving around looking for an independent stationery so you could buy the markers and cardboard to make your anti-Amazon sign without shopping on Amazon:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

When blame corporate power on "laziness," we buy into the corporations' own story about how they came to dominate our lives: we just prefer them. This is how Google explains away its 90% market-share in search: we just chose Google. But we didn't, not really – Google spends tens of billions of dollars every single year buying up the search-box on every website, phone, and operating system:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Blaming "laziness" for corporate dominance also buys into the monopolists' claim that the only way to have convenient, easy-to-use services is to cede power to them. Facebook claims it's literally impossible for you to carry on social relations with the people that matter to you without also letting them spy on you. When we criticize people for wanting to hang out online with the people they love, we send the message that they need to choose loneliness and isolation, or they will be complicit in monopoly.

The problem with Google isn't that it lets you find things. The problem with Facebook isn't that it lets you talk to your friends. The problem with Uber isn't that it gets you from one place to another without having to stand on a corner waving your arm in the air. The problem with Amazon isn't that it makes it easy to locate a wide variety of products. We should stop telling people that they're wrong to want these things, because a) these things are good; and b) these things can be separated from the monopoly power of these corporate bullies:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

Remember the Napster Wars? The music labels had screwed over musicians and fans. 80 percent of all recorded music wasn't offered for sale, and the labels cooked the books to make it effectively impossible for musicians to earn out their advances. Napster didn't solve all of that (though they did offer $15/user/month to the labels for a license to their catalogs), but there were many ways in which it was vastly superior to the system it replaced.

The record labels responded by suing tens of thousands of people, mostly kids, but also dead people and babies and lots of other people. They demanded an end to online anonymity and a system of universal surveillance. They wanted every online space to algorithmically monitor everything a user posted and delete anything that might be a copyright infringement.

These were the problems with the music cartel: they suppressed the availability of music, screwed over musicians, carried on a campaign of indiscriminate legal terror, and lobbied effectively for a system of ubiquitous, far-reaching digital surveillance and control:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

You know what wasn't a problem with the record labels? The music. The music was fine. Great, even.

But some of the people who were outraged with the labels' outrageous actions decided the problem was the music. Their answer wasn't to merely demand better copyright laws or fairer treatment for musicians, but to demand that music fans stop listening to music from the labels. Somehow, they thought they could build a popular movement that you could only join by swearing off popular music.

That didn't work. It can't work. A popular movement that you can only join by boycotting popular music will always be unpopular. It's bad tactics.

When we blame "laziness" for tech monopolies, we send the message that our friends have to choose between life's joys and comforts, and a fair economic system that doesn't corrupt our politics, screw over workers, and destroy small, local businesses. This isn't true. It's a lie that monopolists tell to justify their abuse. When we repeat it, we do monopolists' work for them – and we chase away the people we need to recruit for the meaningful struggles to build worker power and political power.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/12/give-me-convenience/#or-give-me-death

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

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

[oleworm]

One interesting thing about The Passenger (2023) that I haven’t seen mentioned here yet is how it begins not unlike a typical action-thriller involving a violent man and a hostage situation—and indeed the trailers market it as such—but then as the story progresses it unexpectedly turns into a rape and revenge film.

Benson’s violence and aimlessness, the cluttered house, the dirty car full of trash, the chronic dissatisfaction that permeates his existence, which he projects on Randy and the waitress, Marsha—all of these are sequelae to the traumatic event suffered at the hands of his teacher, implied to be of a sexual nature, but we do not discover this until two thirds into the film. Then it all falls into place. The mere fact contextualises the character. On second watch, his bizarre rants, the timing of his tics, his decoration of the giraffe plushie take on a new and sickening meaning. Or rather, we can access a meaning that is closer to the truth, when before we had been kept in the half-light in much the same way that Randy was, trying to make shapes of the shadows that make up Benson’s fractured personality. The “toughness” is a façade. We find that the tells were there from the beginning.

In this subvariant of the revenge genre the wronged person is usually a woman, who often goes on the revenge journey herself. Other times she serves as the device for a man to go on a rampage to take revenge on her behalf. When men are protagonists to these stories, it is almost always on behalf of the woman wronged, but they are rarely the ones directly affected. Acts of sexual violence are not supposed or expected to happen to men, in the imagination of the dominant culture.

The scene where Benson walks up to his teacher and beats him to death is filmed as if the man were an evil thing, a monster-memory, a representation of Benson’s trauma rather than a person. The man is not emphasised in a way that we are invited to sympathise with him. He barely speaks. His face is seen but briefly. Later it becomes a hole of gore. The focus is on Benson and his struggle, his dissociated state, his raging and his fear. It makes sense that the actors later spoke of this as the moment where Benson comes the closest to killing Randy, when he begins to ask questions about the man he has just turned into a bloody ruin.

Though it is the teacher that chokes on his own blood, at the closing of the scene it looks as if Randy has to go out to Benson and rescue him.

[centrally-unplanned]

So because I tend to be described as "center-left" by the forces of all that is evil and unpure assailed against me in their limitless and merciless cruelty, the way the far-right in the US misuses economic statistics tends to find no sympathy from me - in ways that I find difficult to even engage with. (Also, for balance's sake, true libertarians tend to be the ones who make this mistake the least, a solid W for them - they average the highest on this kind of economic literacy alongside the technocratic left). I am on the other hand more sympathetic to the reasons some on the left have for this mistake - but it is still unproductively misguided.

The idea from far-left is is essentially that the US economy is and must always be broken in all ways, because that is a premise that implies the platform of reform they endorse. This is a stance that, imo, most leftists will have because they want to help the poor. They will discuss child poverty and homelessness in the same breath as "living paycheck to paycheck" and the "immiserated middle class". They see these things as united, both causally but also practically - that the solution for the homeless and for the working class are the same, the bonds that will form a united front strong enough to cut the chains of capital in one fell swoop.

This is not only not true, but it is the opposite of true. A middle class that believes itself immiserated and struggling is one least likely to support the redistributive policies necessary to address chronic poverty because they are in fact very different problems. Those people are going to ask for tax cuts! They have jobs, they don't think they need welfare checks, but they do (correctly!) think lower taxes will help them. Cheaper grocery prices means cheaper wages for workers in the grocery industry, the current economy has been really good for the lower income working classes as the tight labor market has boosted their relative wages. Which middle class white collar people haaaaate, because it raises their prices. And since you want lower taxes but the money has to come from somewhere, you are more willing to cut things like welfare to pay for them.

When the problems are real they can align - like yes the housing market in the US is pretty busted, "everyone" will benefit from just making more houses. But even then, the "everyone" doesn't include all the incumbent upper-middle class housing owners, and it particularly doesn't help new home owners who have a mortgage to pay off that are banking on rising real estate prices. All these policies have real tradeoffs. Opportunities for solidarity do exist, don't get me wrong, but its not the default state. You think America won't raise taxes on the rich just to expand the mortgage tax deduction? In your heart you know we would.

Obviously none of this applies to you if you think the world is corrupted root to stem and only the blood of the capitalist class can water the soil of revolution and birth the flower of a new age, or whatever. But unless you want that you are gonna need accurate policy analysis to actually solve the problems within the system, and they will have tradeoffs. And a middle class that thinks itself too poor to help is not an asset in that.

[marvelmymarvel]

The Uchiha

Tobirama Senju x Uchiha!Reader

Synopsis: He hated all Uchihas, every last one of them. But you? You were somehow different... And he didn't like that.

Important note: I know the timeline/ages are OFF as Tobirama was 39 when he became Hokage. Let's pretend he was 25 :)

Naruto Masterlist: Here

Also, Tobirama drinks respect women juice. It's canon in this house.

Madara's huff of annoyance sounded out in the room as you turned down yet another suitor. "Sister, why must you sabotage every proposal that comes your way? I'm trying to help you find a husband-"

"I do not wish to get married yet Madara, I'm only 21" You bit back, arms crossed as you pouted up at him. This whole 'suitor' search had been going on for months now, and you were growing tired of the good-for-nothing men your brother brought your way. "And when do you expect to finally be "ready" for marriage, Y/n... Your time is running out-"

"I'm only 21"

You always hated the idea of marrying young and it was the Uchiha way to be married by the time you turned 22. As the head of the clan, Madara was having a very hard time accepting that you were not willing to follow protocols when he was already struggling to maintain power amongst the members. "Y/n please..."

He sounded so pitiful, so tired... But you were done with this conversation. Standing from your spot on the floor, you brushed off the dirt from your dress and started towards the door "We can talk about this later, I want to go for a walk"

"You can't run from this forever Y/n. You will be married within the next 6 months"

You slammed the sliding door shut, eyes rolling in anger as you took off towards the town. "How could he be so selfish, trying to set me up with men that I clearly have no interest in" you huffed out to yourself quietly as you stormed past members of the clan. Some sent you glares, others averted their gazes knowing that one wrong look would mean certain death from either you or your brother.

Your body relaxed as you entered Konoha's downtown area, the Uchiha section and its demands of you were now far away. The sound of the people bustling around the market filled you with joy. There were many girls that were around your age sitting around outside of a cafe, they seemed to be laughing about some stupid thing that had happened to one of them. It was so simple but it was a reality you yearned for.

Sometimes you hated being a part of the clan. They were just so far behind the times and it felt almost suffocating to exist among their stuffy ideologies.

'You're supposed to get married young and give your husband as many children as he desires.'

'Your place is in the home, where you care for your husband and children.'

'Ambitions? You don't need them! Don't forget, your place is beside your husband and that's that'

God, it made you sick. There was nothing wrong with being a homemaker, but it wasn't for you. You wanted to get out there, work, have dreams, and find love naturally... Not through your brother of all people.

You wanted someone else, someone different. Someone who wasn't in the clan and someone who would challenge you to be something more than just a wife and mother. You wanted-

You halted in your tracks as he crossed in front of you, his Kage cape flapping in the wind behind him making him look bigger than he was. Your mouth dropped a little as you watched them walk away, you hadn't seen either of them since Tobirama became the second Hokage and it felt like today was your lucky day.

"Tobirama! Hashirama!" You called out, hand shooting up as you caught up to them. Hashirama smiled brightly at you, arm opening up urging you to hug him "Y/n! How've you been? How's Madara?"

You slyly shot a glance toward the white-haired man, and you didn't miss the slight annoyance that flashed across his face at your presence. You knew he didn't like your clan. You didn't like your clan either.

"I've been good. Madara's been... Madara" You were trying to sound chipper, but the thought of Madara soured your mood again. Hashirama nodded, he knew you and Madara were on thin ice what with him trying to find you a husband and you NOT going along with it. "Husband search not going well?"

Your face morphed into a scowl and Hashirama kicked himself for even asking when he knew that's what was wrong. Tobirama's eyebrows furrowed together at your change in demeanor, he was used to your ruthless attitude, so this was something he wasn't expecting. You grew embarrassed under Hashirama's pitiful look and Tobiramas inquisitive stare, "If I do marry, it won't be an Uchiha" you muttered quietly before brushing past the two men.

The two brothers stood there in silence as they watched you walk swiftly down the street towards some food stands, "I shouldn't have said anything" Hashirama sighed as he rubbed his face in anguish, "Her brother's going to kill me"

"Why does she not want to marry an Uchiha?" Tobirama breathed out, he didn't know what was getting into him, but it felt like he was seeing you for the first time in his entire life. He had known you for years, ever since you were children. He found you to be quite annoying and lumped you together with the other Uchihas that he hated.

Yet something felt off.

"They treat their women like property. It's mandatory that a woman marries before 22 and has a child before 23. Her place is in the home and they can't do anything without permission from their husbands"

"That's ridiculous. Women have needs and desires as well-"

"Yes I know Tobirama but that's how the clan operates-"

"Well, it's another reason as to why I despise that god-forsaken lineage-"

"If you're so upset with it why not marry her?"

Tobirama slammed his mouth shut at Hashiramas statement. Him? Marry YOU? An UCHIHA of all people?! Hashirama stood his ground though, he wasn't stupid and he saw the looks Tobirama has been sending you for YEARS now. Tobirama could lie all he wanted to, he has always cared for you more than he'd like to admit. Tobirama started to take off back to the Hokage's office, not liking the look Hashirama was giving him "I don't think marriage is a good idea, the clan will disown her if she marries outside of their circle-"

"She hates her clan Tobirama and honestly, I think you're the only person who can make her happy"

Tobirama tripped on his footing trying to stop in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his face was full of disgust at what Hashirama was insinuating. Him? Make you happy? Not possible.

"Uchiha or not, you can't deny that you care for her in some way. I know this because you look at her differently than you look at anyone else. You don't even look at the women you try to court that way-"

"I'm done with this conversation" Tobirama huffed out, his face was burning red and the whiteness of his cloak only made it more noticeable that he was embarrassed. Hashirama opened his mouth to make another statement but Tobirama stormed towards the Hokage's office, leaving him standing there in disbelief.

How could someone so smart, be so clueless.

* 2 weeks later *

Your feet kicked at the ground as you waited for your turn to talk to the Hokage. Madara was unable to meet with Tobirama to go over the latest requests of the Uchiha clan, so you were left to the task of talking to the stubborn man who always seemed to make your heart race faster than it should.

"Y/n Uchiha? You're free to go in now"

You nodded at the secretary before standing and heading towards the door, heart pounding as your gripped the wooden door. Sliding it open, you popped your head in before letting out a quiet 'hello'. Tobirama's head shot up at the sound of your voice, he was expecting Madara so this was quite the surprise. "Y/n" he greeted firmly, trying very hard to calm his nerves as he took you in.

You were wearing a simple dress, not too fancy but not too casual. It fit you in all of the right ways, you were attractive sure.

But it was your smile that took his breath away. It reached your eyes, making you appear carefree even though he knew you weren't. "So sorry about my brother's absence. He grew ill over the weekend and asked me to step in for this discussion" you explained sheepishly as you navigated your way to one of the chairs across from the desk.

Tobirama didn't say anything but nodded at your apology, he wasn't upset with this change of plans. He was actually happy. After his discussion with his brother, he tried to push you out of his mind, but every time he saw you he was reminded of the feelings he so desperately tried to hide. "What do you want to speak about?" Tobirama started as you sat down in front of him. You looked at him wide-eyed as if he was asking you something foreign, "Oh! Yes, that" you finally stated as you opened up the envelope with the items to discuss.

Your eyes scanned over each bullet, humming to yourself in agreement with the requests on the page, but you grew still at the last bullet point. Tobirama cocked his head as he took in the way your face fell into disbelief and sadness. "Is something the matter?" His voice was clear but muffled at the same time thanks to the growing rage pounding in your ears. "They want your help with finding my suitor..."

His blood ran cold at the words, if they were asking for his help, that meant-

"They want to look outside of the clan" you breathed out, and in a way, you almost sounded relieved. "Is that something you want?" Tobirama's question was met with silence, but it wasn't a no. "I guess you'll need to marry into a higher-ranking family, do you have a preference-"

"Wait wait wait" you started, waving your hands as your cheeks heated up at the idea of marrying someone who wasn't in your inner circle. You didn't know if you were happy about this, you didn't know if this was a better option. Tobirama studied you from across his desk, you were somehow giving off the energy of relief but also anguish, two feelings that never went together.

"What do you want, Y/n?"

His question took you off guard, it wasn't usual for someone to ask you what you wanted. "I... I want to marry someone who will let me be more than just his wife. Someone that will let me be me." You finally breathed out, your nerves beginning to somehow morph into excitement at the idea of getting what you wanted. "So a higher-ranking individual who will let you be you? Is that all you desire?" Tobirama sounded calm, but inside he was kicking himself. He tried to rack his brain for who you could marry, but all he saw was himself.

"Yes. I suppose"

Your answer was quiet and bashful, had you somehow read his mind and saw the very image of you two together? "Do you have a preference to what clan-"

"Um... Maybe a Senju?" It was bold, very bold of you to blurt it out so quickly. It told him that you had pondered the answer to that question for some time now. "Well, you're in luck. The Senju clan isn't as backward as the Uchihas are. You will have no issue finding a husband who will nurture you and your desires" Tobirama was thankful you couldn't see his shaking hands below the desk. He didn't like the idea of you being with someone in the Senju clan, someone who wasn't him.

This felt wrong. He hated your clan so why were you different? Had he always felt this way and hated you to cover it up? He thought back to when you were kids. You were a couple of years younger than him and you were always trying to talk to him even though it was forbidden.

Forbidden.

'The Uchiha clan is evil. I forbid you from talking to them in any way shape or form'

That's what his father always preached, Hashirama never listened but he did. Now he was regretting it.

"How do you feel about me?"

"I'm sorry what?" You sputtered out, eyes wide at how calm he sounded. Tobirama didn't falter, only stared at you as if urging you to answer even if you didn't want to. "I uh. I guess I like you? I don't know I enjoy your company and-"

"I meant marrying me"

Your blood ran cold but not in a bad way. Your face burned and the heat began to travel down your neck and chest. He was what you wanted, what you've always wanted. Ever since you were kids you decided that he was the one you wanted to be with. But he always hated you so you wrote it off as a stupid crush and tried to move on.

The key word was 'tried'.

"I've wanted that for a while yes-"

"Then it's settled. I will send a notice to your brother. I will be taking you to dinner tonight, do you have a restaurant you like- What's wrong?"

Tobirama noticed your eyes widening at his words and he didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. You had just admitted that you wanted to marry him, so why were you looking at him like he had 5 heads? "I just didn't expect this to happen. I thought you hated me to be honest"

He bit his lip, contemplating what to say to reassure you that you were different. He did hate your clan but he didn't hate you. The hatred he felt was because he was infatuated with you. But how could he put that into words? There was no way to reassure you in the way you deserved. Instead, he stood and circled the desk before leaning against it. "Let me take you out. Let me court you... You'll see that the feeling of hatred was one of forbidden desire"

You nodded slowly at his words, still uneasy and unsure.

"Now where do you want to go for dinner?"

[silent-stories]

Out of the castle

(Eddie Munson x F!reader) fantasy au

It's dangerous to leave the castle without any protection, without guards. This is what you had been told your whole life and yet, until that moment it was the only way you had found to have fun, relax and spend some time alone, without anyone telling you to walk with your head held higher, how to eat or what to say.

You had the opportunity to feel the grass under your feet, the sun's rays on your face and the wind in your hair, smell the scent of flowers and spices, meet new people or walk through the town market without everyone staring at you or worse, bowing.

You had never understood that stupid gesture that made you feel extremely embarrassed every time. You lived in a castle doing almost nothing every day and you were born with the privilege of getting to learn how to read and write while the common people worked hard to feed their families, sometimes giving up their daily meal for the sake of their children, and they were the ones who bowed when they saw you?

They deserved much more respect than you and your family.

However, your parents didn't seem to understand it.

You didn't know how far you had gone from the castle that morning, but that had never worried you since its towers were visible in every part of the the city, and perhaps the kingdom, from how tall they were.

The narrow path you had walked, wound through the trees and the leaves formed a green roof over your head, filtering the sun's rays. The ground was soft beneath your feet, covered in moss and some dry leaves.

You thought that if your mother found your muddy boots hidden in the closet again, she would kill you and the kingdom would be left without heirs.

The clearing you had reached was surrounded by many tall oaks and a lake, calm and serene, stretched out in front of you. The crystal clear water reflected the blue of the sky.

The frogs croaked undisturbed and some birds, hidden among the branches, were singing.

It seemed like one of those fairytale places that you only read about in books and you wondered if there were sometimes fairies there. You didn't know if they really existed or not but you had read so many legends about creatures like them, that you had started to believe them.

The "crazy" old man who preached outside the bakery a few days earlier was sure to talk to them every night.

“I thought I was the only one who knew about this place.” A voice coming from behind you almost made you fall into the lake. Luckily it didn't happen: you can't teach a princess to swim.

Turning around, you looked at the young man in front of you for a moment. He was wearing a beige shirt (buttoned the wrong way), dark pants with a seam on one knee, and a brown belt around his waist. He didn't seem to have any bad intentions and looked at you with only slight curiosity painted on his face. His curly hair was messy and his brown eyes were still staring at you.

"Since we're both here, I guess you were wrong." You finally spoke.

He softly chuckled under his breath. “How did you find this place?”

“I was just…exploring.”

"Mm." He looked at you like he thought you were lying. “Well, I often come here to fish, so as long as you don't steal my fish, you are allowed to stay.” He added with a smirk.

“Allowed” You repeated to yourself, chuckling. You almost wanted to say that that place was technically yours, considering that one day you would be queen, but you didn't.

"Wait a minute," he said, his eyes widening, "we've seen each other before."

"Oh, I don't think so." You were quick to deny. "I don't leave my house much, I like... reading and painting."

You closed your eyes for a moment, sighing. They were the richest activities anyone could mention, dammit.

"But we did!" He exclaimed as a smile formed on his face, dimples on his cheeks, "You gave me a gold coin a month ago."

He was definitely prettier than any man your father wanted you to marry.

You shrugged. "I don't remember."

So he was the boy singing sat on the sidewalk that everyone was ignoring that evening.

"That's impossible! I was playing my lute outside a shop and you left a fucking gold coin in my hat! My uncle and I got three meals a day for a week thanks to that, and I even bought new boots! I never had the chance to thank you because a moment later you were already gone and I always wondered how the hell you managed to have such a coin and why the hell you decided to give it to me but now-" his babbling suddenly stopped.

"What?" You asked.

"No way." He murmured. "God, I'm so stupid!" He added, suddenly starting to bow.

That was always the worst part.

"I'm really so stupid. I don't know how I didn't notice before, I beg you to forgive me, I never meant to disrespect you and I'm deeply sorry for any-"

"No no no. Please stop. Don't." You grabbed his arm before he could bow.

He stopped mid-action, his knee almost about to meet the ground, and looked up at you, surprised.

"I'm serious, really. There's no need" You added, helping him up.

"But you're the princess." He murmured, confused.

"I know. But it's not that important, really."

It sounded funny, you had to admit that.

When he stood up and you realized you were still holding his arm, you let your hand fall to your side.

“So I won't have my head chopped off in public?”

You laughed.

"I'm serious!"

"I'm sorry. No, your head will be on your shoulders for a while longer."

"Okay, in that case." He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss that barely touched your fingers. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess of Hawkins. My name is Edward, Eddie to my friends, at your service."

“Call me Y/N, please.” A smile was on your lips caused by his theatrical ways.

"Wow." He murmured then, looking at you.

"What?"

"It's just... really weird. Seeing you here. Alone. Without twenty men ready to rip in two anyone who comes near you. Why aren't you...?" He raised an arm, pointing to the castle towers visible despite the tall trees. "I won't take 'I was exploring' for an answer."

"I ran away."

Eddie looked at you in surprise.

"I'll come back. I always come back. I have to. But sometimes I need time outside that castle. I can't spend my life locked inside those walls when there's a world to explore outside. So... I was really just exploring, actually."

"You have any idea how many people could like- kidnap you and return you to your family in exchange for chests full of gold? Assassins, pirates, hitmen..."

“Oh god, you sound like my family!”

He chuckled. "Sorry."

You never thought you'd find a friend outside the castle walls, someone you could talk to as if you weren't the heir to the throne and yet that morning, you spent it all talking to Eddie on the shore of the lake that only you seemed to know.

You realized that maybe Eddie could become your first friend ever.

You liked the way he laughed at your jokes and how he rolled his eyes, apologizing every time you scolded him when he called you “princess.”

"Do you know that your shirt is buttoned in the wrong way?"

"Princess, you live in a castle. You don't know the latest fashion trends."

You loved the way his brown eyes had so many shades of gold when they were hit by the sun's rays filtering through the leaves.

You liked the way he could weave fantasy with reality and confuse you, leading you to believe that the magic he claimed to be true actually existed.

"Of course fairies exist! They are small shiny beings and are only kind to those who are kind to them. A bit like all of us, isn't it?"

You liked his humor, sometimes you wondered if he did it on purpose or was he was just like that.

"What about dragons?"

"You telling me you've never seen a dragon?"

"You telling me you saw a fucking dragon?"

"Hey, you know that for a princess you talk a lot like the people who work at the port, sometimes?"

And after hours, when you realized that if you were gone too long, they would find out about your absence, you had to say goodbye to him.

"Do you... do you think I'll see you again?" You asked then.

"Hey, I told you. I come fishing here often. And you can find me sitting on some sidewalk playing my lute."

You laughed. "Of course. See you then."

"See you."

You laughed when he gave an awkward bow.

The moment you started to walk away, you remembered something.

"Hey, Eddie!" You called out to him, before pulling a gold coin out of a pocket in your dress and tossing it to him.

He caught it.

And like the time before, before he could thank you, you were already gone.

[jahayla-parker]

Closure : Kaz Brekker x Reader

Description: 5.7k wc, Kaz’s wife seeks help from Nina to allow Kaz to get some closure surrounding Jordie’s death. Hurt-comfort, fluff, slight angst (turned fluff), healing.

Warnings: typical Six of Crows and Grishaverse warnings, mentions of death and funerals and related topics, mentions of trauma and injuries, etc. Again, typical SoC warnings.

Out of the corner of her eyes, y/n watched Kaz closely. She could tell her husband was trying to act as if it wasn’t impacting him. But y/n knew better. She could see the distant look in his eyes as he tried to focus on the numbers for the Crow Club’s books.

Kaz owned his family’s farm back in Lij; under an alias, of course. He’d always had eyes on the land even while he stayed in the Barrel. But once y/n was informed of the existence of the property, she had begun to take the occasional trip to the area to check on it for herself/themselves rather than relying on Kaz’s intel. Y/n often did these trips as part of a journey to visit the other crows. Y/n would always update Kaz to the state of the property once she returned home. Over time, she also began tending to the land in small increments; planting the seeds from Kaz for her favorite flower in the planter boxes she bought from a market in Ketterdam, sweeping the wind blown debris from the rooms of the little house on the property, etc.

Kaz had made the occasional trip back as well, but primarily relied on y/n’s detailed descriptions, stories, and analysis of their place in Lij. It was hard for him to go back; for many reasons. But, he couldn’t deny he missed it. He also couldn’t -though he certainly tried- ignore the way he felt when he and y/n were on the farm in Lij. It was uncomfortable in the sense that it was unfamiliar. But it was otherwise peaceful and homely. Not that it mattered. Kaz’s life was here; in Ketterdam, in the Barrel.

The couple had talked about moving at some point, but the conversation would always fade out when it came to what they’d be leaving behind. While most of their closest friends had all parted from the Barrel and Ketterdam entirely, there was still something -or someone- they’d be leaving behind. Jordie. Kaz’s late older brother who was resting under the cold harbor of Ketterdam.

While Kaz felt guilty for not being able to leave the area, he knew y/n more than understood his reasoning. Yet, that didn’t stop him from having to face his racing thoughts on the matter tonight. He felt as if his head was spinning. He wanted to offer his wife a comfortable life, a life in his childhood town, where she would be safe and free to do as she wished, where he might be able to put his past behind him. After all, he’d gotten his vengeance on Rollins. The only thing keeping Kaz here in the grungy streets of the Barrel -other than the easy influx of Kruge, which he could surely find a way to continue if he left- was his brother. It was foolish. Jordie was dead. He’d died long ago and he wasn’t coming back. Kaz’s staying here wouldn’t change that. Yet it felt wrong to leave the place his brother was, even if it was the same place that had taken that brother from him.

“I’m off to see Mila Jandersdat,” y/n said, breaking the silence.

Kaz smirked at the unnecessary use of Nina’s undercover name. “Is that so?” “Well, tell Ms. Jandersdat that she still owes me a new hat,” he commented lightly, referencing the one the Grisha had stolen on her last departure from Ketterdam.

Y/n laughed. “I’ll be sure to let the Fjerdan Prince know that their spouse is still indebted to you,” she teased, leaning down. Upon noticing Kaz didn’t react in a way that told her stop, she placed a kiss to his cheek.

Kaz looked up from his desk as y/n turned to move towards the door. He grabbed her hands in his bare ones. “Take my coat,” he instructed.

“It’s not that co-” y/n protested futilely.

“Take my coat,” Kaz echoed.

Y/n huffed lightly but nodded. “I’ll be back after the bakery, you’ll sure you don’t want to join?” She waited patiently for Kaz to answer. For the first time ever when asking that question, she actually hoped he’d say no. He usually did, and she hoped that was the case again today as she wanted to talk to Nina alone.

Kaz rewarded y/n’s kindness with a small but appreciative smile. He shook his head. “The ledger needs work,” he mumbled vaguely. In reality, he was just too in-his-head to handle anything else. He squeezed his wife’s hands faintly as he watched her depart.

Y/n swallowed another sip of her lemonade as she prepared to switch the tone of the visit she was having with Nina. She’d let her friend catch her up on everything she had done since they last saw each other. But now, y/n needed to ask her for a favor. “Okay, so…,” y/n began with an audible shift in her tone.

“Mmm?” Nina questioned knowingly as she glanced up from her plate.

“I need a favor,” y/n explained cautiously. She bit her lip as she waited for Nina’s reaction.

Nina sighed. “I don’t do Brekker favors anymore,” she reminded y/n.

“He’s not asking, I am,” y/n clarified. “Although he does want his hat back, or a new one in place of it,” she added to break the tension.

Nina laughed loudly. “Okay, if it’s for you, sure,” she accepted.

“I haven’t even asked,” y/n pointed out, “you don’t know what it is I’m asking you to do”.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nina winked.

Y/n giggled and shook her head with a timid smile gracing her lips.

“What is it?” Nina questioned, taking another bite of her cinnamon waffle.

“It involves your newly acquired skill set,” y/n mumbled quietly.

“Go on,” Nina urged, waving her fork at her friend.

Y/n bit her lip nervously and sighed. “I need nothing more than help to locate someone…” she explained, hoping to minimize the weight of her request.

“Someone deceased,” Nina clarified knowingly.

“Yes,” y/n acknowledged.

“Why?” The Grisha questioned as she swallowed another large bite.

“Closure…” y/n explained vaguely. She knew Kaz was needlessly embarrassed that he didn’t even know the exact placement of his late brother’s body in Ketterdam. Y/n had once suggested he visit Jordie to help him heal, even if he didn’t believe that kind of thing. Only, that was when she learned how deep Kaz’s guilt went. He didn’t know Jordie’s exact location and he blamed himself for that.

Y/n didn’t feel like she was crossing any boundaries. Nina already knew of Kaz’s brother; they all did by now. Plus, Y/n had asked Kaz before if he would want to know where Jordie was. In doing so, she learned he did want to know, just hadn’t initiated the process; an area where he often needed a push or assistance with.

It didn’t take long for y/n to explain to Nina what she needed from her. Nor did it take long for Nina to put her new skills to work in locating Jordie’s body. Y/n had of course gone with her, and she was pleased Kaz didn’t have to experience that part. While Nina’s skills were impressive, they were also a bit disturbing when you knew the deceased person she was calling out to. Nevertheless, Nina succeeded. Meaning y/n could now offer her husband the chance for more closure when it came to his past.

Y/n and Kaz were donned in matching black overcoats, walking with their elbow linked, as they made their way through the streets of the Barrel. Y/n had informed her husband of her discovery and offered for him to go alone or for her to go with him, leaving it up to him. Kaz didn’t directly ask her to go with him, but he made it clear that was what he wanted. So, the couple had departed from the Crow Club and were now watching as people parted to make way for the Barrel’s most powerful couple.

Y/n silently waited beside Kaz as he stood staring out at the water in the exact place Nina stated she located Jordie. It was clear he was trying not to get emotional, his eyes twinkling as he fought back tears. “You don’t have to do this,” y/n whispered supportively, “or we can break it up, I just thought maybe-”.

“No, it’s fine,” Kaz muttered shortly. After a few seconds of silence, he sighed. “You…” he began, trying to find a way to properly thank y/n for bringing him this chance. “I need to do this,” he admitted. “I should’ve years ago”.

Y/n shook her head. “That’s not how this works,” she defended.

The tears slowly trickling down Kaz’s face softened the intense sensation of drowning that filled his chest as he stared silently at the water where Jordie’s body allegedly was. The flashbacks that played in his mind were powerful, but less severe than they had been when he first started getting them years ago. And the now-comforting feeling of y/n’s hand in his kept him tethered to reality, to the moment; keeping him from succumbing to the feeling of drowning.

Y/n watched as Kaz kept his eyes closed for awhile. She didn’t say a word. She just watched his facial expression, listened to his breathing pattern, and kept a close eye on his overall state.

When he was done standing on the shore before his brother’s sunken body, Kaz turned to his wife. “Thank you,” he whispered shakily to her.

“Course,” y/n said, squeezing Kaz’s hand. She could tell he was still fighting off the rising water in his chest so she moved her hand to his jacket-covered elbow. “Let’s get you home,” she suggested warmly as she guided them back to the Slat.

“Th-” Kaz cleared his throat as he looked up from his dresser to make eye contact with y/n through the mirror. “Thank you,” he whispered gruffly. He took a long deep breath before adding, “for having me go”.

“Of course,” y/n hummed softly. She watched Kaz’s facial expressions in the mirror as she pushed her boots off with her feet. “So, it helped then?” She asked, trying to confirm she’d read through his faux stoic expression properly.

Kaz shifted his gaze back to his dresser as he stripped his outer layers off. “I know he’s gone,” he stated simply. But, his shoulders loosened and lowered as he nodded slowly. “But… yes, it did.”

“I’m glad,” y/n said and smiled tenderly as she crawled into their bed. She scooted under the covers as she analyzed Kaz as he prepared for the night. She could see that while it would still take time, today’s adventure had initiated a healing journey that hadn’t truly begun before now.

“You can tell Ms. Jandersdat that I don’t need a new hat,” Kaz mumbled as he approached the bed. He noticed y/n’s grin and small chuckle. He smirked and took a deep breath before he carefully slid into his side of the bed. “Goodnight, y/n/n,” he whispered as he uncharacteristically let his left hand cross the space between them under the sheets and rest atop y/N’s.

Y/n sighed as she searched the last possible place in the Slat that Kaz might have been. She’d already searched the Crow Club before she headed here. Yet, she still hadn’t located him. As she thought about where else her husband might have snuck off to, she thought back through what had transpired in the first place.

They had been sitting together in Kaz’s office this evening when he got word that there’d been an incident. One of his lead Dregs had informed him that this young orphan boy had somehow managed to find himself getting mixed up with Kaz’s crew. He hadn’t reacted well. The young orphan would be fine, but Kaz had set clear rules for his Dregs and this was a violation. He had stormed off to chew out his crew over the mistake. Y/n had been beside him as he lashed out at the Dregs and informed them of the sanctions for such an incident. Meaning she was there when he announced that as part of their consequences he was going to be taking their wages for the week. He’d grumbly whispered to her as he requested that she take the sum of their wages and ensure the boy’s hospital stay was paid for (and give him the remainder as compensation). When y/n had returned from doing so, she noticed Kaz’s disappearance.

Y/n knew as soon as they heard of the incident what Kaz would feel and how he’d react. She also knew why. The situation was far too familiar and personal for him. So, it hadn’t surprised her when he was not in the Slat nor the Crow Club when she arrived. However, it wasn’t until she remembered his behavior over the last several weeks that she realized where he must be.

Y/n buttoned her coat as she made her way to the harbor. She knew Kaz had to be there. It made sense when she recalled how often he’d been coming here since the day two months ago when she and Nina located Jordie. She had made a makeshift generic headstone (knowing Kaz wouldn’t want people to know the meaning or significance of the place much less connecting it to him) for the site so that if Kaz wished to return on his own he could do so easily; even if he was distracted by the emotional turmoil in his mind upon doing so. She and Kaz had went to the site together multiple times. And in the last few weeks he’d even gone by himself. It would make sense that today’s triggers would bring him back to the site that he now found some kind of connection and healing at.

Y/n saw him instantly. It didn’t matter that Ketterdam was pitch black at his hour and that Kaz was dressed head to toe in coal black clothing. She’d recognize Kaz’s silhouette and shadow no matter what. She watched him closely as she approached. He’d been getting better at opening up to her and even to himself since first coming here. But there was only so much he could do while staying stoic and keeping up his menacing image for the public. So it was no surprise that even tonight he was still keeping a wall up. He was shaking slightly, his breathing sharp and fists clenched. She could see he was still furious over what had happened, but the shine of the moon highlighted the fact his eyes were more moist than normal. It was progress, he was letting himself grieve finally. She debated about whether to approach or just say back and let him have his space. But, before she could determine what the best option was, Kaz answered it for her.

“You do not need to spy on your husband from the shadows,” Kaz muttered, his fists unraveling as he pictured the bashful expression that was likely gracing y/n’s face over his teasing comment. His back was to her as he stayed looking out at the harbor, but he heard her approaching. He extended the hand not holding his cane to the side, taking hold of her hand when she reached him. His eyes flickered over at her as he quickly scanned her to ensure she was dressed properly for the cold weather and had brought her weapon with her. After his eyes took in that she was wearing the thick winter coat he’d gotten her last year, long pants, boots, and saw the outline of her weapon in her coat pocket, he let out a silent sigh of relief. “It was a joke,” Kaz muttered as he watched y/n’s face.

“What?” Y/n questioned, her head turning to face Kaz.

“My comment, when you arrived,” Kaz explained. “It was a joke”. He squeezed her hand as he interlaced their fingers. “I mean, you don’t have to spy, but-”

“I wasn’t spying,” y/n argued.

Kaz lifted his brows teasingly as he gazed knowingly at y/n.

Y/n chuckled and shook her head. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone,” she explained.

Kaz hummed. “I always want to be alone,” he admitted, looking back at the water. “Especially when… feeling like… well… feeling,” he simplified. He shook his head as his gaze returned to his wife’s presence. “Unless it’s you,” Kaz confessed, his cold cheeks thawing briefly as he blushed madly.

Y/n grinned at Kaz and squeezed his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised. It was an indirect vow to fight off any uncertainty on how to proceed when Kaz was dealing with something. But, they both knew what it meant. Kaz was healing, he was being more open and honest, more needing of and seeking out his wife’s love and support when he needed it instead of shutting down and trying to push her away.

“What do you think would help you get closure?” Y/n questioned once she saw the faint calmness take over Kaz’s face.

“This helped,” Kaz admitted, referred to y/n having gotten Nina to help find Jordie’s body.

“I know, I can see it,” y/n hummed as she tenderly smiled over at Kaz. “And, I’m glad”. Y/n rubbed her thumb over the back of Kaz’s hand. “I know you don’t have faith or a religious belief of any kind, but,” she hesitated briefly, continuing only as Kaz squeezed her hand, “do you think a burial might help?”

“What?” Kaz croaked out in confusion and shock. He wasn’t sure what he expected y/n to say as a possible solution. But, he’d never anticipated that.

“Burying him,-” y/n began cautiously.

Kaz stiffened as he glared out at the water before them. “He is buried,” he pointed out.

“Right, yeah, no I know, Kaz,” y/n agreed sympathetically. “But, you hate the harbor, and well, water,” she frowned, “even outside of this, it’s distressing for you”. She sighed as she gazed out at the water as well. “So I thought maybe… I’d suggest that you think about an underground burial for him”. Y/n knowingly moved her hand around in Kaz’s hold when he tensed so that he wouldn’t feel as if he was holding a cold & stiff hand. “You’d still have a place to visit him, and-” she explained slowly.

“I can’t,” Kaz told y/n, cutting her off.

Y/n analyzed her husband’s face as she thought over her next words. “You wouldn’t have to see anything,” she promised. She knew he’d never admit such a vulnerability out loud while they were out in the public, but she knew it was likely one of his hesitations; Kaz already had Jordie’s dead body engraved in his mind, he didn’t need to see it again. “It would be done in secret, in the background, just Nina and I, we’d handle the-” y/n elaborated.

Kaz suddenly sharply turned to face y/n. His anxious eyes scanned her face as he tried to read if she was lying. “You’d do that?” He asked.

Y/n nodded affirmatively. “If you wanted, yes,” she promised. “I’m not expecting you to want to see, touch, or otherwise deal with any of this, Kaz”.

Kaz nodded slowly. He turned from y/n as he thought about her proposal. After a few moments of silence, he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” y/n replied, squeezing Kaz’s hand. “That’s fine,” she assured him. “I knew you might not want to, I figured I’d offer but-”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want that,” Kaz spoke sharply. He closed his eyes painfully tight and sighed as he regretted his tone. His regret increased as he noticed the way his wife paused. Kaz took a deep but shaky breath before continuing. “It’s just…” he sighed, “Lij”.

“What about it?” Y/n questioned delicately as she scanned her husband’s profile.

Kaz’s eyes flickered off the water and towards his feet. He sighed and shook his head. “That’s where we should be.” He lifted his gaze up to meet y/N’s as he added, “you love the house and-”.

“Kaz,” y/n sighed.

Kaz shook his head softly, a silent signal for y/n to wait for him to explain before trying to confront him. “I want to be there too,” he confessed, watching his wife’s face for her reaction. “For us to be there. Together.” He tried not to cringe at how broken his words were coming out. “Not just for a trip. But for our…h-ho-….” Kaz murmured in a hushed voice.

“Our home?” Y/n clarified. When Kaz nodded stiffly, she smiled softly. This too was a big step for him, in many ways. “I love that idea, you know that.”

Kaz broke his eye contact with y/n as she looked back out at the water. His face took on a saddened expression. “I can’t ignore what happened here or move on,” he said remorsefully.

“No one says you have to forget or ignore it,” y/n commented, squeezing Kaz’s slightly trembling hand. “If you wanted to do the burial,” she began carefully.

“If we did the burial,” Kaz sighed, “we’d still be stuck here or I’d have to come back”. He shook his head. “I mean not have to, but-”.

“Kaz,” y/n spoke tenderly in order to stop his rambling. “He could come with us,” she suggested.

“What?” Kaz whispered.

Y/n rubbed the back of Kaz’s hand with her thumb. “Nina and I could get him back to Lij,” she offered. “He could have a proper burial”. She hesitated but continued with her thought, “a funeral even”.

“No mourners, no-” Kaz griped.

“Kaz,” y/n giggled lightly. She smiled faintly as her giggle made Kaz’s lip curl. “This is different,” she explained.

“No funeral,” Kaz replied firmly. Despite his gruff voice, he squeezed his wife’s hand as a silent thank you for the offer.

“Okay,” y/n accepted easily.

“But…” Kaz trailed off.

“But?” Y/n pressed gently.

Kaz took a deep breath and sighed. “Perhaps.. I do owe it to him,” he began slowly. “To finally get him out of these waters”.

“Kaz-” y/n frowned.

Kaz sighed but nonetheless accepted y/n’s unspoken response. He revised his wording as he knew why he was being scolded. “I owe it to him… to let him rest,” he rephrased quietly. “Even if just his body”.

Y/n’s lips curled minutely. “Okay,” she nodded. “We can arrange that”.

Kaz’s grip on y/n’s hand tightened unconsciously as he thought about the arrangement more. “I don’t…. I can’t see his-” he mumbled.

“You won’t,” y/n promised. She knew he meant he couldn’t face seeing his late brother’s body. And she had never intended for him to. It was an easy promise. She and Nina would get Jordie to Lij for Kaz without Kaz having to be further traumatized in the process.

Y/n’s eyes flickered between the wooden door that lead down to the cabin of Inej’s ship and the wooden casket that was being loaded on board.

Everything from their home was already packed and ready to depart via Inej’s ship to travel to the other end of Kerch; to Lij. Everything but Jodie. Y/n had sequestered her husband Kaz below deck with Wylan and Jesper to keep him company. Meanwhile, Nina, Inej, and several clueless Dregs, loaded Jordie’s coffin onto the ship. The engraved dark mahogany casket with elaborate metal hinges and personalized engraved metallic plating that was now encasing and hiding Jordie’s body had been made by Jesper and Wylan at y/n’s request. She and Nina had seen to getting Jordie’s body from the harbor to the casket undetected. Well, Nina managed Jordie’s body and ensured there was no lingering contagion nor decaying smell. While y/n had been on lookout in the immediate vicinity of the scene. And now Inej was helping them transport the unlabeled casket to Lij. It had been a full team effort and y/n was beyond grateful that her friends were so willing to help her with this.

Once the casket was secured, hidden from sight, and covered with a weather proof sheet, Y/n dismissed the clueless Dregs. She thanked the girls as she made her way down to the cabin below deck. She gave Kaz a small supportive smile in greeting as his eyes snapped towards her upon hearing her enter. She made her way over to the boys and sat down beside Kaz.

Kaz watched y/n fight her visible exhaustion as their friends chatted about their respective experiences in their new lives. He stared expectantly at her profile, waiting for her to glance his way in a silent question as to if she could rest against him. Only, she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, Kaz watched her eyes blink at an absurdly slow pace as she tried to fight a yawn. He stifled a chuckle, the suppressed desire to grin showing up as a faint smirk. He shook his head and nudged y/n. Kaz gave her a knowing look, pleased when she quickly comprehended his request and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Ready to give all this up?” Y/n asked in a whisper as her friends listened to Inej informing them of her latest adventures.

Kaz seemed to falter in shock. But, as he looked over at his wife, he nodded confidently. A smirk graced his lips as he murmured, “I’m always ready”.

Y/n giggled and playfully rolled her eyes. She leaned into his shoulder further as she smiled around at their friends. “Hey guys,” she whispered, quietly interrupting the conversation. When they turned to face her, she was greeted with several grins and knowing smirks given her current positioning with Kaz. “Thank you all for coming to help us move,” y/n hummed.

“You both helped us during ours,” Wylan commented with a smile.

“Well, y/n did,” Jesper corrected smugly, “Kaz just stood around”.

Kaz shot Jesper a light glare. “I was supervising,” he stated.

Y/n laughed loudly, covering her mouth with her hand when Kaz’s gaze snapped down at her questioningly. She giggled behind her hand as she tried to stifle her laughter. She lowered her hand and gave Kaz an innocent grin, making the corners of his lips curl up as he playfully shook his head at her.

———

Y/n made her way back down to the lower deck of Inej’s ship. She’d just gotten back from checking on the burial site. Earlier she’d arranged for one of the workers who’d been tending to the farm while they were away due a grave site prior to the crows’ arrival. Y/n had ensured that it was completed and was now returning to her husband as he waited below deck.

Y/n’s eyes met Kaz’s and she then glanced arrived the room in silent communication with him. She watched as Kaz nodded in understanding and acceptance that the others in the room, namely Jesper, was going to hear whatever she was about to say. She nodded back and walked to his side. “He’s in a casket, Kaz,” she explained tenderly. Y/n spared a look at Kaz’s hands and realized he must’ve caught on to her uncertainty as he randomly flipped his palm up and extended his hand towards her. She gave him a small smile and took his hand in hers. “We’re going to move him to the burial site,” she explained slowly, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. Y/n had a feeling she knew the answer to her question, but she didn’t want to not offer him the chance. “Did you want to come up and,-?” She began quietly.

“No,” Kaz replied stiffly as his body tensed.

“You don’t want to watch him go into,-” Jesper began to ask, not noticing the look y/n was giving him.

“No,” Kaz repeated gruffly. His hand tightened in y/n’s hold and he shifted his jaw. He managed a deep breath when her warm hand squeezed his lovingly.

“I know it’s hard,” Wylan said sympathetically. “But, it’s the only time-,” he argued, squinting in confusion at the realization y/n was shooting daggers at him.

“That’s enough,” y/n stated firmly. She shot her husband a subtle sympathetic look. She squeezed Kaz’s hand again, her thumb grazing the back of it as she went to move. She nodded her head at the others in signal for them to follow her.

———

“That was really beautiful, y/n,” Inej commented supportively as their group made their way back to the farmhouse.

Y/n smiled appreciatively at her friend. She and most of the other crows had all gone with her to help her bury Jordie’s casket and body. She intentionally buried him beside this one specific tree she recalled Kaz previously telling her a childhood story about. It was one of the few childhood memories Kaz actually had. While it was likely a story Jordie had passed down to Kaz, given Dirtyhands would’ve been too young to recall anything from his time here on his own, that almost made the location even more sentimental.

While y/n and the other crows respectfully buried Kaz’s late brother, Jesper had stayed behind to keep Kaz company. Not that Kaz would ever admit to needing or wanting such, even now. But his crows, his found family, knew him well enough.

As the group entered y/n and Kaz’s new home, Y/n greeted Jesper with the same appreciative grin she’d given the others after they helped with the burial. “Alright, so,” she murmured as her black boots echoed on the tiled flooring under her feet. “I say we unpack the bedroom stuff first?” Y/n asked, looking at her husband for his input, knowing Kaz wouldn’t want to talk about what she had just finished doing.

“That’s important,” Inej agreed, quickly picking up on y/n’s intentions.

“I’d say so,” Jesper smirked smugly as he winked over at the couple.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Not like that, you degenerate,” she laughed. “I meant so that we would have something to sleep in. We can unpack over time but I kinda would like something to lay on,” she joked as she took her husband’s left hand in hers.

“Lay on… while wearing what?” Jesper teased as he wriggled his eyebrows.

Kaz used his unoccupied hand to smack Jesper upside the head as he also shot him a look.

“Whaaat?” Jesper whined as he held his head. He looked between y/n and Kaz as she parted from Kaz as she made her way over to the moving boxes.

“What do you mean what?!” Kaz remarked, his eyes scrutinizing his friend.

“Wylan doesn’t care,” Jesper defended, rubbing the back of his head. “He knows I’m joking,” he laughed with a shrug.

“I don’t care,” Kaz remarked simply as he waved the comment off dismissively. “Don’t talk about my wife like that,” he ordered. From his periphery, he saw the grin that formed on y/n’s face as the title ‘wife’ left his lips. But his scolding gaze never left Jesper.

Y/n walked back over to the bickering boys and rubbed Kaz’s back through his coat. “You heard him,” she said as she smirked at Jesper before she passed by them with a box in her hand.

“Y/n,” Jesper groaned loudly. “Help me out, it was a joke,” he whined with a dramatic pout.

“You’re on your own, Jes,” y/n chuckled from the hall.

Kaz continued to stare as Jesper turned back around hesitantly. He stifled a chuckle as the sharpshooter gave him a faux innocent expression. Kaz shook his head as he brushed past him on his way to help his wife with the boxes she had been carrying.

———

“If you keep smiling so much Brekker, you might erase your hard earned scowl lines,” Nina teased with a smug grin as she watched her friends who were snuggled up on the couch in their new place.

The group had all been making playful comments about how happy Kaz looked. But, it hadn’t caused the man to part from his wife’s side. Instead, he just teased them back or lightheartedly glared at the remarks throughout the evening.

As Kaz turned to face Zenik, his eyes caught sight of window and he realized that it was now after dusk. “On that note, I think you should be on your way,” he murmured.

“Kaz,” y/n scolded with a laugh. She shook her head and tugged on his arm she had linked with hers.

Kaz chuckled as he gazed down at his wife. “What?” He questioned with pretend confusion.

“He’s just playing coy, we know he loves us being here,” Nina winked. “But, we probably should head out before it gets too late,” she acknowledged.

Y/n smiled at their friends as they gathered just outside of her and Kaz’s front door for final goodbyes. She quickly parted from her place at her husband’s hip as she went to give everyone a hug. “Thank you all, again,” she smiled. “Please feel free to come visit, anytime,” y/n offered, returning to Kaz’s side.

Kaz gently set one of his hands on y/n’s far hip once she was back beside him. “But, write first,” he said stoically, despite the playful glint in his eyes. “Otherwise, you risk finding yourself staring down the wrong end of a barrel,” he warned.

“We know, we know,” Jesper smirked. He and Kaz exchanged knowing glances as the group all said they goodbyes.

———

Y/n watched from the window of their new home as Kaz sat beside Jordie’s burial site marker. If he’d visited before today, she hadn’t seen it. But, she was proud of him visiting the area after having only been here less than a week.

The tree and connected burial site were far enough away from the house that y/n had to squint to see much of anything from this far away. But she didn’t need to. She was simply proud he was finally allowing himself to grieve the loss of his brother after all this time.

Y/n wasn’t naive. She knew there still had a long way to go. That Kaz still had a lot to work through. She knew it might be difficult along the way but she was happy they were here. Kaz could now rest. He’d exacted his revenge on Pekka and now he’d helped his brother find rest back home. So, while they’ll still earned some income from the club, Kaz could finally have a life that wasn’t not so hard on his injured leg or traumatized mind; one where he could find closure and peace. And he deserved that.

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[bakuhatsufallinlove]

since the general fanbase seems to find calebs translations questionable, is there any translators you'd recommend instead? (if you answered this before i couldnt find it, so sorry if its an FAQ)

The general fanbase does not speak Japanese, so first I would recommend you not take their opinion into account.

I am not trying to be combative, I’m serious. About 85% of the hatred for the official translator stems from things that have absolutely nothing to do with the quality of his work. 10% of the hatred claims to be about the quality of his work, but comes from people who do not actually speak Japanese and therefore have no place judging it. Only 5% of the negativity I've seen has any real merit as translation criticism.

For the record, I’m not going to address the source of that 85%, because the quality of a person’s character is objectively irrelevant to assessing whether their translations are accurate or effective. What you or I think about the official translator is of no importance. Shitty people can be good at their job. That’s just a fact.

The official translations are overall accurate, effective, and of high quality. Viz obviously has in-house standards for tone and aesthetic in translation; they have an existing “shonen” branding adapted for American audiences. It is about marketing. This is evident in all of their published works. Some people find the tone and aesthetic off-putting—this is totally understandable, I’m not particularly a fan myself.

Generally, the worst you tend to get with the official translations is somewhat weird or exaggerated characterizations and the occasional missed thematic callback. The worst you get with the fan translations that are popular is them being factually wrong at times—as in, their translator simply did not know the meaning of the words they tried to translate. It's not that mistakes never happen in the official, but the Viz translator is fluent in Japanese and translates as his full-time occupation. He works with Japanese fluidly and constantly. He knows what he’s doing. When fan translators falter, it is usually because they are clearly not fluent, and this is something they do out of passion or for fun in their free time.

I typically avoid criticizing the fan translations for this reason, despite their issues. I myself translate out of love and enjoyment; I don't want to harsh on anyone's good time or discourage fan activity. I bring this up only because many people put the fan translations on a pedestal while promoting scorn and distrust of the officials.

But you asked me for recommendations.

So, I will tell you what I would do if I were in your shoes: if I loved a series that was written in Spanish, I would read the official English translation. If someone told me some important things are glossed over in the official release, I would surely look into those—but only take the perspectives of Spanish speakers into account, because how are English speakers supposed to know what’s what? I would compare those perspectives (because there is no way everyone will have the same opinion) and see if there are any other translations, while looking to understand what the rationale is for the differences therein.

And then I would come to my own conclusions about the characters and the story, because in the end our relationship to media is personal. What the story means to me and what I think the creator was trying to do is fundamentally up to me to decide.

I grew up in the era of bootleg anime and manga with nigh-incomprehensible translations and official releases with butchered, thoughtless dubbing, released seven years after the series already ended. By comparison, what we have today—cheap or even free releases available simultaneously or within two weeks of the Japanese release—is fucking magnificent. It is the result of many people working incredibly hard all the time. I don't think we should take that for granted.

No translation will ever be perfect. Human beings are not perfect, we all have biases and our own interpretations and reactions to media. Our relationships to stories are personal. This includes translators.

I disagree with the official translator on a few things, particularly in regards to characterization. But I don’t think that ruins the official release, and I don’t think anyone should shun or scorn it on the whole. We should engage curiously and thoughtfully about why it is the way it is, and what else can be gleaned from the original text.

Having said all that, you actually inspired me to do a little series examining the wins and losses of the official release, so please look forward to that.

[huffelpuff210]

Running

Dark Bucky, Light stalking, Forced relationship.

:Where Werepanthers and other shifters exist the rarest is Were leopards the reader is used to being on her own until she runs into Bucky Barnes. 

You were used to being on you’re own ever since you were a teen when you ran away from you’re parents. You’re parents were Lion’s And when you’re first shift happened they were utterly shocked, But after that they started treating you coldly and abusing you so the first chance you got you ran away, You kept yourself in the mountains where you liked it. 

You had about a thirteen mile hike to town and You didn’t mind that either, You didn’t like being around people especially Men, Since you’re father was the one to dish out the abuse, You avoided the opposite sex as much as possible.

You were in the middle of the market when a scent hit you’re nose, It smelled like pine and ceder, It made the hairs on the back of you’re neck stand up, it made you freeze, You looked around trying to pinpoint the smell. You brought you’re food and left the market as fast as possible, You walked back to you’re house as fast as possible. You knew you had to get home, You could feel eyes on you, You didn’t like the feeling you started running you knew whoever had been at the market was following you. 

You.You felt as if you were being stalked being another predators prey. You finally arrived at you’re cabin in the mountains. Unlocking the door and slamming it shut.You’re back pressed against the door, You could feel you’re heart hammering against you’re chest. Locking the door, You peeked out of the curtain, You don’t see anyone the snow starting to fall. You’re eye sight was excellent being a leopard you could see in the dark and far away.You’re hearing excellent and so is you’re speed. You let out a breath of relief. You look down and see you’re claws out of you’re fingers even though you were terrified the Leopard in you was ready to fight. 

Sometimes you can’t contain it. Sometimes it forces it’s way out when you are backed into a corner. 

That night you couldn’t sleep you kept smelling that smell. You could sense the presence You tossed and turned all night, You just knew deep down something was very wrong. 

Bucky,

Bucky knew the moment he caught you’re scent in the market that you were special, sure he hated the Colorado mountains, It was to cold being a tiger shifter he hated the cold. But he and his pack of shifter’s were on a mission, HYDRA was capturing weaker shifters and experimenting on them. They carried out the mission and were about to head back to New York But now that he got a whiff of you’re scent he knew he had to have you, You smelled like freshly bloomed cherry blossoms, and the smell drove him wild, But as soon as you bolted he decided to follow you staying in the shadows, Not wanting to risk being seen and spooking you, but he could tell by you’re body language that you knew you were being followed. He knew he had to be careful, Something told him if you knew someone was following you. You would run do anything to escape. 

When you finally arrived home he was surprised how far you walked to town on you’re own, And how far away from civilization you were, He was thinking you might be a smaller shifter that’s why you lived so far away from people, But the tiger inside of him told him something different, After he knew you had fallen asleep he snuck into you’re  home, the powerful scent almost knocked him down, driving him and his tiger mad. He crept into you’re bedroom where you were sleeping peacefully curled up into a ball almost, You’re back to him, 

“Soon sweetheart, You will be my mate.. Soon.” He whispered his knuckles brush

[pastanest]

Brienne x she/her!reader

A/N: feminists stand UP! in this house we support women’s rights AND women’s wrongs!

warning: winter’s leaving and hot girl summer’s returning so it’s a lil steamy in the end for all my strong, independent, Brienne whores xoxo

To Be A Woman

It had almost been a cruel joke on Brienne her entire life. The fact that you, belonging to a family that was still noble but not as highly regarded as the Tarth’s, had always been more of a lady than she had. If you had been anyone else, Brienne would have felt a harbored, silently seething jealousy towards you. Had you not only shown Brienne kindness and respect, had you treated her as the lesser lady that she felt she was, had you ever made a comparison between the two of you or made a point of it to others; had you not been as perfect as you possibly could be, perhaps Brienne would be able to feel differently towards you.

Instead, she finds herself joining you to yet another dress fitting. It was not something Brienne enjoyed, nor was it something that she was ever involved in beyond giving her opinion on the dresses you tried, but somehow, you always found a way to convince her. To Brienne, the reason was obvious the moment you stepped out from behind the curtain for the sixth time, in a dress not so different from one you had tried three dresses prior, but it stole Brienne’s breath from her very lungs regardless. The stars in her eyes made you smile as you twirled on the raised podium, the seamstress clapping and cheering the same approvals she’d had for all of the previous dresses. The only opinion you care for, though, you always have to ask for.

“Lady Brienne, what do you think?”

It takes your dear friend a moment to respond, choosing her words carefully before she nods.

“It suits you very well, my Lady.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I do wish you wouldnt regard me with such formalities, especially when you are the Lady of Tarth!”

Brienne scoffs at this. “I could never wear such pretty garments, Lady (Y/N).”

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing to her choice of uniform. “And I could never wear such strong, solid silver - that is not what makes a woman, dear Brienne.”

Then, it was Brienne’s turn to roll her eyes, while you decided on the dresses you wished to purchase and requested they be delivered to your quarters when convenient. Taking Brienne’s arm, you stepped out onto the street and began to make observations about the market’s most recent additions in products. Strolling through the bustling crowds of the townsfolk, not one stopped to stare at the woman that towered over you at your side, not one whispered to another cruel gossip about the untraditional armored woman walking lady about the town. The warmness of your presence was a shield stronger than any Brienne could hope to hold in her own hand, transforming the viciousness of the public’s usual opinion into kind smiles and well wishes, passed to her as much as they were to you.

As unlikely as the friendship has always been between the two of you, according to Brienne, to you it has always been second nature. To Brienne, you were simply too kind, too empathetic and too beautiful to resist in any and every sense of such words. You always have and always will be something that Brienne wished to be, in some ways, something unattainable and most commonly undesirable in favor of her path of strength and righteousness, but there was something so enchanting about the the sweet scents that followed you everywhere you went, the flowing gowns that trailed around every corner you turned, the pretty potions that you added to your baths and used on your face before retiring each night. Something so beautiful and unknown to someone like Brienne, who had been all but forced to deem such things as never to be hers, by right.

If the most she could do was exist beside you, see and feel such beautiful things by being in your presence, that would be more than enough for her, she thought. The smile that you were the first to give her had been the most like a girl she had felt in all her years pretending to be one, she had often mused.

Evenings like this, spent in one tavern and then the next, following the music and you as you danced towards it, have always been Brienne’s favorites. The part of her that rolled her eyes and feigned disapproval at your antics had long since passed, replaced by an enamored smile as she takes the closest seat she can to the musician, her eyes never leaving you. Your hips sway with the fluidity of water or wine, your gown flowing with each motion, the smile on your face one that Brienne is certain comes from any of the heavens that may lie beyond this life, your eyes closed as you lose yourself to the plucking of strings. And though you know better than to drag Brienne to her feet and embarrass her by forcing her to dance, you throw yourself into her lap, wrapping your arms around her neck as you share a laugh that is so without worry, without further thought, Brienne wonders if she is in a dream. Not a drop of wine fuels your action, but an energy and force that she has never understood, and has no desire to. Though she wishes to decode every intricate detail of your personality, there are aspects of you that are simply beyond explanation, and she will love those all the same.

The moonlight casts a gentle glow above you as you stroll arm in arm back to Evenfall Hall, you having been an honored guest while your family conduct arrangements with Brienne’s father. Giggling and sneaking through an entrance to avoid being seen, you lean on each other as though nothing more than a pair of girls far younger than you are, far more rebellious than either of you have ever truly been, but the rush is just as exhilarating when you collapse on the bed, safely beyond the door to your quarters. In the few minutes it takes for the two of you to catch your breaths, you stare up at the canopy of the bed in a daze.

“It is a relief to know that we will never be more than girls, you and I.” You muse playfully, enjoying the continuation of youthful bliss that can only be experienced with her.

Brienne scoffs. “If you would regard me as such, then I suppose you are correct.”

A deep sigh passes your lips. “You must stop chiding yourself like that, Lady Brienne.”

She sits up, turning to stare down at you with a frown. “It is no chide, but a simple fact. Perhaps I was a girl for a few years after I was born, but I was not allowed to be for much longer.”

Sad eyes meet hers, staring up at her with such sincerity she very nearly has to break your gaze, but she wouldnt dare. “You were banished from what is nothing more than a man’s version of being a girl, when they know nothing of the sort.”

Brienne’s frown deepens, and you continue.

“Being a girl is not long hair, long gowns, dances or potions or baths, it is not something restricted to a certain body that must fit in a special box designed by men. I heard one of those Lannister pricks-“

“(Y/N).” Brienne raises an eyebrow in warning, her own respect for people outshining your general disapproval at those with snobbish natures, while you roll your eyes.

“I heard one of those ever so noble, ever so rich Lannister men, say that lions do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and the same can be said for women. No man can understand what it is to be a woman, in the same way we can never understand what it is to be a man. I am sure being a man goes beyond drooling at everything with a hole, though they do little to prove it-“

Brienne can't withhold the gasp of a laugh she releases at that, always surprised by and appreciative of your crude humor.

With a bright smile on your face, you sit up with her. “The point I am trying to make is that being a woman is not something anyone else can touch, take away from you or feel. Just because I like to dance in a gown does not make me anymore of a woman than you. If you find your femininity in your armor, in the swing of your sword, in the strength you feel in your righteousness, then that is what makes you a woman, Lady Brienne. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

There are mere inches between your faces, your voice nothing more than a whisper by the time your explanation is finished, reflecting the gentleness of the tears shining in Brienne’s eyes.

“If you do not wish to be perceived as feminine in any sense, then that is perfectly within your right, as well. Nothing is inherently feminine within you unless you want it to be and decide that it is. So tell me, dear Brienne, how do you accept yourself?” You take ahold of her hand to encourage her, and her glazed eyes dart down to acknowledge the gesture, her cheeks flushing pink as she swallows nervously.

“I…If what you say is a true, which I believe it must be, then…I am a woman.” She says, sounding sure of that statement and confident in it for the first time in her life, her gaze firm as it returns to yours.

Grinning at her, you squeeze her hand. “Then we are nothing more than a pair of girls, are we not?”

Brienne chuckles bashfully. “I suppose this is an accurate statement now, my Lady.”

Releasing her hand, you approach your dresser and sit in front of the mirror, beginning to remove your jewelry and tidy it away habitually.

A question tugs at Brienne’s mind, but she temporarily loses all trace of any thought as she watches the way your fingers detangle your hair with expertly gentle, nimble movements. Utterly mesmerized, Brienne shakes her head and focusses her mind.

“If you have never felt the way I did when being referred to as a lady, why is it you disapprove of it when I regard you as such?” She questions, remembering all the times when you had been quick to correct her when referring to you as ‘my Lady’.

Looking over your shoulder, you smile at her. “If you wish to call me your Lady, you will need to make me yours, first.”

Brienne does not have the tools available to check, but she is absolutely certain that in that moment, her heart stops beating, her soul glimpses the world from a bird’s eye as she ascends to the heavens, and then she drops back into her own armor quite suddenly, her face substantially hotter than it had been when she had last felt it. The dumbstruck expression on her face makes you laugh into a wheezing frenzy, wiping tears from your eyes as you stand up and disappear behind a curtain to get changed. If Brienne’s temperature rises much more, she will be forced to consult the God of Light.

She fixes her gaze to the floor, desperately trying to think of anything other than the fact that you are undressing and stepping into a nightgown behind a curtain that is no more than a few feet behind her. The honor that pumps in her very veins will not be outrun by adrenaline, not this day. But as she feels the bed dip behind her, and those nimble fingers beginning to untie parts of her armor, she cannot remember how to swear anything to the old gods or the new, except that she is, undoubtedly, on the brink of fainting.

“Am I wrong to think that, based on the frequency at which you have referred to me as your Lady, that is what you wish me to be?” You tease, your lips so close to Brienne’s ear she can hear your breath in her hair, a trail of goosebumps erupting on her neck.

She gulps, taking a deep breath before shaking her head.

Without sparing another second, you slink your way around her until you are straddling her lap, Brienne’s hands acting on an instinct she did not know she had when they immediately lift to hold you there. She takes perhaps half a second to thank every god she knows for the fabric of the nightgown you are wearing, because had she felt your skin beneath her hands, Brienne is sure she would not have survived the contact. Her eyes meet yours, wide and stunned, frozen in place much like the rest of her, while yours are relaxed and - dare Brienne think it - sultry?

“Then, my dear Brienne, I must amend an earlier statement.” You begin, and she nods feverishly, urging you to continue because she has lost the ability to speak. “I said that being a woman is not something anyone else can touch, take away from you or feel, and while it is still true that nobody can take away what it means to be a woman…it is quite possible to touch, to feel, such a thing. In more ways than one, so I’ve heard.”

Brienne blinks rapidly, clearing her throat. “M-More ways than one, you say? Perhaps your take on a woman is not as accurate as you first thought, then.”

You nod along with her, a smirk rising at the corner of your lips, which look more inviting to Brienne with every second that passes. “Perhaps you are right, perhaps it is you that should correct me on what it means to take a woman.”

Brienne’s eyes, if possible, grow even wider. “That is not what I-“

But you cut her off, the tension building around you and between you becoming too much, forcing you together in an almightly crash of flushed lips and relieved sighs as you card one hand through Brienne’s hair, the other still unclasping parts of her armor with far more urgency. Her hands squeeze your waist through the soft cotton of your nightgown, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against hers, even through the silver plates that separate you. As each part of armor that covered her torso and arms clatters against the bed, your hands scramble to feel more of her, the strength of the muscles in her arms, the firmness of her chest and hips, while hers hook under your thighs and pull you impossibly closer, her heart skipping a beat when your nightgown rises just enough for her fingertips to graze skin, soft and supple and hot to the touch for less than a second, but time enough for a hunger like nothing Brienne has ever known to bloom within her, and she reaches an epiphany.

Perhaps, Brienne thinks, this is what it is to be a woman.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Microsoft pinky swears that THIS TIME they’ll make security a priority

One June 20, I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On June 21, I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On June 22, I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

As the old saying goes, "When someone tells you who they are and you get fooled again, shame on you." That goes double for Microsoft, especially when it comes to security promises.

Microsoft is, was, always has been, and always will be a rotten company. At every turn, throughout their history, they have learned the wrong lessons, over and over again.

That starts from the very earliest days, when the company was still called "Micro-Soft." Young Bill Gates was given a sweetheart deal to supply the operating system for IBM's PC, thanks to his mother's connection. The nepo-baby enlisted his pal, Paul Allen (whom he'd later rip off for billions) and together, they bought someone else's OS (and took credit for creating it – AKA, the "Musk gambit").

Microsoft then proceeded to make a fortune by monopolizing the OS market through illegal, collusive arrangements with the PC clone industry – an industry that only existed because they could source third-party PC ROMs from Phoenix:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/08/ibm-pc-compatible-how-adversarial-interoperability-saved-pcs-monopolization

Bill Gates didn't become one of the richest people on earth simply by emerging from a lucky orifice; he also owed his success to vigorous antitrust enforcement. The IBM PC was the company's first major initiative after it was targeted by the DOJ for a 12-year antitrust enforcement action. IBM tapped its vast monopoly profits to fight the DOJ, spending more on outside counsel to fight the DOJ antitrust division than the DOJ spent on all its antitrust lawyers, every year, for 12 years.

IBM's delaying tactic paid off. When Reagan took the White House, he let IBM off the hook. But the company was still seriously scarred by its ordeal, and when the PC project kicked off, the company kept the OS separate from the hardware (one of the DOJ's major issues with IBM's previous behavior was its vertical monopoly on hardware and software). IBM didn't hire Gates and Allen to provide it with DOS because it was incapable of writing a PC operating system: they did it to keep the DOJ from kicking down their door again.

The post-antitrust, gunshy IBM kept delivering dividends for Microsoft. When IBM turned a blind eye to the cloned PC-ROM and allowed companies like Compaq, Dell and Gateway to compete directly with Big Blue, this produced a whole cohort of customers for Microsoft – customers Microsoft could play off on each other, ensuring that every PC sold generated income for Microsoft, creating a wide moat around the OS business that kept other OS vendors out of the market. Why invest in making an OS when every hardware company already had an exclusive arrangement with Microsoft?

The IBM PC story teaches us two things: stronger antitrust enforcement spurs innovation and opens markets for scrappy startups to grow to big, important firms; as do weaker IP protections.

Microsoft learned the opposite: monopolies are wildly profitable; expansive IP protects monopolies; you can violate antitrust laws so long as you have enough monopoly profits rolling in to outspend the government until a Republican bootlicker takes the White House (Microsoft's antitrust ordeal ended after GW Bush stole the 2000 election and dropped the charges against them). Microsoft embodies the idea that you either die a rebel hero or live long enough to become the evil emperor you dethroned.

From the first, Microsoft has pursued three goals:

Get too big to fail;

Get too big to jail;

Get too big to care.

It has succeeded on all three counts. Much of Microsoft's enduring power comes from succeeded IBM as the company that mediocre IT managers can safely buy from without being blamed for the poor quality of Microsoft's products: "Nobody ever got fired for buying Microsoft" is 2024's answer to "Nobody ever got fired for buying IBM."

Microsoft's secret sauce is impunity. The PC companies that bundle Windows with their hardware are held blameless for the glaring defects in Windows. The IT managers who buy company-wide Windows licenses are likewise insulated from the rage of the workers who have to use Windows and other Microsoft products.

Microsoft doesn't have to care if you hate it because, for the most part, it's not selling to you. It's selling to a few decision-makers who can be wined and dined and flattered. And since we all have to use its products, developers have to target its platform if they want to sell us their software.

This rarified position has afforded Microsoft enormous freedom to roll out harebrained "features" that made things briefly attractive for some group of developers it was hoping to tempt into its sticky-trap. Remember when it put a Turing-complete scripting environment into Microsoft Office and unleashed a plague of macro viruses that wiped out years worth of work for entire businesses?

https://web.archive.org/web/20060325224147/http://www3.ca.com/securityadvisor/newsinfo/collateral.aspx?cid=33338

It wasn't just Office; Microsoft's operating systems have harbored festering swamps of godawful defects that were weaponized by trolls, script kiddies, and nation-states:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EternalBlue

Microsoft blamed everyone except themselves for these defects, claiming that their poor code quality was no worse than others, insisting that the bulging arsenal of Windows-specific malware was the result of being the juiciest target and thus the subject of the most malicious attention.

Even if you take them at their word here, that's still no excuse. Microsoft didn't slip and accidentally become an operating system monopolist. They relentlessly, deliberately, illegally pursued the goal of extinguishing every OS except their own. It's completely foreseeable that this dominance would make their products the subject of continuous attacks.

There's an implicit bargain that every monopolist makes: allow me to dominate my market and I will be a benevolent dictator who spends his windfall profits on maintaining product quality and security. Indeed, if we permit "wasteful competition" to erode the margins of operating system vendors, who will have a surplus sufficient to meet the security investment demands of the digital world?

But monopolists always violate this bargain. When faced with the decision to either invest in quality and security, or hand billions of dollars to their shareholders, they'll always take the latter. Why wouldn't they? Once they have a monopoly, they don't have to worry about losing customers to a competitor, so why invest in customer satisfaction? That's how Google can piss away $80b on a stock buyback and fire 12,000 technical employees at the same time as its flagship search product (with a 90% market-share) is turning into an unusable pile of shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Microsoft reneged on this bargain from day one, and they never stopped. When the company moved Office to the cloud, it added an "analytics" suite that lets bosses spy on and stack-rank their employees ("Sorry, fella, Office365 says you're the slowest typist in the company, so you're fired"). Microsoft will also sell you internal data on the Office365 usage of your industry competitors (they'll sell your data to your competitors, too, natch). But most of all, Microsoft harvest, analyzes and sells this data for its own purposes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revenge

Leave aside how creepy, gross and exploitative this is – it's also incredibly reckless. Microsoft is creating a two-way conduit into the majority of the world's businesses that insider threats, security services and hackers can exploit to spy on and wreck Microsoft's customers' business. You don't get more "too big to care" than this.

Or at least, not until now. Microsoft recently announced a product called "Recall" that would record every keystroke, click and screen element, nominally in the name of helping you figure out what you've done and either do it again, or go back and fix it. The problem here is that anyone who gains access to your system – your boss, a spy, a cop, a Microsoft insider, a stalker, an abusive partner or a hacker – now has access to everything, on a platter. Naturally, this system – which Microsoft billed as ultra-secure – was wildly insecure and after a series of blockbuster exploits, the company was forced to hit pause on the rollout:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/06/microsoft-delays-data-scraping-recall-feature-again-commits-to-public-beta-test/

For years, Microsoft waged a war on the single most important security practice in software development: transparency. This is the company that branded the GPL Free Software license a "virus" and called open source "a cancer." The company argued that allowing public scrutiny of code would be a disaster because bad guys would spot and weaponize defects.

This is "security through obscurity" and it's an idea that was discredited nearly 500 years ago with the advent of the scientific method. The crux of that method: we are so good at bullshiting ourselves into thinking that our experiment was successful that the only way to make sure we know anything is to tell our enemies what we think we've proved so they can try to tear us down.

Or, as Bruce Schneier puts it: "Anyone can design a security system that you yourself can't think of a way of breaking. That doesn't mean it works, it just means that it works against people stupider than you."

And yet, Microsoft – whose made more widely and consequentially exploited software than anyone else in the history of the human race – claimed that free and open code was insecure, and spent millions on deceptive PR campaigns intended to discredit the scientific method in favor of a kind of software alchemy, in which every coder toils in secret, assuring themselves that drinking mercury is the secret to eternal life.

Access to source code isn't sufficient to make software secure – nothing about access to code guarantees that anyone will review that code and repair its defects. Indeed, there've been some high profile examples of "supply chain attacks" in the free/open source software world:

https://www.securityweek.com/supply-chain-attack-major-linux-distributions-impacted-by-xz-utils-backdoor/

But there's no good argument that this code would have been more secure if it had been harder for the good guys to spot its bugs. When it comes to secure code, transparency is an essential, but it's not a sufficency.

The architects of that campaign are genuinely awful people, and yet they're revered as heroes by Microsoft's current leadership. There's Steve "Linux Is Cancer" Ballmer, star of Propublica's IRS Files, where he is shown to be the king of "tax loss harvesting":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

And also the most prominent example of the disgusting tax cheats practiced by rich sports-team owners:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine

Microsoft may give lip service to open source these days (mostly through buying, stripmining and enclosing Github) but Ballmer's legacy lives on within the company, through its wildly illegal tax-evasion tactics:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/13/pour-encoragez-les-autres/#micros-tilde-one

But Ballmer is an angel compared to his boss, Bill Gates, last seen some paragraphs above, stealing the credit for MS DOS from Tim Paterson and billions of dollars from his co-founder Paul Allen. Gates is an odious creep who made billions through corrupt tech industry practices, then used them to wield influence over the world's politics and policy. The Gates Foundation (and Gates personally) invented vaccine apartheid, helped kill access to AIDS vaccines in Sub-Saharan Africa, then repeated the trick to keep covid vaccines out of reach of the Global South:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#gates-foundation

The Gates Foundation wants us to think of it as malaria-fighting heroes, but they're also the leaders of the war against public education, and have been key to the replacement of public schools with charter schools, where the poorest kids in America serve as experimental subjects for the failed pet theories of billionaire dilettantes:

https://www.ineteconomics.org/perspectives/blog/millionaire-driven-education-reform-has-failed-heres-what-works

(On a personal level, Gates is also a serial sexual abuser who harassed multiple subordinates into having sexual affairs with him:)

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/13/technology/microsoft-sexual-harassment-policy-review.html

The management culture of Microsoft started rotten and never improved. It's a company with corruption and monopoly in its blood, a firm that would always rather build market power to insulate itself from the consequences of making defective products than actually make good products. This is true of every division, from cloud computing:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/28/other-peoples-computers/#clouded-over

To gaming:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/27/convicted-monopolist/#microsquish

No one should ever trust Microsoft to do anything that benefits anyone except Microsoft. One of the low points in the otherwise wonderful surge of tech worker labor organizing was when the Communications Workers of America endorsed Microsoft's acquisition of Activision because Microsoft promised not to union-bust Activision employees. They lied:

https://80.lv/articles/qa-workers-contracted-by-microsoft-say-they-were-fired-for-trying-to-unionize/

Repeatedly:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/activision-fired-staff-using-strong-language-about-remote-work-policy-union-2023-03-01/

Why wouldn't they lie? They've never faced any consequences for lying in the past. Remember: the secret to Microsoft's billions is impunity.

Which brings me to Solarwinds. Solarwinds is an enterprise management tool that allows IT managers to see, patch and control the computers they oversee. Foreign spies hacked Solarwinds and accessed a variety of US federal agencies, including National Nuclear Security Administration (who oversee nuclear weapons stockpiles), the NIH, and the Treasury Department.

When the Solarwinds story broke, Microsoft strenuously denied that the Solarwinds hack relied on exploiting defects in Microsoft software. They said this to everyone: the press, the Pentagon, and Congress.

This was a lie. As Renee Dudley and Doris Burke reported for Propublica, the Solarwinds attack relied on defects in the SAML authentication system that Microsoft's own senior security staff had identified and repeatedly warned management about. Microsoft's leadership ignored these warnings, buried the research, prohibited anyone from warning Microsoft customers, and sidelined Andrew Harris, the researcher who discovered the defect:

https://www.propublica.org/article/microsoft-solarwinds-golden-saml-data-breach-russian-hackers

The single most consequential cyberattack on the US government was only possible because Microsoft decided not to fix a profound and dangerous bug in its code, and declined to warn anyone who relied on this defective software.

Yesterday, Microsoft president Brad Smith testified about this to Congress, and promised that the company would henceforth prioritize security over gimmicks like AI:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/06/microsoft-in-damage-control-mode-says-it-will-prioritize-security-over-ai/

Despite all the reasons to mistrust this promise, the company is hoping Congress will believe it. More importantly, it's hoping that the Pentagon will believe it, because the Pentagon is about to award billions in free no-bid military contract profits to Microsoft:

https://www.axios.com/2024/05/17/pentagon-weighs-microsoft-licensing-upgrades

You know what? I bet they'll sell this lie. It won't be the first time they've convinced Serious People in charge of billions of dollars and/or lives to ignore that all-important maxim, "When someone tells you who they are and you get fooled again, shame on you."

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/14/patch-tuesday/#fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again

[aesthetic-is-life]

GOM Headcanon

Kise

He has very dry skin. He follows his skin care religiously

He has both a huge prize AND degredation kink.

Every thursday he goes to Caribbean dances and has a regular partner for the bachata

He got a degree in something with fashion and marketing. Still working as a model and influencer during the college years.

After he goes works with his sisters in their fashion company

He and Midorima fucked few times between the Teiko and the High school

He's a little bit of a whore (especially at the club half drunk)

Absolutely adores to give orals. Yes let me suck you off sir please

Very good at it

Had a huge crush for Aomine during Teiko, but nothing happened

His romantic relationship never last long (monogamy problem)

He is poly

Feels trapped in a monogamous relationship

Very closed to his sister in the adult age

Vegetarian (vegan at home)

Has a little tattoo for each miracles (like a frog for Midorima, a cherry flower for Momoi..)

Akashi

Lactose intollerant

Aroace King (kise told him about ace people and Midorima confirmed the existence)

Degree in philosophy

Sojio professional player just for saying he has a job (not really need one)

After the winter cup he had pretty bad episodes of depression and eaten alive from his guilt.

But with the power of friendship (Mibuchi had called the miracles for and intervention) and therapy he got better

He would need a heavy session of consensual BDSM (he subs)

He and his dad ignore each other basically

Didn't took well the death of his horse, and after that doesn't want any more pets

He and Midorima suggest books each other

Doesn't drink, but can handle alcool pretty good

He play golf with the mother side of the family

Totally an addicted to

Only the Gom knows that he was diagnoed DID (dissocative identity disorder)

He would be a perfect menwife

Doesn't like to drive

Midorima

Doctor bccouse his daddy told him to

He and Takao got married at some point

His best man was Akashi

His dad was kind of homophobic, but had a change of heart

For each birthday he does the the natal chart of all the Gom + takao and Kagami

Can't hendle alcool (no at all, like half beer and he is WASTED)

Takao is an architect and he designed their house

Doesn't talk before his coffe

Morning person (after the coffe), Takao is not

Still listen to the oroscop every morning and brings the luck item (Takao is forced to have his too)

Has a thing for dirt talk (Takao doesn't complaint)

Still play piano and composes song for Takao

Would like to have a kid or two

Rei Ryugazaki (from free!) are cousins

Every sunday the have a lunch with the over miracles in their home

Aomine

His career in the NBA (because yes he entred) has benn pretty short for injuries

so he come back in Japan and makes the delivery for the flower/ plant shop of Sakurai.

in the US he and kagami lived togher, but they were in diffrent teams

He adoped a dog he found on the side of a road

Really like beers of all kind and flavors

Decent cook

He and Kuroko fucked everywhere in Teiko. But like everywhere, not corridor, bathroom, storege room or class was safe (they enjoyed)

He and Kagami had drunk and angry sex in the US times

Prefers women (boobs)

As an adult he went to therapy and understood what was wrong during the last years in middle school (depression time)

He and Momoi are big fan of horror movies

Very warm person

Can't stand gloves

Kuroko

Cold hands

He and Kagami moved in together, but neither of them belives in marriege

Kuroko would love a cat, but Kagami is allergic

He works in a kindergarten

and come home full of drawings of the kids

Doesn't want to have children though

Exhibitionist kink

Having sex is a park in the middle of the night

Kagami usually cooks and he drives

Brings his kindle everywhere with him

He smokes a little (like two or three cigarette per day)

Murasakibara

Chronic back pain and at the joint because he grew up too fast

Acne and bad skin in general because he eats to much chocolate and sweets in general

Became a pastry chef

He, Himuro and Kagami opened a nice coffe shop

The type with cultural events, book crossing and stuff

Doesn't really like having sex. He finds it really tiring

He and Himuro have an open relationship

Ass eater king. Not a big fan of penetrative sex because he dosent't want to hurt Himuro with his huge cock.

Has a little aquarium and adores stares at the fish

Can't swim

He got diabetes at some point

Momoi

She got a degree in statistic and after a very high paid job

When Baribe went out, she and Kise went all pink

In her highshool years she did something with some girls, but she found it pretty wet. Prefers small and cute boys

Seirously considering breast reduction surgey

She and Sakurai are together

They have an adorable little dog

When Aomine was in US they used to videocall every fucking day

She and Kise are the queens of gossip

Never had smth physical with Kuroko

Very good at videgames (had a youtube chanal)

especially the shooting ones

Wears high heels at work

Adores cherry

Allergic to something stupid like kiwi or apple

During college she made a lot of female friends

Pretty dominant in bed

Good at drawing

[mariacallous]

On Sunday, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson went on television and mixed up Iran and Israel. “We passed the support for Iran many months ago,” he told Meet the Press, erroneously referring to an aid package for the Jewish state. Last night, the Fox News prime-time host Jesse Watters introduced South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem as hailing from South Carolina. I once joined a cable-news panel where one of the participants kept confusing then–Attorney General Jeff Sessions with Representative Pete Sessions of Texas. I don’t hold these errors against anyone, as they are some of the most common miscues made by people who talk for a living—and I’m sure my time will come.

Yesterday, President Joe Biden added another example to this list. In response to a question about Gaza, he referred to the Egyptian leader Abdel Fattah al-Sisi as the president of Mexico. The substance of Biden’s answer was perfectly cogent. The off-the-cuff response included geographic and policy details not just about Egypt, but about multiple Middle Eastern players that most Americans probably couldn’t even name. The president clearly knew whom and what he was talking about; he just slipped up the same way Johnson and so many others have. But the flub could not have come at a worse time. Because the press conference had been called to respond to Special Counsel Robert Hur’s report on Biden’s handling of classified documents, which dubbed the president an “elderly man with a poor memory,” the Mexico gaffe was immediately cast by critics as confirmation of Biden’s cognitive collapse.

But the truth is, mistakes like these are nothing new for Biden, who has been mixing up names and places for his entire political career. Back in 2008, he infamously introduced his running mate as “the next president of the United States, Barack America.” At the time, Biden’s well-known propensity for bizarre tangents, ahistorical riffs, and malapropisms compelled Slate to publish an entire column explaining “why Joe Biden’s gaffes don’t hurt him much.” The article included such gems as the time that then-Senator Biden told the journalist Katie Couric that “when the markets crashed in 1929, ‘Franklin Roosevelt got on the television and didn’t just talk about the princes of greed. He said, “Look, here’s what happened.”’” The only problem with this story, Slate laconically noted, was that “FDR wasn’t president then, nor did television exist.”

In other words, even a cursory history of Biden’s bungling shows that he is the same person he has always been, just older and slower—a gaffe-prone, middling public speaker with above-average emotional intelligence and an instinct for legislative horse-trading. This is why Biden’s signature moments as a politician have been not set-piece speeches, but off-the-cuff encounters, such as when he knelt to engage elderly Holocaust survivors in Israel so they would not have to stand, and when he befriended a security guard in an elevator at The New York Times on his way to a meeting with the paper’s editorial board, which declined to endorse him. And it’s why Biden’s key accomplishments—such as the landmark climate-change provisions of the Inflation Reduction Act, the country’s first gun-control bill in decades, and the expected expansion of the child tax credit—have come through Congress. The president’s strength is not orating, but legislating; not inspiring a crowd, but connecting with individuals.

That said, although Biden’s Mexico mistake might not be a demonstration of dementia, it is a warning sign of a different sort that his campaign would be wise to heed. Recently, the White House declined to have Biden participate in the traditional pre–Super Bowl interview this coming Sunday. The administration framed this decision as part of a broader strategy favoring nontraditional media, but it was reasonably seen as an attempt to shield the candidate from scrutiny. The president’s staff is understandably reluctant to put Biden front and center, knowing that his slower speed and inevitable gaffes—both real and fabricated—will feed the mental-acuity narrative. But in actuality, the bar for Biden has been set so laughably low that he can’t help but vault over it simply by showing up. By contrast, limiting his appearances ensures that the public mostly encounters the president through decontextualized social-media clips of his slipups.

As Slate observed in 2008, the frequency of Biden’s rhetorical miscues helped neutralize them in the eyes of the public. In 2024, Biden will have an assist from another source: Donald Trump. Among other recent lapses, the former president has called Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán “the leader of Turkey,” confused Nancy Pelosi and Nikki Haley, and repeatedly expressed the strange belief that he won the 2020 election. With an opponent prone to vastly worse feats of viscous verbosity, Biden can’t help but look better by comparison, especially if he starts playing offense instead of defense.

But none of this will happen by itself. If the president and his campaign want the headlines to be something other than “Yes, Biden Knows Who the President of Egypt Is,” they’ll have to start making news, not reacting to it.