#sustainable shoe brands | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nyxlaufeyson · 6 months

Text

Quite Alright

Winter Masterlist - Loki Oneshot Masterlist - Main Masterlist

POV: Second

Ship: Loki x Reader

Type: Fluff

Wordcount: 1,581

Prompt: "Ice Skating"

Synopsis: You teach Loki how to ice skate.

When Stark announced to the team that they were going ice skating, Loki wasn’t sure what to think of it. He could understand what it must mean, but what he couldn’t fathom was why one would want to skate on ice. Wouldn’t that just result in injury?

He swept it to the back of his mind, since he had better things he had needed to do at the time. However, now that they were standing outside of the ice skating rink Tony had rented out for them, Loki wished that he had put a little more effort into figuring out what ice skating was and how to do it. He certainly didn’t want to be made a fool in front of the Avengers.

It couldn’t be that different from dancing, Loki figured, and he was quite good at that. He would simply observe some of the others go onto the ice first before doing so himself. Surely, how hard could it be?

You walked beside him, clearly excited for the expedition. As soon as you entered the doors, a chill nipped at your skin. It wasn’t anything too bad, considering you were wearing a sweater, but it was still noticeable. Loki, on the other hand, barely felt a thing. If anything, he felt more comfortable in the chill given his genetics.

All of you checked out pairs of skates-and these were brand new skates, too, so you didn’t have to worry about foot fungus, thanks to Tony-and made your way to the benches right outside of the ice rink.

“Are you excited?” You asked him, and he feigned a small smile and gave a nod. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Wait a minute. Have you ever been ice skating?”

He thought about lying, but he opted for telling the truth. “No, I have not.” He said, tying the laces to the skates. “But I have no doubt it will go smoothly.”

You chuckled. “You say that now, mischief, but when you get on that ice you might change your mind. Lucky for you, I happen to practically be an expert. I’ve gone ice skating lots of times.” You finished putting on your shoes, standing up. “Although, granted, it has been a while. But muscle memory, all that jazz.”

Loki stood up to the best of his ability with the skates, and met you where you were standing on the entrance to the ice. He used the railing to help support himself.

You stepped up onto the ice, wobbling at first until you managed to balance yourself. Some of the other Avengers were already on the ice, while some opted for watching before trying it out for themselves. He watched you do a lap around the rink to get your bearings back.

After the lap, you circled back around to him. “You ready?” You asked him, and he hesitantly nodded and stepped onto the ice. Immediately, he lost his balance and nearly fell face-flat on the ice. Fortunately, he managed to grab ahold of the railing to steady himself.

“Norns!” He cursed, surprised at how unstable the skates on the ice were. He may be a frost giant, but that didn’t help him balance on the ice with a small piece of metal lifting his feet off the ground. “How do you people do this without sustaining significant injuries?”

You giggled at his struggles, waving a hand. “Oh, we do. My friend actually sprained her ankle ice skating once. It must have been bad, because she was in a wheelchair for like a month. I had to push her around and everything.”

Loki widened his eyes, and you sensed you hadn’t said the right thing. “Of course, it’s preventable and I’m totally sure it won’t happen to you here today.”

This didn’t seem to calm him down a whole lot, but you didn’t really know what else to say. Maybe telling people stories of bad things that happened doing something while they were doing said activity wasn’t a great idea.

“Just… Follow my lead, okay?” You said, and he nodded after a second of contemplation. “So, the first step is learning how to glide. You alternate between lifting one foot and another until you’re comfortable.”

You gave him a little demonstration, and motioned for him to do it. He carefully tried the motions, still holding onto the railing.

Smiling, you have a little clap. “Exactly! Now, while you’re gliding, the next step is to lift one foot, set it back down, and lift the other. Then you just repeat the process.”

Since he had to come off of the railing, you gently took his arm to help steady himself. He thought about declining your help, but he was too worried he would end up falling without it, so he let you.

He tried out what you said to do, and he managed to do it. Unfortunately, when you let him go, he fell on his ass. His face turned red, but you just laughed and offered him a hand up.

You recognized that he was embarrassed, so you offered consolation. “Falling is normal, especially when first learning.” Thor grunted nearby, and you gestured to him on the ground. “See? Point made.”

Loki took your hand, hoisting himself up. He was still slightly embarrassed, but felt better after seeing his brother take a much more insulting fall.

“Now, if you move your feet like this,” you moved your feet in an oval in-and-out motion, “you can move ahead on the ice without lifting your feet.”

He did the swizzles rather well, and you smiled. “Perfect. Now that I’ve taught you some of the motions, you need to know how to stop. Watch and learn.”

First, you ‘stopped’ without being in motion in the first place, just to show him what it looked like. You stood with your feet together, then pushed them apart while skating forward, finally sticking one out sideways and bringing you to a stop. You then got some traction going to show him what it looked like in motion.

You had him practice at a standstill, and after he got that you let him do it after skating a short distance. He did fine, and you grinned at your teaching skills.

“Want to go around the rink now?” You asked, and Loki looked around, clearly skeptical to do so. You offered your hand. “Here, I’ll hold your hand if that will make you feel more stable. Can’t guarantee I can stop you if you start to fall, but I can try nonetheless.”

You didn’t quite understand how intimate an offer like that was to Loki. Like before, he considered declining, but some part of him wanted to hold your hand. So, he took it gently.

Once his hand was in yours, you became aware of the intimacy and blushed. Holding hands while skating was something you had seen couples do countless times, yet it was never something you had experienced. Of course, Loki was not your significant other, but he was your friend. And, you would be lying if you said you didn’t wish to become more than that.

Loki cleared his throat, and you embarrassedly realized you had zoned out. “Sorry. Got distracted.” You said, very quickly glancing at your hands. “Ready?”

He nodded, and you both set off to skate. You skated up to and past other Avengers, all of who seemed to be having a good time. None of them noticed you and Loki holding hands. Or, at least, nobody said anything.

It was a friendly gesture, anyway, even if the both of you wished it was not.

All went well, and you had circled the rink a few times until you met your first hiccup. Tony wasn’t going in the general direction that everyone else was going, and ended up cutting you off. To avoid hitting him, you and Loki had to veer to the right. Unfortunately, in doing so, you lost your balance.

You stumbled, falling, bringing Loki down as well. You sprawled your hands out to try to break your fall, but you didn’t meet the ice. Instead, you found yourself on top of Loki, who had broken your fall.

Startled, you asked, “are you okay?” He nodded, not seeming to be in any significant pain.

“I used magic at the last second to cushion me. Are you alright as well?” You nodded. Now that it was clear the both of you were physically in check, you became aware of your position.

His eyes glanced at your lips. Your eyes glanced at his lips. You both looked back up at one another’s eyes. The tension was too much to bear, and you slowly lowered your lips down to his, giving him enough time to push you away.

He didn’t push you away, and welcomed your lips with enthusiasm. The kiss was cold, but when his tongue ran over your lips it brought about a certain warmth.

When it was over, you opened your eyes and realized Tony was standing right beside the two of you on the ground.

He looked to be in a state between shock and discomfort. “Well, I was going to ask if you both were alright, but…”

Loki flashed Tony a grin, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Oh, I can assure you Stark, that we are quite alright.”

You chuckled into his chest until you both had to get up so you weren’t run over by the others.

TAGS: (Comment or inbox me to be added/removed; along with what to be tagged for): @michief-dream @iceeericeee

#loki #loki fanfic #marvel #loki fluff #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #loki oneshot #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x yn #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki/reader #loki/you

72 notes · View notes

tunastime · 2 months

Text

Inbound, Outbound

The first submas fic I ever wrote! LOL I decided I needed one final thing for april fools so you get this fic from. about a month and a half ago! I think a lot has changed since I wrote this and I'd love to come back to the reuniting :3 maybe making it longer or what have you. but for now. here you go!

Sometimes when you wait for things, they come back to you. Sometimes they don't. Emmet continues life as normal as he can until the point in which the thing he's been waiting for the most finally does come back. Today just happens to be that day. (6745 words)

Ingo comes back on a winter day that Emmet would’ve otherwise forgotten.

It’s a pervasive winter in Nimbasa this year, the sky a white-blue, grey where it touches the edges of the buildings high above his morning train into the city center. Today is just as slow as usual, fifteen stretching into thirty, stretching in to forty-five minutes as people crush their way into the train car number eleven, Emmet’s favorite car on the six-in-the-morning inbound to Nimbasa commercial district. This train doesn’t go direct to Gear Station—it’s about four blocks from the city center. Which means that the train car is filled with grey and black suits, small children, and people in coats too thin or too bright for the weather. It’s his favorite car because if he looks over the few heads currently standing in front of him, he can see a poster with Elesa on it, advertising the Nimbasa Gym in bright, yellow and black letters. He doesn’t mind the length of the ride, really, even with the extra twenty minutes of walking. It gives him enough time to think, whether that be better or worse.

Emmet sniffles, pushing the scarf further up his nose, trying to keep in the heat. He can feel his face starting to red with the cold, and the subpar heat of the train car isn’t doing much help. He likes this car—he likes the whole system, because it runs so efficiently even with the stops, but he would like it a bit more if it were properly heated. He once bore Elesa to sleep talking about the rail system near their apartment complex in the city suburbs and art district, and after that he kind of kept it to himself and the engineers on shift.

The train car is still cold, and his scarf slips down his nose again as he adjusts his grip on the handle above him. Scrunching his face, he burrows into the collar of his coat and shrinks his shoulders to make space, shutting his eyes. He moves with the train car, as he does every morning, and sighs into the fabric of his coat. He files the cold away in the back of his mind. The train ride becomes routine, which means it fades into the background of his life, where everything rests mutely.

He might be somewhat of a celebrity, but the 6am is too crowded and too tired to notice him, or Ingo, or Elesa, for that matter. Elesa could live in the city center—running a gym is a lucrative business, and her clothing line, her brand deal, the posters with her face on them, even here in this train, raked in enough money to more than sustain on. Instead, Elesa lives two streets down from him (them) in a large apartment and she holds the crook of his arm on the train to keep steady. She didn’t this morning, though, which means Emmet has a little more stability where he stands, and a little less company. Not being recognized this morning means that he slips effortlessly from the train as the doors slide open, spilling out with other shoppers and business folk. He ducks through the exit as someone holds it open, and the smile on their face lingers a bit too long when they catch his eye. He thinks the words I’m sorry for your loss might come and hit him across the face, but they only nod. Emmet moves through the crowd alone again.

He makes his way carefully up the steps and onto the sidewalks of inner-Nimbasa, stepping with purpose as he stares down at his shoes. There’s a fine layer of ice and slush on the ground, but no snow. Anything that did fall just added to the grey slush on the side of the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he walked. The cold still bites at his face as he makes his way down the block and across the street. He can still feel his fingers, though, which is a good sign. A few more streets of cold and slushy snow and trying to block the wind with his coat and he would be in the relative warmth of Gear Station, all tan marble and smooth floors.

Winter. Of course the winter lingered. It was still winter when Emmet got off the train alone and it was still winter and cold and breezy and dark, now, as Emmet stood in his (their) office, watching the clock.

5:45pm. He realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as a hard pang stabs through his stomach. Emmet takes a breath. It’s easy to fall into routine when nothing else seems to fit. It’s what he tells himself. He finds a way to make the day go faster, maybe looking for something at the end that wasn’t just the next day. He never had this issue before, waiting for the day to pass only for it to bleed into the next, and the next, and the next, and for the weekend to stutter and pause that blissful continuing trend. Work, go home, sleep, repeat. It gave no time to think about anything else—especially not Ingo.

It took longer the first year. Everything constantly pressed hard on the wound still open. He still remembers when everything shut down around him. It wasn’t winter then. It was spring, where the air still twinged cool, but he wasn’t kicking snow off his shoes before he entered the engineer’s office and ducked down the hall and to his and Ingo’s space. It was an almost instant halt, like throwing the emergency break. Emmet’s whole life screeched and threw up smoke.

He remembers the first time someone questioned him that wasn’t the city police, staring up at him, mouth moving with words he didn’t understand. He stuttered, unable to form an answer to what do you think happened? How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to put pieces together when he felt like he had been smashed into star fragments?

The subway shut down for three months straight. He could barely pick himself out of bed, and when he did, he couldn’t make it out of the door. He remembers lying in the dark for far too long, turning off his phone so no calls came through. The day bled into night and into the next day, with no routine, no operating procedure. Everything in his life revolved around Ingo—and now there was a distinctly Ingo shaped hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. He remembers crawling his way out of the comforters and making it to the threshold of his bedroom door, sinking to the ground and staying there. It was only when Elesa made her way in that he moved, coaxed onto the couch to drink a glass of water. There were days where neither of them spoke. Elesa would set a duffel in the corner of Emmet’s room and a toothbrush in his bathroom and wordlessly, the space became hers too. Half asleep one night, she mumbled, very quietly, that it had been days since she’d had the energy to battle. The Nimbasa gym waitlist had grown to fifteen people. He said he was sorry. She laughed like she meant it. Tired. They were tired. Life moved on without them for a while. He held Elesa’s hand.

Every dark coat had been him, every set of stripes, every loud and hearty laugh. The space in their fridge, in their bathroom, on their couch, the spaces Elesa subconsciously left when she visited, all stayed like he might appear and fill them. At some point the spaces became memories, and the memories became a dull ache. The dull ache let him work, and the work became an ache instead. And then he started looking for answers. When he found none, he just kept looking.

He hangs up his white coat, noise from Gear Station trickling into the background. He puts his hat on the hook next to it.

He is Emmet. He feels okay today.

He combs his hair back with his fingers, stepping back to navigate around to his desk, shutting off the computer screen and moving through the familiar motions of packing away his day. Eelektross snuffs, sleeping curled around his chair, still nursing a singe from their last battle. The rest of his team are tucked away in pokeballs, neatly set into the bag still resting on the desk. He runs a hand over the scales on Eelektross’ head, listening to the snort turn into a purr, long and rumbly. At least someone’s enjoying themselves. He leans against his desk.

“Excellent job today, Eelektross,” he says. “Too good.”

Eelektross rumbles out an affirmative sound Emmet’s learned to recognize over the years. Tired and comfortable and thoroughly pleased. He’ll be sleeping under a huge eel weight tonight, most likely, which would be good for them both.

From the corner, Chandelure chirps. He glances up, watching her tilt lazily back and forth, flame flickering under the office’s lamplight. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at her.

“Ah—” he says. “I forgot, Chandelure. Is it time for the rounds, then?”

She chirps again, twirling in place. She nearly bumps the wall, moving out of the way as she remembers how much space she actually takes up. Emmet snorts, shaking his head. He rises from his leaning on the desk, shaking the feeling back into his right leg.

Gathering his coat and hat again, he pulls it over his shoulders, and opens the office door for Chandelure.

The two wander out into the filling-full train station. It’s busy now that so many are leaving work, Gear Station echoing with his footsteps and the tired laughter and voices of patrons filing in and out of the turnstiles. As he steps out, the noise is almost instant. Ah—he caught departing crowds at the wrong time, as the battle subway came to a close at the days end and people were busy reassigning themselves and marking their places for tomorrow. The energy in the station is bright and cheery. He lifts his hat, waving one hand, smiling with just his mouth. Chandelure spins, singing to herself. He offers a little bow as he departs, listening to cheers of his name until he manages to slip into the service stairs and away from the light and the noise.

He follows the familiar service corridor where it diverges from the central station, staring up into the rafters and eyes tracking across the windows high above him. Night trickles in, noise obscured by layers of stone and brick and marble. The stretch of granite towers above him, echoing the flicker of pride he feels swirling in his chest. Chandelure twirls ahead of him, leading him down to the closed lines as his eyes drag away from pidove in the rafters, cooing to themselves.

It’s important to walk the lines at night—mostly for the host of patrat and joltik and the occasional drilbur that liked to make the tunnels their home, but also to check that each car remained stationary, that light still flooded the dim tunnels, that someone wasn’t trapped. It wasn’t always his job—not with so many that staffed Gear Station, both above and below him. Maintenance often fell to him when it was needed, where he lingered in the office long after his scheduled shift end, when the last outbound train returned.

The stairs down are quieter and darker than the rush of energy and light and cold air above him in Gear Station.

Emmet starts his way toward the platform. Whatever he couldn’t find in the tunnels today, Eelektross would find later tomorrow morning, well before the first battle train. It was good he didn’t have to worry about the main tracks as often—not for checks and not for maintenance. He would mourn his sleep schedule much more than he already did if that were the case. Walking those initial tunnels would take him hours, knowing how far the service platform stretched.

Emmet doesn’t like this part of his job. It was always Ingo’s job. Everything seemed like it was Ingo’s job, now that it rested on his shoulders. When they’d first pitched the idea of the subway to the head of Gear Station at the time, it had been a risk Ingo automatically assumed. When he ran the night shift, safety checks were his duty, as much as they were Emmet’s in the morning. They’d assist with repair and management of the rest of the station as needed, falling into step alongside fellow engineers. There’s a small group in this tunnel now—voices echoing down the small corridor as he travels its length, a drilbur perched on their feet, warily inspecting a section of track. He supposed he considered himself lucky—any scheduled repairs to the Battle Subway could be completed shortly after the subway retired for the day, meaning he could be present if anything went wrong. This bit of maintenance was purely preventative—making sure nothing would be jostled loose by a rogue Earthquake.

Emmet ducks passed the group, nodding along as they toss bits of information his way, wishing him a good night.

Fetching the flashlight from his pocket, Emmet smacks it against his hand. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the tunnel in front of him far more than the stretch of yellow floodlights above his head. He sweeps the beam around the tunnel, listening for anything or anyone.

Emmet makes his way off the main platform and into the tunnel proper, along the service grate, eyes following the tracks. He stands at the edge of the platform for a moment, gazing into an empty car, light shining through. It reflects off the posters and signage inside, dull yellow where the lights inside don’t shine. He shivers. The air feels cold and charged, like a stray joltik had crawled up his neck and now rested in the collar of his coat. He turns the collar out, sweeping with one hand. No joltik. Rolling his shoulders back, Emmet steps back from the car and continues onward. A few feet ahead of him, Chandelure twirls idly, like she’s waiting for him to catch up. He waves the beam of the flashlight at her and she startles, chirring out, annoyed.

“You can check on your own if you don’t want to wait,” he tells her.

She warbles, waving her arms back and forth. He makes an affirmative noise.

“That’s what I thought.”

The large loop stretches further on to his left, where he can’t see, blocked by the stretch of railcar. He follows Chandelure through the space between the cars, ducking his head as they step onto the opposing platform, and continue their way back up. He pauses for a moment as they do, feeling his body go light as his head spins. He reaches out to the side wall, hand against the cold stone as he takes a long breath. Emmet blinks back spots for a moment, shaking his head gently. His stomach feels like its in knots, rolling over itself as he seems to settle from his moment of vertigo. No lunch will do that to you, he supposes.

Chandelure flickers. They’re almost done, which is good. It means he’ll be able to sit down for a second before he has to run to the train. They won’t need to check the two-team tunnel tonight—not only has Emmet not been able to run it, he checked it two weeks ago. He lingered a very long time in there, didn’t he? It had put a terrible ache in his chest enough to call Elesa to walk him home. Emmet frowns—Chandelure flickers again, dimming, brightening, dimming, brightening again. There’s that rush of dizziness again. He breathes out. He’s too far in his head, today, isn't he?

“Chandelure,” he says, in a way that almost reminds him of Ingo—a little out of breath from walking, but mostly just curious. “Is something wrong?”

She chimes, wobbling in place, eyes narrowing. It feels hesitant. Emmet shudders. After a beat, he reaches up, placing a hand on the near-glass surface of Chandelure’s body. She moves back toward him, chiming again.

“Right,” he says. “It’s different, right? Something’s changed.”

Another chirp.

Something tugs at his mind. Wasn’t there something he read about clairvoyance in pokemon? Future-telling, future-seeing, or whatever. But Chandelure’s behavior isn’t indicative of anything. That would just be odd. He can feel for just a moment the way his heart thumps a little faster against the line of his jaw. It couldn’t be that. It’s just what Elesa always said—he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Yyyyep-yep,” he says, mostly under his breath, voice thick. “But it should be fine, Chandelure. Let’s keep going, our track moves forward.”

She tilts back and forth, like a wave of a hand. Emmet snorts as they start forward.

“You know I’m always one for a battle,” he says plainly. She chirrs, moving around to his right side, putting herself between the train car and Emmet. He follows her movement only for a second as they walk up the tracks, eyes still fixed on the steps up to the station.

The city subway still rumbles through the ground and the walls around him, the noise soft and consistent as train cars move past. He pauses, listening in, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was late, now. He could feel a tired ache seeping into the creases of his elbows and right under his knees from standing all day. His head was starting to hurt, spinning as he stood completely still. He sighs roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly for just a moment. He’s lucky the pain didn’t extend to his feet—he would have to do quite the jog to catch the outbound train toward home, unless Elesa happened to be staying late again and could walk him back.

They start together toward the entrance as Emmet does his final scan of the furthest-out platform, satisfied nothing is out of place. The same cold air of the train tunnels permeates even here, despite the warm wash of yellow light across the walls and marble pillars. Emmet breathes in, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders as he stretches over his head, screwing up his face as his back pulls. He nearly complains—he feels much too old for this—but he can feel the sharp poke of Ingo’s voice in his mind—well, I’m two minutes older, so you can imagine how I feel—and it stops him pretty quickly. He’s not even thirty-five. What can he do but complain, right? Emmet fishes his keys from his pocket prematurely, ducking between the cars as he steps onto the loading platform.

Chandelure stops ahead of him. Her trill is quiet as Emmet reaches her side.

There is a man standing on the platform.

Emmet is very good at telling cosplayers from the real thing. You would think that would be some sort of a joke, but they really like to be authentic. Ingo and him never sold any merchandise of their coats or hats for fear of, well, that. This. Whatever this person was doing, standing on the closed platform in a ruined coat that looked like Ingo’s.

Emmet swallows. Looks like and not is, right? Looks like and not. Not. Certainly not. Not when he turns and catches his eye. The breath lodges itself in Emmet’s throat, burning hot. Certainly not. Because he is very good at telling illusions from real life, and there are no dark types in the tunnels that can use copycat, and copycat can’t extend the likeness of himself onto another person who looks. Like. Who looks like his brother. And isn’t. Emmet tries to breathe. The breath is sharp on his teeth. His hands are shaking when his vision blurs, and he smears tears across his face.

Ingo looks frightened for a moment. When he looks into Emmet’s eyes, the grey looks washed out. Emmet breathes out, feeling it catch as he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. There’s. It’s like nothing moves behind his eyes. Not a faint light of understanding. Not a spark of clarity. Ingo places a foot behind him. The line of Emmet’s spine goes cold all at once.

He stands still as he watches a slow realization pass over his brother’s face like a red flush, some flicker in his expression, before he sees his chest seize and breath stutter. Ingo blinks hard and fast, like it might be helping something, eyes flicking over Ingo’s face. He reaches forward, as if he’s expecting to push through Emmet and into air instead, and not the solid body he stands there with. It’s like his body moves before he realizes what’s actually happening. Emmet watches his movements, still calculated in the same way as they’ve always been. Emmet drags in a breath, sniffling hard.

The lines of Ingo’s face pull. Emmet reaches out to him, copying. It’s what he’s always done—what they’ve always done. He steps forward, lurching to meet him.

The mirror image of himself, his brother, his Ingo, collides with him hard. Emmet feels him crumple into his arms as he drags him forward, arms locking around his ribcage. He squeezes Ingo tight to him. They buckle, Ingo leaning into him for support as his body is wracked with sobs. Emmet struggles to breathe as he sinks to his knees, smearing dirt and dark grime over his white pant-knees and boots.

Ingo’s hands fist in his coat as they fall. He squeezes Emmet in his arms, fighting for breath as he presses his face into his shoulder. Emmet laughs and it morphs into sobs. He turns his face into the tattered collar of Ingo’s coat and squeezes his eyes shut. Ingo. Ingo. Always Ingo. The bony joints of his elbows digging into his ribs as a kid, crushing him with his weight when he lost a pokemon battle, standing in his bedroom door at night when he had a nightmare. Cooking beside him, picking up his coffee, watching him tie Emmet’s tie around his own neck before passing it back to him. His brother Ingo, breathing too shallowly under his hands as he holds him, shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. He can feel the bones of his spine and shoulderblades, sharp and protruding even through several layers of fabric. His face looked so pale and thin. But Ingo holds him tightly, much tighter than he ever remembers, and it’s not just fear or relief or grief holding him to that strength, either. Emmet wheezes out, word unforming in his throat.

It’s not a nightmare. It feels real and warm and solid, like Ingo, like the platform under his knees, like the cold breeze on the back of his neck. Ingo may look different, far too gaunt for Emmet’s liking (and he supposes, now, that it may be like looking in a mirror, and he wonders how many bones Ingo can feel under his coat) but it’s him. No illusion or actor would crumble like this. It couldn’t be some sick joke—right?

He manages out words, and the first thing he chokes out through tears, voice warbling hard, is:

“Ingo—”

“Emmet,” Ingo grits out.

“I am Emmet—” Emmet says weakly. “You are Ingo. You are real.”

“I—” Ingo chokes. “I am. I’m real.”

Ingo certainly feels that way. The breath echoes in his lungs, damp and wobbly. Emmet can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. He feels so small in his arms but he shakes with the effort of keeping himself stable and with the effort of holding on. He can feel his shoulders move and the way his tears have started to soak through Emmet’s coat and shirt. He’s real.

Emmet laughs weakly, equally as wet.

“You are very strong,” he says softly, sniffling in, almost amused. “What happened to my brother?”

Ingo laughs. Emmet feels a new wave of tears bubble up in his chest and in his eyes. He presses his face into his shoulder a little more, like it were possible.

“Too much,” Ingo says, voice pitching. “Much too much.”

Emmet sighs into his shoulder, a sound he doesn’t think Ingo’s ever heard before. Ingo’s seen him cry a few times, especially when they were kids, but Ingo was always the more emotional of the two. This sound is such an odd mix of relief and grief and exhaustion pulled from his chest, like all the energy had trickled out of him.

Emmet holds tight to his brother in front of him, words not surfacing like they should. He only manages the weak sobs pressed into the collar of his coat. He screws his eyes shut again, clinging onto Ingo’s coat. The tile is cold and unyielding under his knees. Burning starts to prickle through his shins. Real feelings. Real sensations. Something to tether himself to. Ingo sniffles, coughing damply. He lets his body deflate a touch. Emmet’s chest twists and squeezes tight enough around his heart he feels it shove its way into his voice-box and beat there, pattering away.

“It’s you,” Emmet finally shudders out, voice breaking, sounding much more fragile than he wants to allow. Ingo burrows closer like it may do something. Emmet squeezes him. “Go-Go, please tell me this is real.”

“I promise,” Ingo manages. “I swear it.”

“You do?”

“You are Emmet,” he says slowly, sniffling. “I am your brother. I am real.”

“Good—” Emmet shudders. “Good.”

Ingo makes a pained noise, sighing out to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. Emmet shakes his head, stilted from where he rests it.

“Don’t be sorry. Just—” he trails off. Just. Don’t leave again. Yeah.

Ingo nods slowly. After a moment he says:

“You are real,” in a half questioning tone. Emmet nods.

“I am. I am not a dream,” he says, huffing out a wet laugh. “You can pinch me.”

Ingo snorts.

“That’s not how that works,” He argues, own voice damp and amused. Emmet thumps his back between his shoulderblades.

“Go-Go,” he complains. Ingo wheezes. This feels so familiar it hurts.

“Sorry,” Ingo says, but the tone that leaks into his voice sounds like he’s very much not sorry. “I’m sorry.”

Emmet huffs again, soft and brittle.

“Ingo, I missed you,” he manages. “I missed you so much. So very much.”

“I know,” Ingo says softly, relaxing his hands, splaying them out over Emmet’s coat. “And yet you kept the subway running in my absence—” he huffs, amused. “Bravo.”

Emmet laughs once, just a small little sound, before it turns back into sobs, muffled against Ingo’s tattered coat. He leans his weight back as much as he can, trying to pull Ingo further into his arms, as if it were possible. Light cascades around them as Chandelure floats over, chiming softly to herself. Ingo pats Emmet’s back, running a little line over his shoulderblades as they sit together. He feels Ingo shift, as if he’s turned his head toward his Chandelure. Warmth blossoms in his chest.

Ingo mumbles out something Emmet almost hears.

“She took your absence very hard,” Emmet says, trying to add to a conversation he hadn’t heard.

Ingo sighs, short and soft. They’re less holding on and more leaning, now.

“Oh,” he says softly. It’s all he says before he turns his head back into his shoulder. Emmet pats his back. He feels like someone’s taken toothpicks to his nerves. Why does it hurt? Why does Ingo sound so lost?

He leans back from Ingo, but he doesn’t let go. His hands find his shoulders, pulling away enough to see him properly. Emmet’s eyes scan his face. They’re the same grey as he’s always known them, but so much more tired, now, deep lines and dark circles around the bottom. He’s frowning, just a little, eyes still red-rimmed from crying, tears still falling haphazardly. Ingo sniffles. His hair lies the same, despite being unkept, and he’s got a terrible facial hair situation going on, like he’d forgotten how to use a razor. When Emmet studies him, Ingo’s face goes soft. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but shuts it when Emmet frowns.

“Ingo,” Emmet says, frown deepening, eyebrows furrowing. He sniffles. He prods at the hollow of his cheek, looking perplexed. “You look horrible, like someone’s shaken twenty pounds off you.”

“Ah,” Ingo says, looking away.

“You may be much stronger than you were, but you look like you may fall over if I let you go.”

Ingo swallows. His expression morphs a few times, until he shuts his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I might.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, holding to his shoulders a bit tighter. Ingo smiles, just the sides of his mouth lifting. It feels right. “Don’t.”

Ingo snorts.

“I’ll try.”

Emmet nods, mouth a fine line. Ingo’s eyes flick over his face, this time. Emmet feels like pokemon under a magnifying glass being scrutinized. Ingo watches as Emmet blinks tears away, watches them track over his face, and watches as he reaches up to wipe them. Emmet shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softening at the end unexpectedly. He swallows down a wave of cold guilt. Ingo’s hands clasp around his biceps.

“Emmet—” he starts.

“It’s okay,” Emmet manages out, expression cracking. He sniffles in, pulling in a fast breath as he does. He hears it catch, feels the shudder than comes with it. “You—it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Ingo says meekly, loosening his grip. Emmet’s wobbly smile falters, just for a moment.

“That’s good,” Emmet sighs. He blinks a few times, sniffs again, wipes at his face. Ingo’s hands fall away from his arms and into his own lap.

The frown lingers on Ingo’s face long after he’s dropped his hands. Emmet rises to a slow, shaky stand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, giving Ingo a watery smile. When Ingo looks up at him, Emmet feels something click into his chest, warm, full, and settling. He smiles wider, enough to feel his eyes start to squint shut, enough to watch Ingo copy him, and the smile looks so natural on his face. It’s good. This is good. This. Feels. Good. It feels good.

“I don’t think you should sit on the floor anymore, Ingo,” Emmet says. He extends his hand.

“I think I’m a bit too old for it,” Ingo tells him. Ingo takes it. He holds his warm hand, half palm and half wrist. Emotion tumbles in his chest, painfully tight, as he leads Ingo toward the tunnel entrance.

There’s something Ingo isn’t saying. Emmet knows it’s important. It’s not important enough to say now, that is, but he can feel it in the air of Ingo next to him as they duck into the empty station, back to the office, away from eyes that might say something before Emmet is ready to let the world know who showed up at his doorstep. It’s fine if Ingo doesn’t remember his pokemon, or the layout of Gear Station, or how he should feel, or where he’s been. He can’t ask him to. Not when there was a moment where Ingo couldn’t remember him, no matter how brief. He pushes fear deep into his chest and refuses to let it rise up.

He won’t let them diverge. He won’t let Ingo derail.

Whatever happens next, he’s not letting go of him.

The night comes easier than most.

It starts with Emmet sending a text—it’s last minute, which he despises, but he informs the head of the station that he isn’t feeling well and won’t be in at work for the next few days. He receives a spaced, but enthusiastic reply, and a reminder to use his sick time before he loses it. Probably better that he’s taking more days rather than less. Emmet feeds their pokemon, moving around the kitchen as he hears the shower running in the room across from his own. Busying himself with routine means he worries a little less about the question tugging at his mind, or the rush of anxiety and energy as he remembers everything, replaying it over and over again in his head. What if it isn’t Ingo that steps from the room? What if he looks completely different? What if—

Galvantula bumps his hand, nibbling at his sleeve. He’s still holding the bowl of food. He sets it on the floor as instructed, briefly pulled away from his thought.

Now, situated in the living room, a takeout bag rests on the coffee table, where Emmet is sitting next to the table, pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and a too-shaken can of soda. He’s been watching Ingo’s face for a good part of the evening, seeing as lines come and go, how the sharp shape worsens when he frowns. Now, in a thick, high collared sweater and pajamas, grime scrubbed away with a hot shower, Ingo looks very small, and very alive, and very cold. Emmet pokes him with a socked foot as Ingo takes another ravenous bite of his egg and cheese sandwich. He has egg yolk all over his hands and down his chin.

“I am Emmet,” he says, an awed smile lingering on his face. “And I am certain you are going to choke if you eat that fast.”

Ingo blinks, still chewing. Maybe two sandwiches was the right move after all. Emmet hasn’t touched the one he bought for himself yet. He’s been too busy making sure Ingo drinks a glass of water. Ingo flushes, though, as he realizes he’s made an runny-egg mess of the plate balanced on his knee. He looks sheepishly away, searching for something to wipe his hands with. When he can’t find anything, he sets the sandwich down, and wanders back to the kitchen.

“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Emmet remarks. His stomach flips a bit at the implication, wondering when the last time Ingo actually had a warm meal in his body. He realizes he doesn’t even know where he’s been. What could be wrong with him. What he’d seen. He seems dazed, a bit lost, a bit spacey. It had taken him a good thirty seconds to recognize Emmet on that platform—though, if Emmet’s honest with himself, and he often tries to be, he isn’t much better. He’d swallowed down confusion just as fast as he could, and that was only a moment before he’d thrown himself at his brother. Ingo’s shoulders are a tense line.

“I’ve eaten,” Ingo says.

“Good.”

When Ingo wanders back over, sitting in his same spot, Emmet pushes the glass of water toward him. Ingo nods, smiling a little as he picks it up and takes a long drink. After he’s finished and set the glass down, Emmet starts on his sandwich. Between his first bite of hashbrown and egg and the next, he says:

“Ingo,” followed by. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The two go quiet, even with the sound of foil and sandwiches. Ingo swallows, staring into his patterned plate. Emmet watches his face as much as he did prior. He can tell when a pause is calculated for drama, for intrigue, for embellishment, but this one is full of Ingo’s mind scrambling. Emmet can’t see it in action, but he can certainly imagine a million Ingo’s running around in his brain space, trying to compose an answer for Emmet that would satisfy him. Ingo takes another bite in the meantime.

Emmet stares into bits of potato in the foil on his lap. They’re not very interesting.

“What happened?” he asks softly, not looking up at him. He hears Ingo sigh, and sees him put the plate down in his peripheral.

“I—” Ingo starts, and the stutter of his voice is indicative of something very clear to Emmet.

“Ingo,” he says, looking up suddenly. “Don’t.”

Ingo swallows. His throat bobs. Emmet doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.

“I’ve forgotten everything,” Ingo says, in a way that is so un-Ingo-like. “Almost everything. It’s just—there. Right out of reach. Right out of my reach.”

The television casts color across Ingo’s face, obscuring his expression. Emmet fights to keep his expression cool and neutral, despite the way his heart begs to jump into his throat and throw a party. He has a sandwich to eat, not a heart. Silly heart. Silly Emmet. He supposes now that’s why Ingo’s reaction to Chandelure was so stunted. Or the way he skirted away from the station like it may reach out and pinch him like a dwebble. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.

“I don’t know why,” Ingo continues, picking at the seeds on top of his bagel. “I don’t know how, either. And I don’t think I can stomach the where and what, yet. I feel sick when I think too hard. Dizzy and sick.”

Emmet swallows roughly.

“It’s okay,” he says. Ingo shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Emmet watches his face warp, faltering as he holds back whatever emotion’s just bubbled up in his chest. He screws his eyes shut, new tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. “Go, listen—”

Emmet reaches. He brushes Ingo’s hand, and Ingo jerks back on instinct, recoiling. He looks at Emmet, expression blank, nervous, then cracking all at once. Emmet’s own face falters as they meet eyes. Emmet holds his hand over Ingo’s, waiting, still crouching in front of him. He tries for a smile, even as Ingo goes blurry.

“I’m glad you remembered me,” he warbles out. “We can keep going from there. Our tracks move forward.”

“I don’t believe my car in this two car train is very safe, Em,” Ingo sniffles. He takes Emmet’s hand, though, and Emmet curls his fingers over his, both hands around his one hand. He squeezes ever so.

“We’re known for our safety checks, brother,” Emmet says gently. “It’s just our standard operating procedure.”

Ingo laughs softly. The sound is damp, but real. Trying to be something positive. It’s all he can ask of him.

“Understood,” Ingo says. He nods, setting his face, despite the way tears still cloud his eyes, and his mouth still wobbles as he sniffles in. “We shall depart then.”

“We will!” Emmet says, squeezing his hands again. He drops them, then, patting Ingo’s knees like he were beating on the table. Ingo huffs out a laugh, shooing him away.

It doesn’t hurt any less, knowing how much might be absent. But it soothes it a bit to watch Ingo smile.

Later, sitting on the couch together, Ingo rests against Emmet, sandwiches eaten, chips picked through, water drank. His face has regained a touch of color, hands no longer shaking with exertion. He breathes slowly and softly as Emmet flips through television mindlessly, looking for anything. To his left, Eelektross snores, head resting on his knee. He runs a hand absently along the scales at the top of his head, listening to the drone of purr and the chatter of late night television.

“Brother,” Emmet says softly. “Ingo.”

Ingo makes no sound. His breath stays even and slow. Emmet snorts. Right. He supposes it’s payback—he can’t remember the amount of times he’d fallen asleep during movie night with Elesa.

Elesa.

Emmet startles.

Reaching for his phone, he hastily manages a message to Elesa. Something like: Come over ASAP. Good news. Very good. About Ingo.

But his message reads in all lowercase like a run-on sentence, so he hopes in the morning Elesa will decipher it.

Emmet leans back, Ingo’s sleeping weight falling to Emmet’s side as he lies down on the couch cushions. His brother only partially adjusts in his sleep, better tucking into one side, head on his shoulder. Warm with sleep and food, Emmet lets his eyes unfocus. There’s too much static resting right under his skin to let him sleep.

This is good, though. A moment of reprieve for him, and desperately needed for Ingo. Maybe in the morning they’ll talk about getting rid of that ridiculous beard of his.

Emmet hums softly to himself. He listens to the drone of the television for a moment, blissfully tired. There’s a moment of quiet just long enough to feel sleep tug at him.

Someone pounds on his door.

Ah. Well.

Miscalculation on his part, then.

#submas #subway master emmet #subway master ingo #pokemon black and white #pokemon fic #pokemon black and white fic #submas fic #it's very. this is very special to me #i think it could be longer! and a little more detailed! and i think i wanna come back to it at some point and post it on ao3 #it's kind of like this. oh well i've seen other executions i like just as much as what i decided #and it makes me wanna weave more in #i think i could eventually but not today LMAO #maybe once i post my other fic i'll rewrite this as the second chapter. big eyes.#yesyes.. that's what i'll do < shut up tuna

44 notes · View notes

mochinomnoms · 21 days

Note

So cowboys were actually mostly poc, queer people and gnc people. This is because cow herding was not an easy job, so people who were ostracized in society found it easier to get work their, for a less nuanced version of it (because I'm on 8%). There was a particularly memorable story for me about a ftm trans midwife, who would ask women "are you comf?" And was generally very kind and understanding. After his death, it was found out that he was trans, and a lot of his memory was tarnished. His closet friend, a woman said afterwards about him "Poor dear. I hope he's comf." And it makes me want to cry.

Oh vaqueros! My family are vaqueros! They were called vaqueros, which can be very loosely translated into cow herder/man, which is how we got the English word for cowboy! You're correct in that vaqueros were primarily poc and/or queer, but the notion that they were made up of ostracized people is more for the American cowboys, as vaqueros in Mexican and Native cultures were highly respected by their people! Usually, vaqueros were norteños (Northern Mexican men), Mexican indigenous, American indigenous, black, or mixed men! They were hired to cattle ranchers often to herd cattle, and known for reata, which is the art of lassoing to catch animals (I'm not sure how to explain better in English sorry).

There were many competitions for vaqueros to show off their lasso skills, my stepdad actually participates in local shows/competitions! He's won a few too it's super cool! In the modern area, cowboys as we know them from the American side are usually wealthier ranchers. They tend to own a lot of land and animals, and are usually cornerstones of their communities For Mexican and Indigenous vaqueros, in my experience, they're usually the common person and not exclusive to wealthier families. Many families grow up with bringing their kids into the lifestyle, and are usually small business owners. They get hired on to do the 'dirtier' work of caring for the horses' and cattle wellbeing, such as trimming and shoeing their hooves, branding, and training younger foals.

For the ones that were ostracized from society, though, you're correct that it was sometimes a sad life for them. It was often the only way of living for queer people in the southwest, as they were limited in what they could do to live sustainably. Unfortunately, cowboys and vaqueros were looked down on my Americans taking over the west, and it wasn't uncommon for even the most kind cowboys' names to be tarnished. Because the American school system is very limited (being nice about it) in what they teach, and have looked down on cowboys and vaqueros because they were poc and/or queer, even though they were greatly respected by their own communities.

The irony is that American cowboys are seen as one of the highest examples of masculinity at the same time. It's disappointing, because there's so much history and culture within old vaqueros that is incredibly interesting! I'm particularly disappointed with the lack of information on queer vaqueros, but I know there's more research going on about them at the moment! Hopefully we'll have more history revealed soon!

#mochi asks #i should make a tag for history stuff #mochi's history stuff #maybe?

25 notes · View notes

bogmonstergeneral · 8 months

Text

One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is an ultra-accurate cosplay. I’m talking exact name brands. Obviously, this can be tough, because media in question will very rarely go out of their way to tell you what the character is wearing. Shoes, in particular, are very difficult.

I really like shoes. More so, I really like good leather shoes. The kind that last you your whole life. Currently, I’ve been hyperfixated on Metalocalypse, and today, we’re talkin boots.

Welcome to:

Bog’s Boot Basics: Metalocalypse Edition

I think people are scared of leather. I’m here to tell you that leather will not hurt you. You will not save the planet by buying a pleather boot. Actually, not only is pleather horrible for the planet, it’s also gonna cost you more in the long run because pleather isn’t built to last.

Say it with me: Leather is more sustainable than pleather.

I’m serious. Stop buying pleather boots off amazon for your cosplays. Stop buying pleather, period.

Most of the boots (and sneakers) I’m showing you today will not only elevate your cosplay, but also last you for the rest of your natural days. If you buy them secondhand, they have probably lived longer lives than you. Leather fucking rocks if you take care of it.

This all being said: These are not super budget-friendly options. Good new boots are an investment, and sometimes you have to pay a little more. If you’re not able to do that, these can often be found on ebay at lower prices, and very often at second-hand stores.

Ok, that aside, we can jump in.

I’m stealing a pic from the comic because it shows all their shoes. Although Skwis and Toki’s boot colors are actually reversed here - Skwis wears black boots, Toki wears brown in the show. Blah blah, anyway.

Nathan Explosion

Nathan wears some sort of single buckle, black tall boot. For our sake, we’re calling them biker boots.

Single buckle, slightly slouchy at the ankle, low heel. No laces or visible zippers.

Nathan does, in fact, ride motorcycles. Because of this, I’m going on a limb and saying these are actual biker boots. Nathan also, in fact, has money, and Harley Davidson boots are a fantastic choice for this.

Here’s a pair of Harley Chalmers with an extra buckle - no foul there, these are cunty as hell and I’d totally wear them anyway.

Pro: Fucking brutal

Con: Brutal fucking price tag at $200 new.

Honestly, if you’ve got the money and you want a sick pair of boots… buy em. Harley’s last forever.

The Harley double-zip riding boot is a slightly cheaper option, sitting around $100-$120.

Honestly, these are gonna be easy to find. Your keywords here are “Tall biker boot with buckle” or something along those lines. That’s doable. I also see a lot of secondhand Harley’s going for really reasonable asking prices, so always check all your thrift stores and ebay (depop and mercari are kinda a crapshoot, but always worth looking.)

Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth

These are the boots that made me make this post, because I saw them and immediately thought “there’s no fucking way they’re walking around in those 24/7,” because those are old school field boots.

Ask any person who’s ever ridden a horse over the age of 30 if they can take a look in the backs of their closets, because they most definitely still have a pair of these boots. Every equestrian had at least one pair of these torture devices, and they will outlive you.

Here’s an example of a black pair and a brown pair:

Pros: You can get these on ebay for anywhere between $20-$100. Facebook market place is full of them too.

Cons: These were made for you to wear while sitting on a horse all day, heels down. When you walk in them, they will pinch the everloving fuck out of your heels, and this leather is too thick and stiff to soften. If you’re gonna walk around in these on a convention floor, please bring a change of shoes because you will fucking need them.

But these are so easy to find and they usually shine up really well. If you don’t have leather conditioner (which you should if you own leather shoes) olive oil works in a pinch.

You also usually have a couple different calf options here, so you can tack on “wide calf” or “tall calf” or “slim calf” etc etc depending on your needs.

Your keywords here are “Old school equestrian riding/field/hunt boots.” So fuckin easy.

William Murderface

It pains me to say this. But that dildo fuckhead is wearing Demonias.

Look at him. He knows what he’s doing. I use the term Dildo Fuckhead affectionately btw, please don’t mistake me for a Murderface hater. I love him.

Honestly, I think you could get away with calling these mid-calf’s, but they’re probably technically tall boots.

Obviously I hate Demonias. These plastic fucking emo Barbie boots are worth approximately $8 and a cup of Kraft mac n cheese. They will cost you well over $100. Fuck that.

I’ve heard that older New Rocks are good alternatives? I have a friend that backs that claim up, but I don’t have a pair to confirm that. I’m sure there’s some Doc Martens you could sub in but I couldn’t find any matches under $400.

These are a pair of New Rocks. They’re… that I guess. Kinda cool. He’s probably not even really wearing Demonias but like, that’s what they are. To me. In my heart.

Here’s a pair of Demonia Riot-18BK. I guess. They’re about $133.

Murderface somehow has the most difficult boots for me to find. Plenty of cheapo Temu options, but I’m not here to show you those. Please let me know if you buy a pair of Temu boots so I can come to your house and break every fucking lamp you own.

Your keywords are “Tall boot with buckles” or “tall biker boots with buckles” or anything along those lines.

I feel like you’ve got a little more room for interpretation on Murderface’s boots, so long as their tall boots and they’ve got the buckles, you’re golden.

Wild Card Round: Pickles the Drummer

Man is wearing adidas!!! Pickles cosplayers are the comfiest motherfuckers in the convention hall.

Campus 00s, Samba OGs, Handball Spezial, Superstars, and Racer V 2.0 are all going to get you extremely close renditions of his shoes. The racer’s are my everyday shoe when I don’t wanna wear boots and those fuckers are. So comfy. Wear em without socks, who fuckin cares. I bet Pickles doesn’t even own socks.

If you’re going for Snakes N Barrels Pickles, try looking up “red Justin cowboy boots.” Justin’s are my go to brand because they last forever (I have a pair from the 70s) and they’re pretty comfy. They’re work boots, so they’re made to be worn/worked in all day.

If you’re made of money, buy yourself a pair of Tecovas. Those are the nicest cowboy boot you’ll ever own.

Blam! Bootboard moodboard! I probably should have done this with all of them.

Anyway. Have fun, remember that inaccurate pieces don’t make or break a cosplay, this is just for fun and to elevate whatever you’ve got going on. Wear your shoes until they fall apart (that’s what i do. get your moneys worth), be kind to your feet, be kind to your shoes (actually you can be pretty harsh to leather so long as you do a little aftercare. this is an innuendo, but also please clean and condition your leather pieces.) and be kind to the planet. Leather is better than pleather. You are paying a premium for plastic. Don’t do that.

(Lemme know if this is cool/useful btw. I would be so happy to find boots/brands of clothing for your cosplays. I think my inbox is open.)

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse cosplay #cosplay tutorial #cosplay help #bog blab #nathan explosion #william murderface #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #dethklok #dethklok cosplay

93 notes · View notes

nyc-looks · 1 year

Photo

Gianni, 24

“My jacket is from Depop, pants from Revice Denim, and Demonia brand shoes. I’m vegan so I try to shop as sustainably as possible but still stylish. I thrift almost everything and I love being that through that I am able to find unique pieces. If I could label my “vibe”, I’d describe myself as a y2k prince/ss.”

Oct 14, 2022 ∙ Chelsea

#nyc looks #street style #street fashion #style #outfit #fashion #new york #depop find #afghan coat #revice denim #demonia boots #y2k princess

732 notes · View notes

rainbowdaisy13 · 2 months

Note

Rainbow, your posts sparked some thoughts in me. I know we all (this isn’t directed at you) get beyond frustrated with her PR and the bearding (which I’m certain stems from a deep love we have for her), but I’ve learned to reframe in my mind some things when I feel overwhelmed with exhaustion and frustration.

Taylor is the face and CEO of a billion dollar company. The buck stops with her, but I think people need to remember, Taylor also has board members who have different opinions and views on what they think should be next and what they think is best to grow and expand for Taylor Swift™️, which is completely separate from Taylor Swift the private person, who is still a human at the end of the day.

Now, not only does Taylor have ALL those views and opinions on her mind 24/7, but she also has additional opinions and views from millions of people in the real world and how they view and consume Taylor Swift™️, and they often confuse the business with Taylor Swift, the human who feels things like the rest of us. The immense pressure she must feel on a day to day basis is unimaginable to me. I would fall apart by noon if I ever had to walk in her shoes for a day. I say this because I hope this adds some perspective for people disappointed by her antics as of late.

Sometimes a brand makes decisions that isn’t always loved by all consumers, but its reach is impactful enough that the brand sees the ROI, hence 🏈. But the brand would know this isn’t a sustainable way to keep a business expanding if they want to reach additional consumers moving forward. TL:DR it will end because it’s not good business otherwise 🤓

Love this reminder on the business side—bc that’s a huge part of this as well and has been from day 1—Scott’s emails

22 notes · View notes

jadlz · 10 months

Text

Today on my tbs server, we discussed what it might have been like if Damien had actually shown typical affects of the Traumatic Brain Injury he sustained on the show, so I whipped up this quick drawing of some of the ideas we came up with! Details below the cut

1. Rollator! For those who don't know, a rollator is a type of walker that contains a seat so you can sit down when needed. For this version of Damien, we discussed him dealing with dizzy spells, fatigue, seizures, or fainting spells, all of which would make having a rollator very important.

2. Service Dog! Bruce (named after Batman) is a big, black Newfoundland service dog, one specifically trained for detecting seizures and fainting spells. He alerts Damien when he needs to sit down and is trained to find someone to call for help in case of emergencies. Otherwise, he sticks close to Damien's side and makes sure he stays safe.

3. Adaptive Clothing! We discussed how Damien might have trouble with coordination and motor skills post-TBI, so he is wearing some clothes specifically designed to make dressing easier. His hoodie has a magnetic zipper, so it can be zipped one-handed. His pants are stretchy and have a snap and zipper closure on the hip to make dressing easier, though we also talked about him wearing skirts bc they're easier to wear. His shoes are styled after BILLY brand shoes, they have a zipper that goes all the way down and around the toe, so he can just set his foot in them, then zip them up, without dealing with sliding or laces.

4. In his bag, I included migraine meds and noise cancelling headphones for sensory needs. I imagine he could also carry sunglasses, chewelry, or anything else he might need on the regular.

Thanks for reading!

#i never see art of people with disability aids and i thought this wld be a good opportunity to do so #i use a rollator like this personally- his is electric blue #damien gorham #the bright sessions #damien tbs #disabled artist #disabled character

92 notes · View notes

urbanthreads · 5 months

Text

The Evolution of Style: A Deep Dive into Men's Urban Clothing and Fashion

Introduction

The world of men's urban clothing is a dynamic and ever-evolving landscape where style meets the streets, and culture shapes fashion. In this extensive exploration, we delve into the essence of men's dressing style, highlighting the best men clothing websites and the latest trends in young men's clothing, particularly focusing on urban wear for men.

The Historical Context of Men's Urban Fashion

The tapestry of men's urban fashion is rich and varied, woven with threads of cultural, musical, and socio-political influences. Its roots can be traced back to the bustling streets of New York City in the 1970s and 80s, where a revolutionary movement was brewing. This was not just a fashion trend but a powerful cultural expression that resonated across generations and continents.

The Birth of a Movement

In the 1970s, New York City was a melting pot of cultures, ideas, and artistic expressions. Amongst this vibrant chaos, the hip-hop scene emerged, not just as a genre of music but as a lifestyle that encompassed a unique way of dressing. The attire of this era was more than mere clothing; it was a form of identity, a bold statement of presence and resistance. Early hip-hop fashion was characterized by oversized silhouettes, sports apparel, leather bomber jackets, and flashy accessories, embodying the gritty and raw energy of the streets.

Art and Fashion Intertwine

Graffiti, an integral part of the hip-hop culture, played a significant role in shaping urban fashion. The bold colors, graphic lines, and rebellious nature of graffiti art found their way onto clothing, making fashion a canvas for self-expression. Brands that embraced this art form quickly became synonymous with urban wear, creating a visual language that spoke of defiance, creativity, and individuality.

Influences from Music and Dance

Music and dance were pivotal in propelling men's urban fashion forward. Breakdancing, with its athletic and acrobatic style, demanded clothing that was not only stylish but functional. Tracksuits, athletic shoes, and caps weren't just practical; they were integral to the dancer's persona. Similarly, rappers and DJs donned outfits that would amplify their presence on stage, often incorporating bright colors, bold prints, and oversized jewelry.

Socio-Political Statements

Urban fashion was never isolated from the socio-political environment. In the 80s and 90s, as hip-hop began to address social issues like racism, poverty, and police brutality, fashion became a tool for activism. Clothing with messages, symbolic colors, and designs that reflected cultural heritage became mediums to express solidarity and raise awareness. This era saw the rise of brands that specifically catered to the urban community, creating fashion that was not only trendy but also carried a deeper socio-cultural significance.

The Evolution into a Global Phenomenon

As hip-hop culture spread globally, so did its fashion. By the late 90s and early 2000s, urban wear was no longer confined to a particular group or locale. It had infiltrated mainstream fashion, with designers and high-end brands incorporating elements of street style into their collections. This fusion brought about a new era of urban fashion, one that blended the authenticity of the streets with the sophistication of high fashion.

The Contemporary Urban Style

Today, men's urban fashion is a diverse and dynamic field. It continues to be influenced by music, art, and current events, adapting and evolving with the times. Modern urban wear pays homage to its roots while continuously pushing the boundaries of style and self-expression. From the resurgence of vintage styles to the incorporation of sustainable materials, urban fashion remains a symbol of innovation, resilience, and identity.

In essence, the historical context of men's urban fashion is a story of transformation and empowerment. It's a narrative that speaks of the streets, the struggles, and the spirit of a culture that has profoundly shaped the way young men dress and express themselves today.

Defining Elements of Urban Style

Urban style, a term synonymous with individuality and cultural expression, stands out for its unique elements that have continuously evolved over the years. This expanded section delves into the specific fashion elements that constitute men's urban wear, highlighting the innovations by designers and brands that have made certain styles iconic within this genre. We'll explore the role of color, fabric, and design, each contributing to the distinctiveness of urban fashion.

The Significance of Color in Urban Wear

Color plays a pivotal role in urban fashion. It's not just a matter of aesthetics; color choices often reflect cultural, social, and personal narratives. Early urban styles were influenced heavily by vibrant hues and bold prints, mirroring the energy and dynamism of the streets. Designers have used color to make statements, with black often symbolizing strength and rebellion, while brighter tones like red, blue, and yellow represent vibrancy and vitality. The use of color blocking and the juxtaposition of unexpected colors have become trademarks of modern urban wear, allowing wearers to make bold statements through their attire.

Fabric: Blending Functionality with Style

The choice of fabric in urban fashion is a careful balance between functionality and style. Initially, durable materials like denim and leather were popular due to their longevity and ability to withstand the rigors of street life. As urban fashion evolved, there was a shift towards more versatile and comfortable materials. Cotton, especially in its heavier forms, became a staple for t-shirts and hoodies, offering both comfort and a suitable canvas for graphic prints. The introduction of athletic materials like polyester and Lycra catered to the needs of those who sought clothing that was not only stylish but also adaptable to an active lifestyle.

Design Innovations in Urban Wear

Design in urban wear is where creativity knows no bounds. Oversized garments, a hallmark of urban fashion, are not just a style choice but also a nod to the hip-hop influences where larger-than-life attire symbolized presence and power. Designers have innovated by introducing asymmetrical cuts, layering, and unconventional silhouettes that challenge traditional fashion norms.

Brands have also embraced the fusion of streetwear with luxury fashion, creating pieces that are both opulent and street-ready. This blend has led to the creation of unique items like high-end sneakers, designer graphic tees, and luxury sportswear. Collaborations between leading fashion houses and streetwear brands have further pushed the boundaries, leading to collections that are culturally relevant and fashion-forward.

Graphic Designs and Logos

Graphic designs and logos are integral to urban fashion, often serving as symbols of brand identity and cultural affiliation. From bold statement prints to subtle logo placements, these elements add character and distinction to urban wear. Street art and graffiti have been significant influences, with many designs featuring intricate artworks that tell stories or convey messages.

Accessorizing in Urban Fashion

Accessories are not mere additions in urban style; they are essential components that complete the look. Snapbacks, beanies, oversized chains, and statement watches are more than just fashion pieces; they are part of the urban identity. Footwear, particularly sneakers, holds a place of reverence in urban fashion. The rise of sneaker culture has seen collaborations between artists, celebrities, and brands, turning sneakers into coveted items of fashion and collectibles.

The Role of Cultural and Social Influences

Urban fashion is deeply intertwined with cultural and social influences. It's a reflection of the wearer's background, beliefs, and experiences. Designers and brands have recognized this, often incorporating cultural motifs and social messages into their designs. This aspect of urban fashion not only adds depth and meaning to the clothing but also connects wearers with broader cultural and social narratives.

The Digital Revolution: Men's Clothing Websites

The landscape of men’s fashion, particularly urban wear, has undergone a dramatic transformation in the digital era. The advent of online shopping has not just made fashion more accessible; it has revolutionized how men interact with fashion. This section delves into the nuances of digital marketing, online retail trends, customer behavior, and the overarching impact of social media in the realm of men’s urban clothing.

The Emergence of Online Fashion Retail

The early 2000s marked the beginning of a new era in fashion retail. E-commerce platforms began to emerge, offering a variety of clothing options that were previously limited to brick-and-mortar stores. Men’s urban clothing found a new avenue, with websites dedicated solely to this genre. These platforms offered a wider range of sizes, styles, and designs, catering to a diverse audience. The convenience of shopping from anywhere and the ability to compare products and prices quickly became appealing aspects for the modern shopper.

Digital Marketing and Its Impact

Digital marketing has played a pivotal role in shaping men's urban clothing trends. Through targeted advertising, fashion brands have been able to reach their ideal audience more effectively. Social media platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter have become crucial for brand promotion, enabling labels to showcase their latest collections, share lookbooks, and even directly engage with customers. Influencer marketing, where fashion brands collaborate with social media influencers, has emerged as a powerful tool in driving brand awareness and sales.

Online Retail Trends in Men’s Urban Clothing

The trends in online retail for men’s urban clothing have seen a shift towards a more personalized shopping experience. Websites now use data analytics to understand customer preferences and offer tailored recommendations. Limited-edition releases, exclusive online drops, and pre-order options have become common strategies to create hype and exclusivity around products. Furthermore, the rise of mobile shopping has prompted websites to optimize their platforms for mobile users, offering seamless and user-friendly experiences.

Customer Behavior in the Digital Space

Customer behavior in the context of men’s urban clothing has evolved with the digital age. Shoppers are more informed and have higher expectations. They seek authenticity, quality, and exclusivity in their purchases. Online reviews and customer feedback have become significant influencers in purchasing decisions. Consumers often rely on these reviews as a source of trusted information, impacting the popularity and sales of specific items.

Curation of Collections on Online Platforms

Men’s clothing websites carefully curate their collections to align with current trends and customer preferences. This curation is not just about selecting items; it's about creating a narrative that resonates with the target audience. Websites often collaborate with designers, artists, and influencers to curate exclusive collections. Seasonal trends, cultural events, and even political and social movements can influence these collections, making them relevant and timely.

The Role of Social Media Influencers

Social media influencers have become integral to the fashion industry, especially in urban wear. Their ability to influence public opinion and trends is undeniable. Influencers often partner with clothing brands to showcase new collections, share outfit inspirations, and offer exclusive discounts to their followers. Their endorsement can significantly boost a brand's visibility and credibility.

The Impact of Online Reviews

Online reviews have become a powerful tool in the fashion industry. Positive reviews can enhance a brand's reputation and increase sales, while negative feedback can lead to a decline in customer trust. Men's clothing websites often encourage customers to leave reviews, as these serve as valuable feedback for both the brand and potential customers.

Youth Fashion: Pioneers of Urban Trends

The world of youth fashion, particularly in the urban landscape, is a continuously evolving tapestry of style, culture, and expression. Young men, especially, are not just consumers of fashion; they are trendsetters and pioneers, significantly influencing the direction of urban style. In this expanded section, we delve deeper into what drives trends in young men's fashion, incorporating insights from interviews and quotes from young fashion influencers, designers, and stylists. We also examine the impact of global events and shifts in popular culture on these trends.

The Voice of Influencers and Designers

"Young people are looking for authenticity in their fashion choices," says Jordan Lee, a noted fashion influencer. "They want clothes that tell a story, that resonate with their personal journey and the culture they are part of." This sentiment is echoed by Mia Wang, an up-and-coming urban wear designer, who adds, "Today's youth are blending traditional elements with modern cuts. They're not afraid to mix and match, creating a style that's uniquely theirs."

Renowned stylist Elijah James comments on the practical aspects, noting, "Functionality has become as important as aesthetics. Young men want fashion that suits their active, on-the-go lifestyle but also makes a bold statement."

Influence of Global Events

Global events have a profound impact on youth fashion. The recent pandemic, for instance, has seen a surge in the popularity of comfortable yet stylish home wear, with an emphasis on versatility. "The lockdowns led to the rise of ‘Zoom fashion’, where the focus is on waist-up dressing. It's all about striking a balance between comfort and presentability," observes fashion blogger Emma Liu.

Environmental concerns are also shaping fashion choices. "There's a growing demand for sustainable fashion among the youth," says sustainable fashion advocate, Ryan Gomez. "Young people are more conscious about the environment and are seeking brands that align with their eco-friendly values."

The Role of Popular Culture

Popular culture, particularly music and movies, has always had a significant influence on youth fashion. The rise of K-pop, for instance, has introduced a whole new aesthetic into the urban fashion scene. "K-pop stars are not just music icons; they're fashion icons. Their unique sense of style has a huge fan following worldwide," states music and fashion journalist, Sophia Kim.

Social media, especially platforms like Instagram and TikTok, have become a showcase for youth fashion. Influencers and ordinary young men alike use these platforms to display their fashion choices, often setting trends in the process. "Social media has democratized fashion. Now, everyone can be a trendsetter," says digital marketing expert, Tyler Chen.

The Future of Youth Fashion

Looking ahead, youth fashion is poised to become even more diverse and inclusive. "We're moving towards a more inclusive fashion world, where there are no rigid gender norms or rules. It's all about self-expression," predicts gender-neutral fashion designer, Alex Parker.

Exploring Current Trends in Young Men's Fashion

- Athleisure Evolved: Sportswear and casual wear merge to create a comfortable yet stylish trend.

- Retro and Vintage: The resurgence of vintage styles and their reinterpretation by today's youth.

- Eco-Fashion: The growing demand for sustainable and ethically produced clothing among young consumers.

The Future of Urban Fashion

As we gaze into the horizon of men’s urban fashion, the future promises an exciting amalgamation of technological innovation, sustainability, and evolving consumer trends. This expanded section offers a deep dive into the anticipated future trends, spotlighting emerging designers, cutting-edge fashion technologies, and the shifting paradigms of consumer behavior. Additionally, we will delve into the growing significance of sustainability and ethical practices in the urban fashion sphere.

Emergence of New Designers and Aesthetics

The urban fashion landscape is continually refreshed by the influx of new designers who bring with them innovative ideas and unique aesthetics. These emerging talents are redefining the boundaries of urban style, infusing traditional elements with futuristic designs. "We are witnessing a renaissance in urban fashion, where new designers are daring to challenge the norm, blending cultural heritage with modern design," notes fashion critic Lara Edmunds. These designers are not just creating clothes; they are crafting narratives that resonate with the modern urban dweller, often drawing inspiration from global cultures, street art, and contemporary issues.

Technological Advancements in Fashion

Technology is set to play a pivotal role in shaping the future of men's urban fashion. Wearable technology, smart fabrics, and digital customization are areas ripe for exploration. Tech-infused clothing that can change color, regulate temperature, or even display dynamic graphics is on the horizon. "Imagine a jacket that adapts to the weather or a t-shirt that reflects your mood through dynamic designs. These are not far-off concepts anymore," states tech-fashion innovator, Raj Patel. The integration of virtual and augmented reality in fashion retail is also transforming how consumers interact with clothing, offering virtual fitting rooms and immersive shopping experiences.

Shifts in Consumer Behavior

The urban fashion consumer of the future is expected to be more informed, discerning, and value-driven. There's a growing emphasis on personal style over blind trend-following. "Future consumers will look for fashion that aligns with their personal identity and values," explains consumer behavior analyst, Mia Zhang. They are likely to favor brands that offer customization, personalization, and a strong narrative.

Sustainability and Ethical Fashion

Sustainability is no longer a choice but a necessity in the future of fashion. Young consumers, in particular, are increasingly conscious of the environmental and social impact of their clothing choices. "Sustainable practices will define the future of urban fashion. We're seeing a shift towards eco-friendly materials, ethical manufacturing processes, and circular fashion models," notes sustainable fashion expert, Oliver Greene.

This movement towards sustainability is driving innovation in materials, with the emergence of biodegradable fabrics, recycled textiles, and plant-based leathers. The concept of circular fashion, where clothes are designed with their end-of-life in mind, is gaining traction. This approach not only minimizes waste but also encourages practices like recycling and upcycling.

Ethical Practices in the Fashion Industry

Ethical practices in the fashion industry are becoming a significant factor in brand perception and consumer choice. Transparency in manufacturing processes, fair labor practices, and support for local communities are aspects that modern consumers are increasingly prioritizing. "Brands that are committed to ethical practices are not just doing good; they are building trust and loyalty with their customers," states fashion industry analyst, Sarah Kim.

Conclusion

As we culminate this comprehensive exploration of men’s urban clothing, it becomes evident that this style transcends the boundaries of mere fashion. Urban wear is not just about the clothes we don; it's a powerful medium of personal expression and a reflection of a lifestyle deeply ingrained in modern culture. Throughout this blog post, we have navigated the rich and multifaceted landscape of men's urban style, uncovering the layers that compose its vibrant history, distinctive elements, and progressive future.

From its historical roots in the bustling streets of New York City, echoing the beats of hip-hop and the vibrancy of street art, to its current status as a global fashion phenomenon, men's urban clothing has consistently been a mirror reflecting societal changes and cultural trends. It's a style that tells a story, one of rebellion, innovation, and resilience. The defining elements of urban fashion - bold colors, innovative designs, and statement accessories - are more than fashion choices; they are symbols of individuality and creativity.

The digital revolution has significantly transformed how urban fashion is consumed and perceived. With the rise of online shopping, men's urban wear has become more accessible and diverse than ever before. Digital platforms have not only changed the shopping experience but also revolutionized marketing strategies, creating a new paradigm in the fashion industry. This evolution is a testament to the adaptability and forward-thinking nature of urban fashion.

Youth fashion, particularly in urban wear, continues to be a driving force behind emerging trends. Young men are not mere followers of fashion; they are pioneers, constantly pushing the boundaries and setting new standards. Their choices are a reflection of their identities, beliefs, and the world they inhabit. This dynamic nature of youth fashion ensures that men's urban clothing remains fresh, relevant, and exciting.

Looking ahead, the future of men's urban clothing is bright and promising. With the advent of sustainable practices, ethical fashion, and technological innovations, urban wear is set to evolve in ways that are not only stylistically groundbreaking but also socially and environmentally responsible. The integration of personal values with fashion choices marks a new era in the urban clothing narrative.

In conclusion, men's urban clothing is much more than a trend. It's a cultural phenomenon that encapsulates the essence of modern urban life. Its ability to adapt, reflect, and influence makes it a significant part of the fashion industry. As we move forward, it will continue to be a fascinating area of study and appreciation for anyone interested in the intersection of fashion, culture, and personal expression.

23 notes · View notes