#chest but you dont make any effort to move and i dont particularly mind as much as i thought i would but i dont say that and instead say

[ratatatastic]

i cannot and will not be getting over luosty choosing mikksy as the guy who scores the first goal in the homeopener and trying to keep a straight face about it and failing

bless his brattiness and his "im gonna make fun of mikksy" face

[whoami-24601]

International Incident Part 4

This one is focused more on the situation than the relationships. That said, a little Piarles.

Part 1 Part 3

As the group gathered together in the center of the room, Danny decided to take the chance to continue his comfort dare. George and Alex looked particularly stressed, so first, he pulled George in for a tight hug. Alex had managed to get him back on the floor, and he stumbled stiffly into Danny's arms. Danny squeezed him and said, "thanks for all you're doing, Russell George."

George seemed stunned and didn't return the hug right away. Once he realized Danny wasn't pulling away, he sighed and hugged him back just as tightly. "Just doing what a good rep should do, DR."

"Naw," Danny shook his head. "You didn't sign up for this. You're doing good, Georgie. Proud of you." George seemed to choke on the answer and dropped his forehead on Danny's shoulder.

"Thanks, Danny," he responded softly. Danny put his hand on the back of George's head for a moment and pulled away slowly, letting George cling on if he wanted. However, George pulled away quickly, cleared his throat, and looked at the rest of the crowd gathered.

Taking the opportunity before anyone else started talking, Danny grabbed Alex's wrist and pulled him into a similar hug. It was tight as he waited for Alex to respond, which he did much quicker.

"Thanks Danny," Alex said softly, before pulling away a moment later.

"Now," Alex spoke to the crowd, "we have an idea that definitely has it's pros and cons."

"Probably more cons than pros," Fernando inserted harshly.

Alex, George, and Lewis glared at him before Alex took a deep breath and continued. "As of now, the public does not know that we are stuck here. I haven't seen a single post or news article asking where we are. It's probably around timing since we are not supposed to be at any official events right now, but if they knew, then our governments would know, and people could advocate for our release."

"Or," Carlos cut in, "because we are stuck in this room, they could make us pay directly for our efforts."

The room stood still contemplating what each man had said. Daniel was back behind Lando, arms loosely around his waist with Max pressed to his side. None of them seemed confident in the plan but weren't confident enough to argue it either. Pierre and Charles were still stuck together, Pierre looking defiant while Charles appeared worried. On the trio's other side, the rest of the drivers had gathered together, with a bit of space between each duo or trio.

"What do you think they'll do to us if they get mad?" Checo asked the room, the same question on everyone's mind.

Alex, George, Lewis, Carlos, and Fernando all looked at each other a moment. It seemed like they had discussed the options, but no one wanted to say them. Lewis stepped forward and answered hesitantly, "obviously we don't know for sure, but we are stuck in a room with no way out. They could do whatever they want. On the annoying side, turn up the heat or the air con. On the more dramatic, evil side, they could set fire to the building or find another way to kill us." All of the drivers gasped at the suggestion.

Alex jumped it, arms waving, "we dont think they want to do that! There is no benefit to killing us! If that was the end goal, they would have already done it."

"We just know it is a possibility," Lewis adds softly. "Something we all have to consider. Before we vote on the plan, we need to decide if we call our families. We agreed not to earlier because we didn't think we would be stuck here this long but it's obviously still going on and I think the chances of it ending badly have increased."

At Lewis' statement, Lando turned around and buried his face in Danny's chest. He didn't want to be the only one visibly upset, but this was all just too much for him. Max reached over and squeezed Lando's arm to show his support. Danny's arms moved from Lando's waist to his back so he could tighten his hold.

"What the fuck?" was heard from the group along with a "Why would they do this?" Slowly the rest of the group adjusted, shifting so they were all touching in some way. Charles slid under Pierre's arm, Lance and Esteban pressed firmly to each other's side, and Logan and Oscar looked lost but clung to each other's hands.

"What is the plan?" Pierre finally asked. "We should know how risky it is before we decide to call people."

Several drivers nodded in agreement so George took a big breath and said, "social media. We choose 1 or 2 drivers to post onto Instagram or Tik Tok, showing how we are locked in here and pleading for help. We can talk about who later, but the idea is like an Instagram live or something. Or maybe recording it then posting it would be better. I don't know." George shook his head, clearly exhausted.

"The idea is that we overwhelm them with people wanting our release," Alex continued. "The longer we are here, the more people know, the harder it makes it for them to justify whatever game it is their playing."

"The downside," Carlos chimes in again, "is that we don't actually know what they want or how far they are willing to take this vendetta."

"I vote we call our families," Danny says softly. "You're right that we don't know what is happening and I don't want them to worry or wish we had called them if this all goes wrong."

"There's another problem," Fernando starts. "We have limited phone battery. We all went into airplane mode or turned our phones off except Lewis to save battery earlier but if we are all calling our family, it will deplete quickly. What if all our phones die? We have no way of communicating with our teams or the FIA."

"Because they've been so good at communicating with us so far?" Max asks sarcastically.

George huffed. "They're working on it. They don't want anything to happen to us either."

"So we limit our calls? 1 call each, max 5 minutes?" Kevin suggests.

"That's a good idea," George agrees. "Does that work for everyone?"

"No," Charles responds petulantly. "I can't call my mom but not my brothers. It's not fair to them."

"Why don't you call all 3 in one phone call? What is that called?" Pierre asks.

"Conference call," one driver responded while another said, "3-way," causing a few drivers to chuckle, Lando and Danny included.

"No 3-ways in this room," Lewis clarified with his own chuckle. "But, yes, a conference call is fine as long as the total is less than 5 minutes. Does everyone agree to that?" Lewis surveyed the room and saw everyone agree silently.  "Great, what do we want to tell them? We need to agree about our stories because we know our families will want to be out there talking on our behalf and may talk to each other too."

"I think we need to ask them to stay out of social media until we release our own statements," George says. "We don't want them to be the face of this."

"Especially for those that have family in town," Charles suggested. "There is a chance they are hurt in the process." Charles curled more into Pierre at the thought of his family suffering because of him.

Everyone took a moment to think about that, who had family in town, and who else could be hurt by their situation. "Ok," Alex started again. "We say less. Just, tell them we love them and we want to see them soon."

"Like that won't raise alarm bells," Oscar states, contributing for the first time.

"Yes, that's fair," Lewis responds. "Try to be natural and if that doesn't work, be vague. Tell them to watch out for more news. You just were reminded how much you love them and wanted to say it before you didn't. You know your family better than any of us. You figure out what makes sense for you and them. "

"What about the social media thing? Should we figure that out before we separate again?" Daniel asks.

Several drivers nodded their heads. "Who will do it?" Max questions.

"We were thinking Charles and Lewis would be the best," Alex answered. "Lewis obviously has the largest following and would be taken very seriously. There's no chance anyone thinks its a joke. Charles," Alex holds his hand up, pointing towards Charles and then shrugs. "He's just Charles. Everyone loves him." Charles eyes expand. It appears the responsibility is quickly weighing on him. Although Pierre's arm is already around his shoulder, he pulls him closer, offering a side hug.

Lewis continues to explain, "my thought is that I express concern, share the bare facts as we know them: we had our driver's briefing, everyone was allowed to leave except the current grid drivers, the doors were locked and guarded. Our teams have informed us that they are working on getting us out but it appears we are being held hostage with no resolution in site. Do we want to ask for a particular action? Do we want to mention it's by the government? I'm not sure how they will react to that."

"We're not sure how they will react to any of it," Oscar said. "I'm surprised they haven't jammed our phone signal honestly."

"Lucky," Lance responded.

"Or it's on purpose," Valterri commented. "We don't know their plan. Maybe they want us to tell people to bring awareness to whatever it is they're upset about." A few drivers grumbled their agreement.

"Should we ask the FIA or our teams before we decide? Maybe they're making progress," Lando suggests, peaking his head out from Danny's chest.

"They should be telling us if they're making progress," George argues. "They should be telling us something full stop." All of the driver's agreed with that sentiment.

"Soooo?" Yuki asks. "What do we do?"

Pierre looks across the group to Yuki and waves him over. Yuki takes the suggestion and moves around the group, squeezing into Pierre's right side, next to Daniel and Lando. Pierre put his other arm around Yuki's shoulder and looked back to the leaders of this situation. "Do we vote?" Pierre asks. "Are there any other factors we need to consider?"

"I think we vote," Alex answers. "Do we do social media posts?" Alex raised his hand and surveyed the group. Lewis, George, Pierre, Daniel, Lando, Max, Kevin, Nico, Esteban, Oscar, and Logan raise their hands. Fernando, Checo, and Carlos appeared against it while Charles, Yuki, Zhou, Lance, and Valterri appeared unsure. 12 to 8.

Nico said, "we might consider Logan doing a post too. Although he's a rookie and doesn't have as much of a social media following -"

"Thanks," Logan muttered.

"He is American and their government might be more inclined to help if they hear from him directly," Nico continues, ignoring Logan's comment.

"That's true. Should we do Logan instead of Charles?" George asks, noticing how uncomfortable Charles was with the situation. The drivers seem to disagree quietly, only grumbling their discontent but not wanting to voice it to the group.

[imthebadguyyy]

maybe something like interviewer asking her sexist questions and the boys stand up for her , after that interview she feels insecure and the boys comfort her . that's just an idea you don't have to write it !! <33

I hope you like it, and I'm so sorry about the delay 😭 I couldn't find my footing with this one, and I hope it's what you wanted ! Have a lovely day 💙

The One Where They're There For Her

Pairing - One Direction x Reader (6thmember!female!reader)

Fandom - One Direction (Directioners)

Summary - A particularly sexist interview decides to reduce you to just a sexual being and makes no effort to hide his misogyny. But the boys are there to support you.

Warnings - sexualization of the lgbt community, sexist comments, swearing, (honestly I hated myself for writing some of the comments here,and I'm so sorry)

Being a part of the biggest band in the world comes with certain responsibilities. Not responsibilities that come along with signing a recording contract, but those that a person deems themselves responsible for. For example, as the only female in a boyband, a female with a fanbase as large as yours, you took it upon yourself to always stand up for what's right, and to be an ally for the causes close to your heart.

That meant that your social media was often flooded with information about important causes, or your opinions on issues like feminism. Was it always well received? Heck no. There were people filled your feed with hate and comments calling you the most horrible names and labelling you a 'man hater' and a 'bitch' But you didn't let it get to you. On most days. On days like today, it was all you could do to keep it together. It had been a tiring few days, touring, recording, performing and doing an endless amount of interviews and photoshoots. It was safe to say you were on the last of your nerves, having battled your way through a makeup artist who had insisted on pointing out your flaws and had used a shit ton of makeup to cover them up. You had battled a photographer who had not hesitated to tell you that if you didn't look more feminine people would think you were turning into a man.

Before you could retaliate, Paul had dragged him away and told management to cancel the photoshoot, and find another photographer before grabbing the six of you some sandwiches and had let you all go back for a quick power nap at the hotel. Then in about half an hour he had woken you up, to get you ready for another interview. That's how you were here, in a white jumpsuit and a black blazer jacket, paired with black heels. Another day, another interviewer that got on your nerves. But this one, this one was different. This interviewer was different, but also the same. Another misogynistic man who thought he was entitled to stare at your ass and cleavage, and eye fuck you as you settled into a seat in between Niall and Zayn.

Settling in, you crossed one knee over the other, plastering a fake smile onto your face, as the man leaned back in his chair, throwing you a sleazy smirk. Noticing the look, Zayn shifted so you were out of view of the interviewer, but in view of the audience. It was in moments like this that you were a 100× more grateful to have your boys. They were well aware of how sleazy some interviewers could be, having had plenty of experience with them, and Zayn and Louis in particular were very protective about the way you were treated. Squeezing your thigh softly, he leaned back a little, lips settling into a thin line as he looked at the interviewer with a cold look. A little behind, Louis threw the interviewer a dirty look.

"So, One Direction! Congratulations on the album, as you all know its out on November the 22nd, with eighteen new songs, including the singles Night Changes and Steal My Girl Speaking of stealing girls, do you think I could steal your number Y/N? And may I mention, you look ver, very hot in that outfit" The interviewer joked, throwing you what he thought was a sexy smirk. (P.S - it wasn't) Answering with an awkward laugh, you shook your head, as Niall tensed up beside you. "Aww come on, your'e a pretty girl, I'm a handsome guy, let's go out sometime" he pressed on, ignoring the growing anger in Harry's eyes. "That's umm, nice. But no thanks, I'm not going to go out with you" was your answer, as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Picking up on your nervous tic, Zayn moved his hand to rest on your knee, stopping it from bouncing up and down.

"Aww come on baby, what is it? You like girls or something? Because I wouldn't mind being a part of that action either" the sleazebag chuckled, ignoring the disgusted look Liam sent his way. "That's rude" Liam said, while Zayn tightened his grip on your knee. "Oh come on lads, are you telling me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Two women together, mm, makes me all excited just thinking about it, especially if one of them's Y/N" That comment was all it took for Louis to stand up, turning to the man and saying in a voice much rougher than his usual voice, "Alright, that's fuckin' enough, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?" he was backed up by Liam, who stood up, going to tower over the interviewer, whose eyes had lost some of the sleazy look in them. "All you've done since we walked in here is make those disgusting comments about Y/N, and it's sickening. Have some fucking respect" he practically spat.

Behind him, Zayn took your hand in his and pulled you to your feet, noticing the slight glossiness in them, leading you back to the dressing rooms, while Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry stayed back to continue to snap at the interviewer. "That is no way to treat a woman, and not only are you disrespecting her, you also made those god awful events about seeing women together. Your'e a shame to every single person in this room by talking like that" Harry continued, glancing over his shoulder to check if you were okay.

"And no, it doesn't excite us, because we are not assholes, and you are, a disgusting sleaze who does not deserve the job he has. Fuckin loser" Niall chimed in, standing up and storming out. Louis stood up as well, turning to directly face the cameras and the cameramen and sound technicians, who had all looked shocked when the man had made his comments towards you. "I sure as hell hope you have that on record, so you can see just how fucking sexist this industry is to women. Y/N does the same job as us, works just as hard and has the same number of awards, nominations, and records and yet you decide to only focus on her body, clothes, love life and sexuality. Get a fucking life" he spat at the camera, before walking away himself, eventually followed by Harry and Liam, who apologized to the outraged fans before leaving themselves. As they made their way to the dressing rooms they could hear the audience telling the interviewer to apologize to you, their anger at the way you were treated echoing through the building.

Walking in, Harry caught sigh of you curled up in one of the armchairs, with Louis sitting beside you, while Niall and Zayn talked to a furious Paul. "He had no damn right to treat her like shite, and you need to make sure that he knows those comments were un-fuckin-acceptable" Niall was saying, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "And to make those sickening comments about wanting to get action? Can't we sue him for something?" Was Zayn's reply, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still okay. "We can't sue him, atleast I don't think we can, but I'll have someone let the smug bastard know that he needs to learn how to respect a woman" Paul said, before leaving the room to give the six of you some time together before you had to head back to the hotel.

"How're you feeling darling?" Louis said, moving over and patting your knee so you moved. "I'm okay" you mumbled back, letting Louis settle in next to you, leaning back to rest on his chest. "He had no fuckin right to say any of that, and don't you let it trouble you for a second" Zayn added, pouring out a cup of tea for you and for Louis and Harry. "I don't care about what he said, I couldn't care less, but it was just so frustrating, sitting there and listening to him just sexualize a whole community of people. You've got to be in a really sad place to think of shit like that. That's what annoyed me. You think I give a damn about what he said about my clothes or wanting to take me out on a date? It was the way he was talking, like he was sure any woman would be glad to have him that irked me. He's really tiresome" was your reply, as you reached forward for a sip of your tea. "That's the right attitude love. Haters gonna hate" Harry said.

"I know that. But I just wish I could punch him once, which sounds mean, but he does kind of deserve it" Niall said, earning a laugh from you. Niall was never usually aggressive, and even now, he wasn't particularly rude but it was rare to see him wanting to punch someone. "It's okay Niall, you don't have to. I can do it myself, but I won't" you replied, leaning up to squeeze his hand. "Besides, Ni, if you went and punched him, I'd do it too, and then we'd all go to jail" Liam chimed in, scrolling through his twitter. "Twitter isn't happy either babe. #stopsexualization and #Y/Ndeservesbetter is trending already" he added, showing you his phone. "If it means some of these sexist asses get their heads out of the sand, I'm happy. But I dont want to to think about it now" you replied, cuddling closer to the warmth radiating from Louis's body.

"Okay, we won't talk about it. Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Harry asked, standing up and walking to the door "No I want to go to Nando's. Anybody else hungry?" You asked, to nods of assent from the boys. "I'm starving. Those stupid sandwiches didn't fill me up at all" Zayn said, standing up to grab his coat and wallet. "I know and I'm craving some hot Peri Peri chicken with some fries. Do you think they'd let me put the lemon and herb sauce on the fries?" You asked, standing up yourself, earning a laugh from Louis. "Your'e an international superstar babe, I think they'd give you some lemon herb sauce" Liam joked.

Laughing, the six of you made your way to the car, with Harry and Niall squishing you in between them, as Louis sat in the back with Liam, and Zayn sat in the front with Paul (he was driving thank GOD) "I'm proud of you darling" Harry chimed in suddenly. "I am too" Niall added. "You know I am" Louis said, before Liam added "Always babe" and Zayn turned to smile at you before adding, "We are all proud of you, and we always will be, not only because you do a damn good job of not listening to the haters, but because you do what you think is right" "Awh come on, your'e gonna make me cry" you mumbled, leaning into Niall's shoulder. "Almost makes me feel bad for teasing you about having an extremely low spice tolerance the last time we were at Nando's Haz" you smirked, earning a roar of laughter from the boys.

"That chicken was spicy love!" "It was lemon and herb with no peri peri!" "And it was spicy!"

And just like that, you were back to messing around with each other. Sleazy interviewers would come and go, but your boys were always there to support you. Always.

-------

A/N - Thanks for reading ! I'd also like to apologize on the behalf of this fictitious interviewer I made up, I felt so bad while writing some of this 😭 anyways, I hope this is what you wanted! Enjoy !

Tags - @zaynkissbot @gucci-hazza @bxtchboy69

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Lydia Deetz

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Lydia after she moved into town. You went to the same school as her and were in a few of her classes, though you doubted that really mattered; you’d find out about her pretty quickly even if she wasn’t.

- Lydia was an ...interesting character. You liked to think of your school as fairly accepting, people weren’t outwardly mean to her; some were even welcoming, but you somewhat understood many peoples hesitance towards befriending her. Above all, she was fairly standoffish though at the time, no one knew why.

- Still, you liked her style. She was strange and unusual, something you admired. So you took the chance and tried to befriend her, approaching her after school and trying to start a conversation as she unlocked her bike. She was polite but quick to end your talk, making up an; obvious, excuse before riding off.

- But you wouldn’t be deterred, continuing your efforts as the days rolled by and eventually getting her to warm up to you. You even managed to invite her out with you, giving her a tour around the town and slowly getting to know her better.

- Over time, you grow to like her more and more until you realize that you don’t just want to be her friend. It’s then that you have a real predicament on your hands, and a decision to make: try to ignore your feelings and hope they go away or confront them and hope for the best.

- It’s a few months into your friendship that you decide to confess your true feelings for her. Unbeknownst to you, she was planning on doing the same.

- You were sitting in the towns graveyard with her, a place you’d been to several times mainly because you knew she loved it. It seemed like the perfect place to tell her how you felt so you took a deep breath and stumbled through your confession. And... she burst out laughing.

- Yeah, so not a good sign. You were completely embarrassed and was wondering whether you could play it off like you were joking. Deciding that you couldn’t, you went to stand up and leave before she lunged forward, grabbing your hand quickly and exclaiming “no, no” as she tried to stop her laughter.

“I’m sorry, really. It’s just that, all day I’ve been wondering how I was gonna tell you that I liked you and, well, here we are.” She smiled, and ushered you to sit back down.

- The two of you had your first date in one of the towns many fields. You brought a basket full of stuff and sat out there for hours, having a picnic and overall just hanging out. She’s got about a dozen photos of the day.

- You had your first kiss at least a week after you first got together. Neither of you were brave enough to just go for it so it took you a while to actually do it.

- When you did, it was after the two of you snuck out together and were taking a late night walk through the town. You were sat on an old wooden fence, the moonlight shining above you as you talked. That was when you turned to look at each other and just began to lean in, inching closer and closer until your lips met.

- And thus began your strange and beautiful relationship.

- The two of you are most likely bambi lesbians; your relationship is fairly innocent and things never really get too hot or heavy. 

- It’s the 80s and you sort of live in a small town so you try to keep your relationship on the down low. Whenever you’re out in public, you try to just act like friends, never doin anything exclusively romantic in nature. 

- Holding hands, locking arms, hugging, sitting very close to each other; you can get away with a lot since you’re young girls but you try not to push your luck. 

- Most of your dates take place where there isnt a lot of; if any, people. She prefers keeping to herself so you wind up just hanging out at her place or places no one really goes, like the graveyard or forgotten roads.

- Pecks on the lips and cheeks.

- Sweet and chaste kisses. 

- Laying your head in her lap while you sit and talk. Occasionally, she’ll run her fingers through or just play with your hair, looking down at you with a soft smile. 

- She’s got soooo many photos of you. She likes to jokingly call you her muse, taking random snapshots while you’re doing something or asking you to pose for her. 

- Horror movie marathons. The two of you have stayed up late countless times, eyes wide and glued to her tv screen as you shovel popcorn into your mouths. 

- Riding your bikes together after school. Sometimes you’ll just ride around town, stopping at some random place you’ve never been to and going exploring together.

- Walks through and picnics in the graveyard. It’s one of her favorite places to visit except when its close to the anniversary of her mothers death. 

- Letting her talk to you about her mother and rant about Delia and her dad. 

- Meeting the Maitland's and her eccentric parents. They all love you and have a feeling that you aren’t “just friends”, not that it really matters to them anyways. Delia is particularly happy with the idea of you two being together, Lesbianism is so avant-garde. 

- Morbid conversations. Want to have an hour long conversation about death? Well, you’ve come to the right girl!

- You’ll never have to worry about getting rid of spiders again for the rest of your life. She’ll just scoop them up in her hand and gently place them outside while you trail hesitantly behind her. 

- Dancing together. 

- Surprisingly enough, she’s quite fond of being bridal carried or getting piggyback rides. 

- Getting to see all of her rare smiles and giggles, most of the time they’re reserved pretty much exclusively for you. 

- She doesn’t really use nicknames/pet names all that much but occasionally she’ll call you the name of a character from a movie or show when you say or do something that reminds her of them. 

- Collecting and pressing flowers with her. You help her swap out and rearrange the ones on her wall every few months. 

- She has a bit of a dramatic streak so occasionally you’ll just have to snap her out of it, either by cheering her up or helping to rationalize a situation.

- She loves rainy days. She likes to invite you over, sit up in her room and just hang out with you while the skies are a dreary gray. She finds the atmosphere very beautiful.

- Her room is perfect for afternoon naps. The two of you head over to her house after school, lock her bedroom door and pull the curtains down before snuggling under her covers and catching a few zzz’s.

- She’ll never admit it out loud but she actually really likes cuddling. You tend to cuddle hugging each other, taking turns having your heads resting against each other’s chests.

- She loves eating dinner or lunch at your house. Delia prepares the weirdest foods for everyone so being able to eat something like a normal turkey sandwich or bowl of soup is a nice change.

- Going to antique and thrift shops. If it looks haunted, she’ll want to buy it.

- Holidays!! She gets all festive around them; especially Halloween, always wanting to decorate and do the usual seasonal activities.

- Letting her style your hair. She finds it really fun and you certainly don’t mind looking a bit unusual.

- Gothic tea parties. Join her on her wooden floor, surrounded by black teddy bears and creepy dolls, eating little sandwiches and drinking tea.

- She likes to write you little poetic letters. Some are purely romantic while others are dreadfully depressing but you love them all the same.

- It’s pretty easy to find her presents; if it’s ugly then she’ll love it.

- Doing little crafts together. She likes artistic stuff, as long as it isn’t weirdly abstract like delias art.

- She tends to stick to compliments about the work that you do or the things you choose to wear. She prefers making you feel good about the stuff that you make not the things you were born with.

- Many people don’t seem to realize it but she’s got a pretty good sense of humor. That, paired with the shenanigans you get yourselves into, ensures that the two of you have a good time together!

- Getting dragged into supernatural and paranormal adventures. If it was her choice, she would probably leave you out of it, but alas, it isn’t.

- Beetlejuice is certainly an interesting individual to meet. Lydia is not fond of him calling you babe though, even if he calls everyone babe.

- She’s never really gets all that jealous. She reasons that you’re with her and if you’re with her, then you most likely like weird people, which you don’t find all that often where you live.

- She’s certainly been through some stuff, especially after moving to town so she’s fairly protective of you. Now that she knows the dead can linger on, she tries to look after you even more.

- She’s somewhat sensitive so she tends to take things to heart even when they’re misunderstandings.

- You dont fight a whole lot but when you do, your arguments wind up turning into catty yelling fights. One of you will usually storm out, throwing a “fine” or something of the sort out before you go.

- The two of you will give each other the silent treatment for a while but you’ll most likely be miserable the entire time. She’ll cave a little sooner than you will, finding you at school somewhere or being let in by your mom and just showing up at your bedroom door shyly. You both usually have a hard time staying mad at each other, once either of you apologize.

- She gives you a “love you” everytime you say goodbye. It’s pretty much routine by now.

- She doesn’t realize it for a while but ever since she met you, she hasn’t thought about dying. In fact, now that she has you, she can’t even bear to imagine it. She wouldn’t want to leave you behind, she loves you.

- Her one goal in life is to be the woman that historians say “lived with her lifelong best friend, never marrying or having children but writing letters to each other about loving each other fiercely”.

[pocket-clown]

A Place in your Home; A Place in your Heart | Arthur Fleck x reader 

// original request: Hi! I love your writings 💖 and I shyly wanted to request something. ^^ I wonder if you could write about Reader that has a difficult situation and has to find a new place to live, but doesnt have enough money? Arthur wants to help her and offers her that she can live with him. They've not dated for long but it's serious and the're much in love. She wants to move in with him, but she's afraid it wouldn not work out for many reasons, but eventually she agrees and Arthur is immensely happy. ^^

// A/N: This originally was going to be a longer fic, but I’ve been struggling with writing yet again, so I figured breaking it down into headcanons was easier than taking eons longer to write something more detailed.

thanks for the request, @dont-be-alarmed

It had been nearly three weeks since you were given the news, the words barely making their way over the fuzzy phone lines, voice as uncaring as ever.

Due to a better suited tenant making an offer, your lease was not going to be renewed, and you needed to be out by the end of the month - no if, ands, or buts about it.

Your lifestyle was a hand to mouth one; paycheck to paycheck, your weekly earnings were just enough to cover rent and basic necessities with little left over to save, splurges on luxuries being an occasional, very rare treat.

With your rainy day savings, your actual savings, and the total accumulation of the profit you made from selling various items that you could, you barely had enough to cover even a deposit on any of the nearby apartments - let alone deposit, and the first month’s rent. 

In short, you were screwed.

You were screwed, and it was eating at you. Day and night, the thought loomed over you like the piles of trash that littered the city, threatening to topple over on passersby at any moment. 

Had you been given a much more reasonably timed heads up, it wouldn’t have been even half an issue, yet you were left to do nothing but lay in bed, eyes burning as you stared at the television, seeing but not really watching the program on it. You’d been pulled from your restless sleep by the sound of a glass bottle dropping and shattering somewhere outside, and given that it was nearly four in the morning, you were about to give up on sleep. 

Even in your sleepy haze, did the weight of the situation hit you like a truck, your stomach tightening with anxiety, the churning twist of panic, worry, and hopelessness making your eyes blur with tears as you shifted your gaze to the ceiling.

You couldn’t help but almost pitifully chuckle at that - soon, there wouldn’t even be a ceiling for you to cry over.

December was nearly on its last legs with Christmas just around the corner; the days of autumn bleeding into those of winter as you found yourself growing more and more grateful each day that your boyfriend’s apartment was one of the few that had a functioning heating system. Temperatures dipped below freezing more often than not, and you often had to take a moment to brace yourself before you stepped outside as the air’s freeze physically hurt sometimes - your eyes, nose, and fingers on the days you forgot your gloves stinging from the wind, while any exposed skin reddened from the nip of the wind. 

It was thoughts of days like those that made you brief a sigh of relief and sink back into the couch of Arthur’s living room, one of his softest blankets fluffed and draped around your body as you curled your legs under yourself, warm and safe from the harsh weather outside, and the even harsher population of the city.

It was also thoughts of days like those that reminded you that this wasn’t going to last. 

“Love, what’s on your mind?”

As in tune with your emotions as ever, Arthur noticed that you were particularly quiet that evening, lost in your thoughts as you didn’t even pay any mind to the television - set to the weekly airing of The Murray Franklin Show.

You hadn’t even told Arthur what was going on, the fear of stressing your already overworked boyfriend out keeping you from opening your mouth. 

“Huh? Oh - nothing,” You blinked, turning your attention from the carpet to the television. “I’m just tired.” You spoke, fingertips picking at the frayed hem of the blanket currently wrapped around your body.

Another hint for Arthur: no Art, no Artie tacked on the end to your reply. From the corner of your eye could you see him through the passthrough, eyeing you from his spot at the kitchen counter where he was taking the utmost care to not spill the mug of hot chocolate he was making you as he stirred it.

Even though your relationship was hardly out of its infancy, you both knew each other well enough to tell when something was wrong. Arthur was already so very in tune with your emotions, so you knew he wasn’t just going to let your morose mood go without a question or two, and you knew yourself enough to know that something about Arthur’s concern hit a soft spot in your heart, rendering you unable to keep much from him once he managed to get into your head. 

He seemed almost sad as he now stood in the entrance to the living room, his lips settled into a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on you. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze, the guilt from keeping something so major from him eating at you, but the uncertainty and apprehension of not only how you’d bring it up with Arthur, but how he’d react.

One of your worst fears was Arthur jumping on the opportunity to have you live with him. Not because you didn’t want to, not because you didn’t trust him or anything of the sort - but Arthur had a habit of putting the needs of others, especially your own, miles above his own. Money was much tighter for him than it was for you, and hell you had no idea if even combining incomes would be much help. No doubt that it would be some, but whether it would be enough, especially given the uncertain job climate of Gotham, left you scratching your head. 

Arthur took a seat next to you, the drink he brought you placed on the coffee table, and with a deep breath, you let it spill out faster than you really meant for it to.

Your lease was ending in just over a week. Your landlord had no intent of renewing it because someone else was moving in, and you had no money to move elsewhere yet, even after your best efforts at earning enough. You had no where to go, nothing to do, no way to remedy the situation - and time was running out.

Hell, you had no idea if at this point you even could do anything beyond accepting the inevitable.

“Why... don’t you stay here?” 

Arthur’s meek, yet hopeful voice raising such a suggestion made your ears perk up. You hadn’t even thought about that - but immediately did you know that it wouldn’t work. At least not yet.

“Art - I can’t do that, you know I can’t.” You couldn’t look at him as you spoke, the thought of being able to live in with him making your heart skip a beat, but the knowledge that it almost most definitely was not realistic at the moment making it hard to swallow.

“Why can’t you?”

“It won’t work - it’s not going to work.”

Though instantly you regret speaking those words, wincing once you realized what they implied. You knew Arthur and his anxieties well enough to know that it wasn’t improbable that he took “it won’t work” as meaning, you didn’t have enough faith in your relationship for it to work.

“ - Not like that,” You were quick to correct yourself, hoping to save the situation before it became more angst ridden. “I mean, living together. At least right now. Money is already tight for you, isn’t it? And I mean, it’s not like my own job is the most stable right now.”

“Y/N, do you really think that matters?” Arthur looked almost angry as he spoke, as if the fact that you were concerned about finances was ridiculous in such a situation. You knew Arthur enough to know he wasn’t actually mad, at least not at you, but still on edge at the threat of your loss of shelter. “You’ll be homeless, and - and who knows what could happen to you out there -” The hitch in Arthur’s breath as he spoke, coupled with the way his left hand gripped at the fabric of his trousers clued you in that this was something extremely distressing for him. 

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, yet you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away. “Arthur -”

“Please,” Arthur’s hand shot out for your own, his warm from holding the hot drink previously as he held your hand tight in his own. “Y/N, please.. Don’t worry about money, we’ll figure it out - but it’s dangerous, it’s awful out there and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you -” 

Had you not stopped him midsentence with a gentle “Hey -”, you’d no doubt Arthur would’ve either succumbed to a fit of laughter, tears, or both.

“ - Arthur, hey,” Your free hand that wasn’t kept in his own reached for his shoulder, tugging gently on the fabric of that brown cardigan you so loved, pulling him closer to you. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his breath just barely noticeable against the fabric of your chest. “I dont... I don’t know what I’d do, either - Arthur I just don’t want to add more to your plate, you’re already so overworked, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

You could feel Arthur shake his head at your words, but he didn’t speak - not that you blamed him.

With your lips now pressed to the top of his head, you took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. That comforting scent you’ve come to love and seek out within the few months you’ve been with him - the scent you, really, wouldn’t mind being surrounded by all of the time. 

“We’ll try,” You said finally, not missing how Arthur seemed to tense up at your words. “Arthur I... would love to stay here - I would, love to live with you. It’s going to take some time to adjust - never mind actually making the move - but... I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You could’ve laughed at how Arthur shot up at this, his eyes wide as he seemed full of disbelief for a moment before your own reassuring smile sparked a growing grin on his face. “Do you really mean it, Y/N?”

“Waking up with, going to bed next to, coming home to you doesn’t sound all too bad, the more I think about it,” You whispered, your body finding its way to Arthur’s as his arms pulled you close. 

Maybe this home wouldn’t be so bad. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------taglist;

@ajokeformur-ray​​​ @theangelmaker  @fleckcmscott   @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend​  @tsukiakarinobara​​ @darknessisafriend​​ @honking4joker  @sgtsavoytruffle​​ @smol-nari

[captkirkland]

so i dont write stuff on tumblr very often cause im embarrassed about my writing but i got a drabble in mind based off of something else i wrote (tw for drowning but he’s fine. its fine) ~

Water pelts the deck of the ship below Arthur's boots, angry as it beats and batters the sails. He can hardly even hear himself over the whistling wind and the sharp, stinging rain, and he knows how loudly he must be yelling to his other crew members. Where even are they..? He's not got a clue, but the storm the ship's sailing through makes the main mast creak and groan with wooden fatigue. 

Every ear-piercing cry threatens its eventual snap. God, where the hell is everyone?! Have they all lost their minds, there's no way anyone's asleep below deck like this! Arthur doesn't think about it any longer than that, he's got to loosen the ropes and lower the sails, which by God is a lot easier said than done. The Captain sloshes through water that's up to his knees, it and the wind both doing their damnedest to push him down. He's soaked to the bone, and colder than ice, but he can't stop. Or rather, he wont. They're nowhere near land, and if this mast--or any other for that matter--breaks everyone on board is promised to the sea and her hunger. It feels like ages before Arthur reaches the mast, grabbing the ropes around both of his hands and his wrists, just so he can pull with all of his might. Bad form, he knows, as the ropes feel like they burn into his skin from their excruciating protests, but that wont keep the man from pulling the sails closed. 

Inching and inching and inching, the ocean soaked sails are so heavy even they object their movement against the angry wind-- this is a job meant for many men, not one. The only thing Arthur's got on his side is the fact that he's a not a simple man. He’s a damned country, and with burning green eyes he yanks the ropes as taut as they can be, twisting them about a hold to keep them there. Steady. There's another though, the foresail needs to be closed too lest the ship just start spinning off course in the storm. Obviously his body screams for him to stop, but the deep mix of emotions in England’s chest push him through it. Those hardly ever make it out of him in the best of ways, and this isn’t exactly an exception either, but that’s beyond the point. He’s got to make it out of this, not just for himself, but for everyone else in the world he needs to see after. The crew can receive a stern talking to later, but this situation is now way beyond that which could be quelled by reason, or even by shouting. All he can do is rely on himself now. Arthur pushes through the water, which smacks and beats at his thighs as the wind pushes at him from what feels like all angles just to keep him from reaching the foremast. But something wraps itself around his leg in the sea that angrily invites itself aboard like its trying to flood the place. Is it a rope? Arthur can’t particularly tell, but he moves to drag his foot out of it with a loud grunt of effort as he trips starboard towards the bowsprit despite the effort. It takes everything he has not to be swept away, grabbing his arms around the mast he’s reached, fingers slipping against the slick wood. If he weren’t smarter, he’d think the ocean wanted him to fail. But he is smarter.. and it still seems that way.

There’s curses as Arthur chokes against the salty water, the howling of the situation much too loud to even hear himself. Maybe that, or he’s gone deaf and the only sound that wants to meet his ears is the voice of God yelling in anger for the misdeeds of himself and others. Who really knows, and who really even bloody cares at this point?! Gritting his teeth, Arthur digs his nails into the ropes around the base of the foremast as he drags himself to his feet, and wraps the coarse sail ropes around his arms again. He heaves out in effort, pulling against the way the waves want to drag him, he’s got to pull back, not to the side. The waters all rushing to the right, but he digs his heels into the small cracks in the flooring beneath him, tugging back… and back.. and back... until finally he’s gone far enough. Upon reaching the next hold, Arthur wraps the rope around it so tight he can feel the muscles in his entire body burn from the effort of it all. Once he’s done, he looks around the ship for what he has to do next, but catches himself blindsided instead. A giant crate caught adrift in the water on the deck comes careening from his left side while he’s looking right, and it smacks directly into him, the momentum of it pushing Arthur over with enough force to drive him in the fearsome strength of the Eddy that’s been forming across the ship this entire time. It pulls him into its current, Arthur for once feeling so much less like a country and so much more like a man who can hardly save himself as it throws him overboard. First there’s nothing but the air and its chill.. and then there’s nothing but water and its even bitterer cold. He can’t breathe. He can’t swim. What the hell kind of pirate can’t swim!? Arthur’s never been able to, and his arms feel so tired and witless against the storming sea. Everything’s dark, salty, and nigh frozen... and he still can’t breathe. Is he choking? Is he dying? Is this what dying genuinely feels like? It’s horrifying. How many times do humans go through this? Once. He’s gone through “death” before in the past, but at least then he always knew he’d open his eyes again. He knew he’d feel his heart beating again. This is so much worse, all he can see is the filtered moonlight through the deepest darkness he’s ever witnessed.. and all of its closing in around him as his hand reaches upwards. And he still can’t breathe. Arthur wakes with a start suddenly, having fallen asleep at his desk again, surrounded in papers and pens that’ve fallen to the ground by now. His breath is so uneven, and he falls over out of his chair, like he should be trying to kick and swipe his hands. It isn’t till he’s on the ground and holding himself that he genuinely realizes he’s simply on the floor in his apartment, the clock ticking softly in the background like nothing happened. God, his throat burns, his wrists sting, and it’s still so hard to breathe. Arthur’s chest heaves as he tries to recall everything that just happened, panic rising in his chest in a manner he can’t help but despise. Its then that the thought races across the front of his mind that thinks he might be having a panic attack or something. This is so stupid! It was just a dream, what on Earth is this happening to him for? His heart feels as if its running laps in his chest, like a frightened rabbit trying to escape a hungry wolf that doesn’t even exist anymore, and hasn’t for hundreds of years at this point. Clammy, sweaty hands find the embroidered seat of a wooden chair as he pushes himself up to his feet against his body’s better judgement, like he’s forcing himself to be fine in the face of his own failings. Well, not just like, he is doing that really.  But then the phone rings, and the loud sound nearly sends England to the ceiling of his own office. “Fucking Christ,” he curses to himself, mumbling the words as he rubs the front of his face before dragging both hands down. Soon, he reaches over the desk for his phone and swipes it up into his hand. With a bit of fumbling from fingers that wont stop shaking, he answers the call. “Hello?” “Oh, Alfred, what is it?” “Hah, of course you’d want something like that.. yes, I can bring it by rather soon.” “Mhm.” “Really, is that so?” “Baffling.” “And how are you beyond that?” “That’s very nice, yes, I’m fine as well. Had a bit of a nap, I’m about to put on the afternoon tea, you really should come by my house soon so I can share a bit.” “Ahh.. of course, deal with that first then.” “Mhm, see you soon, goodbye.” He hangs up the phone, clicking the red button after a try or two, just letting it fall back down to the table with a sigh. At least getting something for Alfred done always takes his mind off of things, he can’t help but think of the American instead. God bless him, he doesn’t even know what he does.

[sloppy-butcher]

Ok,new follower here. So this blog is amazing,you writings are just beautiful. I hope I can become as good as you, beause I would like to open my own blog, but I always think my works are too bad. Anyways, I don't know if you write soulmates stuff, like your partner name is written on your body or thigs like that. If so, could you write something related with Joey and Frank sharing the same male sm reader? If you don't feel comfortable writing for three characters or for a male reader it's fine!

THANK YOU SO MUCH for your support T_T I love you so much! I encourage you to start that blog because the only way to get better is to try. and if you do start a blog, drop me that link babey

So i spent a hot minute finding which soulmate alternative universe would best fit your request since you didn’t specifically state which au you wanted. Well, i found a reaaallly interesting one. hope it’s okay

This AU states that soulmates share pain. If one is hurt the other shows their wounds or bruises. I think this will work well with Frank and Joey and a survivor!S/O. I have no problem writing for a male S/O (although i will probs just make this gender nuetral as i dont see gender really playing an important role in this (and i prefer gender nuetral tings)) or for three characters. i will have to write this in HeadCanon form as i am very lazy and i dont want to write like a full fic T_T cause you know.... i have toomuch to say

hope these are okay? ily

Soulmate Au HeadCanons: Poly!The Legion (Frank and Joey) with a Survivor S/O

They realized their connection long before they even knew you existed. The theory was that soulmates shared pain and it was obvious to them that they were meant to be together. Joey would share in Franks pain, he could feel the scar that tore across his face and Frank could feel when Joey had worked himself far past his breaking point. They thought they were the only ones connected in this psychic-link, bound by a force too grand and cosmic to be comprehended by simple-minded mortals. But like the universe, fate works in mysterious ways and everything changed when you joined the Fog.

Joey first noticed it when he went to sit down at the end of a particularly gruelling workday. He felt his left shoulder explode into a burning hot pain and his body seized with the sudden shock. He barely held back his cries of a surprise but Frank wasn’t so well-restrained. Joey heard him from across the Lodge and fearing for his friend, ran off in the direction of his call ignoring his own body screaming for him to stop. He found Frank surrounded by a worried Julie and Susie. They looked between him and Joey, expressions from behind their masks piercing through to Joey's soul. They were worried for their friends, Frank’s scream and Joey’s sluggish and limp stature was enough to tell the girls that the pain the two were experiencing was, no doubt, incredibly excruciating. No one knew what had just happened, neither of them had been hurt or injured, and they feared that maybe the two were being punished by the Entity for a lacklustre performance. But both boys assured they did well enough to keep the thing satisfied and when the pain spontaneously faded, the whole incident was pushed out of their minds and momentarily forgotten.

But the pain never stopped completely. It was sporadic, turning on randomly like a lightswitch bursting with newfound anger and agony that would contort their limbs and burn their muscles. And there was nothing they could do to alleviate the pain, no amount of massaging or rubbing could take away the sharp edge of the hurt; there weren’t even enough painkillers in the realm to quell the agony. The only thing the boys could do was just sit there and wait for the pain to decide to go away. It was torture, sometimes the simple act of sitting alone was pure unadulterated suffering. But still, the boys had no idea where this pain was coming from.

It was only after Joey returned from a trial in which he had mori’d a rather annoying and pesky survivor that something started to click. Joey walked into the main lounge of the Resort and found his friends standing around the fire pit waiting for him. Frank had his shirt off and the pants of his left leg rolled up. Ordinarily the sight of Frank without his shirt on would excite Joey but something made him hesitate. A harsh red scar ripped down Frank’s chest and when Frank noticed Joey's reaction he held out his left arm for the other to inspect. Another red wound ran across the forearm. There was no mistaking it now. It was their trademark kill, a stab at the left arm followed by the grabbing of the left ankle then finished with the brutal gutting from the collar bone all the way down to the hip. “We watched it appear.” Julie’s voice wavered with concern. “We watched it appear on him as if...” She broke off ‘as if Joey himself did it to him.’. Joey approached Frank. Through the pinpricks of his mask, Joey could see Frank's eyes and he could feel his pain. Without saying much the girls made Joey take off his own shirt and directed him to stand next to Frank. When Julie stepped back to inspect both boys she raised a hand to cover the mouth of her mask and Susie audibly gasped. They were identical, both bore the exact same scars of the exact same knife.

To be honest, the boys would never have figured out the source of their shared pain. Combined the two barely make up a single brain cell so it was by the grace of God or something else that allowed the truth to finally be exposed. It was in a trial between you and Frank. The killer had been run around for the past ten minutes and with no sign of catching his elusive prey. You were impressed by your capable teammate and when they went down just outside the opened exit gate you leapt into action to save the wounded hero. You ended up sacrificing yourself for them, a worthy trade, everyone else got out except you. And, to you, that was okay. You were okay with this. Frank, however, was not. He was beyond furious at being denied his prey and when he trudged back to your collapsed form he felt his rage overflow him. He stood over you and you smugly returned his glare. That was it. In a swift motion, he punched you in the face. Your nose broke and blood gushed out and into your mouth. You screamed out but your cries, however, were mixed in with the killers. Frank recoiled, clutching at his mask where his nose would be. You watched in shock as he spilt swear words and stomped around you.

Curiously you reached up for your busted face and using your thumb and forefinger you squeezed the throbbing nose. Frank’s cries intensified and he clawed desperately at his mask. Through the haze he caught you staring at him in shocked amusement, which he mistook for condescending judgment. He growled and stormed over to you determined to make you regret everything. Panicking you grabbed your nose again and Frank jumped back. And then all the pieces fell into place. Frank could feel your pain. His eyes widened on your collapsed body and it felt as if his world was imploding. Oh shit.

It took some convincing but eventually, you agreed to meet Frank back at the Resort. He told you there was someone else, another ‘soulmate’ in this trifecta of fucked-up bullshit. You used the term ‘soulmate’ loosely. You had heard the stories about soulmates, people destined to be together would share such a special bond that they would even share pain. But never in a million years would you have guessed that your soulmate (or soulmateS) was, a serial killer. You really wanted it to not be real, you wanted this to be some kind of dream, a sick nightmare you were experiencing while laying on your deathbed somewhere far away. But there Frank was before you at the boundary between snow and forest,  like he promised you, with his partner Joey. You walked up to them and stopped at a safe distance away. Joey seemed to bloat his chest as if to say not to try anything. Frank looked at you and you knew you had to show him. Reaching up you grabbed at your nose which was starting to feel better but was still puffy and red. You put pressure on it and Frank began to shake with the pain. Frank moaned and clenched his fists in an effort to ride out the pain like Joey was but after a moment he relented and shouted at you to stop. Frank turned and muttered something to Joey who never took his gaze off you. You could have sworn that he was a stone-statue because he never moved and showed no sign that what you did had affected him in any way. But then you noticed his slight leg twitch and the irregular heaving of his chest. He did feel it. Frank returned his attention back to you and in the cold silence of realization, you said, “Well? What do we do now?”

You could have forgotten everything, walked away from the nonsensical situation that had been presented before you and continued on living a simple life devoid of drama and tension. But that life would also lack depth, something to make it special and worthwhile. You were presented with your soulmates, a rarity in this hellhole and something about the wonder of what made the universe decide to bring you all together surpassed your urge to stay away. Slowly but surely you introduced yourself into their lives. Your interactions at first were stiff and hollow, fear and uncertainty making you doubt if the boys would respect the bound of soulmates enough to not kill you or at least hurt you.

But time wore on and you became braver. They were gentle, well... they tried to be. And when you spoke with them as people do you realized that you had a lot in common with them both. And eventually, you were confident enough to laugh and joke with them.

Joey was the one who needed the most time to accept that you and he were soulmates. He eyed you suspiciously as you would talk with Frank, feeling some kind of jealousy build up in his chest. He hated how you could get Frank to react in ways he had never seen before. He hated how easy it was for you. One day when he had you alone to himself, he finally broke that long silence between you two. But where he expected a change in personality, a two-face switch, Joey only found genuineness. You were as kind and playful with him as you were with Frank, unfazed by your burden of the circumstance and not worried by his own mistakes and misfortunes. You were strong and he admired you for that. “How do you do it?” Joey softly asked clutching his hand which now held a new red welt. The mood quietened down and you turned to look at him. “How do you handle all this pain each and every day?” You reached out and gently took his hand in yours. Suddenly all his pain vanished at the contact and he slightly gasped at the shock. You were warm and comforting, like the wind of a summer’s afternoon, constant and welcoming. He raised his eyes to yours and you gave him your best smile. He melted. “One day at a time.” You replied squeezing his hand for emphasis. You relaxed and began to pull away only to stop as he held you firm, determined to not let your warmth go.

Frank always had a problem when it came to hurting you in trials. While Joey could suck it up and deal with the pain, Frank could not bear the thought of having a hook run through your shoulder and subsequently his. It was you who finally convinced him that his job was more important than your fleeting health.  You took Frank's hand in yours, engulfing him in your comfort and reassurance. “We can get through this. I will get better.” He breathed out and admitted, albeit to himself, that you were right. This was a momentary instance, a speck of nothing when compared to the kind of torture the Entity would inflict on him. And it wasn’t just himself he had to look out for, it was everyone. He had you and Joey he had to look out for. With a look apologetic regret Frank would mercilessly hunt you down and when he would lift you up and onto the meat hook he could hear you at the back of his mind saying, “Suck it up, Princess.”

They would always feel awful if you had a particularly bad day. You would trudge back to the Resort trying your best to hide from their concerned eyes your bruised limb or uneven walk but of course, they already knew what had happened. Joey would sweep you effortlessly off your feet and he would not let you walk around without his assistance. Frank, although less forward than the other, would follow behind and would pester you with questions, ‘Are you okay now?’ ‘Are you comfortable?’ ‘Anyway that he could help ease the hurt?’ They both were like oversized puppies yapping at your ankles because they heard you make a noise. You’d reassure them that you were fine and after exchanging doubtful looks between each other they would give in and give you some air.

They would listen to your stories. It's one thing to experience the pain and another thing to watch it happen. You’d tell them about how you got your injuries and more often than not you would end up a broken-down and crying mess. The image of looming figures silhouetted against an endless black sky haunts your mind. Although you all share the physical scars, the mental ones stay trapped inside you. When you would become an inconsolable disaster the boys would be by your side in an instant. By the time you regained control over your anxiety, you would find yourself buried in the arms of either Joey or Frank. You face pushed deep into their bodies as if they were trying to shield you from the monster that was yourself. It was scary, they could tell. But you weren’t alone. Not anymore. 

After a long day's work of causing and enduring pain, when your bodies would ache with collective suffering the 3 of you would find a quiet cove to all lie it. The boys would sleep on either side of you, draping their limps over you and almost drowning you in their weight. It felt good to be lost at sea with them, so far away from the pain of the day and from the pain tomorrow will bring. If for a moment, you all were at peace, happy and content in the embrace of your soulmates. 

[ryqoshay]

Tri-Arame: Neso Display

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~1.6k Rating: G Time Frame: Sometime during their second year Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: Setsu’s reaction to the Kasumin Box was adorable and got me thinking. This is the result.

“Ayumu!” Yuu called. “Ayumu! Look! Look!”

Ayumu turned her gaze to here her friend was pointing excitedly. “Eeeeh?” She recoiled in surprise.

“They finally made merchandise for you guys!” Yuu cried joyously holding up a fan with a picture of Ayumu from a recent photoshoot. “I need to buy something! What to get? What to get?” She began searching the display.

Ayumu felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride as she scanned the collection. It felt odd knowing people would be buying items with her image on them, but she was learning to accept the support of her growing fanbase. And the fact that companies deemed their group popular enough to invest in creating merchandise was a testament to the effort everyone had put in, particularly for the recent School Idol Festival.

And of course, Yuu was thrilled, which didn’t come as any surprise, but it made Ayumu happy anyway.

“Ooo… Nesoberis!” Yuu suddenly reached forward to grab a plush. “Look, Ayumu! It’s you!” She held out a small, stuffed version of the redhead. “And it’s almost as cute as you, too!”

“Y-Yuu-chan…” Ayumu felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Oh, they have Setsuna-chan as well! And Rina-chan! And… looks like everyone. I should take a picture.” Yuu fumbled for her phone. “I’ll bet Ai-chan will want one of Rina-chan.”

“And probably visa versa.” Ayumu found her voice again.

“That’s true.” Yuu agreed. “Say, do you think Kasumi-chan would want one of herself?” She grinned at her own joke.

“Perhaps.” Ayumu chuckled. “Although are you sure she wouldn’t want one of someone else?”

“Hrm…” Yuu considered. “I dunno. Maybe. But she would probably want one of Kasumi-chan.”

“It’s a shame they don’t have one of Yuu-chan.” Ayumu lamented for a moment.

“But I’m not a school idol.” Yuu laughed. “Why would they make one of me?”

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Setsuna announced as she approached the other two, holding up the bag with her newly purchased manga. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Ne, Setsuna-chan! Look!” Yuu held out the plush still in her hand.

Immediately, grey eyes began to sparkle. “It’s so~ cu~te!” Setsuna cooed, reaching forward to touch it and practically squealing with delight as Yuu let her take it. “Almost as cute as the real Ayumu-san.” She held it close for inspection.

“I know, right!” Yuu nodded enthusiastically.

Geez, now Setsuna-chan’s doing it too. Ayumu was thankful there were no mirrors around as she no desire to see what her face looked like at that moment.

“And look, they have the whole club!” Yuu motioned dramatically to the display.

As far as Ayumu was concerned, Setsuna looked like she was about to die and go to heaven. And now that the focus seemed to be off her for the moment, she smiled as she watched her friend excitedly examine each version.

“I can’t decide.” Setsuna suddenly said as she stared at her armload of stuffed toys. “I want them all.”

Yuu laughed. “Setsuna-chan is going for a harem.”

The shorter girl shook her head. “A commemoration.” She corrected as her expression became more wistful. “You guys are all the closest friends I’ve had.” She explained. “I haven’t always had the easiest time making friends, what with hiding my hobbies at home and my identity at school.”

“What about the other members of the school council?” Yuu inquired.

“They’re more like coworkers or professional acquaintances. They only know Nana. They don’t know Setsuna, or any of this.” Setsuna motioned to the school idol merchandise.

“I see.”

“Perhaps someday I’ll let them in on the truth, but for now, I’m happy with the friends I’ve made in the club. And making a display of these would help me celebrate that fact.” Her normal smile returned as she hugged the nine nesos. “And I really can’t get over how cute they are.”

“Since you put it that way, I kinda wanna get one of each as well.” Yuu turned back to the display. “But I’m a little short this week, so I may have to collect them a few at a time. So today…” She picked up two “I think I’ll just one of Ayumu and Setsuna-chan. How about you?” She turned to the tallest girl of the three.

“Oh, uhm…” Ayumu scanned the display. “It would feel strange to get one of myself…”

“It’s fine, right?” Yuu shrugged. “Setsuna-chan is getting one of herself too.”

“No, I mean I feel like I should get at least one other…” She picked up one of her own and… Geez, they really are all as cute as Setsuna-chan said. Setsuna-chan… Her hand moved in that direction. “There, now I won’t get lonely.” She joked, holding up the two.

“Ayu-pyon needs her company after all.” Yuu chuckled.

Though that was the reference to which she herself had alluded, Ayumu still wasn’t quite used to hearing that nickname. But that was fine for now.

With new purchases to be made by all three, the girls headed to the registers.

Setsuna stood back and admired her newly set up display, the first idol themed thing she had put out in the open in her own room now that her parents had accepted her participation in the club. They were still slowly coming around to anime, so Setsuna hadn’t broken out everything from her storage places in her closet, at school and with various friends. However, a small shrine to school idols was probably alright now, especially since they represented her friends.

Her friends…

She stepped over to her desk and picked up her phone. She then aligned a shot of the collection, took it and sent it to the other members of the club through their group chat. Almost immediately, responses started to come in from the other girls and Setsuna smiled as she read the positive comments.

Idly, Setsuna picked up the Ayumu neso. It was a shame there wasn’t a Yuu to go with it, but Yuu wasn’t an idol. Still, Setsuna thought it would be a cute one. Cute… They were all cute. However, despite someone like Kasumi proudly proclaiming her cuteness, Setsuna found she much preferred the pure and unassuming cuteness of someone like Ayumu. She touched the tiny bun on the side of the Ayumu’s head and smiled.

Ayumu had shown Setsuna how to make the stylized bun surrounded by braids a while back. Setsuna had managed to do it on her own, not once but twice, to give herself twin buns during the club’s summer camp. However, in doing so, she had realized she preferred letting someone else do it for her. Someone more skilled and who seemed to enjoy working with hair. Someone like Ayumu.

Wait, what am I doing? Setsuna blinked back to reality as she realized she had been hugging the nesoberi tightly to her chest while lost in her thoughts. But… was that actually wrong? Hugging cute plushies was a normal thing to do, right? Even when they looked like…

Blushing, Setsuna put the nesoberi back in its place and went to her desk to study for a while. However, every now and again, she found herself glancing back over at her new display of idol merchandise. And each time she couldn’t help smiling as she recalled why she wanted all of them.

She was glad she hadn’t decided to wait to collect all of them like Yuu and Ayumu were doing. Sure, she would have to put off getting a couple new books immediately upon their release for the next month or two, but it had been worth it.

Her attention kept returning to the nesoberis even as she closed her books and started getting ready to turn in for the night. Part of her wanted to take one down again and bring it to bed with her, but another part of her was hesitant, stuck on trying to decipher the details of the desire.

Her phone vibrated.

TakasakiYuu: Sorry for the late reply

TakasakiYuu: I lost track of time working on new songs for you guys

TakasakiYuu: Hope you havent already gone to bed

TakasakiYuu: If so sorry if I woke you up

ScarletStorm: I’m still awake

TakasakiYuu: Oh good

TakasakiYuu: I wanted to show you my display

TakasakiYuu: Ayumu already got to see it in person

TakasakiYuu: She even helped me figure out where to put them

A picture arrived showing the Ayumu and Setsuna nesoberis on the bookshelf beside Yuu’s keyboard, turned such that it looked like they were watching.

TakasakiYuu: Normally Id have them facing out into the room

TakasakiYuu: But when I turn them like this its kinda like you two are here with me to help me when I get stuck on something

TakasakiYuu: Its already helped me twice tonight

TakasakiYuu: I dont think Ill have room for all seven like this

TakasakiYuu: Well I mean I can fit them all here on the shelf when I get them

TakasakiYuu: But theres really only room to turn two like this

TakasakiYuu: But thats alright

TakasakiYuu: Im happy its at least you two

ScarletStorm: That’s a cute idea

ScarletStorm: I love it

ScarletStorm: Thanks for showing it to me

TakasakiYuu: Anyway I hope you guys like what Ive written

TakasakiYuu: Ill have something to listen to before practice tomorrow

ScarletStorm: I’m sure it will be good

ScarletStorm: I’ll look forward to it

TakasakiYuu: Have a good night!

TakasakiYuu: Sleep well!

ScarletStorm: You as well

Setsuna turned off the screen of her phone and set it next to her clock in her headboard.

Sleep well… She would sleep well while snuggling something soft and cute…

With that thought in mind, she grabbed her Ayumu nesoberi again and lay down. It was fine just for one night, right? She had a test coming up the next day and needed a good night of rest. And if Yuu had new material to work on, practice would be intense as well, so she would also need to sleep well for that.

Setsuna hugged the plush to her chest and closed her eyes.

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

[failes-xtra-bits]

Prince's Gambit Review Ch 3

Chapter 3 opens with Damen trying to get some sleep. Laurent returns and Damen gets up unsure of Laurent needs him, but Laurent ignores him. Laurent writes a dispatch and seals it before snuffing out the candle with his finger tips (wouldn’t that hurt?????).

They wake up the dispatch has been sent off while everyone else is doing the prep. Everything seems fine and dandy. The suddenly Laurent appears (dramatic bitch) and Damen makes his way over because the atmosphere is getting tense. 

We hear Aimeric (almost auto corrected to America) apologising to Laurent who asks him what provoked him to which Aimeric doesn’t give a straightforward answer. 

Laurent then calls for Govart and sends Orlant to look for him. 

Orlant was so long in searching for Govart that Damen, recalling the stables, silently gave Orlant his sympathy, despite their differences.

Govart is a complete dickwad is all I have to say. Anyway they wait.

“Things began to go awry. A silent communal snigger sprang up among the onlooking men and began to spread across the camp. The Prince wished to have public words with the Captain. The Captain was forcing the Prince to wait on his pleasure. Whoever was about to be taken down a notch, it was going to be amusing. It was amusing already...The longer Laurent was forced to wait, the more his authority was publicly eroded.”

This reminds us of Lauren’t precarious position and perhaps even indicates at a lack of respect which is probably what the regent wants.

Govart arrives thinking he’s the shit (he is a shit but not the shit mind you) for having just had sex (rape? Was it consensual? who knows, I dont think I’m allowed to go all lawyery here.) 

“Am I keeping you from fucking?’ said Laurent.

  ‘No. I finished. What do you want?’ Govart said, with an insulting lack of concern.

  And it was suddenly clear that there was something more between Laurent and Govart than Damen knew, and that Govart was unfazed by the prospect of a public scene, secure in the Regent’s authority.”

Once again we are reminded of the politics at play here (really Pacat could give GRR Martin a run for his money). Then something interesting happens.

“Before Laurent could reply, Orlant arrived. He had, by the arm, a woman with long brown curled hair and heavy skirts. This, then, was what Govart had been doing. There was a ripple of reaction from the watching men.

  ‘You made me wait,’ said Laurent, ‘while you bred your get on one of the keep women?’

  ‘Men fuck,’ said Govart.

  It was wrong. It was all wrong. It was petty and personal, and a verbal dressing down wasn’t going to work on Govart. He simply didn’t care.

  ‘Men fuck,’ said Laurent.

  ‘I fucked her mouth, not her cunt. Your problem,’ said Govart, and it wasn’t until that moment that Damen saw how wrong it was going, how secure Govart was in his authority, and how deeply rooted was his antipathy for Laurent, ‘is that the only man you’ve ever been hot for was your broth—”

  And any hope Damen had that Laurent could control this scene ended as Laurent’s face shuttered, as his eyes went cold, and with the sharp sound of steel, his sword came out of its sheath.

  ‘Draw,’ said Laurent.”

This exchange is interesting for many reasons. We are reminded of Veretian culture regarding bastards. Further we get the beginning of the fight. But we also get the incest rumour here. We know that Laurent worshipped his brother and weirdly enough I was like “hey this might be true" when I first read, considering how fucked up Vere was and how much I hated Laurent. But as you read, this view also breaks down. I love the unravelling of Laurent. 

Anyway Govart and Laurent start fighting and we get a very worried Damen.

“Damen’s heart jammed itself into his throat—he hadn’t meant to set this in motion, for it to end this way, not like this—and then the two men came apart and Damen’s heartbeat was loud with the shock of his surprise: at the end of the first exchange, Laurent was still alive.”

I like to think this where Damen started to  care, just a little bit. Sure its mixed with his own goals, but yeah this is what I like to think.

“ he was, persistently and remarkably, still alive, and watching his opponent calmly, measuringly.

  This was intolerable for Govart: the longer Laurent went unscathed, the more the situation embarrassed him, for Govart was after all stronger and taller and older, and a soldier. This time Govart didn’t allow Laurent any respite when he attacked, but pressed forward in a savage onslaught of cut thrust attacks.

Which Laurent turned back, the jar of impact on fine wrists minimised by exquisite technique that worked with the impetus of his opponent rather than against it. Damen stopped wincing, and started watching.

  Laurent fought like he talked. The danger lay in the way he used his mind: there was not one thing he did that was not planned in advance. Yet he was not predictable, because in this, as with everything he did, there were layers of intent, moments when expected patterns would suddenly dissolve into something else. Damen recognised the signs of Laurent’s inventive deceptions. Govart didn’t. Govart, finding himself unable to close as easily as he had expected, did the one thing that Damen could have warned him not to do. He got angry. That was a mistake. If there was one thing that Laurent knew, it was how to prick someone into fury and then set about exploiting the emotion.

  Laurent turned back Govart’s second surge with an easy grace and a particularly Veretian series of parries that made Damen itch to pick up a sword.

By now, anger and disbelief were really affecting Govart’s swordsmanship. He was making elementary mistakes, wasting strength and attacking in the wrong lines. Laurent was physically not strong enough to weather one of Govart’s full-strength blows straight on his sword; he had to avoid them or counter them in sophisticated ways, with those angled parries and shifting momentum. They would have been lethal, if Govart had landed any of them.

  He couldn’t manage it. As Damen watched, Govart swung, furiously, wide. He was not going to win this fight with anger driving him to fool”ish mistakes. That was becoming obvious to every man watching.

  Something else was becoming painfully clear.

  Laurent, possessing the sort of proportions that handed him balance and coordination as gifts, had not, as his uncle claimed, wasted them. Of course, he would have had the finest masters and the best tutelage. But to have attained this level of skill he would also have had to have trained long and hard, and from a very young age.

  It was not an even match at all. It was a lesson in abject public humiliation. But the one teaching the lesson, the one effortlessly outclassing his opponent, was not Govart.

  ‘Pick it up,’ said Laurent, the first time Govart lost his weapon.

  A long line of red was visible along Govart’s sword arm. He’d given up six steps of ground, and his chest was rising and falling. He picked up his sword slowly, keeping his eyes on Laurent.

There were no more anger-driven blunders, no more wrong-footed attacks or wild swings. Necessity made Govart take stock of Laurent, and face him with his best swordwork. This time when they came together, Govart fought seriously. It made no difference. Laurent fought “with cool, relentless purpose, and there was an inevitability to what was happening, to the line of blood blossoming this time down Govart’s leg, to Govart’s sword lying once more in the grass.

‘Pick it up,’ said Laurent again.

Damen remembered Auguste, the strength that had held the front for hour after hour, and against which wave after wave had broken. And here fought the younger brother.

  ‘Thought he was a milksop,’ said one of the Regent’s men.

  ‘Think he’ll kill him?’ another speculated.

Damen knew the answer to that question. Laurent was not going to kill him. He was going to break him. Here, in front of everyone.

  Perhaps Govart sensed Laurent’s intention, because the third time he lost his sword, his mind snapped. Throwing aside the conventions of a duel was preferable to the humiliation of a drawn-out defeat; he abandoned his sword and simply charged. This way, it was simple: if he carried the fight to the ground, he’d win. There was no time for anyone to intervene. But for someone of Laurent’s reflexes, it was enough time to make a choice.

  Laurent lifted his blade and drove it through Govart’s body; not through his“stomach, or chest, but through his shoulder. A slice or a shallow cut was not going to be enough to stop Govart, and so Laurent braced the hilt of his sword against his own shoulder and used the whole weight of his body to drive it in harder and stop Govart’s motion. It was a trick used in boar hunting when the spear wounded but did not kill: brace the blunt end of the spear against the shoulder, and keep the impaled boar at bay.

Sometimes a boar broke free, or snapped the wood of the spear, but Govart was a man run through with a sword and he went to his knees. It took a visible effort of muscle and sinew for Laurent to pull the sword out.

  ‘Strip him,’ said Laurent. ‘Confiscate his horse and his belongings. Turn him out of the keep. There is a village two miles to the west. If he wants to badly enough, he’ll survive the journey.”

I know I know I know, long excerpt but I love this fight scene. There is a lot to unpack here, but I love the bit where Damen notes the difference between Laurent and Auguste.  I also love the men growing respect for Laurent and basically driving a knife through the Regent’s plans.

Anyway the regent’s men move to obey Laurent’s orders without hesitation (another bit that shows their fear if not respect)

“The response among the Regent’s men was more varied. There were signs of both satisfaction and amusement: they had perhaps enjoyed the spectacle, admired the show of skill. There was a hint of something else too, and Damen knew they were men who associated authority with strength. Perhaps they were thinking differently about their Prince and his pretty face now that he had displayed some of it.”

  Lazar breaks the tension by tossing Laurent a cloth to wipe his sword. Laurent addresses the men gathered there and takes advantage of their new found awe and gives the order that they will ride hard and fast. Laurent then appoints Jord as captain and Jord starts giving orders. 

“Lazar, who had thrown Laurent the cloth, didn’t look as though he was going to be mouthing off about Laurent again. In fact, the new way he was looking at Laurent reminded Damen unmistakably of Torveld. Damen frowned.

  His own reaction had him feeling oddly off balance. It was just that it was—unexpected. He had not known this about Laurent, that he was trained like this, capable like this. He wasn’t sure why he felt as though something, fundamentally, had changed.

  The brown-haired woman picked up her heavy skirts, walked over to Govart, and spat on the ground beside him. Damen’s frown deepened.

  The advice of his father came back to him: never to take your eyes off a wounded boar; that once you engaged an animal in the hunt, you must fight it to the finish, and that when a boar was wounded, that was when it was the most dangerous animal of all.

  That thought nagged at him.”

Our thoughts about Laurent as well as Damen’s are unravelling. We are also starting to grudgingly admire this kid who managed to get the whole army to respect him. (Side note I like how the woman spat at Govart, you go girl, which reminds me. I wish we had more female characters here). The bit at the end reminds us that all is not over though.

Laurent sends riders to Arles, in order to inform the regent of what had happened. 

The company start to ride towards Vere’s eastern border with Vask. We learn that the men are more willing to obey Laurent’s command. 

Damen reports to Jord and we get this exchange:

“I could tell from your face. You didn’t know he could fight.’

  ‘No,’ said Damen. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘It’s in his blood.’

  ‘The Regent’s men seemed just as surprised as I was.’

  ‘He’s private about it. You saw his personal training ring, inside the palace. He’ll go a few rounds with some of the Prince’s Guard occasionally, with Orlant, with me—laid me out a few times. He’s not as good as his brother was, but you only have to be half as good as Auguste to be ten times better than everyone else.

  In his blood: that wasn’t quite it. There were as many differences as similarities between the two brothers: Laurent’s build less powerful, his style built around grace and intelligence, quicksilver where Auguste had been gold.”

We gain an insight into Laurent’s abilities. It’s not because his family were warriors or something but there is something more calculated behind it (whispers: its revenge). We also get another comparison between Laurent and Auguste which I live for bc ngl love Auguste.

They arrive at Nesson and Damen notes the difference between it and Baillieux. Damen goes into the bedchamber and lights the candle. Here he contemplates public punishments (both Laurent’s ‘embrace the slave’ and Govart’s recent punishment).

Laurent arrives and we get this:

“He said, ‘Did you pay that woman to fuck Govart?’

Laurent paused in the act of stripping off his riding gloves and then, deliberately, he continued. He worked the leather from each finger individually. His voice was steady.

‘I paid her to approach him. I didn’t force his cock into her mouth,’ Laurent said.

Damen thought about being asked to interrupt Govart in the stables, and the fact that there were no camp followers at all riding with this troop.

Laurent said, ‘He had a choice.’

‘No,’ said Damen. ‘You only made him think he did.’

Laurent turned the same cool look on him that he had turned on Govart. 

‘Expostulation? You were right. It needed to happen now. I was waiting for a confrontation to arise naturally, but that was taking too long.’

Damen stared at him. Guessing at it was one thing, but hearing the words spoken aloud was something else. ‘“Right��? I didn’t mean—’ He cut himself off.

‘Say it,’ said Laurent.

‘You broke a man today. Doesn’t that affect you at all? These are lives, not pieces in a chess game with your uncle.’

‘You’re wrong. We are on my uncle’s board and these men are all his pieces.’

‘Then each time you move one of them, you can congratulate yourself on how much like him you are.’

“It just came out. He was in part still reverberating with the blow of having had his guess confirmed. He certainly didn’t expect the words to have the effect on Laurent that they did. They stopped Laurent in his tracks. Damen didn’t think he’d ever seen Laurent caught completely “without words before, and since he couldn’t imagine the circumstance was going to last long, he hurried to press his advantage.

We get an insight into exactly how intelligent and meticulous Laurent can be. We realise that he orchestrated this. In Littlefinger’s words, he fights every battle, everywhere in his mind. Also rereading that little jab made by Damen must have hurt considering what know about what the regent did (kill him with fire).

“If you bind your men to you with deception, how can you ever trust them? You have qualities they will come to admire. Why not let them grow to trust you naturally, and in that way—’

  ‘There isn’t time,’ said Laurent.”

I like this bit because we get a contrast between Laurent and Damen. But we also understand that they fundamentally share very similar cores (those of goodness). We know Damen is honest but its weird that this quote insinuates that perhaps if Laurent wasn’t in desperate and  had the time and resources he perhaps would not result to deception but rather be like Damen and do things with honesty. Once again unravelling our perception of him.

“There isn’t time,’ Laurent said again. ‘I have two weeks until we reach the border. Don’t pretend that I can woo these men with hard work and a winning smile in that time. I am not the green colt my uncle pretends. I fought at Marlas and I fought at Sanpelier. I am not here for niceties. I don’t intend to see the men I lead cut down because they will not obey orders, or because they cannot hold a line. I intend to survive, I intend to beat my uncle, and I will fight with every weapon that I have.’

  ‘You mean that.’

  ‘I mean to win. Did you think I was here altruistically to throw myself on the sword?’

  Damen made himself face the problem, stripping away the impossible, looking only at what, realistically, could be done.

‘Two weeks isn’t long enough,’ said Damen. ‘You will need closer to a month to get anywhere at all with men like these, and even then, the worst of them will need to be weeded out.’

  ‘All right,’ said Laurent. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Damen.

  ‘Then speak your mind,’ said Laurent. ‘Not that you have ever done anything else.’

  Damen said ‘I will help you in whatever way I can, but there will be no time for anything but hard work, and you will have to do everything right.’

  Laurent lifted his chin and replied with every bit of cool, galling arrogance he had ever shown.

  ‘Watch me,’ he said.”

The chapter ends there and we are shown how dire the straits really are. This scene also solidifies the dangerousness of Laurent and his and Damen’s relationship changing.

(SIDE NOTE: I love that Laurent is arrogant in this, wot a king).

[cant-icle]

i hope you dont mind another prompt... but........... touchstarved ryuji...

It’s only after he befriends Akira and becomes a phantom thief that Ryuji realizes it’s been a long, long time since someone’s touched him without the intent to hurt him.

Sure, at first it’s only for baton passes, but Ryuji finds that he cherishes even that brief moment of contact, connected for an instant with a person who means him no harm. Even more so when Akira starts getting comfortable enough to slouch a shoulder into him, or stretch out and bang his knee into Ryuji’s; each brief moment of contact is just enough to make him crave more.

It’s pathetic. He hates it even as he yearns for it, spends his time hyper-aware of the distance between him and Akira at any given time. It feels like a reward each time, and he treasures them.

He keeps it under wraps as best he can. Akira’s got shit to deal with other than Ryuji and his weird touch issues, especially as the Phantom Thievery shit keeps ramping higher and higher, as the stakes start to tower over them.

In late November the weather starts to grow cold. Ryuji’s mom leaves before he gets home from school and comes back after he’s already left; they communicate through notes and cold plates of food left plastic-wrapped on the counter. Akira’s basically incommunicado after what he went through at the police station; Ryuji is alone.

The loneliness aches.

Sure, he’s got the rest of the Phantom Thieves, but they’ve been making an effort not to be seen together in case Akechi comes looking, which means Ryuji spends his days and nights alone with just his phone and his thoughts; the group chat is always an option, but after months and months of physical company Ryuji feels the absence like sandpaper.

He can’t do it.

He’s up and out the door and on the train before he can talk himself out of it.

They agreed to stay away from Leblanc, he knows they did, but he can’t— he just can’t, he’s got to— just see him or something, hang out like they usually do, anything. Ryuji hates existing in a void; it feels too much like that long, dark time after Kamoshida broke his leg, the time he doesn’t really like to think about.

There’s no one in the cafe except Boss; he shoots Ryuji a startled look and then nods, gesturing up the stairs. Ryuji takes them two at a time, loud and noisy to announce his coming; by the time he rounds the corner at the top Akira’s rolled over from where he was laying reading on the floor to look at him.

He looks like shit; the bruises have gone all yellow-green, and the scabs on his face have gone dark and raw. He’s wearing a grey hoodie that almost swallows him, makes him look more washed-out and pale than he should.

Ryuji’s never seen anything more appealing in his life. He drops his bag by the stairs and flops down on the floor next to him with a sigh.

Akira regards him solemnly for about ten seconds before he says “You look like shit.”

And isn’t that just a thing?

“You’re one to talk,” Ryuji says, though his throat is a little thick. “How’re you feeling?”

He looks like he thinks about it before he shrugs. “Alright, considering.”

“Alright. That’s...good.” He’s right there. He’s right there not three feet away, and Ryuji yearns to reach out and just— do what? From this close he can see the glazed, blank look in Akira’s eyes; he’s there but he’s not, the same look he’s had for the past three or four days— god, it’s already been that long, it’s only been that long, Ryuji has no self-control.

The floor is cold and uncomfortable. He squirms, then sighs and gives up, resting his head on his hand.

Akira stares at him for a long time after that, long enough that he gets a little self-conscious, long enough that he starts looking anywhere and everywhere but him. From his position on the floor all he can see is Akira and the detritus around him— open pocky boxes, empty ramen cups, easily-consumed snack foods left empty or half-eaten all around the room, like Akira would get halfway through and then lose interest and set them down where he stood.

It gives him a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach. What is he doing here, coming and seeking things out from Akira when he’s feeling like this? Why didn’t he come sooner? Why isn’t he the one offering the helping hand here?

What could he even do?

He’s working himself into a fine fit of recrimination when Akira reaches out and sets his fingertips very lightly on Ryuji’s face.

Ryuji freezes.

It’s nice.

It feels good.

It's pathetic, isn't it? His best friend is lying here on the floor after he was effin’ beat, and he's the one reaching out and offering comfort.

But...this is the softest touch Ryuji's felt in years. This is the first time in so very, very long that there hasn't been any ulterior motive or undertone of promised violence.

So he leans into it, chases the touch, and watches a spark light in Akira’s eyes.  Akira always feels better when he has a project to work on— he must have felt awful, spinning and chasing his own tail stuck all day in this attic.

He wriggles forward ungracefully, like a worm against the wooden floor, just to slip his other hand beneath Ryuji's head so that for a moment he's cradled between Akira's palms; both of Akira's thumbs stroke over Ryuji's cheekbones, gently brush over the dark circles underneath his eyes , almost a match for Akira’s own.

For a moment Ryuji’s guilt is overpowering, a sick, slick knot in his throat. He almost moves away, but Akira moves first. Another awkward wriggle puts him right in front of Ryuji, close enough to reach over and fist a hand in the back of his shirt, close enough to tug and make Ryuji close the distance. Then they're pressed up against each other from chest to knees, and Akira shoves a calf in between Ryuji's own and hooks him even closer.

He's shivering, just a bit— he can't control it, not when Akira’s hands move on him, his fingers carding through his hair and tracing elaborate patterns on his back, his breath feathering across Ryuji’s face. Ryuji’s own arm lies crushed awkwardly between them, until Akira shoots him a pointed look— He cautiously drapes it feather-light across Akira, who looks satisfied and continues what he’s doing.

It's overwhelming in the best of ways. Every touch feels like a tiny firework pressed to his skin, explosive and sparkling. Every drag of his fingers feels like they leave a tangible trail in his skin, like the weight and pressure lasts and lingers, like if he looked he could see every place Akira's put his hands like neon signs.

His face is wet. He doesn't realize until Akira’s hand leaves his back and his thumb touches his face, light as a feather. He's...leaking. He gets a hand in between them to scrub the tear away, and would  move further except for the fact that Akira still has a hold on him like a particularly stubborn barnacle.

There's no point in resisting the will of Kurusu Akira. Ryuji drops his arm back over his waist and tucks his face into the space beneath Akira’s chin, and breathes, and drifts.

When he wakes up there’s a blanket over them, the TV is on, and Futaba is perched on the couch playing video games and shooting them faux-disgusted looks. Akira just shakes his head and sits up to crack what sounds like every bone in his body, but once he’s done he folds back over the top of Ryuji’s head until Ryuji's almost wearing him like a cloak.

Things are a little better after that. Ryuji doesn't go home that night — he stuffs himself full of Boss’s curry and wraps himself around Akira until in the dark they can't tell where one of them ends and the other one begins. Akira rucks up his shirt and traces patterns up and down the bare skin of his back until Ryuji is boneless and drooling into the pillow, his brain misfiring in fits and starts. They talk, just a little; Akira tells him to come back tomorrow, screw the plans they made and screw subtlety. Ryuji would agree to anything if it meant that Akira’s fingers kept swirling in spirals and stars under his shoulder blades, but even he is leery enough of Makoto’s retribution to hesitate.

Then Akira drags his nails down Ryuji’s back in a long, slow stroke, and Ryuji’s brain goes fuzzy enough that he calls plausible deniability for anything he might say for the rest of the night.

[reactivebangtan]

REQUEST: Are your requests open? I didn’t see anything saying that they weren’t so I’m sorry if they’re not. But if they are could you possibly do a BTS reaction to when their S/O comes home after a really stressful day at work and something really little and trivial sets them off and makes them cry? I work in a memory care facility and today was literally the worst. REQUESTED BY: anonymous WARNINGS: nothing! NOTES: this is so late but i hope your day got a little better!  ♡ 

he could see it as soon as you walked in the door — your usual smile upon hearing his ‘ welcome home, sweetheart! ’ was dim, your eyes seemed distant ( he’d bet anything that your head wasn’t where your body was ), and even your feet seemed out of place as you moved from the front door. there was no telling what caused it or how bad the damage was, but he didn’t bother second-guessing himself when he asked: ❝ are you okay, babe? ❞ from his place in the kitchen — he’d gotten so used to cooking meals late to accommodate your work schedule that he simply found himself there around this time everyday — he could see the way your whole body tensed, the way you paused, the way his question rolled over you and he could see exactly when it hit you. it seems that was all it took, as even though your mouth never opened, the tears that immediately welled in your eyes and shook your shoulders answered his question all on their own. instantly, you had two strong arms wrapping themselves around your body and supporting your weight, allowing you to lean into him completely as the shell you’d precariously built around yourself came crumbling down. sobs shook your body, your limbs trembled with every inhale and your chest squeezed with every exhale, and even though seokjin held you up it felt as if the floor was coming out from under you. after consistently holding it in all day it felt almost therapeutic to let it go, though, and once he sat you down and your cries calmed into little hiccups and gasps you could feel the weight of the day sliding off you in languid, heavy waves. every once in a while his thumb would pass over your cheek to catch a stray tear, or you’d feel his mouth press to the side of your head, as if he wanted to make sure you knew he was still there, sitting with you — he never asked another question, never bothered to shush you, simply allowing you to get it all out until you couldn’t cry anymore. and, by the time you did finally stop, he smiled at you like your eyes weren’t puffy and your nose wasn’t running and your make-up wasn’t streaked all over the place — he smiled like it was his first time seeing you walk through the door, like he’d been missing you all day, like he didn’t mind all the mess. there’s no ‘ do you feel better, now? ’, no ‘ get it all out? ’, no trying to cheer you up and simply move past this, just the serene calm that washes over you when he brushes your hair back and kisses your forehead one more time. ❝ how does a bath sound? you can soak the day off, and dinner should be finished by the time you get out. come on — i’ll start it for you. ❞

yoongi tried not to take it too personally when your response to him showing up at your place was dismissive and almost tired, brushing it off as you simply being exhausted from working so much lately. he even chalks up the way you grumble to yourself while in the kitchen to mere fatigue, opting to hover in the doorway rather than get in your way as you seemingly argue with the vegetables and scowl at the seasonings. it isn’t until a certain scent hits his nose that he actually makes his way into the warzone, sniffing all the way up to the undeniable source before noting it as blatantly as possible: ❝ you burnt the rice. ❞ when his gaze moves from the mess inside the pot to your face he expects to see that glare fixated on him, but instead is met with you covering your mouth and turning away as soon as you notice he’s looking at you. a strange reaction to say the least, but then you were never exactly normal by any means, and it’s another thing he’s willing to excuse away until he sees the way your shoulder trembles and your breath shudders out of you, choking halfway out. it takes all of five seconds to realize what’s happening, before he’s rushing towards you with all the intent to make it stop and no real idea how. the first words that clumsily tumble out of his mouth are: ❝ it’s not that bad, ❞ but when your immediate response is a choked ❝ it’s not that, ❞ his shoulders are slumping a little further and his brows furrowing even tighter. he doesn’t try to assume what’s got you upset, aware of the fact that you’ll tell him sooner or later and that it takes more than an educated guess to understand. instead, he opts for taking you into his arms and shushing you, holding you as close as he can without completely suffocating you. yoongi has never been the best with affection, but he’s certainly not the worst, either — this shows, now, with the way his hand cradles the back of your head and leans it on his shoulder, and how he says nothing when he feels your tears soaking into the material of his shirt and hitting his skin. it isn’t the first time you’ve cried in front of yoongi, and yet you still feel ashamed through the tears and the sobs and the whimpers — clutching onto the material of his shirt, you try to stand up straight, to get yourself together, but your knees are weak and you’re so tired and all you can do is lean against him and apologize, because what else is there to do? ❝ i’m sorry — ❞ you start, but he doesn’t let you finish, quieting your weak, trembling voice with a strong: ❝ don’t be. just let it out. ❞ and, you swear he holds you a little tighter, pulls you a little closer, before you’re wrapped entirely in him.

❝ hey, babe! ❞ hoseok’s cheery voice on the other side of the phone line is almost enough to lift your spirits right away, and you almost feel as if he knew you weren’t feeling like yourself — he always seems to call when things start to look gloomy, especially when he couldn’t be there — the thought bringing a little smile to your face. ❝ hey, hobi, ❞ comes your exhausted greeting, spoken on a heavy sigh ( he’s always done that to you, dragged the air right out of you somehow, like a simple breath could knock away the weight of the world, like he has the right to steal your breath away ). ❝ what’s up? ❞ you exchange your usual conversation collectively recounting all the little steps of your day, odd chatter in the background of his end filling the silence between words and your solemn breathing, all as you prepare your dinner and buzz about your kitchen. another thing you loved about him; he listened to anything you had to say, soaking it all in like a sponge and relishing in it, all because he couldn’t be there with you to experience it all firsthand — it’s second best to the real thing, but it’s enough. it isn’t until you accidentally swipe your hand over the counter in a grand display to what you were explaining that conversation stops mid-sentence and he’s left questioning you as to why you’ve gone quiet — you say nothing, already feeling your throat closing up at the sight before you begins swimming in a blend of color and shapes as tears fill your eyes. food — the last of the food you have in your house — is now all over the floor and painting the sides of your counters, and you swear you see a crack in the side of the bowl you had put it all in. all hoseok gets is a quiet chanting of ‘ no, no, no, no, ’ and more questions than answers. sure, it was cheap food and the bowl was plastic, but you were looking forward to finally sitting down and enjoying something today, and yet it seems the divines have other plans. ❝ what happened? are you okay? ❞ ❝ no, ❞ you whine, voice now clouded and thick with the frustration and despair that had built a home in your chest and decided to, apparently, live there. his chest aches, too, when he hears the way you whimper helplessly into the phone. ❝ my dinner is all over the floor and i have nothing else to eat and the bowl is broken and it’s everywhere and — ❞ ❝ okay! okay, hey, breathe, ❞ it’s all he can do to cut you off, evening out his own breathing and listening for yours to do the same. ❝ it’s okay. it’s just food, right? you didn’t get hurt? ❞ waiting again to hear your affirmation, the smallest of smiles worms its way onto his face — god, you could be wailing at the top of your lungs, and he’d still think you’re cute. ❝ i’ve got an idea — can you wait to clean it up? ❞ ❝ yeah, i guess... ❞ you sniffle, wiping away the few stray tears that escaped your eyes in the midst of your despair.  ❝ why? ❞ ❝ 'cause i’m coming over to help! ❞ he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you can just hear the door close behind him as he saunters out into the world, on his way to find you.  ❝ and, i’m bringing pizza. unlock your door for me, okay? ❞

a sudden gasp and a yelped ‘ no, please don’t — ! ’ from the other room is enough to get namjoon up and out of the professional stupor he’d been in for the last three hours, finally leaving his pen and paper behind for the sake of whatever you’d gotten yourself into this time. he’s prepared for something spilled or something ripped or perhaps something broken, but what he isn’t prepared for is to see you standing over something spilled, ripped and broken with tears in your eyes. your latest book, one you’d been particularly excited about reading, lay at your feet with the pages soaked through with juice you’d left sitting on the side, words bleeding out into the paper and smearing, one page even half-torn and dangling just past the rest. in an effort to save it, you’d grabbed the closest thing available — which ended up being one of your shirts from the day before — and began desperately pressing it to the pages in order to soak some of the mess up. it did very little, and only caused you to get more frustrated, which ended up in another influx of tears.  ❝ hey, babe, it’s okay, ❞ namjoon’s soothing voice washes over you as he steps farther into the room, causing you to finally look up from the disaster before you.  ❝ i can buy you a new one, alright? please don’t cry over it. ❞ his words drip with honey, sugared in sympathy and a level of care that only he can produce, just as his hands reach out to wipe away the freshest of your tears as they trail hotly down your cheeks. ❝ it’s not just the book, ❞ you start, lip quivering — his heart breaks a little at the sight of it. ❝ everything’s been going wrong today. everything. ❞ 

it’s impossible to imagine how frustrated you must be just by your words alone, but he’s got a pretty good idea — he’s well acquainted with the sentiment, knowing far too well how it feels to have everything seemingly out of your control, crashing down around you and swallowing you up in the aftermath. watching as you spare another glance at the mess that is your destroyed book and seeing the way your shoulders sag in defeat, he spares one last glance himself at the door he’d walked through only moments before and sets his mouth in a hard-line; work can wait, he decides. ❝ well, we can’t go wrong with takeout, right? ❞ a smile alights his face when you shrug in response, nodding shortly after.  ❝ how about we call some food in and just chill out for the night? we can... watch some movies or something. something with a happy ending. how does that sound? ❞ his smile only grows when you notices your own slowly bringing itself to life on the deadened features you’d taken to, just as you reach up to swipe away the last of the evidence of your minor breakdown. you glow, again ( at least, in his eyes ). ❝ yeah... that sounds perfect. ❞

you’ve held it in all day, expertly avoided questions like ‘ hey, are you okay? ’ and smiled every time someone got a little too close to seeing through your facade. it took all the willpower you had to not either leave or breakdown in the bathroom, already beyond frustrated with most everything going on — it didn’t help that nothing seemed to go your way, everything that could go wrong was and absolutely no one seemed to care but you. because of all this, you can’t help the relief that washes over you when you’re standing in front of your front door, knowing that beyond lay not only a bottle of wine and a cozy bed, but also your loving boyfriend.  ❝ jimin? ❞ you call out as you shut it behind you, unable to help yourself from seeking him out almost immediately. getting a soft ‘ back here! ’ in return, you begin trailing to the back of your shared apartment, a little smile beginning to bloom on your lips as the comfortable silence in the house lapses over everything else and peace surrounded you. you’re no longer paying attention to what room you enter or how your body swerves around different corners, only aware of the fact that he’d be waiting there with open arms and that dazzling smile of his at the end. it isn’t until your feet hit the cold tile floor of your bathroom that you stop to notice the walls that encase you and, in turn, the divine scene set before you. candles were precariously placed on all the places they’d fit ( one balanced on the sink, on the back of the toilet, two on the thin rims of the bathtub, even one on the floor ), water was filled to the brim of the tiny tub with petals delicately scattered over the surface and a pleasant aroma filled the air — cinnamon and sugar and sweet almond, a soft blend that hits you just as your eyes settle on the man you’d been waiting hours to see. ❝ what is all of this? ❞ you ask, and he doesn’t seem to notice the tremble in your voice right away, instead smiling sheepishly in return and averting his gaze nervously. ❝ well, you texted me that you weren’t feeling well, and you always do this sort of thing for me when i’m not feeling my best, so... ❞ when all he gets in silence in return he finally forces himself to look at you and gauge your reaction, as, for some reason beyond him, he was utterly terrified to see what it was. did he do too much? too little? did he mess something up? the horror only doubled when he saw you covering your mouth and tears springing to your eyes, threatening to flow freely any moment — the candles flickered against them, alighted them and gived them a glow, and suddenly all he wanted to do was snuff them out. despite the fear and anxiety, he rushes to you within an instant and hovers just outside of touching you for fear of provoking you further:  ❝ ah! did i do something wrong? i didn’t mean to make you cry! ❞ ❝ no, ❞ you manage to choke out, one hand shooting out to balance yourself on his bicep, squeezing and trying to ground yourself; eventually, you have no choice but to shut your eyes and let the tears fall from your lashes.  ❝ it’s nothing you did. this is — this is wonderful, jimin, thank you. ❞ the fear dissolves as your words spill as clumsily from your lips as your tears from your eyes, but the anxiety remains nuzzled into his chest, just as you do a moment later. this time, without hesitation, he wraps his arms around you and supports your weight as you try to calm yourself down, reign yourself in, and when you fail to do even that. ❝ did something happen at work today? ❞ ❝ something like that, ❞ comes your weak response.  ❝ i’m sorry, jimin. you must’ve worked really hard to do all of this, and yet i’m... ❞ ❝ it’s okay, ❞ his voice is so sweet, so soft, whispered right into your ear, warming your skin.  ❝ you know i don’t mind. besides, you can still enjoy it, right? ❞ sinking into his arms and filling your lungs with air ( and, in turn, the scent he’d chosen ), you allow your heart to settle in your chest and the tears to slow, the ache in your head subsiding — how did you ever get to be so lucky?     ❝ can... we enjoy it? ❞ a chuckle is your immediate response, before he’s kissing the top of your head and smoothing his hands down your sides — he takes his time sliding his fingertips beneath the hem of your shirt and lifting it just as slowly, caressing the dip of your hip and the curve of your waist as he does so, and the rest of your clothes are slipped off all in the same way:  ❝ i’d like that. ❞   

water thoroughly soaks through the material of your clothing and the chill that comes with it sinks into your skin and aches in your bones, all of which cause you to tremble and shake. you can see no sign of the rain stopping anytime soon, and all you can think is how this is the perfect ending to the worst sort of day — it can’t get any worse, you mock yourself in your head. now all i can do is look up! right. you couldn’t look up if you wanted to at the moment, unless you wanted to drown, both physically ( which you know isn’t exactly possible, but after considering your luck for the day you decide not to take the risk ) and metaphorically.  the noise of water hitting concrete drowned out your groans and little whimpers, the cold coaxing them out of you over and over, until you weren’t sure you knew how to make any other sound. thankfully, you managed to find an overhanging roof that you could tuck yourself under, but every so often the wind would blow the rain onto you anyway, and it dripped incessantly from above, soaking into your hair. without truly realizing it, you begin to tear up, salt mingling with the fresh water clinging to your form — it isn’t until you feel the warmth racing down your cheek and cooling by the time it drips off your chin that you truly realize.  it made sense, after a day like this — it seemed no matter how hard you worked things wouldn’t go right, and you could see the annoyance in your co-workers eyes every single time you messed up even slightly, until you couldn’t bare to look them in the eye anymore. those you were helping never seemed to be satisfied, and your help seemed to just add to their problems, until you tried to hang back and interact as little as possible. eventually, this all added up to you getting yelled at and reprimanded for things you couldn’t really help, which, although it wasn’t your breaking point, it was pretty damn close. and, if that weren’t enough, you were looking forward to finally going home and being able to relax, maybe grab a glass of that good wine you’ve been waiting to serve and take a hot bath, until even that was taken from you as soon as you stepped up to the exit. you could feel the cold from the other side of the glass, and you tried to prepare yourself, you really did, but the walk back home was far too long for weather like this. still, you had no other choice. it is, afterall, how you got here. the world around you seems bleak, without life and color, and the sheer loneliness of it has you clutching at yourself in order to ground yourself — the feeling brings you back to the real world just enough for you to shove your hand into your bag and rummage around in order to find your phone, finally resorting to your last option. when the line clicks and you hear him shuffling around, you don’t even give him a chance to say ‘ hello? ’: ❝ tae? ❞ ❝ y/n? is everything okay? ❞ ❝ if ‘ okay ’ is being drenched and freezing, then yes, ❞ you try to reply smoothly, but you’re certain he can hear the tremble in your voice. ❝ are you, by any chance, busy? ❞ ❝ too busy to come pick you up? no, ❞ his reply is smooth, though, and it eases you just a little.  ❝ send me your location. ❞ waiting there for him seems to take forever, and the lonely streets only get lonelier and lonelier the longer you’re left standing there, by yourself, anticipating everything and nothing all at once. you find yourself thinking things like ‘ what if he doesn’t come? ’ and ‘ what if he forgets? ’ despite knowing he’d never do such a thing. and, you thought you were crying before, but the relief that washes over you when you finally spot taehyung’s car is enough to bring it all back, your lip trembling and your eyes stinging. it’s damn near overwhelming, how it forces the air out of your lungs and has you clutching ever tighter to yourself. it doesn't get bad, though, until you actually see him stepping out of the car, your eyes immediately meeting through the thick curtain of water dividing you. with an umbrella in hand and his destination seemingly nothing but you, you get all choked up and practically run to him when he’s close enough. the umbrella just barely shields you both from the onslaught of rain, but it’s enough to get you both in the car, his clothes, for the most part, unscathed.  and, in the immense relief comes even more as you feel the hot air coming out of the car, momentarily blinding you to the fact that you’re still crying. it was impossible to stop yourself, to shut it all down, and by the time you’re trying to simply it and the evidence of the torrential downpour off your cheeks, he notices.  ❝ bad day? ❞ he asks, reaching out far enough to lay a hand over your thigh, squeezing. ❝ yeah, ❞ you breathe. ❝ the worst. i’m sorry for taking you away from whatever you were doing, though. ❞ ❝ don’t be — i didn’t even know it was raining until you called, otherwise i would’ve come to pick you up at work. ❞ not once today has someone said ‘ don’t be ’ to you today when you apologized, not once have they showed you sympathy, and not once have they shown you care. that is the final straw. ❝ thank you, ❞ you start, eyes watering and mouth turned up into the softest, shakiest smile. he only looks at you briefly, trying to keep his attention fixated on the road, but whatever he manages to see is enough to make him frown.  ❝ thank you, taehyung. ❞ ❝ thank me when we get back to the dorms, ❞ comes his curt reply, another swift squeeze on your thigh stopping you from saying otherwise or arguing with his decision.  ❝ they’re closer, and i don’t want you getting sick from staying in those clothes. this project shouldn't’ take much longer, anyway, so i should be able to spend some time with you tonight. we can... order take-out, and just sit around or watch a movie or something. how does that sound? ❞ ❝ sounds like the best thing i’ve heard all day. ❞   

among the top of the list of things you love about jungkook is his spirited, competitive mentality that always seemed to push him to do his best in anything and everything — it was one of the things that attracted you to him in the first place, one of those things you find endearing ( most people look at you weird for that, but you don’t mind ), and something you deal well with. sure, you might get a little competitive yourself, but it didn’t seem to matter who really won to you when you were with him. whether you won or lost you got something out of it, whether it be his cute pout or his beautiful smile. this is why, after you got home and he could practically see the stress rolling off you in tangible waves, then proceeded to offer to play you on your favorite video game you couldn’t see it going wrong. a perfect way to unwind after a long day and vent your frustrations, right? wrong. every time you got your score beat and your ass virtually kicked it just seemed like a repeat of the whole day — you couldn’t do anything right, the buttons weren’t working the way they were supposed to and you just kept failing. you couldn’t even win one time! not once! just as quickly as the frustration had melted away when you stepped through the front door, it seemed to return just as fast the longer you stared at that damn screen, the bright colors and lively music taunting you. where his usual little whoops of triumph and victory dance might’ve warmed you on a normal day, today they only set the feeling in stone and weighed down on your shoulders like absolutely everything else. it isn’t until he wins for the tenth time that you really start to feel it, though, that overwhelming and suffocating sort of frustration that makes your chest ache and your head hurt and everything in you tense at the sensation of it. the controller protested with a subtle crackling noise as your hands tightened around it, and it was all you could do to simply look away and clench your jaw. i will not cry over this, you chant in your head. i will not cry over this. no matter of trying to convince yourself would work, though, as even though your eyes are closed you can feel the tears building up behind your lids. the heat of them is overwhelming, burning their way past your lashes and trailing down your cheeks before you can even try to stop them. ❝ babe? ❞ jungkook breaks you from your inner turmoil, just as he’s leaning close to you to get a glimpse of your expression, but can’t quite reach that far. ❝ you’re not really that mad about losing, are you? ❞ it’s all you can offer, a shake of your head instead of words that come out on a shaky breath and crack halfway up your throat, so weak in tone that you just feel that much more worthless. you know he can hear it anyway, that he knows, that you’re not hiding it as well as you would’ve liked to. ❝ babe? ❞ he asks once again, his question now soft and tender and so, so aware.  ❝ are you... are you crying? ❞ there’s no need to look at him to know his mouth is turned down and his brows are pinched together, and there’s no need for him to see your face when he already knows tears are marring it all the way down your cheeks. suddenly, though, he’s moving from his seat to stand in front of you, his controller tumbling from his lap and clattering to the floor — the noise has your eyes popping open, only to see him standing there, looking at you with those big, worry-filled eyes. the sympathy is damn near tangible, rolling off of him in thick, languid waves that wash over you until you’re crying all over again. ❝ i’m sorry. ❞ ❝ it’s not you, ❞ you start, assuring him of your words with a squeeze to his bicep. ❝ today has just been — ❞ the words get caught in your throat just from remembering it all, leading to you momentarily choking on them. ❝ nothing’s been going right, i kept messing up at work, i can’t even do this right, and it’s making me feel so — so worthless. ❞ he never knows what to do in these situations, can never think of the right thing to say, too caught up in the fact that you’re hurting to think of anything else. the best thing he can do is run his hand down the length of your arm until he can lace his fingers together with yours, holding on to you as tight as he can in hopes of grounding you here, with him. ❝ you know i’m not... good at this sort of thing, but is there anything i can do? ❞ it takes you moment to think about it, but the idea comes quickly enough:  ❝ could we maybe just... lay down for a bit? ❞ the idea of being all wrapped up in him is almost as therapeutic as the real thing, and you can feel your heart slowing down at just the thought — even if it’s just being close to him, or the smell of him, or his heat radiating against your side you feel calm instantaneously.  ❝ yeah, of course, but are you sure you want me there? i just made you cry. ❞ ❝ it wasn’t you, ❞ you remind him, squeezing his hand right back. ❝ i couldn’t think of anything else today, other than coming home to you. being near you, it... it helps me. you help me. ❞ a sheepish smile works its way onto his lips, and he’s finally looking like himself again — worry is still evident on his features, but it’s become dim and overwhelmed by the joy now twinkling in his eyes from your words.  ❝ let’s go, then, ❞ he replies, taking to picking you up straight out of your seat and depositing you into his arms, holding you close to him even when your squirming and exclamation of ‘ kookie! ’ says you can walk perfectly fine on your own. ❝ what? we’ll get there faster like this! ❞ ( and, despite your pushing at his chest and adamant wiggling, a smile has bloomed upon your face and your tears have begun to dry, that renewed twinkle reflecting in your eyes as well. )   

[fraidycat-art]

Can you help me understand Corrin’s dragon form? If Corrin took off their armor, would the armor not appear on the dragon as well? How the hell do the arms work?? Are they bent like a horse?? Or just straight up backwards human elbows like it looks?? And the face? An egg with Horns and movable lower jaw?? How do you bite? I mean maybe this is just a partial dragon form? Because they get jaws in their half-state during crits (from their arms)

Can you help me understand Corrin’s dragon form?

yes but we’re gonna need this.

If Corrin took off their armor, would the armor not appear on the dragon as well? 

I mean, from how I understand, its a very real possibility. Proceed with warning because every dragon!corrin model is different i cannot make that distinction loudly enough, their differences are mostly skin-deep but on the sm4sh corrin model, there is a clear difference between flesh and scales - all in places that aren’t easily analogous. This makes it easy to group them when drawing, though!

The long neck, the tail, and the upper thigh/hips are particularly noteworthy for your idea. They are clearly muscled. You can also see it partially on the wings, but the torso plates stretch to it. Its particularly possible if you want to explore that area! I think that armor-swap versions of the dragon would be rad as hell.

How the hell do the arms work?? Are they bent like a horse?? Or just straight up backwards human elbows like it looks??

WELCOME TO MY SPECIAL HELL. This keeps me up at night! This very question has ruined me. That’s been the question every single time that I’ve drawn dragon!corrin (hence why I’ve drawn so many lately) but I think I’m finally settling on an anatomy that lets me rest. They are bent like a horse, and Corrin tries to move like a horse, it is not horse anatomy, but he is not structured like one. I’ll explain.

First off, let’s look at corrin with human-ish anatomy. Two arms, two legs. Normal stuff.

I use this most of the time, it allows for the front legs to twist enough to meet what Corrin does in cutscenes. The elbow is possible in theory, I try not to think too hard with this - its a simple re-arrangement at the elbow so that the radius lifts upwards. Up until rececntly, I really liked using this - its easy to remember and put my fucking soul to rest. Its really good, without collarbones the shoulder can be twisted any which way - the beauty of a girdle! I figured this was as close to what the actual inspiration was… until I really, really started thinking about why everybody thinks about horses first, and why human arms just… didn’t work. So come with me down this garden path, and look at this corrin with horse legs.

Horse legs are beautiful. They are nice and straight, they bear weight, and they have many points of articulation perfect for motion. Corrin does not have that, Corrin has one major joint and a wrist. See that horizontal bone under the scapula? that’s the radius, together with the scapula that makes the shoulder and the armpit.

However… corrin does not have a visible shoulder. Corrin also does not have an armpit. There is ribcage and then there is leg. That keeps me up at night. I had no explanation! Everything above the tibia and fibia do not exist in corrin. Every animal has that, but It just doesn’t fit! But… it works. When you look at corrin, you see a leg, and you see something along the lines of a horse. Here’s the kicker: there’s a reason you think of horses - despite everything.

for context: Here’s Spirit, an animated horse and source of my artistic inspiration! Dreamworks put a lot of time, effort, and money in order to animate Spirit as anatomically correct as possible. As you can see, it has the correct knee bend for Corrin, but it has a definite shoulder and armpit. So… why are we all thinking about horses when we see Corrin?!? He doesn’t have those!! He also doesn’t have hooves, or even a pastern! This was the first thing that ever struck me about Corrin - I’ve seen those legs on horses before. I’ve seen those legs a lot and I screamed every time I saw them. So why? Why are we thinking about horses when we look at Corrin?

Horses in anime are animated while extremely simplified. It saves on budget, but this means that it trickles down into manga - and eventually into regular art as well. Now take a look at Corrin again…

… I know… I know. Some dude in the design chair saw a huge quadrupedal animal, thought about horses, and drew the anime budget horse leg. Its actually a really prevalent trope! Corrin’s weird legs have been incorrect horse legs this entire time, right under our noses. I know dude - it flies in the face of all comparative anatomy, its wrong, no animal has hind legs for front legs. So the more you think anatomy for Corrin, the more misguided you become. So with this in mind, I personally threw anatomy away - yet it came back and hit me in the face again. Yeah you could get away with human arms for front legs, but… if we’re going for what the inspiration was…. if we’re cutting to the bone…

The front leg is a human leg with the toe bones re-arranged and stretched into a hand. It works better than human arms, in my opinion, as the extremely stout palm on the hand suddenly makes sense. The heel bone gives something for the thumb to anchor to. There is a tibia and fibia for rotation. There is a KNEE. A god-forsaken real knee. There is no scapula. There is no radius. There is, however, a brand new ball-in-socket joint in Corrin’s ribcage, which will wake me in a cold sweat once a month - but by god - THERE IS AN ANSWER.

As well, the human-leg-for-front-leg theory allows for the chest fuckery that the 3d models display. In both Sm4sh and Fates corrin is able to rotate the leg outwardly from the body to a truly startling degree. I briefly played with the idea of a two-hipped dragon. Corrin is a disaster and I love him. 

A note on the hind legs: Its the same mystery, but not one as enthralling as the horse connection. its another artistic trope found in folks who are just starting with animals (particularly cats and dogs) to have the femur and tibia+fibia all curled up like that w. elongated metatarsals - this makes the hind legs INCREDIBLY LONG, however it happens to match what our eyes see in an animal’s sillohuette.

(note: yes, corrin’s thighs are incredibly beefy as a dragon.) This isn’t fully extended in my opinion! with the human arm theory, I couldn’t tip the ribcage upwards due to the scapula, but I’m not joking when I say that Corrin can likely rest his whole body on his chest without losing touch of the ground with any limb. The hind legs are gigantic, but the proportions are too far away from a rabbit’s to be used for hopping. This is why in most cutscenes, animations, ect of Corrin he usually has his hind legs parked behind him or to the side of him. They’re too long! Corrin’s resting state for his hind legs is a crouch.

(pictured: corrin’s beefy dragon thighs. note the wide stance and parking! intsys why… i dont understand… why is the dragon thicc? to be analogous to corrin? is corrin thicc?!?)

TL;DR: Corrin’s legs do not have a comparative anatomy to any one singular creature, mostly due to its complete reliance on artistic tropes instead of actual anatomy. That doesn’t mean we can’t make sense of it with bones, however.

And the face? An egg with Horns and movable lower jaw??

Egg is a strong word for the shape Corrin’s face is. The sm4sh model is generous, face on and left-to-right, the head is so close to being spherical that it might as well be. north-to-south there’s a bit of a hump on the topside due to the exposed spine, it thins out near the nose just a smidge - but its a very, very slight egg shape. My rule of thumb is to just draw a rounded neck, pinch the end just a touch. There’s no notable jawline under the faux-jaw, thought the throat-latch may hang. If anything the base of the ear-tendrils could create one if need be but? for the most part, I really do just… not draw a head. 

if it looks like a ding-dong, you’re doing it right.

(see what i mean about how round it is? bonus: peep those front legs! posed as human legs would be, startled animals are stilt-legged. and the hind legs, as you can see, are struggling to exist.)

The jawbone is layered under the antlers. It hinges where the droptine from the eye meets the jawbone. I made the jaw a little long here, but the tooth area of the jaw never rests against the head. It doesn’t touch the head at all! Well, except for maybe near the jawline - again, just so I can sleep at night.

How do you bite?

Make no mistake - in reality Corrin cannot actually bite anything if he tried! A bite requires a scissoring of teeth, and Corrin doesn’t even have molars/carnassials - if he did, he could at least apply pressure from his head/neck and force it over the teeth but no... If he had an upper jaw, he could use a hatchet-style bite, but as-is the only effective bite would be more like a toothy uppercut. Note: both sm4sh and cutscene corrin detail the outline of teeth! however, heroes and game-model corrin do not.

the top of the ‘eye’ is longer than the bottom of the eye! This is true for every model of corrin. However, the actual size of the ‘eyehole’ is variable. Heroes corrin has a massive eyehole, sm4sh corrin has a very very tiny one. The actual antlers are a story for another day - they’re simpler than they look, but tough to explain.

I’m hopefully going to be making reference sheets for corrin! There needs to be more corrin in the world, and if i gotta pave that road… SO BE IT.

I mean maybe this is just a partial dragon form? Because they get jaws in their half-state during crits (from their arms)

GOD. THIS KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT STILL. I WISH CORRIN HAD ACTUAL JAWS. MAYBE HE DOES? MAYBE HE’S JUST HIDING THEM? LIKE I WANT THIS TO BE REAL SO BADLY. WHERE DOES THAT MOUTH COME FROM CORRIN!?? YOUR WHOLE DRAGON IS BASED ON BEING ENTIRELY UNNATURAL AND WRONG WHERE DID YOU GET THAT MOUTH??

[himbowelsh]

prompt: dick finding nix on a beach, unconscious after drowning (plus: they dont know each other yet; gold points if nix is a merman who had had an accident underwater and then was unconscious afterward)

Dick doesn’t like living by the sea.He’s willing to admit that his greatest inconvenience is his own prejudice. He has no problem with the locals, who have proven to be even friendlier that the close-knit community he left behind in Pennsylvania. He may feel a bit of homesickness, but the neighbors are welcoming, and his mother and sister call him often enough that it is impossible to really feel like he’s far away. The location isn’t a problem either; the view from his bedroom window is a luxurious beach, bordered by wide sky and endless ocean. Early in the morning, just as the sun is beginning to break through the all-consuming night, it glistens. Dick is convinced that the sight is more beautiful than the gold and jewels in any mythical dragon’s horse.He has every reason to love living here. For all intents and purposes, it seems like the sort of community he’d fit in best — hardworking, pleasant, and peaceful. His new home should be perfect.Except it isn’t.

There’s a part of Dick that would even say he hates it.It is the sense of unease, swirling just beneath his skin, that really turns him off of the idea of living by the ocean. There is something about the vastness of the sea that unnerves him. He cannot explain it; the ocean is not a present threat, reaching out its briny tendrils to drag him from land. Nothing will come out of the sea to hurt him; there are no monsters lurking in the deep that can touch him in the safety of his own home.He cannot say why he’s so unhappy, only that he is. Convincing himself that his dissatisfaction will fade as long as he sticks with his new home is easier said than done. When Dick wakes up every morning to the sound of waves crashing on the sand, he wants to feel joy; instead, he only feels isolated, and a bit paranoid.(Does the ocean have eyes? Can something within it see him the same way he can look out at it? It sounds like a crazy thought, but there are times when he’s not so sure.)Uncomfortable with the ocean as he might be, there are some things that Dick will never abandon. His early morning runs are one of them. He began them along dirt roads and farmland back in Lancaster; if he’ll give the isolated beach any credit, it’s that it makes for an ideal exercise spot. He can run along the shore as the sun rises behind him, allowing the morning breeze to breathe energy back into his tired limbs. The ocean makes him feel alive, if nothing else. This is the one thing he can appreciate about it.The naked man lying face-down in the surf must be less grateful.The ocean has lent him no life at all. Instead, Dick thinks as his stomach slowly sinks to his toes, it seems to have robbed him of all the life he had left.He saw no boats on the shore the previous night; he heard no swimmers in the darkness. The fearsome storm that drove the ocean wild throughout the night, shooting thunder and lightning through Dick’s dreams, would have lent no mercy to any soul foolish enough to venture out. Yet this man, with salt residue crusted along his limbs and dark hair dripping over his face, has clearly come out of the water. It is as if he has been rejected, nature devouring a component that does not belong and spitting it back up once it has already been ravaged.Dick can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Even looking at the body makes him feel sick to his stomach. Still, he manages a step towards it, and then another, until the prone man is at his feet.“Sir?” he forces past a dry mouth, crouching down. “Sir, are you alright?”There’s no reply. The man doesn’t stir.“Can you hear me?”It’s the last thing he wants to do — god, he’d rather run into the ocean himself — but he forces his panicked pulse to slow. As tentative as a baby taking its first steps, he reaches out and lays a hand on the man’s shoulder.His skin is clammy from the salty water, cold as ice. It only takes a few seconds, however, for Dick to feel the man’s shoulder rise and fall beneath his palm.He’s breathing. He’s alive.In an instant, sense returns to him. It’s like being struck by lightning. At once, he remembers how to move; in the next instant he’s on his knees next to the man.

His pulse is slow; his breathing is shallow, but even. Dick takes the liberty of turning the man onto his side, which is enough of a movement to jar him awake. The next second, he’s spitting a rush of sea water back onto the beach.

Startled, Dick draws back; but he keeps a hand on the man’s back until he’s done. The man falls back to the sand and screws his face up with a soft groan. “Oh my god,” he croaks out. “I think the vodka tonics might have been a bad idea.”It takes Dick a few seconds to realize what on earth he’s talking about; then he huffs, not quite a laugh, born more out of relief than amusement. “You might have taken it easy last night.”“Vodka tonics are always a bad idea. I was just inviting my own misery. Didn’t expect it to hurt this much, though,” he mutters. An effort to sit up goes awry quickly. He winds up flat on his back again, looking woozy. His head lolls back against the sand, revealing the long arch of his neck, and that’s when Dick notices something alarming. A long trail of dark liquid courses down the man’s jugular, leading from behind his ear. There is a pool of it beneath his head, drenching his hair. Dick’s eyes widen, and he places an instinctual hand on the man’s shoulder to keep him from trying to move again.“Hang on. Did you hit your head?”A tiny grunt escapes the man. he grimaces as he raises a hand to his wound. “Good question. Sure feels like it.”“You’re bleeding,” Dick says, pointlessly, as the man has already pulled his hand away from the wound. Liquid glistens at his fingertips, dark in the early morning sunlight.

Then again – is it too dark? Dick pauses, narrowing his eyes; it still takes him a moment to realize that the fluid leaking from the man’s laceration is not natural crimson, but black. It is a slick substance that reminds Dick of oil – not at all the blood he’d been expecting.

The stranger’s eyes flicker from Dick to the blood on his hand again. He makes the connection at about the same time as Dick does. His dazed expression turns into one of understanding.

“I’m guessing you haven’t lived here long.”

“Just moved in last week,” Dick replies.

“You like it.”

“It’s alright.”

‘You just haven’t realized how exciting it is around here.”

“No kidding.” The man doesn’t seem alarmed that he’s leaking not-blood, or b his narrow escape from drowning. Dick has no idea what’s going on here, but figures he may as well roll with it. When the man raises an eyebrow at him, he meets his gaze evenly. “I guess you’re a part of that, huh?”

“I wouldn’t call myself interesting, but I can be exciting on occasion.” The man makes an attempt to sit up again; he gets woozy, but manages to stay upright. Dick steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, and the man casts him a look of unfiltered gratitude.

“You know,” Dick says, “I’ve got some bandages and water inside. Maybe you ought to come in.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” replies the man.

It’s not an explanation, but it’s a start; Dick figures that whatever the heck is going on, helping out the genial, half-drowned guy on the beach is the best way to approach it.

As he helps the man up, he politely doesn’t mention the set of gills obvious along the outline of his ribs.

“So, you’re a –” Dick tests out the unfamiliar word on his tongue. “Mer?”

A sun that dawns in the wake of a huge storm is always particularly warm; it casts the stranger named Lewis Nixon’s face into sharp contrast. It lends him a glow that makes the his eyes all the brighter, his smile that much more disarming, and causes the faint scales lining his neck and collar to shimmer. He has borrowed a few pieces of Dick’s clothing, but the undershirt hangs low on his chest. Nixon doesn’t seem to have much care for decency.

He takes a long sip of his tea before setting it down with a sigh, and now the hint of amusement on his face has broken into a full-on smirk. “Last I checked, Dick, yup.”

They exchanged names as easily as they exchanged stories. Lewis Nixon, a creature of the sea, washed up on Dick’s beach -- it would almost be too much to believe. Dick is tempted to disregard his entire story, but he is not a rash man, and to do so would be to cling with desperation to flawed logic. After all, science hasn’t been able to prove that Merpeople don’t exist. There is a man with gills, scales, and black blood sitting in Dick’s living room. Logic doesn’t seem to hold much weight, now.

“And you went out drinking last night... for fun?”

“Humans are fun,” is all Nixon says, waving his hand as if to shoo the topic away. “You’re interesting. Some more than others.” He leaves it at that, and Dick doesn’t press.

“Then when you went back in the water --”

“I was still drunk, the storm knocked me into a pier, I smacked my head... and the rest is history. I can’t drown --” Nixon scratches absently at the gills on his chest. “But I can take a nasty knock on the head.”

“Seems like your skull is hard enough to take it,” Dick replies. He doesn’t mean for it to sound insulting, and only realizes too late; but Nixon’s smirk breaks into a grin.

“That it is.” He takes another sip of his tea. “Hey, you got anything stronger?”

“I don’t drink.”

“I take it back. You’re not interesting at all.”

The wicked spark in his eyes tells Dick he doesn’t mean it. He has the strangest feeling that the Mer is playing with him, like a new fascinating toy he just can’t put down; even odder, he doesn’t mind it. He's just as intrigued by Lewis Nixon, and wouldn’t mind figuring him out for himself.

“You can stop in for tea anytime,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “I can’t promise to be interesting, but I can hold a decent conversation.”

Nixon’s eyes spark. He seems like he’d enjoy that very much indeed.

“There’s no tea in the ocean,” he replies with a languid shrug. “Guess I’ll have to take you up on that offer.

Dick huffs a laugh and settles back as he meets Nixon’s gaze. He takes it back. Living on the ocean might be different from what he’s used to... but maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

[dearsadgoat]

recovery

recently, there was a major fire in my city. a little before the fire happened, i went through probably the lowest point in my life i’ve been in thus far. it culminated into one night of forcing myself to break down a number of walls and fake fronts i put up around me. these stood for about 5 years.

during that 5 year period i lied to myself and tried to trick myself into thinking i was something else so i could fit in with my rapidly changing friend groups, both online and in real life. i started distancing myself from a number of things, including shows, interests, and friends. i pushed away mlp for fear that my friends who were now falling out of it would ditch me if i were still into it. i pushed away my desire to learn music because the relationship between my brother and i only got worse as high school went on. i pushed away old friend groups for reasons so stupid i dont remember anymore.

instead of doing videos for fun and my own enjoyment, i started making them with the intention of becoming popular. i was never good at those and i wasn’t willing to learn to make myself better because i only wanted the success. the worst part about this was the fact that i did it for so long i managed to make myself believe that this was what i wanted, to be making low effort gaming videos on youtube well past its peak. because that’s what I thought I was going to “make it” doing. it should be noted i pushed away a group of youtuber friends before this, who may have been able to talk sense into me.

to this day i have only met one other person who makes videos.

fast forward to a few months ago. back in june, i started a new job, the one im currently working, doing lifeguarding at a pool. in july, my friends and i did our annual trip to anime expo, and aside from some incidents it was fun. i went on vacation with my family to arizona, and we saw a number of beautiful sights. i enjoyed it a lot.

however, this is the end of the fun.

anime expo, as always, brought me the panic of being around so many people. it isn’t the volume of people however, im relatively comfortable in a crowd. its the idea that i can look around in any direction and see people probably way happier and in better places in life than i am. look one way, i see a group of attractive people in cosplay that’s way better than mine. look the other way, i see a group of friends all laughing and clearly have shared interests, unlike my friends where we all have kinda splintered tastes so we don’t spend all the time together at conventions.

i spent a good amount of the convention wandering it with my friend mike. we went as Haru and Rin from Free, him being Haru, me being Rin.

around that time i was having major self image issues. i gained a good amount of weight the months prior, and i couldn’t lose it no matter what i tried, and consistently going to the gym, doing workouts given to me by professionals showing me no change killed my motivation. i couldn’t get myself to even go anymore come june.

so when mike was stopped by 10+ people (i stopped counting after a while) for pictures and to compliment him on his cosplay, meanwhile outright ignoring me, i started feeling like my image issues weren’t just “in my head” like i’d been told. despite this i tried my best to ignore it and move on. except i couldn’t.

the other cosplay i did was a crossplay of Mako Mankanshoku from Kill la Kill. I actually had the right length/hair color for Mako’s hair, so I saved money on a wig and got it cut like hers. the hair actually looked fine in context of the cosplay, however the cosplay in the context of anything was atrocious.

i couldn’t fit into the seifuku i bought, despite being sure to buy a size much larger than what you’d expect. trying to ignore my brain telling me im a fat fuck i improvised with a white shirt and a light blue neckerchief. with the wrong color shoes, basic shirt, neckerchief, basic skirt, and my hair cut instead of a wig, i was the definition of awful cosplay.

i hyped up finally being able to crossdress in public to myself for months. i’ve wanted to crossdress publicly since i was 15. at no other convention in the past did i have the courage. i got rid of pretty much all body hair, and upon finally being able to do so, i thought it was everything i wanted.

looking in the mirror showed me i was nothing more than an ugly fatass trying to look cute. i was the fucking person people at conventions take candid photos of and post on tumblr to make fun of. im sure im gonna one day come across a picture of me in that “cosplay” accompanied with some text about how embarrassing i was.

so with now both my cosplays fun sucked out of them by myself, the rest of the convention went on, but i couldn’t fully suppress the idea that i was unhappy.

the arizona trip i’ll save for another post, it’s a complete offshoot with it’s own backstory.

these are nowhere near all of the events i feel caused enough problems for what happens later, just the major ones. also there’s no way i can write every single thing that’s happened to me and contributed to my sad demeanor over the last 21 years.

after that though, the rest of the summer is a blur, i dont remember anything i did, and i don’t remember starting school again. i just know i’ve been going for almost 16 weeks now.

for some reason, a lot of things that didn’t use to bug me have been bugging me. stuff that I thought i’d grown accustomed to seeing, like the ever poisonous anti-male rhetoric that this site likes to parade. i’ve been on tumblr since i was like 13, i’ve seen it, i should be used to it and know to ignore it, right?

i guess not. every post i see related to something meant to make me feel shitty for being a guy takes another chip at me throughout the day. despite my best efforts i can’t forget them.

i just don’t have the energy to put up with stuff anymore, and it really feels like im out of energy to put into caring about things. i’ve been feeling like this since the beginning of the above five year period of not knowing why i wasn’t happy with what i was supposed to be happy with.

eventually we get to one saturday at work. two pools are being used for an event, the third is being rented out for a kids birthday party. im on the tower supervising the party when my best friend kaylie comes to rotate me. we chat for a sec, and as i start to walk off, she says my name. i turn around and she points at the water. no more than 3 feet from where im standing, two kids are wrestling in the water. except they weren’t wrestling for fun, they were wrestling to get on top of one another and drowning each other in the process. mind you, this is the deepest part of the pool and it’s only like 4 1/2 feet deep. I slide in, hoist up both of them, and launch into the caring procedure bullshit.

i get them out, tell kaylie im going to get a towel, and eventually other guards start asking me what happened. all of the sudden people are toting me as being a hero for making my first rescue withing my first year. you’d think that’s something to be proud of, right?

yeah you’d think that.

i felt nothing. all i had was that i was doing my job, and if it were like ten seconds earlier kaylie would’ve got them. i didn’t do anything special.

of course that ended up as a conflict in my mind, and on the way home i bought alcohol and spent the night drinking alone.

fast forward a few more days, and i get home from work. it wasn’t a particularly hard day, or any major thing happened, just a lot of small little things that chipped away at my patience, a few comments made by coworkers that really weren’t asked for, and this and that ultimately led to me driving home at the end of the night upset.

i get home, and think to myself im going to unwind with some video games. i dont remember what happened or what i was playing, but some major thing happened that led to me calmly turning off the game and turning to my computer to stare at it for the next two hours, only occasionally clicking to something new.

nobody tells you what it’s like to break. partly because, they cant. the way i see it everyone breaks differently. every breakdown i’d had up until that point had been loud, angry, and full of jerky motions through teary, blurred eyes. they were like someone kicking over something i was making in one fell swoop.

this time it felt like i watched someone pick away at the foundation until it all started to slide down like sand.

i broke, at first without tears, questioning what i was doing at that moment, and what i was doing in general. nothing made sense. my head couldn’t keep a thought for a moment. i felt like my chest was caving in. i didnt end up eating anything that night. i honestly can’t describe how i felt and what i did, it was such a blur.

i started going on a nostalgia scavenger hunt. something i had seen recently drove me to want to search out the mlp meetup group i used to be a part of. i found pictures of me and my friends at different events back in 2011, 2012, and i started doing what i can only describe as motioning a whimper. as in, whatever you picture when you think of whimpering, only without sound.

I saw pictures of me being happy, truly happy. i hadn’t been truly happy in the last 5-6 years since these pictures were taken. at least not for more than the occasional time.

as if on queue, a friend from one group of friends i changed myself to fit in with messaged me. i asked him if he wanted to take a trip with me, and i spilled everything.

i confessed to being a liar, a poser, a shitty person who couldn’t even tell his friends that he wasn’t everything he said he was. i told him at one point in my life i had actual ambition and ways to achieve success outside of being the scummy piece of shit i’d become when i became friends with them. (please dont misunderstand, they’re good people, i just had a warped sense of what i needed to do to be their friend back then)

he let me angrily type and rant and have a major breakdown to him without interruption for almost an hour, and finally he paused me and started trying to talk me through this.

after he gave me his piece on the matter, i turned to another one of my best friends, jacob. jacob was one of the irl friends i went to meetups with, and we’ve been friends since middle school. we’re closer than anyone else i know i’d bet, even closer than kaylie and i.

because of time differences, our conversation lasted the next two days, basically telling him everything, that i wasn’t happy with myself, that i haven’t been happy with anything for a long time. the only thing that mattered to me in his response was that nothing was different between us. he said he was going to a therapist soon, and said that i should try it. i have not, and i dont plan to for fear of what i might find out. still, everything he said i took to heart and i thank him for it.

at this point, i decided that i could fix all of this, that i could make myself someone i’d like to be. i was going to work hard and no matter what i wasn’t going to break like that ever again. nothing was going to stop me, no matter the odds.

someone up there must love testing my patience.

a week later, the fire happened. within the span of an hour i had gone from coming home from a test, to helping my mom with the recycling, to rushing home because the sky over our house was brown. the next few hours was me running on no food, a sweaty, ash-covered mess, to get everything of importance out of the house. everything that was too hard to replace was taken. as painful as it was it meant leaving behind just about everything that had value to me, as i took only the things that mattered in a worldly view, not a personal view.

God listened to my prayers that day, and the fires burned half a mile from my house, but no closer. The trail i walked a thousand times growing up was no more. it’s about 4 houses down from mine, to give perspective. everything was black and soot, trees stood with burn marks and missing leaves. The creek was dried up. everything is a mess. i walked out and took pictures of it a few days after, just for memory sake.

that day was a test to see whether or not I was actually going to keep my word. i didn’t break that day, despite wanting to often, and i did what was most important for my family.

since then, i’ve shuffled around a lot of different aspects of my life. a lot of things are changing, and im not comfortable with a lot of them. however, these are good changes. i have to make myself uncomfortable to be able to find what i belong to once again.

and i hope and i pray that this is going to be the time i prove to myself i can break out of this

[ariannawrightr]

Nowhere to Return (Part 1 of 2)

Authors note: Just a supernatural fic I wrote awhile ago that I thought I'd post here. Hope you enjoy!

The chilling wind cut through his clothes like knives. Blood and sweat soaked through what was left of his shirt, making his muscles clench and ache as he continues to run through the seemingly never ending forest. He stumbles over a tree branch, struggling to regain his footing as he picks up sprinting again, scared to slow his pace and risk hypothermia. The freezing December weather leaves his bones stiff, almost creaking with the effort to continue moving. He wonders--not for the first time--why he had been so stubborn to leave without his winter jacket. He rubs his arms with an effort to keep the blood moving, afraid of the damage to come from his unresponsive fingers.

" You're taking another case?"

 

"Yeah, I found something down in Minnesota, think it might be our kind of job."

 

"Are you serious? We just wrapped one up. One--mind you--that you nearly died on!"

 

"What's the problem? We find cases and we work them. Since when has a job ever gone our way? I think your starting to get paranoid, it was barely a scratch."

 

"A scratch!? Dean--for fucks sake--that 'scratch' just barely missed cutting straight through your liver. You're still bleeding!"

 

"I'm fine, I've wrapped it up already. Seriously, you're overreacting, I'll have plenty of time to rest up on the drive there. Are you coming?"

 

"No, I'm not. Cause unlike you, I actually care if I live to make it to tomorrow."

 

"You're so dramatic. You really need to learn to relax."

 

"Right, cause I'm the one having trouble taking a break."

 

"Whatever, I'm heading out. It's a ways out, so I probably won't be back for about a week."

 

"Yeah, if you don't bleed out on the way there."

 

"Don't get your panties in a twist Samantha, it's just a basic salt and burn. And I'm not bleeding out, that thing barely grazed me. I've definitely had much worse."

 

"Whatever you say...Hey Dean?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I know things didn't--I mean--but you don't need to--"

 

"Sam"

 

"I'm just trying to say--you're always taking life so fast, sometimes you just need to slow down a little."

Grabbing onto an extended branch, he comes to an abrupt stop, cursing as he nearly ran straight into the rapid water in front of him. Now taking a moment to assess, he can hear the obvious blaring voice of the raging stream; splashing fiercely as it comes in contact with a particularly jagged rock visible above the surface. Right where his distorted head displays in his reflection.

 

"Shit", His throat is rough, making his voice come out as a strained whisper, instantly evaporating in the ever present whistling of the wind.

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

 

"What's your problem?"

 

"You! You're my problem!"

 

"You have such a way with words. Poetic, really."

 

"Stow your shit! I've seriously had it with you and your suicidal tendencies--"

 

"--I don't have--"

 

"--Continuing to get in the way of the hunt! I get that you're--"

 

"Don't."

 

"Dean!"

 

"I'm not talking about this with you. Not now."

 

"Then when, Dean! Because im not always going to be there to save you when you decide it's not worth the effort to avoid getting shot, or stabbed, or--"

 

"Hey! Easy there, I'm going to be fine."

 

"I'm serious, Dean, you almost died!"

 

"So am I. I'm not going to die, I promise you that. Who else would be there to look after your stupid ass."

 

"Dean--"

 

"I promise I'll be more careful, okay?"

 

"You better, I can't lose anyone else Dean, not after--not after we finally got it all back."

 

After I got you back

 

"I know Sammy, I'm sorry."

 

I'm sorry I'm not the same person you thought I was. I'm sorry I'm not as strong as I should be.

 

"Come on, we better get out of here. You're definitely going to need stitches, and I'll need to look at your head, make sure you're not concussed, and I need to treat--"

 

"Yeah, I got it mom."

 

"You're such a jerk."

 

"Bitch."

He hastily pushes his thoughts aside as he turns and resumes his pace through the trees.

 

Or, he attempts to.

 

His abrupt movement only causing his muscles to tense up and spasm in protest, making him lose his balance. He twists his body to try and angle himself to relieve the oncoming damage to his chest wounds. Although, the prompt twist of his leg only leads to him tripping over is feet, landing flat on his face in the snow.

 

In an instant, the cold recedes, leaving only a blinding heat to course through his blood. As if a fire had been lit inside his intestines, burning him from the inside, while his body freezes, consumed by the frigid wrath of the winter weather. He screams, although the sound is swallowed up by the furious wind storm. His vision swims as he struggles to control his breathing to a regular rate.

 

"Sit."

 

"What?"

 

"Were talking about this. Right now."

 

"Talking about what?"

 

"You know what."

 

"Listen, as much as I'd love to play twenty questions with you, I just got back from a hunt. I drove all night, and I'm exhausted--"

 

"You broke our promise."

 

"What? Sam, listen, I've been driving for ten hours and--"

 

"You promised me that you were going to start looking out for yourself, start prioritizing your own well being. You told me you would stop making impulsive, reckless decisions that could get yourself killed."

 

"Yeah, and I have been. Do I look dead to you?"

 

"How'd the hunt go?"

 

"Really, are we seriously going to talk about this now? Can't this wait till later, when I'm--"

 

"No, were doing this now. How was the hunt, Dean?"

 

"It went fine, if you really need to know. Jody helped me track the nest of vamps, had it taken care of in two hours flat. That's it, not much to it."

 

"Two hours to take out a whole nest? There must have been what? Ten? Twenty vampires congregating in the one spot?"

 

"There were eight. It was just a small nest, most of them were pretty young. None of them were ready to fight, especially against a hunter. Nothing I couldn't handle."

 

"Right, but to take on that many at once, on your own? There's no way you could storm in and take them out. You would need to spend a couple days stalking out the place, figuring out their schedules, to try and subdue as many individuals as you can before you take out the nest."

 

"Yeah, well, I knew I could handle it. It was an easy fight, most of them were too scared to fight back."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yes."

 

"A group of vampires let you storm their nest, and didn't raise a single finger to fight as you slaughtered them all?"

 

"Sam--"

 

"Jody called me."

"Did she?"

 

"Yeah, she had a slightly different story of what happened."

 

"What--"

 

"She told me how the minute you found the nest you didn't spend any time scoping it out. She told me all you grabbed was your machete and stormed in, antagonizing them to fight you."

 

"Well, I'm nothing if not bold."

 

"Jody also told me that after taking out a couple of them, they had you pinned down, ready to kill you. That if she hadn't stepped in you would have been killed on the spot!"

 

"That's really all just semantics--"

 

"Dean! Listen to yourself for one second!"

 

"Look, I got the job done. Plain and simple. Dont try and make this into a big deal."

 

"Dean--"

 

"It's done. I'm going to bed."

"What if I had done that?"

 

"What did you say?"

 

"What if I stormed a nest alone, and barely managed to come out alive? If I was continuously jumping into hunt after hunt, without taking a moment to breathe in between? If I was constantly having a brush with death? Wouldn't you care?!"

 

"Of course I would!"

 

"Then why are you acting like it's insane that I actually give a crap!"

 

"Because--Because this is different."

 

"How could this possibly be any different?!"

 

Because you're more important! Because you're the smart one! The one who should be protected from all the bullshit this world has to offer! Because I'm already gone. There's nothing left to be saved!

 

"Because, it just is."

 

"Dean, we need to talk about this. Please, if not for me, then do this for yourself."

 

"Sam, I already told you--"

 

"--That you can't talk about it now? Well, guess what? Now seems to be all we've got! Cause every time you go out on a hunt I'm always left wondering if that's the last time I'll ever see you!"

 

"I'm not going to die."

 

"Why can't you just talk to me? This is obviously hurting you if your letting it seep into the hunts. Dean, I've tried giving you space, but obviously this isn't something you can do on your own, so you need to let me in."

 

"I was right, you don't need a fancy Harvard diploma to become a great lawyer. You really have a natural talent for arguing and prying where it should be left alone."

 

"Dean--"

 

"What, Sam? What do you want me to say? You want me to say that I'm an idiot? That I made a mistake? That I'll handle it better next time?"

 

"I want you to be honest with me! For once, I don't want a sarcastic reply, or you deflecting. I want you to be real with me for once!"

 

"You want me to be honest?"

 

"Yes!"

 

"Fine. Why dont I start by telling you what a fuck up I've become!"

 

"What--"

 

"You want me to be honest, the reason I keep jumping into hunt after hunt? It's because it's the only time I can feel like I'm doing something with my life, helping people. Not just sitting around disappointing you--and Cas! It's the only time I can feel anything real! That I can still do something other than hurt and let down the people who rely on me! And I know, that's all I seem to be able to do lately, and that you can't stand to even be around me anymore. That it would be better for everyone if I wasn't here anymore--"

 

"Hold on--"

 

"All I seem to be doing is putting you in danger--and--I hate myself for it--I hate that you have to see this--and I--I cant--I need to feel somethi-ng--and I know t-his is what I des-erve afte-r--"

 

"Breathe Dean!"

 

"I-I-I ca-nt--im so so--rry--I cant ev--en--"

 

"Hey, Dean, it's okay. You're okay, you have nothing to be sorry for. I just need you to focus on breathing right now."

 

"I-I--can-t--"

 

"You can, I know you can. Were going to do this together, okay? You can do this, just breathe with me."

 

"O--kay."

 

"Alright, your going to breathe in through your nose and hold it for three seconds. Then were going to exhale for five seconds. Okay, breathe with me. In. One. Two. Three.

 

"And out. Two. Three. Four. Five.

 

"You're doing great, Dee. One more time for me, okay? In--"

One

 

Two

 

Three