#self indulgent rant of EVER

[moretheta]

Honestly at this point i'm pronouncing "hxh has no noteworthy female characters" to be an ice cold, bottom of the barrel take. 

Come on a journey with me. 

Anyone who knows me in real life (which is hopefully almost no one on here) knows how insane I am when it comes to female characters getting shafted in media- and in shonen manga specifically. No doubt a side effects of being a girl who's favorite character was sakura in the 2015 naruto fandom- but that's another story. The point is I'm not coming at this from a "boo hoo why so woke" standpoint, or an "it's really not the deep" mentality. I care about this shit- truly i do. which is exactly why the way people talk about this issue bothers me so much. 

I distinctly remover being 13 or so when I saw HxH pop up on netflix (or some other streaming service, i don't remember) and looking at the title card with Gon, Killua, Kurapika, and Leorio and thinking "huh. no women?" bc damn, even nart had women (they were written misogynistically, shafted from the narrative, and treated like fucking pariahs by fans... but they were there), and at the time i had a disease where I couldn't dedicate time towards watching something unless it had a prominent female character for me to latch on to. that disease is called ~being tired of misogyny~ and i'm still a carrier to this day. so this past version of me wanted to do some research, so i looked up something like "does HxH have female characters." I saw one of two responses: 1) sadly no. and 2. no, shut up snowflake.

I honestly don't remember what finally pushed me over the edge to start watching it, but i'm so so glad i did. had several queer awakenings. a very formative time for me, etc. aaaaaallll that is to say: I get it. I’ve been there. i don't withhold criticism from a show just because i like it. 

Because it's true that HxH had no female characters... in 1998, when it's started it's serialization. like there were a few background women and also Mito, but that's it, that's all we got. and for a while that's what we would continue to get: every female character introduced seemed to exist as a cog in the wheel of one of the main male characters' storylines. even characters who i love very much and think have a lot of potential, like Canary, only seemed to show up briefly to supplement Killua's narrative and then leave. all of this is true. 

But the thing people need to realize about Hunter x Hunter is that it has been going on for a long time.  The chimera ant arc concluded it's serialization in 2012. and with the hiatuses that became necessary due to Togashi's health, it meant publishing continued really slowly. this current arc of the manga- the succession war- has been going on since 2017- (arguably longer, if you count the expedition arc as a prelude which i personally kinda do), but either way we have over half a decade of real time years that have passed. and one of the things i really admire about Togashi is his ability to grow as an author- to take in feedback and improve where he needed to improve. We can see it, for instance, in his history of writing queer characters- trans characters in particular. See this great video for a further breakdown.

There’s more to be said on this topic but that’s for another day. This isn’t an “in defense of Togashi” post, he’ll be ok. It’s the female characters themselves that I must rise up and defend. I fight an endless war on an empty battlefield, population Me, and this is my life’s purpose.

What I am trying to say is this: HxH is not the same series it was in 1998. It’s not the same series as it was in 2011. And what we have seen as the series progressed, was the introduction and elevation of more and more interesting female characters. This has culminated in what very well might be my favorite arc in the series -unfinished as it is- the succession war. and, without giving away any spoilers, I just have to say……

THERE ARE SO MANY WONDERFUL WOMEN. DO YOU SEE THEM?!!? DO YOU SEE MY BEAUTIFUL WIVES?!? MY LARGE AUTOMOBILES MY-

I cannot fathom how anyone who is caught up with the manga continues to parrot this take. Why would you say that. Why would you do this to our women. There are soosososo sososoooo many fantastic female characters, old and new, and more are added literally every chapter because togashi loves it when I (me specifically) have to make more flashcards. There are female protagonists, antagonists, supporting characters, antiheroes, etc. women with all different kinds of personalities and motivations that don’t feel like a copy-pasted trope. Women who (gasp!) come in different shapes and sizes!?!? Women who don’t fit the traditional standards of beauty are just as important and just as beloved as those who do. and because I’m a crazy person I have gone around and calculated “screen time” (page time?) as well as ratios of male to female characters and folks the numbers are looking good. There was a point in time when I tried to memorize the names and faces of every single female character on the wiki (see above note on flashcards) because again, I’m a crazy person, and it just made me realize how incredible this ensemble cast is looking right now and how excited I am to see more of them. I am the succession war’s biggest glazer so yes, obviously I come with a bias; but here me when I tell you this: you want more well-written, prominently featured, multidimensional female characters in your little shonens (bad place to look, but unfortunately I am the biggest offender of this) please for god’s sake. For god’s sake read the manga.  

So yeah. Sick and fucking tired of seeing people say “HxH has no women” They’re there babe!!!! They’re there!!! You wanna say some shit like that, at least put a caveat of *up until the end of the anime so that people know that information is eight years out of date. yeah watch me be petty. It just astounds me that someone could look me in the eyes and tell me that Melody, Bisky, Theta, Morena, Oito, Woble, Kacho, Fugetsu, Camilla, Machi, Pakunoda, Alluka, Komugi, Kite(yes welcome), Cheadle, Canary, and now Longhi have no importance in the narrative.

It’s true that there is always a time and a place for criticism…  but why does it seem like there’s only five of us trapped in here in this room who are excited to talk about the potential for Theta x Vorksen work situationship... on the ethics of Morena's class war, or an Oito Phantom Troupe connection, or the thematic implications of the madonna being juxtaposed with the antichrist and also maybe satan. Yeah so we're trapped in this room and it's great but occasionally I'll hear shouting from the outside and it's some horrible take or the same unfunny, super gross joke, or some guy who thinks netero setting off a nuke was "peak aura" or smth. And we're still in here, beckoning, offering shelter from the storm.

All you gotta do is open the doors and start taking notes.

[glossysoap]

i need a ‘mafia/stalker/just generally obsessed with reader au’ but one where the 141 want to make a list of everyone who’s wronged you and you actually respond with names 😭 whether you say it in a joking manner or not, they don’t care.

they’re jotting all the names down.

[k1rameki]

ayana art dump :] ive been super stoked about ratnf's return to twitter so ive been drawing her nonstop!

also, tabi and aldryx cameos teehee

[cuteniaarts]

Greyscale Midori sketch because I’m low-key artblocked

[spiritforestwrit]

pulled myself out of a whole bad flashback by thinking about self-indulgent fire emblem aus :3 autism for the win

[hatterladz]

Okay so spoilers for Inky Mystery Chapter 349 just my thoughts and feelings

Finally Canola says what I've been thinking do I think what she's doing is right? In a way YA but from a point of the narrative where we know how badly things will go for Boris if he's NOT on the quest? No, also not god for him mentally to be again separated from his only source of family

But from the perspective of "You can't take a 14 year old on dangerous life risking adventures or leave him home alone for months while on said adventures 🧍‍♂️" YA NO THAT'S SO FAIR I was SO frustrated Boris went into the Labrynth

"He would've gone anyway" THERE WERE OTHER FUCKING ADULTS???? OSWALD??? MICKEY?? TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM FOR RUNNING AND STOP HIM?? CMON MAN THAT'S A CHEAP EXCUSE YOU COULD'VE AT LEAST TRIED

Also it's also why you would have a very important discussion and talk and sit down with Boris to explain things and come to some sort of COMPROMISE maybe have him do something AT THE HOTEL, sorry man I am anti child endangerment even if it makes them upset

Anyway my frustration about that aside I'm wondering if getting the adoption settled means also getting some resolution between Holly and Canola on the way, I doubt Holly's going to sit this out after hearing that

Also speaking of Felix leaving things up to Boris when are we gonna hear about Boris again? Last I saw was a vague mention in Cup's apology chapter and Bendy's date chapter with Allison [I straight up do not trust that girl, love her tho]

[Speaking of why is Canola avoiding any and all mentions of Holly or not contacting her? I get their relationship is strained but-]

I do genuinely hope this gets situated, I knew SOMETHING was going to go wrong with the adoption I just thought it was going to be Bendy, turns out it's technically Felix, maybe this will be Felix's time for growth?

The zany comment was underhanded but Canola doesn't stike me as the type to be dishonest entirely just based off her talent, work and her daughter, which makes me wonder how this will push Felix's character development will he shrug it off or do some deep thinking? I'm genuinely curious

[eli-writes-sometimes]

UGHHH ive just reached a point in planning something where i have to choose who i want the protagonist to run into and its really annoying me

on one hand theres the canon character who i originally imagined it to be, who has a tragic backstory so a bunch of potential for reveals and stuff. the only drawback is that i cant stop feeling embarrassed even though NO ONES GONNA READ IT

and then i could take the easy way out and just make a new character with a smimilar concept but none of the backstory just to stop me from feeling embarrassed about putting a charaacter that already exists into a universe that they exist in

[aquariium-ediits]

Lucio (Overwatch 2) Stimboard, Requested By Nobody (Self Indulgent)

Notes; Another wheel thingy, yippee! Yes I hate Blizzard too but you gotta admit some of the characters are just so <33 (not in the f/o sense)

💚 🐸 💚 / 💚 🔊 💚 / 💚 🐸 💚

[the-lady-general]

Every time I remember Supernova Part II my EYES are rolling so hard I have to pick them up from THE FLOOR. "What is it now, the lady general." I'm grumpy about how Paramount are treating Prodigy, so I'm finally posting a rant I've been brooding on since January, that's what.

Behold this paragraph from Memory Alpha:

In 2384, Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway took on Dal R'El, Jankom Pog, Rok-Tahk, Murf, and Zero under her wing as warrant officers in training, as a compromise, due to Starfleet Justices refusal to let them formally enroll into Starfleet Academy as they felt it was unfair to the Federation citizens already on the waiting list. (PRO: "Supernova, Part 2")

They're minors.

Does Starfleet not have a cadet programme for minors.

Does it *have* to be Starfleet Academy or are protagonists too good for enlisting.

Can they not apply through the usual channels. Are protagonists too good for waiting lists.

Is this criminal court responsible for Starfleet Academy admissions.

Is that not in fact a problem for the admissions board, which can then decide what to do with these children's now existent criminal records.

At least one of them is a citizen of a UFP member world.

What is their citizenship status anyway.

Does anyone give a fuck that these minors are victims of sentient trafficking and forced labour.

What the FUCK are interstellar salvage laws like that the kids are accused of theft *for bringing the Protostar back to Earth*. That's the *opposite* of theft.

On what bloody grounds are they accused, judged, and defended by Starfleet in a court martial. Is that not a massive conflict of interests.

These guys have been shitting in a bucket for 4-6 weeks, how *dare* Starfleet put them on trial without giving them time to see a counsellor.

Can the right honourable judges please point to the investigation over whether or not the Protostar was stolen and if so by who. Can the right honourable judges please point to the outcome of the investigation where it says whether a crime has been committed and if so by who. No? That's what I fucking thought.

All I'm saying is if they don't put Chakotay on trial for gross negligence or whatever before letting him like get a change of clothes and some counselling like he deserves, I'm going to cause public disorder outside Starfleet HQ for the blatant favouritism.

THESE ARE CIVILIAN REFUGEE CHILDREN OH MY GOD WHAT ARE THEY DOING WITHOUT PROPER LEGAL REPRESENTATION

Janeway is not proper legal representation (I love her but there are trained and experienced specialists for this kind of thing) WTF DID I JUST SAY ABOUT A CONFLICT OF INTERESTS

Is Tellar just going to accept that Starfleet put one of their citizens on trial with no time for a proper investigation into the alleged crime, no proper legal counsel, no time to follow procedures for asylum seekers/temporally displaced persons/trafficking victims/orphaned minors.

Speaking of Jankom: How come he can be put on trial with his crusty old DIY cybernetics? Is the multi-mitt safe? Is Zero's containment suit going to fail mid-trial and kill whatever braincells remain in the Starfleet judges? Did Gwyn fully recover from her amnesia? Is Dal's genome stable? Is Murf capable of following the trial and can the court understand his testimony? Did the forced hard labour disabled kids get medical attention at all before being marched into this farce? Does anybody know?

Speaking of farces: Does anybody care about the breach of the Romulan Neutral Zone? The Romulans maybe? Is there a Romulan diplomat who cares about that? No?

Speaking of unlikely stories: Are there witnesses? Like, ANY witnesses? Janeway? The legal defence of the accused is the only witness the court has bothered to invite? Nobody else? The Romulan delegation that had two people killed by the accused? The Kazons that had two people killed by the accused? The slavers that abducted Zero? The survivors from Jankom's sleeper ship? The Enterprizians that had their planet polluted for over a century by Starfleet?

Are they going to put the Enterprizians on trial for stealing the Galileo?

WHYEVER NOT?! MAKES AS MUCH SENSE AS ACCUSING THE KIDS OF STEALING THE PROTOSTAR DOESN'T IT?! SPOCK'S ALIVE SURELY THEY COULD PIN THE SLOW AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH BY WARP PLASMA/DILITHIUM RADIATION OF A BUNCH OF ENTERPRIZIANS ON SPOCK BEFORE REMEMBERING HE HAS DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY AFTER TWO MINUTES OF JOKINGLY INSULTING HIM IN COURT. DOES THAT SOUND FUN? DOES THAT SOUND LIKE A GOOD EPISODE? MUCH TENSION. SUCH CHEAP. VERY WOW.

This ethics problem is about to become an engineering problem right bloody fast as I'm pelting the idiots at Starfleet's JAG office with hammers.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Incomplete pouf hypermobility masterpost

[theswedishpajas]

I’m in the works of making an undertale AU and I’m so excited to share it when I have enough art of it but I’m also so anxious cus it’s REALLY self-indulgent-

You’ve technically seen a thing for it already and people haven’t made a riot about it so far so maybe I’ll be safe to share the whole thing eventually-?

[dinsdjrn]

me: im gonna write a drabble

also me: 2.4k words of lore

[everwisp]

oh, I did a thing

[nvuy]

oh, the eldritch horror! — scar

summary. venturing out in the woods to clear your head was supposed to be relaxing, so why is this twisted abominable nightmare of a beast growling in your face?

notes. i rewatched shrek because i was bored and i snatched the donkey & dragon scene right out of it. but like, instead of a dragon, it’s literally baphomet. does this count as monsterfucking bc idkkk… anyway yeah it’s like scar but his goat form. i thought it would be funny. this is just painfully self indulgent.

idk wtf is going on in wuwa but my brain shut down when this loser came on screen and started ranting about shepherds and sheep. whatever you say beautiful.

warnings. scar, very minimal crack (it’s inspired by shrek. idk what to say bro…)

This has to be the worst day of your life.

The creature snaps its drooling jaw in your face.

It looks like a goat from Hell. Like a black sheep that’s wandered from its herd. You can’t see much of its face, but the ginormous pair of curled horns are sharp at the edges. The cartilage could easily slit your throat in half if you were to make one wrong move and lean in too close.

Four yellow beady eyes glare at you, way too close to your face. You can see your warped reflection along rectangular pupils. Giant ears peeled back towards its skull, pierced with two matching golden earrings in the shape of crosses that are the size of your hands.

You laugh nervously in its face.

Oh, god, it’s going to eat you alive. You know it.

You try to take a step back, but you’re met with the roots of a tree at your feet and the trunk digging harshly into your back.

Bad idea. Oh, this was all a bad idea. The bad luck streak should’ve been an indicator right from this morning: you slept through your alarm and were subsequently late for work, you fell over twice at work, you lost your house keys, and then you decided to clear your head and go for a walk.

You ended up venturing off deeper into the trees to search for herbs to help back at the clinic in Jinzhou. You don’t even know which direction the city is anymore.

And now, there’s a creature—and it can’t be a Tacet Discord—growling and snapping its teeth in your face. It’s huge. It’s way too big to be absorbed, let alone actually taken down with brute force. Whacking it with a stick certainly didn’t help.

All that did was manage to slash a decent gash into one of its hind legs and anger it even further.

It snarls at you.

A bead of sweat rolls down your temple.

Uh oh.

“Oh, what large teeth you have!” Your voice comes out shaky, and you’re trembling as you stare up at it.

A low guttural noise escapes from the depths of its throat, and its jaw unhinges.

Your eyes pinch shut. “I-I mean, white, sparkling, teeth!” You let out a nervous huff of laughter, your words almost incoherent. “I know you probably hear this all the time from your food, but, you must take really good care of those pearly whites, ‘cause that is one dazzling smile you’ve got there!”

The creature’s slitted eyes narrow in suspicion. Its jaw snaps closed as it pulls only a few inches away from your burning skin.

You quickly wipe your sweaty palms on your hands.

You clear your throat. “I’m so grateful that your beautiful smile will be the last thing I ever see. Y’know… when you eat me… ‘cause I’m sure you must be hungry!” You prattle on and on, and your knees are weak and wobbly. “Not that you have to eat me. I’d prefer if you didn’t, but– yeah! So grateful!”

You were praying to whatever Gods could hear you that your mindless babbling saved your life. Or some superhero came through and took this thing down in one swing.

The giant creature seems to preen at your words. Its sharp teeth retreat behind a now closed mouth. Its horn suddenly don’t appear as sharp as they were before, and the curl of them against the creature’s skull look softer and more defined. They were different to the ghastly sharp edges you saw before.

Your legs can’t keep still. Your hands interlock in front of you to try and quell the shaking. Your bones feel like they’re vibrating beneath your skin.

You try to control your breathing. “Beautiful hair–fur, by the way.” You raise a finger to point at the greyish locks behind its horns. For such a mangy beast, its hair looked a bit silky. Maybe unwashed, and it was full of twigs, but slightly soft. “And I smell a hint of berry…” Lie. “…Did you… wash it?”

Stupid question.

You try to control your breathing.

Maybe the beast isn’t a beast. Maybe it’s a nice creature cursed with being ugly.

The creature is still eyeing you.

Can it understand you? Or is it trying to survey whether you’re a threat or not? You can’t tell. You heard somewhere that dogs don't like when people look them in the eyes. You didn’t even know if that was true.

The correlation is stupid, regardless. This beast is far from even remotely resembling the canis genus.

Its head is huge, even when its jaw is shut. Its nostrils are the size of your hand, and it breathes puffs of hot air in your face. You reel back further into the tree. Your stomach drops impossibly lower than it already has. Your skin is soaked in sweat.

The creature bumps its nose against your sternum and inhales sharply.

You glance to the left.

Is it… smelling you? Is it trying to figure out if you’re edible? Oh, Gods, then you’re embarrassing stalling would have been for nothing. What a day. As if it couldn’t get any worse than it already had been.

You can't outrun it. It’s huge. By the time you’ve sprinted ten feet away it can simply lean over and pluck you by the back of your collar and pop you into its mouth.

Your insides churn at the thought. You were afraid you’d hunch over and vomit out of fear on the creature’s face.

Bad plan? Maybe then it wouldn’t eat you, at least. Or maybe it would. You were afraid to take the chances, and swallow the bile rising up your throat.

Its oddly bent arms smash into the dirt on either side of you. A low garble echoes in its throat and bubbles with saliva.

It sounds like a croak of sorts.

The lamb creature bumps its sharp snout into your stomach. Those beady eyes blink—you notice it has vertical eyelids. Gross. It’s like a giant lizard, almost.

Its teeth are gone for the moment, though, so it offers you a moment of reprieve. Or maybe it’s trying to calm you down so your blood tastes sweeter, or something. Sweat continues to roll down your neck, and you swallow the giant lump in your throat.

The red sashes of the torn clothes on its back pull with its form, ripping at the seams even more.

Your eyes flit nervously to the wound on its leg. It’s a small smear of crimson against grey fur, barely noticeable, and you’re sure the creature can’t even feel the sudden pain from it anymore. It seems to be walking fine, and it does not exhibit any discomfort when it shifts its weight to each hoof.

You wince when you spot the gnarly gash you left on it.

The lump in your throat doesn’t dislodge.

You try to ignore it.

The creature’s long neck pulls into view again. It’s watching you silently.

You figure if it wanted to eat you, it would have done so already. Hopefully you seemed inedible to it. Maybe it was an omnivore or something—but those sharp teeth were definitely not just for chewing on leaves and berries in the wild.

Morphed fingers dig deeper into the dirt beside your feet.

You stare into its eyes.

Its still eyeing you.

Huh.

It’s… curious. It blinks slowly, one eye at a time, as you slowly, and so slowly, slower than you’ve ever moved in your life, raise your hands.

Then, you navigate around its giant leg beside you and step towards the gash on its hind leg. Your foot tramples onto a twig and it snaps loudly. The creature watches you with lidded eyes, but there’s a flash of teeth in warning. You gulp.

You kneel before its wounded leg and pull your satchel from around your waist.

The creature does nothing. Its teeth disappear behind its mouth again.

“Sorry,” you whisper with a wince. You hope it can understand you’re not a threat. Maybe it’s scared of you. Wouldn’t that be a spectacle? A giant predator, some eldritch abomination in the middle of the woods, scared of a little flesh bag. “Um… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just scared, y’see?”

You had meant to hurt it, but you’d spit little white lies if they saved your life.

The creature blinks creepily again. That uneven slow blink, like a frog.

You’re more disturbed than anything. You’re amazed that ginormous tongue locked behind its teeth hasn’t come forth to lick its sclera wet yet. Then you’d be more convinced.

You try not to let it show. “But, um…” You dig around in your satchel before you pull out a small glass vial. “I have something that might help.” The vial is made of a crystal glass with a cork in the rim. The liquid inside is a deep blue, like the blueberries growing on the nearby bushes, or like thick ink.

The creature lowers its great head down towards the bottle.

It stares at your hands expectantly before trying to sniff around the glass.

Hesitantly, you remove the cork and hold the rim closer to one of its nostrils. It most certainly doesn't smell good; it’s made up of a mixture of herbs and alcohol, but you know for a fact it does a damn good job at shielding wounds from infection. It was fool-proof medicine; you made it. And you don’t settle for less than perfection.

The creature seems displeased with the scent for it seems to flinch away from the rim. It does not swat the medicine, but it turns its head away.

It looks grumpy.

“It might help the bleeding.” It will help the bleeding. You know it will. It will heal the entire wound. But, you didn’t come here to gloat, so you keep your lips zipped shut. “It’ll sting, though.”

The creature makes a noise. It does not sound like a warning, nor an acceptance of your words. It’s simply an acknowledgement, like a toneless hum, but you also don’t speak eldritch lamb, so you could be far from the truth. For all you knew, it was hyping itself up to open its mouth around your head or take off into the trees.

Alas, it does neither of those things.

It sits back on its hind legs despite its wound and then falls into the grass.

Its eyes shut and it stills.

You blink in wonder.

Did it… die?

Nope. It’s still breathing. Its nostrils flare with every breath. There’s a giant pitiful feeling of disappointment, but at the same time, a smaller pang of relief in your stomach.

Your hand reaches out to touch the tender and raw skin around its wound.

The creature remains still. Maybe it’s sleeping. It did chase you around the forest for a good long while.

You hum. It’s like a giant dog, you think. Like a scary, huge, dog.

You take loose cloth from your satchel and dab the medicine generously into the cotton until it soaks it thoroughly. You don’t have anything to properly clean the wound with, but it will have to do. You do have a wrap of bandages, though, and it’s better than nothing.

Gingerly, you press the soaked cloth to the tip of the wound.

The creature blinks its eyes open and snarls.

You try again in the spot next to it, gently pulling any flecks of dirt you see from the gash.

It hisses then, low and horrible, and you flinch away. It watches you cautiously, hind leg pulled towards itself protectively.

“I just need to clean it,” you say desperately. You know there’s a pleaful gleam in your eyes.

The beast tilts its great head towards you before it snorts and rests down on the grass again.

When you press the cloth back to its wound, it makes a noise, but it does flinch.

So, you work gently. Slowly, like you’re treading through thick murky waters. It feels that way. The creature puffs annoyed noises through its nose, but you dutifully ignore it, watching the shimmer of the medicine in the evening sunlight to make sure it was spread evenly over the gash.

When you’re satisfied, you take its giant hoof in your lap and wrap the bandages around its leg. The size of its calf takes up almost all of the roll, but you make it work, tucking the ends into the wrap. The creature does not deter away from the treatment.

You hope it isn’t too tight.

It’ll give the beast another good reason to close its jaw around your head.

The creature blinks its gross eyes open again, those rectangular pupils drawing thinner. It’s surveying the bandaging like it’s foreign; it probably is, given the creature has probably never received treatment in its life. You notice the ghastly scars drawn over its face.

Still, you’re frightened. The noises that pour from its throat are guttural and flagrant. It’s still huge, even as it lays in the grass. When it raises its head, it’s still taller than you.

You feel a drop of sweat slip down your spine.

It probably hasn’t eaten you because you smell unappetising. You’re thankful, internally.

You stay knelt in the grass, dirt staining your pants as you watch the creature warily.

Then, it coos. It’s snout bumps into your stomach and it coos. You flinch away from the noise, hands raised near your head defensively. Why is it cooing? Does it like you? That’s better than hating you, at least. The creature huffs and puffs against your stomach, and washes of hot air waver over your sweaty face.

You shakily rest a palm on the top of its snout, mindful of the deep scars.

The creature only stares blankly.

Huh. “You’re not so bad.” You swallow nervously. “You’re sort of like a giant puppy.”

The creature lets off a low garble. It sounds innocent, like a passing noise of pleasantries. Like it’s enjoying your attention.

Your hand smooths over the strange fur. It’s coarse between your fingers, withered with age and scars, but it still somehow retains a slight softness. It’s nice. It smells suspiciously like livestock, but that’s better than smelling of blood and sinew.

The creature drowns in the feeling of your hand against its head. The gold earrings are cold against your skin.

Then, it reels back.

You almost jump when its mouth moves towards your face before a long and slimy tongue drags up your cheek. You almost gag as saliva drips from your skin, but you try not to let it show. You shiver instead, mostly out of disgust.

The creature seems pleased though.

You’re glad to be of service. And to still be alive.

Nice puppy.

You try to ignore the slime stuck to your skin as you thumb over the creature’s horns. They’re enormous, much larger than the width of your arm, but the cartilage is so delicate, and you notice chips in the black curls.

It bumps its nose into your sternum and makes a noise.

When you say nothing, it makes the same noise, but it’s drawn out and higher, more irritated. Petrified, you stumble back slightly. You have a clear shot of running now. There’s no trees trapping you with this thing. You could try and make a beeline towards where you think Jinzhou is.

The creature stares expectantly. There’s a slow kiss of a blink, and hot puffs of air fan over your face and send jitters down your spine.

“I don’t– um…” You try to settle your trembling. “I’m not understanding–”

The great creature lets out a frustrated huff, and lowers its head towards you. You think not to place your sweaty palm on its snout for pets again. It doesn’t seem to warrant them at that moment, either.

It’s getting dark now, and you’re growing nervous again. Does it grow violent in the night? Is it warning you? Oh, God, maybe it’s going to pounce.

A cloying scent fills your nose. Your eyes refocus from the tears that melt along your bottom lashes.

You watch, mortified, as the creature warps.

Those giant hooves shrink in size, followed by an engorging shadow of smoke and red dust like sand. It burns your eyes and floods your lungs wrong, and you cough, fanning your face desperately. It stinks. It smells like metals and burnt soil. This mustn’t be good for your health, inhaling all this stuff.

The creature horns curl smaller until they disappear. You can’t see much of it, but what you can see is almost disturbing. It looks painful. The silhouette of the great beast continues to shrink, and those beautiful tresses of white and grey hair curl along what can be assumed to be a more normal looking face.

Its silhouette vaguely resembles a human, but there’s much too little to see you’re not quite sure. Black ripples down those long arms and pulls away the fur covering them.

There’s the snapping and straightening of bones. You almost puke at the sound. You force yourself to look away. Sweat pools in your throat like an oasis.

When you find the courage to glance back, the shadows then peel away from the inky red fog and dust.

You gulp.

It’s a man.

It’s the beast, and you know it is because the scars on the creature’s head match the lines and pulls of his skin. He’s devoid of fur now, and his hair is dramatically shorter, small curls imitating those giant black horns twisting around the now fleshy lobes of his ears and his neck.

His clothes are the same. Ruined and tattered, but still that red coat. His shirt is caked in dirt and his pants are torn where the gash is. It’s still covered by the rolls of bandages.

He is on his hands and knees in the grass. He looks exhausted, like he’s trying to recover from the most painful transformation you’ve ever witnessed in your life.

“Um…” It’s the only thing that can seem to form coherently from your mouth.

A grin cracks onto the man’s face. “Hi.”

You nod slowly in a greeting.

Your spine snaps rod straight in fright.

The man stands to his feet slowly. His bones crack and continue snapping as he moves, and he lets off an annoyed sigh before he stretches and pulls knots from his joints.

Then, he suddenly looks alive. “That’s better. God, have you ever been trapped in your own body?” You briskly shake your head, to which he scoffs playfully and continues, “‘course you haven’t! Silly me.”

“Are you–” You feel stupid for asking, but there’s something forcing you to say it. “Are you a Tacet Discord?”

The man’s face morphs to answer your question. “Do I look like a Tacet Discord?”

Well. He did. About five minutes ago. It takes effort not to respond with irked quips, eyes flitting towards your satchel that’s still resting by his feet where you had left it.

He notices you staring at it and kneels down to pick it up. The thin strap you swing around your body is pulled over one of his fingers like the bag is a foreign object entirely.

You figure he might try and rummage inside. He won’t find much if he plans to rob you.

Instead, his eyes narrow playfully at you. “You are so interesting.” He grips the strap of your bag tight and takes one calculative step forward. “Usually, humans bore me. They’re all cut from the same meat platter, after all.

“But, you…” A pleased, airy little giggle escapes his throat. “Oh, I like you.”

Oh, this is very bad.

That smile on his face says it all.

Very, very bad.

You sucked up way too much to the beast.

You’re in for it now.

You laugh awkwardly in return. You’re not flattered in the slightest.

You hoped the world ended at that very moment. That would fix the problem.

You clear your throat quickly. “I appreciate you not eating me, sir. Really, I do! But I need to get going now. It’s getting dark, y’see, and… and it’s not safe for me to be walking around in the dark…” You’re stalling again. It worked the first time. You hope it works here again.

That doesn’t appear to be the case.

The man watches you closely.

“C-could I have my bag back?” You curse yourself for letting the waver in your voice slip. It sounds hopeless.

As expected, he only snorts. “Nope.” He swings it over his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

You really need your stuff.

Your feet remain planted into the floor.

He’s scary. His smile isn’t normal. The scars pulling around his eyes make it so much worse, too.

His head tilts curiously to the side. He’s walking right towards you now. His eyes rapidly move from your face down to your legs, surveying every inch of you he could.

You want to fall through the floor and disappear.

“What’s your name, little lamb?”

Your heart spikes in your chest. He’ll follow you right back to the city, you know it. You can see it in his eyes, and his expression—where’s that stick to swat him off? Your eyes frantically search the ground as you move for some sort of branch to stave him off.

Your hands raise in front of you to keep him away, but of course your little frail body isn’t going to deter him in the slightest.

If anything, he only coos again.

You tell him your name reluctantly when your foot stumbles over a stray root. You don’t topple over. You can’t imagine what would happen to you if you had to start crawling away from him.

He repeats it once.

Then, his grin softens. “I like it.” It looks relatively normal now, like he’s not about to dig his teeth into your flesh. They’ve straightened up from how sharp they were prior, but you’re sure those canines could do enough damage. “I like you. You’re so nice. So small. So silly.”

You swallow hard.

He says nothing else.

Your brows knit together in worry. “What’s your name?”

His eyes flit down to himself as if he’s wracking his brain to remember. Then, he says, “Scar.”

Underwhelming. It’s like calling a kitten ‘Cat.’ You don’t voice your disappointment. At least his name is simple, and easy to remember.

Your eyes swarm to his bandaged leg.

He’s not even limping. The gash seems like nothing but a fleeting thought.

The man, Scar, hums thoughtfully, a nail pointed onto his cheek. “It’s not everyday you find a little white lamb away from its flock. It would be unwise to give you up to the other creatures in the forest.”

You swallow whatever courage you have left in your bones. “I don’t need protection, but thank you.”

He can keep your satchel. You are out of here.

You turn away from him this time and continue walking forward.

“Oh, but didn’t you just say it’s not safe for you to be out here in the dark?” His words taper off into a chuckle. His smile twists into something grotesque again. His arms are pulled open into some sort of mocking await of an embrace. “Come, little one. I promise I am gentle.”

You don’t believe him.

You’re sweating again. Hot ash clings into your lungs. You stifle the urge to choke on your spit in fear.

Your head turns back to watch him, suddenly alarmed. Gooseflesh raises on your arms.

Stupid.

Your foot catches onto a thick protruding root in the dirt again, but this time you do stumble to the floor. Your head smashes against the ground but you can’t pay it too much mind. You’re panicked, and ice rushes through your veins like blood.

You push yourself up instantly, but he’s quicker, and a foot stamps down onto your calf. It doesn’t hurt, no, but it’s firm enough to keep you there.

His knees hit the dirt on either side of your legs and you’re cornered. You try to sit up to the best of your ability, but he tuts as if he’s reprimanding a child. “Now, now. You’ve hit your head. You could be seriously hurt, y’know?”

“‘M fine!” You push on his chest when he leans down far too close to inspect you. “Get off!”

There’s no physical damage except for a small welt. You feel dizzy, but that’s to be expected.

There’s something alight in his eyes.

Excitement.

This is a game to him.

Scar lets you sit up, though he’s still very much straddling your lap.

That same wobbly grin pulls onto his lips.

Oh, gross. You should never have treated his wounds. Now he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him. You’ve caused some great beast to grow delusional because you wanted to be nice.

You’re never stopping to help lonely animals in the forest ever again.

You swear you see hearts bubble and pop from his head when he blinks at you. He hums a small giggle before his arms wrap around your neck and draw his chest into yours.

He squeezes you tight and you buzz with the excitement that radiates off his skin in heat waves. More and more hearts float from his head, and you’re sure his pupils are a shape to match.

“I want to keep you.”

He squishes his cheek against yours.

“Uh…” What the hell else do you say? Especially to this thing that’s swamped over you like a giant teddy bear. You can’t even breathe.

“So small. Are humans usually this tiny? And you’re so warm–”

You claw at his arms. His grip loosens over your neck.

He doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. Instead, he looks intrigued and experimentally squeezes around your throat again. “Oh. I always forget just how fragile humans are.”

You sigh in defeat.

Oh, boy.

This is going to be a long night.

[bloomingdog]

Price with an ADHD reader

So self indulgent!

John Price who feels self-conscious thinking you like Soap more because of your similar personalities.

Soap and you are a tumultuous pair, feeding off each other’s energy, you’re good friends, you hang out together just the two of you. He’s not jealous, especially not of Johnny, but he does feel a pang of self-consciousness at times, feels bad about not being able to keep up with you sometimes, about not being enough. He wouldn’t share those thoughts with you, more of an inside thing, he feels silly. Of course those doubts melt away as soon as you’re telling him about how your day went, about how much you missed him, about what reminded you of him. All the possible doubts he had leaving as he gets showered with kisses.

John Price who just stands and watches when you get the zoomies.

A sudden burst of energy has you walking up and down the house following John around, jumping from topic to topic to the latest song lyrics or idle dance move stuck in your head. He watches in amusement and tries to engage in your jumping conversation.

John Price who falls asleep during your late night yapping and still responds with nonsense answers while asleep.

“-And yeah apparently emus can’t walk backwards, don’t you think that's weird? How can an animal just not do that?” Your before-bed rant has been going on for longer than usual, inspired by a Wikipedia rabbit hole that still lingers in your phone’s history.

“Does Laswell know?” He mumbles.

“About emus?”

John Price who’s reluctant to lay on top of you if you ask. 

“Please, please, please it’ll feel good!”

“Love, I’d crush you.” He had gotten you a weighted blanket for this exact reason. “Ain’t the blanket enough?”

“No! Because the blanket’s cold and you’re so much better better!” He’s reluctant, your puppy eyes are working overtime getting him to agree, which he does, of course. 

John Price who just sighs and plays along when you ask him to wrestle you.

In your defense, it' was's a good way to get rid of extra energy or help while understimulated. He’s currently got you in the loosest headlock he can manage while you kick and thrash. 

“Are you tired yet?” No answer comes, just more kicking that makes him release you.

As you try to attack him again, John effortlessly picks you up and throws you on the bed, which earns him a fit of giggles followed by an attempt to tackle him that ends you back in bed.

John Price who comforts you if you ever think you’re too much for him.

Big tears are coming down your eyes and wetting your face, you couldn’t pinpoint where all these feelings came from. You’ve got your face against his chest, voice shaking as you explain how you feel.

“I’m just a lot, you know? And I need you all the time and you like being alone and i want to give you space and I try, but I’m too much and-”

“Okay love, c’mon, none of that.” He cut you off after probably the thirtieth ‘and’. “We need what we need, and we work ‘round that all the time, don’t we? You’re not too much, you’re good just the way you are.”

John Price who lets you use him as a human fidget.

You’ve been waiting in this queue for no more than 5 minutes and it’s still getting you impatient, he notices, of course. The rapid looking-around, your foot tapping are all tell-tale signs of it. He extends his hand to you, which you take, and begin fidgeting with his digit and gloves, it keeps you well occupied, concentrated in the repetitive moments as time passes.

John Price who <3

[senmiyaazx]

12 months and 365 days

Crowe x GN!Reader

context: memories of your first year spent in loneliness, and memories of your second year spent with crowe. (aka how you met crowe)

cw: a little self indulgent. mentions of bullying. self deprecating and social anxiety.

word count: 1673

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It's your first day.

You're very nervous.

Of course, you finished high school before. But college was different.

And you didn't have anyone you knew here.

It's okay. You reassure yourself. You just gotta save up enough money to pay the debt, make a few friends and graduate. It's easy enough, right?

It's... your third day.

You haven't talked to anyone yet.

It's alright. It's only your third day.

You'll be fine.

Besides, there's this cool person you've been sneaking glances at lately. Hopefully you'll build up enough courage to talk to them!

Something gnaws at your nerves.

It's been two weeks.

Two weeks since you came to this city.

Two weeks spent alone at a table in a busy cafeteria. Two weeks of sitting in the corner of the classroom as if you don't exist.

It'll be fine. You can get by with no friends. You just have to pay the debt, and you'll be back home like nothing ever happened.

It's fine.

Three weeks.

You're paired up with someone for a group project.

They're nice. Really nice.

You found out you share a lot of common interests.

They ask to be friends. You accept.

You're really happy.

1 month.

Oh.

They've forgotten about you.

It's okay. You expected it so it didn't hurt much.

It seems they already had an existing friendgroup before you.

It's not your place to be upset. You were strangers after all.

It's okay. Just focus on your job. You'll be home soon.

Five months.

Why don't they ask you for a pen? You're right here.

You have complete school supplies. You always take notes in class.

The person in front of you asks your seatmate for a paper. They don't have one.

You did.

Why don't they ask you?

Why don't you talk to them?

You can't. Because you're too anxious. Scared.

Fear of getting judged.

It's frustrating.

College isn't so fun when you're doing it to save your only home. When you have no friends.

Seven months.

You've gotten used to it.

Sure, you can talk to your group mates just fine. Act friendly and all that stuff. But it never lasted long. Nothing ever did.

It's nothing too concerning now. You accepted the fact you were too much of a coward to just talk and reach out to someone. You're an outcast, and it'll stay that way forever.

Even if your inner self begged to be able to rant about your interests, your hobbies, your troubles.

Two more years of this hell.

Before you knew it, you're in your second year.

First day.

Nothing unusual. You're still alone.

It's boring.

Four more hours till you go home.

Second day.

There's this guy who introduced himself to you.

He seems friendly.

He told you his name, but you forgot. Oh well, it's not important.

Not like you two will be close anyway.

One week.

He keeps talking to you.

You learned his name now. Crowe.

You weren't exactly a jerk either, and it was rude to show your obvious disinterest in someone, so you tried your best to put on a smile as you listened to him.

It's awkward. He's aware of the tension in the air.

You feel bad, but it's okay. Give it a week and he'll move on.

Three weeks.

He. Won't. Leave. You. Alone.

What's wrong with this guy? He keeps acting all buddy with you.

You don't know him. He doesn't know you.

It annoys you how he acts like he does. How friendly he is with you.

You're sure he has some sort of ulterior motive.

Ah, whatever. It's not good to assume. At least you have someone sitting with you at lunch. Even if you're a little irritated.

Four weeks.

You volunteered to be a helper at the school gardens. It's good. Extra credits and a place for you to hang out. Alone.

Now you no longer have to be in the cafeteria.

Five weeks.

He found out about the garden. Keeps pestering you about it.

"Can I join? Can I help? I wanna see! Let's eat lunch there together!" He says.

It's.. so annoying. But you felt bad for him, so you accepted. Grudgingly.

Now you have someone pestering you in your comfort spot. Great.

He tells you he didn't expect you to be interested in gardening. You told him you lived on a farm. He's curious, but you refuse to tell more.

It'll be a waste of time if he'll forget about you in the end anyways.

Two months.

He's still there. He's weirdly persistent on being your friend.

You're starting to doubt yourself now. Had you judged him too much?

Still, it's hard to act friendly now when you've spent an entire year being ignored by everyone on the campus despite your attempts to communicate.

He doesn't seem to mind. You feel weird.

For once, you allow yourself to soften a little around him.

Three months.

It's been a terrible week. Burnout has caught up to you. You're in an incredibly tight budget and you're nowhere near halfway to your debt.

Is there really hope for you? Your father?

Right. You're doing this for dad. The farm.

You can't give up now that you've come so far, yet...

The frustration and stress is too much. He noticed this, of course. He's always so observant when it came to you. Noticing all the little changes and details that nobody else did. Not that anyone else paid much mind to you in the first place.

Still. It's weird. It makes you feel overwhelmed and a little overstimulated.

And it's because of the stress, you think. It's the stress and anxiety that you've been bottling up for years— and ended up lashing out on him.

He's hurt. You know it. You feel incredibly guilty.

You fucked up, didn't you? You always did. Now you lost the only person who actually liked you.

It's all your fault.

Three months and two weeks.

You haven't talked to him since then, despite his attempts to reach you.

You're the first to leave when the bell rings. You lock yourself up in the garden when it's lunchbreak. You dash out the school gates when it's time to go home.

You've seen the way he looks at you. Worry and pain plastered all over his face. It makes your stomach twist. You're guilty. You're aware of how much of a jerk you're being.

But you have no choice. After all, you were born to be lonely.

I'm sorry, Crowe.

Six months.

It's been so long. You're sure he's forgotten about you. Like you expected. It hurts, yet you ignore the pain.

One day, however, you're cornered.

You've always been an outcast. One that's genuinely forgotten by everyone.

Unlucky as you were, you never had to experience bullies in your life.

And now..

One of them pushes your bruised body to the ground. You shake. They laugh at you. Fuck people and their greed for superiority.

You hate it. Hate this. Hate yourself. Why can't you just get up and fight back? Are you really going to let them step over you like this when you're already miserable enough?

C'mon. Get up. Stand up!

Someone yells from a distance. That voice, all too familiar. One that makes your heart drop.

"Crowe?"

It all becomes a blur. You're on the ground, frozen in fear as you watched Crowe take the hits for you. Defending you as if you've known each other for years.

Why? Why would he do this? You don't understand. You don't understand him.

It's so damn annoying.

Slowly, you stand up. There's a rock nearby. You grab it.

And throw it against the bastard's head as hard as you can.

He passes out. His other goons turn around to face you with a murderous glare, and you tremble as they approach.

"One more step and I'll scream so loud everyone will think you're a serial killer." It's a stupid threat. You have no guarantee it'll work.

To your luck, it does. They turn away with a 'tsk' as they pick their friend up. It seems they don't want to cause any more trouble than they already did. Hypocrites.

You immediately turn to face Crowe with a harsh glare, striding towards him despite the pain in your body.

You grab him by the collar, bringing him close to your face as you yelled, confusion and pain evident in your voice. Desperation. "Are you stupid? Why the hell did you do that?! There's literally no reason for you to defend me, so why?!" You shake him back and forth. You shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be angry at him when he helped you.

You're just.. so damn lost.

He doesn't mind the way you take your anger out on him when he should. He should be annoyed with you. He should be as mad as you for getting angry when he's the one who helped you.

Instead, he laughs. He fucking laughs.

"Because you're my friend!" He grins stupidly, and you have half a mind to punch him the way those bullies did.

You don't. Instead, you let him go as you felt warmth rush to your cheeks and all over your body. Till your heart aches and leaves a stinging pain in your chest. Till the tips of your fingers tingle and leave your palms sweaty. Till your knees feel weak and you sit down on the ground with your head held in your hands.

"You're.. so annoying, you know that? You're fucking insane." Your voice was shaky. Yet you couldn't help the smile that crept up to your lips.

He stayed. He didn't forget about you.

You have a friend. His name is Jericho Ichabod.

Three years — present.

You're in the greenhouse. Brittney and the others are somewhere in the garden, doing their own thing. You're glad they're enjoying this little space of yours.

Crowe's saying something about flowers. You don't listen much, simply staring at him as you nod and smile.

You have a crush. His name is Jericho Ichabod.

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a/n: i've had this on my mind since the update. unfortunately I don't have any ideas for a sol fic yet:(