#shitty wears them like a badge of honor

[be-bisexual-eat-hot-chip-and-lie]

and now he gets to see members of smh wearing scarves he’s made for them with so much pride and he feels so warm inside because he gets to take care of his people and keep them warm

Jack Zimmerman knowing how to crochet because in rehab he had to choose an activity so he chose that and now he makes little stuffed animals and scarves. And matching sweaters for him and Shitty :3

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

Leaving out how shitty of person Sakura is and how she literally never grows up. She was nasty at 8, nasty at 16, and continued to be nasty in her 30s when she became a parent...

People who genuinely don't like Sakura aren't sitting there disparaging her body, hair, or forehead. They're calling into question how her one goal in life was to become the wife of a boy she continued to disrespect for years. How she didn't take her job seriously and put her team in danger because of it, despite no one forcing her to become a ninja. How she continues to treat her own friends and even her daughter terribly.

Emotions?

You mean where she consistently invaded someone's personal space, refused to take NO for an answer, and then made his trauma about her contrived feelings?

Or how she invalidates everyone else's feelings in favor of her own and manipulates even her child's father, so he won't learn the truth of her behavior at home?

Ideals?

You mean the obsession with her looks and not training until Sasuke and Naruto almost die in front of her?

Or how even after that she didn't start taking things seriously until Sasuke left?

Or what about when all her character growth vanished because she got the chance to see Sasuke again and just stopped being helpful in the canon story and went back to being selfish and rude?

Dreams & Goals?

You mean the desire to be Sasuke's wife regardless of how many times he's pushed her away, told her she was annoying, and avoided her?

Or how her obsession with him was so intense she had to try and guilt trip him in the middle of a war for the sake of the world, into confessing non-existent love to her all because SHE claimed to love him?

Or how she was so attached to being an Uchiha wife that she wears his mon like a badge of honor on all of her clothes when he can't even force himself to wear it or even return to the village to see her and his kid.

Relationships?

You mean where she got the guy in the end, but still decided to be a sob story who did everything alone and then complained about getting no help?

You mean where she was hoping with everything in her being, that her new teammate would insult her supposed best friend too so she would be just as hurt?

Or is it how her obsession with a guy was so intense that she drugged her entire team and left them unconscious in enemy territory just so she could go off to see him to 'kill him' but still needed her drugged teammate to come and save her from being killed by him instead?

Or what about when she broke off her first ever friendship over her obsession simply because of hearsay?

Or what about when she taped her picture over the picture of her husband's friend, and then got angry because her daughter found out and dared to ask questions about it, so she threw a super punch at the space by her kid's feet and took the whole house down in the process?

Or what about that time where she was heavenly pregnant and decided to charge into a very dangerous situation, all for the sake of pride and not being left in her teammate's shadows as usual, and then literally put herself and her unborn child at risk?

Abilities & Strengths?

You mean how her stans try to act like she's surpassed her master by 17, and is better than every other woman in the series when she keeps getting curb-stomped and still needs to be saved by everyone else?

Like, no one is arguing that she hasn't improved as a ninja, cuz it's pretty damn obvious she did, but when y'all sit there being like, 'she's a goddess and Hinata sucks!' are you really being truthful? The enhanced punches aren't helping her all that much so all she's got is healing and even then, she's still not the best at it by adulthood. And she hasn't exactly made a name for herself as she never got out of her teammate's shadows... because she wasn't serious when it mattered.

Y'all brag about how 'Sakura won' when comparing her marriage to Ino's as if Ino isn't in a happy relationship. As if Ino doesn't have a good family unit and that Sai isn't a good father. Sasuke won't come back to the village and only talks to Naruto. Sasuke has never kissed Sakura but HAS kissed Naruto and a Dinosaur of all things. Sasuke didn't even know what his daughter looked like when he met her. When Sakura got stabbed while standing beside him, he didn't care, but when it happened to Naruto he asked after Naruto's well-being. Sakura got the guy she always salivated over, but she didn't actually win anything.

Your consistent need to degrade Hinata and Ino as characters to 'prove' that Sakura is somehow better than them, is also sus. Objectively, they have more character growth and better motivations, and while they might not be super strong and can't punch a house to smithereens in a tantrum, they're far better characters and have better relationships with the people in their lives.

But yeah. People not liking SH for all of these things that make up her character, means they are misogynists.

[captain-lovelace]

TE RFs are hateful morons so crushed under the weight of their own bigotry that they have lost sight of what it means to be kind and compassionate. They have chosen to attack, defame, harass, and try to legislate out of existence some of the most vulnerable people in our society. And they don’t care, and they wear that lack of caring on their sleeve like it’s a badge of honor. Their beliefs are rooted in hatred and no matter how much they pretend otherwise they will never ever be able to lie their way out of the fact that they are vile little bigots who want to feel justified for not giving a shit about human suffering.

If you are ever tempted to give a TE RF the time of day, if you are ever tempted to antagonize one publicly or respond to one: don’t. You will not convince them otherwise, any ridicule isn’t worth it and will only be used as a springboard to harass more trans people, and you’ll just expose yourself and others to how shitty they are. Do not interact. Block, report, tell your friends to do the same, and move on.

[riflebrass]

I keep seeing this poll floating around. "How many times have you changed your sexuality?" I didn't want to tack this onto the post but I wanted to rant about it.

The other day I was working on my local sister's computer. Distant sister called her. At some point in the conversation distant sister asked "so how is that weirdly asexual brother of ours?" Local sister corrected her saying that it's not weird and we should normalize it. Since both of them are really big on that alphabet community crap it turned into a big circle jerk about embracing alternative lifestyles and what great allies they are. By the time the discussion moved onto something else neither one realized that the question of how I'm doing was never answered.

I'm straight by the way. Always have been. Never doubted it. I just don't talk about my love life because I figure nobody cares and this kinda proves it. My sexuality only seems to matter in the context of their own diversity points. I'm white and I'm a man. They can't change either of those things, but if they can fool themselves into believing I'm not straight that's one less straight white male they're related to so they're winning!

Local sister once told me she thought I was gay. I told her I'm straight and I just never talk about it. The first time she called me "ace" we had this discussion again. I don't bother correcting her on it anymore because her memory is too shitty to remember we even had this conversation, and again those diversity points matter more to her than how I'm actually doing so it doesn't matter.

I just find it funny how this is a prime example of horseshoe theory. Their little corner of the political compass hates how the alphabet community and mentally ill are black sheep in their families for not being "normal". Now here I am being the oddball for not having some exotic identity or wearing mental illness like a badge of honor. The idea of what they want me to be supercedes the actual person who is in their lives.

[ideahat-universe]

TimTams

So I've been playing emulated games for a few years now. Loving it honestly. My pattern is playing a Pokemon Romhack and then a RPG that is not Pokemon.

Sometimes it's another monster tamer/collector but not always.

What it is, is constantly exciting and fun and there's no shortage of games to play. But that doesn't mean I'm not interested in adding more to the queue. One of these days I'll be able to afford the Steamdeck and when that happens I'll be playing some Monster Tamer games that Steam has on offer.

So I went shopping. I found the ones people mentioned during the Palworld toss up, Nexomon, Coromon, Monster Sanctuary.

I get to Temtem, and I see this.

What the heck happened???

I thought this game was good? A better alternative to play than Palworld which was a cheap knockoff that didn't deserve our time and attention?

Did any of that sound familiar?

Those seem familiar too.

It almost seems like people make Monster Catcher games and if it's mildly popular it gets compared to Pokemon and is called a "Pokemon Clone" and after the hype dies down everyone goes back to playing the latest Pokemon game, they don't even bother playing any other Monster Catcher game unless some Youtuber asshole makes a video about it with the label "it's Pokemon but better!"

I made that article where I said Palworld was mask off Pokemon and I stand by it and I can stand by it because Palworld is basically everything Pokemon doesn't really want to be, but secretly was for the years the devs couldn't figure out just what should and shouldn't be canonical in the Pokemon world.

But I just want to make the PSA that you shouldn't call things the X killer. Because that basically never happens. Franchises kill themselves. They don't typically get killed by a competitor.

A competing brand does something that the standard is lacking but the leading brand is also delivering a low quality product that people are discontent with and willing to move on.

Not to get political but the Bud Light effect that conservatives wear on themselves as a badge of honor is really more about how beer sales in general have been on the decline

Don't believe me? Here's an article from 2019 that more or less says that Domestic Beer sales were starting to slip.

People still drink beer though. In doing this research I noticed a rise in Craft beers so what's really happening is that leading beer brands that were the face of cheap, shitty beer that everyone drank because it was ubiquitous were now being reconsidered and the end result was that Bud Light was already a beer that people didn't like, they just used the boycott as an excuse to stop drinking beer, drink different leading beers (and liking it more than Bud Light!), or indulging in craft or different types of alcohol altogether.

So if we circle back to the beginning where we talked about "Pokemon Killers" the reality is that Pokemon can only kill itself and it will kill itself once there are poor sales resulting from being the face of mediocrity that everyone is willing to jump ship from.

The problem being is that even with Pokemon being mediocre it's not bad enough for people to rebel from the brand.

Look at the people in the comment section of that video. Does that look like an audience of people who are ready to stop drinking Bud Light?

I don't think so!

Really think about that trailer, no game play so it's worthless beyond telling us what the setting will be, Mega evolution will probably return but Mega Evolution is a controversial power up given that depending on the Pokemon, you could be subjecting them to an immense amount of pain just to win a fight (and competitively only a couple of Mega Evolutions really matter and you never need Mega Evolutions to win a fight in the campaign).

And lets be honest. If its just the same turn based system with very little else added on the side for flavor, you won't be getting out of this new game that you wouldn't get from a Pokemon Romhack (That includes Mega Evolutions).

Except, ya know. The Romhack is free. If you're a poke-maniac you own physical copies of gen 1-5 so you have the legal right to dump your game and patch it however you like.

You can do that or maybe even buy Palworld, or Nexomon, or Digimon, or TemT- Wait. Maybe not TemTem.

I mean that Magnakamen video does a decent job at explaining why a poke-maniac will never abandon Bud Light, but how about me?

What do I think?

Well, I don't play MMOs and given that this game came out as an MMO at around 2020 is ridiculous, because by 2020 it was already evident that MMO is a reaper genre. Most games in that genre die, forever.

Hey, you came up with a really cool idea for a Four Swords style game. You made it an MMO? DEAD FOREVER.

Hey, you came up with a really cool idea for a snowboarding game. You made it an MMO? DEAD FOREVER.

Hey, you came up with a really cool RPG that is like WoW but with a bunch of quality of life stuff in it. Wait, it's a WoW killer? DEAD FOREVER.

When you make an always online game that needs to have other people playing it for it to be fun you are asking for the game to die forever someday.

Ross Scott is going to court over this but that's a subject for another time, but the fact that the Temtem devs made a Monster Tamer MMO is actually quite dumb.

I get why they wanted to do that though they wanted to make a balanced competitive scene. Competitive Pokemon but not rife with cheaters and overburdened with hundreds of Pokemon that are unplayable in anything above RU, but making a game that is designed with competitive players primarily in mind is like making healthy cereal.

Just eat an apple forehead.

If you make a game with competent AI or possibly AI that can be modified by the player to suit their tastes, you don't need strong competition from some stranger who hacked their team together. You would play competitive for fun. You'd get your favorite creatures and then you'd pit them against your friend and his favorite creatures. Not a stranger, someone you know. When you play a competitive game with friends that's when those games are fun.

When you play competitive games with strangers. You become Tyler1.

That looks like fun right? Just sweating profusely over every little thing someone is doing in a competitive match and just ranting about the game balance and how the game is being ruined by the players, the devs, or both? And then if we aren't having this eternal struggle about how the game is being balanced the game is just dead?

Yeah, that's what really did TemTem in. Not the semantic bullshit that Mangakamen was complaining about that only someone who isn't ready to give up drinking Bud Light would come up.

What really killed TemTem was that making an MMO is a bad idea and making a game based around fostering a competitive environment is also bad.

It's okay though! TemTem is also becoming Vampire Survivors with TemTem Swarm. Not making a good single player TemTem, just making a spinoff TemTem.

Hm, we won't be adding TemTem to the queue.

[algolstare]

even though delphine irritates me i still have to defend her honor from shitty tes fans who 1. hate her because she is a wamen who didnt exist for their ego-stroking and made decisions that didnt revolve around how powerful and important itd make them, the center of the entire universe, feel 2. dont understand that "good writing" isn't about "everything goes exactly how you want it at all times and everyone makes perfect decisions at all times and all the villains wear "VILLAIN (EVIL)" as a badge and everyone who believes themselves to be good is actually good because this is how reality works guys it's not ReAlIsTiC for her to-" 3. say horrible misogynistic things about her & talk about their violent fantasies of terrorizing her into submission like as if that's a Normal, Well-Adjusted way to respond to even the most poorly written wamen character

[unhingedhearties]

So to recap, When Calls The Heart's lead actress Erin Krakow posted a photo on her Instagram for the first time since the actor's strike celebrating the end of filming the latest season. It was an innocuous photo of the ground and her shoes, plus mountie boots that belonged to actor Kevin McGarry. Some fans were happy and some fans…

You'd think Erin dropped the atomic bomb on Lucabeth fans with how some of them reacted. Phrases like "rubbing salt in the wounds", "a slap in the face", "insensitive", "distasteful" "offensive", "cruel" and "heartless" were casually tossed around. The consensus among unhinged Hearties was that Erin intentionally picked this photo, rather than one of her and actor Chris McNally, with the sole intent of mentally and physically hurting fans of the relationship between the fictious characters Elizabeth and Lucas.

Well if the shoe photo was Little Boy, this next one is Fat Man. A few days later Erin posted a short video of Chris comically jumping in the background and photo bombing her. So you would think that the same people accusing Erin of being malicious for NOT posting a photo of her and Chris would be ecstatic when she does.

Nope.

One thing these disgruntled Hearties can't stand is selfish, self-centered behavior and that's why you'll never see them act like that.

I'm not going to show each time this statement comes up because I've seen if a hundred times, but these people say they're not interested in the "teacher/mountie" story even though that's the entire point of the show and books. That's like watching The Sopranos and saying you're sick of seeing the "balancing being a mob boss with being a family man" aspect of Tony and just want to see episodes of him being a father to his dumb kids.

</3 ad nauseam

Aaaaaaand there it is. "YOU'RE AN EVIL, HEARTLESS WOMAN FOR NOT POSTING PICS OF YOU AND CHRUCAS! WE WANT TO SEE PICS OF YOU TWO TOGETHER" "NOOOOOOOOO! NOT LIKE THAT!" Whenever someone calls out their shitty behavior, they always try to wear it like a badge of honor but you know the second they get any kind of push back or people treating them the same way, they'll fold like a piece of paper and cry victim.

Literally sick you guys :(

"Why Erin Why??? We would have loved you till the end." Geeeeeeez. Pretty sure the Bible says a thing or two about not having false idols or something. They should follow it a bit more so they don't sound like scorned stalkers. A fight breaks out over whether Elizabeth is a stronk female character or weak. "Emotional cheating" comes up again, so take a drink. You'll notice this weird implication with some people that it's wrong to end a relationship if it's not working out instead of "trying to make it work". It must be nice that these people have never been or known someone in an abusivie relationship and be completely unaware at how harmful their words are.

Well gee-golly, it sure is a good thing that the other side of the When Calls The Heart fandom isn't exhibiting that kind of behavior (but if they are, it's totally justified because reasons). And let's not pretend there weren't a ton of Team Lucas fans making it known that they wanted Nathan paired up with Faith (a white woman) over Mei (an Asian woman). Weird how the majority of this "TPTB are RACIST BIGOTS for not pairing up Nathan and Mei" seems to have sprung up only after Elizabeth and Chris broke up. You'd think 90% of the cast on this show didn't exist since most of the Hearties only ever talk about the same 2 or 3 characters, but boy do they love bringing up the characters who aren't white when it suits them.

For some reason a lot of Hearties have gotten it into their heads that these two are never, ever going to share a scene together again. I'd actually be really impressed if the writers figured out a way to have a major character not interact with the lead.

Damned if you do post pics of Chris, damned if you don't.

Someone with some sense replies. Of course the unhinged fans can't stand it.

[cevans-is-classic]

Maybe I Should Get Some Sleep

Warning: Negative self talk, depression undertones, language, Tony Stark Angst.

18+ only, please.

Want some Marvel? Head here!

Want my Masterlist?

Staring at the television for hours on end causes your eyes to dry out, your mouth to become tacky, while your body lulls into a false sleep, leaving you paralyzed with your mind on repeat of every decision you’ve made. Your head keeps getting louder and louder, screaming at your mistakes at you until the world is spinning while your ears ring. 

Shitty t.v. helps. 

Watching people’s lives fall apart with a curated script to guide them through it, people slipping from a bar above an ocean on a secluded island while the world cheers for their favorites to starve a little longer. It soothes in ache that burns through your chest, leaving your pulse flat and matching the theme of spoiled America. 

Nothing can help with the hollow feeling in your chest. 

Tony learned that the hard way and continues to need a repeat lesson. 

This time, nothing was going to fix it. Nothing was going to drown out the sickness of the world that festers beneath his feet, reminding him again and again of the hurt he’s caused others, a weakness that cost people their lives, and arrogance that pushed those in his life away. Closes the door tight and turns out the light. 

A week in the dark squeaky wheels of Dum-e bring him bottles of water and packets of crackers while Jarvis repeats Survivor until Tony turns over to crumble into a ball. He stopped sleeping almost two weeks ago, leaning into moments of stillness, the mind never shutting off, the body never relaxing even after wearing himself out. 

All he can do is think of Steve’s eyes. Blue that rivaled a sapphire, laugh lines forming in the corner of his eyes, and the faintest freckles dusting his skin. Tony could spend hours looking for the waves of blue that shined when he laughed and grew dark when he took Tony in his arms. The last time he’d seen them — they’d been cold. Ice looked back at him with his arms crossed and a defiant set to his jaw. 

Tony didn’t raise a finger when he turned around and walked out the door. 

He dragged with each step he took inside the tower — the silence deafening, empty where there was once a friend’s family, laughter at the breakfast table, and video games in the background. Darkness in the space his Team once occupied.

He’d buried this aching hole of loneliness and defeat deep inside his chest, mind locked tight at the memories of silent dinners and empty rooms as Tony sang himself to sleep. Lonely was a personality trait for him — yet he believed he’d grown out of it. The reckless streak he carried like a badge of honor was dwindling down to short bursts and reconsideration. 

Or so he thought. 

“God dammit, Tony, we’ve talked about this! As a team! A family! You and I!” Steve threw his hands in the air. 

Tony leaned forward, fingers on the desk separating them. “I told you, all of you, I didn’t have a choice. Reed and I went over the math. We calculated all the risks and saw no way out of this with all of us on board. I needed to do this to keep everyone safe.” 

“You ever stop and think it wasn’t your decision to take care of us? Peter got hurt, Tony. Clint is in the ICU! if it hadn’t been for Pietro you wouldn’t have made it out of that fucking building!” Anger burned between them. 

Steve’s arms crossed heavy over his chest, jaw ticking with frustration, his cheeks red as he takes in sharp breaths through his nose. 

Tony looked at his hands with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to get anyone hurt, but I will not apologize for my decision. Someone had to be the one at the stand, and I was the only one who could do it. I did it to protect us. This.”

“I knew you’d say that.” He lifted his eyes to watch Steve turn on his heel and step towards the door, one hand holding it open as he shoulders slumped with a heavy head, “If you’d told me the truth — if you’d trusted me, we could have figure something out; this wouldn’t have happened.” 

“I told you, Steve, more people would have gotten hurt, and I wasn’t taking that chance.” 

Steve turned his head enough for Tony to see the cold ice in his eyes. 

The door was silent when it closed behind his husband. 

Hot water burned his neck, the steam of the showers clouding glass as he leaned into you, swirling around the room with a stifling cloud of water. If he stood here long enough, if he stood right here and let the burning water roll down his back, across his skin leaving a reddened path over his body — it could be the moment it all stops. He drowns inside himself. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve, about the anger in his eyes, at the thought of him walking past a television and seeing Tony standing before the governor as he shakes hands with men who’d rather see him dead than standing at congress. He’d seen tony locked his thumbprint in as his key to the Avengers roster and subsequent advanced individuals. 

They needed someone to take the fall, hold the brunt of the burden and carry the secrets of the world in his back pocket and Tony was the only one he trusted. 

That’d been the problem. 

He didn’t even trust himself — he’d trusted Steve. 

At least he should have. 

It’d been a group of inhumans who had attacked, who’d charged the compound in search of Tony to get their own answers. It’d been a kid that’d never fought someone before you grabbed Peter out of the air and snapped both his arms, the same kid who grabbed Clint by the throat and watched his skin bubble and burn beneath his palm as he yelled Tony’s name with venom. 

They’d been young — inexperienced — more of them had died that night, leaving the Avengers with young blood on their hands and Tony to blame. 

He’d deserved it. 

When he’d been a kid, no matter how many Nannies Howard threw money at, they’d left him before they’d learned his name. He’d been through tutors after tutors who huffed and went red faced when he corrected them in their knowledge, knowing he was right and using as a weapon against the ones who replaced his father. 

Tony learned how to fend for himself. How to bury his head in the sand while keeping his eyes wide open — he wasn’t a genius for nothing — yet the steps he took to protect himself pushed others away until he couldn’t tell the difference between a friend and a foe. Money solved most of his problems and drugs solved the rest, a hand full of people following him into his path with their hands outstretched to help him. 

He’d taken them for granted.

He took everything for granted. 

Even now, even with numb hands and an empty stomach, he stood by his own downfall. 

Carrying the burden of regulating enhanced beings without their willing consent was what he deserved. 

It’s where he thrived. Away from people, away from the world where he can handle his own problems and leave those he cares about alone — leave them safe. 

“Sir,” Jarvis dinged a soft alarm, “It’s been sixteen days and nine hours since you’d last consumed over five hundred calories. I must insist, Sir that you feed yourself. I will contact Miss Potts in three hours, as well as Captain Rogers.” 

Tony stayed where he was. Wet, cold, wrapped in a blanket with day old clothes and light fading to darkness around him. 

“Jarvis.” Tony mumbled, “Cancel all emergency requests.” 

“Sir-”

“Block out code 782-543: D.N.D.”

He counted the seconds before Jarvis replied, “Blackout protocol engaged, Sir.” 

Tony watched the ceiling again, blinking away burning tears and choking on the lump in his throat. 

“We’re a family, Tony.” Steve raised a shaking hand to cover his cheek, thumb tracing the gash above his brow. “We do this together.” 

He leaned into the touch, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Together.”

I would like to start by saying Tony Stark is my baby and I would burn the world to see him happy, but sometimes you need the angst.

This doesn't really follow any canon timeline. The mood inspiration is TV by Billie Eilish

[camspicvault]

Retirement isn't what you Think it Means

FANDOM: ANIMAL CROSSING NEW HORIZONS

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED: 2020-05-18

==

Walt didn’t normally get up this early but his back was KILLING him.

He wasn’t one to take pain meds for it either. The kangaroo was a holistic fella, or at least he liked to think so. The only medication were his stretches and the shitty sake he and Kabuki had imported in from the nearest mainland port. They still had friends there, despite being officially ‘retired’.

He was still a sleepy wreck, having spent all night lounging with Kabuki on the beach, talking about the good old days, when they were both young and stupid. Talking about the days when they were a couple of young idiots, their old fights and flings. Walt splashed his face in his sink, groaning and rubbing his graying muzzle fur with his calloused paws. Scars all over his arms, like badges of honor, were quickly covered up by bandages. ‘For training purposes’, he always told the Island Representative. He wasn’t lying, per say. Just telling them what they needed to hear. That was that.

He’d towel down and shuffle his tired old body to the kitchen, a sparse place where only the essentials were kept. Walt would stuff some toast down his maw for now. A proper breakfast could happen after he’d had some stretches.

It was still early, yes. 6 am, according to the clock he’d had on his wall. The summer air was still chilled from the night before, a refreshing start to an otherwise hot day. He could feel it. His left leg always felt better when the days were hot. He was sure that Kabuki would be complaining about his right arm, how the heat made it itch and such.

“He’s still probably asleep. Lucky.”

Walt liked the island life. It was calm. Peaceful. A beat up old piece of kangaroo flesh like him could walk to and from the beach without anyone so much as batting an eye. And goodness knew that their Island Rep was a hard worker. Built this place from the ground up herself. When he’d moved here, he’d chosen to live up and away from everyone, so as to keep to himself. But that brat Representative… She’d insisted on decorating the space near his house. Bamboo was planted. Bamboo furniture and stone lanterns were put out along a natural land bridge. A waterfall was even dug out from the hill above his home.

Despite everything, he’d liked it. She didn’t need to do all this. But she did because she wanted to.

His strolling would take him to the northmost part of the island. The ‘secret’ beach here had been given a ramp down to it, allowing ease of access without a confounded ladder… There were even some benches set out, and telescopes that cost 100 bells to peek through at other islands. There were pretty little iron benches and tables, painted brown and green. The Island Rep had just moved a house where the vending machines had been, so now they weren’t just a stone’s throw from his door. A shame, but the neighbor, Annalisa, was nice enough. A real sweetheart. Her windows were dark, with a note on the door…

But that wasn’t what caught his eye.

What caught his eye was Kabuki.

The red and white cat was stood at the top of the ramp, arms folded as he just. Stood there. Not moving a muscle. He was in his old actor’s yukata, the red and silver one he liked to wear in the mornings. An ear flicked towards him despite Walt stopping in his tracks, signaling wordlessly that Walt’s presence was known. The kangaroo never felt the need to sneak around the cat though. They had been through enough.

“You’re up early.” Walt said, approaching the cat and standing at his side. “What’s the occasion?”

“See for yourself.” Kabuki flicked his head towards the small beach. There was… a boat here. A dingy, shitty little boat, belching black smog from the pipe up top. It looked INCREDIBLY cheap, like it had been through enough hurricanes to shatter the biggest freighters. It was almost a miracle that it was still floating at all. But…

It was flying some colors that Walt was not happy to see.

“...Ginkgo leaf. Of course it’s Redd.” Kabuki continued, shaking his head and stomping down the ramp towards the ship. “That son of a bitch, who does he think he is...”

“Easy, easy.” Walt would follow, wincing as he reached out to grab his companion. “You don’t wanna just go waltzing onto that vessel unprepared. You know how Redd is.”

“Yeah, and I know he’s not welcomed here. Not after he left us both high and dry, Walt. Stay out of my way, I’m gonna kick that stupid kitsune into the sea.” The cat bristled, yanking his shoulder away from his neighbor and practically darting on all fours up the gangplank. The cat banged his curled up paw on the side of the main cabin, the clang of his knocking ringing out through the secluded area. “REDD. REDD I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. GET OUT HERE. RIGHT NOW.”

“Yeah sure, wake up the entire island, loudmouth.” Walt would stop short of the gangplank, while Kabuki would proceed to kick at the metal siding, “You know, I know you were always better at negotiating, but you’ve gotten pretty hotheaded with age. What happened to the refined and poised cat who could get you to change your mind with his smile and soft words?”

“He got old and cranky, that’s what! Redd, I’m gonna storm in there of you don’t come out right now!” Kabuki practically yowled, banging on the siding in a furious attempt to get the owner’s attention…

“Okay, that’s enough.” He’d march up and drag the irate cat down onto the sand.

“What the-! UNHAND ME, WALT.”

“No, no. Stop. Calm.” He’d bring a paw down onto the cat’s head, petting him and shushing him. “Calm, Kabuki. Calm. Shhhh.” Walt would ignore the hissing and flailing from the crotchety old cat, just petting his neighbor’s head until he’d settle down. “I know. You and him have bad blood. But we can’t get worked up until we know what he wants, alright?”

“Well! Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes!”

The pair would look up, and see Redd standing there at the top of the ramp. Apparently he’d not been onboard after all… “Kabuki! Walt! It’s been a dog’s age! How has life been treatin’ ya, hmmm?” The kitune just snickered as he walked down to meet them on the beach. He didn’t seem terribly bothered by the rage radiating off of Kabuki, as Walt continued to hold him back. “Come in, come in! I just finished business here, so I have time to chat.” He’d stroll past, unhooking the flap covering the entrance to the boat from a peg, allowing it to roll up.

As Redd descended into the depths of his vessel, Kabuki looked to Walt, brows furrowed and yellow eyes narrowed. “...I’m gonna end him. Don’t try and stop me.”

“I have to. You made me promise to stop you if you ever tried.”

“Yeah? Well, for Redd, you’d better break that promise.”

“Kabuki.”

“What? Ugh, when did you get all levelheaded and boring? Fine. I’ll… hear him out. For your sake.”

“Good. My back’s already hurting, I don’t need to make it worse by trying to keep you from going to jail on murder charges.” Walt would let the cat go, and dusted himself off as Kabuki shook himself. Just to remove all the tension within his body…

“We’re technically in international waters, Walt. I think he knows that too.” Kabuki huffed, “...We need to be careful.” – The inside of the ship was just as shitty and awful as the outside.

Redd’s showroom consisted of some lights set up to show the artwork off as well as the pitiful selection of furniture that Redd provided…

The artwork.

Kabuki kept his eyes averted. He knew better than to get too into it. He knew Redd was damn good at what he did. And Kabuki was too much of a stickler for details to let something small go. If he looked at these too hard, he’d be here all damn day.

Walt, meanwhile, had no such compunctions.

The scarred old kangaroo whistled, looking at the closed eyes of a Wistful Painting. “You still got it, you old crook. Ah but...” He’d tap the earring, a distinctive star shape to it… “You’re getting sloppy. That’s pretty obvious. The eyes too.”

“Well, I DO take advantage of the dim lighting, you dunces. Even if people look at the art, they buy it if they like it. Had a guy make a beeline for it and buy it up without a second thought.” Redd replied as he unlocked the door in the back. “come on, I’ve got coffee going.”

Kabuki glared at Walt, but followed Redd. The back room was stacked with crates, a Wistful Painting identical to the one in the other room hanging out to dry under a lamp. Redd squeezed past and shoved some of the crates aside, revealing a cramped table and a couple chairs and other assorted seating, with a counter chained to the floor. He flipped on a small portable stove, boiling some water and… humming?

“You’re not usually the gracious host, Redd. What’s up with that?” Walt had come in from the makeshift showroom, standing in the doorway as Kabuki sat on the least filthy stool he could see.

“Well, sales have been GREAT, boys! What can I say, even at my age, I still got the talent for business!” He chortled, prepping a couple of questionably clean mugs for his guests. “You still take your coffee with two sugars and creamer, right Kabuki?”

“Didn’t think you’d remember, you walking scarf-to-be.” Kabuki scowled, never taking his eyes off the kitsune. “What the hell are you doing here, Redd. We’re ‘retired’, remember? Or are you going and changing the rules of the game so that they suit you and only you again?”

“Mmmm… well, the game’s always changing, Kabuki. I’m an old dog in that sense, heh!” Redd was… awfully jovial, despite being essentially trapped in a cramped room with someone who would gladly wring his neck at the first opportunity. “No I’m here to ah, retire too, in a sense. I’ve given up the art trade.”

“Could have fooled me, with all the merchandise in there.” Walt tilted his head back out the door. “Seriously. Why are you here.”

“I told you the truth, I’m out of the game. Sorta. I’m off on my own, see. The, ah, big pigs and fat cats of the city aren’t so much about art anymore. Especially if they can just hire chumps straight out of art school to make them custom stuff. Old fashioned art ain’t in style anymore.” He sighed, sliding the mugs along the table with practiced ease. Kabuki caught his, Walt managed to not spill his as he fumbled to catch the hot mug. “Pfth! You’re getting slow, Walty boy.”

“M’back hurts, alright I slept on it wrong.” Walt would still stand by the door though. Force of habit. “I guess you’re goin’ straight nowadays. Nook’ll never allow you to set down roots. You know he won’t.”

“ah, but I ain’t settin’ down roots. I travel! I already have a nice little network of islands, and wouldn’t ya know it! Art lovers on every single one. In fact, I just started givin’ out paintings so that all their little museums would get an art gallery going. And goodness knows, I can get people to buy my paintings, whether they need my paintings for their art galleries or they a phone. “Let’s see yes… It’s about 6:30… and... I dunno, I guess uh, the kids love it when I add a little spice to my art!” He takes a sip of his coffee and gives them both the biggest, shittiest grin. “Like, take this Wistful Painting. Looks fine, right? But watch this. Let’ll never allow you to set down roots. You know he won’t.”

The painting on the wall shuddered and its eyes snapped open.

Walt stumbled back, trying not to drop the mug again. Kabuki choked on his sip, eyes wide as he thumped his chest and coughed.

“BOOM. Look at that! Haunted painting! I already have people CLAMORING for these babies. I can’t keep them in stock!” Redd laughed, slamming his paws on the table. “And that’s not all. I got ideas, fresh new art installations that EVERYONE’S gonna want on their islands. Real conversation starters!”

“I… I see. That’s awfully tame of you, Redd.” Walt cleared his throat and smacked Kabuki’s back to help him stop choking. “I’m… actually kinda proud of you myself.”

“Well, what can I say? I know how to adapt to a world where art tastes are changin’!” The kitsune leaned on the table, looking at his claws. “Your little Island Rep was more than happy to give me permission to hang out for a day or so every couple weeks, so we’re gonna be seeing one another a lot more, ehe-”

“You leave the brat outta this.” Kabuki finally managed to get out. “She’s a good kid, she doesn’t need to get caught up in your nonsense.”

“Oh? Well, she’s her own lady. Hardly a kit, Bubu.” Redd replied, taking another sip and looking at him over the edge of his mug. “Her bells are good here, just like yours or anyone else’s. There’s no need to try and parent her or control her choices, Bubu.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You lost that right years ago.” Kabuki snapped. “She doesn’t deserve to be swindled by you. Not like us. She deserves the truth.”

“Whoa whoa, Bubu! I’m a changed kitsune!” Redd held up his paws defensively, standing from the table. “I know, we had some differences in the past, but I assure you, this is all above board. The only reason I’m not just setting up shop here or on some other island is because word gets around, see? I don’t need Nook showing up with the authorities trying to pin me on some old charges. Which, by the way, don’t apply here now that I think on it. International waters and all. Still, I didn’t swindle you OR Walt. You two came to ME, looking for work. I gave you work. Don’t you throw that in my face. I’m doin’ business, like I always have. And I don’t wanna resort to the worst I can do.”

“Yeah? What’s the worst huh?” Kabuki demanded, standing and slamming his paws on the table. “You gonna haunt us? Set some kneecappers on us?”

“Well, the kid seems to like you. Wonder how she might feel about BOTH of you if she knew about your, ah, less than clean paws.”

Walt exhaled softly as Kabuki stammered. Of course. Redd still had their old files. The kitsune never forgot a slight. He may have been cheerful and perhaps even forgiving. But he did not forget.. “Mmmm.” He’d take another sip. Of course…

“That’s what I thought.” Redd picked up his mug, looking down into it. “Look, Kabuki. I know. Bein’ here’s a slap in the face after all I did to you and Walt. But I’m here to sell things. I’m just as legitimate as Nook now. He doesn’gh ground anymore. And neither do you. So do me a favor. Let the residents here just enjoy the art, alright? You don’t have to fucking like it. You don’t have to interact with me. I won’t interact with you. Mind your own damn business and we’d take another sipll all be happy. Can ya do that, Bubu? Can ya keep your damn snout out of my business?”

“...Tsk. Fine. This shit’s no good for my blood pressure anyway.” Kabuki would slide off the stool, and shove past Walt before stomping back up and out. Eventually there was nothing but the faint wash of waves against the hull and the creaking of the ship’s many parts….

“...Heh. Since when did you become the calm and rational one, Walt?” Redd asked as Walt took another sip. “You were always so loud and angry last time we saw one another. Kabuki was the one holdin’ ya back all the time. What happened to good ol’ dumb muscle Walt?”

“That Walt died in solitary confinement after getting blood on his paws in jail.” The kangaroo would reply, draining his mug and setting the empty cup on the table. “A lot has changed, Redd. And it sounds like you’re a lot more mellow than the last time we saw you. That’s good. M’proud of ya.”

The silence between them was palpable, and Redd was the first to break it, stammering and spluttering. “Wh-I- You can’t say shit like that, Walt! You’re gonna make a guy feel like a halfway decent bein’… But I mean.” He’d still smile nice and big. “...Thanks. I uh. I know I did you both dirty in the past. I did a lotta people dirty. Most of all Nook. But. Between you and me, I’m tryin’ to be a better kitsune. Don’t go spreadin’ that around, I don’t need people thinkin’ I’m some sorta charity case like Nook!”

“I have a hard time believing that, but it’s not my place to judge. Do what you gotta do, Redd. Just. Stay outta trouble.” He’d step towards the door, touching the frame and keeping his back to Redd. “...We oughta do this again sometime. Catch up sounds nice.”

Redd’s nose twitched as he gathered the mugs. “...Yeah… Yeah that does sound nice.” He replied as Walt headed up. His brow was furrowed as he dumped the mugs in a sink, leaning on the edge of it… Redd sighed deep, shutting his eyes. How exhausting. He hadn’t expected Kabuki and Walt to be here… And while he HAD expected Kabuki to still be mad, he… didn’t expect Walt to be so at peace with their past.

Redd looked to the Wistful Painting on the wall, eyes staring blankly at the girl’s.

“...” He’d just sigh and make sure it was dry before packing it up in a crate full of identical paintings. – “Kabuki.”

“Don’t you say a damn thing to me, Walt.”

“Kabuki.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, Walt?! I know Redd’s up to something, we gotta tell Tom Nook-”

“KABUKI.”

“WHAT, WALT.” The cat stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Walt about halfway up the steps to his house. He was puffed up and glaring at Walt, and snapped, “What, you think he’s not up to something?! You really bought into that stupid story about changing?! Kitsunes don’t CHANGE, genius, they just grow more tails and get more powerful-!”

“It’s not our fight anymore, Kabuki.”

The wind rustled through the bamboo leaves as the pair stood there, eyes locked. On this peaceful morning, one could be forgiven for thinking that the two speakers had been blown away like dust in the breeze… But…

“...Listen, Kabuki.” Walt sighed, striding up and just. Embracing the still bristling cat. “I know. I know he’s a lying sack of shit. But we’re old, Kabuki. Not THAT old, but we’re old enough to know better. We can’t let what he did hurt us like it used to. I know it’s not easy but we gotta try. We gotta trust the kid, she’s smart. A lot smarter than we used to be when we were her age.”

“How can you be so calm, Walt.” Kabuki’s arms hung at his sides, shoulders trembling. “He fucked us over so bad. He got you sent to jail, he took everything from me… Had me blacklisted from so many places because I crossed him once...”

Walt could feel the wet patches of tears pressed onto his top, rubbing Kabuki’s back gently. “...I know.” He’d kiss the top of his head, watching Kabuki’s ears flatten. “I promise he’s not gonna pull us apart again. We’re smarter now. We aren’t gonna let him screw us over like he did. And if he does, well… we ARE in international waters, like he said. He won’t be missed.”

“...H-heh… What, I thought you swore off fighting, you hypocrite.” Kabuki laughed, as Walt let go after a bit.

“I swore off senseless violence. There’s a difference. Now come on. I haven’t had breakfast yet, and I’m hungry.”

“Mm… So am I.”

They’d walk a bit. The grass gave way as they walked, paw in paw. It was a beautiful day out, with the sunlight already so bright… The butterflies were already out in full force, flitting around the hyacinths that the Island Rep had let grow wild by the bamboo pond.

Kabuki would scratch at his right arm. “Tsk. Damn heat’s gonna give me hives.”

“Heh. Time to pull out the ol’ ice packs, huh?”

“Yeah, probably.” Another pause before reaching Walt’s door. “...Think we oughta tell Violet about this?”

“I mean...” Walt took a keyring out and unlocked his front door. “If she’s seen Redd’s work in the museum, she probably already knows. C’mon. I’ll get some smoked fish and eggs for you, and some steamed greens and sake for my back.”

[therobotmonster]

I tend to think of lost limbs and eyes as primarily heroic traits, and it's way easier for me to think of examples of heroes with those traits than villains.

Amputation and lost/damaged eyes are very frequently the hallmarks of heroes who have gone through the shitty timeline.

And are very frequently things that happen to heroic characters in just the normal timeline when its time to up the stakes, or are an origin story.

Every protege of Jospeh Campbell spends half their time finding a way to literally disarm the hero or rip out their eye as the price of wisdom.

Now, you do get your share of villains with a robot hand, but that's more often than not a ham-fisted way of saying 'this badguy rules with an iron fist.'

And if the villain is missing an eye or a limb, he's usually either a pirate-by-trope or, if the writer's feeling dramatic, the injury is directly connected to a protagonist.

But why is the villain scarred?

The horribly scared over the whole face thing is usually a matter of attempting to evoke horror from deformity or to invoke body horror or both, sure.

Though sometimes its there to explain why a self-absorbed narcissistic dumbass would wear a cool face-covering mask when you'd normally expect them to be commissioning 30 foot tall statues like a drunken pharaoh.

But for your long jagged sinister face scar, that's because of dueling scars.

Fencing was popular in the late 19th and first half of the 20th century among the upper classes, particularly in Germany.

It was also seen as macho to have a scar from a duel on your face, a "Schmisse", a badge of honor that showed that you weren't just playing around with a pointy bit of metal, you were a real stabby boy.

So of course, they'd get one of their buddies to give 'em a good slash while they were both playing around with bits of pointy metal.

You remember how I mentioned this was popular during the first half of the 20th century? Germany famously had another passion at the time, which was World Wars, and all those upper-class twits with their gender-affirming face scars were the officers in those wars.

The Nazi with the face scar wasn't an invention of fiction, and that kind of face scar became a shorthand for nazi-or-nazi-proxy.

I just think everyone should take a moment to consider the question "what is your visual shorthand for cruelty?" and then follow it up with a critical "and who taught you that?"

specific examples include but are not limited to

why is an evil timeline character design disabled? (why do the heroes go through equally punishing battles and never lose an arm, a leg, an eye?)

why are the futuristic scifi terrorists uniformly darker skinned? (why are the heroes so much lighter?)

why is the greedy boss fat? (why are the heroes skinny?)

why is the criminal mastermind heavily scarred? (why is the brooding, traumatized hero unscathed?)

why is the predatory creep a bearded person in a dress and makeup? (why are none of the heroes trans women?)

who taught you that this is how things are?

how long do you plan on repeating it?

[atsumnu]

Please do kuroo head cannons if you have the time💕

⋆ 。*✲ﾟ。* 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒌𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 *。✲ﾟ*。 ⋆

✰ character — kuroo tetsuro

✰ request? — yes!!!

✰ warnings — none!

✰ a/n — kuroo is one of my favs! these were super fun to do hehe :-) keep the requests coming here!!!

"new person, same ol' mistakes" by tame impala

enough said

the most emotionally sensitive of the captains

notices the slightest changes in his friends' attitudes and mannerisms

is def the kind to establish a "code" to get a friend or s/o out of an uncomfortable situation

wears red nail polish only on his right pinky

uses it to make pinky promises with kenma

a night owl

never does anything, just stays awake

bedroom on the second floor

climbs out his window to sits on the roof

will stare at the stars until the sun comes up

falls asleep on the way to school

= forever bedhead

once said the f-slur in middle school and kenma punched him so hard he blacked out

googled the history behind the term and never said it again

we love an educated king

uses the fact that he's a scorpio justify his shitty behavior

canon that he loves dogs

def grew up with a dog as a kid

probably an akita or a husky

would wear his clothes with dog hair on them to school as a badge of honor

his older sister put him in high heels once

he slipped on the slick kitchen tile

she laughed so hard she peed her pants

contemplated studying astronomy in college

"space has more to do with chemistry than you think"

severe mommy issues

always picks bowser when he plays mario kart

always

genuinely enjoys the way nacho cheese doritos taste

once choked on a sip of mountain dew code red and threw up

cried because he thought it was blood

kenma holds this incident over his head as blackmail

now has mountain dew ptsd

enjoys the quiet

noises of the city aggravate him a lot

likes his laugh a lot

hearing his own laugh makes him laugh harder

his biggest fear is getting his heart broken

avoids break up songs at all costs

they put him in his feels and he hates it

smells like old spice

specifically krakengärd

just go smell it at target

you'll understand what i mean

relates to 2016 bruno mars on a spiritual level

has a red iphone

likes his s/o to have a little meat on their bones

def has a thing for the shorts + oversized jumper combo

[vodkassassin]

cucumberplane with sqh defending/comforting sqq instead of the other way around (badass!sqh?)

Someone asked for a FIERCE son???

This one is a little long, at just about over 4k

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence ;3

—

Shang Qinghua is scared.

There’s been plenty of instances, especially in this new life of his, where he has been in fear for his life. Every instance feels like it’s the worst one, in the time that it is happening. In the moment, when his heart seems to freeze, beating so quickly it’s almost like he can’t even hear it in the blood that rushes by his ears. When his breath stutters to a stop, and his stomach drops so sharply that it feels like it’s dug itself deep into the mantle of the earth.

In the moment, when it feels like he’s never been this scared in either of his lives.

Like a cornered animal, pinned down against cold stone marble floors, this snarling demon’s clawed hand encircling his throat with just barely enough pressure to make breathing something difficult. The cold, sharp point of a spear digging ever-so gently into his gut, just to remind him that it’s there.

“I’ll carve out each and every one of your bones,” the demon is crooning into his ear, fingers flexing against his jugular, just barely. “They will make excellent jewelry, a badge of great honor. A boast at how the revered and powerful Peak Lord Shang was felled by my hands.”

Revered? Shang Qinghua has absolutely no idea where this dipshit idiot got his information, but clearly his broker had decided it would be a good laugh to lead him around by the nose, because he is so far off the mark.

It’s far more like Shang Qinghua is barely tolerated. Kept around for his work ethic and quick results. But revered? No.

And powerful? Okay, in order to be a peak lord, Shang Qinghua had to meet certain expectations. There are prerequisites for becoming the successor of your Shizun in Cang Qiong. However, there are twelve peaks, and despite being ranked number four out of all of them, the peak lord of An Ding is hardly considered powerful.

This demon has it all wrong. But! Here he is, spear and claws cutting into Shang Qinghua’s skin, threatening his life.

Usually, Shang Qinghua has precautions in place for this very circumstance. There are so many exits he could have taken before this. Back up plans, routes to temporary safety. Hell, just calling for Mobei Jun gets the job done in a flash, half the time.

Okay, more than half.

But. However. Shang Qinghua had made certain oversights. Because he never, in any of those precautions, accounted for the additional presence of his bro. Shen Qingqiu, who is curled up against the wall across the room, pale and unmoving, blood dripping steadily from a gash in his head.

And so, like a cornered animal would, Shang Qinghua bares his teeth.

It should have been a warning, but the demon just laughs.

“Don’t pretend to be brave now, little cultivator,” he chuckles.

The hand on Shang Qinghua’s throat loosens, before removing itself completely so that those long, wickedly sharp claws can trail up the soft skin underneath his jaw. They press down as they go, just enough that Shang Qinghua can feel droplets of blood start trickling down his neck. The demon traces up his cheek with two claws, gently, and croons.

“I never imagined a small thing like you to be the infamous Lord Shang,” the demal continues. “I really did expect someone at least a little taller. But, small is fun, too! You gave me a good hunt, little one, so at least you lived up to some of the rumors.”

Any other day, Shang Qinghua would really love to know what the demons of the North say about him. Really. He’s dying of curiosity, about as much as he’s certain he doesn’t actually want to know.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. If there’s anything that Shang Qinghua is guaranteed to be able to work with, it's being underestimated.

“But, the chase is over now. This one wins, and Lord Shang loses.”

With that, the demon plunges the spear into Shang Qinghua’s stomach.

It’s cold, going in. Terrifying, knowing that there’s something ripping into you. The feeling as your body reacts to a foreign object’s invasion. Not quite at the conclusion that it should hurt, yet. Just… shock.

There’s a brief period of time before the shock makes it hard to move, though. Shang Qinghua knows, from experience, almost exactly how long it will take for his body to realize it’s suppose to be in pain. He has a precious few moments, and his teeth are still bared.

Shang Qinghua has been waiting. He’s good at that. He’s patient. He’s spent most of his life waiting for one thing or another. For plans to come to fruition, for schemes to set. For pieces to fall into place so that he can pull his strings. For this demon to finish his dumbass, dramatic monologue, and make the final blow.

Shang Qinghua is quick — he always has been. At the moment the spearhead enters his flesh, he’s already wriggled an arm forward and grabbed it by the shaft, just below where the demon holds it.

The demon makes a surprised noise when Shang Qinghua uses his grip to pull himself further onto the weapon. It’s the last sound he makes, beyond a wheeze of shock as Shang Qinghua jerks forward into his space and latches his jaw around the demal’s throat.

He sinks his teeth into flesh. It tastes salty. He can feel the point of the spear exiting his back, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He clamps down as hard as he can and thrashes his head to the side and then back again.

The skin under his teeth breaks open. Bloods splurts out, dribbling in rivulets down his chin, and Shang Qinghua bites down even further. Something long and sinewy, stretched like a tube, bursts between his molars, coming apart over his tongue.

The demon collapses, falling away from where he’d been straddling Shang Qinghua’s legs. He crashes to the ground with wide, unseeing eyes, soft gurgles erupting from the demal’s mutilated neck before the sound dies out completely, and Shang Qinghua is left lying there on the cold marble floor, a spear protruding from his midsection.

He stares up at the ceiling, hyper aware of the shock that’s finally settling into his limbs. There’s copper and salt cloying in his mouth. He’s never been a fan of rare steaks, and this is even worse. He feels, distantly, as if he’s going to throw up. But, not now. Maybe in a little bit, after the shock wears off and the pain sets in.

Shang Qinghua experimentally tries to wiggle his toes. He succeeds, and so he moves on to the muscles in his arms, working at them until they contract and retract in the way he wants them to. He lifts up one arm, shakily, and carefully grabs the shaft of the spear that he’s currently impaled upon. He can feel the spearhead pressing uncomfortably against his back, from where it’s exited the wound.

He can’t just pull it out the way that it came in, like he wants to. It will catch, and drag against already torn flesh. The backside of the spearhead is serrated. It will just make it worse.

He has to snap the spear head off before pulling the shaft out.

But, it’s not like a shoddy spear, with a stone head and a wooden shaft. This is a well-crafted weapon, without any seams to serve as a weak point. The spearhead is carved of the same strong metal as the shaft. This was forged by a master weaponsmith, with demonic spells carved elegantly into the detailing.

Shang Qinghua isn’t going to be able to break it with regular, Qi-enhanced strength. He can’t start healing himself until he removes the spear, either. And he can’t push the spear all the way through, since the opposite end is an oddly shaped hilt. Bulky. That would do worse damage than the serrated spearhead.

He’s kind of… stuck. Shang Qinghua isn’t entirely sure how to get the spear out of himself without making it worse. He’ll have to wait until help arrives.

However, he might just bleed out before then!

And, across the room, though his head wound has sluggishly ceased its bleeding, his best friend is still unconscious.

This is fun. Exciting! A real puzzle to solve.

Hey, System!

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

What the fuck is that suppose to mean? Cutscenes? There’s never been cutscenes! This is just another shitty excuse not to help!

I hate you.

[System remains in standby mode during all cutscenes.]

Shang Qinghua groans, and carefully begins to maneuver himself onto his side.

The pain hits. Thankfully not all at once. It comes in increments, so Shang Qinghua is able to sit up and get his legs underneath him before it really starts making a nuisance of itself, but it does come.

It hurts, dammit. He’s had worse, of course, but it still hurts like a bitch, and there’s a hazy blackness encroaching on the very edges of Shang Qinghua’s vision that won’t go away no matter how many times he blinks.

He shoves the pain to the back of his mind and focuses on standing. It’s an arduous process, but he manages it, and he’s by Shen Qingqiu’s side within thirty seconds of almost drunken stumbling.

Shang Qinghua is very mindful of the spear that still impales him as he kneels in a controlled collapse beside his best friend. He angles his chest away from the other man so the heavy end of the spear points downwards and away from them both. He lifts a visibly shaking hand to Shen Qingqiu’s brow and begins channeling qi into him.

Just because he can’t heal himself with the spear still in him, doesn’t mean he can’t heal his buddy.

It’s a short process. He’s no healer, but he and Mu Qingfang are — close, and Shang Qinghua has learned a thing or two from the very best that their sect has to offer. Shen Qingqiu’s eyes are fluttering open within minutes.

“Ow,” the man murmurs, raising a hand to his most-likely aching skull. It lands to cover Shang Qinghua’s, fingers momentarily intertwining with his, and Shen Qingqiu straightens up from where he has slumped against the wall to look over at him.

“What hit me?” he groans, confusion cinching his brow.

Shang Qinghua sucks in a slow, controlled breath. The pain is hammering at his senses insistently, but he shoves it to the back of his mind again. It’s an ongoing battle, like trying to fight off a jumping dog with boundless energy when you’re going off two hours of sleep and are short three cup of coffee. And you have a migraine that makes every single one of your joints feel like there’s a knife stuck in them.

It’s a very specific metaphor. Which might not be a metaphor, but more of an correlation to that one time he’d been roped into dogsitting for his older brother.

That didn’t necessarily hurt as bad as this, per say, but it was like, similarly annoying?

To… being impaled?

Right.

It takes a few moments, Shang Qinghua still focused on channeling his qi, but Shen Qingqiu eventually becomes coherent enough to recall how exactly he’d ended up like this, and he pins him with a sharp look of examination. Which quickly turns to pale-faced horror.

“Airplane!” Shen Qingqiu hisses, eyes wide and terrified. “Airplane, stop! Why are you — why are you healing me? You have a fucking spear sticking out of you, oh my fucking god—!”

They quickly switch positions. Suddenly, Shang Qinghua is the one on the ground, with a panicked Shen Qingqiu leaning over him, hands hovering above the spear but not quite touching it, uncertainty warring with fear on the man’s face. No fan to hide the expression, this time.

Amusement and fondness twists up in Shang Qinghua’s gut, mingling with the internal bleeding that he is most certainly experiencing. He reaches up a hand to clumsily pay at his bro’s face.

“Peerless,” he breathes out. He can feel a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Bro, you’re so pretty…. I did so, so good…. character descriptions absolutely flawless....”

“Great, you’re delirious.” Shen Qingqiu huffs out, trying to sound annoyed. There’s still that note of fear in there, though, that can’t be mistaken. “Airplane, pull yourself together. How the fuck am I suppose to get this out of you? I need you sober, man.”

“Drunk on paiiin,” Shang Qinghua giggles out in a singsong, and his bro pulls a face.

“That sounds so wrong. Don’t say that. Instead, tell me how to— to unimpale you? Maybe? Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua tilts his head back. Cold marble presses against his crown. It’s soothing, kinda. He feels like he’s burning up with a fever. The slight chill is… nice. He closes his eyes.

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says. A hand lands on his shoulder and gives him a very light shake. “Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fucking fall asleep! Airplane, please.”

Right.

Shang Qinghua sucks in another slow, careful breath, and forces his eyes open. He fights past the haziness that’s trying to cover his vision, and locks eyes with his martial brother and best friend. Shen Qingqiu looks terrified, eyes wide and damp around the edges.

Awww, he does care!

Shaking the thought away, he reaches out with one hand and slaps his palm against the shaft of the spear. The vibrations travel down its length and into Shang Qinghua, and his entire torso alights with fresh, white hot pain. He stiffens and smothers a cry.

“Shit! Airplane, what the fuck?! Stop!”

He ignores Shen Qingqiu. Shang Qinghua is more awake now, which is exactly what he was going for.

“Bro,” he says. It comes out breathless, more of a wheeze. “We can’t break the spear with normal cultivation.”

“Then how the fuck—?!”

“No, no. Listen. You can’t break it with normal cultivation. It needs an elemental touch, and I’m not about to electrocute myself to death again.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, staring down at him. He blinks.

“But,” Shen Qingqiu says, realization alighting in his eyes. His bro is so clever. “I don’t have a lightning element. Mine is earth.”

“Yep! Bro.”

“Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua swings out his arm and slaps it against Shen Qingqiu’s chest, turning his hand to grab the front of his bro’s robes. He uses his grip to haul himself up into a sitting position, leaning in to speak directly into the other man’s ear.

“Bro, disintegrate the spear. Like, I am begging you here. It fucking hurts.”

Shen Qingqiu leaned back in order to stare at him. After a few seconds, he shakes his head roughly, eyes wide.

“R—Right!” He says, and reaches out to curl his fingers hesitantly around the spear shaft. His other arm has curled protectively around the small of Shang Qinghua’s back, helping to hold him up as his strength quickly drains away from him.

“Right. Um, just… give me a second. I’m not… um, I’m not really good with elemental techniques….”

“Take your time,” Shang Qinghua says sincerely, before blacking out into his bro’s shoulder.

—

“Hey, Airplane?”

Shang Qinghua glances up from the door of the throne room that they’ve summarily been trapped inside of.

It was a beautiful scheme of their opponent, truly. Using the defenses of the wards that are intended to protect against them. Setting up a grand distraction in the form of a false invasion, drawing away the guards and his king to the frontlines of the battle. Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu were trapped within the seat of power of the palace the very moment that the wards had initiated the total lockdown.

Nothing goes in, nothing goes out.

It’s a complete, absolute protection — but it can’t do anything to protect them from someone already inside the wards themselves, and subsequently had cut them off from any back up in the form of a teleporting demon king, as not even Mobei Jun himself can break through the ancient wards of his own ancestors.

It was a severe oversight. He’ll have to rectify it immediately, once this is all taken care of and finished.

Loopholes being taken advantage of in such creative ways! Shang Qinghua would be so very impressed, if only they weren’t his wards being made a mockery of.

He looks over at his bro, to find Shen Qingqiu staring down at the corpse of their attacker with an odd look on his face.

Really, Shang Qinghua is kind of embarrassed. For both of them! They could have taken this guy, working together. Neither of them are slackers in the power department, and Shen Qingqiu in particular inherited a pretty strong body to begin with, that he has since only made more powerful. Shang Qinghua himself is, while not exactly super impressive, certainly nothing to sniff at. After all, he is a peak lord, too.

Together, they should have been able to take this guy.

Too bad the dipshit demon had foreseen that, and had worked in the element of surprise. It really had been too quick. Strike down the more powerful of them first, and fight the lesser head on. Shen Qingqiu is unconscious against the wall, and Shang Qinghua is fast, but apparently not fast enough.

Seriously. It’s embarrassing.

“Yeah, bro?”

“Did you….” Shen Qingqiu looks up from the body, glancing at the bloodied mess that is the front of Shang Qinghua’s robes. He points a finger at him, and looks back down at the corpse in clear befuddlement. “Did you, uh…. Um, how exactly did you kill this guy?”

Shang Qinghua pauses his work with the wards. They’re a true beast, really, and he’s gonna need his bro’s help anyway. It’ll take more than just him to dismantle the lockdown. He stands up and wanders over to stare down at the corpse as well.

It’s a fucking mess. The corpse had drained out of the neck until there wasn’t any more blood to bleed, resulting in a massive puddle of deep crimson that has expanded a good five feet in diameter around the demon’s body. The body itself is pale in death, an ashy green color that has become mottled in places due to the absence of blood. The eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at nothing, and the face still bears a slightly slack expression of shock.

It’s disturbing to look at, sure, but they’ve both seen worse. Shang Qinghua is a little confused about why his bro seems so uneasy.

“Uh,” he says, head tilted to the side in thought. “Well, he stabbed me…. hm. Oh! Yeah, so I kinda, like, used the spear to pull him closer so I could, y’know,” Shang Qinghua snaps his teeth in a theatric grimace, and gives his head a slight jerk to the side.

He then smiles brightly at his friend, who is staring at him with an expression he can’t really describe.

“And, yeah,” he finishes, lamely.

“There’s blood,” Shen Qingqiu says. “In your teeth.”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua frowns. He runs his tongue or his teeth, and grimaces for real at the tacky feeling that coats them. Not even going to mention the taste. “Can blood stain, like, bone? Teeth are bone. Do you think it’ll stain?”

“Airplane, did you rip out that guy’s throat with your teeth?”

Shang Qinghua frowns at his friend. “Um, yeah? Didn’t I just say that?”

“Haha, you did.” Shen Qingqiu gives a strange laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “You actually did.”

Shang Qinghua watches in bewilderment as the other man spins on his heel and takes a few steps away from him. His steps bring him closer to the corpse. He stops just shy of his feet kicking into it and stares down at it for a long few moments that feel like they stretch into minutes.

Then, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head slowly, and walks back over to him.

“That’s so fucking metal, bro,” he says, finally. “Like, I’m both terrified and very, very impressed.”

“Oh.” Shang Qinghua says. He runs his fingers through the back of his hair self-consciously, feeling at where the strands have come loose from his bun. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need a hand with the wards. They can only be unlocked from the inside, and usually I’d be able to just do it myself, but I’m almost spent, dude. Like, I need a fucking nap, as soon as possible. Imma need your qi.”

“Sure, what little I can give of it. I used up a lot on that medical technique for your, uh, impalement. I’m no doctor, man.” Shen Qingqiu shrugs. He casts one last vaguely incredulous glance between Shang Qinghua and the demon’s corpse, before following him over to the two, large and imposing throne room doors.

They’re swinging them open about fifteen minutes later, and both of them are forced to duck out of the way as a barrage of deadly sharp icicles comes raining down almost upon their heads.

Shang Qinghua grabs his best friend by the arm and flings him back, raising his other arm up into the air to snap his fingers. He winces at how the movement pulls at his still incredibly sore injury. Thankfully, he’d managed to heel it enough that the wound itself has closed, but he’s pretty sure he’s still got some internal bleeding going on in there.

There’s a light shimmer in the air before them, barely visible, as his qi condenses into a weak physical barrier. Most of the icicles shatter upon contact with it, but some make it through, and Shang Qinghua tugs his increasingly drowsy martial brother out of the line of fire.

Ah, head wounds are so annoying. Guess he’ll have to drag Shen-ge with him to see Qingfang, after all.

“My king!” He shouts, and then raises his voice as another volley of icicles begins to form from the moisture in the air. Being in the cold north, there’s plenty of it. “Mobei Jun! Stop! It’s us!”

The icicles pause, and then fall to the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny shards of ice that immediately begin to melt into the floor. There’s no time to appreciate the built-in clean up function born from his beautiful world building skills, however, as a large figure comes striding across the outer hall toward them, intent in every single step.

As soon as Mobei Jun and the retinue of guards spot the two peak lords, they fall to an abrupt stop. The guards all exchange glances, but it’s difficult to make out their expressions underneath the helmets of ice. His king, barefaced as always, looks a little surprised. Not much, of course, but his eyes are a little wider than usual.

“Shang Qinghua,” Mobei Jun says, and then stops.

“Yes, my king?”

There’s a long strength of silence. Shang Qinghua frowns and turns to his friend, only to find Shen Qingqiu staring at him as well. His fan flutters in front of his face, having appeared out of absolutely nowhere — seriously, does the man keep spares in a qiankun space? — and the eyes that peer over it at him look distinctly amused.

“Shang-ge,” he says, mirth coating every word.

“What?”

Shen Qingqiu watches him for a moment, and then snickers.

“Shen-ge, what?”

“You look like you just ripped someone’s throat out.” Shen Qingqiu comments idly.

Annoyed, Shang Qinghua reaches up and rubs the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He scowls at his bro. “That’s because I just did? Why are you laughing at me?”

Someone coughs. It sounds like one of the guards. Another hurriedly shushes the one, and all the demons in the hall are very still and very silent. It’s kind of eerie, actually. Mobei Jun is still staring at him, too.

Is it because Shang Qinghua has made such a mess? He will clean it up, your majesty, he promises!

“What did it taste like?” Shen Qingqiu suddenly wonders aloud, watching him inquisitively, and Shang Qinghua rounds on him with a sigh of exasperation.

“Gross.” He says firmly. He wipes his sleeve over his mouth once more, for good measure. Blood flakes off of his chin, and he makes a face. “Disgusting. I’m never doing that again. Ugh.”

Shen Qingqiu’s fan flutters, and his friend laughs at him.

“Shang Qinghua.” Mobei Jun says, this time more firmly.

He turns toward his king and folds his hands out in front of him, bowing just slightly enough to show respect. “My king, this one will have the mess cleaned up, do not worry. However, both this one and his martial brother require the assistance of our fellow peak lord after such an ordeal, so if your Majesty would allow us….”

Mobei Jun’s haze sharpens, and he takes a step forward. Always one to read in between the lines of what is being said, he demands answers. “You are hurt?”

“This one was impaled. Healed now, but likely requires further treatment just in case. Brother Shen has a head wound that I would like for our sect doctor to look at.”

“I’m fine,” Shen Qingqiu says, annoyed.

He sways slightly to the side, righting himself before Shang Qinghua can reach out to steady him, and gives him an impervious look when he tries to set his hand on the man’s arm anyway.

Shang Qinghua rolls his eyes. “Sure, as Shen-ge says. Would you like to tell Qingfang, or should I?”

Shen Qingqiu glares at him.

He turns back to Mobei Jun, who has taken a few steps to the side and is trying to peer around them for a glimpse at the mess on the throne room floor. Shang Qinghua steps in front of him, blocking the view.

His king narrows his eyes at him, and Shang Qinghua swallows down the usual nervousness that tries to crawl up his throat at the look. He is tired, he’s got a headache, his qi levels are at rock bottom, he’d just been impaled, and Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves a fucking nap, okay?

He summons up a polite smile and gives his king another bow. “If my king permits it…?” He hedges once again.

Mobei Jun glowers at him for a couple more long moments, the line of demonic guardsmen at his back unrelenting and immovable.

“The invasion force at the gates,” his king says slowly, eyes once again going to the throne room just beyond their little rendezvous point here. “It was only a bluff?”

“Yes, my king.”

“And the assassin?”

“Dead, my king.”

“.... Hmph.”

Well, Shang Qinghua has no idea what that sound means.

Mobei Jun stares at him some more, before finally nodding his head once. “This king will take you to Qian Cao.”

Shang Qinghua beams at the man. “That would be amazing! Many thanks, my king!”

Mobei Jun lets out a huff and pivots on his heel to face the contingent of guardsdemals instead, his back shown to them.

From Shang Qinghua’s shoulder, Shen Qingqiu quietly snorts into his fan.

“Gather a cleaning crew for both the battlefield and the throne room,” Mobei Jun barks out, and the guards scatter.

He turns back to face the two peak lords, and holds out one arm, not even looking at them.

Shang Qinghua wraps one arm around his bro’s waist. From how unsteady Shen Qingqiu still is, he doesn’t really trust the man to hold on for the entire trip. And falling off mid-teleportation is definitely not fun. Shang Qinghua can attest to that.

Mobei Jun is scowling when he reaches out and sets his arm into the crook of the king’s elbow, but he steps into the teleportation before Shang Qinghua can even consider asking him what’s wrong.

[fkingsteverogers]

Tell Me We’ll Be Just Fine

A/N: A couple points: 1) I made a new blog for these writings to make them easier to find 2) I have a tag list! lmk if you want to be added to it 3) For my non US babes and others, your third amendment rights say you can’t be forced to house soldiers. Long Story Short 

Contains TFATWS Episode 5 spoilers

                                                        ****

With John Walker being Honorably Discharged after an International Incident, you’re stuck under house arrest.  (The United States Government would tell you house arrest is too strong of a word, it’s simply Strongly Advised you stay in your apartment.) You want to scream from the rooftops that you had nothing to do with him, that it was all an act, but you’re being Strongly Advised, so that’s not an option. You hope, wherever he is, Bucky is having a better time than you are. 

Five Days; Eastern Europe:

Bucky is not having a good time. They’re in a country where everyone wants them dead, holed up in a shitty motel and all he can think of is the absolutely devastated look on your face when he walked out the door. It makes him brood. 

“You have to talk about her sometime.” 

“Who?” 

“Whoever makes you frown like that.” 

“‘M not frowning. What do you know about it anyway? You’re single.” So maybe he was being an ass about it. You were so far away, probably cuddled up with John or Steve, and he was here, sitting in a motel room with Sam. John Walker was probably feeling you up right now, running his hand over those beautiful thighs of yours as you kissed him, making soft little noises--he clenches his fist so hard he breaks the bowl he’d been holding, splattering rice and beans all over the floor cracked tile floor. 

“Yo, man, what the fuck?!” 

Day One; New York City: 

Steve’s allowed to visit, because of course he is. He flashes some badge and the guards (who are Strongly Advising you), stand down. “Why are you here, Stevie?” And you hate that you still call him Stevie. Stevie is what you called him on the quiet nights when you two were alone and he was still yours. Steve gives you his sad smile and you want to fall into his arms, to sob into his chest and tell him how you fucked it all up. You don’t. 

“Just go, Stevie.” 

Four Days; Eastern Europe: 

Sam goes to do some surveillance, announcing that he “couldn’t deal with this shit,” leaving Bucky alone in the shitty room they were sharing. Before he’d been deployed, he would’ve spent an afternoon alone in a hotel curled up with a pretty girl or a handsome boy. During the war, he’d spend a quiet day catching up on some sleep or rereading a well loved copy of The Hobbit. During his Hydra days (which he hated thinking about but also couldn’t stop thinking about), there really weren’t days off. There were days where he killed and days where he didn’t. Since then, he’d spent most of his days off trying to remember how to be a human. 

You had made those days feel like living again. And now you were John’s girl, dressed all pretty up for him and everything. Bucky’d been fucking stupid to think you’d want someone like him, someone damaged, someone with blood on his hands. You were good and soft and pretty. You spoke four languages and had probably read every book ever written. 

You’d been good enough for Steve. 

He breaks another bowl and has to lay down after.

Day Three; New York City: 

You glare down the solider that’s sitting in your kitchen, eating a sandwich. “This is violating my Third Amendment Rights, you know.” 

The smug bastard grins and keeps eating his sandwich. 

Two Days; Louisiana: 

“That shield’s the closest thing I’ve got left to a family, so when you retired it, I felt like I had nothing left.” 

The mission had gone down as well as any of their missions go, they’d been shot at, gotten out by the skin of their teeth. Sam left to go back home as soon as he could, Bucky followed. Where else did he have to go?

“You have her.” 

He didn’t, not really. 

“I don’t want to talk about her, Sam.” Bucky tosses the shield, scowling deeply. 

Sam sighs, catching the shield. He turned to face his friend, were they friends?, and looked him up and down. “Yeah, you do.” So maybe Bucky does want to talk about you, about how betrayed he feels by you choosing Walker over him. The government hadn’t been powerful enough to stop some gossip magazine from publishing a spread of you and Walker, you in a little red sundress that makes you look incredible and his hand on your thigh. There’s some bullshit story about how you met and had been so enamored with him you’d asked him for coffee on the spot.

 It makes Bucky physically sick with rage. 

Day Four; New York City: 

After four days of being Strongly Advised, you’re ready to start pulling out your hair. The news is nonstop coverage of what happened to John Walker, the green beret who had gone crazy and killed a man in a moment of grief induced rage. And to top it all off, People released a spread that makes you want to scream. The whole shoot hadn’t been your idea, some government publicist had insisted it was necessary to sell the story. In reality, it’d been five hours with John’s hands all over you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. During a break, he’d asked you about Steve, his tone suggesting something that was none of his business. 

“You don’t get to talk about Steve.” John had smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. It clearly annoyed him, someone thinking he wasn’t good enough for something. “What about your wife, John?” A look of surprise crosses his face but it’s gone in a moment, the mask he wears to keep people out back in place. 

“Olivia isn’t part of the deal. I thought we could be friends,” he spits the word out like it’s dirty, “but clearly you’re not interested in that, clearly you’re interested in--” 

“Be careful how you finish that sentence, John.” Your voice is low, betraying the landmine he’s almost stepped on. Given the chance, you’d stab John Walker in his pretty face. Decades in prison means nothing when the love of your life abandoned you and the man you thought you could count on ran out. (So maybe you were thinking about Bucky, it doesn’t actually matter.)

Bucky had been a solid presence in a sea of uncertainty. He’d made you feel safe and okay. After Steve’s departure and the death of Tony, the only member of your family left, solid and safety had been in short supply. He’d showed up, ate his cold beans in silence in the kitchen, and hadn’t left. He’d made you laugh in a way you hadn’t in months. You’d developed a routine, Bucky would wake up before you and boil water for tea, you’d stumble out and cook something to serve as breakfast, and you’d both go about your days. In the evenings, you’d come together, talk about the stupid shit that had happened during the day, watch a movie on Friday nights, and go to bed. It was nice to have a routine, something and someone you could depend on. 

The nights had been quiet since he left. 

Twelve Hours; New York City: 

Bucky’s plane lands and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

It’s raining when he steps out of the airport, a down pour by anyone’s standards. Fine by him, less people to avoid. He manages to make it to the little coffee shop outside your apartment without getting too soaked. Going up there wasn’t an option, not when you were probably angry with him for running out. So he sits, drinks endless cups of coffee and watches. 

“She takes it two creams, no sugar, if you want to bring it up to her.” Bucky turns and finds himself face to face with Steve. His friend looks old, but happy, at peace even. There’s so much he wants to say, he wants to ask Steve why he left, what he thought about Walker. He wants to punch him or throttle him or hug him. Bucky wants a long fucking hug. 

“I don’t think she wants to see me, punk.” Steve sits, shaking his head. 

“I didn’t think she wanted to see me, either. Sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her..” 

Before Bucky can reply, before he can really process what Steve is saying, he gets a text from Sam and he’s off to save the world again.

Day Five; New York City: 

Because the universe hates you, you can’t even use your phone to entertain yourself. Someone leaked your personal number and it hadn’t stopped ringing since. And, since the internet has no nuance, they’re mostly death threats. You’re reading a book when the guards who are Strongly Advising you abandon their posts. There’s something going on, something that no one bothers to inform you about. 

You go back to reading your book. Hopefully Bucky’s not being thrown through a wall. 

Thirty Minutes; New York City: 

Bucky gets thrown through a wall. 

It fucking hurts and he’s dizzy after. Like can’t-walk-straight-am-I-actually-drunk-dizzy. Sam, the useless bastard, loads him into a taxi, tells him he’ll be fine, and gives the driver your address. Bucky’s dimly aware of this fact, aware of the fact that this poor man is driving him, a bleeding super solider, to the one place he wanted to be but wasn’t welcome. 

Two Minutes; New York City: 

The guards aren’t back by the time the downstairs buzzer starts ringing incessantly. You’re in the middle of your book, right at the moment where the head-strong damsel and the Lord she hated are about to kiss. You try to ignore it, With a groan, you stomp down to the doors. 

Standing there, half supported by Vasily, the Russian cabbie (who is definitely into some shady business), is Bucky. 

Now; New York City: 

You thank Vasily, telling him you’ll pay for the cab when you see him on Friday for Shabbat, and take the bleeding Bucky into your arms. Bucky mumbles something, clearly speaking Russian but too lowly for you to actually understand. Vasily glares at him, muttering curses as he stalks away. 

Dragging Bucky up to your sixth floor apartment means sharing a run in with Daisy Mae, your elderly neighbor who’s 90% blind and enjoys loitering in the elevator. She seems to take offense to Bucky mumbling Russian children’s songs to himself. 

“Speak English dear, not Communism. We’re in the United States.” 

“Mind the business that pays you, Daisy Mae.”

She hmphs, but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky, for his part, gives a rousing performance of the Russian alphabet. Finally, you get Bucky into your apartment and unceremoniously drop him on your couch. 

It’s not long before he falls asleep, leaving you to stare at him for hours, wondering just what he’s going to say when he wakes up. 

When he does wake up, it’s to the scent of your soap, sweet watermelon that always leaves an aching in the pit of his stomach. Waking up on your couch, smelling your soap, and listening to you cook feels like a dream. How many times had he thought about this exact moment while he was with Sam? Soon enough you’d turn the corner from the kitchenette and smile at him, that beautiful smile that never failed to make him feel a little dizzy. 

And then he’d wake up in a shitty hotel room, listening to Sam take a shit through the paper thin walls. 

He waits, but when you appear, you’re frowning anxiously. And God, you’re so fucking beautiful. You’re wearing a pair of tiny sleep shorts that expose your long legs to his greedy eyes. Your hair is pushed back off your face, exposing the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. 

Steve was a lucky man, to be able to love you.  Maybe one day he’ll find a woman like you to love, if he’s lucky. Has he ever been lucky?

Bucky looks confused when you appear holding tea. “Hi.” He doesn’t say anything back, just frowns back. Your mind races, realizing he probably doesn’t want to see you, that he was dropped off here by some well meaning friend, and he was going to get up and walk out the door again. 

“At least let me clean you up before you go.” Bucky nods wordlessly, looking like he’s still a little stunned. He takes a seat at the kitchen table as you pull down the first aid kit you’d put together when Steve was still here. There’s a cut above his eyebrow that’s still oozing a little blood. It’s in such a place you have to situate yourself between his legs in order to get to it. 

It’s quiet while you work, Bucky’s never been a man of many words and now he’s probably trying to figure out how to tell you you’re never going to see him again. As soon as he’s cleaned up well enough that you’re satisfied he won’t die sitting at your kitchen table, you step away to admire your handy work. Bucky’s left hand, his metal hand, catches your wrist and pulls you back to him. It holds you there while his right hand comes up to cup your face, running a thumb over your cheekbone. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

He’s not sure what possesses him when he pulls you back into him. All he knows is if he doesn’t get you close, if he doesn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are, he won’t be able to breathe. You make a little noise of exasperation, your gorgeous lips parting. “I mean it.” “Bucky…” You try to pull away but he holds you there, studying every inch of your face and committing it to memory. There’s an electricity between the two of you, it feels like the air is charged enough to light that stupid snail lamp you’d bought from Arrow or whatever that store you loved was called. “Bucky…” You repeat, your voice softer, in a tone he can’t quite describe

Before either of you can move or say anything else, the door swings open to reveal Sam and Torres, flanked by three soldiers. None of them take notice of what feels like a very compromising position. 

“Oh good, you’re here, Sargent Barnes. You're all being moved to a safe house. Pack enough for an indeterminate amount of time.” 

[sparklywaistcoat]

men: <prevent women from holding public office>

men: <pay women less than men for the same jobs>

men: <beat women>

men: <treat women as property>

men: <rape women>

men: <kill women who tell them no>

women: OMFG WHY ARE MEN SO HORRIBLE

men: Y U NO LIKE US

also men: U ARE SEXIST

also also men: NOT ALL MEN

Fellas.

Dudes.

Instead of coming after the women who point out the shitty ways men treat women, how ‘bout y’all go and talk to your bros and get them to act like decent human beings instead?

And shoutout to the dude who said that I have “small dick energy.” Bro. Not everything can be measured in terms of penis size, and penis size isn’t even the most important unit of measurement, not by a long chalk. I wear your scorn as a badge of honor, sir.

Also, Lord Almighty but y’all’s masculinity is more fragile than a piece of Waterford crystal....

[angst-fairygodmother]

Break My Heart Right: Scrapes (Luba x Reader)

Word Count: 1385 Rating: T Content Warnings: physical injury, blood, discussion of violence, discussion of physical abuse, swearing Cross-posted to AO3 Taglist: @sean-falco (let me know if you want to be added)

“Shit!” you muttered, fumbling with the cotton swab in your hand as you rushed to dab antiseptic on the split of your cheek as if that could hide it. You could hear Luba in the living room, the door closing heavily behind him. 

“Heelloo?” he called out, his voice the cheerful singsong that told you that it had been a good day at work. “Y/N? Don’t tell me you’re asleep?”

Maybe if you pretended not to hear him, he would assume you had in fact and he would pout but leave it be. Maybe you could have until morning to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t get that disappointed sigh from him. 

“If you are, I’m waking you up,” he threatened. “I’m bored. The night is young. We could go out.”

“I’m...sick,” you finally answered, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could think. 

“Oh, no,” you could hear the frown in his voice. “Sick is it? Do you need anything? Soup? Cuddles? Hot water bottle? A massage?”

You couldn’t help the smile that crept across your face, even as your mind raced to find an answer. You heard his catlike treads pass the bathroom door toward your bedroom, only to pause.

“Do I need to come in and hold your hair?” he offered, voice soft and coaxing on the other side of the door. 

The knob started to turn.

“No!” you panicked, shoving the door shut again in his face. “I don’t want you to see me like this!”

“As if I haven’t seen the worst of you already and still found you gorgeous.”

“Er,” you hissed, praying that he couldn’t hear it, as you dabbed at the oozing wound. “I don’t want you to get sick too?”

“Y/N, what is going on?” he asked harshly. “You sound like you’re in pain. And you’re a bad liar. Let me in.”

Your shoulders sagged as you relented with a sigh, knowing he wasn’t going to give up anyway.

“Thank you,” he said dramatically as he entered the little space, before turning and seeing your face in the mirror.

“You’re bleeding!” his aghast cry seemed too loud so close, and made your head throb. “Why the fuck are you bleeding?” his long fingers curled around your chin, turning you to face him as he inspected the marks on your face.

“It’s...complicated.”

“What could be complicated about this, Y/N? What happened? Who did this?” He free hand began to roam the rest of you, checking you over for more injuries, green eyes sharp with worry.

“Luba, stop.” You tried to step away, back bumping against the wall and the gap between you barely widening.

He fell silent and still, watching you sharply, jaw tight. He was angry. At you, or at least partially so.

“I swung first,” you said by way of explanation, turning back to the mirror to poke at your injuries and see how bad they looked now that they were clean, trying not to wince as your fingers probed the tender skin and made the one above your eyebrow bleed again. “But he deserved it.”

He rolled his eyes (his whole head really), turning you back to face him again. His fingers were gentle as he dabbed the blood away, thumb rubbing small circles over the bruises already forming.

“Next you’re going to tell me I should see the other guy because he’s in much worse shape.”

“No,” you admitted pathetically. “He basically kicked my ass til Alexi smacked him with an airbrush pump.” You tried to smile as if the whole thing was a big joke, but it hurt, and the expression on Luba’s face made the false mirth drop from yours. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” His voice was low and he wouldn’t meet your eyes now. 

He turned, picking up the tiny suture strips you had laid out on the counter. There was a tremor in his hands as he carefully laid the first one on your brow, so minute that you wouldn’t have noticed it if his touch hadn’t been on you. 

“Luba, I--” you sighed, not sure what to say to him.

“What did he do, that was so deserving?” He pressed a little harder than necessary to make sure the next strip stuck, and you breathed in sharply through your nose. 

Your mind flashed back to earlier in the evening, to the sight of bruises like fingerprints on your client’s arm, the tremor in his voice as he explained that his partner didn’t like the quote he’d had you tattoo on his shoulder a few months before and wanted it removed or covered up. You knew this boy and you had seen in seconds the way the man made the light in him die out and it had just filled you with rage, hot and all-consuming. And then the bastard had refused to leave your studio when you told him to go, laughed in your face like he had some entitlement to be there. So you’d decked him. 

But how did you explain that to Luba?

“Sometimes a guy just deserves to be punched,” you muttered defensively, gaze falling from his. 

“Don’t do that, Y/N. Don’t shut me out.” He affixed the last suture, tilting that side of your head further into the light to check his work. “Please?”

You sighed. “I got protective of a regular client with a shitty boyfriend, okay? And the guy was like twice my size and built like a wall, and I should have known better but I didn’t. Or I did, and didn’t care. I don’t know. Do you want an apology or something?”

“No I don’t want an apology,” he sounded frustrated and you felt guilt twist your stomach. “I want you to care more about yourself instead of everyone else.”

You opened your mouth to protest that you did take care of yourself, you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and you didn’t understand why he was acting like you could only do one or the other, but he cut you off.

“I’m getting you a compress, your eye is going to look awful,” he said, sweeping out of the bathroom.

You stared down your reflection in the mirror, glaring at it like it had wronged you somehow, noticing how swollen it already was. 

“I’d suggest getting up early tomorrow so you have time to cover it up,” Luba said, appearing behind you once more, reaching around you to place the cold cloth against your hot skin, “but knowing you, you’ll just wear it proudly like some badge of honor shit.”

“You’re really upset with me,” you observed, wanting to lean back against him and relax into his soothing touch but not until you had settled things for certain. 

“Of course I am!” He met your good eye with his own, burning with intensity. “How would you feel if things were swapped and I came home, face like minced meat and knuckles shredded? If I said I got in a fight because I didn’t like how someone might be treating someone else?”

“Hey, my face is not that bad off.”

His flat expression told you that you weren’t going to be able to deflect this one. Nor were you going to escape, given the way his arms caged you in. You were having this conversation, it seemed. 

“I’d be upset,” you admitted finally. “I’d be pissed, and I’d be worried about you. But what was I supposed to do, sit back and do nothing?” 

“Yes,” he hissed before shaking his head. “No. Just...be smart, like I know you are.”

He suddenly leaned down to kiss your hair, tilting his chin to rest on top of your head after. 

“I just want you safe, okay?” he murmured. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “I’ll...try harder next time. Or for there not to be a next time.”

“Thank you. Now do you want help with those hands?”

Without waiting for an answer, he took one of them in his and picked up the gauze you had set out earlier, carefully winding it around. 

“Especially be careful with these, you need them. And I am...so fond of them myself,” he teased with a smirk, letting you know that all was well.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

i havent been here in a hot second is there a reason for the makoto hate specifically? like the rants go back to p5's writing issues but the spite for makoto seems very specific did she kill someones dog in one of the spinoffs or what?

You're all good. So here's the thing, she did kill my dog-I'm joking.

When I say “I’m the residential #1 Makoto Hater” it’s a joke, partially cause it probs looks that way (and probs cause it might be true, who knows if you could quantify hate then maybe I’m at the top of the leaderboards 8U but you can’t so we’ll never know). But I’m saying it at as a joke, to own myself and everyone here that knows what I think of her, rather than wear it as a badge of honor or some silliness. It’s just a “oh haha yeah there goes Silly, dunking on Makoto again! She’s basically Makoto’s #1 hater haha oh she’s so silly.” (so please don’t look too deep into it, I just want to have fun).

Anyway, me hating Makoto isn’t new, but I do hold a similar ire towards Futaba, Goro (tho I have camaraderie with his fans, I relate to their struggle in terms of my own brown hair and red eye fav and Atlus screwing them over u_u I may hate your fave but I respect you and will be in your corner), and Yukari (as well as Chloe from LiS if you want a non-Persona example). Makoto might be talked about more because 1) She hits my buttons that much faster (Futaba/Goro are more like a festering wound, and when I talk about them it’s hard to pick a starting point), 2) Her fans tendency (early on in the fandom) bringing her up frequently.....was a bad combo with #1 (overexposure+pushing all my buttons really fast=disaster). Obvie not blaming her fans, but it was hard to curate how I was able to curate my content online (esp with gaming news websites calling her “best girl” when showing off a figure announcement or some BS when I just want to know what new games have been announced >.> I can do without you trying to start a waifu war in the comments Siliconera -_-)

Anyway, I think I’ve made my reasons for hating her very clear (you just have to search her name on my blog and you’ll get a ton of essays I’m sure, too many to count). And a lot of it is the failure of P5′s writing. “So it’s just the writing you hate, not the character.” No. Because that doesn’t make sense. Except under certain circumstances (which I’ll provide examples of below with Luke Skywalker), you can’t separate the writing from the character. The character IS the writing, the writing IS the character. If you can’t hate/dislike the char because “of the writing” then you also can’t love/like them either. The character and the writing/writing choices for that character are connected. The writing embodies that character. They are the same.

Now I said there was an exception, and that’s....”different writer/director,” tho it’s not ALWAYS the case (sometimes the new writer really gets the original writing, like Saito for MM.....they are very good at emulating the clusterfuck of P5′s writing). P5′s writing is the original basis for Makoto’s character, that’s her. You can’t separate it from her. Same thing with say....Luke Skywalker from the OG trilogy, that’s him. But then we get to the sequel/Disney trilogy, new writer/director....and yeah that’s a mess (from what I understand OG trilogy=Hopeful and tries to see the best in people, 2nd Disney=Cynic and tried to kill a child, 3rd Disney=Hopeful again for some reason). There’s character development, then there’s just straight up changing the character just cause you need them to be this now. 

*writes how this can apply to Persona spinoffs but deletes because I was getting too off track* Look at me exercising control. It’s probs best I save that for a meta after I’ve replayed all the spinoffs again.

But....if you want me to boil down my issues with Makoto, I hate the message we get from her. I hate the lesson we learn from her. What is supposed to happen vs what happens.  It’s supposed to be about a girl who is blindly following authority and becomes disillusioned with it after being burned by it, on top of “immense pressure” she has as well, and then comes to our side (we know this because Atlus told us). We don’t get that (we know this because we saw the execution). We get two adults, yes TWO ADULTS, one of which is her sister and wants her to do well in school (but isn’t like.....a tiger mom about it, because Sae can’t be TOO horrible because we need to like her later), who in retrospect seems very busy with her job (which gives Makoto freedom), but also feels burdened by her younger sister (in which she has one shitty slip with her and then NEVER again). And the other is a dumbass principal who asks a really strange and stupid task for Makoto that snowballs into bullshit. That’s IT! THAT’S IT! That’s all we get from Makoto and “authority.” Strawmen. We don’t really get much of her personality either (I’m not saying that cause “she’s cardboard” I legit just.....don’t get her? Like I don’t get enough of her to get a solid foundation, you get me?) Like as the player, what we see of her is she’s just studying in the library (Kamo arc), then the principal calls her in, she mentions the rumors about Kamo, he asks her to look into the PT in exchange for a recommendation (to which she’s surprised and says thanks, not no, she looks like she’ll accept JUST BASED ON THAT) but before she can even say Yes (OR NO) he threatens Makoto with her sister, to which Makoto hardens and then agrees. Then she acts like an asshole and yadda yadda stuff happens.

But if she’s supposed to blindly follow authority, she’d say yes, but then they don’t let the character breathe so she can make the “wrong” choice because the Principal goes STRAIGHT to threatening her.......so now the message is muddled, or really it’s non existent. The whole Sae thing is a nothing bag too, it’s just family drama. Her sister is, no HAS to be absent a lot for her work, just so Makoto can have the freedom to be a PT....which means....it hurts her lack of freedom and other stuff associated with Sae being a big pressure on Makoto’s life. You know, I’ve said before they’ve squandered Sae, and that Makoto’s presence really harmed Sae (iirc it was this post). But at the same time, how they handled Sae really screws up Makoto’s character. Neither are allowed to breathe. Neither are allowed to make a true, horrible choice...and then learn from it. They aren’t allowed to have an actual arc. Altus played it safe, took choice away from them, didn’t want to take risks with either character and have meaning. Instead we just have this nothing contradiction thing dicking around until they join our team. 

What really sucks about that....is we got that with the Kamo arc. With Anne, Ryuji, even Yuki and Shiho. Kamo was manipulative, and his manipulation caused people to make....not the best choices, all out of a means to survive. Ryuji physically acted against Kamo, and he got his leg broken, team disbanded, and outcasted. Anne was trying to protect Shiho’s position on the team, which lead to her almost getting harmed by Kamo, Shiho getting harmed, her not seeing the truth about what was going on around her, and she didn’t tell Shiho (because she didn’t want Shiho to think she didn’t get on the team for her own merits), and so on. Shiho didn’t tell Anne what was going on because she wanted to protect Anne from Kamo (and was afraid Anne would, very much blame herself), and her and Yuki and the rest of the teams helped keep quiet about Kamo so they wouldn’t be next on the physical chopping block. This isn’t me blaming them, this is me showing their choices, their attempts to fix their (hopeless) situation, to help themselves or others, and the dramatic irony being it just made everything worse. BUT, even tho Kamo was the real one to blame, each character is aware of the actions that were made, and the consequences of each action (esp Anne/Ryuji/Shiho). And in their CoOps, they identify this, and take strides to learn from it so it doesn’t happen again. That’s an arc. That’s character development. They were allowed to make errors, mistakes, decisions that negatively impacted themselves/other’s. We see a solid foundation of their character from the get go, and how it changes over that small time. We don’t get that with Makoto. The group is like solid concrete to Makoto who is like shifting sand. 

Sorry got a bit off topic, anyway, I hate her message of boasting about her fighting ability but she only harms her friends (outside of shadows, but that’s not special) WHILE ALSO being a damsel that needs someone else to rescue her! I hate how when she gets called out, she wants to drop it, and gives gaslighty apologies, even tho she really ROYALLY screwed lot of people very badly. I hate how she demands us to help, only to literally be a detriment to our investigation. I hate how she gets to fly off the handle without repercussions (despite needing to be cool calm and collected for her job, especially since she miraculously can do that when needed so what the hell????). I hate how the text has her be shitty, say shitty things, be bad at her job, but will turn around and reward her time and time again. 

Sure she doesn’t break the lore like Futaba, or unravel P5′s plot like Goro. But as a character with a message attached to her, even ones that the creators surely overlooked (I’m sure they didn’t intend for her to only hit her friends), it’s simple but very annoying. Fast and easy to see, doesn’t require me to think of P5′s lore as well as the grander Persona lore. Doesn’t require me to dig through text for Goro bread crumbs and then unravel the entire basis of the P5 plot thanks to him. Makoto is easier to get into, it’s smaller scale and more personal I guess.