#to make matters worse instead of the person i expected to reply it's this other professor that i'm pretty sure must know me by name by now

[umilily]

(at the top of my lungs) I HATE UNIVERSITY

[aroaceleovaldez]

hey! hope this isn't weird but i wanted to know why you think artemis wasn't up to standards even in the original pjo series. you reblogged from me and so i had front row to your tags on the post about zeus jaja i've not seen people talk a lot about her and it got me interested as i'm a classics student!

- @zoebelladona 🌙

HELLO OH BOY okay so I have half a rant already about Artemis in terms of Rick and general aphobic tropes in the series. see: that open letter on twitter. i still need to transfer that to tumblr. fun fact: Rick replied to that post but deleted his reply at some point. probably because two replies after he replied to my post and word-of-god confirmed Reyna to be ace-coded he left social media for a bit.

Fun times! Anyways.

The thing I dislike about Artemis as she's depicted in the series, besides her constantly appearing as a teenager and the aphobic tropes with that [see: open letter linked above] - which on some level is slightly more excusable than other examples given she's a goddess of young women, but given how he writes Athena, Hestia, and the Hunt instead leaves a bad taste in my mouth - and other similar aphobic tropes with her, is her whole weird anti-men thing (which is also, in itself, also an aphobic trope in this particular circumstance). I understand TTC was written in 2007 so that flavor of radical feminism that Artemis and the Hunt is clearly supposed to be was only just coming into major public awareness and the flaws in the ideology (and the inherent bigotry, particularly transphobia and racism that often comes with it) weren't as well recognized at the time. But in hindsight it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth for obvious reasons and is one of the things from the first series that severely aged poorly in my opinion, and I greatly dislike that in every subsequent retcon of the Hunt for other reasons Rick more or less retains that aspect.

Secondly... it doesn't make sense from a mythological standpoint? Because there are multiple examples of men being Hunters in Artemis' retinue. Even ignoring Orion, no matter how you go about shaking that stick (which for the record I really dislike how Rick retconned him in the series/wrote him in HoO), Hippolytus is a very notable example. Literally his big whole original shtick was he joined the Hunt because he didn't like romance and Aphrodite got so pissed about him not needing her (romance) that she killed him. And even when Aphrodite was trying to ruin his life he held on to his virtues and vow to Artemis (refusing advances even when his life was on the line). He is otherwise totally chill and devoted to Artemis. Some versions of his myth has Artemis have him resurrected after he dies (by Asclepius, which is why Asclepius is punished for reviving the dead). This also obviously doesn't address the major glaring logical flaw in Artemis hating all men which is... Apollo. Especially within the series he seems to be an exception for no reason, despite Artemis also very overtly having a "brothers are not an exception to the no-men rule." And from a modern queer standpoint, it obviously begs the question of stuff like gender identity within the Hunt and if you bring back the radfem stuff it gets real bad vibes real fast. Which also sucks when you particularly look at historical/mythological descriptions of Apollo and Artemis and how they very poignantly encompass defying gender roles and expectations particularly within their cultural contexts.

And every time Rick tries to retcon the Hunt, he somehow manages to make it kind of worse, particularly with the oath. I have a whole personal thing for how I think to best rectify all that nonsense in a way that isn't horrible and is related to some of Artemis' aspects in a more sensible way (buried somewhere in this monster of a post. Honestly i'd just recommend ctrl + f search "Hunters" on that post and it should be somewhere near the first ping there). In there I also go into some of my other thoughts for the general meh way the Hunt is written in the series, mostly being aphobic tropes and random death fodder.

So yeah. Basically, tl;dr: I am personally not a huge fan of how Artemis in the series is halfway to being a terf and chock-full of aphobic tropes. And I need Rick to stop retconning things into the ground.

[daklin2777]

Ok for those who says he loves Grace. Yeah he does love Grace and in one sense it was a kind gesture that she was killed  off .I mean what do you expexct Peaky Blinders was doing illegal business, do you expect her to make an honest man out of him?  then the series would have ended waaaay much earlier into a boring nothingness. Tommy had enemies he could not simply get out of and sooner or later the nature of him not being around at home for business, or knowing her husband has killed someone would have burn Grace out.And instead of Lizzie who later ask for divorce it would have been Grace should they have decided to keep her alive .Grace would have crack under pressure at the end. So it was gracious for the writers to write her off so that her bazillions of fans cherish her temporary  rom com with Tommy.5 seconds of blissgood but it ended. DONE.why the heck are people angry with Lizzie, her character is created to bare the brute of the Peaky Fuckin  Blinders world had Grace was alive.Lizzie was already in that world, her clients were gangsters, politician, she knows how to survive and YET still be kind.And for those whinners saying no she's not , may I remind youGrace son is calling her mom even though HE knows she is not.Do I  think Tommy love Lizzie more than Grace ? No I don't , but do I think he loves her , yes I do and its not from this scene alone .and then it has been burning up slowly from season 5.Then why is he sleeping with Diana, the bitch is a manipulator along with Mosley and the other guy,Tommy , in some  way his family ( yes that include Lizzie too)  is his weakness, he  either difuse them by showing them he doesn't care  and showing them he is taking Lizzie out  off the equation in one way to protect he as well.Why was he being cruel to her ? The man  has PTSD from France, he lost his love, he lost John, he lost Aunt Polly , he lost Ruby  his PTSD is getting worse I don't  see anyone being lovey dovey through this even if Grace was alive she could not  help him.but somehow Lizzie seems like a drug to him because Lizzie is from that world,he knows that he can be harsh with her and she will not wilther, no matter his mood she will be there , she can read him ( those kind of vulnerability scares him hence why in season 6 he hurt her more to protect himself and to push her away from his enemy)and she knows what he feel,his anger,his frustration, his fear but what frustrate her is he is not opening up to her ( can you blame the women). This sort of person you don't throw away. He is building up a wall so thick , whatever affection he showed  Lizzie in Season 5 is fragile and Lizzie knows that , he is not going to open up to her in this state.So bear this in mind Grace fans it was RUBY , Tommy's and Lizzie's child that saved him from suicide not Charlie , Tommy and Grace's child , so this symbolically also reflected that theres something bright in the toxic relationship  of Tommy and Lizzie.So Grace is DEAD  enough already. Was it the greatest love in the series? perhaps for a short while  it last. BUT it would not have survive in the world of Peaky fuckin Blinders.All I hope in the movie, ALL the remaining Shelby ( yes Lizzie too even thgh she is divorce) are alive.Whether happy ending or not, love or not ...get back together or not...there will be closure and peace for all of them and yes even Lizzie..

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[hom3landr]

He hears you cry at night sometimes, when you think he’s asleep. You’ll bury your face in his chest as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. It’s usually after he lets something slip about his childhood…about his time in the bad room. The initial flash of pain in your eyes is always brief, quickly smoothed over by a kind word and a hand in his hair. You try to sweep negative emotions under the rug, as though you think you’re protecting him. Self introspection is not something he’s good at but even he knows that it’s because he’s not capable of providing the comfort you need. He’s happy to preen under your hands instead.

But it does start to concern him when he’s being woken up by the smell of your tears more often than not. He doesn’t need to look at the clock tonight to know it’s late. You’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. Your face is hot and puffy with despair. His chest tightens as he watches you without your walls up. Why won’t you share this with him? Do you not think he can handle it? (Can he?)

He gently runs his hand down your spine and you jolt like you’ve just been shocked. You wiggle out of his grasp before he can keep you pressed against him. You try to wipe the tears from your cheeks but it’s a sisyphean task as your eyes continue to well and sting. Your heart is beating like a rabbit’s from being caught and your insistence on trying to hide again causes the tightness to turn to anger. You owe him the truth. Why is everyone always keeping secrets from him?

He grabs your wrist harshly and rougher than he intends to and your squeal of pain makes him withdraw like he’s been burned. It’ll only bruise but it reminds him of how unequal the power balance between the two of you is. You don’t look angry at him. You just look sad and numb and that’s somehow worse. He doesn’t know what to do and the angry flame burns brighter in his chest at how unfair everything is. Your relationship is perfect so why can’t things just be happy for once? Why does it always end this way?

Despite nursing your sore wrist, he can see your expression soften. He knows this look. You’re about to put on your mask again. You’re going to sooth him until he’s cooing under your touch and he forgets all about it. He doesn’t want that. You’re constantly ripping away his walls and exposing that raw aching weakness inside him. You cradle it like it’s a fragile bird. He could tear your arm from your body like ripping apart wrapping paper but he can��t make you trust him the way he does you. It doesn’t matter if he’d only be able to handle it with clumsy hands. At least it would be something honest.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I didn’t mean to wake you up”

“Why are you crying?” He demands. Your shoulders slump at the harshness in his tone. There’s a split second where he hates you. He fucking hates you because you’re supposed to be different.

“I love you. I love you so much that I don’t know how to handle it sometimes,” You confess weakly. It’s true. You aren’t lying.

His brow furrows in confusion as tears continue to roll down your cheeks. You’d just told him you loved him. Loving him wasn’t supposed to make you sad. He opens his mouth to reply but you gently hush him. His teeth clench in annoyance but his response dies in his throat.

“It’s not fair. Any of it. I want to help but I can’t. I can’t change anything. You tell me these horrible things and I can only sit there and run my fucking fingers through your hair like that makes what happened to you better. I watch you be cruel. I watch you hurt and hurt other people. It’s just one huge fucked up cycle and the sad thing is that I’m terrified that one day you won’t need me anymore. You come home with blood on your hands and my first thought isn’t to worry about the person that blood belongs too.” You choke out your confession, finally allowing your pain to surface. Homelander recognizes this emotion but it isn’t the one he expected. You feel guilty, as though you blame yourself for the havoc he wrecks. Oddly, it hurts less than he thought it would.

He understands guilt, even if he’s not sure he’s ever truly felt it. He’s protected from it. Slowly over the years it had been beat out of him. Knowing that’s what has you so distraught makes him chuckle. It’s such a human emotion. Your guilty conscious is comforting to him. You wouldn’t feel guilty for the actions that he commits if you were planning on leaving him. It’s flattering really, that you suffer for him so. It is a form of love in itself. He certainly prefers it over fear.

You’re panting heavily in the wake of your confession, body tense as you prepare for his reaction. He knows you aren’t scared, just prepared for battle. He gently reaches for your injured wrist, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the already swelling bruise. You sigh at his caresses, relieved that there will be no argument tonight. You follow his lead tentatively as he tugs you against him.

“Babe, I don’t know how to break this to you but you look like a fucking chipmunk when you cry.” He laughs, holding you tight against him even as you angrily try to shuffle away.

“I bare my soul to you and that’s how you reply?” You huff, the sadness in your voice is replaced with righteous anger. Good. Homelander considers anger to be a very useful emotion. It easily hides all the unpleasant ones that hurt a little too much to think about. That’s how he’s survived so long. Anger is healing…or at least it’s a band-aid to keep the wound from leaking. Not that he has ever needed a band-aid or had an injury that needed tending. He just knows that anger and cold calculated spite feels comforting, like a warm (blue) blanket around his shoulders. He can give that to you.

“Also, you got snot all over my suit so you’re gonna owe me for the dry cleaning bill.” He ducks his head to avoid a swat. He forgot how cute you are when you’re angry. It’s like watching a kitten hiss and spit.

“You’re an asshole!” You wriggle and pound on his chest but he refuses to let you go.

“Mmmhmm but you love me. You can’t take it back now.” He purrs against your ear. You grumble, caught in your own trap. It’s not like you’d be able to deny it anyway. How could you not love him? Even when it hurts you, you press on anyway. It almost makes everything he’s endured worth it…almost.

You don’t cry at night after that, even if the emotions are still bubbling under the surface. He doesn’t know if it’s because talking helped, or you simply became more clever about hiding it. It doesn’t matter anyway. You love him. You love him and he loves you. This love is immolating and painful but beautiful. If he’s being honest…he’s glad to know that you’re as raw and undone as he is. He promises himself that he’ll be as careful with your weakness as you are with his. He owes you that much.

[abysswalkersknight]

A sequel to this drabble. Though I admit it was a little harder than the other.

While writing half of this I was thinking about that scene from the movie storks when they fight the penguins.

..................

He truly didn’t know what was worse, protecting his son from his past self or this.

His dear son, curled up in the throes of slumber against the chest of that loathsome heathen who so daringly has his arms wrapped loosely around his boy’s torso, leering down at Lilia from his chin’s perch on silver’s shoulder ‘what’s the matter old boy, that glare doesn’t suit a cute face like yours’ Lilia scowls at him and replies with an all too familiar gesture that would surely have Silver reprimanding him were he awake, alas twas not so instead his precious son was captured in such an image that Lilia would be cooing all over him, if it weren’t for this one abhorrent factor, who knowingly smirks back at Lilia with all the smugness more suited for a mischievous cat. 

After the small incident where Lilia had beat the ever loving daylights out of his younger self, poor Silver had been wracked with miserable guilt despite his father’s protestations, claiming that he had been careless and had startled Vanrouge, thus to Lilia’s displeasure he wanted to make amends with the wild fae but ever since the incident Lilia had practically glued himself to Silver’s side whenever the general was in sight even going as far as to hissing at the fae whenever he thought he was too close to his son. As such Vanrouge kept a wide berth with his head down low and Lilia would have gladly left it at that but of course when it came to things like this Silver was rather persistent. For days Lilia watched scornfully as his dear boy ventured out to look for Vanrouge, sometimes he just couldn’t understand the extent of Silver’s kindness. Just mere days ago he had been attacked by the very fae he was searching very intently for and still Silver wishes to apologise to make amends no matter how many times Lilia tried to advise that it was near impossible to reason with a beast like him at that age, the bloodlust was too far ingrained and hadn’t time to rust away. But never did Silver give up and every time they found Vanrouge he would harshly refuse whatever Silver brought as a peace offering, personally Lilia was rather offended when the rats were rejected, it took him hours to catch all of them at Silver’s behest, but oh well more for Lilia. It had been this way for some time until suddenly one day Vanrouge was found begrudgingly eating risotto next to a triumphant Silver, really what was Lilia expecting, of course his son was capable of taming even the most rabid of beasts. But did it really have to be this beast? ‘Pray, do tell how this came to be? You’ve better not be holding him hostage, Vanrouge’ he growls hands on his hips and eye almost irritably twitching  as his son shuffled in his sleep and almost buried his face in the general’s neck ‘why I’ve not the slightest clue myself, the poor thing just waltzed in here all dazed like and next thing you know he’s crawling up to me before dropping like so’ he smugly explains, nuzzling his cheek against silver locks. Oh you little…

The snide, conniving look he gives Lilia gives him the unshakable urge to bloody it black and blue again ‘why there was no hesitation whatsoever, he must have mistaken me as his father or something’

‘Of course he would, we have the same face!’ As much as he’d hate to admit, Silver’s recognition was never the best whenever a sleep spell hit him and Lilia did teach the boy to seek him out when he felt one coming. Oh well it can’t be helped he thinks reaching out to carry his boy off to the comforts of his bed only to gasp in indignation when sharp fangs clamp firmly into his hand. There’s a heavy pause as Lilia stares down at Vanrouge, who curls closer to his son, the promise of a slow, painful death blazing in his crimson eyes, yet the general was not intimidated in the slightest, of course not, what with the firm yet gentle way he manoeuvres Silver off him and down on the couch cushions, all without breaking eye contact or releasing his fang’s grip, so Lilia takes the ample opportunity to seize the ponytail he was so glad to shear off in his youth and send them both tumbling to the ground whose soft rug muffled the thud. In a silent brawl the two fae once again bite and kick at each other, daring the other to so much as make a sound and wake up the sleeping child above them, in a sense to Lilia it was a way to prove to himself that this younger version of him was just as he believed he was, a ruthless monster entirely incapable of caring for others, even if it was merely staying quiet just so his child could nap in peace. Yet as they scrapped Vanrouge refused to yield, showing off his familiar prowess by moving so that like Lilia, any blow thrown and received was muffled in some way. At one point they paused in fear when they heard a soft groan but Silver simply turned around and fell silent once more, suddenly Vanrouge whips out a fork of all things and drives it into Lilia’s arm. Lilia cried out in pain but toned it down to a quiet squeal, he rips out the fork and plunged it into the general’s shoulder who’s face blanked on impact and all of a sudden seized a spare cushion from the couch and screamed into it. Lilia would have found the whole thing hilarious had it been anyone else brawling like this.

In the background a certain Zigvolt raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the strange scene before him, honestly this would be a lot more impressive if the two fae weren’t trying to throttle the other in total silence. Wait, are they mouthing death threats to each other? Usually Sebek would never in his life dare to roll his eyes at Master Lilia but what was he to do? This was far too ridiculous, and Silver was bound to get a sore neck with the position he was in. 

The two scrabbling generals didn’t even noticed Sebek walking around them towards Silver  where he swung his fellow guard’s arm round his neck and hoisted him into his arms, may as well get him to bed, he thought as he carefully slipped out of the room, looking back to the still fighting Lilia’s, now I understand what Grandfather meant when he said that Master Lilia could be an idiot. Seven help him, these old fae were so oblivious.

[winterfleursblog]

Oh baby, but it's cold outside

☆ Genre: Fluff

☆ Warnings: Just over fatigue !

☆ Pairing: Idol!Seungkwan x SoloArtist!reader

Reader is a solo artist, Seungkwan is ... Seungkwan. They met through promotions and being under the same entertainment. The two have been dating for three months now, but it seems like the reader still feels afraid of being vulnerable with him. These all changed due to a hectic day that 'took out' every last bit of energy from the reader.

It's just a week before Christmas, but it didn't feel like it—you were still finishing promotion videos, recording special covers, and the like. Although doing this was something you enjoyed, you can't help but wish for rest ... even just for a day.

"Y/n, our last two takes are in 3 minutes, let's get prepared now" said your manager, quickly waking you up from your half-asleep state. Work began to be tiring after a month without breaks, and if your manager weren't watching, you would've escaped and went to your boyfriend's filming location to hug him as you listen to his daily stories.

Things took a turn for the worse. What you thought was a 5-minute take turned into 30 minutes.

"Try holding this flavor instead"

"Hmm... wouldn't this poster be better"

"Let's try a different dress, one that would suit the new flavor's vibe better"

The company you're endorsing for came unprepared, and now you had to deal with it. Although your inner monologue has been spitting out curses since they started making sudden changes, you remained calm and professional on the outside. Sooner after the shoot was done, it was time to go home to the one you loved the most.

You absolutely adore Seungkwan. If you could give him the universe, you would. And so it became a hobby of yours to care for him each day; make sure he never leaves on an empty stomach, pamper him with the things he needs when he's in a hectic schedule, and even massage his head when he's exhausted. None of those felt like chores to you, as they felt like privileges that God has given. Your love for your boyfriend was one that didn't expect anything in return.

However, your boyfriend loves you just as much as you do. He always tries to take you home safely by personally driving, and gives gifts (which he rarely does to others!).

This day had been a tiring one, and it has ended. Now all that's left is to go home and see the love of your life after war (a long day shooting).

After the 2-hour shoot, you open your phone to missed calls and unread messages from Seungkwan.

"Where are youuu?"

"Should I pick you up now?"

" :⁠-⁠[ "

Instantly, your face lights up.

"I'm sorry boo, schedule was tight, I couldn't read them earlier"

"I'm at XXX district, I'm about to go home, don't worry"

You pack your bags to set off to go home, 'til your phone vibrates again. Seungkwan has replied in an instant despite your hour-late reply.

"Okay, I'll come there :⁠^⁠) wait for me"

There it is again, your heart beating like crazy. Being practically half-asleep right now, you start wondering if you are dreaming; but thank the heavens, you aren't. A part of you wants to tell him not to come since it's already late and he too should get some sleep, but you yourself knew you couldn't go home at this state too.

While waiting for Seungkwan, your seniors pull you over and take you along.

"Hey, that's the last shoot for this month, let's go celebrate y/n"

"But—"

"Oh come on, don't be such a kill joy"

In a matter of seconds, you find yourself dragged outside in the snow. It took all the energy you got to let go and reject their offer.

"Sorry, I really can't right now"

And then came a chorus of sighs, but it was inevitable. If you drunk now, you'd probably wind up dead tomorrow.

Out in the cold, you could no longer think straight. "Should I go back inside?" but the building is far from you now. "Where could seungkwan be?" and he has just started driving by now. "How longer will my eyes stay awake?" and you're basically sleep walking right now.

It was useless, all you could do is walk back to the building or else you'd freeze to death. Half-asleep, you start making your way back to where you were before getting dragged. With your state right now, one wrong step and you'd stumble on the snow. You start waking yourself by slapping your face, which barely made a difference. Suddenly you hear the a familiar car horn—it was Seungkwan.

He got out of the car and waved his hand to you.

"Y/n~"

Ah, it's that cute smile coupled with his chubby cheeks that made you fall for him.

"Kwa—"

The thing you so feared of happening, finally happened. You stumbled on snow and are now like a kid trying to make a snow angel. You could hear Seungkwan's giggles getting louder as he runs towards you.

"HAHAHA— are you— HAHAHA— okay?"

"you need some rest, let's go home"

You look at him with a sarcastic smile as he helps you up. As he glances at your face, his mocking slowly turns into concern.

The moment you sat on the passenger seat, you fell asleep. It was just a 10-minute ride home and you could've just waited, but the land of the dreams were already pulling you in.

Soon, you woke up to the sudden feeling of stopping. The moment you opened your eyes, it wasn't your apartment through the window that you saw; rather, your boyfriend's front camera snapping photos. He was taking selcas of you together while you were asleep.

Seeing you open your eyes, he immediately stopped giggling while posing and hid his phone.

"I saw that"

"...sorry"

"I know you like my face so much, but can't you just wait until I wake up?"

There is it, your cocky tone that makes him flustered.

"Whatever...! We're home"

You step out of the car to battle again with your fatigue. Just like the usual night routine; half shower, change clothes, and the last thing—properly remove your makeup. They put on so much makeup on you earlier that it was so hard to remove. Thanks to 'that' company's indecisiveness, your makeup remover has now run out. With no options left, you go to Seungkwan's room.

"Kwan-ah, can I borrow your makeup remover?"

He pointed to where it is—just infront of the make up desk. His makeup desk was much grand compared to yours thanks to being an idol for longer, might as well remove your makeup in his room, too.

As you were removing your makeup, you were in your last straw—using up the last bits of energy and consciousness. The cold weather wasn't any help too, now that it is lulling you to sleep. Seungkwan was scrolling through his phone, but his attention was on you minutes later as you fell asleep on his desk.

"Aigo~ Y/n"

"You haven't finished yet, you'd irritate your skin if you sleep like that"

But his efforts were futile, you were already asleep.

He took matters to his own hands. Gently, he removed your makeup for you and cleaned up right after. Since you two sleep in different rooms (something YOU yourself wished for), Seungkwan was thinking whether or not to wake you up. A part of him felt scared of you getting uncomfortable sleeping in his bed, but another just wanted to cuddle with you and adore you as you sleep.

Amid all of this thinking, he didn't realise that his shuffling woke you up.

"Oh, sorry, did I fell asleep?"

"I'll go back now, goodnight baby"

It was one of the rare moments you were vulnerable, and he knew 'cause you started calling him "baby." Now flustered and desperate to adore you as you sleep, he started retaliating.

"Ah~ Why don't you stay here for the night? C'mon, you can't even walk"

At this point, you had no sense of rationality left in you, so you just spouted out the purest of your thoughts

"But I sleep really noisy, and I don't want you to see me in the morning bare faced"

"But I want tooo~"

Seungkwan was acting like a lovesick boy, despite the fact that you two had been dating for 3 months now.

"And I...I'm shy...to sleep in the same bed as 'THE' Seungkwan"

"I promise I won't do anything weird!"

You suddenly blush

"I-I know! That's not what I meant!"

You started thinking of excuses to escape the situation when the real reason was just that your heart races every time he was near. The fangirl in you still can't believe that you're dating him, and will probably become very clingy if you slept on the same bed. With your drunken-like state because of fatigue, you made the stupidest excuse ever known.

"But... it's warmer in my room"

"Oh baby, but it's cold outside"

He himself can't believe he said such words, and is now a blushing mess.

"...I meant, it's cold on the way to your...room"

Great, now you can no longer resist.

You finally sigh in defeat and put your weight on him though a hug. He quickly understood this and helped you walk towards the bed. The second you laid down, you start wondering why his bed was much comfortable than yours. Was it the matress? The sheets? Or was it simply him being there?

Those thoughts were dismissed once he started poking your cheeks and stroking your hair.

It was the first time in your life someone not your parents has done so, and you could no longer fight your intrusive thoughts. Suddenly you hug him tightly and act all clingy. He reciprocates anyways with a forehead kiss. You two are basically fools in love right now.

"I love you all the time, but I think I love you more when you're like this"

He didn't realise that you were asleep already, and he was basically talking to himself. Still, he continued hoping that his teasing will he heard in your dreams.

"You can't even stay awake for a whole minute, how can I trust you with 20 steps to your room?"

"Ah, you've been overworking again, I told you, you aren't going to lose popularity just because you haven't done a comeback in half a year!"

"Really, you're so stubborn"

"...and I love it, too"

A few moments later, he also drifted to sleep, and whole night was just you clinging to him like some sort of koala. He enjoyed this, though, and will now coax you everyday into cuddling with him until you both fall asleep.

Extras ; [the next day] !

The next day, he woke up first, and did what he's good at—taking photos of sleeping people. This time around, though, you didn't catch him. When you woke up, he was wearing a grin that looked like it told a thousand words. Was it a cocky, embarrassed, or smitten grin?

Your thoughts weren't composed yet right now, but as soon as you realised you were sleeping on the same bed, you sit up and panic.

"W-Why am I sleeping here?? Did I do anything crazy? Oh God"

Seungkwan giggled a bit at your actions, but immediately calmed you down by giving you a recap of what happened a few hours ago—just that, it's his version now.

"Well, you were soo tired and you basically wanted some cuddles from the most handsome man in existence, and so you asked me kindly if I could shower you with love. I didn't mind doing it at all since you asked nicely."

And there it is, he's starting to get cocky again. Luckily, you remembered last night because of his twisted story.

You were about to protest until his phone switched on for the morning alarm, and you saw his lock screen to be a collage of sleeping faces. What's worse? They're all pictures of you.

He tried to hide it but it was too late.

"Hm? What's that?"

"... Nothing ...."

Since he was caught red-handed anyways, he used it instead to tease you.

"Ah, how cute, I got a sleeping koala with me~ hehehe"

This obviously was embarrassing for you and it required drastic measures.

"Kwan-ah ... what do you want?"

Your tone was serious, and that took him aback.

"Hm? ... What I want...?"

"The latest American-style store or the hamburger shop down the road ... you name it..."

"Why?"

"...in exchange for ... changing your lock screen"

He suddenly burst out into laughter and started getting all demanding.

"Hmm... can I have both?"

You look at him with a defeated expression

"Well, I have two versions of the lockscreen, can't have one showing randomly, right?"

With your sleeping face getting exposed to the other members of seventeen on the line, you just follow his request. He ends up paying for the food anyways and turns the food hunt into a date.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello I AM ALIVE AGAIN ON TUMBLR but now writing for Seungkwan 😄 This fic is not proofread or what, PLEASE BEAR WITH ME !! thank you 😊🌸

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Wash Away the Pain #5 - Crosshair

After being rescued from the Empire's clutches, Crosshair is struggling to heal and adapt to life on Pabu.

Pairing: Crosshair x gn!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: whump, guilt, angst, Cross is prickly (what else is new), reassurance, hopeful ending.

A/N: I was heavily inspired by these gorgeous drawings by @thattoothpick.

This is the last installment in a mini-series where each of our boys get their angsty shower time.

Each can be read as a standalone or as a continuation. Check out the whole series: Echo, Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker.

I'll die on the hill that Cross is still chipped and was lied to by the Empire that it was removed. And that it's effectiveness was all but worn out mid-way through S2.

Sign up to be tagged in my future fics.

The cold water hits him, and, for a moment, Crosshair forgets how to breathe. It feels like thousands of icy pinpricks piercing his skin. The pain, the cold, they remind him that he’s alive.

He escaped.

He was rescued. 

Like a lost child. Or an abandoned tooka. He’s not sure which is worse.

For two months, he’d been free. Two months ago, he’d opened his eyes, still strapped to one of those Maker-forsaken tables in that Imperial hellhole, expecting to see Hemlock or Karr hovering over him. Instead, he’d seen you. Wide eyes that had crinkled with delight, his name falling from your lips.

You shouldn’t have come for him.

The kid? Yes. But him…

He doesn’t turn at the sound of the fresher door opening. He doesn’t need to. Only one person would have the guts to bother him this early in the day.

The warm hand on his back makes him want to flinch, makes him want to pull away. He doesn’t deserve the softness, not after everything he’s done.

You step into the shower, not caring to discard your clothes or bothered by Crosshair’s nakedness – after so long with him and his brothers, nothing was sacred anymore. The cold water makes you hiss, but you push through it. “I can hear you overthinking again.” You murmur, fingers leaving a feather-light trail down the curve of his spine. He’s still too skinny; the few pounds he’d once had took him much longer to regain, no matter how many meals you presented to him.

“Then stop listening.” Crosshair’s reply slides out quickly but lacks the bite it once had, the snark and sneer that had sent countless others running. But never you, the plucky medic assigned to him and his brothers early in the war.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Where’s the fun in that?” You tease softly. A low grunt is all you get in return, but you don’t take it to heart. Your gaze flicks up from his back to the scars on his head – the messy web of scar tissue from Bracca and beside it, a thin, straight one, a recent addition from where you’d pried the inhibitor chip out of him.

You’d known none of it was his fault. Known he’d still been under their control.

Crosshair can feel the weight of your gaze on him, and he’s uncomfortable with the attention. “Picture will last longer.” He huffs, knowing he won’t get rid of you easily.

You haven’t said much over the last two months, letting his brothers try and rebuild their relationships with him. It had been rocky at first; a few times, you’d had to physically put yourself between him and Hunter so they wouldn’t start scrapping. You knew they loved one another dearly, but there were a lot of problems to unpack and work through. They were making progress, though, learning to admit they were wrong, compromise, and apologise

But you’d noticed Crosshair was still withdrawn. He’d never been chatty, but he’d never hidden away either - he’d spend days in his room in your shared house on Pabu.

Even sending in Tech – who’d by some miracle survived his fall on Eriadu and had been taken to Tantiss on Hemlock’s orders – hadn’t proved very fruitful.

Now, you suppose it’s your turn. “None of it was your fault.” You start, tone gentle but firm.

“Don’t placate me. I’m not a child.” Crosshair grumbles, rolling his eyes as he draws his arms around himself as if he could shield himself from the conversation.

“No, you’re not.” You sigh. “I get it. I really do. Maker above, Cross, I don’t know where to begin with everything you’ve been through over the last year. But bottling it up, locking us all out, withering away. It’s not healthy.” You feel Crosshair tense under your touch, his shoulders stiffening. The water continues to cascade down, a constant drone almost drowning out the tension in the small space.

“I don’t need your analysis, medic.” He mutters, his voice low and gruff.

You wince at the name. When you’d first joined them, he’d used it mockingly. It was only when you’d persevered and formed a quiet friendship that he’d stopped using it. Choosing not to focus on the little stab of pain from the barb, you press on. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Crosshair. We’re here for you. Your brothers... and me. You don’t have to carry the galaxy’s weight on your shoulders.”

He scoffs, a sharp edge to his voice. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one pulling the trigger on innocent people.”

The fresher has a bit of room, and you use it to your advantage. Shifting your stance until you’re standing at his side, body pressed to him, you reach out and snag his chin with one hand, turning his face to meet those hawkish eyes that have recently lost their lustre. “And you weren’t the one doing it willingly. There’s a difference, Cross. The inhibitor chip controlled you. You’re here now, free from its influence.”

He doesn’t protest, so you continue. “You’ve been through hell and come out on the other side. But healing isn’t just physical; it’s mental, too. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t retort immediately. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the steady rhythm of water droplets hitting the floor. “I don’t deserve it.” He finally admits, his voice barely audible over the shower.

The vulnerability in his words tugs at your heart, and you realise that breaking through the walls he’s built around himself will take time. You’ve seen him at his lowest, physically and mentally battered, and now the scars on his body are mirrored by the ones etched into his soul. “You’re not some burden we’re shouldering out of obligation, Cross.” You say, your tone unwavering. “You’re family. And family sticks together, no matter what.”

He grunts, the rough sound echoing in the confined space. “Family? I hunted you across the galaxy. No wonder you all left me.”

“That wasn’t you.” You assert, your voice steady. “You were manipulated, controlled. We know that now. Blaming yourself won’t change what happened, but we can work through it together.” You still regret leaving him behind on Kamino twice, not stunning and dragging him onto the Marauder.

He averts his gaze, fighting back the emotions threatening to surface. The vulnerability you’ve glimpsed in him is a crack in his armour - you just need him to remove the rest of it and let you all in.

“We’re not giving up on you.” You declare, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. His eyes close at the contact, subconsciously leaning into your palm, and your heart aches for how touch-starved he is. “And you shouldn’t give up on yourself either.”

“Accept that you deserve to heal.” You suggest. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. Let your brothers in, let me in. We’re not here to judge you but to support you.”

The water begins to lose its icy bite as your body becomes numb. Crosshair doesn’t respond immediately, but the tension in his shoulders begins to ease, and you take that as a small victory.

“Maybe.” He concedes, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he opens his eyes to meet your gaze again.

You smile, a mixture of relief and determination coursing through you. “Maybe is a good start, Cross.” You keep your hand on his cheek, offering silent reassurance. “It’s okay not to have all the answers right now. We’ll figure it out together.”

Crosshair takes a deep breath, a shuddering exhale escaping him as if releasing a burden he’s carried for far too long. “I don’t want your pity.” He mutters, his gaze dropping.

Your thumb brushes along the edge of his tattoo, your touch a grounding force. “You’re not getting pity. You’re getting understanding, support, and a second chance. You’ve been through enough; it’s time to let others in to help you navigate the aftermath.”

He doesn’t argue further, and you both simply stand there for a moment. The silence is no longer heavy with unspoken pain but holds the promise of a shared journey towards healing.

“Come on.” You say, finally breaking the quiet. “Let’s get out of this shower and get some breakfast. Tech is attempting a new recipe, and Wrecker claims he’ll out-eat everyone.”

Crosshair arches an eyebrow. “I’m unsure if that’s a threat or a promise.”

You chuckle, the sound echoing in the fresher. “Knowing Wrecker, probably both. But it’s a distraction, and distractions are good right now.”

He nods in agreement, and together, you step out of the shower, the air hitting your damp skin. As you reach for towels, you catch Crosshair stealing a thoughtful glance in your direction.

“What?” You ask with a slight tilt of your head.

Crosshair hesitates momentarily, feeling a little stupid but wanting to ensure you understand how much this means to him. “Thanks... for not giving up on me.”

You meet his gaze with sincerity. “Never have. Never will.” You state.

Your words touch something in him, a little more weight lifting off his shoulders. “And I’m sorry for…” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, but you know exactly what he’s getting at.

Amusement curls at your lips. Crosshair’s apologies were new, and while he wasn’t particularly good at them, you saw it as growth. “Apology accepted. Call me that again, though, and I’ll snap every toothpick on the island.” You reply, tossing him a clean set of clothes from his cubby with a small smile.

Relieved at your acceptance of his admittedly poor apology, Crosshair notes to keep working on them while gracing you with a small smile. “I don’t doubt that, doll.”

You roll your eyes at the familiar nickname, a sign that perhaps, despite the struggles, a sense of normalcy is slowly returning. As you both start to dress in clean, dry clothes, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that this small breakthrough might be the turning point he needs. The scars may run deep, both physical and emotional, but the shared understanding and unwavering support from family might just be the key to helping him rebuild.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @littlemissmanga @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog

[wearentdelulu]

Into you~ Chapter two🔞

After class Kook heads to the gym for his afternoon workout. He’s not complete if he doesn’t work out at least four times a week. It’s just what he’s used to. As he finishes up his last set he gets a call from Yuna. He sets down his dumbbells and removes his gloves. “Yeah?” He says taking a seat on the bench.

“Come over.” She didn’t ask it was more of a demand. “I was busy yesterday but I’m free now.”

“Yeah I know. I’ll be over after the gym.” He hangs up and goes back to his session. He hasn’t fucked in almost four days now and he definitely needed to get it out of his system today. To be honest he could call anyone else to have just as a backup, but he doesn’t just fuck anyone. Not with all these STD’s going around. He’s very strict about where he puts his dick. He had a few one night stands here and there when he goes out partying, but he needs to have someone on standby. Whenever he feels horny they need to available and Yuna usually is. Some women in the past couldn’t handle him in the bedroom. Sometimes he does go overboard but that’s only because he’s a man with needs. His biggest rule is to never fuck virgins. He learned his lesson before when this girl became so dick whipped he had to actually lie to her about having a girlfriend. It worked for the most part.

After his workout he leaves and goes straight to Yuna’s house. Lucky for him she didn’t live far and he couldn’t wait to get to her. Maybe he was addicted. Not to Yuna just to sex in general.

He walks in without knocking and sees her sitting on the couch scrolling on her phone. “Gotta shower first.” He announces as he walks off to the back of the house to freshen up from being in the gym. He strips off his clothes and gets under the hot water. The water relaxing his muscles from his intense workout session. He hears the bathroom door open and sees Yuna’s body outline from behind the shower curtain. She takes a step closer pulling back the curtain to reveal Kook standing there naked and wet.

“Did you miss me yesterday?” She ask stripping her clothes to join him. She had hot body to be fair it’s just when opens her mouth that’s when the headache forms. He rather see her mouth opening for his dick not for useless words Kook didn’t care about.

“Not really.” He say bluntly as he washes himself. “I just wanted to fuck that’s all.”

“I know I know I got caught up with work, but I can make it up to you.” She steps in the shower standing in front of him. “You look tense. Or are you just horny.”

“Both.” He replied.

She kneels down in front of him. The shower water soaking her face. Kook grins as a thought crossed his mind. He plans to destroy her tonight, but first he’d let her make it up to him. Technically it’s her fault for not being available when he needed her in the first place.

“I think it’s time you put that mouth to use.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anya was exhausted. A day of nonstop lectures and class work. And to make matters worse she had to work a double today because her co worker got sick. No one likes doing double especially after a long day of school. She works in retail at a local thrift store. It’s not a hard job and it’s hardly ever busy. She just didn’t want to spend the day here when she could be in the comfort of her own home preparing for Kook’s stream later today.

She goes through the same motions as she works. When the door rings she looks up searching for a customer to help her out of her boredom, but instead she sees her best friend.

“Hey Anya you look bored.” Haein says taking a seat next to her behind the counter. Haein always made herself comfortable no matter where she is. I guess that’s expected after being best friends since middle school. Haein was very rebellious. She’s the type to prank you with hot sauce in your underwear. It’s was concerning……yes but she’s not a bad person. Her tomboy appearance makes her very intimidating to other people and Anya always feels safe with her. One time Haein tracked down all the bullies that said and did horrible things to Anya and she slept with their dad’s. She recorded it and blackmailed them until they finally left Anya alone. Yeah Haein is definitely something….

“Yeah this sucks. I just want to go home and-

“Watch Kook yeah I know.” Haein cuts her off. “You can always rewatch it later right?”

Anya shakes her head in disbelief. Technically she could but why would she do that? She’s never missed a stream and she doesn’t plan on it. The last thing she needed was for someone to think she’s obsessed with him when she isn’t. He’s just her comfort when she wants to feel relaxed and chill after a long day. So it’s not strange that she wants to make sure she doesn’t miss a single second of it. “No I rather watch him live. It’s better that way.”

Haein laughs as she hits her vape. “Yeah I think I get what you’re saying.” Haein looks at Anya. “You cut your hair?”

Anya blushes slightly. It wasn’t a big deal she just wanted a change in her appearance that’s all. She nervously strokes the freshly cut ends.“Um y-yeah I had too many dead ends anyway.”

“You look pretty.” Haein smiles as she strokes her hair. Her eyes full of affection and a hint of something else. Anya didn’t know what….

“It’s nothing Haein.” Anya say grabbing her phone avoiding eye contact. She didn’t do well with receiving compliments, it always made her feel like she didn’t deserve to hear it and it made her uncomfortable and weird.

Haein looks at her silently before standing up. “I’ll grab us some snacks.” With that she walks out the store. Anya scrolls on her phone going through Instagram when she got a notification. It’s time for Kook’s stream. He started it a bit earlier than usual. Quickly she grabs her headphones and connects them to her phone.

“What’s up guys missed me? Yeah I know you did. I’ve been thinking about you guys all day.” He laughs at the comments. “Ah that’s right you all can thank our beautiful viewer ‘A’.

“Hey ‘A’ I hope you’re watching this baby because this is for you. I’m glad you look up to someone like me. You have good taste. And now that I think about it……..maybe one day you’ll be able to actually get a taste of me in person, hm?”

What. The. Fuck. No that didn’t happen. The stream literally just started. Could she be hallucinating? Is this a dream? Is he high? What’s going on? Surely he wasn’t talking about her right? Nope she wouldn’t believe it. There’s no way.

“Mmm ‘A’ I wonder what that stands for. Don’t worry if I ever see you in person I’d make sure you tell me. You’re my biggest fan after all right? Makes me wanna reward you ’A’……in a special way.”

Anya dropped her phone.

“Nah I don’t think she can handle me. I’m not an easy person to handle.” He mumbles with a grin on the microphone. “If you want me ‘A’…….go ahead and have me then.”

Why did he whisper like that in the last sentence? Why did he reply? Why is he flirting with her? Why is he so goddamn sexy? His voice alone could get millions of women pregnant. Anya’s heart pounds so loud she’s sure she can hear it. How can he have the audacity to be so straight forward like that? Especially in front of all these viewers. And the way it sounded he thinks this is funny. Oh so it’s funny to embarrass her like that in front of all his viewers? Well technically they don’t know who she was but still she has a right to be upset…….okay okay fine she’s not really mad but she needs to be just to make sense of what just happened. Any emotion is fine right now other than complete shock, so she chose anger. What other emotion would be appropriate? She doesn’t know what came over her but she immediately text’s JMochi.

“Did you see what he just said?! Is he always this straightforward?!? Who does he think he is!? Oh my god this so embarrassing.”

JMochi: 😂

He’s…….laughing? He straight up sent a laughing emoji. What about this situation is funny? Is he just as smug as he was? Is this all some sort of joke?

JMochi: yep he’s just the same in person. What’s the problem don’t you like the way he flirts with you? Come on I know deep down you do.

“It’s about having a little bit of respect. It’s just very cocky of him.”

JMochi: that’s Kook for you.

“Well tell him to shove his cocky attitude up his ass”

Oh no did she really say that? It just came out of nowhere. She’s worked up and high off adrenaline, she didn’t mean to be so blunt. She’s no better than him. Anya mentally slaps herself for getting so worked up.

JMochi: oh I will

“No no it’s okay that was rude of me I shouldn’t have said that.”

JMochi: no he needs to hear someone else tell him how much of an ass he is sometimes. I’ll relay the message.

She sat there in shock. One thing about Anya is that she isn’t rude or ignorant, but sometimes there’s a switch inside of her that she forgets to turn off sometimes when she’s feeling overwhelmed. It’s like a coping mechanism. When she feels anxious or overwhelmed she’ll find some way to become defensive or upset, because in Anya’s mind she’s mostly right. Mostly. But she didn’t want Kook to think she was this childish and immature teenage girl who has an online crush on him. That’s so embarrassing and she didn’t want to make it seem-

“Oh so it looks like our dear viewer ‘A’ thinks I’m cocky.” He scoffs.

“You have a smart mouth on you ‘A’, I wonder what else your mouth can do.”

She was so close. So close to screaming at the top of her lungs in this thrift store. Why is he so confident, and why is it so hot? She wanted to tell him to shut up, to be quiet but her fingers froze over the keyboard. A part of her wants him to keep going. He’s giving her attention for the first time ever and she didn’t want it to stop.

He laughs, his voice a low growl. “Shove my cocky attitude up my ass, huh? If that wasn’t my type I’d be piss about it. You’re lucky ‘A.”

His type? So she’s his type?! Is he enjoying this as much as she was? Or was Anya getting ahead of herself like she always does? Her delusional brain wants to believe that he’s getting off on her behavior but then again he’s done things like this in the past before with other viewers. Why would Anya think she’s special? It’s his job to be this flirty with his fans. That’s what makes him so popular in the first place. It’s like an idol doing fan service, they get paid to do it. It means nothing. She takes a deep breath and for once she leaves his stream to focus back on her work.

She gets up and starts to clean up around the store. Kook’s voice replaying in her head on a loop. He’s too mesmerizing and she’s too weak for it…..for him. A little bit later Haein comes back with snacks. Anya looks up and sees the bags of food she brought. This is what she needs right now. A distraction from whatever the hell just happened earlier. “You’re a lifesaver.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She left?” Kook says in surprise as Jimin comes in his room. He definitely thought the flirting would have her squirming and blushing right now.

Jimin laughs, a hint of amusement on his face. “Yeah guess she didn’t like your attitude.”

Kook scoffs and throws a hand in the air as if he didn’t care. A lot of viewers didn’t like his personality and they’d do the same thing. They’d bitch and complain about how “inappropriate” or “offensive” he’s being and they’ll leave. He didn’t care in fact he liked the fact that he could get under their skin like that. But with ‘A’ was different. Too different, and Kook didn’t understand what it meant but he knew that he wanted to continue to tease her. He wanted to push her buttons until they popped. Call it boredom or whatever but Kook didn’t understand why he enjoys this. He continued his stream regularly as he normally would, secretly waiting for the moment when Jimin would come in and tell him something ‘A’ said but he didn’t. She really left? Was he too harsh? Did she get offended? Kook didn’t know but he found himself waiting for her. He already knew exactly what he’d say once she came back…….but she didn’t.

Later that night Kook is up staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Why is he craving her attention like some kind of teenage boy in heat? He just wanted to continue bickering with her and hopes to get the last word. Yes he was petty but it was fun. Fun to see someone other than his friends talk to him like that. He grins to himself thinking of what else he should say to her tomorrow. What would make her flustered or upset. He wanted to find out himself. It might seem like he’s being an attention seeker, and so what if he is? He’s bored and ‘A’ is making things interesting. Very interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anya goes through the motions of her morning routine, thoughts swirling with the memories of last night’s stream. She feels stupid for thinking this means anything and she knows it doesn’t. If she expects disappointment she won’t get disappointed right? That’s her motto and she sticks by it. The way Kook was feeding her delusions made her feel like this was all just a dream and she’d wake up from it.

She heads to her kitchen to find something to eat. Unfortunately for Anya she can’t cook at all. It’s sad because she’s almost 25 years old and she still can’t make a simple meal without something burning. As unhealthy it sounds she lives off frozen meals and instant noodles. At least it’s better than nothing. As she adds the water in her instant noodles her phone dings. Hm? A notification from Kook’s instagram. Yeah she had his post notifications on……She clicks the notification and it opens up to his instagram story. As she analyses the photo her heart starts racing. Is she seeing things? Is this real? Why would he post this?

It was a picture of the top of his head. Obviously covering up his face. There’s a text in the corner of the post that says “A”. That’s it. Just the letter ‘A’ with a smirk emoji next to it. Okay he definitely did that on purpose. She wasn’t insane. This was definitely for her. She thinks for a moment about what to do next. Her first instinct was to text JMochi but she decides against it. She didn’t want to run to him every time Kook does something like this. Maybe she should ignore it? Yeah that sounds like a good and reasonable idea. She’s not being rude or anything she just simply didn’t see the post. She’ll just pretend that she didn’t see it, that’s the only way her brain can handle this situation properly.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey did ‘A’ text you or anything?” Kook says walking into Jimin’s room without even knocking.

“Uh no she didn’t why?”

Kook hums acting casual. “Just asking.” Kook was more than positive that she saw the post. If she’s a longtime fan like she said she definitely seen it. He doesn’t even know why he made it in the first place. So he just blames it on boredom again. “So who exactly is this girl? Do you know her personally?”

Jimin looks at him with a grin on his face. “Maybe, why?” Jimin knew why but he wanted to hear him say it out loud.

“No reason.” Kook heads towards the door, but before he could reach for the door nob he stops.

“So do you have her number or something?” He asks trying to sound uninterested but obviously he really wants to know more about this mystery woman.

“Why do you care?”

Kook looks offended. Care? No no Kook doesn’t care. The chances of him caring are so low. Can’t a guy just ask a question without things being more than what they are. Kook turns around to face him his expression emotionless and firm. “I don’t care I just asked a question.”

“Seems like you care bro.” Jimin replies not even trying to hide the smile on his face. He knew Kook was a bit interested in ‘A’, she made things fun and exciting for him recently.

“Fuck you.” Kook leaves slamming the door. He doesn’t know why he’s upset but he feels like he should be right now. What the fuck was Jimin’s problem? He can’t answer a simple fucking question? He goes through his contacts and texts Yuna to help him let out some of his frustration, but before he could send the message he stops. He deletes the message and puts his phone away. Something about fucking Yuna right now didn’t sound appealing to him in the moment so he opted to drink. Storming into the kitchen he grabs a bottle of beer and chugs it down. It helped a little until he heard Jimin’s footsteps get closer and closer. He huffs, he doesn’t need to deal with him right now.

“She texted me.” Jimin says entering the kitchen and that made Kook put the can down. He avoids eye contact with Jimin, he didn’t want him to speculate that he cares about this situation. Because he doesn’t by the way….yeah he doesn’t.

“Okay?” He says nonchalantly but waits for Jimin to continue. After waiting a few seconds he starts to hear Jimin laugh. He fucking laughed right in his face. “I’m kidding, but the look on your face right now is hilarious.” That’s it. Kook had enough of Jimin’s childish behavior recently and he didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Without saying anything it snatches Jimin’s phone from his hands searching for what he wanted.

“Hey what are you doing-

“Where’s her number? I know you have it.” He goes through almost every app to see anything related to ‘A’. “I’m over playing cat and mouse with her while you’re in the middle. I’ll text her myself.”

“No can do. I promised I’d keep her identity a secret.” He grabs his phone back. “I’m a man of my word.”

Kook runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “You aren’t exposing her identity just give me her information and let me talk to her directly.”

Jimin considers it for a moment. “Mmm I don’t know……she seems pretty cool and you’ll scare her off.”

Kook sighed knowing that Jimin wants something in return. He’s just a greedy as he is. “I’ll give you a shout out on my stream.” Jimin has been asking for a shout out for months now but Kook never budged. He didn’t think Jimin’s audience and his were similar so he never did, but now he really wants ‘A’s’ information. No one has ever got him this excited in a while and he wants to continue being excited.

“Deal.” Jimin smiles going through his phone. “I want a real shout out by the way, don’t disappoint me.” He pulls up her username on the streaming app. “Here this is her.”

Kook looks at the name and messages to make sure it was legit. After being satisfied with it, it takes the name and puts it in his phone. He briefly thinks about all the ways he could tease her and he grins at the thought. This was going to be fun….

[jimothy-hopkins]

This is my prefect OC Diana! I’ve still got maybe five more ocs in the chamber, probably more.

Info about Diana!

General Description:

Diana is a very tall students. She stands at 6’0, and is around 6’4 with heels. She towers over most students. Her hair is dark and curly,. It is also very thick. Diana usually asks Silena to help her take care of it. She puts a lot of effort into her makeup, and doesn’t go out bare faced. Her skin is perfectly clear and even toned, never calluses or rough.

Diana is a very confident person. She knows she looks good. She knows she’s smart. Nobody can shake the view she has of herself. Diana is very strict about her education, but often struggles with knowing what she wants to do. She caves easily to her father’s expectations. Her frustrations with her parents are taken out on trouble making students. At times she can be a bit of a diva.

Interests and whatnot:

Diana is a big pageant girlie. She has done beauty pageants ever since she was a toddler. This is mostly inspired by her mother, who won the title of Miss Universe for Colombia. Diana wants to be just was beautiful and successful as her mother. She also just loves to get dolled up and walk home with prize money, sashes, and another tiara to add to her massive collection.

Diana is secretly a nerd. She loves cosplay and is very into comics. Her favorite character is Starfire. She also enjoys books that have a deviated series to them. Every Dow and again she joins a Grottos and Gremlins campaign, but her group doesn’t include the nerds. Except for Cornelius, she thinks he’s cool.

Debate. Diana loves to argue, so instead of starting things with her siblings, she chose to join the debate team at Bullworth to make herself look more refined. She is very witty and quick with her replies, often putting her opponent on the spot.

Reputation:

The jocks dislike Diana, mostly the male members. They do not like that she can over tower them and punish them. The fact she is more willing to punish them just puts her at odds with them more. Also getting beat up by a girl in heels is worse than freshman gazing for most fragile football players.

The greasers tend to like Diana more. She mostly integrates herself with the female members of the clique. Diana knows that the girls are the best to ask when it comes to advice on hair and beauty. In turn, she looks the other way when they act up.

Diana has no real stance with the preps. They neither like nor hate her. She occasionally bails them out of trouble, but always charges at least $50 for it.

The bullies hate this woman. She refuses to let them have any fun tormenting the freshman or going out to destroy school property. Nobody likes a prefect in this clique.

Diana mostly doesn’t really like the nerds. This is because of Earnest. She doesn’t outwardly treat them unfairly though. She is closest to Cornelius. As long as the nerds stay out of trouble, Diana won’t bother them.

Quotes:

“All the money in the world can’t buy natural beauty.”

“Say it again. Without the stutter.”

“Quit that!”

“I don’t care if they hit you first.”

“I can get you out of detention, for a price.”

“I know I look good. But I’m simply too good for you.”

“Hygiene should be a rule. This place STINKS.”

“One day, I will walk a runway.”

“You look… unfortunate.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things!”

“I only date men I don’t have to look down at. Sorry.”

“He makes me laugh! That’s all that matters!”

[chickenfics]

Scars

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader - Western AU

Summary: Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive...

Word Count: 7.1k

Content warning: violence, blood, injuries

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!

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Chapter 8

“See that forest up ahead?”

You shielded your face from the sun and squinted into the distance.

“You mean that grey blob?”

“No,” Bucky replied with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. You glared at him and he smirked.

“I have little time and even less patience for that. It’s too damn cold.”

“You started it,” he defended, but before you had a chance to continue your bickering, Bucky was leaning sideways in his saddle and holding out the map.

“There,” he pointed. “That’s your grey blob. And that,” he ran his finger up to where a small line cut through the forest -- a river. “That’s where we’re crossing. Pigeon Rock is a day’s ride from there. The safe house isn’t far after.”

You studied the map, followed the line he’d traced.

“We’re close.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded, sitting back into his saddle and folding the map, putting it away in his saddlebag.

“Real close.”

Bucky turned to look at you.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Real close.”

As you both started towards the grey blob of forest in the distance, the horses at an easy lope, you tried to ignore your conflicting feelings. You should be happy that you’d made it this far. You should be looking forward to making it past Pigeon Rock, further and further away from the threat of the others finding you. But all you could think about was Bucky and how, very soon, he’d be reuniting with his friends. Very soon, there would be no place for you in his life. You’d always known this would happen. In fact, you’d expected it, back when you’d taken up with Bucky. But so much had changed.

Bucky had saved your life, and you’d saved his. You’d grown fond of him, as impossible as that seemed, and even worse, you’d grown used to his presence. You’d gone too soft; you were reliant on his company, and now that you’d be alone again, you risked making mistakes. You’d have to be especially careful, even more vigilant than you had the past few weeks when you’d have two pairs of eyes instead of one. The thought of going back to your old life -- of constant fear around every corner and behind every path you took, the loneliness that you hadn’t even realized you’d been feeling -- it terrified you as much as it made you desperate.

And desperation was as good as death. It made you weak.

So you tried to ignore it. That was what you did when you felt any unwanted emotions -- tried not to look them in the eyes in the hopes that they would go away. But unlike a wild animal or a particularly persistent stranger, you couldn’t escape what you were feeling no matter how long you waited it out. It would always be there, looking back at you whenever you unfocused your vision. At least it had one benefit: the time passed quickly, and soon the sun was setting over the plains.

You went to sleep that night with an uneasy feeling like a rock sunk to the bottom of your stomach.  

The next morning, you and Bucky made quick work of packing up camp and saddling the horses. Both of you were eager to get moving, it seemed -- and as many bad feelings as you were having, you couldn’t deny that part of you that was happy to be getting further and further away from your old life. Every mile you rode to the North was another mile between you and Mickey. You hoped that you’d never have to see his face again outside of your nightmares.

A few hours after sunrise, you noticed Bucky watching you. You’d been silent all morning -- but then, so had he. The realization that you’d both be arriving at your destination soon had forced a feeling of change into the air. It was easy to fall into the monotonous routine of traveling when your destination was so far away -- but now, with the end drawing near, you both had to face what was coming next. And what that meant for the two of you.

You weren’t sure what Bucky was thinking -- if he had even considered the fact that you’d be going your separate ways, or if he didn’t care. The idea that you might be alone in your disappointment at never seeing Bucky again was more painful than the idea of returning once again to your solitude. But Bucky was just as quiet as you were, and unreadable. It was he, however, that broke the silence.

“Hey--” you looked up from where you’d been staring at Horse’s mane. “You alright over there?”

“Me? I’m fine,” you lied. “...Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, his voice a pitch higher, maybe a bit more defensive than usual. “Just… thinkin’.”

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“You know--” A gunshot rang through the plains. The horses tensed and you and Bucky whipped around, looking behind you to where the sound had come from.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“Shit,” Bucky agreed.

You glanced at each other, then wordlessly urged the horses forward with the new sudden need to reach the forest as quickly as possible. At least there you would have some cover. As you rode beside Bucky you tried to think about what that could have been. It was possible it had been nothing. But then, it was also possible that it wasn’t. You rode harder towards the trees.

There was always something. Always something, and it was always chasing you. You wished for once in your life you could just relax -- just for a moment.

The trees came into view and out of the grey blob, you were able to see branches and the thicket of the forest. You reached it by midday, and only then did you slow. You hadn’t heard anything else since the gunshot, hadn’t seen anything suspicious, but you and Bucky were still alert. Even as you entered the shelter of the trees you stayed alert, because there was always something.

“I don’t know if we should camp tonight,” you said. Bucky glanced at you in acknowledgment before looking away, a thoughtful furrow in his brow. He always looked so grumpy when he was thinking. Under different circumstances, you would have found it sweet.

“That gunshot was close by.”

“The horses need to rest.”

“If we stop and they don’t, they’ll overtake us.”

“If we don’t stop we’ll run our horses out, and then what do you expect us to do?”

You frowned, frustrated by what he was saying even though you knew he was thinking just as logically as you were. You didn’t butt heads with him often, so when you did it was unfamiliar, and it made you antsy. You didn’t like bickering, but you were also used to making all your own decisions. In that way, at least, it was sort of nice not to have to be the only one. You’d much rather be arguing with Bucky than alone.

“Besides,” he was saying. “You don’t even know if that was anyone.”

“Oh yeah, of course. Because guns just go off on their own, generally.”

Bucky glared at you and you raised your eyebrows.

“I don’t need to know if that was anyone -- the chance that it could be is enough.”

“How have you not run that animal to the ground yet?” he muttered, jerking his chin towards Horse.

“Seriously?" you demanded, because ‘fuck you’ seemed a little too harsh for something like this.

“Look--” you shook your head and turned away, but Bucky continued. “I get it, alright? I know what you’re sayin’, but I think we should camp.”

You took a deep breath. If you made camp, everyone would be able to get some rest, but there was the chance that whoever had set off their gun would come across you. If you didn’t camp, you wouldn’t have to worry about that, but you also wouldn’t get any sleep. And Bucky was right about the horses.

“What if…” you shifted, turning to look at him. “What if we travel west for a mile or so?” The shot had come from directly behind you, so…

“We’d be out of their line of travel,” Bucky finished your thought.

“If they’re not actually following us, they’ll miss us completely.”

“And we can cut a diagonal in the morning. Stay on track.”

You raised an eyebrow alluringly. Bucky’s face shifted from annoyed to reluctantly skeptical, which told you that he’d decided to agree with you.

“Yeah?” you grinned.

“Yeah, alright. Compromise, or whatever,” he mumbled, then sent you a smirk.

By the time you made camp, the moon was climbing into the sky. The temperature had dropped and, with the coming of winter, would no doubt continue to plummet. You draped blankets over the horses, but it was an easy mutual decision not to light a fire. It was too risky, as much as it would have helped. Instead, you and Bucky gathered all the blankets you had into a pile. You stared down at them, a hand on your hip.

“Here,” Bucky muttered, stooping down. “You take the extra one.”

“Buck--”

“No. I don’t get as cold, anyway. It’s…” he waved his metal arm in gesture. You blinked at it, then furrowed your brows.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agreed. “But if you get cold you have to tell me, or I won’t talk to you until we reach Pigeon Rock.”

“Oh, well in that case-- ow,” he winced as you smacked him on the arm, then grabbed the blankets from his hand.

The night, as always, was loud. The shuffling of the horses, the buzz of crickets -- you even heard an owl and a few coyotes going about their nighttime business. Gradually, though, another sound joined in.

You couldn’t seem to stop your damn teeth from knocking together.

It had been nearly an hour and you were still awake. Bucky had rolled over ages ago and was breathing evenly, but you were freezing, even with your two blankets. You hated this time of year. Despite all the time you’d spent braving the elements, you’d never done well in the cold. And, up until a few months ago, you’d always spent the night in a tent, and often you’d spent the night with someone laying by your side.

You shivered harder at the thought, knowing immediately that you’d rather freeze tonight than ever go back to that. It was what had kept you sane, these past months as you lay much like you were now, huddled against the bite of the cold and wondering if you’d make it to see the sun or if some traveler would come across your corpse. Because you would have traded any imaginable sort of comfort to get away from the rest of them. So really, if you considered it, the cold wasn’t that bad.

Still, it made sleeping difficult.

Barely ten minutes passed before you couldn’t take it anymore. Sitting up, you huddled back against your saddle and wrapped the blankets tighter around yourself. You obviously weren’t sleeping tonight, so you might as well get comfortable.

“Y/N,” a whisper in the darkness. You looked up to see Bucky’s form, half sat up, watching you. “Come on.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I can practically hear your bones knocking together. Come on over,” he gestured with a small wave. You blinked again -- and then a few more times just for good measure -- before slowly standing up.

“You sure?”

“If it means I can finally get to sleep,” he replied with mock exasperation. “Then yes.”

An unavoidable part of yourself couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and Bucky groaned.

“No, no -- don’t do that, you always make me feel like a horrible person when you do that. Just,” he sighed, voice lowering a bit. “Just lay down, would you? I mean -- i-if you want to, I don’t…”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, thank you.”

You were both stepping around each other so carefully. So you made a decision for the both of you and lowered yourself carefully down next to him. He shifted, moving out of your way and giving you space to lie down. Then he spread his blanket out over top of the two you had wrapped around your shoulders.

“Damn,” he muttered when his hand brushed yours. “You really are cold.”

“How are you not?” you managed around a shiver, but Bucky just shook his head and repositioned himself so he could pull you to his chest. “Wh-- What are you doing?”

“Body heat,” he replied, eyes already closing again. His hand rubbed absentmindedly up and down your back. Now that you actually took a moment, you realized that you were starting to feel warmer.

Not bothering to let yourself feel self-conscious -- that would come in the morning, you were sure -- you curled your legs up, pressing them into Bucky’s thighs.

“Better?” he asked. “At least you’re not gonna freeze now.”

“I was never gonna freeze,” you mumbled, scooting closer to him, folding your hands against his stomach. You were finally starting to get some feeling back.

“Uh-huh,” he sarcastically replied.

A wind blew through the forest and you tucked your face into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He lifted a hand, shielding you with his arm until it died down.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your own breath feeling warm against your face in the cocoon of blankets and bodies the two of you had created.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, looking down at you for a moment.

It was the last thing you remembered before you fell asleep, the way that those grey eyes had found yours with a cautious eagerness that was held so far down it was drowning. He looked at you like he was trying to pick apart something he'd seen in the landscape a hundred times before but was just now getting a good look at. You wanted to ask him what it was, but by the time you got the courage to, you were already asleep.

________________________________________________________________

He was hugging you when you woke. As a child, you’d had a little stuffed rabbit your mother had sewn from dress scraps. It was the one thing that had truly been yours -- the one thing that had come from her hands specifically for you. For a while, it was your everything. You used to hold it to your chest, arms wrapped around it while you slept. Bucky was holding you just like that; tight to his chest. His arms were crossed in front of you, his left hand propped up, fingers curled, and his right resting against your collarbone.

You’d cried for ages when you’d lost that stuffed rabbit. You hadn’t been able to sleep for days. Your mother had promised to make you a new one, but it wasn’t the same. Somehow she knew that, with her kind eyes and their understanding sadness. Your father threatened to make you sleep in the barn if you couldn’t pull yourself together. Mickey had laughed.

When Bucky woke up, he took a deep breath through his nose. You found yourself taking a deep breath with him, face tilted to try and watch him; understand him. His arms shifted around you as he lifted his head, blinking around before laying back again. You could feel the way his body was different now that he was awake. He was tensed, ready for movement, and you felt him try to pull his arm out from under you without being disruptive. After a weak tug, he stilled. Turning slightly, you let your hand find his against your chest.

“Didn’t freeze,” you murmured, voice still hoarse. Your breath sent a cloud into the cold morning air. So did Bucky’s laugh.

“You were never gonna freeze,” he replied, his grip on you finding its firmness again. “Never would’ve let you.”

This newness surprised you. The way he was being right now surprised you even though it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t have expected Bucky to do. And it made you realize that even though there was so much you’d never seen, there were parts of him that you just knew.

That morning was the slowest you’d ever gotten up. You rolled onto your back, right into Bucky’s side. His arm adjusted but didn’t move from around you. And you sighed, and you stared up at the canopy above your head, and Bucky did the same. Things were quiet, and you wondered if this was what it was like for your mother. If this was what she’d meant when she’d told you, whispering softly from beside the fireplace, that, “One day, my love, you’ll become a wife. One day everything about yourself will make sense and you’ll finally understand what you’re really here for.”

You wonder if she had truly believed that, with her husband of fury and heavy fists and her son of cruelty. You wonder if she’d believed that that was what she was meant for. You didn’t feel like a wife. And Bucky didn’t seem like the kind of man to become a husband. But you thought that perhaps your mother had been onto something, even if she’d been wrong about most of it. Because, really, you were starting to understand what you were here for. And with Bucky, things were starting to make sense.

You both got up slowly, one at a time. You went first, sitting up, and Bucky’s hand trailed down your back in a brief moment of gentleness that had you turning around and looking down at him. His hair was messy, and the skin around his eyes wrinkled softly as he looked back at you and tried a soft smile on for size. His shirt was rumpled, the blankets bunched around his waist, and you thought to yourself: He’s beautiful. This is what it’s supposed to be like when you open your eyes next to someone.  

You thought about your mother and how much you weren’t like her. You thought about how similar your lives had been, and yet, how different they were. And you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d have ever found this if she’d lived longer than she had. A small part of you died a slow, careful death when you realized that it didn’t matter because you’d never know, and she’d never know what it was like to wake up feeling safe. You buried that part of yourself and placed a marker by its grave. And then you saddled your horse.

Bucky followed you out into the forest, heading North once more. Heading towards an end and a beginning.

You thought about what you might do after you arrived at Pigeon Rock. The plan had always been to cross the river and keep on going. Now, though, you wondered if anywhere was far enough. You wondered if they’d suspected your plan all along. You distinctly did not wonder what it would be like to travel alone again; you’d decided not to think about that until it happened.

It was all you really were thinking about, though, as much as you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t. The thought had already sunk its fangs into the back of your mind and now venom was making its steady way through your veins. It’s tricky, that way. It gets to every other part of your body so fast there’s no possible way to escape it. Because really, that’s the bad part about thoughts: you have to share your body with them. Makes avoidance almost impossible.

You were trying, though.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t feel like talking. You didn’t consider for a moment that perhaps it was because he was thinking the same thing you were; he had friends on the other end of his destination. You… you just had more running. But that was okay. All of it, really, was okay. Everything was going exactly as you’d planned it to. Everything except Bucky. The world had really thrown you a wildcard with Bucky.

It was bothering you more than you would have liked.

So instead you focused on the grim reality that you were facing -- had been facing for your entire life. And you did what you did best: you made a list. A list of steps, of things you’d need to do, of supplies you’d need to purchase, stops you’d need to make. Towns were sparse the further North you got until eventually, you hit the mountains. You would need to carry as many supplies as you could, and the rest you’d have to hunt, gather, or make. It was going to be difficult. It was going to be dangerous. But then, your whole life had been -- and there was no doubt it would be if you stayed.

Horse tripped over a root and brought you back to yourself. You’d been lost in your own thoughts for most of the morning and, squinting up at the sky, you saw that it was nearly noon. You looked over at Bucky. He was taking a swig from his waterskin -- the last of his supply, it looked like. He tipped it back until it was horizontal, then shook it.

“The river,” you wondered aloud. “I suppose that’ll be our last resupply.”

Bucky looked over at you like he’d only now remembered you were there. He glanced down at his canteen, then nodded before slipping it back into his saddlebag.

“Right…. Uh, actually I wanted to ask you--”

“Shit,” you muttered, suddenly reining Horse back. Just up ahead, peeking through the trees, was a cabin. It was small, set up on stilts, and a tree had fallen onto the roof.

Bucky stopped next to you and followed your eyes. He frowned, sweeping his coat aside and laying a hand on his revolver.

“It doesn’t look occupied,” you said, not daring to be optimistic quite yet.

“No,” Bucky replied, his voice low. “But they never do.”

No. No they didn’t.

“Stay here, watch the perimeter. I’ll make sure we don’t have to worry about anyone shooting us on our way through.”

You nodded even though the idea of splitting up settled uneasily in your chest. But, better safe than sorry -- and better than getting shot in the back. Bucky dismounted, handing you Alpine’s reins, and then pulled his gun from its holster.

“Be careful,” you said. Bucky turned around long enough to give you a nod and a wink before heading slowly towards the cabin, keeping the trees in between him and the few windows you could see from this distance.

You didn’t watch him go. Instead, you scanned the surrounding forest, thankful that it was still daylight. Your eyes began to ache as you searched the underbrush, the different shades of brown and green blending together. Wrapping Alpine’s reins around the saddle horn, you drew your piece just in case. Bucky had made it to the cabin. He was climbing up the stairs, leaning sideways into the door with his gun at the ready.

You heard a shot go off, and the sound of Bucky yelling had you sitting up in your saddle a moment before something caught the back of your shirt. You felt yourself being jerked sideways. Crashing to the ground, you lost hold of your weapon as Horse jumped away from you, rearing up and throwing his head. You whipped around, rolling onto your back and trying to scramble away from whatever had attacked you when a boot landed squarely on your chest, pressing just enough to stop you from moving.

“Where’s your gentleman friend, huh Kitty Cat?” Mickey’s voice reached your ears before his face swam into view, looming above you like every nightmare you’d ever had. You struggled, hitting his leg, but he just looked down at you with amusement.

Another shot rang off, followed by the sound of something crashing through wood. Mickey looked up, feigning surprise.

“Oh? There he is."

“Bucky!” you screamed. Mickey gave you a kick. “Bucky!”

“Shut up,” he spat, leaning over you, grabbing your chin and squeezing. His amusement had shifted to anger as quickly as it always had. You remembered learning that, as a child, how quickly he could change.

You twisted sideways and bit his hand. Teeth sunk into flesh and you tasted copper. Mickey cursed, throwing your head back into the ground. He looked at the blood dripping from his hand with shock, and it was enough that you were able to knock him off balance by shoving his leg. He fell sideways, catching himself just as you began to scramble backwards for your gun.

“No you don’t,” he muttered, coming after you, pulling a knife from his boot.  

You yelled Bucky's name again, hoping he could hear you. Hoping he wasn’t dead. God, what if he was dead?

But you would be, too, if you didn’t do something fast and soon. You turned onto your side, kicking out as you tried to evade Mickey. You’d just gotten onto your knees when an arm wrapped around your neck. Mickey jerked you backwards, and your whole body jolted with a sharp pain as he whipped you around.

“Really thought you could run? Huh? You really thought you could run? From me?”

Tears had spilled onto your cheeks, but you hardly registered that they were there. Mickey smiled. That was the only way you knew. He always smiled a special sort of way when you cried. You reached up and clawed at his face. He leaned back, struggling to get out of your reach while also trying to hold you still, and you managed a scratch down his cheek before he removed one hand from holding you and hit you across the face with it. Your vision went black for a moment. Just a moment, and then you leaned back, got a leg under you, and kicked forward as hard as you could.

Your boot connected with his lower abdomen. He grunted, reaching forward to smack you again, breaking skin this time. You had a small moment of stillness and clarity to wonder why he hadn’t stabbed you yet. Probably for the same reason that a cat risks losing its mouse just to see it squirm. But you weren’t a mouse. A mouse had never shot a cat.

You scrambled backwards, kicking out just in case he managed to get close enough, and through the tears and the blood running into your eyes, you twisted around and found your weapon -- a little streak of silver among the green and the dirt. You threw your hand out, felt as your fingers found the cold material. You squeezed it until your skin felt like it would tear. Mickey grabbed the back of your shirt.

Everything grew very still, at that moment. But you’d look back and remember nothing. Nothing but the dirt beneath your hand and the sound of your own heart beating inside your chest.

He pulled you around, aiming another blow at your face. A single shot rang out. It took you a moment to be sure -- to fully convince yourself that the shot had come from the revolver smoking in your hand. And then it took you another moment to fully register the blood dripping into your lap. Mickey hovered over you, propped up on one of your arms -- the one that you’d thrown out in a vain attempt to block him. Gradually, his grip on your shirt loosened. There was a scarlet hole in the lower half of his face. One side of his jaw was blown out, the bone shining white behind torn flesh.

You gasped, pushing him off of you, and the dead weight of his body took him the rest of the way. He fell backwards into the dirt. You felt something hot and panicked rise up your throat.

He was dead. There was blood on your shirt and it belonged to him. He was laying, unmoving in the dirt that had started to turn red. You’d shot him. And the first thought that cleared through the fog of panic was it’s over. It was all you could tell yourself as you stared down at the body of your brother. It was over.

Somewhere in the time between the gunshot and now, you realized your breath was coming too fast. You didn’t ever consider doing anything about this -- it was just a thought, just a moment of wondering of realization. And then you felt yourself shaking, you felt the adrenaline that always comes with taking a life, only this time with the added weight of knowing exactly whose life you’d just taken -- knowledge that you’d have to live with for the rest of yours. Maybe the part of you that was relieved made it worse, but you couldn’t calm down.

Sound and sight rushed back in and you heard the sound of someone yelling. A sob caught heavy in your throat - tore into your flesh like a dagger. Then there was a firm body against your back, arms wrapped around your middle pulling you backwards, and you were certain that it was Red. He’d seen what you’d done and now he was going to kill you. You hit your fists against the arms, trying to twist out of his grip, and you hit and you hit and you hit -- and it hurt. Why did it…

The gleam of a metal arm caught your eye. You realized that the yelling you’d heard had come from you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky’s voice reached you from somewhere far away. You felt his breath against your cheek, making the wetness of your tears feel cool. No, you couldn’t be crying right now. You reached up and scrubbed at your face.

“No,” Bucky murmured, gently trying to stop you, and you realized too late that your hands were covered with blood.

A sob caught in your throat, choked you, sunk back into your belly like lead. You shuddered.

“Shhh,” Bucky breathed, pressing his cheek to the side of your head. He was sitting behind you, now, his legs around yours, keeping you close, creating a barrier between you and the forest.  

You found yourself leaning back into his chest, and when he felt your weight drop, he adjusted his arms around you, trying to hold you closer even though he couldn’t. You were still crying -- tears cutting trails through the blood on your face. It dripped uncomfortably down your neck. You wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“I… he's…”

“You’re alright.”

“I shot him.”

“I know.”

“He’s still breathing--” you were sure he was breathing. Mickey didn’t die. You’d seen him die so many times, but he always came back. No matter what, he always came back. He'd get up and then he'd hurt you. He'd never forgive you for what you'd just done. He’d kill Bucky and then he’d--

“No,” Bucky said, sounding like the word had gotten caught in his throat.

“He’s… he’s…”

“He’s dead, Y/N.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he whispered, breath against your ear. His arm shifted up to your sternum, fingers flattening on your chest, warm.

You didn’t feel well. What…. What was that…

“Bucky?”

Your voice didn’t sound like your own anymore. Bucky sat up straighter, taking you with him.

“Bucky, I don’t--”

“Shit,” he hissed, pulling his hand away from your stomach. He shoved you off of him, but before you had a chance to ask him what was wrong he was pulling you back down. Laying you in the dirt, Bucky tore open the front of your shirt.

“He got you.”

You stared up at him.

“Fuck,” he yelled, whipping around like he was looking for something before leaning back down.

As he ripped off a strip of your shirt, you began to feel the pain, a sharpness in your belly. It hurt when you breathed.

“Bucky,” you whispered, but then he was pressing the wad of fabric down onto you and your vision went black.

You must have screamed because Bucky was shushing you again when you came to, his warm hand cupping your face, running frantic sweeps with his thumb, but there was still that pressure on your stomach, and god it hurt. You reached up, instinctively clawing at the arm holding you down, trying to stop.

“Stop,” Bucky spoke your own thoughts aloud. The few words you hadn't been able to say. Please stop. It hurts. Please don't.

“Stop, doll, stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Of all the things he could have said, that was the thing to bring you enough clarity that you caught up with what was happening. And then you laughed. You laughed, and it hurt, and so you winced as fresh, unbloodied tears began to roll down your cheeks. When your unfocused eyes finally found Bucky’s face, it was twisted with panic -- a kind of panic that made him look so much younger than he was. Immediately your brow pinched together, wondering what was wrong.

You lifted your hand, now also covered in blood that had begun to seep from fresh cuts made by metal, and laid it gently on the side of his face, running your fingers across his skin, the stubble on his neck.

“Y’okay?” you managed. His brow screwed up as he closed his eyes, but then he was looking at you again with an intensity that was more familiar.

“You’re not allowed to die.”

Despite the tears, you smirked.

“You hear me?” Bucky insisted, pressing harder against your wound. Your smirk shifted into a grimace. “You’re not allowed to die. Don’t even think about it. Y/N…”

Your vision was swimming. Your head… something was wrong. Some part of you that was more conscious than the rest laughed. Well of course something was wrong, you’d been stabbed. You couldn’t find your footing.

“Hey--”

“It’s okay.” You couldn’t tell if you’d said it aloud or not -- your mouth wasn’t working and your voice was getting lost among all the blood. It was bitter. You resisted the urge to gag.  

“It’s okay,” you wanted to tell him.

“Hey. Hey, no no no…”

His voice was an echo. The world faded away, slipping into a blank, void darkness. You felt like maybe you'd be alright.

________________________________________________________________

“No no no, come on. Shit,” Bucky slid a hand behind your head, holding it up as you went limp. “Fuck.”

He grit his teeth and pressed down harder on your wound. There was too much blood for him to think about how awful it felt to be hurting you. Then again, you weren’t feeling a thing anymore.

“Shit,” he mumbled again, laying your head down carefully so he could use both hands.

The wound was just above your navel, a little off to the right. The piece of your shirt was soaked through with blood. It had spread onto his hands. Bucky took a deep breath and tried not to look at the red staining metal. He closed his eyes and tried to think. If that bastard had hit any organs, you’d bleed out in hours. If somehow you’d gotten lucky, you could still die of infection before he managed to get you somewhere -- anywhere. He took a moment -- just a short, fleeting second -- to allow himself to be angry. How had things gone so bad so quickly? Why hadn’t he stopped this?

He’d realized it too late, climbing the half-rotted wooden steps to the house, that something was wrong. By the time he picked up on the other presence, the man you’d called Red was already shooting at him. Bucky had ducked sideways, lunging forward and tackling him. He slammed his fist forward, but Red ducked out of the way like a rat, and the floorboards splintered under the impact of metal. Kicking the man’s gun aside, Bucky tried to aim his own at his assailant, but Red threw a loose board at him.

It was enough for him to close the distance between them, and Bucky felt himself being shoved. His back hit the floor with a thud seconds before hands were at his throat, squeezing hard enough to make him choke. Oddly enough, Bucky thought of you. Jesus, you’d traveled with this man for how long? And he’d obviously hurt you -- Bucky had seen it firsthand, seen the lasting effects of all the things that had come before, things he didn’t even want to imagine. The thought of him putting his hands on you had something distinctly unpleasant seething up Bucky’s chest.

It didn’t take much effort. He lifted his metal arm and grabbed Red by the throat, shaking him until he let go. Coughing hoarsely, Bucky dragged himself to his feet, keeping a grip on the other man’s throat, squeezing just enough that he wouldn’t get any ideas. Panting, Bucky searched the floor for his gun.

“You,” Red breathed, his voice strained under Bucky’s hand. Bucky ignored him. There it was, his gun. He leaned sideways to get it. “You killed my girl.”

Bucky straightened up and raised an eyebrow, too exhausted to be having this conversation. “Did I?”

He knew he had.

Somehow Red managed to spit. Impressive, considering he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you. And then I’m gonna go outside and--” he coughed. Bucky watched him with a blank expression. “And once Mickey’s done with that stupid bitch, I’m gonna take my turn.”

He’d barely gotten the sentence out before Bucky was throwing him backwards. Red stumbled one, two, three steps, and then a bullet was lodging itself between his eyes. Bucky glared down the barrel of his gun for a second longer than he needed to. That’s when he’d heard the scream. Your scream. Something inside his chest snapped in half, and suddenly he was flying out the door and through the forest, searching frantically for you.

He’d found you a trembling mess, covered in blood that flashed red across his vision -- blood that he’d been so afraid was your own -- and crawling away from your brother. That’s when Bucky realized what had happened. As much as it had hurt to see you so shaken up, he was unable to help his relief that the blood on your clothes didn’t belong to you.

Or at least, he’d thought.

Now, lifting your limp body into his arms, his relief was replaced with dread. It settled on his chest, a heavy lead that weighed him down with every step he took. The horses weren’t far. They’d gotten their reins tangled up in a tree and were grazing as if nothing had happened. As if he wasn’t carrying your unconscious, bloodied body. He almost envied them as he tore the reins loose and tethered Horse to Alpine’s saddle.

He pulled spare bandages from his saddlebag. Crouching down, he propped you up against his knee and wound the fabric around your stomach, pulling it tight. The bleeding had slowed down enough that the edges of your wound were getting sticky with coagulated blood. You were too cold, though, and Bucky felt himself begin to panic. If he didn’t get you medical help soon, you could die. He stood with a renewed urgency.

After a bit of maneuvering, he managed to mount. Alpine sidestepped under the added weight as he carefully wrapped an arm around your body, holding you against his chest.

“Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, urging the horses into a trot.

Blood was smeared against the front of him. It clung to his shirt. The wind picked up, whipping into his face as Alpine raced forward. One-handed, he wrapped his coat around you, trying to shield you from the worst of it. You’d bled through your bandages already. Bucky cursed again, and the wind stole his voice as Alpine cut through it. He jammed his heels into her sides, and she lengthened her stride.

He couldn’t lose you. He realized it suddenly, all at once; every possible thing that would turn meaningless if you weren’t here with him. He couldn’t keep on going in a world that you weren’t in. You’d fought too hard and come too far to die like this. And, if you could just keep hanging on -- if you could get through this, you’d be free. Your bastard of a brother was dead, and Bucky had taken care of the other man. You weren’t being hunted anymore. You were free.

If only you could stay alive.

________________________________________________________________

Snow began to fall as Bucky rode into camp. The safe house looked different than he remembered it. You were still unconscious, held to his chest and hidden beneath his coat. You’d lost your hat in the fight, so he’d placed his onto your head to shield your face once the snow had picked up. What had started as a flurry when he reached the river was now a downpour -- white powder filling the air, catching on the grass and the dirt. It would be a pileup.

He’d made it here in a day. You’d woken up once, just long enough to cry out in pain and nearly give him a heart attack before slipping back into unconsciousness. The bleeding had stopped several hours ago, but the wound was angry and red. He kept checking it, a part of him hoping that somehow it would look better. The horses were exhausted. Steam rose from their flanks as he came to a rough halt just outside the perimeter. Alpine was wheezing, her breath coming in sharp, hollow gasps. He’d ridden her too hard, but there hadn’t been any other choice. Somehow, Horse had kept up, but he was in no better shape.

With numb legs, Bucky slid out of the saddle. His boots hit the snow with a thud, and then he was falling, catching you in his arms and tucking you against him. You were so cold. He pulled you closer, leaning over you, trying desperately to will some life back into your body.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he whispered, adjusting his grip on you. “We’re here.” His breath fanned out in a cloud of cold air. The clouds that your own breathing was making were too small and too few.

“We’re here,” he said it again, feeling his own vision go blurry. He was exhausted.

He heard the sound of guns cocking, of voices, but they were distant in his ringing ears. His eyelids fluttered as he tilted his head up, bracing for a shot or a strange face, wondering how he’d possibly protect you like this. And then, finally, a face swam into view. It was familiar.

“Bucky,” a voice, one he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

“Steve.”

________________________________________________________________

Taglist:  @desert-fern, @arcanebabe

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

this ask i’m about to send gets into fairly personal territory regarding ruby’s suicide attempt, so just delete this right now if it’s something you’d rather not have to deal with from a stranger (it okay, it’s been a long while and i’m doing pretty good in the present 👍)

something that’s frustrating me a little more than i’d like is the amount of people bringing up yang’s abandonment issues and how that might come into play. on one hand, yes, that is something that i thought about and would be interesting to see in the future, but as of the more immediate situation…

it brings up this old memory about me asking my own sister what she thinks about suicide, and her replying that she thinks it’s selfish. i love my sister, and i know she was well-intentioned, but it hadn’t helped at the time and there’s a reason why i go to my brother first instead.

the thing about suicide is that it can be selfish, but when a person is in that kind of pain they just want it to stop hurting, and even think it’s better for everyone else that way. on top of that, this response has the side effect of making the pain of the person affected, their own struggles, about other people instead - ‘you should think about how others would feel, if you did it’. it doesn’t stop a person from feeling depressed or suicidal, it just makes them feel invalidated. it makes them feel like their feelings don’t matter in the long run. and when they feel they don’t matter, well… yeah.

this is something that ruby has been struggling with all this while. she’s hurting, and she feels (particularly after that episode) that she’ll only make things worse if she sticks around.

ultimately, fans should be allowed to focus on the characters they connect to more, so they shouldn’t stop contemplating just because people (me, in this specific instance) is getting butthurt about it. i just, personally. keep seeing multiple people hoping for the story to focus on yang’s feelings about being abandoned in the next few episodes and. something about that just frustrates me, a little, because to me ruby’s pain has been building up for a while now, and the narrative should get to focus on how she hurts, without the idea of how that affects others from interrupting the narrative. because she’s always been keeping her pain quiet for the benefit of others, and now she can’t do it anymore.

given how rwby9 has thus far been making good development on ruby as a character, i doubt they’ll cut away from the focus on it now. i’m trusting crwby on this, at least. i’m just a bit miffed at seeing people want to shift the focus onto how it affects yang right away. it’s not a bad idea, but right now isn’t the time; ruby is hurt in a way that’s beyond what wby had all expected and she deserves to have the time to let herself feel. let the spotlight sit on her woes, for the moment. that’s what i hope for, at least.

Yeah I'm thinking that Yang's abandonment issues and how she was hurt by this are going way in the back seat and probably won't be addressed this volume. We've got to get Ruby back on her feet and the rest of them will be focused on rescuing her, and any fallout from watching her die will not be addressed until she's out of the Ever After.

And yeah, when you're in that much pain your brain will do anything to make it worse. My mom once had a friend's son commit suicide and she tearfully asked me "Please don't do that to me", and my brain interpreted that as "Don't kill yourself because it would make me unhappy.". But outright saying that someone's selfish for having suicidal thoughts is just unbearably careless and I'm sorry you had to go through that.

[neufhistoires]

Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 8

Loveless Marriage

Chapter 8

Word count: 4,626

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What a nightmare.

“Oh, come on. I wasn’t expecting you to be the one who has a problem with this… No, shouldn’t you be all ‘I don’t care if I’m marrying you, as long as I get to choose the decorations’ – which I said you could choose, if you don’t recall.”

In the dressing room at a tuxedo shop, Arthur was somehow the one who was trying to convince Francis to go through with the ceremony.

It wasn’t that Arthur wanted to go through with it either, but it was the last thing that their parents had requested of them, wasn’t it? It was something that was sure to help both of their family’s companies, so although the Englishman wasn’t a fan of it, he simply wanted to make it short and sweet, and most importantly, get it over with. Arthur had no idea why Francis was being so difficult…

Francis seemed to be in concerningly low spirits ever since he heard the news about the wedding ceremony, and it was only gradually getting worse. From his point of view, he had already decided that he liked Arthur. He struggled to directly call it love, but… what else could it have been? Regardless, to have a sham wedding with the person he was interested in was more painful than he could’ve imagined.

Since Francis wouldn’t have minded marrying Arthur one day, that was the true root cause of why he didn’t want to follow through with the wedding– Arthur wasn’t interested in him, he didn’t like him. For Arthur, it would’ve just been playing wedding for a day, but for Francis, he was drowning in thoughts of how his love wasn’t requited.

The solution to the problem seemed too simple– he could always tell Arthur how he felt. Then the Englishman would be more understanding of his melancholy, even if he didn’t reciprocate it (how could he?) and that in itself would feel like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. However, no matter how many feelings he had for the other man, Francis still couldn’t convince himself to put his pride on the line like that. He couldn’t take being rejected.

“Why don’t you just choose the decorations? I don’t care,” Francis mumbled, not even looking over at the other man as he continued to absentmindedly adjust his tie. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

“What? Did I pass that cold I had onto you?” Arthur questioned, walking over to the other man and placing the back of his hand on his forehead.

Francis’s temperature felt normal, so he had no idea why he was acting so strange. Was it that the thought of marrying Arthur publicly revolted him to the extent that he was in a state of shock?

Instead of replying to that, Francis let out an exhausted sigh and put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, lightly pushing him in the direction of the door.

“Let’s go show them these ones,” Francis said, referring to the tuxedos they had tried on. Their parents were waiting outside the fitting room.

“Wait..! Francis, are you really alright?” Arthur asked, turning to face the other man again as he placed his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m fine,” Francis replied coldly, gesturing towards the door again.

“Liar,” Arthur muttered before he opened the door and walked out in front of their parents, who immediately fawned over the suits they had chosen.

Arthur didn’t bother faking a smile, seeing as both of their parents were well aware of the fact that he didn’t want to follow through with it. Francis, however, forced what could only be described as a sad smile and continued to seem detached from everyone around him, like he was in his own world.

They listened to comments about how handsome they both looked as their parents walked up to them and even shed a few tears, which was strange seeing as it wasn’t a real marriage…

The reason their parents had been so insistent on them having an actual wedding ceremony was because people within their social circles started to speculate why they hadn’t heard anything about Francis and Arthur’s supposed relationship, and why they hadn’t seen the two together since the relationship was announced. Basically, the wedding ceremony was just a publicity stunt to try and convince people that their marriage was more than just a publicity stunt to bring attention to both of their companies. There was no reason to cry over such a thing.

After they chose their tuxedos, which Francis suspiciously had no opinion on whatsoever, they continued their wedding planning, which was somewhat rushed due to the limited amount of time Francis’s parents would be in England. Actually, they only had about a week to put the whole thing together. Fortunately, Arthur’s parents were willing to pay for most of it, which included a wedding planner who took care of making suitable invitations, inviting guests, and the decorations. The only thing they really had to focus on were making decisions for things like what food would be served and what venue it would be at.

Making decisions had turned into both a hassle and something that was much easier than usual. Francis and Arthur tended to have opposing views on what was aesthetically pleasing and what wasn’t, but even though Arthur had agreed to give Francis almost complete control over the decorations and the food, Francis kept giving dismissive, neutral responses to everything.

“Look, I understand that this whole thing doesn’t mean anything to you, and don’t get me wrong, I don’t care about it either– but just pick something..!” Arthur whisper-yelled as he leaned into Francis’s ear.

They were seated across from a professional baker, who was showing them her wedding cake design and flavor choices. There were hundreds of things to choose from, like how many tiers the cake had, the colors for the inside, the colors for the outside, what kind of decorations went on the sides and the tops, and most importantly what flavor the cake itself was. But each time the baker showed them a design or let them sample a flavor, Francis immediately said something along the lines of “that one is fine,” or, “I trust your judgment.”

“At least pretend like you care..!” Arthur leaned in and whispered again before smiling awkwardly at the woman seated across from them.

“It seems that I’m struggling to make a choice because they all sound so délicieux…” Francis started, both surprising and relieving Arthur when he finally started to say something. 

But then, Francis suddenly was halfway across the table, grabbing the woman’s hand. The woman’s cheeks flushed, and Arthur looked like he was going to lose it.

“Surely it’s because they were made by someone so divine, so–”

Arthur stood up and grabbed Francis’s arm, causing Francis to look over at him and release the woman’s hand with a sigh before he casually sat back down as if nothing had happened.

“Have you forgotten why we’re here?” Arthur asked, his eye twitching.

“Non. Let’s go with the strawberry cake filling and design option C,” Francis replied, his tone suddenly cold as he stood up to leave. “And then I suppose we’ve finished this part, so let’s get going,” He added, his gaze not meeting Arthur’s again as he started to leave the room.

“I’m so sorry about that– I think all this wedding planning has him stressed,” Arthur apologized to the woman awkwardly before he ran after Francis.

“What were you thinking, flirting with a woman when we’re supposed to be convincing people that you and I are getting married?!” Arthur yelled once they got out of the store. There was still enough space between them and their parents who had been socializing in the parking lot, so they couldn’t hear their conversation.

“I guess I’m tired of lying,” Francis replied, his tone still cold despite the sad look in his eyes when they met Arthur’s.

“Well, just hold that feeling in for a few more days and we’ll be done with all of this,” Arthur replied with a huff as they eventually rejoined their parents.

If only it were that easy.

The next part was something Francis had forgotten about, and probably what would hurt him the most– they hadn’t gotten wedding rings yet.

Rings were supposed to represent unity, a sacred bond between two people who loved each other more than anything and promised to do so until death, and yet… in this case, it had no meaning. They were simply…

“They’re just rings. I don’t care which one I get. I’ll just wait here in the car,” Francis said, coming across as harsh and cold despite the anguish he was feeling.

Francis’s mother interjected, explaining that he should choose a ring because they thought he would be more opinionated to the point that they even put money back to help pay for one.

Francis felt like his stomach was twisting into a knot and it was only a matter of time until the ever-building pressure became unbearable. He couldn’t go in there and choose a ring.

“I trust that you’ll be able to choose something I like then,” Francis muttered, making no attempt to get out of the vehicle.

Their parents ended up heading into the store ahead of them, saying something about how the two of them seemed to be getting along better, so maybe Arthur could convince Francis to put more effort into choosing a ring.

“Francis– why are you being this way? I know it seems meaningless, but think of it this way– you can go in there and choose the most expensive, fancy ring if you’d like, and you don’t even have to associate it with me..!” Arthur urged, still confused as to why he was begging Francis of all people to have input on what he wanted.

“If it’s meaningless, then go choose one for me,” Francis muttered, looking out the window as he attempted to shoo the other man away from him.

However, then Francis started to ponder that idea more. He remembered when Arthur gave him the room with the best view at his parents house, and of course, how surprisingly well he had decorated it for him. Then there was the time Arthur bought wine and bread for Francis, which once again was surprisingly to his taste.

“I’m sure you’ll choose something that I like. Besides, isn’t that what married people usually do anyway? One person surprises the other with a ring, right? So it’s not really that strange if I don’t come in,” Francis reasoned, secretly pondering whether it would break his heart more or less to have a ring that Arthur had chosen.

“Oh… Well, I suppose that’s true,” Arthur agreed, finally opening the door to get out of the car. “If you really don’t mind, then I’ll do my best to pick out something that you’ll like…” Arthur murmured, his cheeks dusting pink as he closed the car door and went inside the store.

Once the rings were bought, everything for the wedding ceremony had officially been taken care of. The venue that their parents had chosen was a few hours away from where they lived, so they were all staying at a hotel. The only thing that was unfortunate, which they both didn’t dare acknowledge to each other, and especially not to their parents, was that they were staying in separate rooms.

Each night, the two of them awkwardly avoided each other before they left to go to bed, suddenly becoming aware of how strange it was that they essentially cuddled together every night despite their supposed hatred for one another. Fortunately, although for different reasons, they both would’ve died of embarrassment if their parents found out that they had been sleeping in the same bed together, so they both accepted restless nights and didn’t mention their sleepless nights to the other. That was, until the day of the wedding ceremony…

In the morning, in the hotel hallway, Francis and Arthur bumped into each other. They both seemed terribly exhausted with dark circles underneath their eyes as if they hadn’t slept in years. 

“Francis, what’s wrong with you? Haven’t you had time for your beauty sleep?” Arthur teased, letting out a laugh.

Francis scowled and replied, “Look who’s talking..! You have dark circles under your eyes, too!” He pointed his finger at the Englishman accusingly.

Arthur wanted to object, but he couldn’t. They were both well aware of why they looked that way, but it was too embarrassing to talk about it…

“Are you ready for today..?” Arthur asked quietly, seeing as they were in the hallway where other people might’ve heard their conversation.

“Non,” Francis replied softly, his demeanor changing when he thought about the ceremony again.

“I never would’ve guessed that you would be the one who’s more bothered by this whole thing,” Arthur commented, saying his thoughts out loud.

“Well… I am…” Francis replied hesitantly before he impulsively pulled on the other man’s arm and leaned close to his ear. “Why don’t we just leave and call this whole thing off? We can go do something else today– something that’s not stressful, and we can do this marriage thing some other time,” Francis urged.

“No,” Arthur said firmly, pulling away from the Frenchman. “Our parents put a lot of time and effort into making this whole thing seem legit. I know that you’re upset about it, but I don’t want to go through with it anymore than you do, so let’s just fake some smiles and get it over with..!” 

Admittedly, Francis probably would’ve snuck away to the hotel bar and ditched the ceremony if he didn’t think Arthur would still show up and then be embarrassed when the Frenchman didn’t come…

When Francis didn’t reply, Arthur followed up with a “you better show up,” and walked away. 

At that moment, Francis realized he couldn’t avoid the ceremony without jeopardizing his relationship with Arthur any more than he already had, so he decided that he had to go. The twisting feeling in his stomach returned and he leaned his back against the hallway wall, contemplating what he should do in order to get through the rest of the night.

Well, maybe going to the hotel bar was the right thing to do… He just had to make sure he wasn’t too drunk to attend the ceremony afterwards. With that in mind, Francis headed downstairs to the bar. Meanwhile, he was unaware that his parents had been looking for him because everyone else was getting ready for the ceremony.

About a half an hour later, Francis’s parents ended up bumping into Arthur, who was already dressed in his tuxedo for the wedding. They complimented him and then asked him if he knew where Francis was because they couldn’t seem to find him. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that the Frenchman really must’ve left like he had said he wanted to, but he didn’t vocalize that. He simply replied that he would help look for him, too.

Conveniently, as soon as Arthur made his way down to the hotel lobby, he saw the sign for the bar and thought that seemed like an appropriate place to check…

What Arthur found was enough to make his blood boil– Francis passed out drunk at the counter. It wasn’t even noon yet.

Arthur wasn’t even sure if he could yell at the other man because if he was drunk enough to pass out, then he surely wouldn’t be able to understand him.

Arthur’s hands were shaking from a combination of anger and irritation as he slowly placed one of them on Francis’s shoulder. He was tempted to shove him off the stool, but part of him felt bad for the other man and couldn’t bring himself to do that. He opted for lightly shaking his shoulder. 

“Francis–why would you get drunk at a time like this? Everyone is looking for you,” Arthur said, continuing to shake the Frenchman’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to… marry you,” Francis slurred, sounding more like he was asleep rather than drunk. He slowly started to lift his head up, but everything was blurry and he couldn’t seem to focus on anything, not even the man who was only inches away from him.

“I know, I know. I don’t want to marry you either,” Arthur replied as if they were just having a casual conversation.

“I’m going to throw up,” Francis muttered. He had said it so casually that Arthur almost didn’t realize what he said.

“Don’t get it on me– I’m already dressed..!”

Arthur moved behind Francis to hold his hair back (and avoid getting puked on), and then the Frenchman puked up what had to be four bottles of wine onto the counter. The bartender didn’t look too happy…

“How did you manage to drink that much?! I just saw you a half an hour ago!” Arthur yelled in disbelief.

“Hm..? I don’t know, but… it’s all gone now,” Francis muttered, looking utterly exhausted.

“Yes, I know,” Arthur replied sarcastically.

Arthur ended up having to apologize to the bartender and pay him extra, too. It wasn’t that he had to, but it was sort of embarrassing to just walk away with someone after they puked all over the counter…

“I keep having to apologize to everyone because of you,” Arthur muttered, trying to get through the lobby while practically dragging Francis because he was still so dizzy and couldn’t see very well. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Arthur continued to scold Francis like an angry parent when he didn’t respond to him right away.

“Well… I do feel a lot better… now that I’m drunk…” Francis slurred, laughing some when he said it.

“Oh, well good. I know I’ll look forward to the rest of the night, too, if I have to walk down the aisle with you like this..!” Arthur replied sarcastically as he pressed the button for the elevator. Thank God for elevators. 

Arthur eventually got Francis to his room and decided that he would be the one who helped the other man get ready. After all, he had already gotten the drunken mess through the lobby and upstairs, so why stop there? He simply messaged his parents that he had found him and he was fine, so he would help him get ready from there. They were once again praised for “getting along so much better than they had before,” but was that really true..?

As soon as Francis sat down on his bed, he immediately lay down.

“What are you doing?! We have to be at the venue in an hour!” Arthur exclaimed, trying to pull the other man back into a sitting position.

“Arthur… I’m so tired. Just let me sleep for a little bit,” Francis whined, lying back down and covering his face with a pillow.

“No! You have to get dressed now,” Arthur insisted, taking the pillow from him and throwing it across the room.

“Fine,” Francis said with a groan as he sat back upright. “Help me?”

Arthur’s eye twitched as he muttered a sarcastic, “oh, yes, of course.” Eventually, Arthur got Francis into his tuxedo. Although, there were multiple times that he really struggled because the Frenchman refused to stand up, or he tried to help by buttoning things himself, but he was too drunk to see that he had buttoned them unevenly. It was truly a nightmare, but they got through it.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed when he saw Francis’s final look. He was secretly a bit jealous that the Frenchman still looked so good even after being passed drunk and throwing up four bottles of wine less than an hour ago…

“We need to get going then,” Arthur urged. “I’ll even make sure to stay away from you for a few days after this since it was so painful for you,” He joked, pulling Francis out of the room with him and locking the door behind them.

Francis let out a small laugh at his joke, but it was more of a sad laugh than a genuine one. How could they misunderstand each other so much that Arthur really thought the reason Francis was upset was because he couldn’t stand him?

The wedding would start soon, so Francis, Arthur, and their parents immediately headed to the venue. Francis really didn’t regret getting drunk before it either because had almost no butterflies in his stomach. He might’ve even been willing to give a speech or something, he had numbed himself so much.

Arthur, on the other hand, did feel his nerves go through the roof once they set foot in the building.

“I guess I can do this now,” Arthur whispered to Francis with a nervous laugh as he linked his arm with the Frenchman’s.

Francis felt warm when Arthur held onto his arm like that, feeling some comfort in it, too. The wedding planner had suggested that they both walked down the aisle together, so what had started as the Englishman clinging to the Frenchman due to anxiety led to the door being opened and them walking down the aisle that way.

It was terribly awkward.

Francis was too drunk to notice how awkward it was, but Arthur was repeating over and over again in his head that he hoped it didn’t look as awkward as he thought it was… Fortunately, Francis was still walking rather slowly due to how much he had drunk before the ceremony, which inadvertently slowed Arthur down, too, so it stopped them from rushing down the aisle to get it over with.

“Maybe I should’ve been like you and gotten drunk… I can’t do this..!” Arthur whispered into Francis’s ear as they continued down the aisle.

“You can’t say that now..! I was listening to you and trying to get this over with!” Francis whispered back, the two of them forcing smiles towards everyone around them as they whisper-fought down the aisle.

Upon reaching the altar, Francis’s nerves finally kicked in because the music stopped and it became uncomfortably silent. It didn’t help that Arthur was staring into his soul because he was too uncomfortable to look anywhere else.

The priest started the ceremony and Francis and Arthur both essentially zoned out, hoping to distract themselves until they had to say something. Eventually though, the priest was staring at them expectantly and they both weren’t sure why, so he had to repeat himself, asking if they had any vows.

“Oh, non. We, uh, are going to do those in private later,” Francis said awkwardly, glancing around to read the room.

The guests were essentially just a few family members and mostly people from companies that their parents had collaborated with. 

“Oh okay. We’ll proceed with the ring exchange then,” the priest replied.

Francis pulled the ring that he had been given out of his pocket, feeling a bit guilty that he hadn’t even looked at it yet, even though Arthur had picked his ring out for him.

“Arthur, I…”

Francis looked over at the priest hesitantly and he gestured for him to take his hand. Letting out a heavy sigh, his nerves finally showing, Francis reached out and gently took Arthur’s hand in his own.

“I give you this ring as a symbol… of my everlasting… love for you,” Francis said, his voice so quiet that it became a whisper towards the end as he placed the ring on Arhur’s finger. 

Francis couldn’t help but smile endearingly at the man in front of him when he realized how much his hands were shaking. Fumbling around with the ring, Arthur pulled it out of his pocket and that was when Francis saw it for the first time.

“I give you this ring… as a symbol of my everlasting love for you,” Arthur said hesitantly, his cheeks so hot he wondered how he didn’t implode then and there. He was so embarrassed. If he was going to confess his love to someone, surely it wouldn’t be in a room full of people like that…

Then Arthur realized that due to his embarrassment, he hadn’t placed the ring on Francis’s finger yet.

“Sorry,” Arthur muttered out nervously as he put the ring on the other man’s finger.

“It’s okay,” Francis whispered, instinctively trying to reassure the Englishman despite the circumstances.

Francis glanced down at the ring on his hand and he felt like someone had a hold of his heart, clenching it with all their might. The ring was beautiful. At that moment, he wasn’t sure if it was that the ring would’ve been his first choice out of any ring he had ever laid eyes on, or if it only felt that way because the man he loved had picked it out just for him.

“Francis?” Arthur called out gently, pulling the Frenchman out of his thoughts. Francis was crying, but he hadn’t even noticed it.

“Oh,” Francis said, letting out a small laugh as he brought a hand up to wipe his eyes.

Arthur would’ve been more concerned, but he thought that it must’ve just been Francis and his incredible acting skills, the same ones that could charm anyone. He was kind of relieved, too, because he had been worried that more people might suspect the whole thing was a sham…

Then, before they knew it, they were officially announced husband and husband and asked to kiss.

Francis didn’t exactly want to kiss Arthur for this fake display of affection that was only put on for the sake of other people, but… it wasn’t like they hadn’t already shared a drunken kiss together that night Arthur went loose on the wine, so…

Arthur instinctively backed up when the priest said they could kiss, which caused some confused glances among the guests, but Francis decided he would just go for it and pulled Arthur into a quick kiss to appease everyone. He wasn’t too sure if it worked though, seeing as the Englishman went as stiff as a board when it happened.

The reception wasn’t too long and felt more like a business party than anything (because that was essentially what it was). Francis spent most of his time walking around with his parents and Arthur did the same with his parents. It was like they weren’t even together.

Francis would glance across the room longingly at Arthur every once and awhile, but not once did he catch him looking back at him. Little did he know that they were always looking at the opposite time…

“Francis– I didn’t get to commend you on your great acting skills yet,” Arthur commented, finally talking to Francis once they were cleaning up after the reception.

“What are you talking about?” Francis asked, exhaustion evident in his tone.

“The crying during the ceremony! I think people really bought it!” Arthur said, patting Francis on the back. He had clearly had a drink or two…

“Oh, right,” Francis replied, looking a bit annoyed.

Before Francis could lose it on the other man and say something he regretted, their parents walked over to them.

“Thank you for agreeing to have the ceremony tonight. We think people really believed that you two are in love,” Arthur’s mom mused.

“Yes, yes. So, in order to thank you two for going through all of this for our company– well, both of our companies– we have a little reward for you,” Arthur’s dad added, handing Francis an envelope (because he was the more sober one at that point).

“Oh, merci..?” Francis replied hesitantly as he opened the envelope, Arthur leaning over his shoulder to see what it was.

“Two tickets to Seychelles?”

“Yes, for your honeymoon!”

[x0401x]

I think I've said this before, but I always reply to asks. No matter how long it takes. In this case, it took me a year. I can barely believe it. The way that grad school and living in Tokyo completely sucked away my free time is surreal. To be honest, I was expecting this, but I was hoping I'd be able to get back on track sooner. Words can't possibly express how sorry I am for the truly ridiculous delay.

Okay, now without further ado...

So, episode 11. By this point, it’s clear that the anime is trying to convince us that Eisuke is single-handedly guiding Tsujimine to the top. This unintentionally disregards the other members of the team and relegates them as nothing more than his less important supporters. That’s the same kind of narrative suicide that season 1 committed, except with Seiya instead. In S1, Seiya is the only character with a personality, basically because his canon personality is butchered and he’s turned into an amalgamation of other characters’ good traits, plus some weird yandere shit that the screenplay pushed onto him. The narrative makes him a participant of just about everything that happens, while dimming down everyone else, even the very protagonist of the story. It’s clear that KyoAni (read that as director Yamamura) couldn’t handle giving the spotlight to one character at a time and making them as rich and colorful as the original work, so they decided to invest all of the good stuff into just one character and make the fandom obsess with him. Which failed miserably, but we all already know how that went.

In the case of S2, this pattern is a little worse, even. The other boys of Tsujimine are barely there, and whenever they’re there, it’s to make Eisuke’s character shine through, never their own. And when it comes to team performance, almost like the team consists of just Eisuke, as if they’re part of the team only because there aren’t five of him. He’s basically a genius who does everything - he’s an individual archer, a team competitor, the team leader, the club counselor in place of their teacher who knows fuck-all about kyudo, and a coach, since their team has none. And he excels at all of that, which is not only unrealistic but also contradictory. It’s unrealistic because, like all Zen types of martial arts, kyudo takes experience and experience inevitably requires time. There’s no way a high school kid would be on the same level of knowledge and skill as certified practitioners and be able to look after four people while simultaneously doing his own practice. This is literally unheard of in the history of kyudo. And it’s contradictory because it was established in earlier episodes that Eisuke was taking advice from his uncle for coaching Tsujimine, so how come the story just forgot about this and started branding Eisuke as the one and only patron saint of his team?

In the book, Eisuke manages the team coaching by filming practice, showing it to Shigeru and getting precise advice every day, which he follows by heart. The team coach is actually Shigeru, not him. He’s also not the team counselor, and although he’s the most proactive member, the thing about Tsujimine is that they’re not a conventional team. All the boys have very outstanding personalities - one could even call them self-centered -, to an extent where it doesn’t seem like there’s an actual leader in the team. Everyone is just doing their business and none of them are particularly close to each other, but when it comes to kyudo, they all trust one another and nobody tries to meddle with each other’s way of doing things. Against what appearances might suggest, harmony comes naturally to them. This is something very unique of Tsujimine and it’s sad to see this dynamics ruined.

Other than that, this is one more example of the anime treating kyudo like a sport. Everyone keeps fawning over Eisuke, even people from other teams, and telling him that he should be proud of himself for his achievements. I could argue about how unnatural it feels to see teenagers behaving like that all the fucking time, but I don’t think I have to. And it’s all the more ridiculous when it comes to anything Zen-related. Being proud isn’t the point. Achievements aren’t the point. There’s no point but enlightenment. KyoAni seemed to be making an extra effort to show respect towards kyudo this time around in the first episodes, so I really wish they could’ve nailed this, but it’s hard to take the story seriously when it fails to understand the most basic thing about its core theme. So many things in this anime are such a blatant “don’t worry about it” that I have lost count, especially about the fundamental elements of kyudo.

Most important, though, is that this “Eisuke is God” thing is a disservice to Minato as a character. And I’m not even talking about the fact that Eisuke, the character who was supposed to be the “bad guy” of this arc, is getting more background story and emotional investment from the narrative than the protagonist himself. I mean the fact that he’s being given a role that was supposed to belong to Minato in the near future. Yes, I’m talking about his career plan to become a Shinto priest and a kyudo coach. It was set up from the very beginning in the novel. Throughout the whole story, we get glimpses of him already being on the path for that by being the kind of person who inspires others to shine their own colors. He gives prep talks to Ryouhei and Kaito, acknowledges Nanao’s efforts and lets Seiya indulge in his patience and forgiveness. He also gives people advice, like with Manji when he was about to get target panic. A lot of people seemed to interpret this as Minato being savage, but it was a candid warning. In volume 3, though, we get to see Minato actually do something very close to coaching. The way he encourages Hikaru in the most non-obvious, roundabout and abstract manner possible is exactly how kyudo coaching should be. He never tells Hikaru to do anything, just says things that might sound vague, but actually mean to stir Hikaru’s spirit. The pacing of this scene is kind of a mess and its contents might be confusing for some (as Zen always is, to be fair), but what Minato does in it is honestly beautiful. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing; he just does it (very Zen of him, as usual) and it hits home. It’s a glaring sign from the author that he’s a natural at this (again, can’t get more Zen than that).

All of this careful build-up is wasted in the anime, given that Minato’s “natural talent for realizing people’s needs and spilling pearls of wisdom onto them” is now Eisuke’s in the show. I might sound harsh here but I gotta spill the beans on this particular load of bullshit: the anime lowkey hates its own protagonist. The one thing I thought KyoAni could’ve learned from last time was to stop giving other characters’ roles and personalities to whoever the director decided to pick as fandom darling for the season, but I guess this was too much to ask once again. Still, as you guys know, my motto for S2 is “disappointed but not surprised”. I do realize everything that’s wrong with it and don’t like it, yet I maintain what I’ve been saying since the beginning: I’m taking what I can get. It’s a miracle that a sequel even exists, anyway.

More bullshit ensues as Eisuke is confronted by Seiya by the toilet. It’s kind of amusing to see the anime finally try to portray Seiya as his own person in this season, only to do a full backtrack and put him again in the one-dimensional condition of “caring about nothing but Minato”. It’s also kind of weird to see Eisuke going through the trouble of attempting to pick a fight, especially when it concerns Seiya, whom he has no reason to hold contempt for. He resents Minato and Shuu because Saionji took them in as disciples when he (she, in the anime’s case) wouldn’t take him. What’s his reason to be a prick to Seiya, even when unprompted? It’s never explained or implied. The scene itself apparently has no reason to be there other than to imply that Eisuke attacks people because he’s putting up a front, as shown from the toilet mirrors and the composition of the shots. In putting up a front, he’s keeping himself from moving forward, which thankfully aligns with canon.

Then the dialogue shoots itself on the foot by suggesting that Seiya is moving forward because he sticks to his weird obsession with being Minato’s guardian.

I could talk about how obsession is a negative point for anyone who practices any Zen martial art and that the anime is once again treating kyudo like a sport here, but I’d just be repeating myself. What annoys me here is that the show continues to miss the point about Seiya. Sure, he’s a caretaker by nature and he worries about Minato more than anyone else, not just because Minato is his best friend, but also because Minato is a dumbass and a catastrophe magnet. But from the moment he and Minato have The Talk in volume 1, his attitude changes drastically. He’s a mother-hen but he’s got a life outside of Minato. He’s his own person with his own problems, like a normal person would be. By turning Seiya into a Minato-hen, the anime makes him feel unnatural and forced. Even Ichikawa Aoi’s line delivery is stiff as hell here. It sounds like fiction, and it’s not supposed to. This is a slice-of-life.

And so, after wasting half an episode with this boring repetition of information that goes absolutely nowhere, we finally move on to what matters. Or what should matter: the goddamn tournament.

It’s not a ganglion but a broken nail in the anime. The brief moment of Minato assuring that everything is fine and the one where he helps everyone regain their composure are the closest things that the anime gets to portraying him faithfully. Minato isn’t the glue that keeps everyone together because there’s no such thing in any of the teams in Tsurune, but he is very much a force of nature in it. He stirs things up and makes shit happen. I dare say he’s as much of a source of inspiration for the club as Masaki is. But it lasts for only a few minutes before Yamamura’s bias steals the spotlight again. It’s amazing how everything is about Seiya even when it’s supposed to be about the whole team. And by “amazing” I mean it makes me want to rip my hair off. In order to keep my sanity from flying off the nest, I tried to distract myself by keeping count of how many times Eisuke has said or thought the phrase “Tsujimine will win as Tsujimine”. It’s been three or four times, just in this episode.

Speaking of Tsujimine, I’m losing my mind at how the way it’s depicted far surpasses the way Kazemai is, from an artistic standpoint. The way the flashbacks are perfectly timed, the watercolor explosion, the fact that Shigeru is watching it from the hospital in real time… it’s such a stark contrast to the bad water CGI from the Kazemai side. Everything connects just perfectly. The show wants you to cheer for them and not Kazemai. I maintain my point from waaay back ago, but KyoAni (again, read that as director Yamamura) has next to no interest in Minato. It doesn’t dive into him, doesn’t explore him beyond surface level and is not invested in making him captivate the viewers. By extension, the same happens with Kazemai. The creators clearly find it to be a boring club, completely blind to the fact that they’re the ones that made it boring.

Anyway, this is my take on episode 11. Now here’s a bonus: a review of the movie.

Being back home for the summer means I finally, at long freaking last, got to watch “Hajimari no Issha”, since it was not on Netflix or Chrunchyroll. I wrote down my thoughts about it as soon as I watched it, which was about half a year ago. If this isn’t a testament to how little free time I’ve had for the past year, I don’t know what would be, lol. It’s surreal how long this has been sitting untouched in my iPad notes. As compensation and apology for taking so goddamn long to post the remainder of my reviews on S2, I’m leaving this here.

First of all, I’m happy that the glow-up in the art style actually began with this movie and not really in S2. The extra scenes are clearly animated better than the recap ones. The contrast is ridiculous. It honestly had me torn between “wow, thanks for the consideration” and “so you really could’ve done better from the beginning and decided not to, huh”.

I’m also happy that it humbly offers bits of information and character development that we’d been given in the novel up to that point but were left out of S1 (well, at least the part of it that doesn’t contradict the anime, which is a lot). Minato’s mother, the time when he and Seiya were going to the same grade school as Ryouhei, young Masaki and his grandfather, etc. Many things we were supposed to have had in S1 are here.

The first parts go back and forth in time, but the initial content is new. New scenes, new dialogue, but still with a certain degree of deviance from the source material. The funny thing (it really ain’t funny at all) is that the deviations mostly don’t have a reason to be there. Hardly any of them have anything to do with the alterations made in S1. Thankfully, they’re small and not very significant, just minor bothers.

But if they’re so unimportant, then why do they bother, y’all may ask. Well… because they’re constant reminders of how much KyoAni doesn’t get this story. Or its characters. Or (yeah, it’s getting old, I know) Zen.

First one was the way Minato got into archery. So I guess anybody who read the novel has been able to tell, but the characters kind of stand on a ladder when it comes to how enlightened they are. Masaki is at the very top, of course, and right bellow him are Minato and Shuu. As the author’s bias - I mean, the one who’s closest to the Zen-Buddhist ideal of enlightenment, Masaki found his way to archery without any reason. He had contact with it even before he became aware of his surroundings; it happened naturally, as if that was just the obvious way to go about life for him (and it was, in a sense).

As the not-so-close second, Minato got into archery in the same way as Masaki: by sheer coincidence (just happened to be present at a kyudo ceremony) and influenced by a loved one (his mother). They also were inspired by the same person (Akihiro) and fell in love with archery at the very same place (Yata Shrine). The difference is that Minato decided to pursue archery consciously, unlike Masaki, who was just doing it before he even realized it, as though he’d been born already with a bow and arrow in hands. And that was that. It’s simplistic and pure and the peak of innocence. It also defines the whole story because this shared beginning, translated in the form of Akihiro’s tsurune, is basically what ignites Minato’s whole world and connects him to everything and everyone he loves. And then comes his mother and her past doing kyudo, which adds fuel to the fire but it’s not really what kindles it. Because then that’d be just ordinary and not as Zen as what the author was going for.

Second alteration that I noticed was the rubber mountain rat that Masaki gave Minato, which in the anime is a rubber ball with a mountain rat mascot printed onto it. As I’ve mentioned a thousand times before, saying that S1 was lackluster and wasteful in terms of Masaki’s teachings and his relationship with Minato is a gross understatement. I’m glad KyoAni tried to make up for that here by giving him a little more spotlight being an actual coach, not just teaching the bare minimum and fucking up. The mountain rat is given quite a bit of importance in volumes 1 and 3, as well as everything else that Minato receives from Masaki, so I guess KyoAni can no longer pretend that these things don’t matter. Except the timing wasn’t the best. In the novel, Masaki gave the mountain rat to Minato when Minato hadn’t yet joined the club, and there’s the whole subplot about Minato being haunted by the things Masaki gives him and does for him, because he’s afraid he’ll lose Masaki at some point. But the opportunity to explore it has long been missed.

Something else that is very different from the original is the way that Seiya is being portrayed as similar to Masaki. This is also a thing in the drama CDs and promotional audios for S2, for some reason. Yet in S2 this is thrown out the window and Masaki is portrayed as similar to Shigeru instead. KyoAni tries so hard not to make the right comparison it’s hysterical.

Speaking of Masaki as a character, it’s always amusing to see the many ways that KyoAni misses the mark about him every single time. It’s literally impossible to understand what they’re trying to do with him. One example of the many incoherences in their depictions of him (aside from trying to brand him as similar to two characters who are completely different from each other, with neither of them being the characters that he’s actually similar to in canon), is the scene where Ren calls him a narcissist. ‘Cause that’s totally the number one quality of a priest. I lost my mind at this one. Where do they pull this shit from? When did Masaki ever act that way, even in the anime itself? Are they just throwing words around? Make it make sense.

There’s one fleeting moment where Masaki is compared to Minato in this scene. Except it’s not because of their personalities or form, but because of the target panic. And Masaki doesn’t really appreciate that. Yeah, that’s definitely the same Masaki who decided to take on teaching because he saw himself in Minato, especially due to the target panic. Who knew exactly what to do and how to help him because of his previous experience. Who puts prayers into everything he does for Minato so that Minato will overcome it as soon as possible. That Masaki.

“Don’t know her,” says the show.

Most frustrating of all is that this happens because Ren says kyudo is overly complicated for something that’s “all about hitting or missing” and Masaki retorts with, “Yeah, but that’s what makes it interesting”, which prompts Ren to joke, “Said like a true narcissist” before Masaki elbows him. This is a nod to volume 1’s “The way of the bow is steep, but that’s what makes it interesting”, but by God, does it backfire in the worst possible way. He could’ve just said that kyudo isn’t about hitting or missing. Actually, the last thing kyudo would be about is hitting or missing. Hitting and missing don’t fucking matter. Masaki is the last character who should be saying this, considering that he’s not only the best archer of the club but also that the literal reason why he and his grandfather started fighting was that Akihiro accused him of only caring about hitting the target. This isn’t western archery. Get your own culture right, I’m begging you.

Breathe in, breathe out. I’m fine. We’re fine. This movie… isn’t fine, but S1 was by far the worst offender. Second place is S2. And none of these three are in the same ballpark. This wasn’t exactly good but it also wasn’t bad.

On the positive side, I like the care and detail that was put into this production as much as I like the care and detail put into in S2. Despite everything I just said, KyoAni is definitely paying a lot more attention and respect to the original from this movie onwards. Is it enough? Absolutely not. But it’s something.

Like the first shot of S2, for example, which is a throwback to the scene of Akihiro adjusting himself into his draw. The camera angles are identical. This is a very nice and well-thought detail not just for the sake of parallels, but because of something Tomio says in volume 3: that an archers’ form tends to resemble the one of their teacher. He comments that everyone from the team resembles Masaki a lot when they shoot, which indirectly means that they resemble Akihiro too.

I also really like that they gave Minato’s mom a little more screen time and lines. I’d almost forgotten that she was voiced by Matsutani Kaya ‘cause she barely ever talks in the other two titles. But it would’ve been for naught if she hadn’t been put in her rightful place as a big influence in Minato’s life. Especially the bicycle scene. It’s kinda obvious that this one was both a metaphor for kyudo and for life.

That’s about it. There wasn’t much going on in this one. It feels like bait to rile up the fans for S2, because it was, to be very honest.

[quinloki]

A Light Touch

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

CW: language, assault, violence, sexual themes and situations, implications of non-con, loss of limbs, blood. 18+ Only.

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 21: Pointed

You came out of Kid's room a little groggy, but certainly hungry, and if you wanted to eat you needed proper clothes. Comfortable as the shirt was, you weren't going to meander down into the common areas wearing nothing but the Captain's clothes. It was well past breakfast time, but it wouldn't be long before people were gathering for lunch.

"Oh."

You look over in time to see Killer's mouth go slack.

Your grogginess is quickly replaced by embarrassment. There wasn't any guilt in you, but for some reason it suddenly felt like Killer had heard you. It wasn't possible, he would've been out scouting all night with the others, but the feeling struck you regardless.

"... I'm hungry." You can't think of anything else to say and the words come out awkwardly. Your expression feels awkward too. You're grateful you can't see Killer's eyes right now, because something tells you that it would only be more awkward.

You can see a few emotions switch places on what you could see of Killer's face, and finally he replies.

"I just need to talk to Kid and then I'll get lunch going. Pasta maybe, since House says carbs are a good post-cardio meal." Killer's voice is so even and matter of fact you don't realize he's teasing you until you're already in your room and half-way through changing.

You can't help the pink tinge in your cheeks and ears as you make your way downstairs. Knowing Killer knows makes seeing Killer harder than you expect, but once you got downstairs you realized your situation was worse.

The night crew had been back by dawn, which meant they were all awake now, which meant – in turn -that the dinning room was filled with people who were all ready to have lunch. Everyone looked to be in good spirits, and good condition, but since no one had woken Kid up as soon as they had gotten back, you were pretty sure you already knew what the end result was.

There was new information to be had about the scouted locations, but no one had come across Decken and been able to take care of him. For better or worse there was still more work to be done.

Emma and Hip motioned you over to sit with them, shuffling around to put you between the two of them. For the next few minutes you were introduced to other members of the crew – Boogie, Reck and Moai.

"How'd it go?" You ask, hoping to keep control of the conversation, you were sure you didn't want Hip and Emma to ask you how your night alone with Eustass went. Especially not in front of so many other people.

"Well, we narrowed things down." Hip explains. "Instead of nearly a dozen possible locations, we're down to five."

"The rest were either too perilous, too protected, or too abandoned to be being utilized by anyone." Emma chimes in. "I mean, it's possible with his money, the little sleaze ball is hiding behind said protection measures, but dodging the great pink catastrophe is easier to do as a single person. He wouldn't have been giving anyone the slip rolling around with an entire army of guards."

"Another round of scouting tonight," Mosh says as Killer comes down and starts making lunch. "And we should catch the bastard."

There were a few more minutes of scattered conversation among you and the crew, and eventually you heard Kid come into the room. Turning to look behind you, your face went instantly red, and you turned away considering the option of hiding under the table for a brief moment.

Eustass Kid had joined everyone for lunch in nothing but sweats. A couple of days ago you might've been able to appreciate it for what it was, but sweats weren't the only thing that he was 'wearing'.

Red hair and golden-brown eyes meant that Kid had pale skin. He wasn't lucky enough to tan, but he was lucky enough to have some envy-worthy clear alabaster skin. It was another one of those things about him that was conflictingly elegant when compared to his stature and general demeanor. The few patches of freckles on his shoulders only added to things.

Pale skin bruises. Bruises in such a way that you're suddenly aware that you don't have the exacting control over your prosthetic that you thought you had. Dapples of unmistakable Mouse-sized, hand-shaped bruises were obvious on his right arm.

Kid walked past the dinning room table as it went dead silent and meandered into the kitchen to get, you assumed, an entire pot of coffee. Walking by the table, however, gave all the sets of eyes that were watching him a clear view of the red scratch marks on his back. All the eyes on the marks, became all the eyes on you when Kid disappeared from view.

You had no idea what to say, but you were certain your face had never been quite so red, or quite so expressive of the phrase 'WELP'. Emma and Hip leaned forward and looked at you like a couple of cats who had just caught the early bird and its worm.

"Go scouting last night too, eh (Y/N)?" Emma asks with a grin.

"Little catch and release?" Hip muses, "Ya tagged him pretty good, those conservationist types would be proud."

"Ohmygod." You pulled the collar of your shirt up and hide your face inside your t-shirt.

"Guess Cap'n's not the only bruiser in the relationship," Emma adds before the two of them fall into fits of laughter.

"Teasing is a sign of affection from those two," Mosh says, even though his face is pink. "Don't pay 'em no mind (Y/N)."

"I know, I know," you admit, coming back out from under your shirt. "I'd ask you go easy on me, but-."

"The Captain already did. There's not a mark on you." Heat muses, sending Emma and Hip into renewed cackles as you set your head down on the table with a defeated thud.

The teasing stops as Kid comes back into the room. He sits down at the table, and when you catch his gaze, he gives you a quick wink. The only indication that he knew exactly what he was doing by coming down the way that he did.

During the meal there's more talk about the plans for that night, and everyone gets their assignments for the evening. There's a lot more to be done before another one of these raids happens, and you're surprised by the efficiency with which the crew operates. It's not that everyone does as Kid says without question – it's that by the time it's all said and done there's nothing left to question.

You're sure that meetings like this, where everyone tosses in their points and counterpoints, are the backbone behind the crew reacting to his orders in other situations. Eustass Kid, and any good leader honestly, couldn't lead such strong people as well as he did if he didn't care about them.

Even though you were well aware of his softer side, it wasn't really the same thing that held the crew together. Eustass' concern for his crew was loud, violent, and unapologetic. You're sure you fall under the same sort of category, before you ended up in your more pointed position.

It wasn't hard to see the crew as more of a family, than a gang. Granted, the kind of family that would hospitalize outsiders without much thought, but a family regardless.

A heavy metal mafia. Whose "captain" had been keeping you in, on, or near his lap for the last couple of hours since lunch. Thankfully, he had put a shirt on, not that he'd bothered to button it up, but it had made it more comfortable to sit with him. The way the crew reacted to it made you think it wasn't something they had seen him do before – no one teased you or him as they came and went from the living room where you had ended up.

"I did not expect that you'd be like this." You muse, yawning a little as you leaned into him. The combination of big and warm was easy to fall asleep against.

"Like what?" You can feel his head tilt toward you at the question.

"A snuggler."

"I'm not."

"Then what is this?"

"I woke up alone, Mouse." He says flatly.

"I... was hungry? Wait, are you saying this is punishment?"

"This is you paying a debt." He asserts.

"I was gone for a couple minutes. Killer found me in the hall. It wasn't like I went back to bed hours before hand."

"You don't want to do this?"

"What? No, I'm not complaining." You assure him, failing to stifle another yawn. "I dunno, I just expected more violence and wall-shaking music, less soft 'n' warm."

You could feel him chuckle. "You'll see some things change, you're not a guest or a client anymore, and we won't be on the lookout for flying weapons soon. It'll be easier to rattle the windows with music after that."

"Client." You scoff a little. "Client's pay for their protection, I was-."

"You paid, Mouse." He interrupts, raising your prosthetic glass hand up with his own metal arm. "Don't doubt that. You weren't a pity case or a charity job."

"... Swear to me," you turn to look at him. "That you don't feel guilty."

He leans down and steals a kiss before ruffling your hair. "I don't feel guilty."

"Good I -." A thud against the wall interrupted your words. You paled a bit and Eustass was already setting you aside.

"Oi!" Kid yells, and another thud hits the wall. Heat, Killer and Wire come from the kitchen as all four of them head outside. "Stay there Mouse."

You stayed put inside the house, since you were against a wall that wasn't mostly windows it was a better place to be than trying to dash for the basement. The four that went outside would be plenty to stop things from breaking through the wall, and aside from House who was in her room/office, the rest of the crew were out preparing for tonight.

The rain of weapons and miscellaneous items rained down for twenty minutes before it had finally stopped. You stepped outside carefully, eyes on the sky as the four power houses of the crew kept watch. The four of them looked a bit worn out, and the debris scattered around them was a testament to just how much stuff had been flung toward you.

As expected, now that the rain of destruction was done, a small flurry of paper airplanes came into view. These ones were shaped like cranes, and if not for the intent behind them, it would've been quite beautiful.

"I hate those more than the weapons." You grumble, as everyone turns to the airplanes.

Heat steps up, taking in a deep breath, and releasing a blast of fire at the paper objects. There's something therapeutic about seeing them all burn to ashes. You still hadn't read one, despite knowing there was at least one of them in Eustass' room waiting for you if you wanted it. It seemed like more a of a win for you, if you never directly heard or read Decken's words.

There's a strange calm after the flurry of weapons, and the four men look like people picking through the wreck of a neighborhood hit by a small natural disaster. They're already starting to pick up the wooden pieces that Kid won't be able to pull up on his own. You stay away from most of the destruction, you hadn't grabbed any shoes before coming outside, but being alone inside the house was uncomfortable.

You wanted to apologize. It wasn't your fault, not really, but you still felt a pang of guilt for causing so much damage to such a nice house.

A glint of light shimmers in the afternoon light, from a different angle than the first barrage, and catches your attention. A single swear passes your lips just as the katana threads itself into your torso.

For a cold, terrible moment, there's no air in the world.

Your hands move to the hilt, but you can't bring yourself to touch it as you sink to your knees. Eustass is by your side, you're sure you heard him yell out to you, but the sound had been too distant. You can feel him keeping you upright, but he's not warm like he was earlier.

"Heat, go get House. Killer, call Law." Eustass commands, steadying you and taking care to mind the sword through you so he doesn't worsen the wound. "(Y/N), stay with me."

Everything is red. Eustass is red. Your hands are red. The air feels red. The thump of your heart is red. Your words taste red.

You look up at him, your heart's already breaking at what you need to ask of him.

"Out..." You manage the word against the pain in your heart more than the pain from the sword. "You... have to get it... out." Breathing is hard, but you can manage it. Your words bubble up with a coppery taste.

"We need to wait for House." The usual authority in his voice is cracking.

"I can heal..." You put your hand on his. "I can't while it's... still in."

Eustass' eyes bore into yours. "If you pass out you won't heal."

You nod weakly. "You're right."

"House can-."

"Kid." You interrupt. "House can't... help me. You can. It's metal. The faster it's out the better I can... stay conscious."

There's a tense moment as you can see the emotions clawing at Kid's face. You choke on a breath and blood bubbles up past your lips. If you go into shock, you won't be able to heal either.

"Please."

You can feel Eustass' entire body creak like bone against concrete.

"Wire hold her steady." He commands, finally.

Wire braces you from the side as Kid steps behind you. You can feel and hear the hum of magnetism in the air as the power coils around him. The single word of focused command is the most pained sound you've heard from his lips.

"Repel."

Next Chapter

[riddles-n-games]

The Art of War-V2

   “There is something fundamentally wrong with you,” I said.

    My fury didn’t seem to penetrate. “I told you the day we met that the Hawthorne family was a twisted, broken mess.” She stared at the mirror a moment longer. “I never said that I wasn’t one, too.”

   “Yeah… I can see that. You and the boys need therapists. But, let me tell you;  you aren’t special. I lost my mom two years ago and I was a broken mess but did I act like a little shit? No, I did not. I got myself together and pulled through every day, no matter how crappy it got which is what you lot need to do but especially you. What is with you and Rebecca needing to do what Emily would have done or wanted? What is your obsession with her? She’s dead and you’re still being manipulated by her. Please, when you go back to the house tonight, pack your bags and be gone in the morning. You’ve done enough damage and I know you’re aware of that but I mean it, stop trying to mess with them and me because I’m not your enemy. If you think you can play dirty, trust me, I can do worse. Don’t get testy with me because believe me when I say that I’ll make you regret it,” I replied moodily. I was done with the games. 

    Thea turned to face me, looking me up and down and having the audacity to raise an eyebrow. She appeared not in the least threatened or bothered by what I said, rather she seemed intrigued instead and perhaps, a bit amused as she leaned her hip into the counter. It made my eyes roll mentally; I know this was a tactic to just get me upset, to react. “What are you gonna do if I don’t play by your rules, Grambs?”

    I smirked as I looked back at my reflection and took my time answering as I fiddled with my hair and readjusted my clothes. “Trust me, you don’t want to know, Calligaris. You really don’t want to know. But if we ever come to that crossroads, let’s just say, we’ll see what your excuse will be the next time you claim to be a mess when you feel like acting out your vindictiveness and being problematic to everyone else. It’ll be your last, I promise you that.”

    From the corner of my eye, I saw her nodding but couldn’t see her expression. I bet it was something cocky, a stupid mischievous smile, and her eyes scheming with dozens of plots. “Whatever you say, Avery, whatever you say. Just know that now that you’re here, you’re almost certainly never going to be in control. They’ll manipulate, double cross, twist you around their finger almost as good as the old man did and he’s still controlling them in so many ways they can’t fathom. I expect much less for you and you’ll likely have to learn to play by their rules, not them by yours. This is Texas, we shoot a different way around here.”

    “Well lucky for you then, I’m about to turn this whole place upside down,” I told her pleasantly. “If you haven’t noticed, I can technically bend the world to my will now if I wanted to but I won’t because I’m not that kind of person.”

    “Sure you aren’t,” her voice was melodic almost. “Not yet, maybe.”

    “I can guarantee you that much but I am not a person who backs down either or lets others get their way with me by using me. I’ll kick your ass if I have to, because if only one star gets to shine, better believe I’ll make sure I’m the last one standing on that podium. Now, if you’ll excuse me, your mind games are boring me and I’m apparently the big story tonight, so I’ll leave you.” 

    I purposefully brushed past her and whispered in her ear, “Watch your back and stay away from me if you know what’s good for you. I’m being fair just by telling you this; this is your only warning.” Then, I walked to the door, my head held high. Even if she would not give up this round, I had a feeling that I won.

[dontbelasagnax]

This is nitpicky but before I reply to this, I feel it's important to distinguish between "content" and "creation".

Content is a word devoid of artistic merit, its only purpose is to be consumed. Let me explain why.

We live in a day and age of overconsumption. The availability we have to see the worst horrors happening at every inch of the globe at the scrolling of a finger over a glass screen--a seemingly endless news cycle of mankind's unrelenting cruelty--combined with awful working conditions and inadequate pay, along with an inhumanely high cost of living is a unique cocktail.

Corporations bank on your growing desensitisation and need for escapism by flooding every market with "content"- some product that can temporarily fulfill the consumer's needs.

To go further in depth, the quality of products has greatly diminished because corporations realized they can spend less time and money creating a worse product then upmark it and their customers will still buy it; in fact, customers will end up buying more because cheap products need to be replaced frequently. In terms of media, there is an oversaturation of "short form content" because it's the perfect way to keep viewership engaged as the constant barrage of new media, advertisements, and horrific news paired with piss poor living conditions has caused attention spans to noticeably shorten. The complacency of this hopeless cycle means that people are always searching for something new to temporarily soothe their unhappiness.

Most creatives on social media can tell you how soul sucking it is to try to keep up with the demands to post regularly in order to stay relevant enough that people are interested in your creations. In this economy, your art is viewed not as a valuable piece of work that will outlast you but instead a piece of content you hope is eye catching enough that someone will choose to "consume" and stare at it for two seconds, press the like button, and then forget it ever existed as they look for the next best thing.

That is the difference between "content" and "creation". And, yes, to many of us that difference matters.

Now Onto My Actual Response

I would say there's a sizeable amount of people in fandom that want to bring back The Days Of Old where fandom is just a bunch of people who get together to talk about the thing they really like instead of what fandom seems to be nowadays which is a dick measuring contest of competing with fellow fans to gain fruitless popularity peddling fanfiction and fanart.

It obviously depends on the fannish attitudes of your fandom/parts of your fandom but in my experience, people generally still just want to talk excitedly about the thing they really like with anyone and everyone but they're scared. People get intimidated by artists and writers because recent fandom culture dictates that you treat them like celebrities; you silently observe, talk at them in comments not expecting a reply, or talk about them with a trusted group of friends. On the flip side, many creatives have social anxiety and are afraid of reaching out to other people and/or just don't know how. You'll often see creatives band together and form friendships because it's easier in this culture to get past these barriers by expressing mutual admiration of fanworks, thus creating a bond.

But the thing is, I've seen it happen multiple times that someone joins a discord server and the writers and artists freak out because this person has been leaving them sweet comments for months or years and they can finally talk to them!

Directly tying into this, a common reason I've seen people give for why they don't reblog is that they don't have any followers and therefore no one would see it. The thing is, when you make a habit of reblogging, commenting, and generally interacting with your fellow fandom goers, people take notice. Your compassion and enthusiasm is appreciated and you become a person that people look forward to seeing in their notes or in the comments of their work on ao3. As an artist, a writer, and someone who makes too many (not enough) textposts on tumblr about my OTP kissing, I personally have many followers that I think fondly of. Maybe one day we'll all be friends :3 (I am unfortunately one of the creatives mentioned that doesn't know how to start talking to people 🫣)

I find as fandom has assimilated towards a capitalist mindset of consumption, there has been a larger focus on fanart and fanfiction- both in spaces that view creatives as "content creators" and spaces where creatives are seen as writers and authors but lauded similarly to celebrities or deities for gracing the common people with their creations.

This has produced a side effect wherein fanart and, primarily, fanfiction are seen as the Best Forms Of Transformative Works... which means that any other type of transformative work is thrown by the wayside.

There should be no hierarchy of fanworks - every single work is a labor of love (or spite... I see y'all throwing middle fingers to canon 😉) and should be recognized as such. Fandom is a community. It's not a transactional relationship. Everyone contributes and interacts out of shared passions and interests.

If you make podfics, gifs, photo edits, fanvids, fan binding, metas, fiber arts, jewelry, fanmixes, translate fics to another language, run/contribute to a fan wikia or compile lore and resources in other ways: I see, appreciate, and cherish all the hard, love fueled work you put into your creations.

Not to say that fanfic and digital art are over-appreciated (Since I do see that many people are allergic to pressing reblog. It's a community. We're supposed to share and communicate. Lurkers are valid but for the most part, interaction with like-minded people is what fandom is intended for.) but the pedestal they are placed on needs to be lowered. Your favorite artists and authors are real people with real lives. They piss and shit just like you. They work in retail and healthcare and are unemployed due to disability. There is nothing extraordinary about them and they are wonderful human beings all the same. No one is better than anyone else. We're all equals here on this playground.

That said, I think we need to uplift the underappreciated fanworks and creators and give them more attention so they are on equal footing with fanfic writers and fanartists. Reblog the gifsets and tell the creator you're in love with how they colored the gifs, keyboard smash in the tags when reblogging a plush doll someone crocheted of your blorbo, try listening to a podfic on your commute home instead of an audiobook and remember to leave a comment when you get home.

As a final note, I want to give a warm hug to anyone who has sat refreshing tumblr or ao3 hoping that maybe someone will tell them they did a good job. To anyone who has considered quitting their fandom endeavors because their posts or works never get as much attention and love as the rest of the artworks or fics in the fandom tags, your creations are worth making and sharing. Numbers do not equate to quality, nor can they convey how loved your creations are by a given person. Only you can bring your unique sparkle to fandom and your presence is absolutely welcome no matter how big or small, grandiose or inconsequential, important or worthless you think it is.