Teruki, I feel, inhabits a character that I haven’t really seen too much of, and find is often amazingly underutilized.
He’s not the explicit comic relief (in this story, that’s a role primarily held by Dimple). No, rather, he’s the inadvertent comic relief.
He’s supposed to be all Cool and Charming and what have you - he’s got the personality for such a role. The former Antagonist turned Rival/Best Friend of the Protagonist, supposedly cool and in control-
And yet, this dude is such a fucking dumbass.
His clothes. His hair. The way he acts. How situations end up when he’s in them - the scene with Ritsu in episode 7 most clearly illustrates this.
It’s supposed to be cool and show how he’s changed, and show clearly just how much stronger Teru is than Ritsu. The standoff should end with Teru’s win over Ritsu, if you go by how other shows would have had The Rival facing off against an arrogant opponent.
But the narrative sets the incongruity of Teru’s goddamn Marge Simpson ‘do and how Ritsu finally escapes (not because Ritsu was humiliated…it’s because Teru has to keep his wig from blowing off), against that, and it’s so fucking hilarious.
It’s not just a few jokes at The Rival’s expense as one might expect to see. It’s not just the (changed) antagonist’s annoyance at the Shenanigans of the protagonist.
No, Teruki is the comedic relief you don’t expect, and it’s so fucking fascinating to see.
(Also, the fucking hairflip and Mob’s talking about the Body Improvement Club in the last episode. That just about did me in, I s2g)
So I’ve seen some posts about Jack having old jerseys from the teams he used to play on and it got me thinking…
Do you know how much random hockey memorabilia Jack must have? Like, I’m imagining Jack comes to visit Bitty one time. He was supposed to do laundry when he got back from the roadie but he really just wanted to see Bitty and go to bed, so he just ran back to the apartment to change, pulled out the last dregs of his clean clothes, and left.
So he shows up at the Haus in sweatpants from his team back in juniors, a Penguins sweatshirt, a Samwell scarf, and a Habs hat.
Bitty opens the door and lets him in, and then just stares.
“Honey, are you - are you wearing gear from four different hockey teams?”
“Er - probably?”
“And still managed, somehow, not to include the team you currently play for?”
“I’m wearing a Falcs shirt on underneath this sweatshirt.”
“Of course you are,” Bitty says, and then tugs Jack up the stairs so that he can begin, ahem, removing Jack’s wardrobe choices.
So here’s one of my founders headcanons: Salazar Slytherin being a potions master is all well and good, but just because his house produced a lot of them doesn’t mean he was one. Basically, imagine Rowena Ravenclaw as a mad scientist. Imagine her working on a potion all night and almost falling asleep at the breakfast table. Imagine her with crazy hair and sooty clothing because “It exploded, Salazar! It’s not supposed to do that! Why did the hellebore have such a violent reaction to the aconite!!” and Salazar just sighs and “Rowena, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Were you experimenting with your potions again? You know that’s not my area of expertise.”
Imagine Rowena getting a pretty diadem from her aunt who thinks she should act more like a lady. And Rowena doesn’t know what to do with it because jewelry isn’t practical, what if it gets stuck in something or falls into a potion? So instead she leaves it on the table and gets distracted by her thoughts, and ´I wonder what would happen if I made a runic chain mixing sumerian and norse. Hmm… if I added mannaz there and.. but what would I use it for. It could boost someone’s intelligence if I added the hagalaz rune there but how do I apply it to a person without causing irreparable damage… what if….´ and then she remembers the diadem in front of her and grabs it, heading for her workshop.
Rowena finishing the diadem but noticing it only works on fullblooded humans, not centaurs or other similar beings. She tries to figure out why and sees the mannaz rune in her configuration. Mannaz, human. She removes it and adds some other runes for balance, because mannaz is usually used to stabilize. But she needs something to try the new rune chain on. She doesn’t really have any more jewelry. So she sneaks in and “borrows” Godric’s hat while he’s asleep, and works on it for hours.The end results are not quite what she planned. Breakfast the next morning is… interesting (maybe she shouldn’t have taken out the mannaz rune). “Hey, has anyone seen my hat?” “Er, about that Godric..” “Rowena what did you do.” “I… ImighthavemadeyourhatsentientI’msosorry!” “..did you just say you made my hat sentient? How the fuck did you even do that? Wait no, don’t answer that, just give me my hat.” “I.. are you sure you want it? It’s just that, well, it picked up some of your habits…” “What do you mean?” “Well.. you know how you sometimes sing drinking songs when you’re bored?” “Yes… Wait. Rowena, please don’t tell me-” “WHEN YOUR DRINK IS HALF EMPTY AND YOUR GLASS IS HALF FULL, WHEN YOU’RE DOWN ON YOUR LUCK AND YOUR LUCK IS DOWNHILL, I’M THE HAT FOR YOU IF YOU TIP YOUR HAT TO ME, OH HEYY, TIP YOUR HAT TO MEEE” “This is your fault Rowena”
Just, mad scientist Rowena. The other founders avoiding her part of the castle because of fumes. Students forbidden from going into the labs without supervision because she might have left a potion to brew or a bit of runework unfinished or another one of those carnivorous cauldrons lying around. Mad scientist Rowena Ravenclaw. Yes.
I have no idea what possessed me to write this, I apologize.
“Stop giggling,” Liam huffed out, trying to stifle his own laugh.
“Stop being ridiculous,” Zayn countered, still laughing, his tongue pressed behind his teeth, cheeks rising, laugh lines across his face.
“Come on Zed, let me take your photo,” he tried to convince his boyfriend for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last few minutes.
“You have enough pictures of me,” Zayn said, swatting Liam’s hands away as he started to make a grabbing gesture. “There’s enough pictures of me on the internet and this house.”
“Your Versace pictures deserve better,” Liam replied, dropping his hands and getting serious. “We’re supposed to believe someone who loved you took those photos. Please, my nan could’ve done better. Let me do it. You still have the clothes and I have wicked skills on my iPhone. Add a seductive filter or something.”
Zayn sighed and leaned his head against the back of the couch he was currently sitting on. The Versace photos were a tad abysmal, he looked great which was always a plus. But, the photos didn’t show off him or the clothes properly. His people and Versace didn’t seem to care, as long as they got a cut of the profits. It had bothered him for some time now, this was supposed to be a huge fashion campaign and it was being treated like a child showcasing their hobby. Newsflash, the child needed to find a new hobby. For the last ten minutes Liam was now trying to convince him to have their own fashion shoot, mostly to just cheer Zayn up.
“Please,” Liam begged, pushing out his bottom lip in an adorable pout that always got to Zayn.
Zayn lazily traced Liam’s bottom lip with his thumb, humming when Liam grazed the digit with his teeth. “Fi-fine.”
Liam immediately beamed with excitement, jumping off the couch. “I love you. You won’t regret this.”
Ten minutes later Zayn was standing in one of their numerous closets, pulling out the specific clothes he wore for the Versus campaign. Liam was doing something outside in the garden, only telling Zayn to hurry up before they lost the daylight. Zayn undressed in the middle of the room, pulling on a pair of black jeans and a leather coat. Liam wanted to be as authentic as possible, copying each look Zayn wore in the campaign photos. After he was properly dressed he checked out his hair quickly in the mirror, letting it out of the tie he had holding it together on the top of his head. He shook his head to let the hair fall where it pleased and walked towards their garden. Once outside he just observed Liam who was running back and forth setting things up, Watson running right behind him thinking it was a game. A boisterous laugh leaving Zayn’s mouth alerted Liam to his presence.
“Beautiful,” Liam declared after getting a good look at Zayn. “Let me get this terror back inside and we’ll begin. Stand by the tree and I’ll be right with you babe.”
Liam dragged Watson back into the home by his collar as he whined the entire time, disappointed that play time was already over. He made sure the door was closed securely to make sure none of their other dogs decided to crash the party. He walked to where Zayn stood by the tree and adjusted the jacket he was wearing, not saying a word. He kneeled down to adjust the jeans and smiled up at Zayn, wiggling his eyebrows as seductively as possible. Zayn just shook his head and laughed, he was dating a toddler stuck in a grown mans body, but he loved him anyway. Liam stood back up and slowly walked backwards, taking his iPhone out of his back pocket. He pressed a few button on his phone, just nodding his head the entire time.
“Okay, just act natural,” Liam instructed.
“Cause this is natural,” Zayn scoffed. “An impromptu photo shoot in me garden.”
“Quiet on set!” Liam barked out his direction. “We’re gonna lose the sun if you don’t pipe down.”
With another shake of his head Zayn got silent and just let Liam shoot away, only moving when instructed. He knew never to interrupt when Liam got into his creative zone. He trusted him, trusted that he wasn’t going to make him look foolish. Zayn knew that the photos were going to showcase him in a way he’d want. After twenty minutes in front of the tree he was told to put on a shirt and go into the bedroom for their next location. Once he was changed again he walked into their room as Liam was fixing the blinds, making the room as dark as possible. He had no idea what Liam’s plans were but he just went with it. Liam instructed him to lay on the bed, leaning up on just one elbow. Like before, Zayn just went with whatever Liam told him to do because he trusted him and his odd vision. After a few shots were takien as he leaned on his elbow he was told to move up towards the headboard to capture a more relaxed feeling. Whatever.
“Are these even coming out okay?” Zayn finally asked once they wrapped their second set of shots.
“Babe, you’re doing amazing,” Liam told him honestly, cradling his cheek in his palm. “They should’ve used me for the shoot. Now go put on the white outfit and meet me in the bathroom.”
Zayn sighed and shook his head once more. “You’re relentless.”
“Love you too,” he replied. “Now hurry.”
The last shoot lasted another fifteen minutes with Liam having Zayn sit in the tub as he took the photos. It was all a tad bizarre but hopefully Liam knew what he was doing and what his vision for this whole nonsense shoot was. After the shoot was completed Liam wouldn’t let Zayn see the photos until he was changed and back in their bedroom. Liam grabbed his laptop and his USB port and sat on the bed, working his magic and waiting for Zayn to change. Once Zayn got back in the room Liam was still silent, clicking away on his computer.
“Done?” Zayn asked, crawling into the bed.
“Shh,” Liam silenced him, never looking up from the screen in front of him. “Almost.”
“So secretive,” Zayn joked, trying to look over Liam’s shoulder at the laptop, but he just kept moving it away from prying eyes.
Zayn sighed indignantly as he waited, even though he really had no idea what he was really waiting for, but Liam told him to wait. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and played a game or two of solitaire, losing each time, to take his mind off the wait. Liam kept tapping away at his keyboard, clicking the mouse a few times to probably seem busier than he actually was. It was slowly driving Zayn crazy. He wanted to know what Liam was doing, especially with some of the more seductive photos he took on the bed and in the tub. Those pictures were not allowed to leave this home and no one else but the two of them were allowed to see them. He could just imagine the joke Louis would make at his expense if he saw them. Like Louis hadn’t done something similar with Harry after he cut his hair recently.
“Done,” Liam declared proudly, shifting his laptop over from his lap to the empty spot between them.
“Li-Liam,” Zayn gasped in awe. He looked between the laptop and Liam a few times, making sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The photos looks incredible, especially after Liam used his impressive photoshop skills. They looked way more professional that his supposed professional ones. He didn’t look foolish, he looked like a proper high fashion model. “Wow.”
“You like them?” Liam asked timidly, his top teeth chewing at his bottom lip. “I-I tried to make them look as professional as an iPhone can make them.”
“These are amazing,” he spoke in a hushed voice, his fingers ghosting over the screen. Touching to make sure it was really real, that he wasn’t imaging what was right in front of him. “They look, they look beautiful.”
“The photographer loves you,” Liam argued, smiling his wide smile. “Thinking about sending them anonymously to Versace, show them how good you truly are in front of the camera.”
“Don’t you dare,” he snorted, playfully hitting Liam’s arm.
“Fine,” Liam gave him. “Maybe I’ll make these our Christmas cards, send them out to our friends and family. Our mum’s would get a kick outta them.”
“Sure Liam,” he pacified him, knowing never to rile Liam up when he went on one of his many tangents, not matter where the tangent took him. “And the more provocative shots? Where are those going?”
“I’m blowing them up and putting them around the house,” he teased, laughing as Zayn’s eyes grew wider in shock and horror.
“I’m not kidding,” he replied, clicking the mouse to show Zayn the photos. “Babe, can you imagine them around the house? Over the bed? Maybe the tub?”
“I’m not going to win this fight,” he gave in with a sharp exhale. “You’re lucky I love you Liam James Payne.”
“I know,” he laughed gladly accepting a kiss from the love of his life and his lifelong muse in all things creative.
Things about 12x15 “Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell” #1
Well there goes a not so subtle shoutout to JDM on TWD, I suppose. ;P Man, would I love to see Jensen in something like TWD. I’m sure he’d make a great fit in there (shhhh, I won’t start talking about how I think Dean and Daryl would make one hell of a hunting duo). :)
That said, so Dean is covered in flesh and blood - meaning it must have been one pretty big confrontation - and Sam is like… not even having the tiniest splatter of blood on his clothes. What did he do in that fight? Direct Dean from afar? Guess so if Dean also thinks “he is doing all the heavy lifting”.
I don’t like how this already how the show seems to go back to the stupid “brain vs. brawn”-aspect regarding the Men of Letters that came up as well when the Winchesters got to know Henry Winchester.
Also: Sam you are a horrible liar. And dear writers: Unless Dean is playing Sam here and is knowing perfectly well where those cases come from but gives Sam a chance to tell him the truth (which Sam obviously doesn’t take) and at the end of the episode it will be revealed, please stop writing Dean absolutely ooc, because there is no way in Hell that Dean hasn’t put one and one together here. Hell, it’s been a long standing fact that Dean is immensly good at reading people - remember how he did that just a few episodes ago with their mom and all? Yeah… so much for that.
Also please remember that for seasons you have written Dean to have a thing for extreme cleanliness and how Dean is actually rather weirded out by stains and germs etc. and don’t just chugg it aside when the plot demands this stupidity (similarly like with the thing mentioned before). I’ll give you a pass though if this is somehow meant as a slight hint or nod for re-adressing Dean’s MoC and purgatory arc, because it was only then that Dean’s sense for cleanliness aspect sort of got relevated to the backseat a bit.
Request: Part 2 to Teddy wolf where the reader is older and has boy troubles and talks to Derek and cries on his shoulder etc.
A/N: This is in the readers teenage years but more towards the young adult, you know when all the serious boy troubles usually start happening. In this imagine, the reader is around 19. In the first one, I imagine she would have been around 9. That would place Derek about 20 in the first imagine, and around 30 in this one.
You were supposed to have been on a date with your boyfriend of a few months. He was going to take you out to dinner, to see a movie, take a walk along the hiking paths. But when he didn’t arrive an hour after he was supposed to pick up, you headed over to his house. You realized too late that it was a bad idea. You caught him red handed with one of your college classmates, half of their clothes littering the floor.
Your feet pounded down the hall as you ran towards the door to Derek’s apartment. Tears stung at your eyes as you pulled open the door, letting it slam at the end of its track. You didn’t see Derek on the first floor, so you looked towards the stairs.
“Derek?” You called, your voice sounding strained as you tried your best not to cry. You hated crying. You felt like it made you weak. Footsteps sounded on the metal stairs and you looked up, watching as he made his way down them. “Thank god.”
With those whispered words, you rushed forward, slamming into him and wrapping your arms around him, holding on tight in fear that if you let go, you would sink into your broken heart.
“Y/N,” he mumbled, grabbing the back of your head and holding onto you just as tight. “ Y/N, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He repeated those two words, whispering them in your ear. “It’ll be okay. I’m here now, baby. I’m here.” You arms tightened around him, enjoying the comfort he brought you.
You didn’t tell him anything, but he knew something was wrong. That’s how close you two had become over the last few years. He was always the one you ran to when you had a problem. He was the one who protected you, came to you when you needed his help, brought you ice cream when you were curled up in bed after a bad date. He was your best friend, despite him being almost eleven years older.
You felt the tears starting to slip out, and you could help it any longer. You broke down, your knees buckling underneath you. Luckily, Derek was there to hold you up, to keep you from falling. He didn’t speak, didn’t ask any questions. He just stood there and held you close while you cried. He didn’t know what exactly you were crying about- that would come later when you calmed down. But right now, he was your shoulder to cry on. And you wouldn’t want anyone else.
“He cheated on me,” you cried, hands clutching at his back and bunching the fabric of his shirt into your fists. Derek pulled you closer, knowing you needed strength to heal. “He fucking cheated on me.”
You could feel your sadness giving away to anger, so you planted your feet on the floor so you were steady. Derek stepped back, just enough so that he could look at your face while still holding you.
“Let me just say one thing,” he murmured, pushing your ruffled hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “After all these years of watching you grow up in to the amazing young woman you are today, I think it’s safe to say that you are a hell of a lot better off without stupid boys.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, wiping away the stray tears. “Just stick to the nights of binge watching Netflix and eating ice cream tubs that you bring me?”
Derek cracked a smile. “And I’ll be there whenever you need me to be.”
Your anger faded away almost instantly at the smile on his face. You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek, enjoying when he tightened his hold. “I know you will be.”
Pairing: RoyxRiza Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor. Word Count: 1207 Written for the prompt: “You smell nice.” Summary: Roy gets hurt on a mission and Riza carries him to safety, but he says something that throws her off and makes her wonder about the meaning behind his words.
The mission wasn’t supposed to go this way. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt.
Hawkeye grit her teeth and trudged forward, Mustang’s body heavy on her back. The warmth of his blood seeping into her clothes spread like a fractal spiderweb across her shoulder blades. He was losing too much blood too fast and, if his unconscious state was any indication, he needed medical attention soon or he wouldn’t be coming back from this. He had only been shot in the shoulder, but the bullet must have hit some sort of vital judging by the amount of blood pumping out of his wound and into her uniform.
The thought of losing him drove Riza forward, pushing through the pain from her own wounds, spiking up her side whenever she stepped too hard on her right leg. She was concentrating so hard on moving him to safety as fast as possible that she barely noticed when he moved a bit, his eyes cracking open ever so slightly. He moved his face to bury it into the fabric at her neck and nuzzled her, inhaling deeply. Riza definitely felt that and faltered in her step.
Our store’s apparel freight crew (only 2 girls to begin with) put in their two week’s notice, and our manager didn’t hire anyone until about a month after they left. The new guy is by himself, and he wasn’t trained properly, and no one will do anything about it.
He constantly gets items mixed up with one another, which most of our clothes do look alike just with differences in material or cut, but it’s annoying to have to give customers items that aren’t on sale because the freight person put a bunch of them under the sale sign. He puts men’s clothes in the women’s department or vice versa, and he’ll hang a shirt that is very obviously folded on a take that’s 2 feet away. At this point, we can’t even blame him being new because it’s been 5 months. Not that there wouldn’t be mistakes, but we really don’t move product around that much. I just want everything where it’s supposed to go for efficiency’s sake.
I tried to tell him he was mixing things up, and he nodded and acted like he understood, but then he told one of our other co-workers that I was a bossy bitch and he didn’t have to listen to me, which is technically true, but I’m trying to help?
And no one in management will do anything. They asked how I know it’s him, and I know because if a customer just dumps stuff in the wrong spot, it’ll be a mix of several different things, freight is multiples of the same item usually the same color, and he’s the only freight person. I’ve told everyone over my department, and they just say he’s a hard worker, which I’m not denying, but he’s still doing his hard work incorrectly. So I just come in and spend the first hour of my shift redoing his job because I’m the only one who seems to care.
Archerotale is my favorite UA, thanks to create this amazing art! I love you!!! 💖 Hope you have a nice day so far.~
Thanks for your words! And I am glad you like the story!
He is now supposed to wear the top all the time as he doesn’t have other new clothes to wear lmao, but he prefer to gear up his armor in the same time because he is a silly goof AN ARMOR IS THE PROOF OF A TRUE WARRIOR! He only takes it off for the washing, and well, sleeping (which is half-forced by Sans), and maybe funny stuffs happened…? It is up to you. 😏
Ahhh don’t panic people! Of course I remember his scarf: it is probably being placed somewhere else for drying up, just like his armor. His scarf can be another subject for a main-plot comic coming up though…
PS: From now on all the asks posts related to the story of Archerotale will be added into the Archerotale Masterpost!
Elara’s dress was a drag, but it was worth it. While colouring, I’ve noticed that the boy on the second pic is probably not supposed to be Maven (his clothes are ragged), but he looks neither like Kilorn or Tristan in the other pics, and I launch into every Maven pic where he doesn’t look like old Brad Pitt.
I paid a lot of attention to Farley’s scarf. Unfortunately, the colours aren’t so intense here -.-
(I try to show Mare’s earrings, but they’re difficult to see on a photo)
A/N: I don’t know if the expression play house is the correct one??? In Spanish it’d be play moms and dads, so I don’t really know 😅 Hope you like it nonetheless!
‘I don’t like any of my clothes!’ you shout at Peter, who is standing at the other side of the door. ‘[Y/N], you have to be quick. We are supposed to meet your parents at the restaurant in forty minutes’ he answers, waiting for you to get dressed. ‘They are all so ugly! I don’t know what to wear!’ you shout back, annoyed. ‘Come in and help me choose something’ you tell him. ‘Stop being so whiny, you-holy shit’ he says as he sees you in only his underwear. After dating for four months, you still hadn’t had sex, and the furthest you had gone was him taking off your shirt whilst making out. ‘I -are you sure you want me to be here?’ he asks, trying to look at the wall and not you. ‘Come on, Pete, I don’t mind. You had to see me at one point’ you say with a smirk. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his neck, smiling. ‘Do I really make you that nervous?’ ‘[Y/N], now it’s not the time’ he whispers, still trying not to look at you, and trying to ignore the pressure your boobs are making against his chest. He is, after all, a hormonal boy. ‘We still have forty minutes, and the restaurant is a ten minute walk from here’ you whisper softly, before pressing your lips to his neck, making him groan. ‘Stop making me horny, [Y/N]’ he says, trying to sound serious, but you can tell he is trying not to moan. ‘Oh, come on, Pete, don’t be so serious’ you say, your lips still against his neck, sending vibrations up his skin. You suck for a bit on his neck, trying to mark him, and then move your lips to his jaw, where you give him some more kisses. Quickly, Peter puts an arm around your waist and pins you to the bed, where you wrap your legs around his waist and laugh. He kisses you harshly, and you put a hand on his cheek, noticing some traces of the beard he hasn’t shaved. You moan when his lips touch your soft spot under your ear, and you feel Peter’s smirk against your skin. You tug at his hair and he groans, pressing harder with his lips, making you arch your back. Just as you are about to take off his shirt, the door flies open, and the two of you stop kissing, but you don’t pull apart, considering your legs are wrapped around his waist, and your arms are wrapped around his neck. ‘[Y/N], mom said I have to go with you because she needed to go to the mall before going to the restaurant! What are you playing?’ your little sister says, looking at you and Peter. You see Peter’s cheeks turning red, one of his hands on your waist, the other on your boob. ‘Uh, we are playing house, I guess?’ you say, sounding doubtful. ‘Oh my, can I play?!’ ‘No!’ Peter and your voice say at unison, your cheeks even redder than before. You think they can’t get even redder, but when your sister tells your parents how you didn’t let her play house and she asks if you can’t wear clothes for playing, you discover you were wrong. Your cheeks can get redder; and so do Peter’s.
Here it is everyone~ Finally getting into the action. Let’s see if you guys can figure out the other character. Because he will not be named in this part =3.
Word Count: 2.5k
Characters: BTS + EXO + Reader
Genre: Greek Myth AU
War, defined by society as “a state of armed conflict between different nations or states or different groups within a nation or state.”, defined by you as a pain in your ass. Your body suddenly jerked and a scream threatened to come up your throat but you choked it down as Yixing continued to wrap a small cloth around your thigh.
“Damn it Yixing, you’re supposed to be a healer. It feels like you’re trying about to rip my leg off.” you hissed out at your friend who’s face was scrunched up in concentration, his normally gentle hands covered in your blood.
“Shut up we don’t have time for this shit.” he yanked on the fabric, tying a knot over your wound to stop the bleeding, his hand quickly flying up and clamping down on your mouth to muffle your scream.
Your head fell back against the rock, your eyes staring up at the canopy of the trees and your head spinning as you tried to pull yourself together. The pain in your leg was unbelievable and you still couldn’t understand how that guy had gotten the better of you. The wound would slow you down considerably and you were grateful you had Yixing there to help.
The sharp sound of a twig snapping had your body tensing and all your senses going into overdrive. Your hand shot up, the signal immediately silencing Yixing as your other hand reached for your sword on the ground. Time slowed down for you, the seconds it took for the boy to step around the side of the boulder, his arrow to zip past your head and your sword to sink into his stomach, seeming more like minutes. He stood there, his eyes wide and staring at you, a small trickle of blood falling past his lips as he tried to speak.
You jerked back and fell to the ground again, your leg screaming out in pain and the boy falling to the ground. His face staring passively at the ground in front of him, the blood already pooling around him. You blinked away the tears forming in your eyes as you turned to face your friend.
“Yixing!” you stared in horror at the arrow lodged into his shoulder and his pain stricken face.
“Take it out. Now.”
“What? No, Yixing…”
“Take it out!” his voice was breaking now and you hurriedly reached forward, grabbing onto the shaft of the arrow, your free hand bracing against his chest. You were shaking now and you had to look in his eyes for reassurance, there had to be another way. You could see the pain he felt in his gentle eyes but you also saw the resolve, the surety with which he knew what to do.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, leaning up on your knees and yanking the on the arrow. The arrow tore out of his shoulder and a scream ripped it’s way out of your friend. The arrow fell out of your hand, the tip stained with his blood. Your heart ached when he yelped as you pressed your hands against his shoulder to stop the bleeding. You had promised to protect him when this stupid war had started and now you were struggling to stop him from bleeding out. The fact that this man who had vowed to never harm someone had to go through so much pain was unfair. Every part of you wanted to take him away from all this death and violence, he didn’t deserve to live in a world that was so fucked up.
His body slumped over and a light blue haze shielded his body now, being a son of Asclepius giving him the power to lessen his pain. He never used his powers unless he was desperate. There was one time during your training that you and your friends had snuck out late at night and Hoseok had broken an arm, that was the only time he had used his powers. You quickly grabbed his supplies and tied the bandage around his shoulder, tying it just as tight as he had tied yours, making his body jerk in response.
“God damn it.”
“Yeah I know. Trust me.” you quickly scrambled over to the fallen body, grabbing his bow and yanking the quiver of arrows off of his body. “We need to get the hell out of here now.” you slung the quiver over you shoulder and adjusted it accordingly, feeling slightly more relieved now that you had a bow in your hand. You grabbed the sword in your hand as well, using your free hand to pull Yixing up. You saw the shadow looming in the corner of your eyes and you rushed even more to leave.
“Hang in there Yixing I’ll get you to the boat.” his good arm wrapped around your waist, the pain in your leg subsiding by merely a fraction. He may be the son of Asclepius but his powers only went so far. “What are you doing?” you hissed out at your friend as you tried to pull his arm over your shoulder.
“Stop. In the situation we are in right now I would say an injured arm is better than an injured leg. Your injury could get worse if you continue to walk on it, just let me help you.” there was a short pause before he continued to scold you. “Plus you need one hand free to kill those bastards.”
A small smile spread across your face, he always could make you smile in the worst situations and you had no time to fight with him with your usual stubbornness. So you caved in and leaned against him, letting his body and arm support you as you made your way through the clearing and into the line of trees that lied ahead of you. You found the path you had to take, the grass having faded away and been replaced by packed dirt, the years of feet having passed over it creating a natural path to the ocean.
You looked back at the fallen boy, his face smooth and untouched by the pressures of life. His spirit was long gone by now, having been taken to the underworld to recieve judgement. It was too soon for him to die, this war was pulling everyone in, unnecessary deaths plaguing the city and tearing families apart. You whipped your head back around and stared ahead at the path in front of you.
“It was necessary, he would have killed us.” It felt like someone was squeezing your heart and trying to rip it out of your chest when those words came from your friend. The world really has gone to shit if even Yixing had to say something like that. You remember the light that used to be in his eyes as he stared at every living thing. His innocence was rare and hard to come by and this war stole that from him.
Fuck the gods, it was because of them and their petty feuds that brought war here on Earth. Their children ultimately taking the side of their godly parents, friends turning against each other, the leaders overthrowing the system and throwing the city into chaos. The gods didn’t even care what happened to their children, they didn’t care what happened to mortals.
You stayed alert as you made your way through the trees, your fingers toying with the end of the arrow notched into the bow. You were growing closer to the beach, you could tell because the trees were thinning, giving you more room to step over and move around branches. You thanked the years of training you had to go through, making your passage through the woods soundless and quick.
Your hands tightened on your bow as you stepped out of the tree line, pulling back on the string to ready yourself. People could jump out of the tree line at any time, there was only one person you wanted coming through those trees and you knew it would be some time before he got to the docks.
The beach lied ahead of you and the long stretch of wood that housed your escape boat welcomed you with open arms. If only the sand didn’t make moving impossible, you had to draw more attention to walking, your good leg sinking into the sand more than usual because you were favoring your left. Yixing worked to get you across the beach, the boat inching closer ever so slowly.
When you looked over at him you saw his face strained and the color having faded from his cheeks. His magic was flickering as well the blue haze disappearing for a few seconds before inching it’s way over his body once more. You pulled yourself away from his side, regretting it almost immediately as the actual pain of your wound coursed through you.
“Save your strength I will be fine.” you had more training than Yixing did, he had only come two years ago, after finishing his training in the medical field. You were able to bear the pain for the short amount of time it took you to get to the dock. The blue haze strengthened around him as it left your body, the flickering ceasing for now.
You finally made it to the dock, the wood welcoming and merciful on your wound as you made your way down to the boat. You lagged behind Yixing, making sure he stayed up. When you made it to the boat you had to help him lower himself down, giving him your elbow to hold onto, your hands never wanting to leave your bow.
He turned to you and held out his hand, ready to help you down as well. You froze when you saw his eyes grow wide, his hands slowly lowering and his eyes looking past your head. Fingers tightening around the arrow, you acted on reflex and spun, pointing the arrow straight at the man holding his sword to your head.
“Who the fuck are you?” your voice lifted as you stared straight into his dark brown eyes. The man had soft brown hair and a weirdly nice face, you definitely didn’t trust this guy.
“Get out of the boat.” you straightened your posture despite the proximity of his sword near your face and pulled back further. His voice was smooth and matched his face well, ‘Congratulations asshole you just made me hate you more.’.
“You say one more word to him and I swear I will send this arrow through your head.” Your voice was cold and truthfully made you seem a lot more badass than you normally would have seemed. Your body was stiff now and the pain in your leg was excruciating, but your hands never wavered. It felt wonderful to have a bow back in your hands, it felt natural, it felt safe.
“Alright.” your fingers twitched as he took a step back, lowering his sword, the gold metal glinted off the sun as he turned the flat of the blade towards you. You spun, avoiding his lunge and shot your arrow straight into one of his comrade’s legs. The girl fell to the dock screaming. You notched another arrow quickly and turned your attention back to him, stopping him dead in his tracks.
“Drop the sword.” His eyes were wide as they travelled from you to his friend and slowly back to you. His fingers slowly splayed out and rose up in front of him as he sunk to the dock. He was wise to place the sword down and immediately back away, obviously he wasn’t ready to die.
You inched your way back near the boat, your eyes not leaving his for even a second. You cursed under your breath as you noticeably limped your way over. He caught on quickly and his eyes flitted down to the blood stained bandage that was wrapped securely around your thigh. You could see him trying to think of something now and it honestly pissed you off even more. He was an idiot if he thought he could take advantage of your injury. You drew his attention away from your wound, showing him that it wasn’t a big deal as he thought it was, using your injured leg to kick his sword backwards to the edge of the dock.
“Get the boat started.” The sound of the metal scraping against the wood told you that Yixing had reached out and pulled the sword into the boat; so much for his weapon. You could hear Yixing retreat to the back of the boat, your eyes momentarily glancing towards the end of the dock. The thin figure quietly inched his way unnoticed by the group, the bow in his hands already drawn back and aiming. You directed your stare back to the asshole in front of you as his voice broke the silence.
“You’re both injured. We can help you, just put your weapon down.”
“That won’t be happening.” You knew his voice better than your own and you didn’t have to look to know Hoseok was calmly making his was around the group, his arrow fixed on one of them. Your eyes flitted towards him once again as he made his way next to you. If these guys thought you were impressive with a bow they were in for a surprise.
Hoseok being the son of Apollo looked like a god on his own holding a bow, the muscles in his arms as taunt as the string on the bow, his lean frame holding the perfect posture and his face eerily clam as he shifted his aim towards the asshole’s face. You remembered every day you spent as a child training with Hoseok, holding a bow in your hands and the endless hours he worked with you in the night. You remembered his brother as well, the cheerful pair always encouraging you when you felt like giving up.
“Get in the boat.” you immediately lowered your bow, scrambling your way down into the boat on your own, landing on your good leg to keep you steady. You reached up immediately and supported your friend as he stepped backwards into the boat, his body balancing wonderfully on the bow of the boat. You had always envied his cat like grace as well as his natural skill with the bow. “Go. Now.”
Hoseok projected his voice to the back of the boat so Yixing could hear him and the boat lurched, slowly starting to back away from the dock. You collapsed into the seat next to you, your leg not being able to take anymore. You watched as Hoseok braced his foot on the edge of the dock, pushing off and forcing the boat away from the dock faster. He didn’t relax until you were safely away from the dock, the figures standing there growing smaller each second as you set off towards the mainland.
“Supposing I come across some individual who I can’t make out what kind of a thing he is. I can’t make out where he came from. His accent isn’t American and it isn’t British. It isn’t particularly middle Western and it certainly doesn’t have the overtones of New York or New England. He. Just. Talks. Flat. And as to his style of clothing, it’s utterly nondescript. Well, I think, this is pretty much of a bore. What I like to see in an individuality (in a physical individual) is ways that I can relate him to his ancestry—that he has this little subtle accent or this mannerism or this eccentricity or whatever it is that CONNECTS him with a great background.”
It occurs to me that the Legion Rip episodes have proven that Legends of Tomorrow actually does have access to a tailor, and/or clothes that actually FIT Rip Hunter.
So that means that the fact that our Rip regularly wears clothing that he could drown in is a deliberate character beat.
Which is, I suppose, rather interesting. I wonder if we’ll ever hear an explanation.
Until we do, my headcanon is that Gideon has Rip’s proper measurements, but she fabricates everything a few sizes too big in the hopes of encouraging Rip to eat more and gain enough weight to fit into his clothing. Rip just ignores that and wears like fifteen layers instead.
If you're still doing prompts: BokuAka, paint (love you btw)
There’s paint on the floor, on the doorframe, on the walls—though the walls are supposed to be painted. That was the reason they started this mess. But now there is duckling yellow on their clothes, their hair, their faces.
“This is all your fault,” Keiji says, wiping a goop of paint from his nose.
“You started throwing paint at me!” Bokuto says. He pulls at his shirt, which is almost unrecognizable with the amount of paint on it.
“That’s never going to wash off.”
Bokuto shrugs. He glances up, and grins widely. “I have to say, yellow is your colour.”
Keiji rolls his eyes. “And you’re a big liar, Bokuto-san.”
“Aw, come on. We’ve known each other for so long, you can stop calling me so formally, right?”
There’s a slight pause. Keiji can feel dry paint in his hair, and he busies himself with picking at the paint on his arms. Bokuto is already back to painting the wall, humming to himself. Taking a deep breath, Keiji picks up his paintbrush again. He steps behind Bokuto.
“Koutarou…-san,” he says, right into Bokuto’s ear. He smirks with satisfaction as a violent shiver goes through Bokuto.
“K-K-Keiji,” Bokuto blurts. He turns around, and that is when Keiji strikes.
The look of blank shock as a dab of paint splats onto his face makes Keiji laugh so hard, he trips over the newspaper on the floor and lands in a tray of paint.