* lucky rabbit.

[TXT] : i hate that you were right — to jean! / @strikehare

【 SENT. | c. hepburn 】 I am not surprised. It's a hateable feeling.

【 SENT. | c. hepburn 】 Does this mean you are done playing pretend now?

[ SENT. | jean ] you're going to drive me insane. i'm not playing pretend.

[ SENT. | jean ] maybe im pretending a little bit.

[ SENT. | jean ] i just feel like i'm going insane. i probably am.

[ SENT. | jean ] how's knox?

they've suffered enough.

i have seen the worst that humanity has to offer... and yet i'm still standing.

the world can keep knocking me down, but i'll get back up.

i don't give up.

i just want to live a peaceful life.

i don't want conflict.

there were nicer ways to ask that, you know.

i don't want to hurt anybody.

i still don't hate you.

i want peace at all costs.

if you would only try and see the world from my point of view.

i don't want to fight with you.

things always get better.

this isn't the end.

you have to stand tall.

the world is cruel, but i won't be.

i believe in you. i always have.

my morals are firm.

there's no harm in a little kindness.

just be gentle with them.

i mean well.

there's too much pain in this world. i don't intend to add to it.

i don't want to fight anyone.

don't you believe in yourself?

i'm not leaving them.

there is enough hate in this world.

i try to lead with love.

it's the right thing to do.

this doesn't have to end in violence.

why don't we talk this through?

maybe he's having a bad day.

i'm going to try again.

there has to be another way to do this.

this isn't the time to quit.

i've seen too many things go wrong. this has to go right.

i'm not giving up just yet.

kindness is not weakness.

you can do better than that.

i try to see the good in everyone.

you can't just give up!

you're a special person.

i deserve better than this.

you deserve happiness.

it costs nothing to be kind.

there's no need to be so mean.

if only you could see yourself the way i see you.

it's still a beautiful day.

there's always tomorrow.

are you asking me to quit?

tomorrow will be better.

you didn't mean that, did you?

maybe we should talk this out.

i will always choose to be kind.

despite everything, i just want to be good.

i do my best to see the good in everyone, no matter what.

you didn't have to do that.

that wasn't very nice.

do you have to be so rude?

a nice word goes a long way.

try smiling at them. see what happens.

you could try being nicer.

i deserve a happy ending.

don't beat yourself up.

don't talk about yourself like that.

i see the goodness in you.

' do ya' . . . wanna talk about it? ah' have time. ' her next class isn't for another hour & a half & with her car , the drive back to the tower wouldn't be nearly as treacherous as chase jogging the distance between them. a gentle sigh heaves from her chest , slender digits running maincured nails through her thick curls to remove the hair from her face before she steps to the side & seats herself beside her teammate.

DO  YOU  WANNA  TALK  ABOUT  IT?  let’s  talk  about  it,  chase.  let’s  burden  a  friend  with  the  knowledge  that  you  so  deeply  hate  yourself  and  the  feeling  of  your  own  flesh  that  you  want  to  work  out  until  it  all  spontaneously  combusts  around  you.  let’s  explain  to  her  what  a  disaster  you  are,  how  desperately  you  want  to  keep  running  until  your  legs  simply  stop  working.  you  could  keep  going.  you  didn’t  have  to  stop.  your  hand  aches  and  you  remember  your  brother’s  words  before  he  stomped  down  on  your  wrist:  weak.

you  snap  yourself  back  to  the  present.  back  to  C.J.  back  to  palmetto.  away  from  a  backyard  miles  upon  miles  upon  miles  from  you.  the  grin  you  show  her  is  prideful  and  wholly  fake.  you  run  your  hand  through  your  hair  and  can’t  help  the  way  your  heart  races  when  you  feel  how  dampened  with  sweat  it  is.  good.  you  could  do  more  than  this,  though.  you  could  make  your  body  work  itself  to  death.  just  not  in front  of  her.  

❝  it’s  nothing  worth  talking  about,  amica.  ❞  comes  your  answer,  accompanied  by  a  shrug  that  reminds  you  of  how  goddamn  sore  your  arms  are.  Lord,  you  can  sparsely  move.  you  watch  as  she  sits  beside  you  and  you  think  she’s  all  the  more  of  an  angel  for  it.  ❝  i  think  you  could  lift  me,  honestly.  you  could  manage.  ❞  you  laugh  at  your  own  joke  and  pull  your  eyes  from  her,  studying  the  curb.  

❝  i’ll  be  fine  in  a  few  minutes.  maybe  half  an  hour.  really,  i’d  just  kill  for  something  to  pass  out  on  right  now.  do  we  have  practice  tonight  ??  ❞     

once upon a time, a hare thought itself a fox. it walked into their den and asked, " can i be like you? so swift! so cunning!" and the foxes replied, "let's see you run like us first."

#STRIKEHARE — an original character for 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄. a hare convinced he can be a fox if he fights hard enough; a third-year rich boy hailing from the vatican dual-majoring in theology and sports medicine; who views every conversation as confessional, yet keeps the doors to his heart locked. as adored by tally.

Jean is no stranger to fear and its reactions. He's no stranger to humiliation, anger, terror, violence, fawning — to anything that weathers the storm, from instincts to learned responses. When Hepburn puts his hands up, a flash of something pierces through his stomach with the flicker of the expression on his face. As if Jean would hurt him — except he could, easily. He was no stranger to enacting cruelty in the past, and there were still moments that came with no small amount of revulsion now where he pictured taking a racquet to someone to force them into correctness.

Sure, it made him want to vomit, but it was still testament to the fact that he wasn't a good person.

As he usually doesn't, Jean can't figure out what to do with his anger. It's still lashing a little in him, at the audacity to be so flippant about something so important. But he doesn't want to be a monster — like them, like them — so he tucks it back behind his ribs and exhales. He falls back on how it felt to have it beaten out of him and remembers the pain to ground himself.

Jean looks away, trying to grant Hepburn the mercy of fidgeting away his anxiety in relative privacy. The only urge Jean has is to dig his nails into his flesh in contrition, but it's a habit the Trojans have been trying so hard to break him of that he can't let their efforts still go to so much waste. And, of course, he's not allowed to fidget, so he winds up sitting still, hands in his lap, then waves off the small, quiet apology.

Don't apologize to me for my own biting teeth.

It's easier to focus on what he can help with. It is impossible to understand what it means when the Ravens sever your ties to anyone but them. He'd even locked Elodie away, careful to never even think of her, as if the Master or the circling sharks of the rest of the team would be able to hear her in them. Ravens don't have families. They have the Nest.

❝ I am not surprised, ❞ he replies evenly. ❝ Your parents would have received their own NDA when your brother signed, along with what would have been his college athletics salary. ❞ Jean had never heard of a parent questioning Edgar Allan or its practices, and had known never to ask. ❝ The school would make back their investment from their professional salaries. ❞

He's learned that this is, of course, not normal, but it still seems perfectly reasonable when he says it out loud. What is more normal than being bought and sold and invested in ?

❝ I do not know what would expedite the process of ... recognizing. If it is even possible. Though, I suppose, your testimonial says that it might be. ❞ And if there is someone for whom that possibility would exist ? It might just be Jakob Hepburn, who'd never had enough of the cruelty and rage it took to be a true Raven. Who'd mercifully never wanted to cross the line Riko had offered the backline. That, at least, was a small hope.

When Hepburn laughs, it sounds almost sincere. Or, at least, unguarded, and Jean's expression softens. He likes that sound, he thinks. A little thing, but those are very important. ❝ God forbid, ❞ he counters with a little wry humor in his voice to match. ❝ I am not built for the Italian sun. ❞ He pushes his shirtsleeve up just enough to show that he's still, somehow, sunburnt without revealing too much scarred flesh. ❝ California is bad enough. ❞

DID  YOUR  PARENTS  KNOW?  did  they  really  and  truthfully  understand  what  jakob  was  getting  into?  with  all  their  hooting  and  hollering,  pride  and  raven-tinted  glasses,  yes,  they  might  not  have  known.  you  want  to  think  that  alicia  was  clueless.  you  don’t  want  to  think  any  more  on  if  patrick  knew  or  not;  it  was  for  edgar  allen  that  you  lot  moved  to  the  states  to  begin  with,  the  open  secret  of  your  father’s  desire  to  make  a  raven  out  of  one  of  his  sons  lingering  in  the  back  of  your  mind.  it  wasn’t  jakob.  it  can’t  be  you.  maybe  in  a  better  life,  though,  it  was.  

you  realize  a  second  too  late  that  your  mask  has  slipped.  your  expression  has  twisted  up  into  something  of  barely  contained  rage,  like  you  might  lunge  down  from  the  bleachers  and  start  wailing  on  whatever’s  unfortunate  enough  to  be  between  you  and  God’s  grace.  it’s  the  same  flash  in  your  eyes  that  your  helmet  usually  covers,  that  your  sports-glasses  keep  an  additional  layer  of  shielding  for.  you  bite  down  on  your  tongue  until  it  feels  like  your  teeth  are  about  to  touch  and,  when  you  let  up  a  few  seconds  later,  you  feel  your  expression  return  to  that  pleasant  neutrality.  

❝  i’ll  pray  for  them.  ❞  is  all  you  say  for  a  moment.  it  sounds  like  a  threat.  you  clear  your  throat  and  turn  your  head  from  jean,  suddenly  quite  interested  in  the  world  opposite  him.  idiot.  unkind.  how  dare  you  threaten  to  pray  for  someone,  but  maybe  that’s  what  they  need.  your  parents  need  the  love  of  the  Lord.  alicia  has  forgotten  it.  maybe  if  someone  prayed  for  them  hard  enough,  God  would  see  fit  to  remind  them  of  His  love,  and  some  of  it  would  overflow  to  their  children.  maybe  they  would  be  scared.  

you  pop  your  knuckles  one-by-one.  one.  two.  three.  four.  better.  

❝  i  hope  it’s  possible.  i  hope  he  recognizes  us,  eventually.  that  he  doesn’t  see  enemies.  you  know,  he  was  actually  a  pretty  great  brother.  ❞  your  smile  is  genuine,  but  there  is  something  in  your  eyes.  old  anguish.  the  dim  reflection  of  a  broken  leg  and  your  brother’s  figure  standing  over  you.  weak.    

you  snort  and  return  your  attention  to  him  just  in  time  to  see  him  pull  up  his  sleeve.  you  can’t  help  but  whistle. 

❝  going  to  have  to  start  calling  you  casper,  amico,  goddamn.  you’re  right:  one  summer  in  italy,  and  i  think  you’d  be  toast.  ❞  there’s  an  undercurrent  of  laughter  to  your  voice.  unthinking,  you  add,  ❝  you  know,  if  you  ever  want  to  do  that  -  a  trip,  i  mean  -  just  let  me  know,  yeah  ??  a  lot  of  our  vacation  homes  go  unused  nowadays.  ❞

you  hum,  and  feel  a  twinge  of  relief  as  your  heart  rights  itself.  light-house  people  are  hard  to  find.  you  used  to  think  you  were  one  of  them.  you’re  not.  you’re  a  stick  of  dynamite  with  a  fuse  that  God  keeps  lighting  and  extinguishing  whenever  He  thinks  to  add  more  stress  into  the  world  than  needed;  He  worries  your  wick  between  his  fingers  and  you  think  that’s  as  close  to  being  holy  as  you’ll  ever  get.  

❝  they  are,  ❞  you  agree  with  a  slow  and  soft  nod.  ❝  i  think  that’s  why  he  dyed  his  hair  blonde  like  that.  it’s  like  how  some  people  wear  high  visibility  vests  on  construction  sites,  right  ??  so  you  can  spot  him  in  a  crowd  or  something.  ❞  not  that  he  needs  the  hair.  you  could  spot  jeremy  knox  in  a  crowd  in  a  heartbeat,  and  the  blonde  hair  has  precious  little  to  do  with  it.