#the thing i want to know is why he thinks being ruthless in the service of yokohama's peace is his own personal responsibility

[ronintales]

ೃ₊ 🌾 ❝ So When I Die ❞ ╰►, Gojo Satoru

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 | following gojo satoru’s death, his ex wife is in charge of taking care of his funeral service and everything else that comes with it.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | 4,676 words

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | character death, possible spoilers, funeral, angst, and not proofread ;p

 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | I did NAWT want this to be my first work on here but due to certain circumstances…. AHEM his DEATH!!!! I felt it was necessary because laik… grief LOL. I wrote this a while back tho. Enjoy.

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ♡ ༘° 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓, gojo satoru …

Your ex-husband is dead, and in his line of work, yes, you know that he has a higher risk of dying than the average person, but still, death never comes expected, does it? Even if he always says—oh wait… used to, you suppose, say that he was crazy strong and no one could ever take him down. Well, he was wrong in the end like a bunch of other things. Like how well he took care of you, how he’d give you six kids, how—you won’t ramble, noting he’s dead now and there’s no point, but also because it’s quite rude of you to talk down on someone who is dead and can’t defend themselves. Whatever.

You just… don’t expect it. Yes, you understood he was hard headed and insanely cocky, but in a way… you always believed that he would always come home alive and, even if he did get hurt, he would be okay eventually as he heals. You don’t forget it, he’s only human, you know because of the many mistakes he’s made, but still… he’s… he’s gone?

You hesitated when you heard that. Gojo Satoru, the so-called love of your life from two years ago, is dead? Impossible, you think. Gojo Satoru found death embarrassing, with all the things he said. He said that he would be okay. He was always okay. What are you supposed to say to that?

When you get the call, you wonder why you, of all the people in his life, were the one they called to inform about his status. Why did you have to go to his place and clean out all his things? Take all his belongings with you? At first, your instinct was to say “throw it all away,” because what does Gojo Satoru mean to you now? You’re not his wife! He neglected you for years and filled your days and nights with sorrows. He broke your heart. But still, he didn’t mean nothing to you at the same time.

Those precious years of being his acquaintance in middle school. When you had shorter hair and he didn’t know much about you other than you were in his class and he had bought you cute white socks for your class gift exchange on Christmas that year. The long years that Gojo Satoru pined for you after you both attended the same high school. The hard and dark times he went through losing Suguru and shutting you out, though he loved you for so long. When you turned twenty, and Satoru had gotten better, to the point where he felt he was ready to move on and continue with his pursuit for you. When you turned twenty-three, and got married to him on a spur. When you moved in and shared a bed, until the marriage got cold and most nights you spent alone.

You couldn’t say for the past fourteen years, Gojo Satoru was nothing at all to you. The news was shocking, and knowing he was dead… did you have to be careful about how you felt about him, or how you thought of him? Well, now that he is dead, should you be so ruthless and hostile toward the man who broke your heart? You don’t know, so naturally, and it really just slips out, you agree to take care of the process of his passing.

For the most part, you’re calm. You don’t actually know how to feel, and you don’t know how to be. You’re not his wife, you have no obligations to take care of him, or anything that he cared about. Yet, you’re here. In his lonely apartment that doesn’t even smell like him. He probably never even spent much time in this place, even so, he still had a lot of belongings. Pictures of you in frames surprisingly. He did take them all when you got divorced and he moved out of the house, you just didn’t expect that he’d put them up on display. He probably didn’t get many visitors to question him about the lady in his pictures. You were sure that would get annoying.

Anyway, you don’t know if you’re supposed to cry or even feel sad. You don’t know if it’s strange to feel that way or not. You can’t quite make out how you feel, being surrounded by Gojo Satoru’s personality and things. You don’t think too much about the things inside the apartment because you don’t want to be too reminded of what you used to be. What you felt about the man once upon a time. If there was still love in your heart for him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t clean either by any means. Given he probably didn’t stay here much, it made sense that you didn’t need to clean a whole lot of the apartment. You get there and you take it all in. Satoru’s little apartment, because he didn’t want to pay for such a luxurious place he wouldn’t even stay in. Maybe that kind of place made him feel more alone too. Thoughts you should not be thinking start to trickle into your brain, but you stop yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving, nor should you want to go back. You made a decision to leave and you should honor it. It was the right thing to do for yourself (hopefully).

Do you even want his things? No, not really. But you have a keep, donate, and a throw away bin anyway. Most of it keeps going to the keep bin and donation box. Somehow the feeling of someone else getting Gojo Satoru’s things is unsettling to you, but it’s even worse to think that all these things will just go to a landfill where things that were once valued are forgotten and it’s all going to be considered “trash.” Maybe that’s because you know why every item is there and the story behind that certain mug or decor piece. You don’t know it, but you’re trying your best not to care.

You sigh, the thought that this is all so strange, bothering and pestering you like an annoying fly. You tell yourself you know that already, so stop thinking about it. Maybe you’re in denial that Gojo Satoru is actually gone. You can feel him. He’s still there, you know it. That or you’re just surrounded by his belongings and that’s why his presence is here.

In your hand, you hold a big black garbage bag as you make your way to his bedroom to clear out his closet. This is a room of his that you haven’t been to, strange right? You wondered if another woman spent time here. Jealous much? You’re supposed to be clearing out your ex-husband’s apartment, not pondering about what he was up to after you two had split. The man is dead for one, what are you going to do about it? Confront his dead body? You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that, so that thought is one you shake off and ignore too.

You sigh because you’re tired from cleaning all day and clearing his things out and you’re probably only a quarter’s way done with the place. It’s not even that big, it’s just been uncomfortably hard for you to bring yourself here with your mixed and strange feelings about this whole situation. Isn’t there anyone else who cares about Gojo Satoru? How come you’re stepping up to the plate when this is how you feel—confused and unsure? What are you even going to do for the funeral? You took the task up because Gojo Satoru would probably turn in his grave knowing the higher ups organized his funeral. So while it is strange for you to do all of this, you’ve rationalized the lot of this situation that you put yourself in. Once upon a time, he loved you right? So surely he would prefer you over—you’re so silly, thinking all these things when Gojo Satoru is your dead ex-husband.

You plop on the bed with a small groan as you turn over. This is a bit inappropriate, to be laying on your ex husband’s unmade bed. It’s left in the state that it was the last time he woke up. That’s a little precious you think, freely, not even denying it. Are you ruining this precious thing here? Well, in all honesty, you’re kind of cherishing it, because this is a small piece of Satoru that is really still here in the present times. He always liked soft things and this blanket is soft. The sheets still smell like your ex-husband. The light musk of his skin and his soap is there. The thought of this bed being his is comfortable enough. Like you miss his warmth and touch, you curl up on the mattress, hugging yourself to the scent of him surrounding, and you can almost imagine that he’s holding you right now, like he used to. His detergent is faintly there too, well actually, it’s the same as yours. He asked when you two had split and he was settling into his own place all the household items you used. You supposed that it was all he knew.

You offered to go shop for household things with him and it was probably the last time you two had exchanged any kind of affection. You let him put his hand on your thigh as he drove you two to the supermarket. He let you link your arm with his, sides flush together like you two didn’t just get divorced. It was a silent message of “I miss you,” because it was and—quite frankly, still is—hard to get over someone you loved for so long. Even if he left the marriage long before you did, emotionally and physically. This was something you wanted while you married, for Satoru to present, and in your arms. For him to show you that he cared and loved you. You were even a little upset that was the only time he was doing all of that for you, but you chose not to ruin the moment for the both of you.

Funny how all these memories and things between the two of you are flooding in constantly. It makes you feel kind of sick. Nauseous and unable to breathe. You open your eyes in realization of what you’re doing right now. You sit up immediately, flustered and embarrassed as if Satoru would open the door right now and have that annoying smug grin on his face with his arms crossed, just to say as he leans on the door frame, “I knew you missed me.” Following with your name because he liked your name the best. He always said your name was pretty and he wouldn’t give you a pet name because nothing will ever be as great as calling you by your name. A nice little reminder that Satoru loved your name makes you smile a bit. Weird how all of these just keep piling up. One thought triggers another and it almost makes you itch and feel bad for the way things ended between the two of you. You almost have regrets about—

Whatever, you have a deadline to clean this place up you remind yourself. You spread your palms out on the sheets once more, feeling every thread that Satoru once laid his body on. You should take these for your bed, you think. They’re not so bad, just a plain white sheet, but it reminds you of Satoru’s hair and it would be waste.You lift yourself from the bed and open his closet, not even noticing how you keep having to make excuses for yourself to keep some of his things.

Already feeling overwhelmed because you keep holding back, opening the closet makes you feel like you’re cracking. You let out a suppressed sound. You can’t even register what it sounds like. A squeak or something? But looking at all his clothes almost makes everything so real for you. All his uniform? All his coats and sweaters? Ah, the one from high school. And then you can see all the ones you bought him. Damn, does that really test your strength.

Lined up neatly and nicely put away, it’s almost a shame to you to give these away. Your hand shakes as you hesitantly reach for one of his favorite button ups. Your skin meets the soft fabric and you only lightly touch it because you don’t want to wrinkle it. You remember when you used to iron Satoru’s clothes early in the morning before he woke up. Even until the end of your marriage, you still ironed them.

You look up, reaching for his work uniform. This is what he wore most often, you know that. So you let yourself crumble. Carefully taking off the hanger and sitting on his bed as you hold the shirt close to you. You bring it to your nose, just to smell it. You wish it smelled like Satoru more, but even so, it makes you break down.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you take another sniff. The thought that Satoru really isn’t here anymore makes your heartbreak. It comes crashing down on you. You really miss him, and you regret that you didn’t spend as much time as you would have liked to with him. You wish you could have had the courage to tell him how much you still cared and loved him. Yes, it might not have been the same kind of love you had for him before, but you did still love him.

You let out a little sob. In frustration and despair, tears flow out as you hold his clothes close to you. The walls of your bruised heart collapses as you hold his clothes so tight as if he was still in them. Well, you really do wish he was. You’re desperate to feel him in your arms physically. Just a moment with him so you could say your last sentiments. Just a moment to see him again. Just a moment to love him.

You’re helpless as your tears flow endlessly onto his shirt. You feel silly, but you just can’t stop. You really miss Satoru, and you have been for so many months now. You stroke the shirt as you would his body, wallowing in the grief you’re supposed to feel, even if the dead man is your ex-husband. You spent so many years loving him, how could you just not feel anything to hear news of his death? How could you not feel any regret or remorse for how messy you left things with him? There’s so many things you want to say to him, and it kills you to know you will never get to say any of it to him.

You wonder if Satoru was still around, would he wrap his arms around you and tell you not to cry? Would he kiss your temple like he always did when you were down? You wish he would just do all of it. You wish you two could have tried harder. Your love for him never burned out, you know that much. It’s the reason why you’re here, alone in his room crying as you hold his clothes dearly to you. And even if you hate to say it, even if you don’t want to admit it, Satoru loved you until the very end too.

“I’m still in love with you y’know…”

“Shut up,” You mutter as you slide the eggs off the pan for the hungry man at the table.

It was the dead hours of the night when he returned from a mission, knocking on your door, telling you that he was hungry and needed a place to crash.You slammed the door on him of course, but he wedged his foot in the gap of the door (no, it didn’t hurt, he’s got magical powers that prevent him from actually getting hurt like damn maniac) and used his own strength against you to push his upper body through the door to beg you to let him stay. It was a mistake on your part, but it actually wasn’t all that terrible that night. You were just bitter.

“My bad,” Satoru said dramatically as he took a bite. “Just thought you missed me. That’s the reason you let me in, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not in the mood for any of his games. His smug grin made everything even worse, because he was right. “Gojo Satoru, wipe that grin off your face.”

“Must have hit a nerve,” He teased like it was still appropriate to do so.

You actually don’t even remember what you said then after that, but you just know… Gojo Satoru has you all figured out yet… he never said anything about it to you. And that was just him. He knew well enough not to break your heart one more time, but he was selfish enough to constantly flirt with you any time he could. If he passed by, or was coming home late from a mission and knocking on your door to remind you that he existed. Not anymore.

After cleaning his apartment, it’s all empty now. Which is a little strange. You’ve never even been to his place until after he died, and yet… it makes your stomach turn and feel upset after realizing that this place is no longer where your ex-lover resides. You understand that he’s no longer occupying it. There’s no point in keeping it for him. But maybe because you don’t think it through while you’re still in the grieving process. You don’t think about Gojo Satoru being dead because you don’t want to. It makes your heart squeeze and your breath stop. You can’t face the fact that he no longer exists and you can no longer see him anymore. You just can’t, so you wonder: where will his home be? Who's going to take care of him? Where is he going to go to shelter himself from the rain or snow? Where is he going to sleep? Where can he feel safe and secure?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. You really need to get some proper rest. You feel yourself withering in the bitter feelings you still have toward Satoru, but also the dangerous sorrow that’s sinking your whole body down. You can’t believe that you really miss Gojo Satoru after all this time hating him and wishing you two had never met when he was here and alive, waiting for you to just cave into what your heart wanted. Truth is though, you never would. You were too strong for that.

Finally, you pack up the final things, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Satoru isn’t here anymore, and it looks exactly like that. This little corner of the world isn’t his anymore, and you’d like to say that it never was because he didn’t spend much of his time in this place. It’s just sad to see it all gone, stripped to the bare white box it actually is without the fun of your late ex-husband. You shut the door, leaving this place behind and bringing this part of Satoru with you, maybe the only part of Satoru that is still worldly and able for you to have in your grasp. You leave the key to his apartment on the landlord’s desk and leave with the rest of Satoru’s things in your arms, all thrown in the cardboard box labeled “Satoru” in your handwriting with a permanent marker. Silly of you to not even realize it, Gojo Satoru’s home is not a place, it’s you.

The end of it was the funeral process. Which was much more work than cleaning his apartment. You wish somebody was worried about your well-being, but that somebody, the most likely candidate, was dead. Satoru would have told you to chill out a bit and ask you to wind down with him, but this is his funeral, he can’t really do that now, can he? But you don’t want to seem like you’re so reliant on him. You’ve done plenty of things without him, and this will be no exception. He just… sort of made the process easier and bearable. You’re on your 10th phone call with the carpenters of the coffin when you really wish you didn’t take on the task of carrying out Satoru’s dying wishes. He didn’t even have many, because he was so sure he wasn’t going to die so soon.

Through it all, you hold yourself together quite elegantly. Even through the eulogy. No one would even guess the mental strain you put yourself through to make this all happen. All the floral arrangements are beautiful, Satoru’s corpse is dressed nicely—though you grace him with a closed casket funeral because you were sure that he did not want anyone to see him so vulnerably lifeless and you simply could not handle the sight of his stale and unresponsive body. But everyone could indeed tell, Gojo Satoru was loved. They could understand your love for the man. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t love him. But you just deny it.

His guest list was quite large. Some people you didn't even know, and you were sure he did not want that. But the higher ups had their own agenda too, and you had to make compromises though you stood your ground quite well for the sake of your late ex-husband's well being in the afterlife. You wonder, would Satoru love you for eternity for loving and caring for him unconditionally and so thoroughly? When you eventually join him, will he thank you for so meticulously planning and giving him a proper send off? You hope so. You hope that he will continue to love you in the next lifetime, and in that lifetime, you two will be happily together. Not miserably apart like you are now.

Maybe the only time anyone can see you break is when the casket is lowered and this is the last time that you’ll ever see Satoru’s face again, except you don’t. His casket is closed and covered with all the flowers you bought to send him off beautifully. There’s a complex look on your face, and no one could quite read it, but it was clear that there was a storm going on inside of you, stirring and rumbling. Your eyebrows knitted together and your eyes glossy with a down turn of your lips. You’re just keeping yourself together for Satoru. You need to.

The only time you get to break down about it is when you get home from the long day. Crumbling down your door, as you miserably sob. How could the world be so possibly cruel that you had to bury the last man you loved for the past ten years? It never gave you time to move on. You weren’t ready to let go just yet and be content with the distance. Sure, you asked for it when he was still tangible, but now he was untouchable, not existing, and it felt so painful. You curl up in a ball, on the bed you used to share with him. The bed you two used to gossip on and the bed where you simply just held him to sleep on your good days. The bed that you laid alone for most nights wishing he’d come to hold you and not be too tired for you. All the bad and good memories come to make you think of one thing; you wish Satoru was here right now.

You lay there, contemplating if you just want to stay there for the whole week or get up and cook yourself something. You haven’t been eating with how hectic it’s been to take care of Satoru’s send off. You sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep sounds like the best thing to you at the moment. You were drained and exhausted from preserving the life of Gojo Satoru as well as commemorating it. You needed that rest.

When you drift into sleep, you kind of hope that Satoru is there for you, waiting in a field of beautiful flowers like he came to visit you in a dream. Even if it’s just your imagination. You’d like to think that he cared enough that he left you alone to deal with all of the things he left behind. He doesn’t though, because you don’t dream. You just black out and you wonder if you’ll ever dream again. But maybe you’re just being dramatic because you miss your ex-husband so much. You blink the tears out from your eyes, wiping them before getting up and pulling yourself together. You can be sad, but not miserable. You were never the type to just crumble, however, even this shook you down to the very ground and yes, it is hard to get back up. But everything with Satoru was hard, and this was no different. You should have been used to this.

Eventually, you do get yourself together. Sad, but you’re functioning. You go back to work and you continue with your daily life. Satoru’s never really been a part of your daily routine after the 3rd year of being married to him. It was no different not seeing him at all, but it was just the fact that he truly wasn't there anymore. If you were to call his cell, it would just ring on your dresser in your room and go to voicemail. Sometimes, you wait for the voicemail just to hear his voice, but most times you stay away from his contact. You’re recovering, just slowly.

People at work send their condolences, just like they did when they found out you divorced Gojo Satoru. They give you a pitiful look and tell you to be strong, but when they think you’re not listening they bash Satoru for passing and still putting the responsibility of carrying his will out on his ex wife—you. You don’t defend him nor does what they say settle well with you. They’re right, of course. Gojo Satoru has always been selfish, up until his last breath, but you just can’t seem to feel validated when you’re the one who buried Gojo Satoru. He was once your whole world, how could you just completely numb yourself to the pain of losing your connection with him, absolutely and completely?

Apparently, you’re the only person on his will too. You inherit everything of his one day, and it’s kind of overwhelming. All of his money is transferred to your bank account, all his belongings, everything is yours. You don’t even know what to do with most of it. You don’t even want to look and use anything of his. So you store most of his things in a box and label it “Satoru,” along with the other things that you took from his apartment, and you make an account to store all his money in, for what? You don’t know, just something.

When you're older, you’ll come to realize that you made Satoru a loved person until the very end, and that you were perhaps the only person that he still had love for, even if you weren’t his wife anymore. This is why Satoru loved you so much, and yes, he got very lucky with you, you will give yourself that. But you also won’t feel so bitter about having to be the person to handle his departure because you made sure to do just the way he wanted it, by you. for now, you’ll miss him lots and bring him flowers whenever the time comes. You won’t call him your ex-husband, but your late-husband. You keep some of his clothes to wear like you used to. You still sleep on your side of the bed, leaving the space Satoru used to fill empty for him. Life goes on the way it used to.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo #satorugojo #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #gojo fanfic #gojo angst #jjk angst #jjk fluff #satoru x reader #satoru x you

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

There is a cyclic tragedy inherent to Mori's character wherein he's actually a deeply lonely man, but it's mostly because his resolve to do morally reprehensible things and think of people as pieces on the game board is something he prioritizes over his relations with those very same people, and this inevitably pushes them away (for very understandable reasons). And it kind of sucks honestly because the most frustrating thing about Mori is that he 100% has the potential to be a fantastic teacher and mentor, and more than that, I think he loves it! Just look at Beast! But for as long as he decides he needs to be the one to make "the hard calls" to "preserve peace", then Mori will inevitably continue in this cycle of alienating all the people he has a fondness for.

I do feel as though Mori's loneliness is something he views as a necessary sacrifice that he is making for the greater good (and if he is so willing to sacrifice, then Dazai's unwillingness to do the same comes out of left field because - "what do you mean? you're supposed to be just like me!").

Anyways.

Mori voice: "I'm so alone"

Also Mori: *continues to prioritize pure logic over the emotions of his people and himself*

The people: *get rightly angry and/or become extremely traumatized and leave him*

Mori voice: "I did what needed to be done"

Mori: "..."

Mori: "..."

Mori: "I'm so alone"

Sir. You are doing this to yourself.

#thing is he works well as a mafia boss because those people who take orders know in advance they are going to be commanded #to do whatever is necessary #mori has cultivated strong bonds of loyalty so people like hirotsu and tachihara have no issue with doing what is demanded of them #since that is just what you do in the mafia. #but for people mori is closer with. his actions frequently feel like betrayal to them. because that may be how you treat a soldier #but it's not how you treat a child a mentee or a friend. #the thing i want to know is why he thinks being ruthless in the service of yokohama's peace is his own personal responsibility #in the first place #bsd #bsd mori #bsd meta #<- sort of. i'm mostly just rambling #storyrambles

[rdr2gifs]

''the morning light, when it comes to me, it was there but I could not see''

Arthur’s life was profoundly shaped by his self-hatred, lack of self-worth and disbelief in the existence of kindness in a seemingly dark and cruel world.

I strongly disagree with the statement that Arthur only became a ‘’better’’ man after being diagnosed with tb. His struggle with his true/inner self is apparent as early as chapter one. ‘’You are not who you think you are, sir… which is lucky’’

He has lived a rough life, raised by criminals and surrounded by violence ever since he was born. It was installed in him early that his value lied within being a violent enforcer and he has lived this life since, knowing nothing else. As a highly aware person, Arthur's actions weight heavy on his soul. He accepts that his actions have consequences. He knows that a person who has caused so much suffering is not meant to have happiness in life. His way of life has caused him to believe that he is not worthy of love or redemption. He doesn’t want to believe that a person like him could be capable of any good. (a thing to note here is that imo, Arthur’s actions near his death weren’t attempts at redemption but rather a strong desire to do right and possibly be his true self.) This is why he keeps living as he does as it’s the only thing he’s ever known, it’s the thing that brings him profit, praise from the person he looks up to and he is already damned so he might as well continue living this life anyway.

The internal problem Arthur faces is that this violent, cruel way of life doesn’t align with what I’d call his true self/ideals. He is torn between the harsh reality he has known and an unconscious yearning for righteousness/love. To be able to carry on with his actions he must enforce certain ideals within himself, such as: I am bad, ugly, nasty, ignorant, mean etc. He also decides to see the dark side of reality, telling himself that the world is a grim dark place and this is just as things were meant to be. This is why he feels so uncomfortable being complimented for his good deeds, because a bad rotten person like him should not be able to do good. It breaks the image he has built for himself and he doesn’t want that happening. This can be seen a lot during the ‘’Money Lending and Other Sins’’ missions where he is unusually mean (even for his standards) to each of the debtors. Imo, he acts this way because he must truly convince himself of being a terrible man to be able to carry out a job which revolts him so badly. In the last debt collecting mission with J. John Weathers, it can be seen in his face/expressions how much he is struggling to put on a tough, uncaring, heartless act. He needs to maintain a ruthless persona to survive in the world he knows. He must convince himself of his own cruelty.

''Forgive me, but that's the problem. You don't know you.''

Contrary to Arthur’s beliefs, he is a naturally kind-hearted person who is unconsciously drawn towards kindness. And yes, even before he was diagnosed with tb. This can be seen in the people he respects the most and, in his willingness to help strangers (notice how he often does unnecessary acts of service for total strangers such as: carrying their things, holding out hands etc. even though they had already troubled him). Despite the life he has lived, Arthur does not enjoy violence, he does not enjoy hurting people. He doesn’t want to dominate over others. He thinks mostly about others and not about himself. This fact alone is very telling of his character.

He writes about Charles, a man who he truly respects: ‘’He’s a better man than me. He does not need to think to be good. It comes naturally to him, like right is deep within as opposed to this conflict between GOOD↔EVIL that rages within me.’’ A man who is not struggling with his inner self would not have written this. To me this clearly implies an inner desire to be a better man. He writes about his mentors: ‘’I love Dutch like a father, but in many ways, I love Hosea even more. He’s kind and fair and like a human being. Dutch is something else.’’ Clearly showing a preference for Hosea who is of a more gentle nature and shows genuine kindness. Unsurprisingly, these are the people who see through his dumb/though act and encourage him to drop it.

When he comes across Brother Dorkins for the first time, he writes: ‘’(he)was one of those innocent people who make you feel better about human beings and about yourself a little. Must be odd to see all that goodness in the world. Place always seemed dark and brutal to me.’’ Expressing how he does not see goodness in the world, implying lack of good examples/kindness/good experiences in his life. Yet, the monk leaves an impression and imo, this encounter (seeing genuine goodness) disrupts Arthur’s perception of what the world truly is. ‘’Just as evil begat evil your whole life long, so good may begat good’’ (what strengthens my belief in this, is the following, symbolic scene of Arthur realising the consequences of his actions right after picking up a crucifix. He was aware of them before sure, but is unable to truly ignore them now having seen it right in front of his eyes). If only Arthur was presented with more examples of goodness in his life.

''You have it in you... I can tell!''

His desire to do as much good as possible after realising he won’t live long is instant. This would not be the mindset of someone who did not already possess kindness in his heart. ‘’Know glory and forget about shame.’’ Arthur’s shame and self-loathing caused by his previous actions were what was holding him back from allowing kindness into his life. Knowing that he has limited time left has not made him into someone he wasn’t before. The diagnosis was a catalyst, allowing him to embrace that love/goodness truly does exist and accelerate the process of chipping away from the persona he has made for himself. This was a newfound understanding for him as in the past he was rejecting any notion of kindess. In himself and perhaps the whole existence of it. ‘’You keep hidden all that matters, even from yourself.’’

After being diagnosed, he writes: ‘’What kind of a man have I been? What kind of a man am I? What world is this we live in? A land of fury or a place of love? Am I being prepared for eternal damnation? Am I past any kind of saving? Is that all fairytales? Man ain’t got much good in him. I ain’t got no good in me… I don’t think and yet I see goodness. I see it. If not in me, in good folk. In Abigail and her love for Jack. In that silly monk. In Downes, I guess. Begging not for himself but for the poor, even though he was near starving himself. Maybe I don’t want salvation. Part of me has always longed for death.’’ This entry perfectly shows how deep Arthur’s self-loathing goes and just how much it has damaged him. As his journal allows a look into his true feelings, he truly does not see a single good thing about himself. He knew for a long time that the way he lives is detestable but he could not let go of it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it’s all that he has ever known. He didn’t believe in anything else. This sudden acceptance of goodness has allowed him to see clearly, which was obscured from him before, and for the first time, enabled him to act free of past regrets for what is right.

⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪

Arthur’s redemption is not about becoming a good man. It is about finding the strength to change and recognise your true self despite a lifetime of self-loathing and breaking free from destructive beliefs of the past.

In Arthurian legends a stag is a symbol of the unending quest of spiritual knowledge/enligtenment

#this is my own personal interpretation of arthur's redemption #i could expand so much more on this #the orange quotes are by blind man cassidy #please don’t even interact if you think arthur was just a killer incapable of goodness before he was diagnosed #the ironic thing is that so many people could see behind arthur’s front but he was blind to it #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #this analysis is based purely on high-honor choices #i don't care if your arthur shoots up entire towns this analysis does not take individual open-world gameplay decisions into account #i did almost cry thinking about this #text post

[ddarker-dreams]

Zufriedenheit. Yan Johan x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, Johan is ruthless but so is Reader tbh... Word count: 2.1k.

“I’ve noticed something most peculiar.”

If Johan is a hypnotist, he requires no pocket watch; his melodious voice is enough to seduce the mind and body alike. The inflection of his sentence portrays an openness for dialogue that you know to be teasingly deceitful. You think he prepared two paths depending on if you chose to respond or if you thought better of it, regardless; he’s equipped, while you are left defenseless.

“You have been a subject of my observation for some time,” he relays the information your intuition whispered. The shadows your peripherals caught in the night have eyes, it would warn you. What a fool you were not to listen. “And in that time… a certain tendency of yours became evident.”

Light in the morning is always the softest.

He stands a few paces ahead, his back turned to you, his hands folded. He moves aside heavy velveteen drapes to invite in more light, the sudden illumination forcing you to squint while your eyes adjust. People dot the busy streets below in a rush to get to work. He’s always had a penchant for watching over regular life, never commenting, always ruminating. Which leads you to a question with which no answer could satisfy.

What is worse: when Johan is silent, or when he speaks?

“You like to be of service to others.”

It’s a complete thought that you feel little motivation to supplement. This conversation has already been exhausted, to the point revisiting the subject further dissuades your appetite. The untouched pastries on your plate are looking less and less desirable by the second. What does catch your eye, however, is a silver gleam. A knife that room service so diligently provided.

One for you — just not one for him. For in the eyes of society, he does not exist.

He’s waiting for a response this time. Your irritation is further exacerbated by the cheap, instant coffee you’ve downed two cups of, the beverage dialing your senses up to eleven. His deliberate decision to welcome in direct sunlight confirms that he’s well aware of your sensitivity but cares little for it. Unfortunately for you, today’s mood must err toward provocation. Your least favorite divination for the dowsing rod to fall on.

“We’ve established that,” is your response. You sniffle, finding it terribly cold in here. Winter could find a rival in hotel air conditioners.

“Yes, we have,” he agrees. In the window’s reflection, you realize he’s staring at you. Anyone else would look away should they be caught in the act. Not him. His gaze remains. “Tell me why that is again.”

You sigh. It’s better to lay things down on your own terms so that he can’t spin his take without meeting resistance. While you might get splinters from dismantling his loom, the alternative of leaving it unscathed is far worse.

“We live in a world where there is an immense disparity between those who have and those who don’t. I feel it’s the duty of those who have the means to help, to help. I just want to do my part in that. I’d be a hypocrite if I felt this way while doing nothing.”

“And are you not a hypocrite in other ways?”

“I’m sure I am,” you shrug. “Everyone is, if they’re being honest about it.”

“Even me?”

You can tell he’s smiling from the tone of his voice. It’s a gesture you don’t reciprocate.

“I don’t know. To be a hypocrite, you must first believe in something with a firm conviction. But you…” you take a deep breath, wondering if your next words would be better left unsaid, “... You believe in nothing. So no. I don’t think you are a hypocrite.”

“Coming from a morally upstanding person such as yourself, that’s quite the compliment.”

It’s a purposefully cheap shot that you can’t work up the energy to get offended over. He doesn’t want your offense, you’re far past the point of assuming his dubious intentions to be that straightforward. You long for the misguided days when you clenched that notion to your chest as if it were a prized treasure. No, what he wants is nothing as simple and easy to comprehend as earning your indignation. That would just make too much sense — give you something to work with.

For what he truly wants is more troubling than anything you could possibly fathom. 

“Surely, you didn’t rehash this topic just to say that.”

“Indeed not. It was helpful to reestablish your worldview so I know I’m not being hasty in my next judgment.”

Johan is lying without making an effort to conceal it. While he is setting the scene, it’s not for his sake, but for yours. Hidden beneath the veneer of niceties is a viper that strikes at the heel. Slow is the venom he injects, so that you might experience the malaise to its fullest. Anything less than that would be a mercy from him.

“One more question, then I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast in peace.”

Also a lie. Where Johan went, peace never followed, it was the antithesis to his nature. You were amazed he was capable of uttering the word without going up in flames. You nod, not that it makes any difference, he’s going to see his designs brought to life no matter what fight you do or don’t put up.

“Would you say it’s wrong to help others if you’re ultimately doing it for your own benefit?”

Out of all the questions Johan has posed, this might be the easiest.

“Yes, I would.”

There’s mirth dancing in his eyes. Not the innocuous kind that most people are familiar with, but a twisted, sinister rendition, that you liken to a hunter who found its prey caught in a trap set days prior. What little sits in your stomach threatens to crawl back up. You take a sip of lukewarm water to discourage it.

“I’m afraid you are a hypocrite then, based on your definition of the word,” he almost sounds genuinely apologetic at forcing you to face this revelation. “Since if we’re being honest, you and I — you do want something in return. Just not in a material form.”

He turns to confront you directly. It’s remarkable how a voice so soft could penetrate deeper than any knife. You lose your ability to meet his gaze, dropping it downward, examining every dip and groove of your now cold breakfast. He approaches with a calm gait, taking the time to pull his chair out and settle across from you.

Johan rests his elbows on the table, leans forward, and steeples his fingers. He rests his chin atop them. “It gives you a sense of belonging you couldn’t earn from your own merit. You, who is average at everything, yet excels in nothing.”

It’s fitting that his eyes are ocean blue. For he is a riptide that so many have drowned in, when they make the mistake of fighting back and exhausting themselves.

“Who would choose to keep you around if you had nothing tangible to offer them? You rush to aid the fortunate just as much as you do the unfortunate. By making them laugh, or flattering them, you cement your place by their side. A place that you must know to be in competition for. Should anyone come by that fulfills your duty better, you wouldn’t be discarded, oh no. You would be forgotten altogether. No effort would be made to throw you away.”

You stand up.

Though you might tower over him in height from this position, it is still he who looks down at you. You think about the alluring knife resting an arm’s length away. The door that he never keeps locked, as he is confident you won’t walk out. He wouldn’t move to stop you even if you did. Not when he knows you’ll come right back.

Johan wants to show you the total collapse of this world — you want to prove there is something in it worth saving.

In the same way Abraham beseeched his God to spare the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, you too seek to challenge Johan’s total disregard for human life, on the grounds that each person has inherent value. There is no legal recourse you could seek against him. He is a ghost, sand that falls through the sieve of the law. His many wicked acts have no documentation. No method to corroborate besides a few rumors and records wiped clean from the planet.

For some reason or another, he has allowed your meddling presence to remain where others have been reduced to bloodstains on pavement. Perhaps it started as mere amusement. A way for him to occupy his time in between major events, an outlet where he could show his true, hideous nature. No one would believe you. At times, you find it difficult to believe yourself.

Taking deep breaths, you hear the thrum of your heart die down. It’s a slow and agonizing process. Your head feels light but your resolve is heavy.

Feeling that the reigns to your body have been returned to their rightful owner, you sit back down.

“You don’t have the complete scope of things. All you have is conjecture.”

“Is that so?”

He sounds genuinely curious. Johan doesn’t want to destroy you so much as he wants to deconstruct you — this is proven by how he pauses his verbal onslaught to gauge your reaction. Whether it be a soft spot for you, or, more realistically, an unspoken acknowledgment that not letting you speak your piece is the same as admitting you have a point.

“The way you phrase things makes it out to be more heinous than it actually is,” you start nibbling at your danish. “Of course people want those who they surround themselves with to have some use, but I’d argue it’s subconscious for most. We’re a social species. We wouldn’t have progressed past the Stone Age if not for the instinct to band together.”

You swallow the sweet, flaky treat. “What you’re describing is friendship. In the same way you can make anything sound bad depending on how you describe it, I can put my own positive spin on things.”

“Maybe there have been times where I was over-eager to earn the approval of others. So what? If I’m aware of that fault of mine, that means I can improve it. I like making people smile. I like making people laugh. I want to show others their worth,” you nod, slowly, full of conviction. “Yes… that does set me up for being a hypocrite at times. I can live with it if it means I’m set apart from people like you.”

Johan closes his eyes.

“Do you think this is enough to convince me?”

You feel the inquiry is pointed more toward your overarching goal than this specific argument.

“No. I won’t count myself satisfied until you walk into a police station and confess to each and every one one of your crimes,” you reply. The pastry is gone but your ravenous appetite is not. “That’s when I’ll know I convinced you. Not a moment sooner.”

He appraises you after hearing this.

Johan extends his hand across the table, his palm up, silently urging you to give him yours. You stare at the outstretched invitation warily. He won’t force you to go along with his whims — to do so would mean going against a silent agreement you both somehow arrived at — so you consider the prospects.

Your decision comes not long after.

His cold fingers wrap around yours to secure their prize, the touch no more aggressive than a breeze too soft to make the flowers sway. He lifts your hand and moves it in the direction you gravitated toward in your darkest moments. 

Over the knife you don’t dare touch, even when your meals call for it.

“You could always put an end to things yourself, [First],” it’s rare he speaks your name. It’s even rarer he says it like that, without superficial charm dripping from each syllable. “You once asked me if I had a heart. I’ll let you cut me open and see for yourself.”

Your fingers twitch yet they deny the impulse.

“That’d be letting you off too easy,” you decide. “Besides… I’m not a doctor. I’ll let one of them check in my stead.”

For some reason or another, this comment amuses him greatly, an inside joke that has shoulders shaking as he laughs.

He squeezes your hand once and pulls away.

"There’s always mine. I’ll have to ask him to let you know.” 

#johan liebert x reader #johan x reader #reader insert #johan liebert #yandere #yandere x reader #monster #monster x reader #naoki urasawa's monster #my stuff

[a0random0gal]

If you had the chance to change something about the dance of the dragons (TV show or book), what would it be? For example, how a character dies, which team a house is on,or an entire character personally. How would you change it to make the story better, in your opinion?♥️🖤💙💚

Ohh anon i've got a list.

When it comes to the tv show there are a few choices the writers made that just don't sit right with me.

Laenor

I do like the characterization they went for, he's a pretty cool dude who really loves his weird, dysfunctional family. What I really don't like is how they handled his death.

See I truly can't stand it when a character is sugar coated just because they're the protagonist and thus must be righteous and always objectively correct.

So to witness the writers white wash his murder, having him flee to essos instead of being killed by Rhaenyra pisses me off. I get that after showing them being good friends it would be very odd to have her kill him.

But that's the thing, they should have opted for a more ruthless Rhaenyra in the first place!

Laenor's death in the books (at least for me) was the first instance of Rhae Rhae making morally wrong choices in order to pursue her ultimate goal. It was compelling! Here she just takes the easy way out, without having to make a tough choice.

Also his survival really fucks her up when you really think about it. Now all her sons are bastards since her marriage to Daemon isn't valid, and for the upcoming season 2, how are they going to handle Addam and Seasmoke? Laenor is still alive, his dragon won't accept a new rider. This doesn't make any sense and just causes plotholes what the actual fu-

Sidenote: After Laenor's very moving speech on how he was done goofing off and was now willing to really step up for Rhaenyra and their family it's super strange to imagine him ditching them all immediately afterwards Lol.

Rhaenys

My gosh, where do I even begin with this woman?

She too is pretty cool at the start, but then episode 9 rolls around and I roll my eyes.

She's so hypocritical. She tries to shit on Alicent for "toiling in the service of men." When that's all she does in the goddamn story!

She wants Baela to get Driftmark, tells Corlys about it, he shuts off the whole plan cause he wants a kid who he's not even related to on the driftwood throne, and when she complains about it he dismisses her.

So what does feminist Rhaenys do about it?

She... submits to her husband, something she conveniently forgets about when talking to Alicent. My god. Just remove this entire exchange, it hurts to watch.

And the coronation scene, Jesus Christ! It was so cool in the books, why did they have to ruin it? Had they replaced it with something better I wouldn't have complained, but this is just, the worst.

Rhaenys shows how badass she is by.... Brutally crushing hundreds of small folks to death and almost slaughtering the greens.

Cool, cool, absolutely necessary. Thanks Sara.

And you know what's even more infuriating? When she flees to Dragonstone to inform Rhaenyra of all that happened. She says she didn't kill the greens cause she didn't wish to start a war. I'm sorry what?

That would have ended the war at the start! As glad as I am that Rhaenys didn't barbecue them it makes absolutely no sense!

If she had killed them there would have been no dance in the first place!

I hate these dumb show only moments. They needlessly complicated an already complicated story and just mess everything up.

There's probably other stuff I could rant on, like how Aegon was made a rapist sorely to make the audience think:

Oh look! The greens are so baad, they believe a rapist alcoholic douche should be in charge instead of our empowered dragon queen, they sure do suck!

Or how house Velaryon was disrespected and mistreated by D*emyra but still somehow decided to support Nyra's claim.

They didn't really have a motive to be greens though, so I think they should have stayed neutral. Their fervent black support makes no sense.

The writers really should have given them more reasons to back up the blacks or had their beloved queen treat them better so that their loyalty made more sense ( I mean holy hell I wonder how they will handle the two betrayers and Corlys's arrest lmao).

But other greens have already shat on these awful decisions and I won't beat a dead horse.

Book

When it comes to fire and blood I surprisingly have very little complaints, except of course, the Jaehaera situation.

My poor baby deserved better, I've made a post about it in the past

(where I ranted and said stuff I kind of regret now, don't post while very angry guys I don't recommend it)

tackling how the little queen was unnecessarily killed off and how her death genuinely adds nothing so why was it added? God I get upset just thinking about it lol.

Some people say George did it cause he needed Aegon's kids to be born after Viserys's, and apparently he couldn't fathom a married teen not having kids until her 20s, which is veery weird.

The more plausible theory is that he got rid of her cause he wanted more Velaryon queens to showcase how close they used to be to the Targs.

Which is something I had understood already thanks to Alyssa, the sea Snake and all the Velaryons who were masters of ships but whatever.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd critical #anti team black #pro team green #rhaenyra targaryen #asoiaf #aegon ii targaryen #corlys velaryon #laenor valeryon #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys velaryon #jaehaera targaryen #fire&blood #hotd season 2 #thanks for the ask! it was lots of fun to answer lmao

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 17 - Come a Little Bit Closer

📖 One of my friends who beta-read this for me pointed out there is a scene in here that is very similar to one in Ted Lasso (I've never seen it, though there are a lot of people in my life telling me I should now); so I'm just mentioning there might be a similarity.

There is also something in here that people have been waiting for. Albeit, it's probably not the one scene everyone wants, given recent events. But someone(s) gets karma'd 👀

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, mentions of an original child character, angst, mentions of shitty family dynamics, physical fights, Ruthless Dagger Squad, violence, verbal fights, and mentions of blood.

#7k words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 18

“Are you a fucking idiot, Bradley?!”

You slapped Rooster hard on the back of his head, the thwack anything but satisfying.

“He is, indeed, a fucking idiot,” Nat quipped next to you. Bradley frowned at you, rubbing the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy I got to him!”

“You do not invert over another pilot on your team, catch them in a fucking corkscrew, and make them hit the fucking hard deck! Regardless if they are my ex or an asshole!”

It was hopeless to think you could ever stop swearing in Penny’s bar, not when Bradley was still pulling stupid shit like that. Therapy was a big step, but you knew deep down it would take a little more than a few sessions to make him less impulsive.

Maybe even more so from behind the joystick of his jet.

Rooster threw his hands up defensively. "I was just trying to teach him a lesson. You know what he did to you!"

You shot him a look.

Bob rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms. "And what exactly did you accomplish, Rooster? Besides nearly killing yourself and him?"

Bradley gave him a death glare.

“I don’t care why you did it!” You snapped, tapping the end of the bottle opener hard on the top of the bar as you made your point. “You put yourself and a teammate in danger! You’re lucky Maverick stepped in before you got kicked out!”

You spun the tool in your hand while rolling your eyes, quickly popping the caps off the row of beer bottles lined up in front of you in frustration. Placing one in front of Nat, you handed Bob’s to him with a stern look.

“One, Robert,” You said, holding up your finger. “One, and then I am cutting you off.”

He grabbed the neck of the bottle, nodding and throwing his hand back in what seemed to be a 'yeah, I get it' kind of way. You held back on Roosters, holding it out of his reach, engaging him in a staring contest.

"Promise me."

"Liz."

You shook your head.

"This is not something I'm being funny about, Bradley. Promise me you will not pull that shit again."

"You're being unfair; it was just a dogfight."

You raised your eyebrow, purposely glancing over at the barbell for a split second. "I'll ring the bell on you."

Bradley cocked his eyebrow at you. The bell was something he prided on, never happening to him before. "I'll tell your manager you've been providing bad customer service."

You shrugged. "Go ahead."

Penny would legitimately not care. She'd do more damage to Bradley by chewing him out than you ever could.

"You should see the Yelp reviews when they mention me when I ring the bell on assholes. I don't care. Promise me you won't put yourself in danger anymore just to prove a fucking point."

Rooster made no effort to tear his eyes away from you. 

"Bradley Bradshaw, do you promise me?!" you tried again. When he didn't reply for the second time, you raised your voice, "Lieutenant Bradshaw! Do you promise not to risk your fucking life over proving a point?!"

Bradley blinked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

You thumped the glass bottle to the top of the bar, sliding it towards him with a huff.

“Liz!” Jimmy called out. You turned in his direction with a smile, though you were anything but happy right now.

“The Jukebox is doing that thing again. Can you see what’s wrong?”

“Did you try hitting it?” you called back.

“Several times!”

You sighed. Walking to the other side of the bar, you stopped in front of Bradley, pointing your finger into his chest.

“You pull that shit again, therapy or not, I swear to god, Bradley..." You couldn't even formulate the rest of your sentence, throwing your hands up in frustration and letting out a garbled yell as you walked away.

You approached the Juxebox with a huff, grabbing the sides as you peered into the glass. The machine was turned on, but the needle hadn't touched the spinning disc.

Someone slung their arm over the top of the machine, startling you with an almost empty beer bottle in their hand. 

"First, it was the keg, now it's the jukebox. What else is on your hit list, darlin'?"

You stiffened.

You hadn't seen Jake since that night. The minute you managed to get the courage to leave Rooster's Bronco, you cleared out your house of anything to do with him, his overnight bag sitting on your porch when you went to pick up Sadie.

It was gone when you came back home.

And It was suddenly like he hadn’t existed. You hadn’t found yourself going through what you assumed was the traditional aftermath of breaking up with someone. You hadn’t eaten a tub of ice cream, binged rom-coms or cried your eyes out except on the drive home. 

And that had been it.

No calls. No texts. No apologies. 

Without turning to face him, you remarked sarcastically, "Your over-inflated ego, but something tells me I'm going to need something bigger than a broken jukebox to take down."

Jake glanced at the machine, knocking it hard with the side of his boot.

You don't know what was worse, that the machine came to life or that it started up in the middle of the song, 'Come a Little Bit Closer' by Jay and the Americans, started up in the most ironic part.

Come a little bit closer. You're my kind of man, so big and so strong.

The quip fell easy from your lips. “Oh, what do you know, a knight in shining armour, solving all my problems.”

You don't know what you were trying to achieve by being like this. You just wanted him gone. But Jake didn't leave. Instead, he smiled at you. "You always have a way with words, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. Snatching the bottle from his grip, you turned on your heel.

"What are you doing here, Jake?" you called out, knowing he would follow you.

"I just want to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

He quicked his pace, jogging up and interrupting your path. You stopped, gritting your teeth and twisting your hand away from him in frustration.

"Liz, please."

You huffed. You finally met his eyes, your gaze hard. “What is there to say, Jake? What could you say to me other than I was another bartender on your list? I just wish you had the common decency not to involve my niece in this, you asshole.” 

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a shout across the bar. 

"Jake!"

George had called out to his brother, surrounded by a group of women. When Jake turned at the mention of his name, George was already waving him over.

You couldn't blame the women shooting him flirty glances, eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat. You just wished the pang in your chest didn't hurt as much as it did.

"Go ahead," you offered with a tense smile. "You made your intentions known. You are free to do whatever the hell you want now."

Jake faced you, his expression faltering as the edges of his mouth twitched, failing miserably to hold on to some semblance of confidence.

"You don't think I know that?" he remarked. "I think about it all the time."

“You should've thought of a lot of things before, Jake," you sighed, stepping backwards and away from him. "Don’t start on my account now.”

---

Why George had decided to stick around, Jake had no idea why. Maybe it was insurance that the damage he had done was permanent. 

Jake just wanted him to get the hell out of dodge. 

He wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation he’d been roped into when you walked away from him. He had no other choice but to walk over and let George introduce him to the two ladies he had been flirty with. 

Jake knew what George was doing. He was trying to entice him back into his old ways. It was clear as day to anyone George would be going home with this woman tonight. 

The other one, he thought her name was Bree or something along those lines, was trying to engage him in a conversation, batter her eyes or flirt. But he hadn’t so much as blinked, too caught up in how you shot him down and walked away from him. 

It wasn’t until George opened his mouth to answer a question that Jake snapped out of his trance and caught the last end of his sentence. 

“I guess having played football in high school makes it easier. My throwing hand is awesome when playing darts, though.”

That pipped his interest.

"Since when have you played darts?" he finally spoke up. 

"Since we hired a few new ranch hands,” George shrugged. “All they want to do is drink, sleep, and play darts. It's great for introducing yourself to other ranch owners. I practically win them over each time," he remarked, trying to throw in a bit of modesty.

The gears started to grind in Jake's head. And slowly but surely, the cocky-ass Mona Lisa smile came back. 

He nodded towards the dartboard. "Wanna play a game?"

George raised his eyebrow, taking a swing of his beer, "Want something else to lose your dignity to?"

Jake's grin didn't lessen. In fact, there was a certain glint in his eyes when he replied, "Something like that."

---

A crowd had gathered around the dart board while they had been playing. Practically, the whole bar was suddenly invested in this little game.

And you, leaning up against a pillar next to Bob, who had ushered you away from your post for a few seconds to watch the end of the game. Your arms were crossed, and you had a slight frown, watching him with sad eyes.

It was clear you wanted to be back behind the bar, not standing here, watching the person responsible for your broken heart play a fucking game of darts.

It wasn't even really a game. Jake could land a bullseye with his eyes literally closed. The regulars knew it, too. So, why was he purposely throwing darts with his non-dominant hand? You had no idea.

From what you could tell from when you were behind the bar, he still played well enough. They went for the long haul, starting at 501 points and slowly working their way down. Coyote and Rooster had decided to keep track, using the chalkboard on the side. George had led throughout the game and was still leading, but Jake was always close by enough to make it interesting.

Then George landed enough points that if Jake didn't get exactly what he needed to on his turn, George would win the game with his next. You didn't know why Bob pulled you over here; maybe it was to see Jake lose. Or to see George fail.

You have yet to determine which would be the better option at this point. And yet, you still couldn't bring yourself to step away.

You leaned over to Bob to ask, "What does he need to win?"

Bob sighed. "Two triples in the 20 slot and a bullseye. The bullseye needs to be last."

"What are the stakes?" you frowned.

Bob only shook his head next to you. "Nothing, from what I know."

George spun from his position, smiling at everyone cheering for him. He came to stand next to Jake, patting him hard on the back a few times.

"I don't know if you were trying to prove something, brother," he laughed, "But good game. We should do this again sometime."

Jake did the one thing he wanted to do his whole life.

He laughed at his brother.  

"George, I never understood why you've had this grudge against me for my entire life," he said, stepping out of George’s grip on his shoulder. 

Jake twirled the dart between two of his fingers, shaking his head. With a little sleight of hand, you watched as he switched his grip, the dart now in his dominant hand. You stood from leaning against the pillar and uncrossed your arms.

"You had it all. Dad's approval, the football career. All the girls flocking to your side in high school. You’ve spent your entire life under his thumb, chasing approval.”

He cut his eyes to you, seeing the frown on your face, and knew he had to continue. Stepping up to the mark, he squared his shoulders, eyeing the board.

“Trust me when I say this - you might've been the chosen one in Dad's eyes, but out here, in the real world? That doesn't mean shit."

Jake threw his first dart, the spike landing within the safety of the triple twenty. Everyone watching caught their breath in surprise.

Jake's smirk grew bolder, the fiery confidence he was known for blazing in his eyes as he looked back at his brother.  "Do you want to know what I would have said to you the day you were talking shit about Liz and Sadie?"

A quiet gasp escaped your lips.

George's mouth twitched.

“I agreed with you for one thing and one thing only. I know I won’t be welcomed back,” he stated. “I couldn’t give a damn if I am.” 

Something burned deep inside Jake’s chest as he pushed on, needing George to hear what he was saying desperately. 

" Sadie? She sees right through your bullshit. But she will not hesitate to stand up for someone if she thinks they are being mistreated. She’s so mature for her age, and I am damn proud to be her uncle.” 

He knew he shouldn’t have called himself that but was too caught up to care. 

“And Liz? The world throws so much bullshit at her, and she still chooses to be kind, even when she still buries her grief, because she doesn’t want her niece to see her cry.” 

Jake shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “I found people who, despite knowing my flaws, chose to stand by me. Not hold them against me.”

Jake threw the second dart, hitting the board next to his previous dart within the rim. 

"I remember all the nights you came home, mirroring Dad's words, telling me how worthless I was.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Now I just realize you were literally copying everything he had to say to you from that day. Making yourself feel better.”

He'd never admit Rooster forcing the both of them in a Corkscrew is what made him realize it. He had been regurgitating every diminishing word and sentence his father had screamed at him growing up back at Rooster's face, hoping it would make him feel better.

He picked at the tail end of his dart, the weight of it familiar and comforting, before glancing at George's face.

"You ever heard of Roosevelt?" he asked nonchalantly. George eyed him carefully, "What does a dead president have to do with a game of darts?'

Jake had a conceited grin on his lips. "Well, he had this quote, and I'm probably butchering this, but he said critics don't count. Or the person who points out how we stumble or how someone could have done something better." 

Jake twisted from his mark on the ground, standing square in front of George as he continued to explain his point.

"Because the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly... and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly."

Jake's voice was steady, but his eyes bore into George's with a fire. "All my life, George, I've been in that arena. I've stumbled and failed, but I didn't listen to someone from the sidelines telling me how to live my life."

Jake lifted his hand, never taking his eyes once off George.

"It's time I remembered that," he said, thinking about Sadie. "You shouldn't have to either."

He flicked his wrist forward, letting his dart fly.

Bullseye.

He heard the thump of the dart hitting the board, and cheers erupted throughout the Hard Deck. Jake had thrown a dart enough times to know whether or not it had hit its mark; he didn't need to look. Even Rooster was laughing at the utter shock and disbelief across George's face.

"I'm living my life, George," he said, patting him on his shoulder, leaving his hand there. "It's about time you did the same."

For once in his life, Jake had managed to stand up to his brother. But the moment wasn't as satisfactory as he might have imagined - He found himself thinking it didn't matter.

Because as he stepped away from George to look back to where you had been, he realized you hadn't been there to see it.

---

Your shift came and went in a blur after Jake and George’s dart game. The squad still hung back well past closing hours, watching and even helping as you closed up the bar, except Rooster, who was messing around on the piano.

Jake was still here. And George. 

They had been out on the patio for over an hour now, simply talking. You tried not to pay them much mind as you tried to get through your remaining tasks quickly, but you couldn’t help but look out the back windows occasionally, unable to take your eyes off the Seresin brothers for long.

George approached Jake soon after he escaped the crowds. There had been no fights, no punches thrown or someone storming out. In fact, every time you looked up, the two seemed to be inching closer to each other.

Damn him and that cocky grin. Why'd he have to be so... Jake?

You didn’t want to be a spectator to Jake’s theatrics during that display during their dart game. Leaving before he threw that last dart, you were now questioning yourself… if you walked away to shield yourself or to punish him. 

While he stood up for himself against George, in the back of your mind, there was an insistent voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, that display was also for you too. 

Some of you ached at the idea of him seeking validation and needing to prove himself. And that's what hurt the most: that deep down, under layers of stubbornness and hurt, you still cared for him.

If it was, you weren’t ready. Not for this. Not for answers or explanations. You deserved more than whatever that was. 

But you still heard him. Heard everything he said to George.  

You really didn’t know what to make of it. 

The sound of the front door slamming up against the wall, rattling some of the portrait frames, startled you from your thoughts. There was a momentary thought of remembering you really needed to lock the front door when you were closing, but it was washed away just as quickly as it came.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Tyler’s body as he charged forward, finger pointed towards you with a seething glare. “You fucking bitch!”

You stepped backwards, the sharp edge of the sink hitting your spine hard. A few glasses jolted from the force of it, sliding off the ledge and shattering to the ground. Rooster’s playing stopped immediately, and the piano bench toppled to the ground.

Was it anger? Shock? Disbelief the past few weeks of not seeing him coursing through your veins responsible for your reaction? You knew Tyler was dangerous, but deep down, you hated how easily you cowered at his appearance.

Tyler didn't get very far in his effort to get to you. Bradley came out of nowhere, something out of a comic, with his fist flying, punching Tyler square in the jaw.

“That was for Sadie, you bastard!”

Unfortunately for Bradley, Tyler only keeled over briefly before taking a swing. Rooster had not been prepared for him to retaliate, thinking his punch would have been enough to put the asshole on the ground.

Tyler had taken more punches and hits to the face as a football player than the average person would in their life. While Jake had managed to get him on the ground when he tried to kidnap Sadie, and Rooster was fitter than the average person, it would take much more than Jake and Bradley combined to keep Tyler there.

The uppercut to Bradley’s jaw could be heard from miles away, and you could only stand there, watching helplessly, as Bradley crashed backwards into a wooden table, his name a cry on your lips as the pieces scattered.

Whether or not they heard your cry or the commotion, the rest of the Daggers swarmed the island bar as Tyler watched Bradley roll on the ground amongst the splinters in some twisted sense of pride.

Whether you could realize it at the time or not, that would be his biggest mistake.

Nat was the first one there, the first one to put herself between you and Tyler, readying herself in case he tried to leap over the bar to get to you. Javy, Fanboy and Payback had run from opposite sides of the room to surround Rooster and Tyler, Bradley finally rolling himself off the broken table on the ground and pulling himself up.

And Jake, almost breaking the sliding door as he bolted inside to get to you, George on his heels. Rooster was too happy to stand beside him as Jake placed himself before everyone else, this hand twitching in anticipation of a fight.

"This is the one who did all that?"

Jake side-eyed George as he came up from the back to flank him on his other side.

"What?" he remarked, puffing out his chest and not once taking his eyes off Tyler. "I'm not that much of an asshole to know that's not how we treat women. Or children. We should drag his ass back to Texas and show him some southern hospitality."

Nat cocked her head at Tyler, speaking up from her spot next to the bar. "You must be a complete idiot to walk back in here after what you did to them."

Tyler shrugged, a sickening smile on his face. "I've got nothing left to lose. Literally."

"What, Daddy cut you off and kicked you out?" Rooster asked, spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth.

With the presence of your friends, you managed to calm down a little bit. You were still scared, which would never change as long as you could see his face, but you could take in Tyler's state more clearly.

Dark circles under his eyes. Blonde hair, greasy. He was still wearing that same freaking white sweater, only it looked like it hadn't been washed in days.

Rooster was right. Tyler had been cut off, indeed.

Fanboy and Payback, having realized what was going on, went to either exit to stand guard. You weren't sure whether to keep people out or keep someone in. But Tyler hadn’t noticed. He was too preoccupied to remove his eyes from Jake.

You watched as Tyler glanced at everyone around the bar, obviously bothered by Rooster's remark but not addressing it. "Seeing a lot of protectors here. Must be that 'Navy bravado,' huh? All show, no substance. We've all seen how they fail when it matters most.”

Ironically, it was George who intervened first. “This isn’t your place, man. Walk away before you get hurt.” 

Tyler flicked his eyes between Jake and George, a smirk playing on his lips, “This is interesting. Another misguided soul ready to join this little squad over here?” 

George smiled at him, nodding at Tyler, cracking his knuckles, “Just somebody who doesn’t like your face.” 

Your voice was hoarse, vocal cords feeling like they were being dragged over jagged rocks, when you asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Tyler?” 

He didn’t even give you the courtesy of looking at you when he replied, “Respect! What else? 

Jake scoffed with amusement, "By wearing that dirty sweater and showing up here drunk and messed up? You're doing a great job, really. I applaud you."

Tyler doubled back with that all-too-familiar smug smirk, " Alright, saw through that one, did you,” He chuckled before he teased. “I came to see how Sadie's holding up. It must be hard, having her favourite play-hero away. Unless you've moved up from being her 'uncle' to something more."

Jake's face immediately paled, his entire demeanour changing from cocky to pure rage in a fraction of a second. The atmosphere in the room grew dense with tension. "You say her name again, and I'll make sure it's the last word you ever speak."

Still grinning but with an undercurrent of faux uncertainty, Tyler raised his hands in mock surrender, "Just stating facts, Jake."

George, sensing the danger in his brother, whispered a warning, "Easy, Jake."

But Jake's voice came out as a dangerous whisper, all restraint seemingly gone, "You wanna dance? Let's fucking dance."

Jake charged, tackling Tyler to the ground as you stood there wide-eyed and in shock. Rooster and Coyote flanked the grappling pair while George kneeled, calling out to Jake all the spots Tyler was leaving himself open. The sound of flesh hitting flesh accompanied Jake’s punches, and you couldn't bring yourself to look away.

A startled cry escaped your lips as you felt someone put their hands on your cheeks, turning you away from the fight and wiping away your tears. Bob had somehow found his way into the bar with you and was currently forcing you to stare at his face.

“Nope, you don’t need to witness any of this.”

"How much trouble are they going to get into because of this?" you asked, scared out of your mind. Bar fights were a thing that could get you kicked out of the Navy.

Bob glanced over to the fight. Nat was walking towards the back door, her phone pressed to her ear, no doubt calling the police. As his eyes tracked back to Tyler, George and Javy had now joined the fight, the elder Seresin brother grabbing Tyler by the back of his neck and his belt, tossing him like a bale of hay onto the top of a nearby table as Rooster surprisingly helped Jake up from the floor.

The legs splintered under the force with a sickening crack. It wasn’t until you shuttered at the sound and let out a soft whimper between his hands he remembered you asked him a question.

"None," his voice was firm. "As far as anyone knows, he walked in here like that."

"Bob..." you whimpered. He stroked a piece of hair away from your face soothingly. "I'm not going to be the one that says he doesn't deserve what's coming to him. Tyler’s not walking out of here now. He literally signed his own death sentence."

Deep down, you knew that. Tyler against not one, but three navy pilots and Jake’s brother? There was no way he was walking away from that.

The sound of glass shattering caused you to jolt again.

"Penny's so going to fire me after this," you managed to say through tears. Bob gave you an affectionate smile. "No way, you're the best bartender she's had in years. You put up with so much shit, and Sadie would no doubt give her two cents. She seems to be doing that a lot lately."

"Bobby..." you huffed through a sob. "You've never heard you swear before."

He shrugged, wiping away one of your tears. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

Bob hadn't covered your ears. He was only keeping your eyes off the ongoing violence. So you could hear everything going on. There were no more crashes, glass breaking, or wood splitting in two. You could only hear the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting hard flesh.

The next cry out of Tyler's mouth made you stiffen.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth!" he gave an almost whine as Bradley laid a punch to his stomach. "I'm sorry for all of it!"

Oh.

Fuck.

No.

Where you were once scared, pure anger builds in your stomach. You pull Bob’s hands away from your face, swatting away his feeble attempts to reach for you. You marched towards the exit doors of the bar, rounding the corner to get to the group.

Jake saw you approaching first with a sharp lift of his head, tapping George on the shoulder, who looked up at his brother before his eyes landed on you, catching on instantly. He grabbed Tyler by the back of his sweater, hoisting him up onto his knees before changing his grip to the middle of his back. Jake gritted his teeth as he tugged Tyler's head back with a vice grip on his hair.

You kneeled down in front of him, taking in his face.

Even bruised and bloody, Tyler looked nothing like the egotistical sociopath you knew him to be. Nothing like the villain that stalked you months before this or when he walked into the bar all those weeks ago.

This version of Tyler looked desperate, unhinged, but on the verge of a last straw. You couldn't say seeing that white hoodie stained red was unpleasurable. To say he had nothing left to lose was one thing, but seeing it across his battered face was another.

“You’re sorry?” you snarked. “You’re sorry you abused my sister? Are you sorry you killed her? Sorry, you tried to kidnap my niece?!”

You wanted to nail him across the face. You wanted to know the absolute pain and heartache and suffering he had put you through. He took Ridley from you. He hurt Sadie. He hurt you.

But then you took in the room, Jake and George kneeling behind him. Bradley and Javy standing by, ready to pounce the second he might try to escape. And the state of the bar, the damage sobering your thoughts.

No questions asked.

You noticed the ties of his sweater were out of place. Lifting your hand, you fixed one back into place, smoothing the string down before looking him dead in the eye.

"I could fucking care less."

Approaching sirens could be heard outside the bar, making everyone hold their punches. You stood, turning your back on the display to rejoin Bob, who had followed you out from the relative safety of the bar.

You wouldn't give Tyler the satisfaction. Ultimately, he was still a narcissist, wanting a reaction.

"Tie him up," you heard Jake command. Despite Bob urging you not to look once again, you couldn't help yourself. You needed to see this. To see Tyler caught and unable to do anything but accept his fate.

You needed to know you and Sadie were safe.

Coyote was handing George a sailor's rope he had torn off the wall, having pulled the twisted pieces apart. Jake pressed his knee down onto Tyler's back, pinning him to the floor as George quickly hog-tied his hands together, not that he'd be going anywhere. The group of men had done enough damage. Tyler wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

Everything happened so quickly in the moments after. The police burst through the front door. George was holding up some sort of badge, and you were suddenly rushed out into the parking lot by Bob and Nat.

Penny was already there, greeting you outside with extreme worry in her eyes, sweeping you up into a hug the second she saw you. She was trying to console you, tell you Sadie was safe with Mav and that you would be alright. You didn’t realize you started shaking until she pulled back in concern to ask what had happened.

Your breath hitched as you shakily joked, “I promise I’m not purposely wrecking your bar. I don't know where these assholes come from."

Penny huffed out a laugh and a sad smile. Biting her lip, she reached out and stroked your hair at the side of your face as only a mother could. She tugged you into her hold, refusing to let you go.

You don't know how long you stood there until Nat tapped you on the shoulder. She pulled you into her side and looped her arm around Penny's, holding you upright as the front door of the Hard Deck opened. A pair of Police officers were dragging Tyler out, still hog-tied and a mess. George was behind them, following them while speaking to another officer.

When you watched the police car containing Tyler in the back seat roll off into the distance, and a tow truck rolled that stupid white piece of machinery away, you finally felt like you could breathe.

Tyler's frightening hold over both you and Sadie was over.

And yet, it wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been.

---

You wanted to stay away from the Choas unfolding in and around the Hard Deck. 

Taking the first chance you could, you escaped when nobody was looking, eventually finding yourself sitting in Penny's chair on the beach. 

Less than a year ago, you were sitting in the chair, unaware of what was about to happen to you. You who were desperately trying to get through a book by reading the same page twice. Gawking at a pilot playing Dog fight football who you knew was off limits, trying to get by till the following Saturday night. 

Then Ridley's ex came for you and Sadie. You had fallen in love with said pilot. Learned your sister was murdered. Your best friend hurt your feelings. You had gotten your heart broken by said pilot. 

You didn't know what was worse, the fact you had seen and experienced all this trauma, or that Ridley's death and abscene were still triumphing over all that. 

You jolted when someone placed a blanket around your shoulders.

George Seresin retracted his hands just as quickly as he placed the blanket around you, holding them up in surrender. 

You didn't have anything to say to him, choosing to remain stoic as he lowered himself into the sand, sitting with his back in front of the armrest of your chair. 

It was a full minute before he finally spoke. 

"I need to apologize, Liz."

You scoffed, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. "Apologize for the derogatory display of how you treat women? Or what you said to Jake to make him act the way he did?" 

At least this time, George had the decency to look shameful. 

"If his words at the dart game weren't any indication, I know you egged him on. He was trying to get you to back off, in his own twisted away.” 

"I still need to apologize. For all of it," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "It wasn't my place to do that to the two of you." 

"Yours is not the one I need right now," you spat, lifting your feet off the ground and curling into the depths of the chair. 

Either one of you spoke for a few minutes after that. George seemed to ponder his thoughts, scanning the horizon but not finding anything. The waves were both loud and quiet, making the world smaller than it actually was.

You couldn't handle it. 

"Do you realize the gravity of what you did, George?" you said heatedly, uncurling yourself from the chair and submerging your feet into the sand. "You weren't just egging him on. You were meddling in someone's relationship because your father asked you to."  

"Yes, I know." 

"Do you know how fucked up that is?" 

"Jake doing that grand display with the darts painted a pretty clear picture in my head." 

You rolled your eyes. "When was the last time you asked yourself if you were truly happy, George?"

George thought about it for a second before he replied, "When I became the livestock official back home."

"And let me guess, you made that decision all on your own, without any influence from your father?"

He looked down at the sand, grabbing a handful before watching it fall back to the ground. "Kind of. When I got the ranch, it wasn't by choice. But this felt like the first one I could make by myself."

"You just proved everything that Jake said, right." 

You huffed, frustration evident. "How do you plan on making up to him?"

George took a deep breath, steadying himself. "By supporting Jake genuinely in whatever he chooses. And by ensuring our father doesn't come between you two again."

Your eyes searched his for any sign of deceit, but all you saw was raw honesty. 

"Jake loves you. It's clear as day. Don't let this get between the two of you." 

You spat out a laugh, a high-pitchy sound you hoped would tell him you saw right through his bullshit. "Right."

"Liz, he didn't agree with the BS I was spilling to agree with me. Don't hold it against him."

 "But he went through with it," you countered. "Even if it was some twisted idea of dealing with all the bullshit you and the rest of your family throw at him save Janet, he still said those things. He still hurt me."

You threw yourself back into your chair instead. "I don't know anymore, George. I don't know what to think anymore." 

George dropped his head to his chest, furrowing his brow. "You know, you didn't allow him to explain that day. Or today even." 

That made you sit up. "Are you saying I should have?"

"I'm saying," he replied, "Whatever happened to giving someone a chance to know that people care? Even when other people think they don't deserve it?"

"That's different."

Maybe," he nodded. "But something is missing. I think that's only rooted in what other people think, not when they've done something to you." 

George's words made your voice catch in your throat.

"Give him a chance to explain, Liz. Just listen to what he has to say. Then make your decision." 

Suddenly you were wishing for the asshole from a week ago. Because, deep down, you knew he was right. 

"George, I mean this in the nicest way possible. You have potential. Listen to what your brother told you. You can't have your father tell you what to do for the rest of your life." 

He glanced down to the sand but tilted his head towards you so you knew he was still listening to what you had to say. 

"Ridley and I... My sister... We went through the same thing with our father. And I was so young, I didn't know any better. But she got us out before any more damage could be done. You still can get out. You don't need him in your life." 

"Is it wrong for me to want his approval?" 

You bit your lip, surprised at his question. "No. He's your father. It's natural you'd want that. But you shouldn't have to change who you are. You shouldn't have to seek his approval when he hasn't been someone worthy of giving it." 

George nodded, more to himself than to you, finally managing to mumble, "Jake is lucky to have you in his life. Sadie, too."

Even after everything that happened today, you still gave him a soft smile. "You're not that bad, George,” you said before adding, “When you want to be.”

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upward slightly. "Don't let it get to my head. I might end up like Jake."

You reached over and patted his shoulder. "That wouldn't be a bad thing."

---

George left you a little while ago when an officer sought him out to take a statement. The night air was nipping at your skin, even with the blanket around your shoulders, and yet, you didn’t know how you would sleep after this, the adrenaline spike still showing no signs of slowing down. 

You didn’t know what to feel, the myriad of emotions thrown at you over the past week, month, and even year - any one of them would have sufficed. But you couldn’t bring yourself to figure it out. To live through any of them.

You just wanted to get through the rest of the day.

Dragging your feet through the sand, you made your way up the back steps of the Hard Deck’s back patio, shutting the door behind you. Shrugging the blanket off your shoulders, you gently placed it on the pool table, readying yourself to take in the true extent of the damage Tyler had wrought on the place.

The bar was dimly lit, save for the neon flashes of red and blue pulsing through the windows. There were splintered pieces of wood from the broken tables still littering the room, chairs overturned and scattered menus. With shards of glass and the thick smell of alcohol, you hated seeing the bar in such a state.

And in the middle of it all, Jake, sitting on a barstool with his head bowed and his hands resting on his knees. It was a stark image, seeing Jake’s knuckles bloody and bruised, his hair dishevelled. Looking less than himself. Utterly defeated.

It was a moment you weren’t supposed to see. A moment nobody was supposed to see.

And yet…

He didn’t hear your footsteps as you went behind the bar to grab a clean cloth, nor did he hear you take a metal bowl from under the sink and fill it with water. Or the ruckus as you fought with the first aid box.

It was only when you reached for one of his hands, having come to stand in front of him to run that cloth over his skin, that he jolted out of whatever stupor he had found himself in.

“Liz, I…”

You shook your head, shushing him. “Not now, Jake. Not tonight.”

He let you clean the blood from his hands. Let you dab at the split skin surrounding his knuckles. He was stiff as you worked, eyes tracking your every movement, from how you delicately held the bottom of his hand to watching you ring the cloth over the bowl. The water had already turned red by the second time you’d cleaned the fabric.

You reached for some antiseptic from the first aid kit, tilting the bottle forward as your finger held the cotton swab in place. Jake hissed when you placed the soaked cotton swab on his raw skin, his other hand shooting out quickly to grip your wrist tight.

His touch did feel like Sandpaper. But it wasn't as coarse, not as rough as you made yourself believe. You halted your fingers, the cotton swab falling to the floor at the shock of his touch.

“Sorry,” a quiet murmur on your lips. Jake eye’s darkened, a flicker of something passing through. He loosened his grip on your wrist but didn’t let go, letting his fingers slide loosely down to your wrist. You followed his touch, watching as careful fingers caressed the palm of your hand.

"You don't have to do this, Liz," he stated, his voice rough.

"Yes, I do," you replied softly, keeping your eyes fixated on his hand. "Someone has to. You certainly won’t."

"You're always caring for me."

You reached with your free hand for another cotton swab, but Jake stopped you, meeting your hand with his. He brought it down, and you let him pull you gently into the space between his legs. 

"Do I deserve it?" He whispered, playing with your fingers. "Especially from you."

You swallowed hard. "That's up to you. But I can’t stand by and watch you be hurt."

You finally gathered the courage to look up at his face. It was a miracle Tyler didn’t do much damage other than a slight bruise along his forehead.

“Otherwise, you’ll go crazy,” he remarked, recalling when Sadie was in the hospital. "Even when I've hurt you."

"Jake..." his name a quiet plead on your lips.

He let his hands glide up your wrists to your forearms, the air between the two of you heated as he leaned forward, hooded gaze intent on your lips.

"If not tonight, when?" he whispered.

Your foreheads met, you more than him, allowing yourself to press your weight against his skin. The two of you came together like this, a series of almost kisses and burning moments that left the two of you wanting more. 

Except that was when you thought you couldn't have him when everyone was screaming at you not to get involved with him.

You're not sure what it is now. Because the person who swore so long ago never to let Jake be in a position where he could break your heart was crawling out from the depths, insisting you push him away and run for the hills.

But Jake's breath, mixing with yours, lulled you into his gentle pull, hands tugging you into him as you felt him lightly graze your lips with his.

What would it be like to memorize the touch of his lips one last time?

Penny’s voice startled the two of you, making the both of you jolt back and away from each other.

"Come on, all this wait till tomorrow."

Whether she was referring to the mess in the bar or your relationship, you couldn't tell. 

You cleaned up the first aid supplies as Jake switched holding an ice bag you gave him between his hands and face. Penny locked up the bar behind the pair of you once you finished, always standing between you and Jake.

He followed the both of you hesitantly into the parking lot, unsure what he could say or do.

At the last second, you turned. You looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time since you yelled at him that day in the Hard Deck, a quiet mummer and a sad smile on your lips as you said, "Thank you, Jake."

Then, with Penny guiding you with a hand around your shoulders, you left towards your car, keys in her hand.

He could only watch every step you took, watching as the distance between the pair of you grew, left wondering if there was still hope for him to make things up to you after all. 

Tag list: (I think I'm missing a few people, so if you want to be tagged, please let me know!)

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky @

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 18 - Sapling is in-process

#Spotify #jake x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun au #top gun fic #top gun fanfiction #top gun hangman #top gun fanfic #hangman top gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick x reader #top gun x reader #controlled chaos squad #horseshoegirlwrites #damn those dog tags #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin au #hangman seresin

[quetzalpapalotl]

I just want to clarify, again, for those that may still be ambivalent about picking DWJ's Transformers that despite the deaths or whatever the comic is not edgy.

If I had to describe them one way, I'd say it's doing Sunbow G1 based on the vibes it gave one as a child adapted so it retains that gradiose feeling on a "grown-up" story. Character death is a part of that, but I've always hated the idea that killing a character equals shock value or edginess.

This is a very well-crafted comic, there is a clear purpose to everything it does. Characters dying is a natural result of this type of conflict, it makes the stakes feel real. On top of that, Bumblebee dying, for example, creates a connection between Optimus and the Witwicky. And really death is not foreign to Transformers comics so.

"Decepticons will kill alien life for resources while the Autobots will defend all sentient life" has always being the very basic premise of Transformers and this series wants to reflect that. There's a reason why the villians are the villians and the series focuses on contrasting them with the heroes, but they're not all the same. Starscream kills humans for funs because he's petty (and honestly, he's sucha fun villian, I love him going off) and he has a complex about being better than Megatron bc he's Starscream. Soundwave is practical, he cares for his casettes and his fellow Decepticons, he doesn't care for human for good or bad, but he's also ruthless. They currently have the advantage. The more dire the situation looks, the more exciting it is when the heroes manage to make it through. I was vey excited when [spoiler] showed up to save the day in issue 4.

Despite all the bad stuff happening, the emotional core of the series remains kind and hopeful. Optimus keeps himself compassionate no matter what, Cliffjumper does his best to relate to Carly. The pain the characters feel is treated seriously. The human character are well utilized to put the Transformers into perspective both as a race and as characters. I would consider a fairer criticism of this series to say that it's trying too hard to pull at your heartstrings than it being edgy.

Taking G1 seriously doesn't just mean killing characters off, it shows in other aspects, like the energy crisis that's often a feature of Transformers media, here we really get to see how impacts both Autobots and Decepticons making it feel more than just an empty plot point.

Also it has action still because this is an action comic and they're cool, this is still a Transformers comic trying to apeal to your inner child that thinks giant robot fights are cool.

As for the Energon Universe thing, so far, the series is perfectly serviceable without reading the rest of it, it's suposed to stay that way, but you know, I can't guarantee anything on someone else's word, so here's to hoping.

I understand some of you may just be tired of G1 and want something new and won't pick it up that's fair, or some stories just won't attract certain people, but trust me when I say that it's a story made with a lot of heart.

#quetzal rambles tf

[zoeykallus]

Hello! Maul needs some love lol Can you write one of Maul and his love struggling with his feelings. She knows about him being a sith and yet is understanding. Maybe add a bit of angst but with a fluff ending.

Thank you 😊

Aloha!

Maul, huh? Yeah, I bet he'd be a complicated partner. Let's see what we can do for him 😊

Maul x Fem!Reader One-Shot - What Is Love

Angsty Fluff

__________

You're not sure if you're really a couple. Maul and you have never talked about it. Your first heated encounter led to others like it, but you never verbalized what was actually going on between the two of you.

Maul showed up at your apartment today. Right now he's sitting on your sofa, silent, frowning. He seems to be thinking, not having said a word except for the brief greeting. After a moment's hesitation, you sit down next to him, scooting a little closer.

He looks at you critically. For a moment, he looks at you like an intruder as you approach him, but he neither pushes you away nor says anything. His gaze finally turns thoughtfully back to an imaginary point in the void.

A little uncertainly, you reach for his arm and lean against him carefully. You long for more than the heated encounters, wish for closeness, wish he would open up to you. But you know what he is, what he does, what drives him. Darkness, power, his service to his Sith Master. Actually, Maul is a walking red flag, controlling, with ruthless determination. But you know there's a lot more buried beneath the facade, and to you, he's always been decent, in a way.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask gently.

Abruptly, he yanks his arm free, throws himself around, and buries you under him on the sofa. Hovering over you, he stares at you, his intense eyes eyeing you fierily. Once more, your gaze wanders over his horns, which adorn his skull like a crown. Your gaze wanders again to his eyes, searching therein for an answer to your question.

His pelvis rests between your thighs, you don't want to think about it or get distracted, but you automatically get hot. For a heartbeat, a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, he feels it too, has his feelers outstretched in power for you.

Finally, in a tone that ripples under your skin, he asks, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like to know. You look like something is bothering you."

"I could say the same thing about you. The last few… encounters we've had have been different from before. You seem to be absent in thought."

Actually, it shouldn't surprise you that he noticed. But it does.

"Well," you say hesitantly, "I've been wondering if there's more to you and me than just…. These encounters."

"More? In what way?" he asks you, scrutinizingly.

You swallow, a little nervously.

"Well, are we a couple?"

Maul blinks in surprise.

"A couple?" he echoes.

"Yeah, you know, being in love, spending time together-"

"Love," he interrupts, "What is love but a distraction, a weakness? What we have is a pleasant pastime"

His words hit you unexpectedly and much harder than you would have believed yourself. You feel a leaden heaviness settling on you, you tense up under him. Of course, your reaction does not escape him. He grits his teeth, his eyes jumping from one point to another for a moment before they look at you again.

"You were hoping for a different answer," he finally states.

"Does it matter?" you ask quietly, tonelessly.

Maul sighs softly, leaning his forehead against yours.

"What is it you want me to say?"

"Nothing," you say defiantly.

He laughs softly.

"You're lying."

With a sigh, you say, "I know who you are, what's expected of you. I don't know what I expected to happen between us".

"Hmm" he hums softly "I understand"

His hand strokes your cheek, he shifts his weight a little, snuggling closer to you.

"Just to clarify, you mean something to me, more than just a pastime, but what we've done together so far has been nothing more than that"

Your fingers gently but firmly reach for the collar of his robe, as if grasping for hope that lies in his words.

His lips gently graze yours.

"So you want more from me?"

"Yes, indeed," you whisper against his lips.

"You want to name this between us?"

"Only if it has meaning"

Maul whispers, "You mean something to me, being close to you means something. I wouldn't call it love, but it's deep and real, and I don't want to miss it."

With a small smirk you say, "That sounds suspiciously like love"

Maul growls softly, "Stubborn thing, yeah, it's probably something like that"

"It is love" you insist.

With a sigh he finally relents, "Yeah, it's probably love".

His hand strokes your cheek again, tenderly, before his lips, seal yours with a heartfelt kiss.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@taskfork-archive

@cpnt616

@starwarsnerd111

#maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #darth maul #maul fanfiction #star wars #asks #requests #darth maul x you #maul fluff

[idkaguyorsomething]

One thing that kind-of annoys me about the Jojo fandom is there is this tendency to portray Giorno as more noble than he actually was. He was fine with deal drugs to adults, it was dealing drugs to kids specifically that he did not like. He had no issues killing people and wanted to be a mob boss. I like Giorno but a paragon of nobility he was not, and I think it is a disservice to the character to water down his less-then-positive traits.

yeah, there’s a lot of truth to that. i think part of the reason why that is is because lots of fan works of golden wind are significantly lighter and softer than canon. there’s nothing wrong with that, especially given how much darker it comes off in comparison to diamond is unbreakable, but as a result a lot of the main character’s negative traits tend to get sanded down, ie, narancia’s more violently destructive outbursts, abbachio serving as an enforcer for a corrupt institution via both the police and the mob with hints that he might be outright bigoted towards giorno because of his ancestry, and yes, giorno’s less than noble traits. a lot of this tends to bleed into how fans view the characters overall, but honestly it’s not nearly as bad as some other fandom mischaracterizations i’ve seen

it’s definitely a disservice to giorno to downplay his more unsavory traits, though. he joined the mob at fifteen and probably thought he was gonna have to work his way up the ladder for years even though they did things like dealing drugs to kids that he explicitly didn’t like. he’s quite an ends-justify-the-means guy, particularly in the long run, though part of what makes him interesting as a character is how those means are always done in service to an ideal. giorno’s proactive approach to most things and how he inspires others through his ideology shapes a lot of the narrative of golden wind, so entirely discounting that would be a mistake, but he’s definitely got quite a bit of the brando family ruthlessness in him that he knows how to use quite well (it’s also possible that fans conflate his character with bruno’s a lot, since bruno is the one who hates drugs the most and who we see more of being openly conflicted about his job as a mob enforcer)

#just to make it clear i fucking love fluffy golden wind fan works #it just gets a bit annoying when people start mixing that up with canon because those things are like apples and oranges #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #golden wind #vento aureo #giorno giovanna #bruno bucciarati #say what you will about giorno tho but jodio is way less moralistic than him #that boy would sell cocaine to a kindergartener for spare change #it’s a really interesting contrast and ignoring the darker sides of both characters really is doing them a huge disservice

[mostlikelytobeagainstcapitalism]

Little thinking about the main characters of the trilogy and how they all somehow resemble each other.

Like Elizabeth/Barbossa, Will/Jack (not Davy Jones surprisingly) and James/Davy Jones all show the two sides of the same coin (for the last pair I will sadly not elaborate further from this post, which does a better analysis than I ever could).

Even if we don't really know much about barbossa's childhood/backstory, it's pretty clear that in spite of choosing a career such as piracy he always aimed for a more luxurious and wealthy lifestyle (more like a nobleman than an outlaw), which is very close to the way elizabeth has been raised. They both also excel in politics: elizabeth by having a close relationship with a politician (her father) and probably learning from his behaviour; barbossa by being the most reasonable and a great poker face while negotiating (like at the brethren court in awe). They both expect the others to follow laws and rules, but are so quick to bend them to their will or directly dismiss their importance. Also they are the most obvious choice for a leader role, thanks especially to their speech abilities (I swear elizabeth watched barbossa give his best speech inside isla de muerta in cotbp and knew she had to do the same at the first chance she got).

On top of everything I love their nature, which is the same: they are the real pirates, the only two who actually act like pirates with threats and by killing without guilt, who put their own wellbeing above all else, who are blunt and ruthless and cruel and selfish. They scheme and do mind games but their priority is to be in charge of their own destiny (I could quote both of them on this) and never again be controlled or submissed to others (both 8w7, of course). Really the only non-pirates trait they share is not being superstitious and not really believing in all that cannot be perceived, but even they learn their lesson.

For Will/Jack is pretty obvious that jack was will's mentor. When we first meet will he's literally a himbo with great swordfight skills and puppy eyes for elizabeth, nothing more than that. He should really thank jack, who somehow managed to put some sense into that pretty head of his.

They both start their life marked by a pirate fate: both their fathers (teague and bootstrap bill) had chosen piracy and, without knowing it, they ended up condemning their sons. No matter how much will and jack want another life, they both wind up at sea at the end. Though they try to lead an honest life (jack always at sea but at the service of lawful men, will as a blacksmith), they both get robbed of it by the law, all because they follow their conscience and don't allow innocent (or not that guilty for jack's hanging) people to die. They both are forced to become pirates and in doing so they get deeply bound to the Dutchman: jack by making a pact with its captain for 13 years, and then being the reason why said captain loses his position; will by replacing said captain and following what has always been his fate.

They of course share their unhinged side (like will's sniffing dresses, and jack's whole being). They somehow also think in the same very intricate way (while elizabeth and barbossa's is a way more direct approach) and in spite of their desire to appear so detached or careless of what is happening (especially will in awe), they truly want nothing more than a chance to prove they are more than what they are born and to regain their freedom (will's is elizabeth, of course).

I know this has been done before, but I wanted to put into words what I think of these characters. Also I've never seen will and jack compared (if I remember well?) and wished to show some things I noticed during my endless rewatches.

#potc #pirates of the caribbean #elizabeth swann #hector barbossa #will turner #jack sparrow #james norrington #davy jones #the curse of the black pearl #dead man's chest #at world's end #𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨 ⋆⁺₊⋆𝓅ℴ𝓉𝒸

[a-luran]

3, 5, 15, 18, 21, 44 for Alasdair if you fancy! I love hearing your opinions on him *please sir I want some more* 🥺🤲

phil!! ♡ yes of course.

3. What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

For canon AUs, I don't envision parental figures and I lean a lot more strongly on chosen family over blood. That being said I think that Alasdair has always made himself useful under leadership and that would ingratiate him to authority figures early in his history. He is a capable hunter, and a craftsman. Sparse with his words. I think that as he grew older his short temper and headstrong nature would spell a lot of conflict and chaffing against authority. A bad father would not live long with a son like Alasdair. A good father would recognise the strength of him. Any father would be proud, but be quick to resent him. I think that Alasdair would never know how to tell a father that he loves him and he would never hear it back.

5. On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Not his wallet.

I think he'd be the kind of person to carry a handful of change, lint, keys, one (1) splinter glove tucked into the back pocket, sometimes his phone. If he ever has a bag with him it's like a magic trick, he has anything you could think of in there.

Not his wallet though.

15. Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

He would say he isn't but he absolutely is. He places a lot of value on craftsmanship and labour so he would be the kind of person to insist on paying the true cost of things. There is nothing that he would hate more than something cheaply made and absurdly marked up. I think he would also be hard pressed to buy something that he could make himself, and as skilled as he sometimes he might get a little too ambitious with it. A have a soft spot for the thought that as someone who is industrious to a fault he'd have a soft spot for things made for him, no matter the level of skill. He would wear the awful, misshapen socks Daffyd made him one winter until they were beyond repair. He'd scrape the last drags of jam from him plate because Arthur made it. He'll hum a song for a century because Sean wrote it, even long after the words fade from his memory.

18. Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

This one was difficult to answer. I think if pressed he would say wisdom but in a lot of ways he admires ambition instinctively. He is still a strategist at heart.

21. If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

Out of all the characters I write i think that Alasdair probably has the most straightforward relationship with guilt and he's more interesting for it. He would not be quick to blame or bear undue guilt, but where he does find guilt he would go at it like a beast. Ruthless. I think earning his forgiveness, when he finds you unforgivable, would be impossible. And if he ever found fault with himself he would be the same. He would not find guilt debilitating or paralysing the ways others might, and especially on a surface level it would appear that he is quick to turn guilt into something productive but whatever he did, or failed to do? It would haunt him forever.

44. How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

He could not say it without meaning it and he uses it very sparsely. He also does not care to hear it which makes him a hypocrite and also speaks to a bit of arrogance on his part. On the one hand, his love language leans heavy on acts of service so for him to speak love aloud would take a lot. A part of him, the arrogant bit, does not believe that others place as much importance on the words 'I love you' as he does. And that is a fault. It is something that he just can't come to terms with, the idea that people can say 'I love you' again and again and mean it every time. This would cause a lot less strife with someone like Arthur but would definitely put him at odds with Francis. If not at odds then at least uneasy, he would have a hard time accepting it. It is not that Alasdair is careless with other people's hearts, but for all his skill he still has clumsy hands and a mean streak when he feels cornered or patronised.

#freagradh #hws scotland #am i implying that alasdair would kill his father #maybe i am

[poppy-metal]

I come out of my Tumblr hiatus to bring u a thought. Pirate! Eddie. Him with the jack Sparrow look. The eyeliner. The clothes. The hat. He fucks u into practical unconscious bc 1. The dick is heavenly and 2. He doesn't know when he's gonna see u again bc 3. Your a royal and not supposed to be sleeping with the enemy. Idk just some food for thought

hey this physically did something to my brain it has stopped working. i also made it soft im sorry.

sneaking on pirate eddies ship to escape your marriage to lord creel (heh) nd his crew finding you and dragging you up to his chambers. you're terrified, you've heard the rumors about how ruthless a pirate munson was, how he and his creq ravaged villages and ships. but you were more scared of your life back home.

being brought to him and forced to kneel at his feet, where he sits in a makeshift throne of sorts, a big ancient looking thing. he's a beautiful and intimidating man. both everything like the legends and nothing like them at all. his white open vested shirt parts at his chest, revealing dark tuffs of his chest hair, and the start of inked lines that you guess are tattoos. his hair is long and wild, eyes soft a doe like, despite the kohl liner rimming them.

he taps his fingers idly on his the arms of his chair as he assesses you, quiet as he takes you in, dark eyes roaming over your tattered wedding gown.

a hint of a smile, "a runaway bride?"

you keep your head held high despite your racing heart. outside of his room his crew is tripping over themselves to see what's going on. "im no one's bride."

one of his eyesbrows lift, and you realize, despite his appearance, how nicely he presents himself. the whole get-up is purposeful. looking as feral as he unhinged as he does, he still gives off an air of superiority and regalness. "well." he says slowly, tap tap tapping his fingers. "i suppose you aren't now." he looks you over again, "did you hide yourself away on my ship hoping I'd keep you safe from your beloved?"

as he speaks he flips open a metal case near him, plucking a cigarette from the tin. he lights it as he waits for your answer.

"i just want safe passage." you hedge, watching how his rings glint as he cups his hands around the cig when it lights, fanning the smoke as he leans back comfortably. "i know i can't get that for free. i sought you out on purpose for that reason."

a plume of smoke blows from his lips. he looks intrigued, motioning towards you broadly, "go onnnn."

at this, some of your maidenhood returns, your eyes turning downcast. you're still wearing your engagement ring. the damn thing was too hard to get off when you'd tried before.

"m'not naive enough to think any pirates will do me favors. especially when im Henry Creels bride." you make yourself look at him, seeing the recognition of that name light his face. many people are scared of that name, but munson just looks curious, flicking ash of his cig as he listens. you lick your dry lips, "which is why....i plan to be of service. I know where my fiancé kept his investments. i know where he's kept hidden jewels."

even eddie munson isn't above greed. he's a pirate after, all. he licks his lips, and he stubs the cigarette out. standing, his heeled black boots thump against the wood of his floor as he comes to you.

you meet his eyes as he looks down at you, hair hanging down around his face is waves. pretty, you think.

when he holds his hand out for you, you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. he grins at you then, mishevous, and dimpled. "i think we have eachothers best interests at heart, little runaway. welcome aboard hellfire."

BRAIN BUZZING!!!!!! letting eddie lead you across sea, getting close with his crew after that, late nights in his chambers playing board games and teaching him how you and your childhood friend prince!steve used to dance (prince!steve whos currently scouring the very sea you're on to find you because hes in love with you. he's hitched a ride with pirate robin, his new best friend) at balls. he's clumsy and always steps on your feet but you think its endearing. finding out the rumors about him are basically just that, rumors. because eddie munson has a heart of gold.

and when you let him take you to bed weeks later, you're both feeling heavy with the fact that your journey is coming to an end. he'll have the treasures you promised him soon, and you'll be far and free from henry.

you let him lay you down and strip off your silk gown, run your hand down that smattering of hair down his chest until you reach that hard cock you've been craving between your legs since you first stowawayed on his ship.

he makes love to you, its your first time, sweet and intimate and hot, trading sacred murmurs you'd never speak out loud in the heat of the day. the bed rocking with his motions as he takes you, cradling you to him, lips pressed to your ear, your temple, your cheek.

"love you, my sweet little runaway. I'll never forget all that you've given me. your light, your laughter, this precious cunt. I'll take it all with me, forever."

#ask #eddie spaghetti #not me dropping lore abt ur ex and best friend steve and robin just to leave it at that #also he comes back for u. duh. he cannot live without u #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader

[ditzybuzzy]

Too Close

Resident Evil HUNK x GN Reader

Warnings: blood|angst

A/N: Yes, I know I do a lot of injured reader, but it's all I can think about.

You grew to become more nervous around the security service operator now that your feelings for him became overwhelming.

Hunk was quite the opposite from you, dark and deadly. Known for bringing death to those whom he worked with. You, however, were seen as the definition of light, what it meant to be loved. You always came off so sweet and bubbly to those around you, people would never have thought of you having a crush on the deadly Mr. Death.

You found yourself always having an itch to touch him whenever he was around you. At times, your hand would ghost over his arm or hand, deciding it was best to keep your space. Your stomach would turn when he was near, never knowing if his eyes laid on you due to the mask. He clouded your thoughts constantly, just wondering what the secretive man's love would feel like.

You were just completely and utterly in love.

You had no clue he even knew.

Hunk wasn't dumb. He picked up on your little gestures. He just didn't believe it at first. Yes, you were kind and caring to anyone who you came in contact with, but he could tell the difference when it was towards him. The way you would smile at him. The way you would shy away randomly or how you constantly made sure he was okay and would practically do anything for him.

He, the Grimreaper, knew of your feelings but wasn't sure if he could quite meet you in the middle.

He was cold and ruthless. He had to be. He cared for you, the first person who made him feel like he could maybe feel something.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't let you get close to him for he knew you might get hurt.

So he pushed you back until he finally felt safe with himself. But that's not how it works, he can't chase away your sweet smiles and gentle touches. He couldn't forget the sweet things you would say to him. He couldn't erase you from his mind, so he gave up trying to push away the feelings for he grew too tired to. He couldn't help the feeling of wanting to be situated at your side, being your protector from the hideous world and what Umbrella made it.

So here you were, meeting again in pain. You always thought you were stronger than you were. He cursed you for this. That's why you were now bleeding onto the Operators hands, your jacket shredded, exposing your soft torn skin. You had been issued to be with another squad other than Hunks. Of course, the only time you weren't with him, you nearly die.

Hunk had unknowingly followed the squad you were to be with after his mission was completed. You hadn't been apart from him before, so of course, he had a bad feeling about you going off with another team. He knew no one else would keep you close like he did or make sure you came out unharmed. He knew everyone else would most likely punt you to the side and have you fend for yourself. And now here you were, suffering in his hands because you hadn't been under his watch.

He wasn't there to protect you.

Now, here you were, alone together while he tried keeping his shit together. Hating the fact that he let you get sorted with someone else, he knew better. He promised himself that he would find the other teammate who had left you and tear out his damn throat. The last thing he wanted was for anything to happen to you. He hated the thought of losing you because of Umbrella. He didn't want you to be forced into the life they'd offered you.

He knew he could handle Umbrella and everything they threw at him, but you? The girl who had been nothing but kind and loving towards him since the day they met? He knew he was weak. But he couldn't do much without hurting you. And that scared the hell out of him.

"Hunk?" A voice cut through the silence that had fallen between the two of you. You were holding your stomach, blood dripping from your arms down to the ground. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the wounds stinging painfully. His hands noticeably shook as he placed his gun down in front of him, his fingers coming down to cradle your head from the concrete. Hunk mumbled curses under his breath that you couldn't make out due to his gas mask.

"Stay awake," he ordered. You could hear him breathing heavily. Hunk took in a sharp breath before pulling his gloves off, tossing them to the side before removing his mask and clipping it to his uniform. You could see his face now, and your heart ached at the sight. He looked so tired, like a weight had been put on his shoulders that he couldn't lift.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. He shook his head quickly, running his hands through his hair. "No... No... I should have been watching you."

"Please don't be upset..."

"Don't you dare apologize," Hunk snapped. You winced slightly, wondering what was causing such a reaction. Hunk took a few deep breaths to calm himself. You could see his pale hands and how they were slightly shaking as they gripped your arms. He seemed to be having trouble controlling himself.

"I know it's my fault... I've failed you... And now you're bleeding all over me! Fuck Y/N..."

"I'll be fine-"

Hunk didn't let you finish, cutting you off by pressing your mouth shut with his own. His hand that was craddling your head lifted your face to get closer. You stiffened at first, unsure of where the sudden burst of emotion came from. It was quick, but it left you stunned, unable to form any words. Why would he kiss you?

He pulled away first, looking down at you almost apologetically. You blinked a couple of times, trying to understand what just happened. Your face felt overwhelmingly hot. At least it took your attention off of the stabbing pain in your sides.

Was this really Hunk in front of you? The man you secretivly loved? You could see it now, the way his eyes were glossed over.. with tears? You couldn't say. Did the Grimreaper cry for anyone or feel sadness for others?

Deep bags hung below his eyes. The man looked as if he hadn't slept for days. His lips were chapped, a noticeable scar crossing over the edge of his bottom lip. The lids of his eyes fell heavy, looking as if he could pass out at any moment. He didn't look like a Grim Reaper anymore. He looked broken... possibly scared.

Hunk pulled back, taking no time to grab you up into his arms, being as careful as he could in a hurry. "Come on, we gotta get out of here." Hunk muttered, carrying you off into the darkness, making a run for it.

Your head felt clouded, and your vision fuzzy. You felt worse with every passing second. Oh, how badly you wanted to close your eyes and drift off. You rested your head against the man, enjoying the warmth coming from his body heat. Hunk carried you as fast as he could, stumbling and panting with every step you both took but kept going, hoping to god you would come out of this alive. Hunk couldn't lose you, not now. Not ever. He refused to have the one person who cared for him die because of him.

---

"If I was drowning, you would part the sea

And risk your own life to rescue me . . ."

- Jamie McGuire

#Tumblr froze and i thought i lost my work i had a fucking heart attack #I've been writing two at the same time soooo more hunk content #please request if you have ideas because i obviously just write angst lmao #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil hunk #hunk resident evil #resident evil #resident evil hunk headcanons #hunk x reader #resident evil one shot

[jyndor]

i see cassian getting bix out the torture chamber not being just romantic in nature but to show what kinds violence the empire inflicts on people like torture and the long term effects of it and that you can choose to not leave people behind, even in a dangerous rebellion. at that point bix was very broken and barely holding it together. the riot allowed someone to get her out, naturally that person would be cassian but it could have been the guy that hit the fascist with maarva’s brick if things had been different. i guess its more merciful than luthen’s approach to kill cassian because he knows too much and better than just leaving bix there. cass already feels guilty for ‘leaving’ maarva. i see more layers than romance there but i don’t see romance as a motivation first although its probably a factor but not as much of a pressing one

YES. cassian is someone who doesn't want to leave people behind, especially not people he loves. in his mind, he's left his sister, left maarva, left bix to get tortured - and also she does make some comments throughout the show that give me the impression that him leaving her to do other shit, putting other things ahead of her, is a sticking point for why their relationship hasn't worked. but he doesn't want to leave people behind.

yeah I mean I think they obviously love each other (and I think it's possible, like adria said in an interview, that if timing were better they could be "meant to be" in the sense that they end up reconciling and working things out as adults. it's not in the cards though) but it's a matter of what kind of love - is it romantic love? to some extent yes clearly, is it platonic? partly. they are friends, they are close, they love each other. is him rescuing her romantic? I mean it's a CLEAR reference to him saving jyn on scarif (or perhaps jedha) and also the way he carries her is very much like how jyn carries him to the beach on scarif. there have been similar shots of bix and cassian and jyn and cassian throughout the show. that's not a coincidence.

but also cassian saves bix because cassian is that person. he goes back for the people he cares about. he IS a hero.

i do think it's also meant to juxtapose cassian's actions and luthen's. i'm beginning to think that luthen in many ways might be a potential PATH that cassian might have taken: cold, bitter, alone - but always in service of the cause. the differences are significant - cassian inspires without intending to be (think of kino and jyn but also nemik), luthen motivates others with resignation (lonni and vel). they're both reluctant to kill allies (luthen clearly doesn't want to have cassian murdered but he absolutely is willing to do it; cassian's face after killing tivik says everything we need to know about how he feels in that moment) even if they are ruthless. they, like saw, have clarity of purpose and can use their judgment if their plans are flawed.

cassian actively saves bix; luthen is found by cassian, and given the choice between killing cassian or taking him on (thus saving him in a sense) he chooses to bring cassian into the fold. in that moment, cassian unintentionally brings out the best in luthen - and we see that in the first honest smile on luthen's face in the entire show.

you've got a role reversal - cassian gives luthen the order to choose life or death, give the cause an asset like cassian or tie up that loose end and kill him.

which makes me think about what their relationship will become in season two. what cassian will become in season two. and to tie it back to your ask, what that means for bix and brasso and the rest of the ferrix crew.

knowing they are not likely to make it through the season because cassian HAS to lose everything (all of his old lives) by rogue one, I have a feeling that cassian won't just lose everything. he might have to make choices that could cost him everything. cassian isn't luthen, but he is cinta. cinta, who is kind to the dray and shares a blanket with vel because she loves her but also always, always puts the rebellion first.

I hope that bix is able to have some agency in s2 and I hope even more that she lives but I think that scene really did mirror scarif. where jyn and cassian died. that cassian has basically damned them with the climb word and also idk that ending had my tragedy senses tingling - not that they won't arrive to their destination or die offscreen like that ugh but that cassian won't see them again.

#star wars andor #andor spoilers #bix x cassian #bix caleen #cassian andor #asks #answered #anonymous #meta #luthen rael #jyn erso #rebelcaptain #rogue one

[morganlefaye79]

Why my Cyberpunk ocs aren't "nice" persons.

Last week @pandorasaquariumm posted their take on why Kerry is not a nice person, and I agree in many points.

@jaymber answered with a few more points to which I also agree. I have a few more things that I hc for Kerry, which also puts even more gray on him as a character.

But this post will be about my ocs, who I often show from their nice and soft side, but who are, as @kharonion already stated about their oc Vikt, mostly criminals as many others in NC, maybe with a robin hood attitude sometimes, but still criminals.

I did some time back a Kiroshi-scan for my main ocs, the full template you can find here, but I will just take the interesting part of it for this subject.

Those are only the things the NCPD knows. Valaire is my "V", some of those things are probably obvious. When he was still a merc he sometimes had problems to keep the NCPD on distance, but since he "changed" his way of operating he can more or less walk free with nearly everything he does. Who would have thought that the NCPD would be corrupt? Not me!

Val did blow up Saka tower a second time (Johnny loved watching it happen) with Alt's help, and never was made accountable for it, because he knows the right people who he will pay some money. Arasaka tried a few times to kill him after he recovered from the Relic, but at this point Arasaka's teeth were already pulled for a big part.

Or which is also often the case, when someone will get at him, he finds dirty laundry about this people. Since he has a very skilled netrunner brother, and also Nyx from the Afterlife at his service. Why would Nyx work for Val you ask? Because he owns the Afterlife, but next to no one knows. For the normal people, Rogue is still in charge there.

He maybe was born in Arroyo, where his parents pretended to be non-corpo's, but maybe it is true that some traits are in someone's genes already. He is a Corpo and he acts like one and plays the game, even if he hates that life, but it is the only way to make a difference in this city.

Joris is similar to Valaire, but absolutely ruthless. He won't think twice about if someone deserves to die. If the question is one time answered with yes, you can be damn sure that the person will not walk long on earth anymore. But you can't kill them all! True, but he is young and has much time to try!

How will those people die?

No idea! He is at times very creative. Most of the times he will make devices malfunction. What a shame when a laptop blews up in someones face, isn't it?

Joris also provides his brother with the dirty laundry he digs up. Also are all 3 police reports you see altered by Joris. Most of the times the NCPD doesn't even notice he was in their servers.

Although he grew up as a Corpo and being able to play the game, he refuses to play nice. So tread lightly around him or you may be the next one that crashes their car against a concrete wall. It'd be a real shame.

He takes mostly gigs where he can steal and/or destroy corpo property. It's kind of a hobby, especially if it is Arasaka property. You should choose jobs which bring you joy.

He does sound like a mad man and lunatic, doesn't he? Well he is the mentally most stable out of my mains. Whoops!

Vicco is somewhat special in a way, they survived long enough on the streets of NC to reach adulthood. Not many can accomplish that. They know Vicco on the streets and they know what Vicco did. You surely not manage this by being nice. They learned very early to take what they want and if it belongs to someone else then that someone has to part with it one way or another.

They are a chameleon, becoming everything you want. They paid a little fortune for it, well Valaire, more likely. Their Kiroshi's are used by corpo spec ops, and were taken from the previous owners dead body, because he certainly didn't need them anymore, they're able to slighly look through walls, or find safe's in them which is quite handy for a sneaky thief. Slipping in as a woman with long legs and round hips, and walking out as a man.

Before becoming a merc, they were as most of the youngsters drugdealers. They themselves always stayed clean except for cigarettes and alcohol. Only in adulthood as a joytoy they started taking drugs and boosters.

They specialized very soon on attracting corpo's because they knew that it is the place where the money is, and where's money, there's much to steal.

Killing Tiger Claws and Maelstrom scop is kind of a hobby for them, they had many run ins with them and they will never get friends for many reasons.

Although they would never stick it to others noses, they're proud to be a Mox. The Moxes saved them several times when they couldn't save themself. They now often return the favor when they're aware of a Mox in need.

You could ask Jotaro Shoba... nah, no one ever found that piece of shit after Vicco was done with him.

And then there was that scumbag... what was his name again? Blake something... Crow? Crowls? AH! Croyce! Didn't saw that one in a while either!

Vicco loves a good hunt!

And this my friends is the not that nice side of my ocs, I didn't go too much into details, because some of those things I will put into fics. At least that's the plan. But if you're curious I might answer questions x)

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc lore #oc: Valaire #oc: Joris #oc: Vicco

[comradekatara]

ok someone needs to talk me out of writing a xai bau lok prequel spy novel before I keep plotting this out in my head I do NOT have time for this!!!!!

I WILL NOT TALK U OUTTA THIS I NEED THIS BADLY 😫😫😫😫🤯🤯

No fr no one talks about this character and he’s probably really fun to write about 🤗

fine, then!!! you enabled me. 5 months later, but i finally finished outlining this. my take on xai bau's origin story.

if you’ve heard me talk about how I would restructure lok, then you know I find the red lotus conflict to be by far the most compelling antagonistic force in the series. (the equalist movement is poorly handled and thematically hollow, the raava/vaatu conflict is contrived and theologically simplistic, and kuvira just doesn’t really make sense?) that’s why I think a prequel to lok (especially the far superior version of lok that lives in my head) would necessarily be the origin story of the red lotus, centering on xai bau himself. 

I’ve talked before about how I think the most compelling antagonist in xai bau’s journey would not be aang (although he’s certainly up there, just by virtue of being the avatar), but sokka. as a fellow member of the white lotus, I think xai bau would start off idolizing sokka somewhat, and look up to him as an aspirational figure. but he’d also take issue with a lot of other members of the white lotus, namely iroh, and sokka’s camaraderie with the dragon of the west would lay the foundation for xai bau’s disillusionment, similarly to how ming hua first loses faith in katara upon learning of her partnership with zuko. xai bau gradually goes from seeing sokka as a brilliant balance-bringer and his comrade to seeing him as a ruthless machinator who has the unique and terrifying power of bringing the world to its knees without breaking a sweat (sort of like jianzhu, but even more powerful, because he effortlessly has every world leader in his pocket). 

and xai bau isn’t necessarily wrong in his assessment of sokka’s power: he does have the unconditional trust of every world leader, and he has been known to take that for granted (mostly because he doesn’t actually see them as Important World Leaders, but rather, friends and family). xai bau can’t help but rankle at his steely pragmatism, his condescension towards those he deems intellectually inferior (which is a lot of people, but namely king kuei), and his general air of grouchiness (especially when someone he considers stupid tries to question his ideas). without knowing sokka, truly seeing his kind heart and selfless intentions, it can be easy to assume he’s just a calculating control freak who wants to inflict his will upon the entire world from the shadows. and the more sokka says all the right things to mitigate xai bau’s concerns, the more xai bau is convinced that he’s manipulating him, a schemer with a perfect mask. so he devises a plan. 

i really liked that the dawn of yangchen employed a consistently shifting pov, since it allowed for the reader to understand the motivation of multiple characters who were often at odds with one another. that said, i would structure this hypothetical novel with a less linear chronology (no surprise there if u know me at all lol), by splitting it into three distinct parts: the first being xai bau’s growing disillusionment with the white lotus, penning his manifesto and gathering support in secret, and his plan to assassinate sokka; the second shifting to sokka’s perspective of the same events, how he keeps tabs on xai bau while simultaneously trying to conceal the danger he is in from those closest to him, and finally confronting xai bau about the whole thing; and then the third part returning to xai bau’s pov once he has been apprehended and is taken to kyoshi island to live out his days doing community service under the supervision of the kyoshi warriors. maybe there’s an epilogue from someone else’s pov, like zaheer or ming hua, being radicalized by his manifesto. 

as for a more granular breakdown of the plot, i’ve written up a more thorough outline under the cut. 

PART I – XAI BAU 

childhood: xai bau discovering his parents’ white lotus robes and learning that his family has an entire history of being part of the white lotus spanning centuries, and wanting nothing more than to someday continue that legacy. 

initiation: his parents died in the war, but they were highly regarded members, for which admiration and condolences are expressed by senior members; since he’s the new youngest member besides sokka, sokka decides to take him under his wing, and gets to know him while playing pai sho (it proves a very challenging game, as they are both excellent players). 

membership: xai bau learning more about the individual members of the white lotus, especially emphasizing the ones he dislikes, both for their histories (eg iroh) and their opinions (eg pakku). he’s quickly realizing that this isn’t a place where everyone agrees as he was hoping it would be. unfortunately there are just as many wrong and stupid people here as there are across the rest of the world. 

befriending sokka: at first, xai bau really admires sokka. he’s only a few years older, but xai bau regards him as something of a mentor nonetheless. he thinks it’s so cool that this young nonbender has made such a name for himself through his intelligence alone. and he likes that sokka isn’t afraid to criticize people in positions of authority.

observing sokka: they tend not to talk about their personal lives. sokka only ever wants to talk politics, science, art, philosophy, and xai bau respects that, happily engaging in good-natured intellectual debates with him. but then xai bau walks in on him playing pai sho with iroh one day, and happens to overhear their conversation. they’re talking about the avatar and the firelord as if they’re children who need to be nannied. it disturbs him to his core. 

suspecting sokka: xai bau wants to brush off what they said as a joke, but it nags at him. the white lotus were never meant to be puppeteers of power. he starts asking sokka more personal questions, getting more and more suspicious when sokka brushes him off with flippant jokes. he just wants reassurance that he hasn’t been putting his faith in a villain, but the more he uncovers the more sick he feels. 

stalking sokka: it becomes an obsession. xai bau starts tracking sokka closely, witnessing his interactions with world leaders. the white lotus isn’t supposed to be besties with the avatar. they aren’t supposed to advise the earth king and firelord and water tribe chiefs—and certainly not at the same time. they may keep those powers in check, but they don’t control them. this man has manipulated the entire world into following him, and xai bau is disgusted with himself to think that he fell for it too. 

the first attempt: xai bau decides that for the good of the world, sokka must die. but he also knows that this murder cannot be traced back to him under any circumstances. he finds an ex-yuyan archer who has nothing to lose and hires him to take sokka out. xai bau takes it as a good sign when the man doesn’t return, only to see sokka at the next white lotus meeting with nary a scratch. 

the second attempt: xai bau decides he must take matters into his own hands. he follows sokka into the jasmine dragon and slips poison in his tea. he watches from across the room as sokka sits with toph and iroh, taking small sips of his tea every few minutes. but when iroh gets up to go greet new customers, sokka turns to toph and is like “don’t tell iroh, but i think there’s something wrong with this tea. i’ve only been pretending to drink it to be polite.” xai bau then watches in horror as sokka takes his cup, dumps its contents outside and returns, complimenting iroh on his tea. 

the third attempt: xai bau hires pirates to kill sokka, promising them that they can keep his sword if they’re successful. but of course, they aren’t. 

meeting june: xai bau happens across a woman who can track anything and take down anyone. this gives him an idea. 

june’s agreement: she says she’s down to capture sokka for a large enough sum. besides, she’s known that guy for a while, and he’s always been an asshole and a nuisance. she says she doesn’t kill people, but that she doesn’t mind capturing someone and then looking the other way if that’s what xai bau intends to do. 

the prisoner: xai bau gets a message that sokka has been captured, and to meet them at a location on the very outskirts of ba sing se. he enters the abandoned, dilapidated shack, and sees the bounty hunter sitting at a table with a drink in her hand while sokka sits across from her, tied to a chair. she assures xai bau that sokka’s been immobilized by nylah’s tongue, and pours him a drink. they clink glasses in celebration of their mission being almost over. 

the confrontation: the second xai bau finishes his drink, he can feel his limbs go numb as he flops to the ground. sokka easily unties himself from the chair and ties xai bau instead, using some extremely advanced knots just to be safe. xai bau can’t speak because the poison hasn’t worn off. june is sitting in the corner sipping her (unpoisoned) drink. sokka patiently waits until xai bau can form words again before saying, “i just want to know why.” 

PART II – SOKKA 

a botched attempt: sokka is walking through the city when he nearly gets struck by an arrow. he barely manages to deflect it with his boomerang. he throws his boomerang in the direction the arrow came from, and then ducks behind a building to take shelter as another arrow whizzes past him. when the third arrow doesn’t come, he assumes he’s hit his target, and follows the trail to where the former yuyan archer is knocked unconscious. 

a confidant: sokka confesses to suki that he thinks someone is making a concerted attempt on his life, and he has a suspicion as to whom. suki immediately suggests bringing in the gaang, but sokka doesn’t want anyone else to know, especially not their friends, and makes her swear not to tell anyone. 

an argument: sokka goes to the fire nation to advise the firelord in an official capacity. zuko expresses his concerns with sokka’s disposition (he seems... off. like, worse than usual). sokka assures him that he is simply dealing with a personal issue and for him not to worry. of course, this worries zuko further, as why is sokka implying that zuko shouldn’t be allowed to help sokka with a personal matter if he wants to? this annoys sokka, and he decides not to visit zuko or katara any more until this matter has been dealt with, and that if he does see happen to see aang and/or toph, he will not tell them anything that could concern them. 

a meeting: sokka sees xai bau again at the next white lotus meeting, noticing smugly that xai bau is doing little to hide his shock at sokka’s presence. later that night, he replaces xai bau’s white lotus tile with his own. 

an old friend: sokka tells june about the guy who’s trying to kill him. he asks her how she’d like to mess with him for a while. she smiles. he hands her a bag. inside is a single white lotus tile. 

a rendezvous: june tells sokka that she tracked xai bau and his next plan of attack involves pirates. sokka takes the necessary precautions by refusing to leave mai and ty lee’s sides until the pirates have been dealt with. 

a trick: sokka and june agree to initiate the next phase of their plan: she will happen to advertise her skills in front of xai bau “by complete coincidence,” at which point he will hire her services. 

a conversation: xai bau is hurt by june’s supposed betrayal. he had really thought that at least one person in this cruel world was not already in sokka’s pocket. since he has nothing to lose, when sokka asks “why?” he tells him the truth. tells him everything. sokka thoughtfully mulls it over before attempting to defend himself. but xai bau won’t hear it. sokka’s excuses only serve to make him more furious, so sokka decides it’s a fruitless endeavor to attempt to clear his name, and instead asks him if he’s any good at gardening. xai bau’s just like “what?” 

PART III – KYOSHI ISLAND

the arrival: xai bau, disgraced and devastated by the revelation that sokka was playing him the whole time, has no choice but to go with sokka to kyoshi island. 

the welcome: xai bau arrives on kyoshi island, welcomed by a friendly and bubbly ty lee. he then meets suki, who is far less inviting. 

the tour: suki teaches xai bau about kyoshi island agriculture and supervises his community service work while bullying him relentlessly. 

the coquette: his first few weeks in the village, xai bau, unsurprisingly, attempts to get to know ty lee better. he ends up spilling his entire life story to her, only to later realize he still knows absolutely nothing about her. 

the avatar: three months later, aang visits kyoshi island. it’s a surprise visit, so the kyoshi warriors have done little to prepare for his arrival. he meets xai bau, only vaguely recognizing him from their previous meetings amongst the white lotus. he assumes that xai bau is a friend of suki's, since suki refuses to say otherwise. with aang completely oblivious to xai bau’s true identity, they engage in a thoughtful, intellectual discussion over the spiritual and political role of the avatar in the world. they both come away from the conversation appreciating the other despite their (frankly, minimal) differences in ideology. 

the friend group: it’s been a couple years since xai bau was first brought to kyoshi island, and he has settled into a comfortable routine here. he’s gradually been given more freedom around the village, once it’s made apparent that he’s not a threat to anyone there. in fact, he very much approves of their equal, joyful, communal way of life, and other than his distaste for the avatar as a sociopolitical figure, he appreciates and enjoys the kyoshi island lifestyle. then, the entire gaang arrives. it is then that he first meets katara. 

the dream girl: since katara has never taken much interest in the affairs of the white lotus, and knows absolutely nothing about xai bau’s attempts on her brother’s life, she is completely unaware as to who he is, assuming him to be a native of suki’s village. xai bau thinks that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, and after hearing her scold sokka, he decides right then and there that she is the love of his life. 

the romance: xai bau does everything in his power to get katara to notice him, and soon enough she does. she can’t help but find him charming: he’s tall, he’s intelligent, his parents died in the war, he’s a communist – he’s everything she looks for in a man. they sit on the beach at night after everyone has gone to bed and talk until sunrise. 

the rejection (katara’s pov): katara knows that sokka is immediately suspicious of any man katara likes, but this time he’s adamant that xai bau is no good. he deliberately neglects to mention why he dislikes xai bau so much, instead he’s just like “katara, trust me, you would not like this guy, don’t ask how i know just please trust me when i say that he’s bad news.” but katara is just like “ok liberal.” eventually it isn’t any of sokka’s cryptic warnings, but witnessing suki mercilessly eviscerate him; seeing him so thoroughly emasculated gives her the ick. she kindly tells him that she doesn’t think it’ll work between them, but that she hopes they can still be friends. 

the reality: xai bau is devastated that the world’s most perfect woman rejected him, and then he realizes that a relationship with sokka’s sister would’ve never actually worked out anyway. sokka says as much, asks him what the hell he was thinking. xai bau admits honestly that he wasn’t thinking, he just saw katara and all reason flew out the window. sokka warns him that if katara ever knew what he did, what he tried to do, she would drown him where he stood. xai bau asks sokka why none of his friends and family (with the exception of suki) seem to know who he is. sokka just laughs. 

EPILOGUE: zaheer reading xai bau’s manifesto.

additional notes: 

each chapter begins with “a selected quote” from xai bau’s red lotus manifesto. this provides the most insight into the nature of his writing. the quotes are selected in terms of thematic application to each chapter. 

xai bau grew up in the fire nation colonies. his parents were earth kingdom revolutionaries who died fighting against their occupiers a year prior to the war’s end. xai bau has always felt that the firelord and the avatar never quite did enough to decolonize the fire nation. 

in parts 1&2, sokka is 25 and xai bau is 22. in part 3 after the timeskip, xai bau is 24 and katara is 25. 

sokka is initiated into the white lotus within a year after the war's end. he is one of the youngest members in its history.

their game of pai sho in the second chapter illustrates sokka’s strategy for their broader dynamic: lose the first round, and then use the information about their gameplay he accrued to beat them every time afterwards. making them feel like they’ve won is the easiest way to predict what they’ll do next. 

xai bau believes that power should be in the hands of the people and therefore does not believe in sovereigns or the power the avatar wields, but he does like aang and katara as individuals. he also respects suki, despite the fact that her boyfriend is his nemesis and she blatantly hates his guts. that said, he thinks zuko and toph are huge simps and cannot stand them. 

xai bau writes his manifesto across the course of his life, and despite never leaving kyoshi island, it manages to disperse to every corner of the globe. aang and katata both get their hands on a copy and find it very interesting. there’s no mention of sokka’s name anywhere in the text, so he decides that it’s harmless enough and doesn’t try to halt its production. 

yes, katara is single at age 25 when she meets xai bau. [holds gun to your head] don’t question it. 

I know that I previously said that fc yee would kill a novel like this, but I want to make it clear that this is not how I think he would write and structure it. he is very much a genre writer, and each of his avatar novels has followed the same classical structure of a typical piece of genre fiction, with protagonists and antagonists, rising action, and a defined climax in the third act. that’s not actually an example of the novels I typically enjoy most, nor the ones I want to write. think of this perhaps closer to a novel like notes from underground, which uses its first part to establish the narrator’s psyche, and the second part to entirely reframe his philosophy by showing it in action. similarly, this story would establish a typical conflict for a protagonist and his antagonist, then flip it on its head by making the previous “antagonist” the “protagonist” and showing how everything our previous pov character thought he knew was wrong, and then going back to his pov after he has failed, and finally, watching him adjust to a completely different lifestyle, with entirely different challenges, eschewing the previous establishment of this as a spy novel entirely. my house my rules baby!!! 

working title is how to win at pai sho every time. (if you get that reference, mazel tov.)

#finally finished writing this ! whew #i should make a tag for posts like these #outlines #xai bau #notsosecrettunnel #asks #sokka #red lotus #white lotus #postwargaang #what if i actually wrote this whole thing tho.......... #jk #.......unless?