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spidybaby · 1 year ago

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Gold Digger | Part Two

Summary: A broken plate can't be fixed.

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: hello, it's been a long time, but here it is. I want to apologize for the wait, I was sick and ended up at the hospital, but now I'm good. Thank you all ❤️✨️

Part one | Part Three

It's been a week since the whole incident. In that time, Kylian was blowing up your phone with calls and texts. He even tried to talk in person, but Ethan and Fayza weren't having it.

You were thankful with both Ethan and Fayza. They made sure you were okay. The night you left Kylians house, his mother was the shoulder you cried onto.

She was so embarrassed for his actions. Ethan even called him to berate his actions.

They loved you as family. For them, you didn't need a paper or a ring to become part of their family, your loyalty and unconditional love for the whole family was enough.

You planned on leaving Fayzas house and going to a friend's house, but she refused. Insisted on you staying for a little more.

But at the same time, the fact that you couldn't really mourn the feelings was taking a toll on you. So you explained that and your best friend and you became roommates.

Kylian wasn't at his best either. He fought with his father. But also blame himself for being so naive, believing things he knew you would never do.

He missed two games, faking being sick. Missed a whole week of training. Until Sergio and Achraf went to his house to check on him.

When he explained the whole situation to them. Sergio slapped him, and Achraf almost did the same but control a little more.

"You're so stupid," Sergio says angrily. "Es que, si sabes que ella no lo haría por que no la defendiste? Kylian, what the hell?" (It's just, if you know she wouldn't, why didn't you defend her?)

"Okay, time out." Achraf says, pushing Sergio away from him. "Go get something to drink, calm down."

Sergio did that. He was so mad at his friend.

To sergio, you were like a little sister, always helping him and Pilar with everything you can. Even Achraf held you to a big standard.

You were that person who's always looking for everyone and trying to help as much as you can without expecting anything in return.

"Bro. Look, I'm not judging, but why did you do that?"

"I'm so stupid Haki, I'm so fucking stupid."

"You fucking are" Sergio yells outside the room.

"My gosh, fucking kids. It's what you are." Achraf says, hands caressing his forehead. "My child is more mature than you, and he's not even five years old."

"Tell me what can I do?" Kylian cry out. "I don't want to lose her."

His friends didn't even know how to help him.

"Take this, you look like the shit you say you're." Sergio hands him some water.

"Sergio." Achraf growled. "Stop it, we both know he fucked up, he knows it, his mother, brother, and whole family knows it. Stop it."

"Hey, that's mean." Kylian says, finishing the water Sergio brought him.

"But the truth, asshole."

"Enough, I feel like I'm with my kids. If I wanted to fight, I would've called my ex-wife." Achraf says frustrated.

"Mira Kyky, I'm going to be honest with you, I don't know if you can get her to forgive you. Maybe some therapy, maybe some expensive ass gift, but you already know that's not her." Sergio sighs. "What you need to do is let her breath, take her time to cool down, as much as you think you can't fix everything. This is not a match. This is your life. So what I recommend is for you to let her have her time. Text her saying that you'll wait as much as you have to, for her to be able to listen to you. And then apologize, man, because that shit was terrible. Pilar me hubiera cortado los"

"We got the point, Sergio, thank you." Achraf interrupts. "But he's right. She needs space. This shit is fresh. You also need to think what you're going to say. Apologizing is not enough. But don't make excuses. That's not cute."

And that's exactly what Kylian did. He texted you saying that he was going to stop with the text messages and the calls. He was giving you the space you need. And it was up to you to decide how much time you need for him to be able to see you again.

You never answered, but you did read the text. Thankful for his decision.

When Kylian texted you that as much time as you needed, he meant it.

What he never expected was for you to take a whole two months. And counting.

His mother and brother were in talking terms with him. It wasn't easy, but he apologized with them too.

Now, his father was another story. Wilfrid tried everything to reach him. Nothing.

Kylian understood that it was his fault. But, he didn't feel comfortable with having a talk with him.

On the other side of the city, you were closing a very hard finals week. The last finals of your whole college career.

"So, now that we finished with everything." Your friend says. "Are you going to text him?"

You told her that as soon as your finals ended, you were reaching Kylian. Two months in her head were enough of a punishment for him.

Not for you. You want him to understand that what he did was something you were not okay with.

You could take his father disliking you. But you can't take the lies and accusations. You weren't a thief.

You can tell how many times you denied your boyfriend to pay for things for you. Dinners, vacations, even your college debt.

You also were the one in charge of his whole financial situation. You knew how much he earned in a month. You helped him with the payments and saving.

So, for him to even believe you were in possession of his cards was crazy. Even after you made the calls to block every single one of them. Making sure there wasn't any new charge.

"I don't know." You say. "I'm not sure if I feel ready."

"Well, you know you can always count on me. But if you ask me, it's been enough."

After that, you both said goodbye to each other.

You were walking back to your new place. It was close to your college and it was pretty.

Just when you were about to get there, you smelled the fresh coffee aroma, coming from a small coffee shop you loved.

"Well, I deserve it."

And you did, after the amount of deprived sleep and hard study sessions you went through.

You order your usual to go. Wanting to go home and relax.

"Y/n?" Someone calls you from behind.

You knew who it was. You even thought that acting as if you didn't hear was the best, but when he repeated your name, you couldn't.

"Hi," you say.

You felt lucky when, after that little, "Hi" the girl called your name and handed you your order.

"I have to go." You say getting out quickly.

"Can we talk? Please". He asks following you outside.

You wanted to be nice, you do. But you can't do it. His words, his accusations, everything is replaying in your mind.

"If I'm not even giving that benefit to your son, why would I do that for you?"

"Just let me apologize."

"I don't need your apology, sir."

"One minute."

You stare at him. You didn't want it. But at least after this he was going to stop.

"One minute, after I'm leaving." You say watching the time on your watch.

"I'm sorry for the accusations, for telling you those awful words and treated you like a thief and someone you're not. I'm sorry for ruining the best thing Kylian ever had. But you had to understand me. He's Kylian Mbappé and everything he has worked so hard for it's been also my and Fayzas work."

You scuff.

"Of course." You say laughing. "He's Kylian Mbappé and I'm just a broke college student who was ready to take all his money, right?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, you didn't?" You ask sarcastically. "So let's see, if all his hard work is also Fayza and yours. Why does she trust me? Why can she see me for more than just my school debts? Why can she see me as someone who loves your son and not his net worth?"

"I worded this wrong."

"No, you didn't. And even if you want to fix it," you say, quoting the last two words. "Your time ran out. Please don't bother me again, I'm done with this situation for good."

You walked to your apartment, mad at everything. At him, at Kylian, at yourself. Even when you didn't even have a reason to be mad at yourself.

Without thinking you texted Kylian.

"Let's meet up at your house in an hour."

It was not the smartest thing to do, but the rage inside wasn't helping much.

You ask for an Uber due to the time all the cabs were busy. Plus, his house was a good forty-five minutes from where you live.

You knock on his door.

Even when you have your own key, this wasn't your home anymore. This was his.

"Hey," he says happily, opening the door for you to get inside. "It's kind of chill for just that cardigan."

You ignore him. Walking to the living room. The house feels different. The home you used to love is now just a place.

You feel like crying. It's like having an intense flashback.

"Can we talk?" He asked.

You nod, blinking the tears away.

"Yes, go ahead."

"Don't you want to sit?" He asks, confused. Your posture is like a rock. Hard and not easy to break.

"No, go ahead."

"Okay." He clears his throat. "I have to apologize. I know I fucked up. I was so wrong for not saying anything to defend you. I just want you to know that I don't believe any of that, never did, never will."

You interrupted his speech by laughing. "You don't? Then why did you let your father belittle me in that way?"

Your question take him by surprise. He wasn't expecting this.

"Well."

"No, I'll tell you why." You interrupted him again. "You're so up your ass, Kylian. You don't have an idea of what the real world is like anymore. You've been so glorified by everyone. Specifically your father."

The way his eyes are about to pop out of his head.

"And I'm so mad at you." You laugh again, trying to calm yourself down. "I've been the one who denied your offer to pay my whole debt, I was the one who helped you with money, with savings, with payments. I was the one who turned your additional cards when you offered them to me. Because I wasn't here for the money, I was here for you. I was here because I love you. Because I saw myself staring a family with you. I saw myself growing old with you."

"Let's just pause." He says breathless, even when he's not the one speaking.

"No, I'm not pausing."

"Okay, just, please let me finish."

"Save your apologies." You say.

"Amour. Y/n. Wait, I need."

"I needed you." You interrupted again. "I needed you to defend me. I needed you to say something, and not doubt me. I needed you, Kylian. And you failed me."

The burning sensation was consuming you.

"Please, we can go to therapy." He tries.

"Kylian, don't you get it?" You ask. "Even if I say yes. What's next? You stop talking to your dad for good? That's not what I want. Do you really think I can come back here? I can hear his words in my head, I blink and see him accusing me of stealing from you, and I see you taking his side, even when you didn't believe it."

"We can sell the house," he grabs your face. "I can have a new property tomorrow morning. Better, pick one, the one you want, as big as you want, as expensive as you want. But please, don't give up on me."

His eyes are shining with tears.

A part of you is saying, "forgive him," but the rational part of you is throwing that option out of your head.

"It's not about that, Kylian."

"Then what do you want? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Everything." He cries.

You shake your head. Tears rolling down.

"I want you to let me go."

"No. Everything but that."

"Let me go, Kylian." You take his hands off your face. "I can't do this."

He hugs you, crying on your shoulder.

"Please don't go. You're my everything."

You only caress his back. Letting him cry.

He keeps begging, and with every word, with every sob, every tear you feel yourself breaking more.

"Kylian. Please let me go."

He hugs you tighter. "Please, no."

"Baby, please."

You can feel him tense because of the nickname. He let go enough for him to be face to face again.

"Tell me you don't love me anymore, and I'll let you go."

You shake your head. You can't.

"Don't do this to me."

"Tell me, look at me in the eyes and tell me."

"Let me go." You repeat. "Please."

"You can't say it because you love me. And I love you. We can get over this. I promise even if I have to spend my whole life apologizing, even if I have to tell you every day, how important you're for me."

"Stop, please." You cry. "We can't. I can't. I need time kylian. You say everything, I need time."

"How much?"

"I don't know, but I need it. I can't just forget and swipe this under the rug like it's nothing. We can't build each other again if we're both broken." You say holding his face. "You promised me years ago that you would never doubt me. And here we are, so I need you to give me space. Let me heal and heal yourself in the process. Make up with your family, go to therapy. And then we can go back."

His eyes were burning, and the tears fell like cascades.

"Can you promise me that you will be back to me?" He asks

You didn't have an answer because time and life were unsure. Life can change in a moment, just when you less expect it.

"I promise you that I'll work on healing. I promise you that if you need me I'll be here. I'll be your biggest cheerleader from afar. But I can't do it alone, you have to make your part."

He hugs you again.

It wasn't a goodbye.

But it hurt like it was.

He let go of you. Looks you from head to toe. It's like if he's taking a mental photo of you.

You pick your purse from the floor. Walking to the front door.

"Y/n" he calls.

You turn around.

"I love you."

"I love you too." You smile at him, closing the door.

Tag list:

@slayweirdosaway @voguebikini @ironmaiden1313 @magicalfundragon @nightlockcornucopia @christianpulisic10 @bellinghambby22 @noodle81937 @moonlightholland22 @germanapples @paniwiaderko

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ruskaroma · 1 year ago

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omg omg (i really need professional help) i had this Vision of dark+DARK+mean!john wick learning about an asshole who bullied their bunny-really-the-nicest-human-being!reader back during her school years (the reader cluelessly mentions it during conversation). john is not just angry outraged etc, he is The Rage, The War, The Biblical Day of Wrath, so he finds that guy, beats/tortures the living shit out of him and then brings his absolutely clueless little pretty bunny so that she could finish him. john is behind the reader, his arms wrapped around her arms, his hands on her shaking hands holding a gun pointing at the barely breathing man tied to a chair. the reader is crying begging to stop, and john goes "he deserves it, honey <3. now, right kneecap. go, princess, don't let me down".

Oh my god I have something for you.

Let’s give it a very dark twist, shall we? We’ll stick to this concept, but let’s make it even darker.

TW: mentions of past sexual and physical abuse, blood and gore, graphic depiction of torture, john being a very very mean man like he is fucked in the head may god bless his soul, john is also forcefully making the reader kill the man so there’s that.

It was a slip of your tongue. You didn’t notice it, but John surely did. You were used to rambling your thoughts away, a habbit that John adores so much, hearing your voice and telling him everything that’s in your head, because it means you’re not keeping any secrets from him.

A supposed to be peaceful Saturday night ruined John’s whole week, but he didn’t let it show. He kept himself composed around you, smiling so softly when you’d share a random fact about the things you’re holding or whatever comes in mind. He’s a master in the arts of keeping his expression controlled despite his emotions practically clawing their way out of his fucking lungs.

Your head was on his lap as he brushed your hair with his long fingers softly. For a hand that’s killed too many people to count, it’s surprisingly merciful around you. A shitty horror movie was playing on the TV but your attention quickly diverted to somewhere else when you watched a rather familiar scene in the film.

“Oh, man, that sucks. I know how it feels, I used to get hit by my ex-boyfriend all the time.”

What the fuck, John thought. His fingers stopped their movements as he furrowed his eyebrows. You said it as a whisper too but he heard it. He heard it fucking clearly.

“What?”

“Huh?” You moved your head to look up to him. “You said something?”

“You did,” John pointed out. “About your ex-boyfriend. What did you say?”

“Ohhh,” you said in realization, but your tone was calm. Like it was the most fucking normal thing to say in a conversation. “Yeah, he was mean. He used to hit me every time I made a very small mistake, but he said sorry when we broke up.”

John didn’t know what to say. He was frozen, trying to comprehend the words that were being thrown at him all at once.

His baby – the love of his life, someone who cannot even hurt a fucking ant – just dropped a bomb that she was a victim of abuse.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” John tried to keep his voice leveled, soft, as he placed a large hand on your cheek and pulled you up so he could take a good look at your face.

“Well, you didn’t ask. And it’s not like it mattered anymore. I went to therapy and everything was back to normal.”

“No, that’s not –” he closed his eyes in frustration, trying so hard to keep his shit together. “Did he do anything else? Where is he now?”

“He’s–he’s doing fine. I don’t know where he is, it’s been awhile since we’ve gotten in touch.”

John could hear the tremble in your voice, like you knew what was going to come, like you knew what he’s going to do.

He didn’t answer after you said that. He looked away from you, put his attention back to the television.

You shrugged it off, hoping he would let it go.

He did not, in fact, let it go.

You came home one day after work to see him being rather... cheery than usual. It was unusual in itself. John being particularly cheery was not something you see in your everyday life.

He had already cooked dinner when you arrived, ate it beside you with an arm around your shoulders. He was also crooning at your ears, asking about your day if something special happened.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Your eyebrows flew up, curious yet amused. Is this why he was cheery all of a sudden?

He led you to his basement – a place where you’re never allowed to go, always bolted shut and completely restricted to you. You were getting a pretty bad feeling about this.

“What–what are we doing here, John?”

Again, he didn’t answer. You could see the grim, dark expression on his face as he opened the door. The face you only ever see when he was just coming back from a long, tiring day at work. The face you only see you know he just slaughtered someone.

Turns out, he did.

Not exactly slaughtered, but close enough.

The man who made you go through hell for years, tied up in a chair in the middle of the room, missing all his fingers on both his feet and hands.

“John, what the–”

Your boyfriend pushed a heavy pistol in your hand, and your heart is beating so hard inside your chest you couldn’t speak properly. You haven’t yet got the time to comprehend what was happening. It was all too fast.

“Pull it.”

“J-John, please don’t–”

“Pull it,” John repeated. He didn’t like repeating himself. You know this. He was standing behind you, his chest pressing against your back, warm and broad and his voice sounded so menice and fucking evil and– “Pull it, baby, before I do it myself.”

“Why are you–” your voice was shaking as well as your hands. You wanted to drop the weapon but you knew it wouldn’t do you any good, not when John was just behind you. “Why are you doing this, John? Please let him–let him go, it was a long time ago–”

“I don’t care,” he said simply, one large hand sneaking down to grab your wrist that’s holding the gun, pointing it directly at the man who’s – Jesus, was he still alive? You saw him move, he flinched, then let out a cough that made more blood from his mouth drip onto his lap. “I haven’t killed him yet because that’s your job.”

“N-No–” tears were forming into your eyes. The feeling of John’s hand gripping yours was already too much to bear, much worse pointing it to the man who abused and neglected you during your relationship, but why were you feeling bad? “John, I–I don’t w-want to, John, please, I don’t want–”

John sighed, disappointed, but he didn’t let you go. Instead, he leaned down closer to your ear and pressed a soft kiss there. His beard tickled, making you flinch and let out a shaky breath as you gulped hard.

“John, he–I know you’re doing this because you think it’s best, but I–I promise you that it’s not worth it–it’s in the past and, and–”

“Excuses, excuses,” John whispered, standing straight and taking a step away from you, positioning himself in front of the gun. “Here you are, begging for the life of the man who abused you in the past. Don’t you think that sounds absolutely ridiculous, baby?”

“It’s not–it’s not ridiculous, John, I promised! We–we talked one time after our breakup and he–he apologized for everything, I swear–I swear, John, it was all in the past–”

John cut off your rambling with an evil stare, and it was so unlike him that it scared you right to the very core. “Pull the trigger or I will. I’ll put a fucking hole in his head, saw it off and send it to his little wife and children back in Vegas.”

“John–” you sobbed. “John, please–”

“Did you know that I made him confess every diabolical shit that he’d done to you every time I chop off one of his fingers?” John said it in such a calm and steady tone that it made you only afraid of him even more. “I chopped all his fingers, and he still won’t stop confessing more. Can you believe that?”

“I already forgave him–I already forgave him, John, this wasn’t necessary–”

“It won’t be the same if I’m the one who pulls the trigger now, would it? It wouldn’t be fair, because I’m not the one who suffered under his hands,” John pushed even further, walking back to his original position behind you, gripping your arm and pointing the pistol directly at his head. “If you don’t pull that fucking trigger in the next five second, I’ll let you use a chainsaw to do it and trust me when I say you wouldn’t want it messy.”

You gulped, feeling yourself grow more and more afraid as John stood behind you. He was radiating anger, but he was keeping it at bay, though his swear words might be some of the leakage of his emotions he couldn’t contain any longer.

“I don’t want–don’t make me d-do this, John–”

“One...”

“John, please–”

“Two....” His voice was scary. Deep and level, and the grip on your arm tightened. You felt suffocated.

“I’m gonna throw u-up if I–”

“Three...” He was getting agitated.

The man’s head rose up from his position earlier to meet your eyes, and you swore you felt your stomach churn. His eyes were fucking gone.

The man opened his mouth to speak and a weak voice came. “D-Don’t–”

You pulled the trigger.

“There’s my little bunny.”

You dropped the gun as soon as his brains flew against your face and onto the wall, painting it red. You couldn’t bear to watch any further. You turned with a sob and buried your face in John’s chest, crying hysterically as he soothed you calmly by petting your head.

“Good girl. You did so fucking good, I’m so proud of you.”

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

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AITA for being paranoid about US Border Security?

🪤 <- for searching later

Background info: I live in Canada, (relatively) close to the US border. Because of this, when shopping online it can be cheaper to have orders shipped to the nearest American town and then drive down yourself to pick them up. I hadn't done this myself but it's pretty normal to do around here.

This happened at the end of this summer, so the situation is fully over but my (white) friends immediately adjacent to this situation have said that I was basically the only asshole here and I feel that I am, at least, only one of the assholes. I want people's genuine opinions however. I have since stopped talking to this entire group of people, who I'd previously been friends with for 4-5 years, over this issue and a couple others.

My friend (20s, white) had ordered a package to [nearest American town], and because they don't have a car, they were looking for someone who could do a day trip to the states so they could pick it up. I (20s, white-passing, but from a mixed South Asian Muslim family, & I have very recognizably Muslim family names) offered to drive them down with my car, they agreed. We were going to split gas money, the date was set, everything was ready to go.

A few days prior to when we were going to go, my south asian parent reminded me that because I have muslim names, I need to be very careful when crossing the border, because the US Customs is well known for profiling muslims/arabs and pulling them aside for intensive screening. My parent also pointed out that, because my friend smokes weed basically every single day (legal in Canada), I would need to make sure that they were not carrying any weed with them when we went.

I was freaked out by this, and was not thinking super clearly in the moment because it was close to midnight and things my parent had mentioned about previous experiences going through Customs had scared me a lot.

I immediately texted my friend, saying that Customs would find weed on them if they swabbed them, and that it would be "a big problem." They replied that Customs doesn't swab for weed, and that they "failed to see any problem." I replied that Customs is allowed to go through your phone (people have been turned away at the border for admitting to having used cannabis before, but if you tell Customs that you've never smoked weed and they find evidence to the contrary they can ban you from entering the country for lying to border personnel.)

I linked them to an unofficial site that went into detail about what US Customs agents can do if you have weed on you or admit to having smoked previously. My vague intent at this point was for us to get everything in order so that none of the bags/jackets/etc we were taking could possibly have had any weed crumbs/dead old vapes/edible packaging in them , but I didn't get a chance to say this because they immediately replied that even if Customs tested them and found weed in their system, that they wouldn't care because it's legal in Canada. I said that Customs very much would care, and they said that I was insulting them and accusing them of having a criminal record. At this point they sent a further ~10 upset/angry texts in a row, which I didn't open or reply to because I was really upset at this point and needed a minute.

At this point (around midnight), they phoned me, I picked it up and they immediately(!) started yelling at me and saying I was a piece of shit etc etc. I told them they sounded dysregulated and should take a minute to compose themself (I phrased what I said in an aggravating therapy-speak way, bc I had been watching vids about cptsd immediately before they phoned me, but I was extremely freaked out, as I think most people would be when their friend is suddenly yelling at them, and it was the first thing that came to mind). This just made them yell louder, so I told them I refused to let people speak to me that way, said goodnight, they said goodnight, we hung up, and I blocked their calls and texts so they couldn't continue berating me.

After this, I realized that I'd completely neglected to mention that the reason I was particularly scared was because of US Customs' Islamophobic profiling, but I had gone into the interaction assuming (incorrectly) that they already knew implicitly that that was going to be an issue, because we'd known each other for 5 years and I've definitely talked (not recently) about how going thru US Customs is always a pain in the ass because my whole family gets profiled and taken for extra questioning, so right before I went to sleep I briefly unblocked them and sent a text saying that the reason I was so paranoid was because of the extra questioning I was already expecting to encounter at the border, but that it was now irrelevant anyway because I refused to be in a car with someone who was totally fine treating me this way.

I've since stopped talking to this person and, by association, my (white) friendgroup because they sided with them completely. It was a long time coming for other additional reasons I can't get into though.

TL;DR

Planning trip from Canada to US in my car with stoner friend, realized a few days before trip that US Customs can arbitrarily fuck your shit up if they find evidence of weed on you. Got scared and tried to tell stoner friend that it would be a big problem if they had weed on them, they flipped their shit and yelled at me over the phone about it, I blocked them (functionally cancelling the trip).

I believe I was accusatory in a bad way, and that I should have communicated better, but ultimately that my fear had a 100% legitimate basis and should not have been completely and totally dismissed by everyone around me, even though I was too extreme in my paranoia

(They were able to get another ride and pick the package up later)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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kitkatopinions · 5 months ago

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I love when anti-rwde posters unintentionally say things that seem rwde lol. Here are my favorites so far:

The always good "Ironwood was always clearly an evil dictator" If this were true it would make the show worse than I already think it is, because not only did Team RWBY willingly work with him without any sort of recognition that it might be bad of them, but the writers have also talked about Ironwood's good intentions and the fall to villainy and how they wanted V7 to have no clear bad guy.

Whenever someone dismisses any early season as unimportant or something that no longer matters. Like, my guy, they're all supposed to matter and make up a good story together.

The people that say that the Blake and Yang ship is the exact same as Blake x Sun as a reason for why people who ship Blake with Sun but not Yang are wrong. Idk if they realize characters and dynamics are meant to be different and interesting.

The people who find redesigns of Yang where she's wearing clothing that's either the exact same level of 'modest' as the show or actually less sexualized and yell about how re-writers always overly sexualize Yang.

The people that defend every Jaune scene by saying he's just as much of a main character as Ruby. Like yes thank you for proving our point lol.

The people that constantly say important things just happen off screen. Things like main characters being friends, communicating important plot details to each other, showing grief at terrible deaths, unlearning racism... The more stuff people say happened off screen the more unintentionally insulting I think they're being because instead of saying "It was a mistake, they didn't have time, or they forgot" it's "they willfully didn't include it because they couldn't be bothered."

The people that say it's a good thing the entirety of Atlas was destroyed. Like personally I think the show could've done better at making Atlas and Mantle more varied but actually DID make it clear there were working class people and Faunus and good people just trying to make it that lived in Atlas and didn't deserve to lose everything. But apparently these people believe everyone in Atlas was some rich selfish asshole who deserved it and that would be very flimsy and bad writing.

The people who say that "drinking the tea" and "going to the tree" in V9 is actually just a metaphor for therapy. Like I know that Ruby essentially tried to commit suicide in V9. But I guess what they think what happened is that Neo was beating up Ruby while trying to make her get therapy, and everyone being a moment too late was them not arriving in time to stop Ruby from going to therapy, and when she fell down into the darkness that was symbolic of driving to her therapist's office, and when Yang was worried that Ruby wouldn't be herself anymore she actively was unhappy that Ruby was at therapy. Like how much worse written would V9 be if I actually believed what they did? XD

The people that insist that everything in RWBY was part of some super well thought out 'planned from the beginning' thing. Not only is that actually not a flex with a show that feels more disjointed, rushed, and ill-thought through with every season, but it's actively not what the writers say half the time when they do things like talk about how they 'wrote themselves into corners' and admit that at the beginning they were 'throwing things out and having to stick with it,' and having Blake's VA describe Blake as straight in official stuff and how they entirely reinvented Robin. Like either you think everything was not planned from the beginning or you think the writers are liars lol.

The people that actively just pretend or actually believe that the show is different than what it is, like the person who said RWBY was 'written by and for queer people' or the person who said Blake and Yang had been openly dating since V2 or the person who said Ruby was shown grieving Pyrrha way more than Jaune or the person who said that the RWBY villains were straight white men who weren't part of oppressed groups. What better way to prove that you actually don't like the show you're watching than to insist that it's a completely different show?

I'm sure there's more but those are the ones on my mind right now. XD Once again, I am certain that I have more love for RWBY than a lot of anti-rwde posters do.

#rwde #trigger warning; suicide #tw; suicide

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jtl-fics · 1 year ago

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Fluent Freshman - Part 37

Laughs might be an understatement.

Falls into hysterics might be the better way to phrase it.

It’s all so ridiculous.

He’d been scared to lose them and yet here they all were. Running around in Abby’s backyard, making a huge fuss about something stupid, talking about killing Daniel, arguing about his diet, and watching him with growing concern as he continues to laugh.

“See! This is because you gave him the damn milkshake!” Kevin exclaims turning to Aaron throwing a hand off.

FF laughs harder.

“How the fuck is Smiths having a mental breakdown about a milkshake?! He’s probably freaking out about that asshole and the fact that you want to let him make it to try-outs!” Aaron shouts back.

“He could be great!” Kevin defends.

“Man, is it worth him being great if Smithster is like this?” Matt asks.

“Well, we just keep him away from Smiths.” Kevin crosses his arms defensively. “Andrew can do it like how he kept Riko away from me.” Kevin points at Andrew.

“Riko was on a different team.” Captain Neil reminds coming up to look at FF in concern as he continued to laugh.

“He was prepared to keep you away from me and we were on the same team.” Kevin argues again.

“I don’t think Andrew is going to make out on the roof with Daniel.” Nicky says with an awkward laugh apparently recovering from Gran’s stated new favorite. Andrew and Captain Neil made faces, “Yeah, he’s not as cute as Neil.” Nicky agrees before settling at FF’s side, “Hey buddy, what’s going on? Do you wanna lay down?” he asks like FF is a toddler who is over tired.

He is pretty tired.

“Nicky he’s having a mental breakdown he’s not a toddler who needs a nap.” Aaron says.

“Well, what do you want to do Mr. Future Doctor?!” Nicky asks panicked.

FF really should stop laughing.

“I don’t study…” Aaron makes a face, “psychology.”

“Literally your only redeeming quality.” Captain Neil interjects but looks chagrined as FF wheezes.

“Shut up.” Aaron spits at him before turning to Andrew, “You’re the one who spends all that time with Dobson. Do you have any idea on how to fix him?” Aaron asks.

Andrew looks at him and FF is a little worried that he might split something in his stomach if he can’t stop laughing soon but he feels like his muscles are stuck in an almost loop that he can’t get his diaphragm out of.

Andrew walks over, “Percussive therapy.” He says and smacks FF hard on the back twice.

“Andrew!” came four different shouts.

FF coughs and it releases him from his hysterical laughing hell.

“Thanks.” He says and his stomach hurts the way it would after an especially hard work out.

“Anytime.” Andrew shrugs and moves back to stand by Captain Neil.

“Smithy? You with us buddy?” Nicky asks concerned and when FF looks around, he realizes it is well and truly the next day and well into the next day at that he must have been on auto-pilot for a while.

“Yeah,” he says and his face aches as bad as his stomach from the strain of using muscles he doesn’t normally. He coughs again, “Sorry about that.” He apologizes.

“Nah man, it’s cool.” Matt assures, “Are you okay? That was uh…a concerning amount of laughter.” He says gently.

“Yeah.” FF says, “I’m fine.” He looks at them and still doesn’t get why they all look at Captain Neil whenever he says it and why Captain Neil always looks especially pained. He decides to move along, “So, Daniel is going to try out.” FF says.

“Yes.” Kevin says at the same time the rest of his friends say “No.”

“Kevin, seriously?” Captain Neil asks.

“We need options.” Kevin shrugs before turning to FF, “Is he any good?” he asks.

“He’s obviously not as good as Smithy!” Nicky exclaims arms around FF in an instant. “Smithy got the offer, and he didn’t.” Nicky adds.

“I didn’t ask if he was better than Smiths, I asked if he was any good!” Kevin bristles.

FF shrugs, “Daniel has always been athletic.” He says thinking about the trophies that lined the halls of their home in Washington.

“The University didn’t listen to Neil and he’s Athletic. He’s going to try-out.” Kevin says.

“Not if I can help it.” Captain Neil grumbles under his breath.

“Neil, bud, you’re scaring me.” Matt says.

“I don’t need a car to kneecap him.” Andrew says with a shrug, “Smith if you don’t want him on the team then-“

“I don’t really care.” FF interrupts Andrew and the goalkeeper blinks in surprise.

“You don’t…care?” Aaron asks.

“Not anymore. Not really.” He says.

Nicky and Aaron were so worried that Andrew would murder Daniel for him that they hid the terrifying goalkeeper’s Maserati. Kevin and Matt spent the afternoon trying to make Kevin’s smoothies taste a little less terrible. Andrew is thinking about kneecapping Daniel and Captain Neil argued in front of people for his sake.

He has friends and they’re some of the most stubborn people on the planet. Once they make up their mind about someone it’s hard for them to change. They don’t care that he’s a mess of anxiety or that he’s got things he doesn’t want to talk about.

He’s got people on his contact list who would text and call him if he disappeared. More than just his grandma.

What does he really have to worry about?

The night and day of processing everything starts to catch up with him. “I’m kind of tired. I think I’m going to go to bed.” He says feeling like the weight from the night before was truly off of his chest and eager to catch some sleep.

“Drink this first.” Kevin says and FF can hear a slight concern for him but he’s not sure why.

He takes the drink.

“The flavors a little better.” Matt says and FF slams the entire drink as he’s learned to do with Kevin’s smoothies, and it really does taste better.

“Thank you.” He says.

“I’ll take that.” Nicky takes the glass from his hand. “How about we cuddle again tonight?” Nicky asks.

FF thinks that’d be nice but also thinks that Nicky moved a bit too much in his sleep.

“I’ll be okay tonight. Thanks.” he looks back at his friends, “Night guys.” He says and heads inside where Gran and Abby were enjoying some tea.

His Gran kisses his cheek, she’ll be leaving after Monday and FF will miss her like he would miss an arm but she has a bowling league to get back to, a knitting club to run, and she misses the Pacific North West. “I’m going to take you somewhere tomorrow.” She says to him in Polish.

“Ok Gran.” He says back in the same language before kissing her cheek right back. He hears Abby make a touched sound and then a commotion outside and his lips twitch in an attempt to smile, “I’m glad I came here.” He says.

She smiles back, “Me too.” She agrees.

***

“Great, Smithy is depressed.” Nicky hisses looking at Kevin, “Why the fuck would you give him one of your god awful smoothies when he’s already depressed?!” he demands.

“Physical health and mental health are heavily correlated. If his physical health improves-“

“Shut up.” Five voices chorus together as one.

“I’m not wrong.” Kevin grumbles.

Neil looks at Andrew, “We’ll watch his back.”

Andrew nods and when he looks to the rest of their group.

They will.

“Now tell me where the fuck you hid my car.” Andrew turns to Nicky.

“I have zero faith that you won’t run him over.” Nicky returns, “Can’t watch Smithy’s back in jail.” He points out.

“To be fair, his back wouldn’t need to be watched if Andrew ran Daniel over.” Neil argues.

“Neil.”

“I’m just saying.”

***

There had been late night dorm discussions about shifts, what to do if they saw Daniel, and Andrew threatening a few more times that he’d call the cops until Aaron called his bluff.

“You would never call a cop to help you.” Aaron argues.

“Bee said it’s the sign of a narcissist if they use what they learn in group therapy against you.” Andrew crossed his arms and looked away.

So they walked back to Abby’s house that morning but… maybe they should have made it clear to FF that they were planning on watching out for him that weekend.

"He left?" Neil asks.

"With his grandma. She was writing to me last night. She got in contact with an old family friend, Smith's godfather. She wanted to cheer him up." Abby says leaning against her door frame with her coffee mug in her hand.

"She's good." Matt says appreciatively.

"Any word on when they'll get back?" Nicky asks.

"More than likely before the end of the day but otherwise? They didn't say. Smith's face did that thing it does when he's happy though so I don't think you have to worry. He's in good hands." she says.

In the end they have different people loitering around Abby's but FF doesn't get back until after they are all back in the dorm.

So none of them quite knew what to expect when they came to Abby's house and found a motorcycle in her driveway. "Wow, that's a nicely maintained bike." Matt comments looking the bike over with an appreciative eye.

"Thanks." came from the door and when they looked up they see FF standing with a leather jacket on and a helmet in hand. "My uh..." he hesitates, "uncle Theo," he says the title likes it's unfamiliar to him, "kept it. It was my dad's and yesterday he signed it over to me." he explains.

"Do you know how danger-" Kevin starts but Nicky's hand slaps over his mouth before he can finish any reprimand.

"Smithy that's so cool! Are you going to get your license?" Nicky asks.

"Oh, I already have my motorcycle license." he explains, "Since I don't like cars." he adds and his face does that thing again that means he's happy, as if talking about his phobia makes him feel better. "I would ride Gran's motorcycle to school a lot." he explains.

The conversation continues as Aaron, Matt, and even Andrew inspected the Motocycle approvingly. Neil was the only one who had ever ridden one aside from FF and he'd always been more interested in ones that were easy to steal than good ones like the one FF had gotten.

FF goes on a solo drive on his new motorcycle and they keep an eye on him when he's back safe.

Eventually, it's try-outs.

***

"You're sure you want to watch?" Captain Neil asks for the 3rd time since FF had stated the night before over dinner that he intended to come to practice to watch the try-out.

"Yeah Captain Neil." FF answers dutifully.

"You really don't have to come." Captain Neil implores again as they continue towards the Court.

"I want to." FF offers a half smile to Captain Neil. It'd be better to know what he's dealing with. He may have decided that he doesn't really care about the fact that Daniel is here since he has faith in his friends but he also would probably die if he sat around waiting for the news.

So he gets to the Court and Kevin hands him a new shake. "This one actually tastes almost good." Matt says with a smile. He takes the same seat next to Coach Wymack he'd taken over the last couple weeks as the team changed out.

Daniel was there bright and early already kitted out. He sees Daniel see him but Coach Wymack stepped between them when Daniel starts to move towards them, "Keep going with your warm-up Stanton." Coach Wymack orders.

Daniel gives Coach Wymack a pleading look but he must not see what he wants on Wymack's face because he scowls at Wymack and FF before he returns to stretching.

FF takes a sip of his smoothie.

He doesn't know if the smoothie is actually good, if his mouth tastes like ash, or his tastebuds are so obliterated from having drank all the previous smoothies that he can no longer understand what tastes good or bad anymore.

There's someone in the stands. "University sent someone to make sure the try-out is fair." Coach Wymack explains as he settles on the bench next to FF.

Eventually the rest of the Foxes are out, "We have a potential new recruit with us this morning. He will be trying out for the position that Lisa left open." Wymack explains and FF is shocked to see almost the entire team glowering at Daniel. (His upperclassmen friends he had expected, but Jack, Sheena, and his old roommates seem unamused by Daniel's presence).

Wymack gives the practice to Captain Neil to run.

FF sits back and watches the practice unfold.

He sips his drink.

Huh.

"Christ," he hears Coach Wymack mutter under his breath. "What kind of confidence did that kid have to argue for this try-out playing like that?" Coach Wymack asks in stunned awe as he turned to him, "Did he even ever play Exy before?" he asks.

FF sips his drink.

"I said he was athletic." he says and had figured that would have carried Daniel through. He figured if he didn't know the rules and could play at a Division 1 Collegiate level well then it's not like Daniel had zero chance.

Coach Wymack groans, "Kevin is going to kill that kid." he says and it is amazing how poorly Daniel is doing at the precision passing drill.

FF blinks in surprise before he turns his attention to the player standing still watching over the drill.

FF can feel the fury radiating off of Kevin Day.

Huh.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

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thecircularsystem · 1 month ago

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Recovery and Syscourse Thoughts

I thought I would toss my hat into the ring briefly in the latest discussions about recovery from CDDs, since everyone and their uneducated brother have been spamming screenshots and sources left and right, and almost all of them have ignored the fact that the DSM and scientific (or otherwise) sources are not the people going through this disorder.

So let’s drop this take into the mix: there is no one set way to heal or recover, and everyone should work to find their best method of recovery and what works best for them.

I am a person working on recovery with DID. I phrase it that way specifically because I don’t want to stop having DID. I… actually really like having my system, and being multiple parts. My partner loves it too. They actually are overjoyed when I split — sad that I’m that stressed, of course, and so, so caring and gentle with me when I reach that point — but thrilled that they get to meet another part of me, a part so vivid and developed.

Isn’t it beautiful that I can see that love so brightly?

Anyways. Back on topic, I am recovering with DID. I am utilizing EMDR (though it’s been some time since we did a session) and I attend therapy weekly. I have grown far more integrated, and this past week, we’ve been so soupy that it’s hard to tell who’s fronting, and it hasn’t caused distress. It’s been nice to just be a collection of parts all at the same time, instead of split apart.

But wait. Isn’t that functional multiplicity? I mean, I just said I’m not distressed, and we’re all working together.

But wait. Isn’t that final fusion? All of us together, instead of split apart?

But wait.

How the fuck am I defining it?

Cause doesn’t that matter so much more??? There isn’t a set definition of what FM/FF are, guys. There isn’t this Ideal Recovery that so many people seem to post about. I’ll reach functional multiplicity when I say I do, and my FM will look different than others, and could look like FF too, because FF isn’t “okay now you’re a singlet.” If anything, the FF systems I’ve met have discussed how they feel MORE plural now.

FF/FM isn’t a dichotomy that can only exist separately, and they aren’t even the only ways to heal. For instance, am I not in recovery right now? Am I not actively healing? I might still be disordered, but isn’t it possible to be disordered and functional? Isn’t it possible to heal WITH DID? (The answer is yes; even FM/FF do not erase the fact that I have a rewired brain with new mental pathways. I could become nondisordered, that IS a thing, thought it took years to convince me it was. The fact is, it’s up to the individual.)

And my recovery is going to look entirely different than the recovery of my friends. For instance, I know many of my friends have reached final fusion, and one of them said they split frequently still. But for me, I split maybe once a year at the current moment, max three times a year. It's been a little messy, and confusing, but that seems to be the case. But if you're final fused, shouldn't you not be splitting???

NO YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, FUCK THE RULES!

If that person says they are doing better and feeling fine, then that's what matters. And the fact is, regardless of what a DSM or source you provide says, that's what any therapist worth their salt is going to say as well. If you aren't distressed, then you're good.

The same thing does for anything system related.

Preference of how to refer to your alters/parts/headmates/people in your head/fuckers in your head/those assholes up there who bother you constantly? More power to you! You can call them whatever you want!

Littlecourse and how your littles engage in healing? Woohoo, do whatever makes you the most happy and does the least amount of harm -- or, yknow, harm yourself! That's part of learning too, and people trying to take away the dignity of risk from systems because "but-but think of the children" can go suck a dick. So long as the person is doing what they think they should be doing, why is it my problem?

The only time these things become my problem is when they impact me. And, remarkably, what someone else does with their system does not impact me.

I think so much of syscourse needs to learn to mind their own business when it comes to other people's recovery. What someone calls their parts or origins or recovery does not matter and does not impact me in the slightest. What someone else does on their own time is of no consequence to me. The only thing I see in syscourse that does actually impact me is misinformation about my disorder, which impacts me because it makes our parts who struggle with denial latch onto that...

WHICH IS A ME PROBLEM.

Sure, I correct the misinfo, because that helps me, but that's still a me problem, something I need to work on for me.

I used to be gung-ho about fighting against endogenic systems, and one of the reasons for that was because I had parts who clung to the idea that we might be endogenic. The existence of endogenic systems helping my parts deny that we had trauma does not suddenly mean endos shouldn't exist. It means I need to work on my trauma denial.

This post has been a HUGE ramble, and I'm sorry about that -- there's so many thoughts I Have about recent syscourse, and I usually can squeeze in about 30 minutes of free time to write.

I want to post more about this soon, but to summarize some ideas:

Let people recover however they please.

If someone is recovering in a way you don't like, then look away.

If someone is spreading misinformation, correct them, but like... buddy, do it gently, no need to get all butthurt, relaaaaax

If someone continues to spread misinformation after you've corrected them, more power to you, my guy, do what you gotta do to correct that shit for others if you want to do that

It is exactly Nobody's Job to do steps 3 or 4

And lastly; stop sucking [insert source you just googled]'s cock and talk to a system in real life for like. A half hour, at least. Just get to know how they view their system and what works/doesn't work for them. It might actually make you learn something.

#i'm going to make a post at some point that can go in the DID tags instead #Because this one got 'coursey #syscourse #sysconversation #blurry tag #but mostly #armageddon comes while i'm sleeping

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heyitspersephone · 1 year ago

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Thinking about stranger things again now that the strikes are over and how, narratively, it would be way, WAY cooler to have Mike get Vecna’d instead of Will in s5

It’s just something about the way Mike’s trauma is never addressed or handled in any way?? Like, he hugs his mom twice and then when he was depressed in season 2 and 4 nobody did anything (his parents scolded him for his behavior in s2 ig but that’s not support). His best friend went missing leaving from his house, he watched his body get pulled from the quarry, watched El (in his eyes) kill herself stopping the demogorgon, watched Will be possessed, saw Bob die, was in Star Court when everything went down, saw Billy die, had his best friend move away, was SHOT AT (and really too few people talk about the shooting in Cali bc omg??), buried a body, and watched the apocalypse start. And that’s just off the top of my head.

(And yes I’m aware that the other characters (especially Will) are traumatized too but I will get to my point in a second just hold on)

The plot is geared towards this idea that Will and Henry have to have some big face off (and they should, in my opinion, but I don’t think it should be in a possession, or at least not the the Vecna kind of possession, yk?) but that makes it all the better, writing wise, to have mike be the one in danger. Will was helpless and hiding in s1, I think Will should get his big strong moments in s5 where he gets to be the hero of the story.

It would just be a lot more fun to work with Mike being Vecna’d than Will, because what are we going to bring up with Will’s visions? His dad? His sexuality? The events of s1 from his perspective? It would be cool to see, for sure, but we already know most of that. Mike, on the other hand, has a number of untapped things, like jumping off the quarry, why he’s so hesitant to tell El he loves her, how someone who was smart and kind enough to take El in in s1 and come up with the spy and sauna plans in s2 and s3 could turn into the oblivious asshole that he was in s3 and s4 (he needs therapy, ik, I still love his character but I want to explore the reasons he went from his s2 characterization to his s3 one)

It would be a very interesting parallel, I think, to explore Mike’s thought processes in this way, especially with all of Mike’s repression business (bc whether you ship byler or milkvan he is repressing his feelings HARD. Like, beyond his inability to say I love you there’s the fact that he doesn’t bring up the apparent many times he called pre-s4 during the Rink O Mania fight?? That literally would’ve absolved him of guilt in that argument since he WAS reaching out to Will the whole time? Hellooooo????).

Anyways, this all brings me to my main point: Vecna targets isolation as much as he targets trauma and guilt. The whole party was traumatized by the events in s1, s2, and s3, but Max was the one targeted. Plus, Henry went for Fred, Chrissy, and Patrick (I think his name was Patrick) instead of going for the perceivably easy targets that the mcs would make (ik narratively that would’ve made it more boring but shhh), so why Max and those three specifically? They were isolated. Lucas and Erica have each other, Dustin goes to Steve and Robin, Will and El have each other and Jonathan and Joyce, Nancy probably goes to Jonathan, and who does Mike go to?

No one. And don’t say Nancy because if those two have heart to hearts then I’m the next coming of Christ. Max separated herself from the Party in the aftermath of her grief and guilt over Billy, and it feels quite obvious that Mike was doing the same (like I said, he has repression issues). So Mike is traumatized, alone, and guilty (be it Will getting taken from Mike’s house, losing El in front of him multiple times, the many deaths he has witnessed, or the internalized homophobia angle), which makes him more of a target than Will, in my opinion (or at least an easier one, especially given his tendency to put himself on the line during fights (quarry, most of s2, s3 mindflayer fight), which would set him up on the suicidal ideation path)

Furthermore, as I’ve seen a few other people point out (and I can’t find the posts but one of them had eight screenshots of the various moments), Mike is always the one getting in the way, so it would be a strategic move for Henry to target him to get him out of the picture. Mike was the one that found El and got her involved in saving Will s1, he was the one who came up with the spy plan and called out the ambush in s2, he was the one to monologue Will out of his possession s2, he was the one with the sauna plan for Billy in s3, he was the one trying to help El get the strength to fight s4 (even if the monologue sucked ass it’s the intention that counts). As much as people like to hate on Mike, he is in the leader position most of the time when the party is grouped up (barring his mental health struggles slowing that down beginning of s3 and throughout s4, but he’s still capable of it). He’s the idea man, and he’s the one whose character’s foundations were built on the desire to keep his friends safe, so it would be a very fun plot line to watch him be the one targeted in s5. Like Will said, as lovestruck and cheesy as he was, Mike is the heart of the party when he’s on his A-game, so Henry should 100% be trying to keep him in the issues he’s been struggling with.

Obviously, Will and El are the Targets with a capital T for Henry since they’re the ones that got away or whatever, but I think Mike is a weakness of Will’s (and El’s tbh but also I think they need to have separate character arcs and I don’t exactly ship milkvan) that should be exploited.

TL;DR: Mike should get Vecna’d instead of Will in s5 because it would make sense in lore and be a very cool way to resolve his character arc

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horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

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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

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redysetdare · 4 months ago

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I'm gonna tell you right now that no aspec person in the community has it better than any other. no one has it worse than any other. We all have it bad in multiple different ways and to claim someone has it better or worse is just oppression Olympics bullshit and an excuse to pretend you're punching up when you're just causing infighting.

No Aroaces are not treated better than any other aspec identity. No Alloaces are not treated better than any other aspec identity. No aroallos are not treated better than any other aspec identity. No other a-attractions are not treated better than any other aspec identity.none of these guys are treated worse than each other either.

everyone faces issues. everyone's issues are different. some issues have overlap. some issues are the same with just a different coat of paint. You do not get to down play other peoples problems just because you want to put yours forward. You can bring up your problems without down playing other peoples. Alloaces face oppression by being called abusive for not having sex with their partners. They get broken up with, labeled as mentally ill or told they have a medical issue, and threatened with conversion therapy to "fix" them. Aroallos get called abusers because they don't want romantic relationships and dont feel romantic feelings towards people. they get harassed and labeled mentally ill for their identity. Aroaces are called broken and often not believed when it comes to their identity. society cannot imagine someone who is not interested in romance or sex and people will often believe aroace is an identity used as an excuse and will try to force themselves onto aroace people to "change their mind" or "make an exception" Other a-attractions get thrown under the bus as being told their problems aren't "real issues" or that they're "mentally unwell" or "Evil" for not feeling their certain kind of attraction. Aplatonics get called "Anti social freaks" or "Assholes with no friends" and Afamilials get called "Terrible people" because they "Don't care about their family" and so on.

We all have problems. Society does not accept any of us. Stop trying to claim one of us has it better and that makes it okay to downplay their issues in favor of your own. We are not enemies. We are not your oppressors. We are all struggling the least we can do is fucking support each other. Some of y'all are starting to repeat acephobic talking points from the ace discourse era but with a different coat of paint to frame whatever aspec identity you're talking about as the problem and it's only really coming off as aphobic on your end.

#text #aro #ace #aroace #aromantic #asexual #aspec #acespec #arospec #aplatonic #afamilial #a-attraction #infighting #discourse #i'm so tired bro

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drpoisonoaky · 10 months ago

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Therapy homework, fire siblings edition

Azula and Zuko have to share moments from their childhood in order to heal their relationship (therapy homework), even as they are there for each other.

In my own personal Azula’s redemption arc, Zuko is there helping her sister in the same way he got help.

So they talk about everything because they’re healing and they need to do it.

[Turtle ducks]

Zuko: I think those two are playing together.

Azula: Or they’re fighting to decide who will become the Turtle Lord.

Zuko: Don’t project your trauma onto turtle ducks.

Azula: I was not. It’s a very real and possible situation in the turtle duck world.

Zuko: I am going to ignore that because I was wondering why you hate them.

Azula: I don’t hate them.

Zuko: You threw rocks at them every time we were here.

Azula:

Zuko: What?

Azula: That we never included me, you know? It was more like “Mom and Zuko and, oh, Azula is here”.

Azula: So I guess I want my mother to give me attention, and my child brain said “Let’s make chaos”.

Zuko: Oh… I’m sorry I…I never thought about it that way.

Azula: Don’t punish yourself Zuzu. We were children. It wasn’t your job.

Zuko: But now we can feed them together, right? No rocks, only bread.

Azula: You really are a softie. It’s annoying.

Zuko: Let’s take the bread.

[Children]

Zuko: Do you want kids?

Azula: Not really. You do?

Zuko: One. Only one.

Azula: Did I traumatize you Zuzu?

Zuko: Yes, but no. If I had a kid, I want to focus on them, giving them all of my love and support. Being the Firelord and doing that for more than one child it’s impossible.

Azula: Oh, you really think about this… I hate to say it, but you would be a great dad.

Zuko: Thanks. I appreciate it. Why don't you?

Azula: First of all, it would have to be adopted, so the kid comes with baggage. And with my baggage, I probably couldn’t be there as much as the kid needs. It’s not fair to them. I can’t put the happiness of some child behind my own selfishness.

Zuko: Cool aunt?

Azula: I’m going to spoil your child so much that they’ll be as insufferable as you are.

Zuko: Of course you will.

[Fire resistance]

Katara: Hey firebenders, I have a question. Do you really resist fire better by nature or…?

Azula: Yes and no.

Zuko: I mean, look at my face.

Katara: That’s why I’m asking. Why do you resist less than ‘Zula? I swear she could be on fire and not notice.

Azula: We didn’t have the same training. Mother stopped Ozai a lot for the both of us. But when she was gone…

Zuko: I was banished when he started his fire resistance methods…

Katara: but ‘Zula don’t.

Azula: I was burned every day in every place except the face. Well, you saw the marks.

Sokka: Why not the face?

Suki: Don’t be rude.

Azula: It was because I was a princess after all, and you know we had to be pretty and perfect.

Katara: And how do you get high pain tolerance from that?

Azula: I guess some nerves died along the way or maybe my brain learned to ignore that kind of pain…I don’t know.

Azula: I hate him, but in battle it’s really useful. But yeah, don’t try it at home, kids.

Sokka: So if we try to burn your fac-

Katara: Don’t you dare, asshole.

[Crying]

Katara: Did they cry much when they were babies?

Azula: I bet Zuzu was insufferable.

Zuko: I was a pretty nice baby.

Ursa: You were nice, but you cried a lot.

Azula: See.

Ursa: And you weren't nice at all, young lady. But truth to be told, she didn’t cry.

Zuko: Lack of emotions, I see.

Azula: Not dumbass, it was for the balance between you and me.

Katara: She didn’t cry at all? What would happen if she was hungry or hurt herself?

Ursa: She just waited.

Azula: Of course I did that, crying change nothing. Plus, it wasn’t allowed.

Zuko: What do you mean?

Azula: Oh right, that was one of the points of our “educational differences”.

Ursa: Azula?

Azula:

Katara: Azula?

Azula: Fine.

Azula: Father didn’t really like the tears. He said that water isn’t something that should exist around a firebender. So I didn’t cry.

Katara: …but what if you did by any chance?

Azula, smiling sadly: He turned into my personal dryer. Goodbye tears.

Ursa: *gasp* But when you were a child he neve-

Azula: Don’t worry mother… It's not your fault.

Zuko: We should try to cry together anytime you want. As a therapy exercise, of course.

Azula: I-…thanks Zuzu.

Katara: And I hope he knows that you are around water all the time and he can’t do shit.

Azula: Of course master Katara, best master water bender of all times.

Zuko: Mom, we should go. They had started their own weird flirting thing.

Katara:

Azula:

Katara: What are you waiting for? Keep going.

[Compliments]

Aang: I know It’s none of my business, but I was wondering why some compliments make you look awkward but on the opposite sides. *Points at Azula and Zuko*

Zuko: What do you mean?

Aang: Like Azula takes it so well when we say something nice about her bending or her looks but she’s weird when it’s not about that. And you get so weird when we compliment your looks or your bending. Like a yin and yang kinda thing.

Azula: Easy. I was praised for everything Zuko isn’t.

Aang: What do you mean?

Azula: I’m a prodigy and a princess. Being an excellent firebender and looking pretty at the same time is or was my job. Zuzu is a mediocre firebender, under Father’s eyes, and he burned half of his face.

Zuko: And ‘Zula never was praised for being anything else.

Aang: But that’s awful.

Azula: I didn’t need to be anything apart from that, Zuko was banished. That’s life.

Sokka: No, it’s not. Your father it’s a piece of shit.

Katara: And I hope we never see him again. No offense.

Azula and Zuko: None taken.

[Giving Affection]

Katara, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic: I don’t know if it’s awkward to ask you that.

Zuko: …Go on.

Katara: Okay, so when you get out of the fire nation. Do you flinch?

Zuko: …Did I flinch?

Katara: General affection.

Zuko: Not really. My mother used to hug me a lot and you know Iroh.

Katara: …and who hugged Azula?

Zuko: Mom before disappearing, I guess? Me on some special days. I don’t know if our father ever did that.

Azula: Neither of them. Did you go to Zuzu to get information about me?

Katara: I want to know “your background” from another point of view.

Azula: I hate that that is a logical move. But to answer that, maybe Ty Lee was the only one. And you know Mai.

Zuko: Didn’t Mom hug you?

Azula: Do you remember that little detail that mother hated me?

Zuko: She didn’t ha-

Azula: Don’t. Please. We already passed that point.

Katara: So it’s decided.

Azula: What?

Katara: I’m now your personal koala, whether you want it or not. Come here.

Azula: But you do more things…

Zuko: And that’s my cue to get out of here.

[Education]

Aang: Wait, really, you know it all?

Azula: Of course, it was part of my education. I need to know history, especially anything related to war, but knowledge is knowledge.

Aang: But Zuko didn’t know anything about the Air Nomads' history.

Azula: We didn’t have the same education.

Zuko: Basically because Azula is a nerd.

Azula: Excuse me.

Zuko: After you did your homework, you started to read about everything, especially history. That’s why.

Aang: So she's more prepared than you.

Azula: I am. While Zuzu cried, I trained or focused on my studies. Time is gold in war.

Katara: You didn’t rest?

Azula: Not really, but sometimes I needed to rest in order to continue.

Zuko: No you don’t. You can’t count that as resting.

Aang: What, why?

Zuko: It’s not my call. Sorry. But you should explain it ‘Zula.

Katara: Azula?

Azula: What Zuzu means is that the “rest days” weren’t really optional.

Aang: Oh, they force you to rest?

Azula: Not exactly…I have to rest because I couldn’t move. Training wasn’t always…educational.

Zuko: Call it what it was. That shitty excuse of man made us fight against him and beat us until we faint.

Aang: Spirits.

Zuko: And I guess me being gone didn’t make him less reckless…

Azula: Quite the opposite…that’s why learning was fun.

Azula: But anyways Zuzu you should learn that so from now on I’m going to teach you history, physics and math. Be aware.

Zuko: Only if we take rest days. Real ones.

Azula: Don’t be lazy.

[Wake up time]

Katara: I can’t beat Azula.

Sokka: But you did remember…Oh, spirits, don’t tell me is a dirty-

Katara: NO.

Katara: Also not in that way, dummy. I can’t get up earlier than her. It's like every time I wake up early and say “Wow, today I really got up early” she’s already awake and meditating or something.

Ty lee: I tried for a week. Then I got tired.

Mai: It’s a losing battle. You can’t beat them.

Katara: Wait, does Zuko also wake up early?

Mai: Every day, like if he makes the sun or something.

Azula, arriving from sparring with Zuko: Talking behind my back isn’t new, but still hurts a little.

Zuko: Same.

Katara: Why do you wake up so early? Both of you.

Azula, raising an eyebrow: Why do you ask?

Zuko: Why do you wake up so late?

Katara: Don’t answer a question with a question. Both of you don’t know the concept of oversleeping or even slacking. Why?

Zuko: What are you ta-…Oh.

Zuko: Lala, do you remember the “If you wake up after the sun…

Azula: …how do you pretend to use his flames”.

Katara: Oh no.

Mai:

Ty lee: That jerk.

Zuko: So we have to stop.

Azula: I’m going to knock myself out every morning, I swear.

Zuko: Same.

Katara: Or instead of me waking up next to my unconscious girlfriend, you could try not getting out of bed.

Zuko: You mean stay in bed until the sun is up so we can train later?

Katara: I mean yeah. At least until you wake up like a regular human being.

Sokka: But that would imply they are regular human beings and we-AH STOP.

Azula, shooting little lightning at him: Sorry what?

Zuko, burning his butt: We are having difficulties hearing you.

Sokka: KATARA HELP YOU BROTHER.

Katara, ignoring Sokka and talking to Mai and Ty lee: So you two also like to wake up late?

Sokka: KATARA.

Ty lee: Yes, but it doesn’t fit the Kyoshi Warriors’ lifestyle. And that makes Suki angry with me, a lot.

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