#and then would have killed him off again just for shock value

[the-carlos-cow-eyes]

usually I would believe that unless there is a corpse we're shown, the character is not dead. but considering the show is on s8 now and we still have no chris in sight, I'm not convinced this time that he'll be back. even though his death scene really was sketchy. the dream flashback was in all twdu fashion a death fake out. but when those wanderes walked past his corpse... I was heartbroken. that said, they could still bring him back and I wouldn't even think of it as a retcon. I just don't think he'd be able to add to the story now without travis or nick around. ugh. I could have accepted it if lorenz' had wanted to leave the show and they had simply written him out by his request, but he's the total opposite; willing to continue chris' story and even play him as a villain 😭

I would have loved to see Chris come back and have a whole villain & redemption arc. But Season 8 just ended and that was the final season of FTWD, so we sadly did not even get a chance to get him back😭

[lilacgaby]

sukuna x you, his favorite servant.

everyone knew you were his favorite. from the way he'd give you the least labor intensive tasks, he'd dress you in expensive silks, he'd feed you better than all the others even giving you you're own seat as his coveted table, it's obvious that he truely cared for you.

he'd even switched your room to one closer to his, lest he'd need assistance in the night. he started to only allow you to do certain tasks, such as bathing him after he dealt with 'nuisances' as he called them. you'd soon end up the only servant allowed into his room, the others only being allowed to speak from his doorway, ones that got too close got their heads sliced off promptly.

because of this, the servants themselves would treat you as if you were nothing. they'd shove past you in the halls, ignore your requests in hopes you'd get reprimanded by sukuna, and sometimes they'd leave you bruised and bloodied, taking their frustrations of this unfair treatment out on you.

as sukuna roamed his halls one day, he happened to to overhear the other servants in their chambers. he overheard the disdain they regarded you with, the hatred in their words as they called you nothing but a whore, lower than a concubine since he didn't grant you even that title, they mocked.

in his rage, he slammed the door open, making each of them drop to their knees and bow for forgiveness. but forgiveness fled them, while death graced them openly. he killed every last one of his servants. as the final body dropped to the ground, he felt confused. he let uraume clean the mess, not wanting you to witness that amount of carnage. but even that though confused him further. why did he care for you so? you were just a servant, someone beneath him, so why did their disrespect towards you anger him?

these thoughts ran through his mind as he made his way back to his bedroom, where you laid on his bed per his request. it was already late at night, and now he was covered in blood all over again.

"bathe me." as you regarded him with a bow, you prepared a bath for him. the act of you scrubbing blood of his naked chest wasn't a new one, but the way he eyed your every move wasn't normal.

"why do you interest me so?" he said, moving one of his arms up to your neck, his finger a moment away from slicing your throat. "you're so fragile, i could kill you..

yet it'd upset me." those words shocked you more than the threat of death. you stayed silent, not daring to ask if what he was implying was true.

he looked you in your eyes. "i'm relieving you of your servant duties, you will stay with me."

"thank you, thank you." you replied, surprised at his sudden graciousness.

"would that.. make you happy?" he asked suddenly, moving his hand away from your throat, and now holding yours. "i feel that i've started to value your happiness."

"yes, yes it would. thank you my lord." as you finished up bathing him, he carried you as if you weighed nothing and laid you back onto his bed. it was odd though, there'd normally be a concubine around now, to satisfy his needs after his bath.

"should, should i call someone my lord?" at this, he laughed at your naive nature.

"who would you call? they're all dead." he didn't know why, but at your face of slight horror, he didn't feel the satisfaction he thought he would. "does that upset you? they treated you horribly, did they not?"

"they.. they did.. but-"

"but what? you need not concern yourself with the feelings of the dead." he was a bit upset, wanting you to be appreciative of his actions. "do you believe my judgment is incorrect?" he said, putting the finger of one of his hands under your chin, pointing your face towards him.

"no, my lord.. thank you." she let out a soft smile, one that undoubtedly increased his heart beat.

"you're welcome, but.. for the inconvenience of having all my servants and concubines dead, what will you offer me?"

he laughed at your worried face, and with a hand waved it off.

"it was only a joke, you're here now. so,

your body will do to satisfy me quite nicely."

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

MISS ME ?

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - Jackson was assigned with assassinating you, but how could he kill such a sweet thing like yourself?

Warnings - 18+, noncon, dubcon, stockholm syndrome, smut.

Word count - 1.3k

Your apparent premature death was a tragedy to the world. A sudden shock to hear a promising young woman to have been deemed dead by a shipwreck with a handful of casualties. It was predicted that you would live a fulfilling life, by being the daughter of an established politician. You were goal driven, focused on your studies and wanted to help change the world for the better. That was all gone now, but you were never even on the fucking boat.

When Jackson Rippner was assigned with assassinating you for revenge against your father, the first thing he wondered was who would want to kill a sweet thing like yourself? The more he studied you, the more he desired you. It was only reasonable to have a taste of you before he killed you. It’d be like throwing away a freshly baked cake.

But he became infatuated by you when you fought, swore, cried and begged underneath him. The way you were able to make him come so fucking hard, not to mention the way he was able to make you come so fucking hard, sealed a new fate for you.

Jackson was never one to renegotiate, but he made an exception for you. For free of charge on Jackson’s sole behalf, and an unwritten waiver that if you were to ever be found alive, the client and Jackson’s company had no involvement, you could live. He thought he was doing you a favour, you were not dead because of him. But you weren’t exactly living either.

Your prison was a modern cabin in upstate New York. Jackson chose this home many years ago because he liked being secluded, he didn’t trust people and valued his privacy. It never really crossed his mind that he would share his humble home with anyone in the near future.

“Sweetheart?” Jackson called out, shutting the garage door behind him and dropping his suitcase.

He pouted his lips as he looked around the main living area for you. He climbed up the flight of stairs and headed straight for the bedroom, a smirk on his lips. You weren’t on the bed, but in the corner of the room all curled up.

“Oh baby” Jackson sighed as he slid off his jacket. You looked up to him with tear stained eyes. “Come here” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hesitantly, you got up and gradually went to him. You straddled his lap, because he would have it no other way and he caressed your flustered cheeks.

You couldn’t help but to be relieved when he did come home. Isolation can drive people insane. He liked not talking to you when he was gone, just to make you go that little bit more crazy that what if he never came back. He thought it would make you acknowledge him more, he was right.

“Oh, how I missed you baby. Sorry I was gone for so long, business just got a bit out of hand. I was able to manage though” he explained as he petted your hair, admiring how you were wearing his shirt like always.

“I-I missed you too” you stuttered out. Jackson smiled and you could feel his cock harden underneath you. You were hesitant to ask, “you’re not leaving again, are you?”

“No baby, I’ll be staying for a while. I deserve a break” he answered softly, his lips brushing over your ear.

You didn’t reply, but instead laid your head onto his shoulder. Jackson couldn’t help to have a smug look on his face by thinking of the progress your relationship has made. At first, you despised his touch. He had to take a bit of time off work just to break you down, train you. Christ, he didn’t expect you to have so much dignity and fight in you. Not that he thought that was a bad thing.

There was only one occasion where you almost managed to escape. You managed to slip out of your restraints and successfully unlocked the door just for the alarm to go off. You bolted for your life, but Jackson was quick to catch up. Typically, you tripped and rolled your ankle. Jackson made sure to drag you back to the house by your injured ankle. Where he tied you up tightly to the bed, stuck a vibrator in you and left you for over an hour. Afterwards, he fucked you and your overstimulated cunt a couple of times just to really remind you not to ever pull another stunt like that again.

When Jackson did have the trust in you to be left alone, he wasn't hesitant to threaten you by killing your whole family if you tried to hurt yourself whilst he was gone. Yeah, it was nice to think about how far you guys had come.

“Baby, show me how much you missed me” Jackson murmured as the sensation of you pressed against him.

You sluggishly lifted your head and leant in to kiss him. Jackson’s arms snaked around your back and he fell back onto the bed. Your hips humped his slowly and controlled. You were rolled over onto your back as Jackson began to unbutton his shirt.

“Tell me, did you miss me? Or my cock?” Jackson teased as he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside.

“Both” you sighed, gradually unbuttoning your own shirt.

“Oh, lucky us” he grinned as he pulled out his hard cock.

Jackson pulled off your shorts and panties with ease and aligned his cock to your entrance. He didn’t even have to consider spitting into his hand, he knew you were already dripping. With a stern push, he was inside of you. A harsh moan left your lips in the process.

“That’s a good girl” Jackson grunted as he went on to find his pacing, “taking my cock so well. God how I fucking missed you” he kissed your jaw.

You hated him. Every single thing about him, you despised. Mostly, you hated how you depended on him. Jackson Rippner was all that you had now, so you couldn’t even hate him anymore. Every breath you took was for him. Your life was his for the taking.

“Fuck” Jackson purred by your ear. “I can feel how much you missed me” he mumbled, your walls clenched against him in a rhythm.

Your legs wrapped around his snatched waist as he started pounding into you. Jackson was deeply groaning with his forehead pressed against yours, your hands pinned above your head by his. You started crying out when he hit your sensitive spot. So he kissed you to make you feel better.

“Can you finally see how I saved you?” Jackson smugly asked, his hands now on your hips. There will definitely be a bruise in the morning.

“Yes” you exhaled, your arms wrapped around his back, nails dug into his bare skin.

“Do you love me?” Jackson asked, slightly unsure if he even wanted to hear your answer.

“Yes” you breathed, he grabbed your chin to make you look at him. “I love you Jackson” you admitted, knowing it’s what he wanted to hear.

Jackson didn’t say it back, but it was clear he did, in his own little fucked up way. His smile was soft and hopeful. Unexpectedly, he came inside of you, a broken moan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry baby. I just missed you so much” he apologised, slowly pumping himself inside of you, you moaned softly.

Aiming for your sweet spot, Jackson started pumping rapidly against you. You bit your lip as you quickly came undone around him, your walls pulsing against his sticky member. Laying defeated in the bed, Jackson pulled himself out and smiled at your mixed fluids on himself.

Jackson fell onto the bed next to you and pulled you into his arms. “You’ll never understand how happy I am to have decided not to kill you” he murmured by your ear as you laid in an unfazed state.

You looked up to him, “so am I”.

[subway-tolkien]

Okay, this is 1600 words of (positive!) meta regarding the OFMD finale. Included is character analysis and a treatise on why a certain trope people keep throwing around does not apply here.

This is of course just my take, and I'm sure people will disagree, but I needed to get this out. Apologies if it comes off disjointed, I've had like no sleep.

Spoilers within, obviously. You have been warned. Heed the tags. I didn't tag any characters because I consider it a spoiler, but you know who this is about.

Listen. Listen.

Let me start off by saying I have been where you are. I’ve had beloved characters die, either because it was important to the narrative or for shock value. I’ve been there, so I’m not coming at this without empathy. I’m not an Izzy hater. I loved him as a character. I’m truly sad to see him go.

But from what I’m seeing around Twitter and tumblr, some of you do not understand the role of an antagonist in a story.

Izzy was always meant to die. The moment he said, in the first season, “the only retirement we get is death,” I knew he was meant to die in the end. The foreshadowing ran through both seasons. Izzy was the true antagonist of S1. He was there to keep Blackbeard tethered when he started pulling away, and yet he also set the plot in motion. He inadvertently introduced Blackbeard to the person who let him be just Ed. He put Ed on his own path to redemption without even knowing it.

S1 ended with Izzy getting what he wanted as Ed lost everything he had. S2 was about Izzy coming to terms with the fact that he’d gone too far, he’d turned Ed into a monster. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Blackbeard back, just like old times. Instead, he got the Kraken, and it was more than he bargained for.

Especially after it cost him his leg and he realized how far gone Ed really was. The conversation that ended with Izzy’s half-assed suicide attempt was the final blow to Izzy—Ed really didn’t seem to care anymore. Where Izzy wanted him to stop giving a shit about his silly boyfriend, he instead got a Blackbeard who didn’t care about anything, and he was apparently now included in that category.

(I said half-assed suicide attempt because Izzy wasn’t meant to die then, THAT would have been an empty, pointless death. It wouldn’t have taught Ed anything—in fact, all it did was make him more self-destructive, which was Izzy’s purpose to the narrative, but not his endgame. That Ed thought Izzy killed himself pushed Ed to the brink. Ed wanted to die and take every scrap of Blackbeard with him. Had Izzy successfully killed himself, Ed and the Revenge would be at the bottom of the ocean.

It wasn’t until the crew left Izzy the unicorn leg that he realized the power of compassion, the incredible act of grace from a crew that suffered so much from Izzy’s own machinations and didn't need to forgive him. It moved him to tears, and it moved him to accept that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let people in, to let himself be cared for. It was a foreign concept and something Izzy likely hadn’t experienced since losing his family (I fully expect a shit ton of fanfic of Izzy’s life before piracy).

Israel Hands found the capacity to let love all the way in and by god, did he pursue it.

But, again, Izzy was always meant to die, and I’m glad they stuck to the narrative they set out with instead of placating fandom and letting our influence dictate how they told this story That’s never good, trust me. Fandom should not influence a creator’s decisions regarding their own characters. It rarely if ever ends well.

[Stares in Voltron S8]

And I see a lot of people out here throwing the “bury your gays” phrase around—I beg you, please look up the definition of the trope. Izzy didn’t die because he was queer, he didn’t die because of his disability. He wasn’t one half of the only queer couple in the show fridged for shock value. He wasn’t killed off due to pressure from conservative viewers. He wasn’t the only queer, disabled character.

They didn’t kill off Lucius, or Jackie, or Wee John. Would you be as outraged if it was any of them?

Killing Eve is bury your gays. Supernatural is bury your gays. Pretty much any film, book, TV show, whatever, where a queer character dies because they’re queer, of AIDs, to further the narrative for a straight person, etc—that is burying your gays.

Izzy’s death was none of those things. Izzy’s death had meaning.

Izzy’s death freed Ed from the Blackbeard persona. It finally forced Izzy to say the things he couldn’t say until he realized it was his last chance. Izzy was also tired. I honestly think he stuck it out for Ed’s sake, because he was afraid to let Blackbeard go without making sure Ed would be ok.

He loved the idea of Blackbeard, but over time, he learned to love Ed. He finally understood what Ed tried to tell him the whole time.

“Fuck off, you twat. You’re surrounded by family.”

You’re safe. You’re loved. You don’t need me anymore. You don’t need to be reminded of who you’re capable of being, you need the people who will guide you to who you will become, and I’m not one of them.

I know a lot of Izzy fans are stung by his death, some of you are deeply upset. I get that. Like I said, I’ve been there. Sirius’s death made me throw that fucking book across the room. That Fucking Woman™ killed off my entire OTP, purely for shock value and, imho, a direct response to shippers. Trust me, I have felt betrayed by a creator for their decisions.

But I need you to understand that no, this was not a personal attack, this was not malicious, this was not “bury your gays." A show that celebrates queerness and diversity is not suddenly homophobic and ableist because your favorite character died and happened to be both of those things. But when the majority of your cast of characters is different in some way, and they’re in a show about 18th century pirates, you have to accept that one of them could, in fact, die. “Anyone Can Die” is also a trope and the more accurate one to describe E8.

If only being queer and disabled made you invincible.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

And no, I’m not an Izzy hater. I loved him, I loved him as an antagonist, and I loved his redemption arc. He was fascinating and Con put his whole O’Nussy into that part. I’m sorry to see him go, but as a mystery writer who often has to kill off beloved characters, I understand that he served the purpose he had from the beginning.

I swear, if some of you had your way, there’d be no conflict at all in any form of media. This what a steady diet of nothing but fanfic gets you. This is not a fluffy one-shot with magical healing dick and a happy ending where everyone sails off into the sunset. If that’s what you wanted, what you headcanoned, you did this to yourself. It’s not David et al’s fault that we took that character and babygirled him. That’s the risk we take when we decide to love a specific character, when we take a genuinely terrible person (in S1) and woobify him.

So, please stop harassing and attacking David, Alex, et al. David did not and should not change his story to placate us. The fact he went ahead with it despite the backlash I’m sure he expected makes me respect him as a creator even more.

Anyway, I’m going to revel that we have three (!) queer relationships with happy endings where one or both didn’t immediately die (again, the actual definition of “bury your gays”) and that we got at least two seasons of a little show that celebrated individualism, diversity, queerness, compassion, and love.

In the end, it all came down to love.

“There he is.”

Goodbye, Blackbeard.

Hello, Ed.

[cambion-companion]

could I request for you to write an scenario in which Raphael does not die to Tav nor their party, but in an other similarly humiliating circumstances, and Tav when learning about this desperately goes to save Raphael from his father by bargaining with Mephistopheles? (hilariously in a very sad way, I assume this, is the only moment that Mephistopheles would ever "value" Raphael's life, but then again that is devils for you) and Raphael's confusion at the whole thing, someone taking a terrible bargain to save him, just… because they… like him…??? (bonus points, if Tav still has a crown to willingly give Raphael XD)

It's beat up Raphael hours huh? (also Korilla will be fine)

Hi there love. This turned from a drabble into a oneshot haha

Have fun running to Cania to pick up your wayfaring devil!

Raphael x reader (gn)

Korilla had come to you.

Broker and bruised, battered and bloody. Her long curly hair matted with mud and dried viscous.

“Help him.”  Her first words, rasped from a throat raw from screams.

“Korilla!”  You caught her weight as her knees buckled, lowering her gently to the ground.  The Dwarven woman wasn’t your friend by any means, but she had been your ally.  “Who needs my help?”  You couldn’t fathom who she might be referring to.

Surely it wasn’t Raphael. It couldn’t possibly be the enigmatic, self-assured cambion.

Korilla’s answering rasp dispelled any doubt. “My master.”

A fog of shock settled over your mind, your hands loosening around Korilla’s shaking form.  She whispered the truth into your ear, her bruised lips trailing her blood onto your clammy skin. With fading voice Korilla told of the attack, Raphael’s demise and his imminent doom.

“Portal. Diabolist.  Cania.”  Korilla’s breaths grew short as she fought valiantly once more against the oncoming black.

“Hold on, Korilla.  You’re going to be okay.”

“Save him.” She said again, her eyes slowly glossing over as the life left her broken body.

You cursed.  The warlock’s last actions had been to find you in a desperate hope you’d help Raphael before he was consumed by his father.  His father who just so happened to be an archdevil. Mephistopheles.

“Little shit could’ve mentioned that.”  You grimaced, lowering Korilla’s body to rest upon the cold earth.

You stood, pinching the bridge of your nose as your thoughts whirled and clashed. Not only had the attackers killed Raphael, but they had also looted his house, stealing the Orphic hammer and the only hope you’d had of defeating the Elder Brain.

“Damn it.”  You returned to your companions with the news. “Looks like we’re taking a rescue party to hell.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress?”  Astarion asked, tilting his head as his red eyes flickered over your blood-flecked form.

“Raphael.”

The plan was to use as much stealth as possible. The vaults of Mephisto had been broken into not long ago, according to Raphael, so it was possible.  A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question.  

The diabolist in Baldur’s Gate took some convincing, but in the end you were able to push enough gold across the counter to seal the deal.  

“Very well.  Though I warn you, you’ll not return alive or with your souls intact.”

“Yes, yes.”  You waved the woman off, her visage reminding you of Korilla. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”  Your eyes scanned the musky shop. Do you have anything that will locate a specific fiend?”

With a Locate Creature spell scroll ready in your bag you watched as the diabolist created for you a portal. Ice crystals immediately crusted on the edge of the black abyss, the wind coming from the portal nearly freezing your shoes to the floor.

“Quickly, and remember the disguises!”  She ushered you and your party through, the frigid darkness enveloping you with a grim finality.

Through cold halls you’d snuck, invisible fingers cold as death scraping along your back and through your hair as you passed beneath torches of blue flame.

Time lost all meaning here.  Your eyes began to play tricks on you. The only thing keeping your mind focused was the spell lighting the edge of your vision with a warm glow, growing brighter as you hurried to where Raphael was being held.

An age, or an hour had passed.

The wrought iron door, so cold to the touch it burned, swung noiselessly inward, admitting you to an octagonal shaped room. On the far wall you saw him, his form dark, chained by one wrist to the wall.

“Raphael.”  You hissed, unexplainable relief flooding your frozen veins when his head moved in response.  

Your companions waited by the open doorway, keeping watch from the shadows.  You snuck as quickly as you could to where Raphael was restrained. His glowing eyes looking down upon you with consternation before recognition slowly dawned across his sharp features.

You held up a hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth. Movement could be heard from outside the prison room. You were running out of time.

“Can you get us out of here if I free you?”  You hissed, still keenly aware of the nature of the devil.

Raphael nodded, his tail moving to and fro in agitation.  Something about his vitality seemed to be missing, you had never imagined seeing him in such a state.  It was unsettling.

The matter of removing the singular shackle proved to be more challenging than you’d thought.  Astarion’s lockpicking skills proved futile.

“It’s a magical seal.”  Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.”

You gave him a severe look which he matched right back at you, his eyes sparking flame.

You raised a hand to the ice-covered metal, about to dispel the magic surrounding the lock. “You owe me a favor.  A big one.  I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”

Raphael’s gaze scorched you for a moment, it was clear he was furious with his current predicament. But he had no choice, and both of you knew it.

He nodded curtly.

You cast your spell.

Raphael’s wrist broke free with the sharp sound of metal splintering. His hand closed tight around your arm, the dungeons of Mephisto melted away as you and your companions were yanked unceremoniously back to the material plane.

At least, your companions were.  Deposited non-gently upon the hard ground of your camp.

Raphael kept hold of you.  Taking you back to the foyer of his house. The house which still lay in semi ruin from its previous sacking.

He was angry.  Each step he took crackled fire and promise of swift vengeance.

“Raphael…”  You said hesitantly, following him down into the dining hall.  “Raphael, Korilla-”

“Is dead.”  Under the glow of firelight, you could properly see the state he was in. You winced when he turned to face you. “I know. Though not as dead as those who dared pillage my home, the fools.”

“Do you know who?”  You remained wary as you watched him conjure an armchair and sink down into it.

Raphael ignored your question, he issued orders in the abrasive Infernal tongue, seemingly into thin air.  His fingers clicked and a spark of flame licked around them.  Unseen servants began bustling around, clearing the debris and wreckage.  Setting the House of Hope back in order.

Raphael leveled his gaze upon you.  His expression was not unkind, it was calculating.  He had underestimated you and overestimated himself.  Not a mistake he’d make again.

“Why?”  No flowery words, no ado.

“I still need the hammer.”  You had the response prepared, having known the question was coming.

“You could have hunted down the thieves without my help.”  Raphael narrowed his hellfire eyes. “Why come to my aid?”

“Korilla asked me to.  It was her dying wish.”  You fidgeted under his piercing presence. “Besides, you’re a useful ally.  I still need your help to save the world.”

Raphael arched a brow, unconvinced. “Half-truths are still considered lies, dear.  But there are matters I must attend to.”  He stood, restless.  

“Will your father come for you again once he realizes you’re gone.”  The question came before you could stop yourself.

“Concerned for me?”  Raphael appraised you, a knowing tilt to his head. “No.  He will not.”

You didn’t argue, Raphael was clearly on edge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You rubbed circles against your aching temple. “Well, seems we have some thieves to track down.  A hammer to retrieve.”

Raphael looked as though he was biting back a sharp retort.  He chewed on his words, looking you over. “Yes.”  He growled, infernal fire flickering off his form. “You may watch as I peel their souls from the writhing mortal flesh.”

In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.”  He straightened.

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.

You set your jaw grimly. “When do we start?”

[vandnana]

In Love With The Enemy [I]

Chapter 1: Why So Blue?

pairing: lo’ak x female turned na’vi reader

summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died during the final battle, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way.

genre: fluff, angst ~ slow burn, pining on lo’ak’s part 

highlights: [lo’ak already having a crush on the reader after LITERALLY almost trying to kill her, jake and reader have their tearful reunion!, quaritch still in his toxic dad era, and lo’ak admiring reader in the bioluminescence of the forest]

word count: 9,332

note: hello! thank you all again for waiting for this part! a couple things...when i was writing, i got soo carried away, but i couldn’t help writing in moments of reader with lo’ak in their first encounters cause shes totally intrigued and he has an effect on her, but both of them are in that awkward staring phase??? with that being said, i hope you enjoy!!

[Prologue] [chapter 2]

Light infiltrated your senses, invading your shut eyes as you heard voices around you, the sounds distant at first, but slowly heightening as you came to. Opening them, the fluorescent lights stunned you, your hand instinctively finding its way to the front of your face. You pulled it away, the sight so shocking that you figured you were in hell, punished to be what you had failed to protect.

You were blue, a Na’vi, adorned in hospital gowns with wires attached all over your body. 

You felt sharp pains in your head and pangs in your heart, endless memories flooding your mind in swarms, the happiness, the pain, the loss...you remembered it all as you took in your surroundings. 

You got up instantly, pulling off the wires as you searched around, your vision becoming less blurry as you continued to blink. 

You looked for Grace first before you realized she was gone, murdered by your father, the agony once cauterized now festering into an open wound as the memory sunk stones in your heart. You were looking around for Jake, Norm and, Trudy, but they were nowhere to be found. You were alone, heartbroken, and confused. 

“Whoo! Looks like the baby’s awake!” You heard from behind the door, other blue figures walking in wearing full camo, all of them strutting over to you. 

In your newly awakened shock, you had a delayed reaction to your body just waking up, your muscles suddenly feeling like jelly as you kept yourself steady on the bed with your hands. As everyone filed in, you hoped that at least one of them would be Jake, but you sunk your shoulders as you realized who they were.

Wainfleet, Warren, Zdinarsk, and Fike. They were the soldiers you grew up training with, all cut from the same obnoxious and arrogant rock. 

Wainfleet shook your shoulders, laughing loudly as he looked at your expression, your teeth gritted as you did your best to hide how much you despised all of them, “Hey y/n, why so blue?”

The rest of them laughed aloud with him, and you rolled your eyes, pushing him off you aggressively, which only made him erupt with more laughter, “Still as feisty as ever.” Wainfleet sighed. 

Lagging behind, one last person walked through the door, and unlike the rest of the regiment, he was wearing hospital gowns like you were. When he turned toward you, you recognized him right away.

It was Quaritch, your father, the man you owed your life to when you were human. 

But it wasn’t really him. 

He had become his worst nightmare and in seeing him, you were convinced that you really had been damned to hell. He was Na’vi too and a real sight for sore eyes, his movements awkward and almost repulsed as he approached, like he wanted to jump out of his own skin. The only comfort that he seemed to take refuge in was seeing you, his daughter, his prodigy.

He hugged you and for the first time, he smiled. “My little girl, real nice to see you.”

You hardly shared the same sentiment, the comfort you should have felt replaced by torment and pain. Your memories with your father were consumed by both, and in that moment, that was all you could feel. It was rare for him to ever hug you like this. You never felt any warmth from his embraces, just a temporary sense of relief that you had done something right, that you didn’t disappoint him. You had endured it all your life, desperately clinging to the good things he did, your gratefulness to him for saving you from a worthless life overwhelming any rational thought.

Your father seemed to be the one savoring the feeling of holding you, the roles unexpectedly reversed as he, for the first time in his life, clung to you, like you were the only tether to who he once was. 

Before, you would have considered yourself lucky, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and savoring that feeling. But as you sat on the bed, you kept your arms at your sides and your eyes glued to the ceiling, biting your cheek as you fought every urge to give into your anger, to push him off you and make him pay for what he did to Grace. 

You took a deep breath in, relaxing as you faced forward again, “I’d be stupid to believe that we were brought back for a simple reunion. Why are we here? And how are we avatars?” You had a firm tone, almost emotionless besides your lifted syllable at the end to indicate your question.

Quaritch let go of you, a proud, satisfied grin on his face as he pulled back, “Perceptive as always.” 

He crossed his arms, “All of us got our ticket punched the last time we were on Pandora, and for the sins of our past we have been brought back to life in the form of our enemy to complete one simple task.”

“What’s the mission?” You remained stoic, mirroring your father as you crossed your arms. 

He chuckled lightly, his tone suddenly confident as his eyes reflected his renewed sense of purpose, “We’ve been ordered to eliminate the leader of the Na’vi insurgency known as Toruk Makto.”

The emotion you held in burst out in the surprise you showed in your widened eyes. Unfolding your arms, you felt a flit of relief settle in your heart, “Jake’s alive?” 

He turned his head, the rest of your regiment whooping with excitement, their smirks irradiating a sinister aura as they gathered around your father. 

“That’s right, y/n. Sully’s alive.” Your father gloated, his eyes ferocious with vengeance, “And we’re gonna kill him.”

He gave you no chance to protest, walking out with the rest of the regiment as he pointed to the clothes beside you, “Now, go on and get dressed. We got an hour before Pandora insertion.” 

You grabbed the clothes from the table, your hands tightening around them and your breathing ragged as you could feel your frustrations finally spill out. 

You had been born again, but at what cost? 

The same people that sent you to Pandora were the same people that made an unholy decision, reaching into the past and plucking you out of the comfort of death just to reclaim the glory they still believed was theirs.

When you had awoken, you had figured you had damned yourself for all eternity, and in learning about your new mission, you were right. You were thrust back into your own nightmare, a horrible repeat of the life you had once known, your orders betraying what you had in your heart, just like it did before.

You wanted no part in reclaiming glory and rewriting your father’s failure, but it was the only reason why your heart was even beating. Your mind was only just catching up on your grief, the loss so fresh and so vivid that you felt guilty to have that heartbeat. 

You were the Colonel’s daughter. 

Why did you deserve to live when Grace was dead? Why did you get a second chance at life when your only reason for breathing was to destroy Jake?

Everything about your life now was born from selfishness, the selfishness of Sky People that had no respect for philosophies regarding life and wholly disregarded the notions that dead things should stay dead.

You didn’t know what happened to Trudy or Norm, but you naturally thought the worst, and that made your mere existence even more unbearable. You weren’t sure how long it had been since you died, but for you, you never felt that time pass, never felt the pain of being gone from those you love. It felt cruel to be alive, the torment of it aching you as you thought of how Jake must have felt when you died and how much it must have hurt. 

You looked up, your eyes catching a glimpse of your reflection in the metal lining of the walls. You touched your face lightly as you stared, so bewildered by how you looked. You weren’t the old you anymore, only the shell of your humanity in the semblance of your features. 

And for the first time since you woke, you smiled, “If only Grace could see me now.” You mumbled to yourself, the sadness of losing her still lingering behind the calm that settled over you at having thought about her. 

You got up, finally deciding to change out of your gowns, and you could have sworn you heard Grace’s voice in the back of your mind, telling you what she always loved to tell you, how you were smarter than you let yourself believe and how you had a heart bigger than the soldiers you were surrounded by.

You took a look at yourself again, those words that felt as if they were just spoken yesterday shrouded over you. It felt unfair to be alive, and that guilt was deep inside of you, but you pushed that feeling aside as your own sense of purpose triumphed over it.

Whatever it took, whatever you needed to do, you were going to save what was left of your family.

You were going to save Jake. 

~

It was two minutes until Pandora insertion, your breather on as you waited for your descent onto the planet. You were quiet, keeping to yourself as you rode along with everyone else, absorbing every detail of the plans until you could figure out the best way to help Jake. 

When you had finally reached the ground, the hatch opened and getting up, you walked out, expecting to find yourself surrounded by the forest you loved so much. 

Pulling your breather off though, your smile dropped, your eyes unwilling to process the inconceivable truth. In front of you was the reckoning of humanity in full form, its destructive touch creating an unhallowed grave of the once-rich earth below it. Flashbacks filled your mind as you remembered your early life on earth, the desecration of the forest mirroring the desolation that you had escaped when you left for Pandora. Sky People had killed their Mother, holding onto the little that she could provide before finally destroying Her integrity.

Back then, Selfridge was all about the money, and while greed was still very much a part of the new frontier you had found yourself in, humanity’s motives had suddenly become desperate for something else--a new home.

The air no longer held a healthy vigor, a gray density taking its place and expelling a putrid, metallic smell that filled your nose. You were in horrid disbelief, the sight in front of you giving reason to the smell as you rubbed your eyes, still not wanting to believe that the damnation in front of you was real. You were witnessing an entire infestation, complete with insect-shaped machina, their hardware programmed to build the towers and towers of future buildings that would make up what would be known as Bridgehead City. 

Behind you, you felt slight relief to see that forest still remained in the distance, but with how quickly the machina bugs were building, it was only inevitable that their work would continue southward and beyond. The General in charge, General Ardmore, although satisfied with the progress that they had made in a year, was still taking losses thanks to Jake’s raids, his forces the only reason that the land had not been fully conquered.

You were looking at the footage from his recent raid, Ardmore’s hands on her hips as she explained the situation, “Jake’s raids are becoming bolder and more frequent.”

Putting a hand on your chin, you let out a weak chuckle, “Looks like Sully’s giving you a run for your money.”

Wainfleet nudged you in the ribs with a disapproving look, but you shoved him away, crossing your arms, “I’m only speaking the truth. He was a Marine, guys. I’m not surprised. He knows exactly how you all think.” Your tone was condescending as you glared at General Ardmore, who seemed to only tolerate your consistent interruptions.

She glared back at you, “Are you questioning my methods, Lieutenant?”

Quaritch was taken aback, putting a hand up to your chest, to stop you from continuing. You looked at your father and defiantly you spoke again. “I am questioning your methods, General. You may have been able to tame this frontier in a year with your bionic bugs, but these...savages with their bows and arrows still have you all by the balls.”

She scoffed, “I’d watch that tone, Lieutenant,” She paused as you kept your glare on her, and she turned, another holographic projection of the Hallelujah Mountains emerged, “Although, what you said does hold some truth. We’ve come to believe that he’s holed up somewhere in these mountains within one of its cave systems, but every time we go up there, we take losses. Can’t be more than ten minutes in enemy airspace without stirring up the hornets’ nest.”

You watched as helicopters were swarmed with hoards of ikran, and you were instantly fascinated, your mind querying the possibility of such a hive mind response by animals, “How odd. They never used to do that before.”

“Our only hope of finding Jake’s base is you guys. We think that you will be perceived as indigenous and won’t trigger the immune response, but that’s only our theory.” General Ardmore 

“And how might we test that theory?” You asked, crossing your arms.

Tight-lipped, she sucked a breath in, “The hard way.” 

Quaritch snickered, a cocky smirk on his face, “Outstanding.” 

“Good. No time to waste. Let’s fly.” She replied with a pleased grin.

Ardmore ordered for a helicopter to be prepped and escorted you toward the hangar. When you entered it, the pilot was just getting into the helicopter and you instantly thought of Trudy, your best friend who loved to raid the caf late at night with you and begged you to fly with her all those years ago.

Quaritch interrupted your thoughts as he pulled you back, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t talk to your superiors like that again, you understand me?”

Reluctantly you nodded, “Yes sir. I understand.” 

“You better. Now get in.” He let go of your arm, motioning for you to enter the helicopter. 

Wainfleet had a dumb smile on his face, asking curiously, “Where we headed first, Colonel?”

“Where it all started.” He replied, his eyes lighting up with his inspired rage, “W

Touching down on one of the mountains, a stream of nostalgia flowed through you as your mind replayed the first day you had ever landed there with Trudy. Site 26 was only a couple meters away, but each step was like a remnant of the past, scenes flashing in front of you as if you were only there yesterday. 

You suddenly felt like you were home once again. 

The forest had grown so much, the plant life around you like a warm blanket as the trees enveloped your figure everywhere you went. The soft earth squished down as you took a step while the intertwining branches and brambles gave you a hearty challenge as you maneuvered. Your ears twitched at the range of sounds, some delicate and others obvious, those ones keeping the rest of your crew on edge, their guns readied pointedly in every direction.

You were merely keeping protocol, not planning on shooting anything as you trudged carefully through the forest. Even with all that you had learned about Jake, you still had no plan. Any hope you had of going out to find him alone was futile, knowing that Quaritch would notice your absence instantly.

Approaching Site 26, Wainfleet took his place beside your father, joining him as they both stepped into the clearing. You hesitated, yet to brush past the infiltrating brush as the gaps in the leaves gave you a skewed view of the shack, which had clearly been abandoned, any sign of life nonexistent. 

You could hear slight rustling in the trees, the movement calculated and quick. Craning your neck, you looked upward, catching an unmistakable shimmer of blue as you watched the figure of a young man maneuver behind a thicket of green foliage above.

There was no use in hiding, you had already seen him and in his boldness, he brushed the leaves away, staring down at you with his bow already drawn back in his hand, and behind him was a younger girl, the side of her face only visible to you. 

As he continued to look at you, you put your gun down, your figure still as you squinted up at him, his face holding so much familiarity to you that you fell silent.

He was unusually hesitant to kill you, convincing himself that he was only being strategic, but truthfully, he just thought you were pretty, unable to contain a  flush in his face. The younger girl he was with, looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed as she watched his odd behavior. He looked hardly older than you, but you still couldn’t figure out who he was, and you knew that the longer they were there, the more danger they were in.

You put your hands up, whispering as you spoke to them in Na’vi, “You both shouldn’t be here. Go back. They’ll kill you if they see you.”

He kept his bowstring taut, conflicted as he faced you, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Why not let them kill my ass then?”

“I’m not your enemy.” You replied simply.

Quaritch looked over, seeing your figure behind the brush, calling you through his telecom device, “You got eyes on something, y/n?”

Placing your fingers on your own device, the young man drew his bow back again upon instinct, “No sir.” You shook your head, “There’s nothing but trees here.”

Giving them both one last glance, you made your way into the clearing, the young man’s eyes following you as you left, glued to you as you made your way to your father.

“Why are you just staring, Lo’ak? You heard her. We should go.” She pulled at him, trying to get him to budge.

“Not yet Tuk. I have to see what they’re up to.” He warned, glancing at her from the side and shushing her.

Carefully, he advanced forward, climbing to a higher branch with Tuk following behind him quietly. From a higher spot, Lo’ak watched as you, Quaritch, and Wainfleet gathered near your father’s AMP suit.

You were towering over it, your father frowning as his eyes were glued to his own battered skeleton staring back at him like an undead taunt. He put his hand on the arrows sticking out of his body, the two of them embedded into his chest mocking him scornfully too.

You looked down at the AMP suit, a relic of your father’s failure and you noticed his dogtags, pulling them off his skeleton. Your father always wore his, but he always had a copy of yours too. Handing them to him, he took them, his fingers gently brushing the metal and reading the engravings before he put them around his neck.

He looked up at you, “Check the old shack. Wainfleet and I are gonna look around some more.” 

You nodded, obeying the order. Pushing away the vines, you hopped in through the broken window. You were too big to stand tall, crouching as your eyes settled on everything, no longer seeing the reality of the wreckage in front of you, but rather the scenes of your memories. 

You felt as if you had traveled in time, back to the best days of your old life as you trailed your hands along the pods and going further toward the west-end you stopped, seeing your old bunk. You had decorated the frame with a few pictures and removing them, you wiped the dust away.

You held them up to the peeking light in the shack as you traced your hands over the pictures. One of them was just of you and Jake flipping off the camera, making you laugh to yourself. The other was your whole family, you squished between Jake and Grace, Norm and Trudy standing behind you, all of you grinning widely, your happiness caught in the stillness of one shot. 

That was the thing about happiness, it could vanish in an instant, the once pristine shack you had always remembered disappearing as you were faced with the reality of what it actually was. You were in a wreckage, your despair sinking into the broken glass that littered the floor. You hugged the pictures to your chest, savoring the memories before putting them in your pocket.

“Roll out, roll out! We got movement!” An urgent shout rang from outside.

Hopping back out, you followed after Wainfleet and the Colonel, both of them charging toward the forest.

Multiple shots were fired as you navigated through the forest floor and above, you saw the two Na’vi that you had seen earlier, frantically running through the branches and dodging bullets. 

Climbing up the tree, you chased after them, hoping to put enough distance between them and the rest of the regiment, “Ardmore was clear about what she wanted. If they know where Sully is, these two are no good to us dead.”

You were pleading on the side of reason and logic, lying through your teeth as you pretended to be on board with a mission that you only saw as immoral insanity. 

Quaritch rattled off commands, “Secure the girl! We only need one of them to draw Sully out. Kill the other one if you have to.”

You were catching up to the both of them, impossibly fast as you navigated through the branches, keeping your balance as you hopped from one to another. The younger one looked behind her, her foot suddenly catching on one of the branches and and sending her plummeting to the ground below with a hard thump.

Watching her fall felt like everything was happening in slow motion, your mind teetering on what to do as you continued to run after the young man, watching as Zdinarsk and Warren took her by the arms, dragging her off toward the shack per your father’s orders.

“In pursuit of the Na’vi male. No need for back up.” You quickly let out in your telecom, sprinting toward the young man as he was about to jump off the branch.

You tackled him, his back landing harshly on the bark as he yelled for his sister, “Tuk!” 

His eyes immediately went to you, enraged as he hissed at you first, maneuvering himself from under you and pushing you into the bark, his hands pinning your arms down.

“I’m trying to save you both.” You retorted, kicking from underneath him, inflicting a sharp pain in his legs that loosened his grip.

“Like hell you are. I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He wrestled you down again, but you punched him hard, catching him off guard as he placed his finger to his lips, now bloodied.

“Then you’d be dead and so would she.” You spat, grabbing his arm and securing him onto his back once more, your grip on him strong as he fought you off with all his might. 

You brought your knife to his neck, forceful as you pushed it against his skin, “I’m not your enemy.” His eyes were fearless, challenging you as you stared into his eyes. 

You huffed, lifting your knife from him and striking the bark so close to his ears that you nicked him slightly, blood drawing from where you had caught him.

You put a firm hand on his chest, catching your breath as you calmly talked to him, “I don’t want to fight you, okay?”

He placed his hands on your waist, swiping his leg from underneath yours to press you back into the bark, his eyes narrowed at you, his face smug, “Then what do you want to do? Dance?” 

You scoffed at his arrogance, “I want to help you.” You put a finger on his forehead, your teeth gritted, “You need to get it through your thick skull that if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

“I need to save my sister.” He was panting, still stubbornly persistent, but in his desperation, reluctantly loosened his aggressive grip on you.

You lifted yourself up too, your face so dangerously close to his as you glared at him. “You have no fear. I see it in your eyes. But that won’t save you or your sister. Even with all that courage, you have no chance against my regiment. Not alone at least.”

Your voice sent goosebumps down his whole body, his cheeks reddening as he tightened his jaw. He scoffed listening to you, his pride too great to acknowledge that truth. You stood up, putting a hand out. He hesitated to take it, and you rolled your eyes, leaning down to pull him up. He blinked at you, the feeling of your hands in his warm and kind, a sudden stark difference to how they felt when you were fighting.

You had a determined expression on your face, your speech hurried as you cautiously looked around you, “I’ll keep your sister safe. You have my word, but I can only think of one person who’ll know how to deal with my regiment.”

He sighed, your hands still intertwined, “Who?”

“Your Olo’eyktan, Jake Sully. My father, Colonel Quaritch, has orders to kill him, and your sister is his best bet at drawing him out.”

The young man’s face paling in shock, his mouth parted in utter disbelief, “Why does your father want to kill mine?”

You withdrew your hand, blinking as your brain could hardly process what he had just said, his reason for feeling so familiar slowly being committed to truth. In your shock, your mouth spewed your thoughts in an almost inaudible whisper, your face paling as you stared at him, “Had I really been dead that long?”

You couldn’t help but stare at him and looking down, you scolded yourself for not noticing his hands before, too encapsulated by that initial familiarity you felt about him. 

He tilted his head, squinting at you, “How do you know him?” 

“Look I-” You began, but your father’s voice in your ear interrupted you, startling you out of your deep thought, “Y/n, what’s your traffic?”

Putting your hands to your telecom you answered, “Returning to the rally point.”

You grabbed your knife that was stuck in the branch frantically, giving the young man one last look, soft and reassuring even amidst your seriousness, “Don’t worry about your sister. You have to go now! Hurry!”

Without another word, you jumped off the branch, your pocket snagging on it and sending the photos you had put in them flying into the air. The young man caught them in his hands, and seeing you, he was taken aback. He had seen your face before, but as he searched his mind, he found nothing to satisfy your mystery. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his head, pocketing the photos as he ran in the opposite direction of the shack, calling his ikran and darting away back to base.

When you had arrived at the shack, Tuk was bound to a nearby tree branch while Fike held her by her hair, ignoring her squirms as she tried to keep her cries silent. 

Quaritch walked over to you with a satisfied grin, patting you on the shoulder, “We got a prisoner thanks to you, but you were gone a while. That savage didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”

“No, sir. I let him go.” You responded simply.

“You what?” Quaritch yelled at you, furious.

“What good would he be dead? Eclipse is almost nearing and we’re in enemy airspace. We don’t have time for a full night-op. If I had let killed him, then who would be the one to tell Jake?” You argued back, your voice poised as you spoke.

“And how can you be so sure they won’t just leave this brat to die?” Wainfleet interjected, the question marking curiosity in everyone.

You glared at Wainfleet, biting your cheek as you hesitated for a moment. You didn’t want to reveal their identities, but with how bloodthirsty they looked, you knew that they were practically begging for any excuse to kill her. 

You sighed, “They’re his children.”

Quaritch’s expression turned sinister, his eyes lowering toward Tuk, whose face was scrunched up in fear, “Is that right? This is Sully’s kid?”

You nodded, your father awed by his own dumb luck as he looked up at the sky, laughing, “It must be my lucky day.”

Looking back at you, he put a hand on your shoulder, “I’m calling for extraction. We take her on board if Sully’s late.”

Calling the general through the telecom, he confirmed the helicopter’s arrival and turning toward the clearing, he called out, “Lyle!” 

Wainfleet, rushed over to him, your father pointing to the suit, “See if you can pull some data off that suit, and y/n, keep an eye on our prisoner.” 

You nodded, walking over to her as your father and Wainfleet disappeared into the clearing once more. 

Fike who was snickering as he watched Tuk squirm stopped once you cleared your throat, “Piss off. I’m sure you’re tired of daycare duty.”

Fike let go willingly, “My arm was getting kind of tired. Thanks.” He replied jokingly. 

He walked over to the others, talking amongst themselves loudly. You crouched beside the girl, who hissed at you, her pain manifesting itself in her eyes.

You remembered her name as you tried to comfort her, “Tuk, your brother is safe. You don’t need to be scared.”

Hearing her hiss, Zdinarsk was about to stomp over, but you stopped her, covering Tuk’s mouth with your hand. She turned around again, slinging her arm around Fike’s shoulders as she continued the conversation.

When she finally looked away, you took your knife out, tampering with the binds on her hands and loosening the seal, “I sent your brother to find your dad. He was once of the Sky People, but now he is Na’vi. Only he can stop them. Do you understand?”

She couldn’t believe what you were doing, her gaze darting from you to her wrists, you continued to talk soothingly, “When the time is right, you’ll be able to get out of those no problem.”

“Is my dad really coming?” She sniffled, her expression begging for you to be telling the truth.

You met her eyes kindly, “Yes. He is. I made sure that he would. And as long as you’re here with me, you’re safe.”

She relaxed, her expression relieved, a smile adorning her face finally, “Thank you for helping me and Lo’ak.” 

You smiled at her warmly, “Ah, so that’s your brother’s name.” She nodded and you couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering your fight on the branches, “I’m y/n.”

“Y/n. That’s pretty. How did you know my name?” Tuk asked innocently.

“I heard Lo’ak call you. Your name is pretty too.” 

She blushed, “Thank you.” 

She looked at her wrists, “How will I know when the time is right?”

Returning your knife to where it was, you put a hand on her shoulder, “You’ll know, Tuk.” You smiled, “Your dad knows how to make an entrance.” 

As you looked at her, you saw more of her parents in her. You had been so focused on the thought of being brought back to life, that you didn’t even bother to notice how long you really had been dead. You felt it first looking at Lo’ak, but it had finally sunk into you. 

It felt surreal, and as you sat on the soft, rich soil, you realized that you had probably died somewhere in the forest, your body a relic of the past just like your father’s was.

Quaritch walked out of the brush with a disgruntled expression, his eyes irradiating with an unkempt rage. When you saw him, you stood up, placing yourself between him and Tuk.

"What happened? Why are you-” You stopped as your father pushed past you, kneeling as he put a knife to Tuk’s throat.

He pulled her head back, seething, “Listen here little girl, the only reason why you’re breathing now is because I wanna see your father’s face when I kill you.”

Tuk froze, petrified as fear overtook her body, so stunned that she couldn’t even utter a whimper. 

“What the hell are you doing? She’s just a child!” You yelled at your father, something you had never done before, the height of your voice making him lift his grip on her. 

Slowly he ascended, his eyes squinted at you in disbelief, “I don’t care if she’s a child. She’s his. Sully’s gonna pay for what he did to us. To our family. Nothing’s over. Not while we’re breathing.”

The hatefulness in his words trapped you as you felt his manic desperation suck the fresh air around you, the world feeling as if it was sinking into abysmal darkness as you couldn’t shield the horror in your eyes.

He took the dogtags you had given him earlier and put them around your neck, “This Na’vi blood’s making you soft. You wear this as a reminder, y/n, a reminder of who you are and where you came from.”

Quaritch stomped off, barking orders to Fike as he left the perimeter, leaving you with those dogtags on your neck, mocking you. You clasped your hands around the dogtags wanting to rip them off your neck and cast them far from you, but you stopped yourself, your shoulders sinking as you sat beside Tuk again.

Your expression matched the darkening sky, the light that cascaded through the trees slowly succumbing to eclipse, and unsure of how to comfort you, Tuk put her hands over yours, your hearts anxious for what was ahead.

~

“Where’s your sister, Lo’ak? Where’s Tuk?” Jake yelled, his tone abrasive as he aggressively took his son by the shoulders, Neytiri behind him, her eyes filled with worry. 

His brother Neteyam went to his side while his other sister Kiri took the other, both of them teeming with worry. 

 Lo’ak brushed them both off as he made eye-contact with his father, the urgency in his voice showing in his hurriedness, “Colonel Quaritch. He took her, but this girl, she’s keeping her safe and she told me to find you.”

Jake squinted at his son, enraged by such nonsense. He raised his voice in anger, “What the hell are you talking about? Quaritch? A-a girl? That’s impossible. Answer the goddamn question, Lo’ak! Where is your sister?”

"Where is Tuk?” Neytiri repeated, the slowness in her voice giving intense warning as she glared at him.

“Tuk is at the shack, but you have to listen to me, dad. They’re all avatars. They were wearing camo and they had guns.”

Jake and Neytiri looked at one another, unwilling to believe such a nightmarish thing. Still, they were sure of one thing. Tuk was gone, and whether they believed what Lo’ak had said, it didn’t matter. They’re daughter’s life was on the line.

“Let’s go get our daughter.” Jake said to his mate, who nodded, calling her ikran, Jake doing the same.

Lo’ak reached the edge of the camp, mounting his ikran and almost darting off before Kiri and Neteyam showed up at his side.

Kiri groaned in annoyance, “What are you doing? You’re gonna get in trouble!”

Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak’s arm, glaring, “Don’t, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak shoved him off, mounting his ikran, “Just come with me and stop being such a wuss.”

Lo’ak flew off, Neteyam grunting as he followed his brother, cursing at him under his breath.

Eclipse had finally taken over the sky and with it came a steady rainfall, giving Jake and Neytiri an advantage. Neteyam and Lo’ak followed not long after, and in his fury, commanded them to both stay by the ikrans, Neteyam reluctantly obeying, while Lo’ak agreed halfheartedly.

Jake and Neytiri moved in silence, calculating every move with precision. Neytiri took to the trees and Jake covered the ground, his tomahawk firmly ready in his hand. Carefully and silently, Jake disarmed the soldiers guarding the perimeter while Neytiri waited for the opportune moment to strike. 

Everyone else took their positions when dusk fell, the usual calm of the forest becoming eerie, the slight movements of the nature surrounding you making the crew jumpy, their guns at the ready, expectant of any attack. Earlier, when no one was looking, you loosened the binds around her wrists, telling her that when the time was right, she would be able to escape easily.

Tuk kept that in mind, her eyes glued to her wrists as she waited that perfect time. The noises around you had been constant, the rain, the occasional rustling of the leaves, certain animal calls. But, a new sound broke in the wind, making your ears twitch. Tuk heard it loud and clear, looking up at you, and you understood what the sound was. It was a call, a signal that Jake had finally come. 

After the wake of that new sound, the unmistakeable twang of an arrow burst through the thick air, sending Fike backwards and killing him instantly. Bullets rang through the air from another direction, sending the other soldiers flying to the ground. Tuk, who had figured this was the perfect time to set herself free, squeezed her hands through the binds and ran in the opposite direction of the fire, screaming when she ran into someone, but sinking with relief when she realized it was Lo’ak and Neteyam.

Neteyam took Tuk into his arms, holding her as Lo’ak grabbed her by the shoulder, “Where’s the girl, the girl that helped us?�� He asked her.

Tuk pointed opposite his direction, “Y/n! She’s over there!”

Lo’ak, without any hesitation ran toward where Tuk had pointed, carefully maneuvering as he approached. 

You and the rest of the soldiers took cover as bullets continued to sweep the forest floor, bullets that you knew could only be coming from Jake. 

Quaritch, who had taken cover behind a log, saw the arrow, his voice sinister as he attempted to draw her out. “Is that you Mrs. Sully?”

She instantly recognized the voice, but she kept a poised anger, despite the ghostly chill she felt down her spine, “I will kill you as many times as I have to, demon.”

Quaritch huffed out cockily, reloading his weapon, “Looks like you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone, but don’t worry Mrs. Sully. Pretty soon, you won’t have a family to protect.”

Looking at Warren and Wainfleet, Quaritch gave his signal, the two of them putting their eyes in their scopes to search for Neytiri as he continued to talk, taunting her with unbearable arrogance.

She was stuck where she was, any movement marking her for death as guns in all directions were targeting her. You used your scope to watch your crew intently from the opposite side. Warren’s eyes were fixed on the trees, and you knew he caught sight of her when he stopped, aiming as he pointed his gun at her. You aimed at Warren ready to pull the trigger, but an arrow came flying through the sky behind you, shooting through Warren’s chest and sending his body instantly to the ground. 

Wainfleet immediately turned toward the arrow’s origin and you followed his line of sight to find Lo’ak behind you. You stepped in front of the line of fire, attempting to stop Wainfleet, but he had already pulled the trigger. The bullet had landed above your clavicle, a seemingly fatal wound as your body dropped, Lo’ak catching you as you fell. 

Wainfleet’s eyes widened, turning his head to the Colonel, who hadn’t seen what had happened, and in his flustered state, Wainfleet backed away slowly,  running to your father’s side.

At that same instant, Quaritch took his shot, gauging where Neytiri was and releasing a detonation of bullets that bursted with deadly fire, the area engulfing in a massive explosion that ruptured the area, pieces of bark flying all throughout the forest like shrapnel. Taking her chance, Neytiri ran, and seeing her movement, Quaritch ordered the crew to follow. Jake followed too, disarming soldiers from where he had taken cover and using the last of his bullets to secure Neytiri’s safety. 

You were lying on the ground, Lo’ak breaking your fall as you both tumbled to the grassy floor, “Shit!” He yelled out once he noticed the blood dripping from the wound. 

Shifting to your side, he put pressure on it, talking to you gently, “Hey! Stay with me, okay?” 

When your mind finally caught up with your body, you let a deep breath in, sitting up abruptly, the boy retracting his hands as your own touched where your wound was, the blood smeared on your fingertips as more poured down your chest. 

Quickly, you ripped pieces of your shirt as he watched, eyes blinking in confusion as his face flushed, “What are you doing?”

You almost laughed, a smirk on your face, “Relax, I’m not getting naked.” 

Looking around, you took your knife out, slicing off a piece of the bark from a nearby tree, pressing the blade into its flesh as it seeped out sap. You wiped the sap on your wound, feeling the slight sting as Lo’ak watching in confused awe.

Lo’ak let out another question, “Where did you learn how to-”

“I had a great teacher.” You replied, “Yanna bark sap has great healing properties.” 

You gave him the pieces of cloth that you tore, “Just wrap the pieces around.”

He took the cloth from you, covering the wound, “Wrap it tightly.” You ordered.

“Ow!” You yelped as he pulled the cloth taut.

“You said to do it tightly.” He mumbled, continuing to wrap your wound. 

You took his face in your other hand, brushing his lip with your finger, the bottom of it cracked and the blood crusted from when you punched him, “Sorry about that.” 

He could feel his heart beat faster, your fingers still on his lips as he placed his gaze on you. The way he bore his eyes into you made you feel shy, and having never been looked at like that before, you pulled your hand away, but he grabbed it, “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” 

Blues, greens, and purples illuminating your shimmering skin as the plants around regained their bioluminescence. Anyone from the outside looking in would have thought you two were sharing affections, the plants livening around you, sanctifying the air you shared, that small, fleeting moment between the two of you peaceful amidst what had just happened. You cast your eyes away from him quickly though, unable to let yourself slip too deep into that peace, the horrible truth of reality striking at it like vipers.

Your ears twitched, voices coming through your telecom, immediately you turned around, craning your neck as you saw the bright, white lights of the extraction helicopter in the distance, snuffing out the glow of the plants. You could hear the general’s urgency as everyone was ordered to return to the helicopter.

“Get down. They might shoot if they see you.” You pulled him into the nearby brush, the tall, hanging leaves giving cover for you and Lo’ak.

As the helicopter neared and neared, its rotors whirred loudly, silencing the rest of the noises and filling your ears. Through the leaves, you saw the helicopter descend just above the tree line, multiple ropes dropping to the ground for extraction. Immediately, Quaritch stopped his crusade, falling back to the rally point, everyone else following after him. Grabbing onto the rope, he counted who he was with, but let go when he realized you weren’t there. 

“Y/n? Do you read me? Get back to the rally point.” He commanded in his telecom, his voice desperate.

You were about to put your hands on your telecom but you stopped, your fingers hovering over the buttons. You didn’t expect to hesitate. From the moment you woke up, you felt scorned by the presence of your father. But as you heard his voice calling to you so desperately, what was left of that old you, who loved him so much, found its hold on your heart somehow. 

“Y/n? Do you hear me? Get back to the rally point, now!” He yelled out. You could see him in front of you, frantically looking around.

General Ardmore was barking orders too, emotionless, “If she doesn’t come up Colonel. We’ll have to leave and come back tomorrow.”

Despite the whirring of the helicopter, your father’s voice was all you could hear in your head as he continued to scream out your name, the voice that taught you your every move and molded your every thought.

Still, you did nothing, eyes glued to your father in the distance, uncharacteristically panicky as he turned to the rest of his regiment, throwing his hands up, “Where’s my little girl?”

Lo’ak put a hand on your arm, his voice low, “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go back. That guy over there shot you, then left you.”

You looked at him, feeling the guilt within you rise, “Am I not so different from him? From all of them? I don’t belong here on Pandora and I don’t deserve to. If I stay here, I’d still be endangering you all.”

He kept his eyes planted on you, the sadness in your voice reinforcing him to be strong, “And if you go back, then what will happen to you? Will you just obey orders and watch your dad kill mine?” You looked at Lo’ak, your expression still conflicted and too aghast by his boldness to offer any protest. Yet, Lo’ak knew he got through to you, your expression softening as you let him lower your hands gently to the grass. 

“Look, you chose to save me and my sister when you could have killed us.” He lifted his hand up, his palm grazing it as he took the earpiece out of your ear, his fingers traveling to your neck as he unclipped your telecom.

You froze, your senses wholly attuned to him as your mind could only focus on his voice, calm and slow as he spoke to you, “You told me yourself. You’re not the enemy.” He smirked at you, pressing a finger into your forehead, “Get that through your thick skull, won’t you?” 

You couldn’t help a light laugh as your lips upturned, “I got through yours, so it’s only fair right?”

About to lift your gaze back on the helicopter, you stopped, rolling onto your back instead, relinquishing the ties of who you no longer wanted to be, unwilling even to grant them your eyes as they left you. You felt as if the tether to your father was being severed as the helicopter flew away, its whirring becoming distant and distant until finally, the tranquility of the forest returned as the bioluminescence reawakened around you. The feel of the grass and the air immersed you into that bliss, and no longer focused on the anger and hurt, you only wondered how you endured it for so long, how that tether was able to mark trauma into your skin and bones.

Lo’ak, although confused by your actions held no qualms about joining you, lying down, his eyes only on you the whole time. You turned your head slightly to look at him, and you felt that peace from before, no longer skewed but welcomed by you as you smiled at him, your gratefulness emanating from it. 

Under your gaze, Lo’ak felt himself get shy, getting up quickly to hide the blush that would surely make itself known among the illumination of the flora around you. 

“W-we should uh...look for my dad.” In his awkwardness, he was seemingly unsure, his tone expelling his words like a question.

Lo’ak put a hand out and you took it, “Yeah, Jake and I have a lot to catch up on.”

Once you stood up, you heard bellowing rustles in the distance, and immediately you took your defensive position, taking your knife out. Lo’ak also had his knife out, his back against yours as you both searched your perimeter. The rustling became footsteps, the sound approaching closer and closer until you saw a flash of blue rushing toward you, the lifting of a tomahawk making you dodge immediately.

“Jake I-!” He swung again, your knife barely blocking the weight of his tomahawk as you staggered backward.

“Dad! Stop!” Lo’ak yelled out, and hearing the rest of his family come, Neytiri already drawing her bow, he ran to her, pleading for her to put it down. 

You ducked again as Jake continued to swing, backing away as you put your hands up, “Jake! It’s me! Y/n!” You yelled.

The adrenaline pumping in his veins was too prominent, not allowing him to recognize you as he continued to swing at you, each one more forceful than the last. Neteyam had also drawn his bow, but Tuk clung to his arms, disrupting his attempt at shooting you.

You fought back vigorously and when you had finally knocked the tomahawk out of his hands, you let go of your grip on him, kneeling on the dirt with your hands up as you spoke again, out of breath, “Jake. It’s me, y/n. You have to believe me.”

Blinking, he could finally hear you, your unmistakeable voice warping Jake’s mind, unwilling to accept the possibility, your appearance betraying the very memory of you, splicing who he remembered you to be from the mystery of who was kneeling in front of him.

He put a knife to your neck, his eyes pained as he tried to ignore the memories coming back to him in response to your voice, “You’re not! Y/n’s dead. She’s dead, okay? So, who are you?”

What proof did you have? Even if you showed him those photos, they wouldn’t be enough. All you had were your memories, and as you looked at Jake, so happy to see him again, you reached into your past in hopes that he would remember too.

“You know me, Jake Sully, and you know my father. He’ll stop at nothing to kill you and your family.” Jake gritted his teeth, his knife dipping into your neck more. You became teary-eyed as you continued to speak, but you were fierce in your tone, “Do you remember what I told you before the bulldozers came?” You asked.

“A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning.” You looked over at his family, their stares burning into you, “You have a family now, Jake. Let me help you protect them from my father.”

Jake dropped his knife, his mouth parting, the words he had lived by in all the time you were gone breathing life back into you, his eyes no longer looking, but Seeing. Every doubt he had in his mind disappeared into the night air as he said your name, the breath he expelled so soft in the wake of what he felt was another reality. You were alive, and when he had finally accepted that fact, he lifted you up from the ground, pulling you in for a hug.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you before.” He said softly, “Blue never really was your color.”

You buried your face in his shoulder as you hugged him back, “Yeah well, it was always yours.” 

You felt tears brim in your eyes as you lifted your head up and you could feel your whole body relax for the first time since you woke up. In the midst of your comfortable silence you suddenly heard him sniffle. You became moon-eyed, pulling back to see that he had tears falling from his eyes too.

You smiled at him, your old joking self returning as you laughed, “I see fatherhood’s turned you into a sap.” You put your hands up to his forehead, “And look at all the wrinkles on your forehead. You’re ancient.”

Scoffing, Jake pushed your hand away, tousling your hair, “You come back from the dead, and you’re still a little shit.”

“Whatever old man. I know you missed me.” You snarkily replied, weakly punching him in the arm.

He scoffed at you, winding his arm to punch you back when his face dropped, noticing your bound wound, “What happened? Did I shoot you?”

Lo’ak piped in, “It was one of the other soldiers. He was trying to kill me, but she took the bullet instead.”

He looked between you and Lo’ak. If there was still any doubt in his mind about who you were, it was easily erased. What you had done for his son directly mirrored what you had done for him all those years ago, every detail so ingrained in him that goosebumps adorned his body as he thought of it. Neytiri, who took her place beside Jake softened her eyes, having felt grateful to you for saving Jake’s life before, and once again for saving her son.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry. I’ve already put yanna bark on it. It’ll be better in no time.” You put your hands up, attempting to ease Jake.

He glared at you, “We’re going.” Jake turned to his eldest son, “Neteyam, take y/n back to camp.”

“No! I’ll take her back.” Lo’ak instantly protested, earning a knowing look from Neteyam, “It’s the least I can do after she took the bullet for me.”

“Fine Lo’ak,” His eyes were ensnared with warning, “You fly straight and slow, alright? Don’t be reckless in the air.”

“Yes sir.” Lo’ak answered, although he hardly meant it. 

Everyone called their ikrans, all of them coming in like a swarm and gracefully descending to the forest floor. Jake flew off first, Neytiri, who was holding Tuk, followed after, then Neteyam ascended as well.

Making sure you were secure before taking off, Lo’ak looked over his shoulder at you, “Have you ever been on an ikran before?”

“Never.” You said, suddenly excited, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly, your chest hugging his back, “I don’t care what Jake says, I don’t want to go slow.”

Lo’ak couldn’t control himself as a satisfied grin took over his lips, “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t planning to.”

The minute he kicked off, you felt the exhilaration of being in the air hit you as you flew through the mist of the night, Lo’ak taking extra detours around the mountain, commanding the wind as you felt it underneath you. You had merely felt free before, but as you embraced the touch of the swirling air, infinite and timeless in its beauty, you knew you really were. 

The day had felt excruciatingly long, and you felt so burdened by just being alive, the guilt, the hurt, and the pain encompassing you. But, being in the air with Lo’ak made those burdens feel like mere trivialities, and while you knew in the back of your mind that you would have to face them again, you let yourself feel that freedom you always longed to have and in its simplest form, you understood what it was you were really feeling.

You were happy.

But the thing about happiness is that it can vanish in an instant.

~

Your father was still out there, and having already been motivated to complete this mission by his own disposition, a new rage had sunk into his soul, catalyzing the torment he so desperately had to inflict.

Wainfleet finally admitted to your father what had happened to you, but in his deceitful cowardice, he left out one large truth.

“What did you say Lyle?” Quaritch asked impatiently.

“Sully. He shot her. She’s dead, Colonel.”

—

Author’s Note:

My lovers, 

LYLE WAINFLEET IS A BITCHHH ISN’T HE??? 

let me know how you felt about chapter 1!! i’d love to hear your thoughts :)

endless thanks for all of you who have waited and continue to wait for the next parts! 

for all those that wanted to be tagged for this next part, i’ve listed you all below! thank you so much!!

love, 

nana <3

~

taglist [tumblr wouldn’t let me tag some of the blogs, but i didn’t want to leave anyone out!] :

@fifty-shades-of-mischeif @pretty-npeach @tonni30  @itsemy01 @23victoria @soobinsrose  @starjane312 @valentineoxox @justlillythinking @mae-is-crazy @scarletrosesposts@paniniii @bloodyziggy @mister-police  @mrs-sullys-blog @niiight-dreamerrrr @promiseofeywa  @wilmalovegood @sssspencerrr @mochi-yu @d4rno @lovekeeho @dreama-little-dreamof-me  @strawberryclouds22@tsunchani @sully-stick-together @scarletrosesposts @local-mr-frog @pirana10 @usernumder67 @im-kai-scotty  @mae-is-crazy @ghoulbli @devil-on-acid  @neteyamoa @iamparou @nightfalldia  @a-queen-blr  @aeclark041-blog1@justpassinbxx @mochi-yu @persondoingstuff @melatonindaydreamz @ducks118 @macncheese69420666  @rotten-toenails  @rikidaily  @extreamlycutecuban @iizx7y @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @lovekeeho  @spicycloudsalad @perfectprofessorloverapricot   @kind45  @skyri-revia22@blueblushedflwr  @neteyamslovr  @coldlamaspersonspy @jayinthecloset @lunamochii @littlethingsinlife @ok-boke @donaldsmac @slut4sluttybooks @zatarias-pandora  @bol0-de-morang0  @dakotali  @bajadotcom  @bitchyzombienacho @siriusblackwh0re @wadiyatalkinabeetmate @eggyongies @galaxyfruits @kiricomics @fireflystoughts  @reallysparklychaos @bwormie​ @glitter-in-my-heroin @kirikuki @katkat1918 @0-0h-0 @imthefunniestpersonalive @my-name-duh @mayabritjohn @annoyingstrawberryballoon @sometimesminsan @pearlrosegardener @aestheticcraze @animetrash12 @sbfandom @hrlzy @vhobuu @urforevermore @larkkyoris @usersjs-world @vampsclassiffied @razor-blayde @doromoni @lizzyloo22 @jimfiqs @hunylew @dreamergirljen

[sidsinning]

Thinking About Gojo

Thing that’s so sad about Gojo is every time he’s fucked up it’s bc of his humanity- giving Amanai more time to relax as a normal girl made him use his abilities beyond his limit letting Toji gain the upper hand, letting Geto go without killing him after his first massacre, having Geto’s corpse stolen by Kenjaku bc he didn’t cremate him out of respect, being sealed in Shibuya bc of the shock of his best friend appearing in front of him, not sacrificing the human crowd to kill all the special grades immediately- and he blames himself every time it happens and always tries to make up for it, takes responsibility for all of it- bc he HAS to as “The Strongest”

But at the same time, his humanity is what defines the best parts of him in the first place- what’s the point of his strength if not for his friends and students? He would be leading a meaningless empty existence, much like Toji when he met him. Toji was unstoppable (“the one who cast it all aside”) bc all he was focused on was fighting and winning to the best of his ability, holding nothing back no matter how guilty or innocent his victim was- but was extremely depressed and leading a miserable empty life. Just like Gojo, when Toji tapped into the “human” side of himself during battle (his pride), that was what ultimately caused him to lose the fight. Even when Toji came back as a corpse, he “loses” the fight that he would’ve won easily against Megumi if not for the love he has for his son, tapping into his humanity again. The times Toji felt at peace and truly happy at the end of both of his lives was when he was caring for his son- telling Gojo to take care of him, then confirming his abusive family didn’t raise him. Losing his humanity lets him win his battles, but leaves him isolated and aimless. Embracing his humanity fatally kills him, but leaves him happy and fulfilled.

(Gojo also loses his first round against Toji bc he got distracted thinking about protecting Amanai!)

Humanity is what fucks both of them up in battle, but without it, they have nothing but empty strength. They’d just be monsters like Sukuna.

Curse you Gege for making the only thing worth fighting for in their lives their greatest weakness. When I catch you cat man.

Gojo does not have a god complex, though being the strongest has undoubtably made him arrogant…but like who wouldn’t be at his level of power lol? What Gege focuses on when Gojo’s strength is highlighted in the series is how lonely and isolated Gojo felt bc of it. The way he uses his strength very transparently tells you what he actually cares about- the people around him. Gojo wants to laugh with his friends and have a world where his students will not suffer the same trauma as he has. To be able to stand on their own two feet without him. He uses it to protect. Sukuna transparently uses his power to fight powerful opponents and make others suffer.

Think people mistake it as a god complex bc “I am the honored one” and his lowkey sadistic joy of battle- that’s more him feeling good bc he finally gets moments where he can use this freak strength of his he always keeps docile bc he is way too strong for anyone to be a fair match to him 90% of the time. He is a different type of living organism. Pookie just tweaks here and there it’s fine he’s blowing off steam 😊💖 (but fr imagine having all his power and just…sitting all day bc nothing can challenge you) (I think he just be bored and feeling understimulated so he gets a lil too excited when he gets to stretch bye)

He was FORCED to evolve, power wasn’t smtg he was obsessively seeking out. Still isn’t. He wasn’t able to deploy Red or RCT at the beginning of Hidden Inventory, and he didn’t care beyond being a lil frustrated- like having a homework assignment he couldn’t understand. He was happy when both him AND Geto were labeled as The Strongest. He loved having a proper rival for strength- someone to understand him. He values connection with others much more than raw strength.

It’s not a god complex. It’s quite literally him acknowledging the undeniable fact that he is the strongest and having to take care of the world bc of it. He is actively trying not to be the only card to use against curses by training his students. He knows PAINFULLY well that for all the power he has, he is just one man in one body in the end. He cannot be everyone’s trump card everywhere at once. Unfortunately the Shibuya Incident proved this to be the case- when he’s gone everything goes to straight hell, everyone dies, and his students end up traumatized but evolved in power like he did in the past. As well as abandoned by jujutsu society after being used to their marrow.

[hijinks-n-lowjinks]

Because of the jjk exhibition and new interview questions with Gege there's been a lot of discourse, specifically about how things ended with Nobara and Gojo.

From what the exhibition attendees can best recall (as recordings inside were banned), Gege stated that he doesn't really want to kill off a character if he knows it won't emotionally affect the readers and a bunch of people are reacting poorly to it. But honestly, I don't really disagree with him. The purpose of deaths in most media to pull an emotional reaction from the consumers! You want your readers to feel emotionally tied and affected by that loss! If you kill a character just to kill someone, that's when it's purposeless and pointless.

I think some people are taking this way too literally and interpreting it as "gege kills for shock value" which does NOT equate to what he was saying, in my opinion. Every death has some impact on the characters, the plot, or the underlying meaning of the narrative.

Nanami's death is the most understandable of all of these. As a mentor figure, he was already at risk just because of tropes of the genre and storytelling in general. His death provided motivation for Yuuji and gave us a strong feeling of loss and a desperation to see Mahito brought to justice. He was also a full grown adult so his death was less of a shocking tragedy and more of a painful loss. I don't think there's many people who who debate this.

Now let's get to Nobara. I might be in the minority here, but I believe her death did mean something! Jjk has always discussed themes of throwing kids into situations they aren't fully equipped for and how their youth and lives have been taken away from them out of a sense of duty. Nobara's death is exactly meant to lean into this. She didn't have to die and she shouldn't have died. She was young and made a grave mistake when she shouldn't have gone out by herself! Nanami told her to stay behind because he knew she would be at a heavy risk of injury or death, but because of the culture around her Nobara went anyway. She wanted to help and wanted to be useful. There's a sort of toxic glory in jujutsu society where the strong are held up and revered while also being used recklessly. Nobara shouldn't have died, the same way Haibara and Riko shouldn't have died, but they did. That's the tragedy of it, and jjk is a tragedy and always has been. It was meant to evoke anger and pain, a desire to ensure that something like this doesn't happen again.

Gojo's death is the most complicated. It's the most convoluted and shocking, but I can see what gege was trying to do with it. Gojo is the strongest, but he worked alone and was used to working alone. No one can keep up with him and would just get in his way, so he was somewhat forced to fight Sukuna alone. I believe that the intention behind his loss was to show that even the most powerful can fall, especially when they have no one else they can rely on. The students all have each other. They are meant to be the change to the culture around them, working together to defeat Sukuna and bring about change. We even see this when Yuuta in Gojo's body relies on Inumaki! He's in the body of the strongest, but he wasn't going in alone. That's the difference.

Jjk has shown over and over again the tragedy of the world and hasn't shied away from the reality of loss, grief, and how unfair the world can be. That's the point of all of these horrible things, to show that unfairness. But I don't believe it will end that way! What's the point in showing how sad and nihilistic things are if it doesn't also show hope? I'm certain jjk will have a hopeful, victorious ending but those things come at a cost. That's what I believe gege's intention is.

[ayashitetsuko]

An open letter to David Jenkins

Some fans believe that we should not vent our anger and frustration to show creators. I don’t believe that. The thing about being a professional is that receiving criticism is part of your job—especially if you have done a terrible job.

OFMD went from groundbreaking to disappointing overnight.

There was a momentum to create a queer media that is smart, fun, sexy, and most importantly, respectful. In the way they are writing these queer characters. Especially older and disabled queer characters, a reflection of a generation of marginalised communities that have gone through so much. To give audience a glimpse of hope in their escapism.

But sir, you choose to Remus Lupin him instead.

This is not just about killing off a character. Hell, I might be willing to accept it. After all, I have read and even written fics with MCD in it—involving my favourite character.

But I want you to know that this is a special case. It is not just another popular character being killed off to drive plots.

I have issue with how you kill off a queer character that represents many marginalised communities in his arc.

Izzy is an abuse survivor who becomes disabled as a result of it. Izzy is a queer elder. Izzy is suicidal but manages to overcome it with the healing power of love and community.

Having him killed off just like that is a huge slap for fans who have gone through what he has gone through. Turns out, even in fiction, in our escapism, there is no joy. Only despair.

Also. Father figure? Where does that come from? Ed has never been shown to have any level of respect for Izzy. So let me ask you again. Where does “father figure” come from?

You have an opportunity to make a difference with OFMD; to be remembered in history for the right reasons. Yet somehow you choose not too. You choose to turn this into cheap, sensationalist entertainment where death and torture are thrown around for shock value.

It is like you have no idea how much power you have by being a professional storyteller.

Let me break it down to you. For you as a writer, perhaps killing off Izzy is nothing but an artistic choice. A plot point to figure out. But for audiences in marginalised groups, stories are mirrors. They see themselves in stories. That is how stories give them hope. This is why OFMD has never been “just a pirate story”. Perhaps this is hard to understand if you have never been part of an underrepresented community in the mainstream media, but this is how many are feeling about your work now. Your legacy.

OFMD has truly become an overnight failure. I don’t know how this happened. I would like to blame budget cuts, but your Vanity Fair interview makes me realise this is all deliberate choice.

So, what is next for us Canyonites?

If anything, this convinced me that queer and disabled people should write. And continue to write.

We can no longer trust major media to speak for us. We definitely can never trust David Jenkins again. Any form of progressiveness that he showed earlier was just coincidence, apparently. Even worse, it was fake.

As my friend Sam beautifully puts it, Izzy belongs to us now. We reclaim that character and give him all the happy endings he deserves in our fic, our art. We transform the works. We write about queer, disabled, suicidal characters the way the deserve to be written. If being a published writer is the path you choose, make sure you make wiser decisions than David Jenkins.

Thank you, sir. It was good while it lasts.

But this is a terrible job that you’re doing.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: earth 42 miles morales x spider gn reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: nokia vs. super-powered teen, who wins?

ʀᴇ𝐐: no ~ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 798 ~ part 1

"So... What did you mean "I don't want to kill you"?"

You look up at Miles from your position on his chest, then back down. How do you explain this? A spider bit you, and now you have powers. That sounded silly, didn't it? But there was no better explanation.

"Well, first off, a spider gave me these superpowers. You know, sticking to walls and stuff."

"A spider gave them to you." Miles laughs, and it definitely sounds like he doesn't believe you, "Did you swallow it in your sleep?"

"No, no," You groan, "it bit me."

"That simple? Hell," Amusement is written all over his face, and it's kind of annoying because you're being serious, "Imma have to do that myself."

"Look," You begin seriously, looking to catch his attention, "it wasn't a normal spider. I don't know what it was that made it so special but don't get yourself bitten by a venomous spider, now, I don't need you in a hospital."

"Okay, fine, but I thought the spider stuff was just part of your suit. Like you were some kind of spider-fiend." He waves his fingers to mimic spider legs.

"I'm not that good." You shrug, "You're the genius one. I designed the suit and the web-shooters, but even that was hard. Can't imagine doing it all over again." You shake the hideous thought off, "Point is, I got super-strength from it."

"How super?" Miles questions.

You sit up on the couch–much to his dismay–and say, "Do you have anything I can break?"

"Was there anything he didn't value?" was more the question. Miles thinks about it... well, the materials for his Prowler suit were very precious, and he already knew you could break those, so that was off the list. Kitchen appliances...no, his mom would kill him.

But then, there was something: his mom's old Nokia. She always said she still needed it. Just in case her smartphone broke, she had a back up. Then again, she was careful with her phone, with everything, so that was highly unlikely.

When Miles returns with the old phone, he hands it to you with doubt, "I don't know if you'll be able to break this. It's a Nokia, after all–"

Crushing it in your fist was too easy. Now, splitting it in half? That's a more garish display. It was sure to make your boyfriend speechless.

You take each end of the Nokia and bring them apart before he can even finish his sentence.

For a moment he stares, shocked, even as you place the poor phone on the coffee table and sit back to admire his expression. Honestly, it's priceless. A gaping mouth accompanied by two wide eyes that are glued to the sight of the Nokia.

"Awesome, right? Honestly, I think I could do worse things, but I've never tried–"

"Holy shit." Miles finally says. He picks both pieces of the phone in his hands to examine them.

...and just then, "Miles, I'm home!"

Miles tosses the phone back onto the table, making a loud clack! noise, whilst you push a hospital mask onto your face.

When Rio turns the corner, she gasps, "Miles... ¿qué le hiciste a mi telefono?" (what did you do to my phone?)

"I–nada, mami." (nothing, mom.)

"Ey, ¿como que nada?" She chastises, clicking her tongue, "¿Te volviste mentiroso o que?" (what do you mean, nothing? Did you turn into a liar or what?)

"Mami, ¡te lo juro! Tu sabes que nadie puede romper una Nokia tan..." This was not the right time to forget an expression, but Miles didn't know what to say. "clean como asi." (Mom, I swear! You know nobody can break a Nokia as... clean as this!)

"Y ahora vienes con tu espanglish." Rio sighs, placing a hand on her hip. "Young man, you are in trouble." (And now comes the Spanglish.)

"Mami–" (Mom–)

"(y/n)!" She finally notices you. You straighten up on the couch and hide your nervousness with a cough. "Oh, sweetheart, what happened to you?"

"Hey, Mrs. Morales, I got–I mean, I'm... sick." You muster up the loudest, longest, and most horrendous cough you have with all your being.

Rio almost seems to recoil at the sound. Regardless, she stands up straight, "I think we need to get you some medicine."

"It's fine!" You stop her before she can, waving your hands frantically. You really did not want to take a random pill or something. "Really, Mrs. Morales. I already had some."

"Then I can make you some soup. That is, if you're staying for dinner, of course." She shakes her head at herself, so inconsiderate.

You glance at Miles and he just shrugs, "Okay, sure."

When she goes to the kitchen to start up a broth, you turn back to your boyfriend. He seems relieved, because his mom was too distracted caring for you to properly find a proper punishment for him just yet, but he tenses up at the sight of your panic.

"Now I have to hide this from your mom too??"

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about Curse Geto inspired by Medusa, where he has snakes for hair and will turn people to stone if they make eye contact.

Back in ancient times, Geto was a sorcerer from a prominent clan. He was the middle child of ten siblings and was on the quieter side. It wasn’t until he got his technique at eight years old that his family noticed him - and not in a good way.

Geto was powerful, and progressed at a rate that was envied by others of his clan. While they had the same technique - something along the lines of sound/air manipulation - Geto was still stronger than all of them.

By his teens, Geto had an ever-piling mountain of responsibilities. Only valued for his abilities, and abused for them too. There was a lot of pressure…and constant noise. All day and all night, Geto heard every single sound: one of his relatives crying, or fighting, singing or screaming

So. Much. Noise.

And no one bothered checking in on him.

He despised them.

Geto planned to escape but his clan would never allow that. In his attempt to run away, Geto’s clan managed to overwhelm his senses and kill him.

In the end, the ugly feelings of resentment and hatred consumed him. This was also an era where no one knew that sorcerers could become curses if they didn’t receive a proper burial; therefore, his body wasn’t properly disposed of either.

That’s how Geto became a curse who found his peace and silence by turning people to stone with one simple glance.

This was Geto’s fate.

***

Three centuries later, Geto has left behind the days of him rampaging and killing humans left and right. He’s a changed curse!

He doesn’t want to kill anymore, but the humans keep bothering him! They spread horror stories where he dwells, meaning many impulsive kids and teens cross his territory on stupid dares, and well Geto has to kill them now, doesn't he?

Geto is very protective of his territory.

***

Geto had always wanted a friend though.

Being a curse was lonely.

Geto’s snakes are the only company he has.

Though some days, they drag him down like an oversized crown. They are his true cursed nature, after all - one that Geto constantly fights.

His bloodthirsty babies will whisper to go to the village and turn it all to stone.

You know you want to, the snakes hiss.

Humans are nasty creatures. They have it coming, they repeat.

Imagine how energized you’ll feel after.

Geto can’t deny any of it.

***

The universe sends Geto (now a special grade curse) his first friend in the form of a 190cm human sorcerer with albino-white hair and white bandages secured around his eyes.

Oh yeah, did he mention this sorcerer was sent to exorcize him?

But Geto is like “NOT TODAY” and flees the scene.

Not that that accomplishes anything. This sorcerer - Gojo Satoru - is definitely following Geto’s cursed energy traces, exorcizing other lesser curses while he’s at it.

Gojo is probably following a random statue here and there leftover from Geto’s accidents. See, Geto can't see with his eyes closed, so if people end up crossing his path…

Well, it can’t be helped. Not with Gojo hot on his trail.

Then, Geto will think he’s safe, wiping the sweat off his forehead when a flower appears into his vision. Gojo is sitting right next to him, holding the flower out like an offering.

“Hi.”

Geto shrieks and runs away.

***

It seems Gojo is flirting throughout this chase.

Geto must show no signs of weakness and outrun this madness!

***

Gojo has cornered Geto once again. The layers of white bandages are no match for Six Eyes, since Gojo comments about how pretty Geto looks.

“What?!? I- what?” Geto exclaims, too shocked to move away. Gojo places a hand on his cocked hip.

“What? No one’s told you look beautiful before?” he asks.

“…No,” Geto says. “Usually, the last thing people get to say- er, do, before they turn into stone is scream.”

“Oh…well that checks out.”

Geto’s eyebrow twitches.

Gojo continues on to say, “Your beauty is just too stunning!”

Geto is dumbfounded. And maybe a little touched. Are his cheeks heating up? Impossible, this form of his should be incapable of expressing human emotions and reactions.

To blush at such a comment…Geto must have more dignity than this.

***

One day later, Geto is sprinting through the forest while Gojo hollers behind him: “You know, you’re super boring. But at least pay attention to me!”

***

The next day, Geto weaves through the crowds on the street while announcing to people who can see curses, “DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

Gojo cackles as he trails after Geto.

***

To think Geto was a curse born from negative feelings of overstimulation, while Gojo wears a blindfold to not get overstimulated. They’re truly a match made in heaven.

Gojo quickly finds out that Geto isn’t malicious by any means. It’s just…he keeps accidentally killing people. 😭

For Geto, every day is a fucking struggle. After centuries passed, suddenly the silence wasn’t so good anymore. And it’s not even full silence since his snakes constantly hiss in his ears.

The big cities are overcrowded, and he’d stand out too much in the suburbs. Geto should really escape to the countryside.

It’s also a pain to run away from Gojo because that fool makes almost no sound when he moves.

Fortunately, Gojo has stopped claiming he’s giving chase under the pretense that he’s hunting Geto down.

That’s progress, right?

***

And maybe, Geto begins to look forward to Gojo’s visits.

Just a little.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

***

part 2

[stars-n-spice]

no you don't understand. I need the Bad Batch to have a happy ending. I need them all to make it out alive. I need them to all be together. I need them to be a family once again. I need them all alive, happy, healthy, thriving. I need them safe and healing and growing.

I need Hunter to be able to be at peace. To become what he so clearly wanted to be at the start of the series; a father. For him to have what he fought so hard for. To know that he's more than a soldier. I need him to be able to relax knowing his brothers, that Omega is safe and will forever be safe. I need need need him to have that peace. To have that kind of life. The life he didn't think he'd get, that no clone ever thought that they would get, but yet...And I need him to grow and learn from these mistakes and be that older brother for all of them I know he can be. Seeing him want a life different than what he was essentially made for that badly for him not to get it is going to absolutely destroy me.

I want Tech to come back. I want it so bad. I know Star Wars can't keep getting away with "killing a character and bringing them back" but what's doing it one more time? Am I biased because Tech is my second favorite Batcher? Yes. But listen, I just need him to return and be reunited with his family. I need him to see Crosshair again. I need him to see and be with Phee again. Yes the build up to his death was great and the send off with his goggles was, in my opinion beautiful, but I just really want him back. I miss him so much. He means so much to so many people and I just want to see him alive and well again.

I need Echo to come back and I need him to stay. Wrecker and Tech might be my favorites, but when it really comes down to it? Echo is my comfort character. When I'm upset and really struggling, what usually brings me back is thinking about what would Echo do? What would Echo say to me to get me through this? Echo means so so much to me and it hurts so much to see him reduced to a background character. It makes me think what even was the point of bring him back just to reduce him to what he is now? And I'm so so scared they're going to kill him off for shock value or to "explain" why he isn't with Rex in Rebels, but that's just so fucking stupid to me after having done nothing with his character since like the middle of season 2 of the Bad Batch. Bring him back, please. And let him be at peace for once too!! Goddammit, all this shit he's had to go through; getting fucking exploded, being a prisoner of war, losing Fives, losing his brothers because his chip malfunctioned, having to see what becomes of clones after everything they sacrificed for the galaxy-Like you already "killed". him off once, there's no need to do it again. Just bring him back and reunite him with the others, please.

I need Wrecker to get to have his family all together. On top of that, I need him to get the recognition he deserves for all that he does and has done. Omega might be the heart and soul of the team but Wrecker's the glue and arguably just as much as the heart and soul too. He's the protector, I'm sure he feels it's his responsibility to keep them together, to keep them safe. I want him to continue living his life knowing that he succeeded in doing so and now doesn't have to worry about something like that because they are safe. They're all together again and they're happy and they're safe. He can relax and enjoy what they used to have before it all went to shit. It's so obvious that he cares so much about his brothers and Omega in his own unique ways. Each of the members of the Batch have their own unique dynamics within each other, but it really seems like Wrecker is the one who has one with each of them. And yeah, he's my favorite so I'm going to be biased and I want him to make it out alive and I want him to be happy goddammit.

I need Crosshair to stay the fuck alive. I need him to continue to heal and grow and be back with his family again. I need him to be reassured and to feel safe and loved again. I cannot take another instance of a character who used to be so lost and broken finally getting healing and some peace only to sacrifice themselves again. To have someone go through so much only start to heal and then rip that away from them? I need him to be at peace. I need him to enjoy all that he's missed out on. I need to see him okay and content and healing and living. I don't think I can deal with seeing all of that being ripped away from him. Please just let the man be at peace for once in his fucking life. I am begging. You don't understand, he's healing; mentally, physically, he's getting better and to just,, take all of that away? Can't just ONE character please get a happy ending?? Like if any one of them deserve to see it through the end, it's him.

I need Omega to get the childhood she was cheated out of. I don't know how many times I've sat and thought about Omega only for me to burst out into tears. She's been isolated for nearly all of her life. At the most, she was free for two years out of her FOURTEEN years of existence. She went through ALL of that before the age Ashoka and Padmé were when they were just STARTING to go through the horrors. Yet she's remained so brave and so strong and so determined. She's endured and survived and I want her to thrive. I want her to have all her brothers together once again. I want her to grow up alongside them. I want her to be able to be a child for once. To experience life through those lenses. I don't want her to have to endure another loss.

I need to see this group of individuals who never really fit in have their place in the galaxy. I need to see them, all created with clear intents and purposes to fight in a war as cannon fodder find new purposes. I need to see these burnt-out kids catch a damn break for once. This family of neurodivergents who spent their entire lives either isolated or distant from everyone else because they were "different" and "special" get that well-deserved ending where they're all safe and happy and have a purpose and a place in the galaxy because fucking hell. I wanna know there's hope for me too.

just AAGUUHHH. I've never wanted a happy ending for anyone more than I want it for the Bad Batch.

[pagannatural]

2.10 Hunted

-direct continuation from Croatoan. Sam was waiting for Dean to tell him what it was John said about him before dying. Sam looked really fearful.

-Dean is scared too. This time the camera focuses on him as he begins, “he said that he…wanted me to watch out for you” and his voice trembles as he continues, saying John asked him to take care of Sam, and save him.

Sam doesn’t understand at first. John said this kind of thing all the time, and Dean has been watching out for/caring for/saving Sam their whole lives, but Dean’s demeanor doesn’t match up with what he’s saying. When Dean finally gets to the point, which is that if he can’t save Sam, John said he’d have to kill him, Sam looks so deeply shocked and hurt and upset. It’s like his brain is both seizing upon and rejecting this information. Seizing on it because there’s a part of him that’s thinking I knew it, I knew something was wrong with me and rejecting it because it’s coming out of his older brother’s mouth.

It’s wild that Sam at no point this episode seems to question Dean’s loyalty to him. There’s a little seed of fear inside him that Dean will think he’s a monster, but he just came off a job in which Dean proved to him again that he will listen to and value Sam, not to mention choose Sam over everything else including his own life.

-Dean keeps looking down. He’s ashamed that he’s even saying this. He says “he said I might have to kill you, Sammy” like he’s pleading for Sam’s help. Sam is usually there for him when he’s scared or upset. This is the very first time Dean is saying this out loud and he’s feeling how awful and unfair that was for their dad to put on him.

-John also made Dean promise to keep this from Sam. He probably thought that was for the best for some reason but it belies his complete misunderstanding of his sons as people and as brothers that he thinks 1) Dean would be able to keep it from Sam and 2) that they’re better off not working together. There is just no way Dean could handle this on his own, he needs Sam.

-Sam gets angry. I don’t even think he’s actually angry, it’s more like he’s freaking out and it presents as anger. His fear that he’s not pure is not only becoming a real threat, but also one that caused his father to ask the one person he trusts in the world to kill him if necessary. Sam thought he and John were at least somewhat on the same page when he died.

-Sam switches to need-more-info mode, which is just so deeply Sam. Knowledge makes him feel in control and one of his deepest drives as a character is the Need to Understand. He needs to understand monsters, what makes them bad, what bad even means, why his family hunts them, what’s going on inside of himself, what Dean is thinking and feeling.

The one area that he doesn’t push or poke and seems, later this season, to actually want to protect himself from, is the nature of his and Dean’s connection. I want to assume that he did a ton of research on incest taboos while he was in high school or at Stanford, but the way he avoids understanding makes me think that it’s at the root of his shame and he’s built himself a wall around it just like the one he’d built against Dean himself in s1. The reason so much of Sam’s arc was about letting Dean in again was because his trust in Dean’s love was rattled when he went to college—Sam didn’t know how badly Dean wanted to get back together with him. Now he trusts that Dean loves him, but not that he can save him.

-Dean says he wants to “lay low” because “then I can make sure—“ and Sam cuts him off: “what? That I don’t turn evil?” When Sam says sarcastically “maybe you will have to waste me” Dean yells at him “I never said that.”

It’s the first time Dean raises his voice in the conversation. His anger seems to come from being misunderstood rather than being confronted about something true. Dean can’t imagine Sam becoming evil. I think Dean was about to say “Then I can make sure nothing happens to you” or something. He doesn’t seem like he’s actually angry either, just like he’s terrified and he’s trying to take control of a situation outside of his grasp.

-Dean begs Sam for “time to figure this out.” He says please four times. It quiets Sam. I wonder if Dean has spoken to Sam like that in the past, if he used to get Sammy to let him stitch him up by asking him to please just let him disinfect it or to please just count to 20 and it’ll be over.

-Sam runs off on his own, which is such an *interesting response since he has been running away from home since he was an adolescent. He is not one to spook easy or to look away when things get tough, but he hates feeling like he’s the problem.

*link for any curious psych nerds. runaways are more likely to have a single parent, have a negative relationship with parents, have been exposed to violence, and have a mental illness (most often depression). Sounds like Sam.

He runs away to investigate on his own for a few reasons. He’s afraid of himself and of what’s going to happen to him and he needs some control over the situation. He’s probably also noticing that this is tearing Dean up inside and he doesn’t want Dean to save him, he wants to fix it himself. If he can fix it, he can fix what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t really think Dean can do that for him, which is sort of true and sort of false. They have to do it together.

Whatever is up with Sam is and always has been intimately and inherently connected to Dean and the brothers’ love. There’s their destiny as vessels, and their love ultimately saving the world, but it’s also their bond itself. The demon caused the fire, so the demon blood in a way is responsible for delivering baby Sammy into Dean’s arms and their incestuous codependent relationship. (And I’m treating their relationship as incestuous regardless of what physically has or hasn’t happened.)

-So Sam leaves. When he goes to Ellen’s bar, Ellen tells him that Jo left to become a hunter and that Ellen told her “not under my roof.” It parallels Sam’s decision to leave for Stanford. Ellen tells him it’s not his fault, which he seems affected by. He thinks things are his fault because he’s impure. He probably thinks his and Dean’s feelings are his fault for the same reason.

-Ellen tells Sam that Dean has been calling asking about him, “worried sick.” When Sam leaves she’s like You know I have to call your brother and let him know you’re safe right?

It’s exactly what a parent would say to a runaway kid about calling their mom.

-Sam basically tells Ellen that Dean can’t protect him from who he is. He doesn’t believe Dean can save him and he will ultimately need to have faith that Dean can save him in s5.

-How does Sam have money for all this? He must be helping Dean with the hustling by now.

-Sam pockets some of Scott’s prescription meds, to use or to sell or both.

-Dean asks about Sam unprompted as soon as Ellen calls him. When he tracks Sam and spots him through the motel window he says out loud “thank god you’re okay” and then sees Ava and says “oh you’re better than okay” and smiles and I think it’s cute that Dean still thinks Sam is interested in anyone other than him.

-Gordon shoots at Sam. Dean beats Gordon up and says “you do that to my brother I’ll kill you” but Gordon hits him on the head with his very large gun (a rifle? I don’t know guns) and knocks him out cold. Dean feels strongly about not killing people except when it comes to protecting Sam then it’s totally fine.

-Sam finds and identifies the bullet shells and calls Dean for help and Ava is like Who are you?? and Sam says “my brother” like five times. It’s so fun seeing her perspective on Sam, who she thinks is crazy and probably dangerous because of his knowledge and the fact that he and his brother have a code word specifically for when one of them is being held at gun point. Dean sees Sam as his beautiful cutie pie lil guy who he is so proud of, and outsiders see Sam as the danger to society that he is.

-Sam says “harms way doesn’t really bother me” and when Ava says This is how you die! he says “doesn’t matter. It’s my brother.” Sam is bananas. It’s good for the viewer to be reminded of this fact often.

-Dean mostly keeps it together when Gordon is talking about killing Sam, because he’s trying to find a way to save Sam even now. Screen caps of his expressions don’t really do his scenes justice because his lips tremble, and you can see him breathing shakily, and glancing around, or flinching slightly. His dread is palpable. The sick, terrible desperation in Dean’s entire body when he thinks Sam is about to be and then thinks Sam is being killed by a grenade is hard to watch.

-Incidentally this is how ptsd commonly happens. Dean is usually able to act on his fight or flight response and fight/kill the threat, but here he’s tied up and can do nothing. So this would be particularly hard for him to deal with in the coming months/years. I can’t recall if the show explores that, I guess we’ll see.

-Gordon says “your brother thinks you’re some kind of saint.” Again with the outsider perspectives here. Dean sees Sam as the most precious, good, important thing in the world and Gordon sees him as weird and soft and obsessed with his brother (gay?).

-Gordon says “show your brother the killer you really are, Sammy” and Sam says “it’s Sam” before knocking him out. I love this callback to Bloodlust where Sam says Dean is the only one allowed to call him Sammy.

-Sam goes to Dean wearily and puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s almost casual, establishing contact by touching, letting Dean know he’s there. Dean could hear Sam fighting with Gordon, so he knew he was alive, but he needs to touch Sam and look into his eyes to really know he’s alive and okay. Sam helps Dean get untied and Dean ends up pulling Sam to his feet as he unties Dean’s ankles.

When Dean holds Sam’s face in his hands, his thumbs just under his jaw, Sam tilts his head back tiredly, exposing his throat. He responds like it’s a matter of course that Dean will cradle his face, like he’s done it many times before when Sam was smaller and had to tilt his head back to look up at Dean.

What is it with Dean and Sam’s neck and throat? It’s an intimate part of the body to be looking at and touching so often, but unique in that it’s not explicitly sexual. It just feels sexual.

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder again, wordlessly confirming that yes, he is okay, so Dean breaks away to kill Gordon like he said he would.

-When Sam realizes this is Dean’s aim, he tells Dean not to and pulls him away by the collar of his jacket. It’s very guard dog/master.

-Dean calls Sam a “fine upstanding citizen” for getting Gordon arrested and Sam smiles prettily.

-Sam is so cute waiting in the car while Dean yells at Ellen on the phone about how Gordon tracked Sam by talking to hunters at her bar. Mom is so mad the bully picked on his kid, and the bully is in detention but that’s not enough he wants to talk to a parent about this.

-In the car Dean warns Sam “dude, if you ever run off like that again—“

“What? You’ll kill me?” Sam jokes.

It’s nice they can joke like this about past arguments. Couples who know how to fight are more likely to stay married.

-Dean says they should go to Amsterdam (implying that he wants them to forget their worries and get fucking blazed together) and Sam does that thing where he grins and licks his lips at him. But he says he’s not just gonna ditch the job and Dean says “screw the job.” Sam tells Dean “you’re a hunter, it’s what you were meant to do.” John and Gordon have said this same thing, but I think the difference is that they meant Dean was born to kill and Sam thinks he was born to rescue. It shows the level of admiration that Sam has for Dean, thinking that he’s doing what he was born to do. You only think that of people who are very, very talented. Personally I think Dean was bred to be a hunter and would’ve been a firefighter or an ER nurse or something (wait what did Jess dress up as for Halloween? wait), but he was born to be Sam’s big brother.

Sam never felt a calling to do anything in particular, as far as I’ve gotten in the show. He’s really good at getting people to talk and convincing them of things and doing research, so lawyer fits, but he’s also said he never fit in at Stanford. When he has a normal life in s8 he works in maintenance. He must have felt so out of place as a teenager thinking Dean had found his destiny, and that it wasn’t right for Sam.

-Dean says he doesn’t believe in destiny, meaning he believes in Sam staying good. Sam tells Dean “you can’t protect me.” Dean says “I can try” and Sam thanks him. He feels loved by Dean.

-They do their Bitch/Jerk bit and Sam grins. They must have missed each other, they’re so flirty and excited to be together again.

-Sam calls Ava again and Dean looks at him suggestively and asks if Sam is sweet on her. Sam says “she’s engaged, Dean” and Dean says “so?” Okay cool so Sam being engaged would not have been an issue for Dean it really was just the blood relative thing. Cool.

-Sam chooses both Dean and hunting. Running off on his own put him at risk which puts Dean at risk, and Dean agrees to be together on Sam’s terms rather than laying low.

[edwinspaynes]

Okay, I gotta do this for my own sanity because it's word vomit time. Song of Achilles rant. 0/5 stars to this one.

Okay. I am not a fan of war stories or of tragedies. This was both of those things. So I will admit that this was perhaps not my genre. THAT BEING SAID, I can usually point to a tragedy or a war story and go "that was objectively good/well-done, but not my thing." This was neither good nor well-done.

The main appeal of this book - its 'heart,' if you will - seems to be the ""love story"" between Patroclus and Achilles. Unfortunately, I'm leaving the book with 0 understanding of what they like about each other. Achilles was lowkey an enormously terrible person. Patroclus KNOWS THIS. He just is an idiot who continuously gives him the benefit of the doubt over and over again. Achilles sends girls off to be raped. He kills an enemy and drags his corpse around for ??? reasons besides he can. Patroclus is sitting there just going "O! His blond cascading waves! Wow!! He is everything to me my SOUL ahhh." Their emotional connection is deeply shallow in how it's written.

ANYWAY fine. Whatever. The narrative also deeply hates women. The only important female characters are a) Achilles's goddess mom who's continuously villified, and b) a slave girl (the only character I actually liked, RIP) who randomly dies at the end for no reason other than shock value. Women are sent off to be raped continuously; the narrative justifies this. I understand that in times of war back in this time period this actually happened, but I am baffled by the author's seemingly constant attempts to portray this POSITIVELY. Achilles himself is just like 'yeah, this girl's a bartering chip!" and Patroclus, while he's not cool with it and does go save the girl, totally rationalizes this and the author clearly thinks it's justified !!????

No.

And let's talk about that shitty ass pacing. Nothing happens!!! For half the book!!! And then they all go to war and the ONLY reason Patroclus is there is because he wants to follow Achilles. Because they share a 'so devoted the lines blur' Bond apparently, like Will/Jem or Charles/Edwin. News flash. They will NEVER HAVE A BOND ABOVE BONDS LIKE WILL/JEM OR CHARLES/EDWIN.

Anyway!!! Whenever Patroclus talks about Achilles, it's just like oH My gOd hE'S bEaUtIfUl. Okay bro!!! We get it!! Y'all have to have sex ALL THE TIME because this is Madeline Miller's shitty yaoi fanfic of Greek Myths!!! Greek myths are deeply gay which is great, but NOT LIKE THIS! It's giving a middle schooler who just finished Junjo Romantica and Percy Jackson and decided to write a crossover fic. And, yes, the prose is that bad. It's so fucking simplistic. I cannot even.

I hated this book. I hated this book painfully. And I cannot believe that I accidentally gave one of my favourite of my own fanfics a title from it. I like, want to go change the title. I just used it because I liked the quote. AUGH.

Would give this negative stars if I could. I do not think I've disliked a book this much since Queen of Air and Darkness, and at least Qoaad had, like, some funny moments and didn't hate women.

[arceespinkgun]

Blaster and Bumblebee/Goldbug

After reading the entire Marvel UK G1 comics continuity, one thing I've concluded is that I really want to see Bumblebee and Blaster hang out again. Blaster is somewhat famous for being very different from his Sunbow cartoon interpretation in these comics, being hot-headed in the comics but chill in the show, but honestly he becomes more in-line with that version of himself over time and I think Bumblebee was a large part of that. Continuing to have Bumblebee and Blaster as friends in new media would be a great thing.

Look at this awkward moment lol

See their story below the cut:

Blaster was introduced as an Autobot who was part of the Cybertronian resistance, trying to liberate the planet from the Decepticons. He had a partner named Scrounge who he seemed to have a hot-and-cold dynamic with.

But when Scrounge was captured and executed by the Decepticon leader Straxus in a horrific way (being melted by acid, which Straxus did to POWs in order to turn them into ingots) and died to send the message to the other Autobots that the Ark's crew were alive on Earth, Blaster became very embittered.

Meanwhile, on Earth, Bumblebee was struggling with feeling like he wasn't a valued member of the Autobots. He was treated like someone to protect, and when he was asked to mentor Tracks, Smokescreen, and Skids, Bumblebee ended up feeling like the whole affair was a wash.

I think it's worth noting how similar Blaster's dead partner, Scrounge, really is to Bumblebee. Obviously they're both little yellow guys, but beyond that, both felt like the load to their respective teams, even though that wasn't actually true. Scrounge even dies happy that he feels he was finally good for something. Scrounge was also a spy, which is kind of similar to Bumblebee's role in G1 as a scout.

Anyway, things happen, in an infamous moment, Optimus Prime kills himself over the deaths of video game NPCs. Blaster and the rest of his crew get to Earth via Space Bridge. Bumblebee gets blown up and then rebuilt into Goldbug. Grimlock takes control of the Autobots and immediately acts like a tyrant, culminating in his ordering Blaster and Goldbug to just start killing humans who are getting in their way during a mission. Blaster's cynicism and Goldbug's ideals actually mean they're on the same page in their disgust for their leader, so they go off alone.

Blaster is honestly an emotional wreck, channeling all this grief into hatred for the Decepticons. He's furious when Goldbug is shocked to hear that Blaster let his partner die.

These comics really tried to sell us on "Deceps" as a shortened version of "Decepticons." It did not catch on

When Goldbug has to go off alone while Blaster's battling the Decepticons, because Blaster and the Decepticons all got infected with Scraplets and Goldbug needs to find a cure, Blaster starts cursing Goldbug's name and Goldbug (IMO correctly) notes that if he tried to explain his good reasons for leaving mid-fight, Blaster wouldn't believe him.

When Goldbug does come back for him, Blaster lets his anger overwhelm him again, to the point of wanting to die via acid—the same way his old partner died—with the Decepticons rather than living.

But the Scraplets become too powerful to defeat this way, so Goldbug sticks to ideal and rebels. He knows they need their enemies' help to defeat the Scraplets. He saves them and Blaster both.

Blaster changes his mind about the whole thing, accepting their friendship, even seeing it as the "cure" for his inability to trust.

Goldbug's kindness softens Blaster a lot, something that is important throughout the rest of the issues in which he's the main character. He even lets Grimlock capture him in order to save the lives of some human children.

Eventually, Goldbug's also imprisoned by Grimlock. Blaster, having been tortured at Grimlock's command, is again starting to doubt what the point of caring about other people even is anymore. But Goldbug knows Blaster by this point. He knows that vengeance and anger drive him, so he knows just what to say to get him to knock some sense into the tyrant!

Many other things happen after this point, like Blaster being temporarily deactivated, as is Goldbug, and Goldbug getting rebuilt back into Bumblebee by Ratchet. But I think what's especially important is that Bumblebee takes on a leadership role, even sort of becoming Grimlock's superior.

I know this post has been all summary and very little analysis, but I know a lot of people don't know this continuity's stories so I felt it was necessary. What I really want to emphasize is how Bumblebee and Blaster made each other better people, and how Blaster feels like an equal to Bumblebee when Bumblebee's so often put into the role of a mentee or mentor to others. Bumblebee wanted to be needed by someone and to move away from the "little brother" role he often serves, and he became Blaster's equal and was needed by him in Blaster's time of mourning, then later became a leader. Goldbug helped Blaster calm down and become more openly caring. And the thing is, I really feel like even divorced from this specific storyline, this relationship could easily carry over into other continuities since both characters love Earth culture.

I'm also aware that Earthspark has Bumblebee talk about how Breakdown is like a brother to him and that their interactions have similarities to this dynamic. Since that show often focuses on post-War interactions between Autobots and Decepticons, it makes sense. But I really do want to see Blaster and Bumblebee again because I often feel like Blaster is neglected from a characterization standpoint and these comics give him some of the most depth and such a great relationship with an ultra-prominent character.

[theriddlettesblog]

Home Runner, a Team Fortress 2 fanfiction

Chapter 1

Scout sits in the Teufort base’s resupply room, on one of the benches, thinking to himself about the choices he’s made that led up to where he is now.

“Hey, Scout,” Engie begins, walking up to the resting Jeremy who is now looking up at the genius and no longer at his shoes. “Yer soda’s in the fridge if ya need any.” He says gesturing over to the minifridge.

A week prior, Dell had noticed that Scout was out of Bonk again and added it to the shopping list. Demo picked up a case of the carbonated punch, albeit small, when he went to the store. The Scottsman only bought six cans of the soft drink because he wanted to use the majority of his strength and paycheck to bring back the most alcohol he could. The rest of his purchase consisted of three crates of beer for him and Dell to share, three bottles of whiskey for himself, and one bottle of vodka for Heavy which the Russian man drinks much to Medic’s protest with the giant’s health in mind. If Tavish had more arms, he would have gotten more booze, not pop.

“Thanks, Engie.” Scout replies to the builder.

“No problem. Round’s ‘bout to start, so git caffeinated and ready to cap the intel.” The mechanist tells Jeremy, grabbing his wrench and shotgun then leaving the safety of the base.

Jeremy breathes a big sigh then proceeds to gear up, grabbing his favorite hat-headphones combo, scattergun, and swiftly downs one of the half-a-dozen cans of Bonk in the fridge before walking out of the room. Stepping out of the resupply, he straightens the collar of his polo and adjusts his untinted Value of Teamwork prescription Graybanns. The man goes on to cock his scattergun, ejecting an empty shell out of the chamber all while closely observing its descent to the floor. Through his specs, Scout’s gaze is locked on the shell resting on the ground.

“Empty.” The young man says to himself, still staring. A loud gunshot followed by an explosion breaks him out of his trance and he walks onto the ledge Mick often uses as a sniper’s nest. As one would guess, the New Zealand native is indeed there, scoped in and carefully searching for a head to liquidate.

“Joinin’ the fight now, Scout? ‘Bout time, we need a fast recovery, heh heh.” Sniper says, taking a moment to unscope to ask and chuckle at his own jab.

“You got it, Mick.” Scout responds, unenthusiastically and without looking at the other assassin. The runner jumps down off the ledge, trying his best to keep his balance after landing. Before he gets a chance to look up at the other side of Teufort, his Bottle Cap’s headset starts buzzing.

“Scout?” Pauling asks, gaining the speedster’s attention, “Before you say anything, or if you are saying anything, stop, I’ve got a contract for you.”

“Sure.” Jeremy answers, without any shock from the fact that this is the first time Miss Pauling has said anything to him in months.

A moment of silence goes by before Pauling breaks it. “Are you not going to say anything else?” the woman asks, confused that Scout is not shamelessly embarrassing himself nor reciting a used pick up line that won’t work on her, or anyone, for that matter.

“No?” Jeremy asks back, not understanding her confusion with his lack of idiocy.

“Oh, okay, uh, I just need you to kill a few Pyros and you’ll get a new weapon skin, well, new to you, not actually new, Minimal Wear at best.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Scout quickly replies before hanging up without another word between them. He sighs again and jumps into the water between the two bases, heading into the BLU team’s sewers.

As he makes his way through the water, he begins thinking to himself again, about something that’s been tugging at the back of his mind for the past few weeks. For those past few weeks, Scout hasn’t been able to shake an odd feeling, a feeling that was unusual and unfamiliar to him. It was a feeling that bogged down his cockiness and made him more tame as well as fade into the background. It prevented him from being the loud showy kid from Boston, but rather, made him quiet which everyone on his team noticed, but no one batted any eyes toward. Not even Jeremy himself noticed he was acting a little out of the ordinary, he just went about flanking every Soldier and Heavy that was unfortunate enough to not notice the skinny guy with the shotgun coming up behind them.

Why he’s been feeling this way for this long was unknown to him, usually, it takes three cans of the atomic punch to lift his spirits and he’s right back to being the most annoying shotgunner on the field. But for some reason, no matter how much pop he chugs, he can’t get out of this fog. Jeremy almost has half a mind to ask Medic about his atypical string of emotions, but he rationalizes the thought by realizing that the mad Doktor will either write it off as nothing or perform some kind of procedure that wouldn’t change anything except his number of exotic hamster kidneys. Scout is brought back to reality when he hears the Administrator exclaim that his team’s intelligence has been taken.

“Scout!” Engie calls out to Jeremy on his headset. “A Spy’s taken the intel! He’s goin’ through the sewers! Meet ‘im halfway and blast ‘im to hell!”

“On it.” Scout replies, once again, unenthused while rolling his eyes. He heads out the few feet he made it into the BLU base and swims across to the sewers of his own. He stands guard at the entrance out of the sewer system, waiting for someone, RED or BLU to enter his sight. Several moments pass by with absolutely nothing coming into his view.

“Crap, he’s probably invisible.” Scout says to himself, trying to listen for sloshes in the water. Several more moments pass by without a single break in the silence.

Scout gets tired of waiting so he presses the button on his headset, “Engie? Did that Spy leave the base?”

“Not with the intel, he dropped it and vanished. But we got theirs.” As soon as the Texan finishes that proud statement, The Administrator’s voice comes over the intercom and congratulates the REDs for capturing BLU’s intel.

“Come on back,” Dell begins again, “we got three cases ‘a beer so one fer everyone who’s not an alcoholic bomb maker.”

“Sweet.” Scout breathes out without cracking a smile, keeping the same face as when he first called. Before moving his feet, Jeremy lets his arms fall to his sides and then slowly makes his way into the main part of his team’s base.

When Scout re-enters the resupply room, he sees all of his teammates celebrating with beers in hand, save for Tavish, he has three in each. Before anyone could realize Jeremy was there, he grabs the tiny case of soda out of the fridge and heads home for the night.

Home, for Scout, is a small rundown apartment complex just outside of downtown Teufort which he would be more than overjoyed to move out of and find a nicer place, but seeing how the Administrator docs and suspends his pay for mouthing off to her, what he does make barely covers the costs of his ammunition. The building is curated by an elderly blind man named Talor who rocks a tricked out wheelchair, is shockingly modest, but most importantly, is kind to Scout. Jeremy is Talor’s only tenant but he keeps the power and water running for him as the speedster has nowhere else to go. Scout makes a silent entrance into his room, trying his best to not let anyone know he returned home; though Talor is very warmhearted, Scout doesn’t need anything to further complicate his day.

The light-footed sprinter tosses his cap and glasses onto his dinner (coffee) table before finishing off the last five cans of Bonk he took from work. He throws off his shoes, pants, and shirt and nearly collapses into the pullout couch he uses as a bed. After three hours of dreamless sleep, buzzing comes from his resting headset. This awakens Scout and in a half-asleep daze, gets up and brings the single headphone to his ear after laying back down on the throw pillow he uses as a regular one.

“Yeah?” Scout asks, mildly annoyed, but too tired to care, that someone is calling him in the dead of night.

“Scout? It’s Pauling.” the purple-shirted secretary answers the speedster.

“Miss Pauling? Look, it’s late, I gotta be up at six tomorrow, I don’t got time for another contract.” Scout tells her with only one eye open, locked on one of his many mold-ridden walls.

“No. Scout, this isn’t about a contract, though, you didn’t complete my last one so either way it wouldn’t be. Uh, anyway, I was just calling to ask why you left work early. You usually never pass up an opportunity to show off your weird dance moves.” Pauling inquires, trying to piece together the answer to this mystery.

“I just wasn’t feelin’ it today.” Scout answers, scratching his head which is still laying on his pillow.

“Engie says you haven’t been feeling it at all.” Jeremy’s half-shut gaze squints even further. The young woman continues, “I’m just a little concerned is all. I know we haven’t been talking a lot lately, and people’s lives tend to move on whether or not they keep in touch.” Pauling says, trying not to let her voice crack under the weight of her words. Jeremy sits up in his cot, looking down at his half-blanketed body.

Without anything else to say, he simply replies, “I’m still doin’ okay. Thanks for the call, Miss Pauling, goodnight.” and with that, Jeremy hangs up, allowing the mountain of guilt resting on his back to force a breath out of his lungs. He then slips back into sleep.

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