#i have no idea if this makes sense but i hope it does

[midnight-scrivener]

Hi! Just reblogging this as an example of one of the more convincing AI Slop videos I've seen recently. The man looks right, the motion and the water all seem to make sense. At first viewing, this is a very normal, sweet video! I absolutely saw it 2 or 3 times before my bullshit detectors started going off.

Once you start hunting for mistakes, things start to fall apart a bit more. In the beginning, the man's leg clips through the boat's rail as he walks towards the whale. And the configuration of the railing continues to change from shot to shot.

We never see the net actually unwrap from around the whale, it just sort of.... Pulls out of somewhere behind it. And the net itself doesn't have a clear, regular woven pattern. It looks almost cheated, like a texture in a game that's trying to give the idea of a net without mapping every line.

And perhaps most egregiously, the whale itself. It's constantly moving, and it does move, yaknow, whaleishly, and the general shape seems right. But at the start of the video it has a fin coming out of its chin, and at the end its eye is in a different place and its mouth is much smaller. The ai isn't suuuuper sure how a whale's like. Skin or skeleton works either, and the front of the mouth doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and the way that the whale's underside wrinkles goes up way too high by the end of the video.

This isn't to say that if you didn't notice before that it's your fault! I didn't either. The constant motion does a lot to hide the inconsistencies, especially if you're just viewing casually. But I've been seeing this video specifically crop up more and more on my social feeds, so I wanted to say something about it!

I'm not the first person to realize it's AI; the comments are full of similar thoughts. But my hope is that by putting this in a post and tagging it, people can start to filter it out.

And also. Perhaps unnecessarily. I do just want to add that this technology is getting more convincing every day in an era where powerful people are relying on misinformation and public complacency to further their agenda. It might be feel good animal videos now, but if you see a piece of media and it looks too good to be true, it's an important time to ask if it IS, and who benefits from the narrative it's presenting.

Stay safe!

[unfortunatelyphoenix]

So I had another idea that I wanna share, btw I still know barely anything about either fandom and am going off fanfics for info. Also I'm really tired rn so don't expect everything to make sense.

After a nasty accident the portal blew up with the explosion being so big it would've destroyed the entire planet and Ghost Zone if Danny hadn't managed to absorb the majority of the blast, but with how much power it had been Danny wasn't able to completely stop the destruction and was sent into a centuries long coma to heal with Clockwork and Frostbite putting the energy (both his and everything he was able to absorb from the blast) into a large pearl-like object and storing it into some ancient ruins to help protect him. But despite having taken so much of the force humanity was pretty much given a hard reset in advancements and created metas.

Now, centuries later, the JL hear of a villain (idk who) having pinpointed the location of an extremely dangerous magic artifact that could send everything back by centuries if not outright destroy the planet and obviously go to stop them, with a 10 year old Damien who is determined to become Robin managing to catch a ride and sneak along with them. Somehow Damien ends up in a position where he's between the villain and the artifact and is severely hurt, but he refuses to give up and the fighting makes a ruckus, enough of a ruckus that Danny wakes up.

Danny, who has absorbed all of the energy into is own being and now looks like some sort of animal-like creature, wakes up to see an adult hurting a kid so badly it looks like their gonna kill him and immediately goes into hero mode to save the child. Thanks to pretty much having the power of several Tsar Bombs now, easily finishes the fight and quickly starts panicking over the small injured child and does his best to use his powers to heal the kid whose barely even conscious.

At some point of Danny's frantic mother-hen-ing one of the JL members, who is also really injured, manages to get to the room to stop the villain only to find the villain unconscious, what looks to be a brand new Robin barely conscious, the artifact missing, and some sort of monster that looks to be made of space, shadows, and ice panicking over the small child and quickly getting protective once noticing the other person and putting itself between the JL member and the hurt kid to protect him, seemingly shape-shifting to appear more dangerous.

After somehow calming the thing down (which was pretty difficult due to a language barrier) the JL and JLD come to the conclusion that somehow the magic artifact must've reacted to Damien and bonded with him since it's refusing to leave his side.

Danny on the other hand thinks he's been out for maybe a month max and was transported to a different universe thanks to the existence of powers, superheroes, and the very prominent language barrier between them. He just hopes that this strangely stabby child calms down soon so he can find his way into the Ghost Zone so he can return to his family and haunt.

[impactrueno]

some stuff about lydia's jacket in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. hope you guys are ready for another thinkpiece no one asked for:

right so. colleen atwood decided to give lydia (and rory) these garments that seemed so unfinished it was distracting me. but i know there's a reason for every costume choice, so i watched this super short rundown she gave about a few of the outfits in one of the promotional videos for the movie, but i was disappointed that she didn't say anything about this one. i knew i had to draw it at some point so i really needed to know what it's supposed to be. a friend who went to the Afterlife Experience prop exhibition even took photos of the damn thing up close at my request, just so i could take a closer look and see if i could figure it out. but nothing. i didn't know how to draw it and it was driving me insane. i felt stupid. like what am i missing here

months later here i am, browsing pinterest for my beetlejuice inspo boards and i randomly find it and others like it:

and this is how i learned that these were created by british designer elena dawson. the way this article described this style made everything make sense:

Her Victorian frocks with unfinished seams and hanging fabric strips speak of ghostly things, simultaneously ephemeral and imprinted with history, the stuff of Tim Burton and Helena Bonham Carter, a witchy presence in the world that no longer cares for fairy tales.

more:

Maybe it is this ghostly presence that informs Dawson’s work, which reflects her fascination with death. “The relation between clothing, ritual, and death is of great interest to me,” says she. “In some respects, through clothing I am also working through my relationship to death.”

and the way she described it herself:

“When you work on alterations you are really tearing the guts out of the garment, performing a sort of autopsy—you really get to see a garment at its most vulnerable point. Observing this state of semi deconstruction in the making of a garment or shoe is what I like to retain in my finished work.“

oh my god.

the clothes are lydia. they are purposefully incomplete.

lydia's whole deal in the movie was that she was messed up from of all the shit she's been through to the point where she's no longer herself. the events in her life have been slowly picking the threads of what kept her together, what makes her her. delia has this great line that basically sums up lydia's pathos in the movie: "you need to take back your life from those hanger-onners, from this thing," meaning rory and beetlejuice. "where's the obnoxious little goth girl who tormented me all those years ago? it's time to find her."

i'd wager they made rory wear the same style of deconstructed jacket for the funeral specifically because he was trying to come off like this was a tragedy to him just as much, that he's "vulnerable" like the deetz women right now. you know, his whole modus operandi and all (unnecessarily large handkerchief included.) interestingly enough, lydia does NOT wear the loose thread jacket that would match rory's coat here. her own outfit is still by the same designer though, so it's like...they match, but also don't. they're in a relationship, but don't fit together.

according to interviews, using elena dawson designs was winona ryder and justin theroux's idea that they brought up to colleen atwood, and can i just say that i love how much input they had on their characters? justin in particular had SO much fun playing rory, his interviews are great. he owned the role. he knows a lot about fashion, so he was the first one to suggest this look and vibe for him.

as for winona, she wore dawson herself multiple times during the promotional tour for the movie. like, this is just her actual wardrobe. you can tell she had fun trying to emulate lydia's bangs and ponytail with these fits too.

i don't know much about fashion, honestly. but i love character design and telling a story through a character's clothes. so obviously i'm nerding out about this hardcore. perhaps i should learn more about fashion so i can do cool stuff like this too.

[liekjevenderheurn]

We don't shift to another reality after entering the void (unless intended for reality shifting ofc)

This is my personal belief, I am open for discussion in the comment section and in my dms, but stay respectful pls🥺

Now let me explain my reason for thinking this.

Now unless these void posts are all fake successes, I think going to the void does not necessarily bring you to a new reality since I have been following people on here and after some time, some of them said they reached the void (how can I read this if they are in a different reality?).

Besides this, I think that the void is the ultimate source of everything. Therefore it is also the source between all realities and you can just manifest things for your current one. YOU ARE THE BOSS. You get to decide everything, including in which reality what happens.

(These were my main points incase you do not have time to read the whole thing)

Like in one of my other posts, I have experienced people manifesting for me or even that I would text them. That this worked for them on me honestly blowed my mind, but there was also this account that I followed with this post. Now I saw she asked for this, someone gave her the sigil, the manifestation worked and we were still in the same reality for me to see that it worked.

Some people say when you manifest, you go to another reality in which you already have it. Yet a lot of post I have seen, I saw old post where they did not have it and after they manifested it, they had it. If that reality already had this manifestation, why do I see a post where they stated to not have that manifestation in that same reality. (hope this sense)

I know some people believe we shift every second when we make a choice, but my quantum physics of high school explained it was not really about us humans making different choices but the molecule parts acting randomly (which could create different realities but this is ofc impossible to prove). Besides this, like if I want ice cream I always take the lemon flavor over the chocolate because I like it more, your choices are based on who you are and your past experiences. Choices that you make do not have a 50-50% chance.

Looking at things Ive learned from being in the shifting community, unless you succesfuly permashift, you will go back to what they call your cr (current reality). I believe you go back there because you still have some attachments to it, this is also a reason why I think for the most time you stay in the same reality.

Anyway, it is really difficult to prove anything so take this with a grain of salt, this is just my perspective :P.

PS: this is also a reason why I believe that the void state pact could work and is not limited by shifting

Have a great day❤️

Small update on 23-01-2025:

I made this post after being called thoughtless again for my pact idea. Now I wanted to show people my perspective and why I thought the shifting realities is not the thing that happens when you manifest (actually, I really just wanted to prove that I am not unbelievably stupid and thoughtless hahaha). I have my reasons which I am trying to explain in my posts and it is alright if you still hold on to your belief, but there is no need to attack anyone for having another one.

Now besides the comment section, a few of my friends dm'ed me with some new perspectives which I thought were beautiful:

This was based on research on beliefs in the older days.

There are many spiritualists on youtube who talk about this, everything and everyone being one.

This was based on Neville Goddard and other Neville Goddard succcess stories.

A lot of you have seen also the posts of where the creator does believe in shifting your reality. There are many different opinions on reality which are hard to prove, yet a lot of them are valid. Again, I'm just sharing my perspective, you get to decide what you believe:)

[teyrnacousland]

I've seen the headcanon that Lucanis' mother, Caterina's perfect heir, was actually similar to Illario in some ways. That she was calculating, ruthless, ambitious, obedient... all the things Caterina overlooks in Illario because Caterina sees her favourite daughter's deep brown eyes and quiet, controlled demeanor and careful planning in Lucanis.

But I am also attached to the idea that the opposite is true too. That Illario's mother shared similarities with Lucanis; that she was empathetic and stubborn, with a slight rebellious streak. But she was always outgoing and charming, was more impulsive with her emotions, and was always sharper with her tongue than with a sword, so Caterina only sees her in Illario.

I just love the idea that Caterina can't look beyond the surface and see who her grandsons really are because on some level she can't see past the ghosts reflected in their eyes. She can't see that the quiet brown eyed boy is is more of the gentle hearted rebel, and the one with blue eyes and a shining, fake smile is the ruthless leader who would do anything she asked.

[blank-house]

Hello!! Hope you’re doing well!! I noticed something that’s maybe funny that had me genuinely confused about your point system.

So, I’ve replayed keyframes a few times now, and I have a general idea of how each event will play out. I replayed it again recently and the first event I did was the study event where you can either go with Percy and Elio or Jamie, Deja, and Cameron. So, I talked to Jamie about his book, went to the coop with Percy and Elio, stayed behind to draw on the chalkboard with Percy, and succeeded the QTE with Elio.

And the funny thing is that after the event, I noticed that I had somehow gained enough points with all of the guys to get a phone call with any of them - it just depends on the randomizer.

And that’s where the confusion comes in because what do you mean they all like my MC enough to call them?! Percy is understandable, I guess, since I went to the coop like he wanted and stayed behind with him. But I talked to Jamie ONCE and that was enough to get a phone call?! And Elio?!? All I said to Elio was, “Hey, do you have anything else to give the coop?” and that was all he needed?!? I know that Elio is easy to befriend but that just seems like he needs to raise his standards!! /j

I am so confused. I am bewildered. Befuddled, even. How exactly does your point system work? This has only happened with one specific MC I play as and I need to know what I’m doing right with them since my other MCs struggle to make friends.

Anyways, this isn’t a complaint, I just thought it was funny and needed to air out my thoughts. I’m not expecting a reply since this wasn’t even a question. Your point system makes absolutely no sense to me but even that is really fun. You all made a great game and I’m excited to see what you come up with next!!

I assign points arbitrarily, purposefully and/or as fairly as possible! If it makes sense to me for the guys to like the MC for a choice, or a moment, or even a perspective then you get a point.

That way— it’s entirely possible to get a Jamie phone call even though he’s so difficult if you do everything “right” from the moment you met him :3

But lol at least you’re having fun with the mechanic.

[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch. 

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday. 

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went. 

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy. 

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was. 

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over. 

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it. 

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted. 

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else. 

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.  

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then. 

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased. 

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten. 

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh. 

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went. 

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns. 

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out. 

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough. 

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice.  So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon. 

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.  

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips. 

 He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper. 

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison. 

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world. 

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought. 

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them. 

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this. 

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away. 

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him. 

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now. 

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it. 

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away. 

What has that shame ever done but made you worse? 

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled. 

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her. 

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose. 

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame. 

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

 If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh. 

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

 It’s always the ones you trust. 

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her. 

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it. 

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside. 

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always. 

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.” 

 Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt. 

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening.  His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it. 

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile. 

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…” 

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right. 

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves. 

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven. 

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born. 

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it. 

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp. 

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose. 

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself. 

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things. 

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door. 

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake. 

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left. 

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when… 

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be. 

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him. 

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door. 

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident. 

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense. 

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory. 

 And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back. 

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible. 

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again. 

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to. 

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought.  Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature. 

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him. 

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it. 

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

 He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him. 

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door. 

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.  

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl. 

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world. 

“Please, I-” 

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged. 

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

 But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her. 

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

[livingformintyoongi]

🪷: Our Jimin and for the AU.... he works at an animal shelter and MC volunteered once- or she was supposed to- but she finds herself there anytime she's free these days

Just Another Good Deed | Park Jimin

Author’s note: Hello, my dearest husband's partner! Thank you so much for making the request, I really loved the idea <3 I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it ^^ (Really my favorite part was the moodboard, I loved it, patted myself on the back and everything). Pairing:��Veterinarian!Jimin x Volunteer!Reader Word count: 1.8k Warnings/tags: Little appearance of big brother Yoongi because he is my bias wrecker and if I can get him in, I will :), and that's all, it's all very fluffy. Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthoughts Dividers by @saradika-graphics

You glanced one last time at the rearview mirror in Yoongi’s car, adjusting your hair for the fourth time. It was hard to decide which side looked better.

"Yoongi, quick, which looks better? Over my ears or tucked behind them?" you turned to him, arranging your hair both ways so he could carefully consider his options.

“It looks the same to me,” he mumbled in the same monotone voice he used, well, almost every day he spent time with you. “Besides, why does it matter? We’re going to an animal shelter, not a double date.”

You rolled your eyes, finally deciding on leaving your hair over your ears; it framed your face more beautifully, and the soft waves made it stand out even more that way. “I can look nice for the shelter if I want to. I don’t need some hidden agenda, you know?”

Ignoring your comment, Yoongi pulled out his car keys and stepped out. You weren’t surprised to see him coming around to your side of the car to open the door and help you out. Your brother might have been a man of very few words—and expressions—but your mom had raised him to be a true gentleman.

“Alright, come on, let’s move. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” you grabbed his arm and pulled him along, slightly slowing his pace as you approached the entrance. Just a few more steps, and you’d see him again. You had to bite the inside of your lip to stop yourself from smiling too soon.

Yoongi, keeping up with your pace with his usual calm expression, couldn’t help but notice the strange look on your face. He could understand you wanting to dress up to go out—that was fine, everyone liked to look good—but the fact that you’d been smiling the whole way here and that you’d been visiting this shelter every week—or any chance you got—made him think that maybe...

“Oh! Y/N, it’s you,” a cheerful voice said. The man wore a white shirt and black jeans—a terrible choice for working with animals, but that wasn’t his problem, so he ignored it. His dark hair fell gracefully over his forehead, and his plump lips gave him a sweet image that would definitely charm any woman—or man—who crossed his path.

Now everything made sense.

“Jimin, hi!” you quickly let go of Yoongi’s arm, giving the man in front of you the brightest smile you could muster. “It’s so nice to see you here—I mean, obviously you’re here, you work here, but you know, it’s always great running into you,” you said awkwardly, ending with a nervous laugh.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, looking at you like you were the strangest creature in the world. It was the first time he’d seen you so nervous around a guy, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad. What was a big brother supposed to do in these situations? Get jealous?

“Likewise, it’s really great to see you here so often. I’m grateful to have someone like you supporting the shelter,” Jimin said with a soft, charming smile. If you hadn’t been holding onto your brother’s arm, you might have collapsed right there. Were you being dramatic? Absolutely. Were you lying about it? Absolutely not. His simple gaze already made your legs weak, and his smile? Don’t even mention it.

The small gesture of your hands wrapped around Yoongi’s arm immediately caught Jimin’s attention. You’d never mentioned having a boyfriend, and you’d never come to the shelter with someone before. It was only natural to be curious, right? “And… who’s he...?”

“Yoongi,” your brother answered, straightening his back to appear taller and lowering his voice a few tones deeper than usual. “I’m her older brother. And you are?”

“Oh, sorry, how rude of me,” Jimin gave a slight bow before returning to his original stance, not without first running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. Yoongi swore he heard you squeal. “I’m Park Jimin. I work here.”

“Yoongi, why don’t you go check out the cats?” you laughed nervously, wishing your brother would disappear so you could be alone with Jimin. “I heard Unnie mention she’d really like to have a cat at home.”

“She said that?” Yoongi turned to you so quickly that it startled you; you knew his girlfriend was his soft spot, and you would use it against him as often as necessary if it meant he would drop his overprotective older brother act. Plus, you knew enough about his girlfriend to be sure she’d love to have a cat.

“Yes, she says it all the time,” you nodded quickly, pushing him toward where you knew the cats were. You hoped that would keep him distracted for a few minutes. “Now go, hurry, don’t waste time.”

Both you and Jimin watched as Yoongi walked off, confused, looking for someone he could ask about the cats. Only when he disappeared from your sight did you turn back to Jimin.

“So… how can I help today?” you asked with a smile, feeling your chest flutter as he looked at you with those kind, gentle eyes. You probably needed to calm down if you didn’t want to get caught just yet.

“I didn’t know you had a brother; I thought he was your boyfriend or something,” Jimin said softly, chuckling as he watched the cat in front of them shake itself vigorously to get the water off its fur. It was cute—its coat was light-toned, and its blue eyes were so bright and big that it was impossible not to fall in love with it. This little cat had arrived at the shelter the same day you did; it was skittish, wouldn’t let anyone touch or feed it, and it was crucial to give it a check-up due to a possible infection in its left eye. Jimin had been the only one able to keep it calm and treat it properly so the infection could heal effectively.

Maybe that was the moment when you fell for him. There was something about the sweet and caring way he handled animals that made your heart race and your stomach churn.

“Well, I don’t talk much about my family when we’re together,” you said with a slight smile, preparing the towel to cover the cat and dry it. It was still cold outside, and it wasn’t ideal for the cat to get sick at this time of year.

“I’d like to know more about them,” he murmured softly, gently cleaning the cat’s ears. The cat—who still didn’t have an official name but whom you had called Taemin in your mind from day one—closed its big eyes and started purring, rubbing its head against Jimin’s soft touch. Ah, how much you wished you were a cat. “And more about you in general.”

You turned to look at him, feeling a wave of warmth rise to your face as you realized he had been looking at you all along. Damn Park Jimin, why did he have to be so handsome? You felt like throwing the stupid towel in his face.

“O-oh, really? Why would you want that? I mean, my life’s not that interesting and—”

“But I’m interested,” he said, taking the towel from your hands and letting his fingers brush against yours in a way that definitely wasn’t accidental. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, and his damn lips were curved into a smile the whole time.

Calm down, Y/N, you can’t just go around kissing people without their permission—that’s not okay.

“Anything that has to do with you interests me. I thought that was obvious by now,” he said. After an intense staring match—which he obviously won—he wrapped Taemin in the towel and picked him up in his arms, one hand holding the cat’s weight to cradle him like a baby while the other rested on his furry head.

“Well, no, it wasn’t,” you replied awkwardly, trying to fully process whatever he was trying to tell you. Wasn’t it a bit presumptuous to think that meant he wanted something more with you? Had being single finally driven you crazy, making you see things that weren’t there? “Just so there’s no misunderstanding…” You rubbed your hands against your pants and looked at him expectantly. “Does that mean that…?”

Jimin let out a laugh before looking at you with his eyes turning into crescents from his smile. “It means I’d love to finally get your number.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Y-yes! Sure, g-give me your phone, and I’ll write it down right now,” you said, extending your hands toward him, trying to stop them from trembling so much and revealing how nervous you were. Too bad your body never obeyed your brain.

“Here,” he murmured, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it to you. His constant gaze on you made you even more nervous. You had to rewrite your number more than four times because you kept making mistakes. Both of you smiled when you called your number from his phone, and your ringtone sounded almost instantly.

Oh, shit. You had his number now.

“Y/N, let’s go!” Yoongi’s voice called from a few meters away. You were genuinely surprised to see that he actually had a small carrier in his hands, from which you could see two tiny green eyes staring at you from the darkness inside.

Its gaze looked a lot like Yoongi’s.

“Well, I guess you have to go,” Jimin said, adjusting Taemin in his arms as he watched Yoongi waiting for you near the exit. Truthfully, he didn’t want you to leave yet, but he understood he wasn’t in a position to ask you to stay, especially since you had come with your brother.

“Yeah, it seems like it,” you murmured, glancing briefly at your brother before putting all your attention back on Jimin. He had indirectly said he liked you, at least a little, right? And you had known each other for quite some time now… Well, you only live once, and you didn’t like living with regrets. You stepped closer to him and gave him a light kiss on the cheek—quite close to his lips—before stepping back and waving softly to say goodbye.

Then, you ran toward your brother as fast as you could, internally hoping he wouldn’t mention anything about it.

Ah, if only you had taken the time to notice Jimin’s face, you would have seen the bright pink covering his cheeks and the embarrassed smile spreading across his face like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

At least Yoongi had the luck to witness it, and he would definitely tease you endlessly about it.

Masterlist

[masterjedilenawrites]

Hi!!! I listening to the Florence and the Machine song “girl with one eye” and it got me in a super angsty mood, and I had this idea that what if reader saves Rex from being tortured like a heroine and does the dramatic bridal carry and everything, instead of the usual reader being saved like a lot of fics end up writing in terms of super angst (absolutely no hate, I love those too) I just think it would be nice to see the reader being extremely capable!

You obviously do not have to write anything like this, I just had the idea and you are by far one of my favorite writers (my dyslexic ass cant write for shit)

Anyways, hope you have a wonderful day!

Saving Rex

Rex x reader | 4.4k words

Content: torture (not shown but discussed), injuries, general angst, reader with some physical strength/stamina, friends to lovers, hope and love prevail

Note: I'd really like to believe I could carry Rex down a flight of stairs if I needed to. Maybe I'll use that for motivation during my next workout 😝 (Also this got really emotional in some places, please don't hate me)

To say you were panicking was an understatement. Rex had never been this late to a rendezvous. And with comms jammed, there weren't many options to figure out what could be keeping him. It was one of your only nightmares coming true. Something happening to that noble, wonderful man you called a friend.

You paced restlessly between the walls of the bunker, an eye on the door at all times. Any noise, any howl of the wind or scrape of someone's boot on the concrete floor, made you twitch in alarm. You had never experienced the seconds ticking by so slowly. Kriff, where was he?

"You should get some rest."

While you watched the door, Anakin watched you. Normally he would tease over any emotion you showed for his Captain; no matter how much you tried to keep such feelings under wraps, the Jedi always seemed to sense the truth anyway. But now he put jokes aside and did what he could to quell your anxieties.

You only shook your head in response and continued your pacing.

Anakin sighed and fell back in his chair. The other men in the bunker were anxious, too. Even if he couldn't feel it, he could see it all around. Bouncing knees. Fiddling with random objects. Untouched food and unspoken words. No one was going to sleep, even though everyone needed it. It was going to be a long night. Unless Rex found his way back.

Anakin could admit he was worried for the clone, too. They had fought alongside each other for so long now, it didn't seem possible that there'd be a day where one of them was no longer standing. But what he couldn't admit, at least not to anyone else, was that he had a very bad feeling this time. He kept trying to reach out in the Force, find some trace of his comrade out there, and he kept coming back with an even worse feeling than before.

A sudden sound at the door caused everyone to sit up, tense and hopeful. Three knocks with a very specific rhythm. Someone from your team. You could barely breathe as you waited for Anakin to open the door.

Ahsoka hurried through, along with a gust of wind that fluttered some of the more lightweight objects around the room. Anakin quickly shut it behind her. You'd almost forgotten she had been out, too. Gone to look for Rex, help him get back. But she hadn't brought anyone back with her. Now you really couldn't breathe.

"What'd you find?" asked Anakin, noting the urgent expression on the young girl's face.

"They've taken him to the fortress across the south bridge. I followed a... trail," she quickly glanced over at you, omitting what the trail was composed of for your sake, though you could make an educated guess if you had to. "They have him in a tower. I couldn't get eyes on him, but... Well, I could hear him."

Her face screwed up in distress at the memory and everyone in the room knew exactly what she meant.

"Any way we can carry out an extraction?" asked Anakin.

"If not now, then when?" You marched forward, determined and resolute. You could breathe again, though just barely. "Nighttime. Storm. Now is the only time."

Anakin still looked to his padawan for confirmation. She'd seen the fortress and would know whether it was a risk worth taking, even for someone as dear to them as Rex.

To your satisfaction, Ahsoka didn't hesitate to nod quickly. "That's why I hurried back as fast as I could. I couldn't get to him on my own, but with a small team...."

"It'll have to be really small. We can't risk blowing our cover here," Anakin agreed and finally uncrossed his arms. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been holding himself this whole time. But now there was some hope, and all that was needed to reach it was a bit of daring action. Something he was never in short supply of, and something hew knew Rex wouldn't hesitate to do for him if the roles were reversed.

"You, me," you motioned to yourself and Anakin. "Ahsoka can keep guard here."

"And me," came a clone's voice by your side. All of them were intently listening to the conversation, and while any one of them would have been eager to volunteer to save their Captain, one knew he was needed more than any other. Kix.

"There may not be time to administer first aid on sight," Anakin cautioned.

Kix puffed himself up a bit. "I'll do what I can. You two focus on getting us out without a fuss."

Anakin smirked and you cast him a grateful smile of your own. This was not an ideal outcome, learning that Rex was in distress. But at least he wasn't dead yet, and you could work with that. Now his fate was in your hands. And with a burning fire in your heart, you knew you would save him.

- - -

Rex waited until the echoing of their footsteps was gone before allowing himself to collapse. His knees hit cold stone but the jolt was barely felt amongst the rest of the pain radiating throughout his body. He curled in on himself, arms gently folding around the worst of the injuries in his middle, and his head hung low in exhaustion.

He wasn't sure how much more he could take of this. He hated the thought, but it was true. An entire day of torment and torture, relentless and unforgiving. Even with all his training, this situation was proving difficult to bear.

There was only one thing keeping him alive, he was sure of it. You. The memories of your smile, your laughter, all the lovely things you somehow said at just the right times. The thought of you continuing on without ever knowing how he felt. You were strong and capable in your own right, but he still wanted to be there for you. To protect you. To love you.

Gods, how he loved you.

He couldn't be broken in this place. No, not before seeing you one more time. He would give you his heart, and then he could finally let go.

- - -

Your feet thunked against each step of the spiraling stone stairs. Anakin's and Kix's were not far behind. Only a few guards and droids had had to be taken care of thus far, done swiftly and discretely by the two soldiers while you focused on navigating through the labyrinth of the fortress to the tower that held Rex. But as soon as you'd reached the door leading upward, Anakin had voiced his unease. Worse was coming, he insisted. And if they proceeded, they'd be just as trapped in that tower as their Captain was.

You pushed forward without a second thought.

And they reluctantly followed.

You weren't dumb. You knew it was foolish to rush into an enemy's territory with no plan and no backup. You knew you could be condemning Rex with your impulsive actions rather than saving him. But somehow, those sensible thoughts were overwhelmed by a deep and desperate need to find him at any cost. If you could just see him, then everything would be okay.

Thunk, thunk, thunk. One step and then another and another. Your lungs heaved and your thighs burned but you kept climbing. You weren't sensitive to the Force, but you swear you could feel yourself getting closer to him.

The sudden sound of a lightsaber igniting behind you finally gave you pause. You stumbled on the next step as you slowed and turned. Anakin had stopped several steps below and was staring downward, waiting for something.

"What is it, sir?" Kix huffed beside him.

Anakin only held up a finger as if he were trying to listen. You were panting, too, and tried to hold in a breath so you could hear whatever he could. There was only the hum of a lightsaber and the wailing of the wind from the other side of stone walls.

And then suddenly there was pounding. The whole tower seemed to shake with the thunderous footsteps of soldiers making their way upward, blocking your only way back out. Anakin jerked his head toward you.

"Go. Find him. I'll push them back."

As Anakin rushed downward, Kix wavered in between. Rex would need his aid, but his aid would be worthless if they couldn't escape. He finally looked back at you, too.

"You've got this," he stated before raising his blaster and following General Skywalker.

You resumed your trek upward, your attention slipping back to its previous singular focus of finding Rex. Of seeing him again. Alive.

You finally reached the top of the tower and were met with a simple wooden door. Again, you knew you should slow down and think through a strategy. What if there were guards on the other side? What if their blades slipped because you startled them? But you couldn't help yourself. You'd come too far to not burst right through.

There were no guards. There were no blades. But there was, thankfully, distressingly, Rex.

He was slumped against the far wall. Motionless. You crossed the room with a few bounding strides and gently pulled him away from the wall.

You'd anticipated him being in bad shape, but not to this extent. His armor was stripped and the tattered clothes they had him in instead did nothing to hide his condition. Bruises along his arms. A sickly pallor to his skin. Dark circles beneath his eyes and cracks along his lips. His head swung toward you listlessly as you turned him. You quickly positioned his body against yours and your hand cradled his head in support.

"Rex," you coaxed, willing your voice to remain strong. Panic wouldn't help him like this. "Rex, it's okay. We're going to get you out of here. Okay?"

His eyelids fluttered but couldn't seem to stay open. He did turn toward your voice, and through a series of near-unintelligible mutters, you managed to make out your name.

"Yes," you smiled, moving your hand to cup the side of his head so you could run a soothing thumb along his cheek. "Yes, it's me. I'm here. I've got you. You're okay now."

He shifted his arms, and at first you thought he was ready to try standing. You made to move, too, but then noticed he was doing something else. He held his hand over his chest, on the side of his heart. And then slowly, his other hand reached out to rest onto your chest.

You shook your head at him, not understanding. Was he hurt there? Did they do something to his heart?

Then Rex's worn face contorted into what could only be a smile. A small but serene smile, like he'd finally found peace. The smile slowly slipped away and his body started to feel heavier in your arms.

Now you couldn't keep the panic at bay. It came out in full force, along with tears and desperate squeezing. 

"No no no. Rex. Wake up, Rex. Please. You can rest soon but we have to leave first. Okay? We have to go now. Please."

You didn't know what to do beyond pleading and shaking him. He couldn't slip away now, not when you'd just gotten here. A part of you had hoped that maybe, just by seeing you, his spirits would lift. That you would be that little kickstart to his heart that'd help him keep going. But sadly, it seemed your fantasies of him returning your affections were only that. In reality, you could have been anybody coming to his rescue, and you'd be too late either way.

No. You shook yourself now. No, it didn't matter how he felt or didn't feel. You loved him. That fire in your heart was still burning, and you were going to get him out of here alive.

You carefully but swiftly got your legs back under you, still keeping Rex's body supported as you maneuvered each other into the right position. You weren't a soldier. You didn't have the same build as the clones. But damn if you weren't just as determined and capable. So with a deep, steadying breath, you heaved his body across your back. One of your arms wrapped around his closest leg, keeping it tight against your side as you reached across to grab at his arm. He was heavy, but secure, and you knew you could carry him this way for as long as it'd take to escape. And as an added bonus, you'd heard a soft grunt from him as he'd bent over your shoulders. He was still alive.

You wasted no time standing around with the extra weight. You were back out the door and heading down the stairs faster than you could register. One hand running along the wall for balance and the other firmly grasped on Rex's forearm. Your thighs had done the most work to get you up the stairs; now it was your knees taking the brunt of effort going down. In your mind you alternated between prayers for your joints and prayers for Rex's life.

The sounds of your steps were drowned by the reverberating sounds of combat. The echoes made it hard to tell their distance away as you continued your descent. You braced yourself for the inevitable, feeling more and more grateful the further you went without sight of any blaster fire. You estimated only a quarter of the way left by the time you met some of the carnage on the stairs. Sizzling metal and blaster marks on the walls. It was another several of floors of picking your way between it all before you then came across Kix and Anakin. They'd made good progress pushing the onslaught back.

You hovered just beyond their reach so as to keep Rex away from the crossfire. Anakin's lightsaber did most of the work to keep the enemy at a distance, though occasionally a shot would ricochet onto the wall by your head. But slowly and surely, you were all able to make it down to the next step. Lower and lower. Closer and closer to the end.

Eventually Kix was able to pause in his help and scurry up to check on Rex. He nodded at you when he confirmed a pulse but was just as unsuccessful as you in his efforts to get the Captain to wake.

"Dehydration, possible blood loss from these wounds here," the medic chattered, more to himself than anyone, as he dug through his pack. He tore open a bacta patch and slapped it across an oozing mess of scabs on Rex's shoulder and then handed you a stim while he continued to rummage.

You jabbed the stim into the back of Rex's thigh, thrilled that you managed to elicit another groan from him. Any sign of life was a good one at this point.

"Need me to take over?" Kix asked once he'd found a breathing mask and stood back up. You shook your head, already heading back down the stairs. Anakin had managed to get through a good amount more of the droids. Kix shrugged and then rushed ahead to continue laying down blaster fire.

The fight to escape took far longer than anyone would have wanted. Even once you'd made it out of the stuffy tower, there was the maze of hallways to run back through, and more enemies to fight along the way. All hopes of a stealthy rescue were long gone. It made you nervous, wondering if you'd be able to make it out at all, at this point. The further you moved into the open, the harder it was to keep fighting. If you were lucky enough to make it outside the fortress of droids, then you'd be surrounded by a storm. You were but a Jedi, a medic, and a civilian staff member carrying a near-unconscious soldier. The path forward was looking rather grim.

You eventually got yourselves into what seemed to be a supply closet. You knew there was a service door leading outside down one end of the hall, and the front entrance to the fortress itself was only around another corner as well. But you were flanked by droids on either side. Anakin kept the door to the closet open so he could continue to pick off the droids, while you were finally able to take a break from carrying Rex as Kix more properly tended to some of his injuries.

"How's he looking?" Anakin asked over his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be. He was glad Rex was alive, but they were all running out of options. From his estimates, they'd either need to surrender and think through a better escape plan later, or barrel forward with a Hail Mary and hope for the best. Either option would be difficult with Rex in this state. If he was getting worse... if he wasn't going to make it... Anakin shuddered at the thought of having to make that call.

Kix didn't immediately answer. He'd removed the breathing mask which seemed to have sparked some energy back into Rex. He was groaning and huffing, clutching at his midsection and rolling his head back and forth restlessly. Kix tried getting his attention but the Captain only continued to fidget and groan.

"Was he like this when you found him?" Kix asked you.

"No, he was quieter. He knew who I was, though."

Kix motioned for you to come closer. "See if he'll respond to you again."

"Rex." You quickly saddled up by his side, ignoring the pain in your back and legs from crouching. "Rex, look at me. It's okay. Just breathe. You'll be okay."

Surprisingly, your voice seemed to work. Rex stilled, turning his head toward the sound. That weird little smile crept back on his face.

"Rex?"

He responded with your name, small and rasping, but clear all the same. You couldn't help but smile in return.

"Oh good, you are awake enough."

With lightning speed, Kix was back in view with a vial of... something. He tipped it into Rex's mouth and held his hand over to keep the Captain from spitting it back out. Rex sputtered and writhed against Kix's hand but eventually swallowed the liquid down with a hard, painful gulp. Rex's eyes had shot open in the process. They were red, but alert.

"It's okay," you tried soothing again. Rex relaxed against the wall he was propped against and locked his eyes with yours.

"You... came... for me?" he croaked out.

You nodded. For a second, you could have sworn tears were brimming in Rex's eyes. Maybe it was only the medicine.

"Hate to ruin the moment," Anakin called back out. The blaster fire from the hall had grown louder, closer. "But we're out of time here. Kix, anything in this closet we can fashion into a grenade?"

The medic scrambled up to look amongst the shelves.

"Rex, you able to stand? I need you both shooting blasters if you can manage it."

"I will try."

Rex was already trying to push himself off the wall. You wrapped an arm around his back and help hoist him up. His legs shook wildly from the sudden weight. You kept him leaning against you, one arm over your shoulder.

"It's okay, I've got you."

Rex smiled down at you, far too softly for what the situation allowed. You held his gaze with surprise.

Kix was pouring random bottles into each other, hoping they'd make the desired effect. Anakin was cursing as the droids drew nearer. Rex seemed to be trying to tell you something with his eyes. And just when you were about to suggest looking into the air vent situation of this place, there came a large and reverberating kaboom.

You all froze. Including the droids, who then appeared to have been given new orders as they neatly turned in the opposite direction and marched away. Something had happened by the entrance. After a few moments, you could hear their blasters firing again, along with the sounds of other weapons. Familiar weapons. Anakin grinned.

"Obi-Wan," he said before running after them.

You could've cried. Instead, you looked back up at Rex and smiled.

"Ready to go home?"

- - -

You hadn't left Rex's side for a second, much to Kix's chagrin. It was that much harder to heal a battered brother with a stubborn civvy sitting in the way. But, despite his many grumbling complaints, he still let you stay. He knew your heart. And Rex's. It'd be best for both of you to keep close, until you knew each other's.

Though when Rex did wake, you could barely get out one tearfully happy hello before seemingly everyone else on base came to his side, too.

"Thank the gods you're alive!"

"Glad you're okay, brother."

"Good to have you back."

"Can't keep a good man down."

Rex appreciated their words, he really did. He tried not to notice how silent you'd fallen amongst them. It was your words he wanted to hear most.

"How did we get out of there?" he instead asked Anakin. He remembered waking in a dark room, Kix shoving something down his throat, your voice as you sweetly called his name. Beyond that was a blur. He was pretty sure he'd passed out once he tried walking.

"I kept think about the storm," Ahsoka was the one to answer instead. "And how it would give them cover getting to the fortress. And then I thought if they happened to get caught, that'd provide just enough distraction for us to start with a good attack."

"And by us, she of course means the 212th," smirked Cody. Obi-Wan was busy sending word back to Coruscant on the mission, though they all owed it to the Jedi's decision to go looking for General Skywalker and the missing 501st. Without the added reinforcements, Ahsoka's plan wouldn't have stood a chance.

"We're just really glad you're alive, Rex," Ahsoka said softly.

"Yeah, we don't know what we would have done without you," said Anakin, though he was looking toward you as he said it. Everyone else followed his gaze, causing you to blush at the sudden attention.

"They carried you the whole way, you know," Anakin added, now directed toward Rex.

Rex's eyes grew wide, impressed.

"Don't you remember?" prompted Kix.

"I... remember you finding me," Rex told you. "In that cell. I remember feeling hope again."

Your ears were still hot from Anakin's obvious insinuations of your feelings, and now everyone was giving each other looks at Rex's words. You decided to deflect with some humor.

"Right before you tried to cop a feel," you smirked.

That did the trick. A chorus of salacious oohs and laughter rang through the rank of clones gathered. Fives went up and clapped Rex's shoulder, his bad one. Rex's wincing caused Kix to hastily shoo away Fives and everyone else making a ruckus. You remained, noticing that through it all, Rex had a blush rivaling your own.

"I... I didn't..." he stammered once most of his visitors had disappeared. Anakin gave you one last look before then coaxing Ahsoka to leave as well.

"It's okay," you reassured. "You were out of it."

"No, I wasn't, I... I was..." Rex huffed. He was having a hard time finding the right words. "Never mind, it's silly."

He fell back against the pillows with a sigh. You scooted your stool forward and rested your hands on the bedside.

"Please tell me, Rex. I feel like you've been trying to tell me something ever since I found you. But I was so focused on trying to keep you alive, I didn't understand. I'm sorry."

Rex smiled back at you, encouraged. "It's alright. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I would make it out alive. But I... well... I didn't want to let go without..." He paused, embarrassed again. This was going to sound ridiculous if you didn't feel the same.

"Without...?"

"Without giving you my heart first."

He looked at you hesitantly to find your lips had parted in surprise.

"I know. It was a silly thought--"

"No," you breathed. Your hands now slid from the blanket onto his. The memory of him in your arms, beaten and bruised, using what strength he had left to gesture between his heart and yours... you wished you'd understood then. You'd thought he hadn't cared for you in that way at all.

Rex's eyes watered along with yours as your hands clasped together and a newfound understanding settled in between.

"You can't ever disappear on me like that again," you said with a wobble in your voice. "Anakin's right, I don't know what I would have done without you. I... I love you too much to even think of it."

Rex brought your hands up to meet his lips. He kissed your knuckles softly.

"I love you, too. And... I think I'm going to need to reconsider some things, knowing that you love me back."

He gazed over your clasped hands and met the eyes of Anakin, on the other side of the medbay looking in on the other patients. He wasn't the only injured soldier from the mission. General Skywalker was a good man for checking on them, just as he would do once he could stand on his own feet again. The look he now shared with the Jedi was one of agreement. A lot had changed from this mission, and a lot would need to still change. Love, sometimes, took priority even in war. Anakin knew that better than most.

"I don't want you to--" you started to say as realization dawned. But Rex quickly shook his head.

"We have time to discuss it. Right now, just let me hold you."

You didn't need to be asked twice. Helping him carefully scoot over, you then slipped under the hospital blanket and tucked yourself in at his side. It felt right, like where you were always meant to be.

Your worst nightmare had played out in a harrowing day of panic and fear. And now your greatest dream was nestled at your side, safe and sound and alive. It had been a frightening price to pay, one you hoped you'd never have to spend again, but the heart you now held was surely a worthy reward.

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[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 39/42 WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another.

PROLOGUE/1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (interlude) 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (interlude) 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 (interlude) 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

CHAPTER THIRTYNINE

              The trip back to North Island passes in a blur, his check-up in the medical bay on the carrier perfunctory, declaring both him and Maverick fit enough to transport, but requiring further assessment being followed by a quick debrief. So he knows he’s going to have to head to the base hospital, and the fact that both Javy and Phoenix fall in on either side of him tell him he’s going to have an escort until he’s declared completely fit, or delivered to his accommodation and told to rest. That’s fine, he kind of needs the support right now. Maverick keeps shooting him little glances, like he’s worried about him and Jake isn’t sure what to make of it.

              He’s just sitting there, waiting for Javy to finish his own check up, to drive him back to his accommodation when he senses someone settle in the chair beside him and he glances to his left and then does a double take. Holy shit. He’s not met the man before, but it’s kind of hard to miss the face of the COMPACFLT even when he’s dressed in civvies. Leo’s Uncle Tom. Holy shit.

              “Admiral Kazansky sir.”

              He gets handed a slip of paper and Jake frowns, accepts it tentatively, worried suddenly that something has happened to Leo and unfolds it.

Lieutenant Seresin, My apologies for the hand written note however my throat is often sore due to the surgeries I’ve had. I wanted to let you know I have taken the prerogative to allow your fiancé into your base accommodation. He is listed as your next of kin so I hope this is an acceptable course of action on my part. I also wanted to meet you and welcome you to the family. I’d like to invite you around for dinner tomorrow night.

              Then there’s an address and phone number, a little note about how he prefers texting and Jake’s mind boggles because the COMPACFLT just gave him his phone number, but what he keeps circling back to is Leo Leo Leo.

              “I – what? Sorry. He’s… here? Why?”

              Admiral Kazansky raises a single eyebrow, and he’s clearly judging Jake, because of course Leo is here to see him. Does he know what’s happened? Fuck Jake hopes not, hates the idea of Leo worrying unnecessarily. He was already itching to get to bed, but now he’s looking forward to it even more, knowing that Leo is going to be there waiting for him.

              “Thank you, sir.”

              Admiral Kazansky nods and then taps the piece of paper.

              “Dinner,” he says, and his voice is rough and scratchy and Jake nods automatically.

              “Yes sir.”

              That gets him another nod, and then Admiral Kazansky is standing and striding off down the hallway and he supposes he’s going to check in on the rest of the Daggers.

              Okay then.

              Dinner with the COMPACFLT.

…          …          …

              His body is aching despite the painkillers he has onboard, and as he slides the key into the lock and pushes the door open, has no idea what to expect on the other side. Whether Leo will be wide awake and waiting for him, or cooking out his stress and worry, or fast asleep in bed. It doesn’t matter, just the fact that he’s here is more than enough. Javy is watching him from the car, expression concerned, and he turns to wave, closes the door firmly behind him.

              Violet is sitting at the little table, fingers flying over the screen of her phone, takes one look at him and then she’s moving fast and wrapping her arms around him and he hugs her back despite the ache. Her rapid-fire Italian is too much right now, his brain officially suffering from a concussion, even if it is just a mild one. He gets the gist of the words though and he murmurs back sto bene, sto bene. I’m okay. I’m okay. Well he will be. The fact that she is so glad to see him tells him that they obviously know something bad happened. Okay then.

              “Mio Dio Jake… it’s so good to see you.”

              “Yeah. You too Vi… holy shit it’s been a few couple of weeks.”

              “Yeah. Uh… Leonardo’s passed out. Wait. Is this your uniform?”

              “Yes… you’ve seen me in it before,” Jake says, glancing down at his name plate. There isn’t anything different. He hasn’t accidentally put on someone else’s uniform.

              “I… I wasn’t paying attention. You’re Hangman?”

              “Yeah… it’s my callsign. Why?”

              “You… you?”

              “Vi… what’s wrong?”

              “I just… uh. You’re… are you kind of an asshole at work?”

              Jake huffs in amusement.

              “Only every waking moment…”

              “Oh dio… of course you are.”

              “What? You heard of me or something?”

              “Or something,” Vi mutters and Jake laughs, winces as his ribs protest the movement. “Shit. You probably want to see Bradley. Look. He… he’s had a rough couple of days.”

              “Yeah…” Jake starts, because his own days haven’t exactly been peachy but the look on Vi’s face is pinched. “How much do you know?” Jake asks, because what the actual fuck. He’s kind of angry that Leo has been made to worry unnecessarily.

              “That you were shot down and missing. He… he kind of went into shock. Collapsed. Had to drug him a little just to get him through and he’s… well. It’s still wearing off.”

              “What the fuck? You drugged him?”

              “His doctor drugged him. Just to… dampen everything I guess. He couldn’t keep food down, kind of just… shut down. Um… He’s passed out asleep in your bed. I’ve got a hotel room. I couldn’t leave him alone until you got here…”

              “Yeah. Okay. I’m here now.”

              He gets another hug, which he winces through but then she’s out the door with a concerned twist of her lips and he just stands there for a moment, lets his head rest against the door. He’s exhausted and he wants to sleep for fucking days. He looks fucking awful, cuts and bruises, bags under his eyes. He knows Leo won’t care but a little part of him wants to look good.

              As much as he wants a shower he sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through Leo’s hair, leans down to press a kiss to the middle of his forehead. When he pulls back Leo is blinking at him with sleepy eyes.

              “Hi…” Jake whispers, throat tight.

              “Hi… mmm… you’re here…”

              “Yeah… I’m right here.”

              “Oh my god, you’re actually here…”

              Leo is moving then, arms wrapping around Jake and pulling him into the bed. He’s not used to Leo’s fingers being so tight and bruising, but he also supposes his body hasn’t usually withstood an ejection and crash landing in the last forty-eight hours either.

              “Just uh, little bit more gentle baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

              Leo sobs then and Jake wraps his arms around him as tight as possible and just holds him tight.

              “Can’t believe I almost lost you…” Jake murmurs against his hair and he gets a wet sniff in response before Leo is mumbling into his neck.

              “I’m not the one that got shot out of the sky Jake…”

              “For fucks sake… you shouldn’t know that…” Jake mutters, even though he knows it’s much too late and it’s not like he can have words with the COMPACFLT, even if he desperately wants to give him a piece of his mind.

              “Uh… actually, yeah. I need to tell you something. My, uh, Uncle Tom?”

              “Yeah. I know. I figured as much…”

              “What do you mean you figured as much?”

              “Admiral Kazansky. He’s your Uncle Tom.”

              “You… I mean… you already… you know?”

              “I’m not an idiot baby…”

              “Um… how long? How long have you known?”

              “Uh…” Jake starts, tries to think back. “At least a couple of years. I mean… I had my suspicions. Admiral Kerner confirmed it. I kind of went through your dad’s Top Gun class… sorry.”

              “Fuck. No. Don’t apologize. I need to apologize to you, I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages, but I kept forgetting…”

              “Forgetting?” Jake asks, because that doesn’t sound like Leo at all.

              “Well. We usually have more interesting things to talk about. Or do.”

              “Oh… I see how it is. It’s my fault for distracting you…”

              ���Just…” Leo starts, but then yawns widely. “Just saying it like it is. I was so worried you’d be angry at me…”

              “Your family is complicated as fuck. I just figured you didn’t want to talk about it. Now I really need a shower. You going to let me go so I can go have one?”

              “No. Just… stay. Please.”

              “Yeah. Okay.”

…          …          …

              He did manage to strip down to almost nothing before he fell asleep last night, and it’s the very early hours of the morning, his bladder urgently reminding him he didn’t do his usual evening routine. His mouth feels disgusting as well. Leo is sacked out beside him, an arm and leg stretched out over him, pinning him and he shuffles, grins into the darkness as Leo’s fingers curl tighter around his torso.

              “Leo baby, I need the bathroom… I’ll be right back.”

              Leo does let him go, although he grumbles under his breath; Jake moves stiffly, knows he’s got a couple of days before he’s through the worst of it. He takes a piss and brushes his teeth, realizing he should probably take some more painkillers for his ribs. He still desperately wants a shower, doesn’t know if the noise would disturb Leo or he’ll sleep through it. Then his reflection appears in the dim half-light of the bathroom, eyes wide as his arms wrap around Jake from behind.

              “You… you’re still here.”

              “Yeah.”

              “I thought I dreamt you…”

              “Not this time,” Jake says, and he wonders if Leo is somehow going to come out of this worse than Jake. If he’ll have nightmares of Jake not coming back to him. Fuck he hopes not. “You want to have a shower with me?”

              Leo nods wordlessly and Jake turns the shower on. It’s going to be a tight squeeze but he’s got the distinct impression Leo isn’t going to give him any personal space for a while yet.

…          …          …

              They’re both quiet and he’s careful as he runs gentle hands over Jake’s body, can barely see the bruises in the dim light, but he can feel the swelling and he’s extra careful. Reaches for the bottle of Jake’s body wash and squeezes some into his hands to lather up and then scrunches his nose.

              “This is… did you switch body washes? This is my one… you smell like me,” Bradley says, and he shoves and his nose into the crook of Jake’s neck and inhales deeply, and even though they’re in the shower he can still smell the familiar scent of his own body wash on Jake. Peppermint-rosemary-green-tea.

              “Uh, well… I bought a couple bottles of your body wash. It’s what I use when I’m deployed. I like smelling like you when we’re apart.”

              “Oh…” Bradley says, and he doesn’t have anything sweetly romantic to say back, just presses a kiss to the curve of Jake’s shoulder and keeps washing him, savoring the closeness and intimacy of the moment. He’s got Jake’s body wash in his apartment, and their house in Texas, a citrus and mint scent which always makes him think of mojitos. He’s used it to jerk off a couple of times, when he’s really missed him; that’s not something he wants to bring up right now. Neither of them are in the right mindset, let along physically up for anything considering Jake winces every time he moves. He can tell Jake later, knows he’ll get a kick out of it and be smug about Bradley smelling like him. Can’t believe he’s never noticed how Jake must have come home smelling like Bradley before reverting to using his own bodywash.

              “I love you…”

              “Love you too. Very glad to be home.”

…          …          …

              They fall back to sleep and when he wakes later he feels infinitely better, knows the painkillers have obviously kicked in and the sleep has helped. Leo is awake, looking clear-eyed, watching Jake with a soft smile on his face and Jake tilts his head up, smiling when Leo automatically leans forward to press a kiss to his lips before pulling back, a question clearly on his mind.

              “If you already know about Ice, do you also know about Mav?”

              “Maverick?” Jake asks, and he resists pulling a face.

              “Yeah…” Leo says with a quiet sigh. “He’s my godfather.”

              “I know. I mean… I figured it out. Figured you didn’t want to talk about it.”

              “You… I. I didn’t. When we first started going out I wasn’t talking to him. But, uh, about a year ago, maybe a little bit longer, Ice got sick again and Mav called me…”

              “Your trips to California…” Jake says with dawning realization.

              “Yeah.”

              “Leo… why didn’t you just tell me?”

              “Well, I wanted to do it on person. Explain. But also, I was worried it might be a deal breaker… they’re a pretty big deal.”

              “I don’t think anything can break this deal…” Jake says, running his index finger over the ring on Leo’s finger. Inwardly though he’s really fucking glad he did in fact stick his neck out and save Maverick’s life. Although Maverick… oh. Huh. Now his behavior makes a bit more sense, with him trying to talk to Jake, and Jake shutting him down at each turn thinking he wasn’t currently talking to Leo.

              Ah well.

              He’ll have to apologize for that next time he sees him. Explain things. He suspects Maverick would have saved any pilot’s life if he could, but his anger at Jake when they’d found each other in the snow, that was all because he was meant to be safely back on the carrier and heading home to Leo. Yeah. Okay. That also explains some things.

              “That’s really good to know… it took me a while to tell them about you, but they know now obviously. Ice told me that both you and Mav got shot down…”

              “Fuck…” Jake breathes out, and he realizes now why it must have hit Leo so hard. To hear the news not only about Jake, but also the godfather who he’s recently reconciled with. No wonder Vi said it had been a rough couple of days.

              “Yeah. I want to go and see him. Just… make sure he’s alright as well.”

              “Of course. I need to ring my family as well. And I’m meant to be catching up with the squad as well,” Jake says, although seeing the squad is definitely lowest on his priority list.

              “Your family don’t know…”

              Jake lets out his breath, grateful for small mercies at least, even as he wishes he could have spared Leo the same.

              “Still, been in blackout and I want to talk to them…”

              “Yeah. Of course. Come on, let me make us some brunch while you call them. You must be starving…”

              Jake considers his stomach and yeah, he’s been feeling nauseated for a bit but right now, he could eat. Especially if it is Leo cooking.

…          …          …

              He knows Jake’s sisters aren’t stupid, the fact that Bradley is here, in California, in Jake’s base accommodation must tell them a lot without telling them anything and he meets their eyes through the tiny screen and just nods. He’s here, and he’ll take care of Jake. They’ll take care of each other. He wonders if Vi has said anything to them, because he definitely wasn’t in any fit state to talk to anyone. God, he’s lucky she was there.

              They’ve eaten, are standing side by side doing the dishes, placing soft kisses on whatever part of the body is closest and he can feel that his equilibrium has returned. He’s fully aware that that might change as soon as Jake is about to be deployed again, but he won’t worry about that right now.

              “Admiral Kazansky invited me to dinner…fucking Uncle Tom…”

              Bradley huffs a laugh, so relieved that Jake just… doesn’t care. Knew already. He turns and presses a proper kiss to his mouth before pulling back.

              “Oh. Cool. Nice. I’ll see you there then?”

              “You’re going to be there?” Jake asks, and he seems a little surprised. Bradley grins, leans into his space and gives him another kiss.

              “Of course. Pretty sure he’s expecting me to cook dinner.” Jake huffs at that and Bradley grins. “How about we go and lie down again for a bit, set an alarm just incase we fall asleep. Then you can catch up with the squad while I go and see Mav. Sound good?”

              “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

…          …          …

              He drops Jake off at the Hard Deck with strict instructions to not drink any alcohol. It gets him an eyeroll for his troubles, but it’s quickly followed by a kiss and murmured love you and Bradley feels like he’s on top of the world as he heads to Ice and Mav’s place. He stops in at the grocery store and picks up some supplies, even though Ice said he’d go out and get whatever Bradley needed he always prefers to have a look himself. He knocks on the door and waits.

              “Hey Ice…”

              “Bradley,” Ice says, and he’s enveloped in arms that used to be bigger and stronger, but still make him think of home. He looks around, and he can see Mav’s jacket and boots.

              “He’s in bed resting. Go check…”

              He’s grateful for the permission, wouldn’t want to ask otherwise, steps quietly down the hall and pushes the door open to see Mav passed out spreadeagled across the bed. He looks older than Bradley remembers, even though it’s only been a few months since he saw him. He supposes most of his memories are of Mav over twenty years ago and it’s going to take a while for them to all catch up with the realization that Mav is nearly sixty now. Regardless he’s also alive and safe and he’s so damned grateful about the fact. Glad he’d talked to him beforehand.

              He pulls the door back closed and heads back to Ice, finds him in his study, tapping a brown folder with a finger, which he the raises to beckon Bradley closer. He goes, looks at the folder and then at Ice, who is now holding it out to him.

              “What’s this?” Bradley asks, taking it. It’s thin, and when he opens it there is only two sheets of paper, double sided and he looks at Ice, waiting for an answer.

              “Debrief summary. Classified.”

              Bradley shakes his head, closes it and tries to pass it back, fairly certain he doesn’t want to read it. Already knows how close he came to losing both Jake and Mav.

              “Why? Do you think I need to read this? Can I just not be glad that they’re both home and safe?”

              Ice clearly looks torn, obviously having already made the decision to break the law by sharing classified information with a civilian and now having to deal with him not even wanting to read it.

              “Easier for you to read…”

              Bradley blows out a breath and resigns himself to reading it through, and he starts, reading quickly. It is very matter of fact, no embellishments and there are timestamps scattered throughout when they’re known. Then he reads the part where Jake announces he’s out of flares, and then Maverick saving him…

              “Oh my god…”

              “Keep reading.”

              He does, and he feels his eyes go wide, and suddenly he feels his temper rise and he bites his lip until he tastes blood.

              “What the fuck was Jake thinking?”

              “Keep reading.”

              Bradley knows how this ends. They’re both safe and alive but there’s this whole unbelievable journey and as he reads about Maverick commandeering a fucking Tomcat he looks up at Ice disbelievingly, and he just pulls a face and waves a hand.

              “Keep reading.”

              Bradley has no fucking clue who Billy Avalone is, but he’s just made Bradley’s list of gold-star humans that will never have to pay to eat in any of his restaurants ever again. Holy shit.

              “Holy shit…”

              “Mmm…” Ice hums and Bradley shakes his head.

              “This is… is it real?”

              Ice nods, even though the expression on his face clearly reads like he is struggling to believe it as well.

              “It’s really hard to be angry with someone when their actions saved the life of someone else you love… more than once. Fucking hell.”

              He’s angry, so angry, but he’s also so fucking grateful. They were both so lucky, although he knows they’re also very good pilots, so maybe they didn’t need that much luck. Still. Holy shit. His hands are shaking as he hands back the report and he rubs his hands over his face, trying to settle himself down again. Reaches for his phone and there’s a message there from Jake, simply a string of love hearts and he quickly sends a few back in response.

  ��           “I really need to chop some things up. Come help me prepare dinner.”

…          …          …

              “Maverick has invited us all around for dinner…” Phoenix remarks and Jake blinks, because he hasn’t been invited. And sure, Maverick probably thinks Jake has a problem with him, and he doesn’t blame him for thinking that, but still… Then again;

              “Fuck. I’ve already got dinner plans.”

              “Someone more important than Maverick?”

              “Yeah. Admiral Kazansky.”

              He’s got several pairs of eyes staring at him and he shrugs helplessly, because what is he meant to do? Say no? He pulls the piece of paper with the note on it and shows it to them, eyebrows go up, and then there are a couple of frowns. Phoenix and Bob both go so far as to pull out their phones and he hopes they’re not all taking down the COMPACFLT’s phone number. Shit. He probably shouldn’t have shared that around. Too late now though.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Mitsuhide Akechi's Sequel

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Spoilers ahead. This is a full translation. Not Proofread.

After countless fleeting kisses, the candle burned out, leaving the room in darkness.

Mitsuhide: "Mai, it's time to sleep."

Mai: "Are you leaving already?"

Mitsuhide: "I'll stay by your side until you fall asleep."

I looked up at his gentle smile, and a sense of helplessness welled up within me.

(He'll stay while I'm awake, only to leave once I fall asleep.)

Mai: "You always say goodbye so kindly."

Mai: "I'm pretty sure you'll head out into the storm alone while I'm lost in a dream."

Mitsuhide: "You look lovely even when you cry. But I'd rather have your smile as the last thing I see."

Mitsuhide: "Now, close your eyes."

(I don't want to steal any more of his time.)

Urged by his words, I lay down on the futon.

Gathering all my strength, I looked up at him one last time before closing my eyes.

Mai: "Mitsuhide, take care."

Mitsuhide: "Yeah, I'm off."

The sound of birds chirping woke me abruptly.

(It's morning already. It's so quiet.)

The storm had passed, and the room was bathed in the light of dawn.

(He really left without waking me, just like always.)

Mitsuhide's haori was lying on the floor nearby.

(Did he try to drape it over me?)

Right now, I'm not allowed to form connections with the people of this era.

The haori must have slipped off my shoulders and fallen onto the futon.

(How did he feel when he saw that?)

A crushing sensation tightened around my chest, and I bit down hard on my lip.

(I don't want to cry. I've cried more tears than I can bear already.)

Mitsuhide left Azuchi to search for a way to save me.

Time may be running out, but there's still hope.

(This was the right choice.)

(I know that with all my heart, so why does the loneliness of his absence pierce through me like a blade?)

(It's okay to feel hurt.)

(Because this pain is a testament to my time with Mitsuhide.)

Outside, the weather was unbelievably beautiful, but in my heart, the storm still raged.

(What if he doesn't make it in time? What if I don't recover?)

(If that happens, I'll never see him again.)

Mai: ".........."

I desperately stifled a sob that was about to escape.

(No matter what happens, I won't regret it.)

(I can't imagine a life where I never met him.)

(I'm glad I met him.)

Mai: "I love you, Mitsuhide."

Caught between the weight of despair and the faintest grain of hope, I whispered those words.

The shocking news came a few days later.

Ranmaru: "Lady Mai, am I walking too fast? Are you keeping up?"

Mai: "I'm fine."

I replied to Ranmaru and rang the small bell hanging from my necklace just to be sure.

Ranmaru: "Thanks for answering. I can clearly hear your voice."

Mai: "I see. That's good."

Relieved, I tightly gripped the bell on my necklace.

For the past few days, I've become completely invisible to everyone.

(I can't afford to let go of this bell, not even for a moment now.)

Mai: "What do you think this emergency meeting is about?"

Ranmaru: "I have no idea, but Lord Nobunaga gave strict orders to ensure you're present."

(Me?)

Ranmaru: "I have such a bad feeling about this. I almost don't want to take you along."

(Ranmaru is so kind.)

Mai: "Thanks. But I'll be fine."

Mai: "If you have a bad feeling, that's all the more reason for me to hear what's going on."

(Even if I'm scared, I have to keep my eyes open.)

Ranmaru: "I figured you weren't the type to say no anyway."

After giving me a wry smile, Ranmaru's expression grew serious.

Ranmaru: "Let's hurry. The other warlords are probably already there."

Mai: "Okay."

Mai: "Excuse me."

Even though I knew they couldn't see me, I gave a deep bow before sitting in the seat Ranmaru showed me.

Mitsunari: "It seems everyone is present now."

Hideyoshi: "Mai, how are you feeling? Any problem?"

Mai: "Thank you. I'm doing well, thanks to everyone's support."

As I answered, I rang the bell on my necklace louder so they could pinpoint my location.

Ieyasu: "That bell is pretty handy. Maybe I should put one on Wasabi too."

Ieyasu: "Make sure you don't lose it, okay? Searching for you every time would be a pain."

Masamune: "If you're worried, just admit it."

Ieyasu: "I'm not worried."

Keiji: "He's just saying he trusts you won't give up easily."

Ieyasu: "Don't twist my words, will you?"

Still, something felt off.

(It's like they're forcing themselves to act cheerful for my sake.)

Seizing the pause in their conversation, I turned toward Nobunaga.

Mai: "Lord Nobunaga, why did you call me to this emergency meeting?"

Nobunaga: "Let's get to the main topic."

At his words, the room fell completely silent.

Nobunaga: "Hideyoshi."

Hideyoshi: "Yes."

Hideyoshi: "Mai, you're aware that ever since the attack, rebellions have been breaking out frequently in neighboring regions, right?"

Mai: "Yes."

Hideyoshi: "There were numerous small-scale rebellions led by lords of minor domains, ronin, bandits, and lawless people."

Hideyoshi: "But now, someone's shown up who's managed to bring all these random groups together."

(What?)

Ranmaru: "Could it be Kicho and Motonari?"

Hideyoshi: "If it had been them, it would've been a hundred times better."

Masamune & Keiji: "…………"

Ieyasu & Mitsunari: "…………"

Everyone's faces twisted bitterly.

(Don't tell me…)

Nobunaga: "It's just as you've suspected."

Nobunaga: "The leader of the rebellion is Mitsuhide."

(No way!)

Mai: "Why? What reason could Mitsuhide possibly have to side with the…"

I was about to finish my sentence when a wave of goosebumps swept over me.

(There's a reason.)

The warlords' grim expressions told me they had reached the same conclusion as I had.

(He really is a liar.)

The sound of my heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears.

That night, Mitsuhide had bared his heart to me but kept the most important secret.

(His true purpose.)

Mitsuhide: "Quite the spectacle, isn't it?"

In the plains near Azuchi, the rebel army had set up camp, where the rebel generals sat face-to-face with their newly appointed leader, Mitsuhide.

The group, brimming with the tension of battle, made no effort to hide their excitement.

Rebel General 1: "Lord Mitsuhide, let my unit take the vanguard! We'll claim the enemy's head!"

Rebel General 2: "Hah! What does a bumpkin lord know about war? We'll lead the charge ourselves."

Rebel General 3: "Don't get cocky, you ronin scum. When it comes to killing, we're the experts."

Mitsuhide: "Now, now, gentlemen, let's keep it cool."

Rebel Generals: "……….."

At Mitsuhide's single command, the rebels fell silent.

Even so, they remained wary of one another, their piercing glares refusing to relent.

After a tense pause, one of them finally spoke up, his tone laced with dissatisfaction.

Rebel General 1: "Lord Mitsuhide, I get that numbers matter, but why'd you bring together such a shady bunch?"

Mitsuhide: "Each of them has caught my attention for some time."

Mitsuhide: "The men here have the courage to take on Nobunaga."

Rebel General 3: "Heh, easy for you to say. If we hadn't listened to you, we'd be having our heads pecked off by crows right now."

Rebel General 2: "We'll grab whatever hand we need to take down Nobunaga, even if it belongs to a cunning fox. That's all there is to it."

Despite their words, each general cast fearful glances toward Mitsuhide.

A disorganized rabble of soldiers, barely held together, was being forged into an army by this man with eyes cold as ice.

Mitsuhide: "Let me make one thing clear. From this point forward, any act of treachery will not be tolerated."

Mitsuhide: "If you don't wish to die a pointless death, I suggest you remain obedient."

(Mitsuhide's purpose in uniting the rebel army…)

My blood ran cold, and I was unable to speak.

Mitsunari: "The total number of soldiers in the rebel army is expected to be several times ours."

Mitsunari: "However, even if these troops clash with the well-trained Oda warriors, there's no way it'll be a fair fight."

Ieyasu: "There's no way he doesn't understand that."

Ieyasu: "It's all part of his plan."

Hideyoshi: "Recently, some of the rebels have been raiding towns and villages to gather supplies and funds for the army."

Hideyoshi: "But that suddenly stopped a little while ago. Mitsuhide must've gotten the unruly ones under control and forced them into line."

Masamune: "Those pests, no matter how many times you crush them, they just keep appearing, but Mitsuhide has managed to suppress them and gather them into a swarm."

Masamune: "He plans to throw them all directly into the Oda forces and take everyone down with him."

(Take everyone down...)

I wanted to deny it, but I couldn't.

Everyone's thoughts mirrored my own instinct exactly.

None of us believe that Mitsuhide betrayed us.

(Who would have thought that we'd have to confirm our mutual trust in this way?)

Keiji: "So, he became the leader of the enemy forces to put an end to this prolonged war, huh?"

Keiji: "It's a flashy move, but I can't bring myself to praise it."

Hideyoshi: "Does that fool not know the meaning of choosing your own methods!?"

Ranmaru: "This is just outrageous!"

Ranmaru: "He knows exactly how Lady Mai feels, how we all feel, and yet…"

Using us like pieces on a chessboard was something only Mitsuhide could pull off.

(But there had to be other ways to take down the rebel army and stop Kicho and Motonari's plans.)

Nobunaga: "Kicho and Motonari must be sighing in regret by now."

Mai: "Mitsuhide didn't do this just to make the Oda army crush the rebels."

Nobunaga: "What?"

Mai: "It's my fault."

Mai: "Mitsuhide figured out how to cure me."

------------Flashback-----------

Sasuke: "The fact that Mitsuhide's name is starting to disappear from the travel guide suggests that possibility."

Sasuke: "If Mitsuhide vanishes from history, the cause of divine punishment will be gone, and you'll surely return to normal."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(Mitsuhide must have started making contact under the guise of a rebellion as soon as the rebel armies began to form.)

(Seeing through Kicho and Motonari's schemes, and with my condition worsening, Mitsuhide must have chosen to implement this plan to resolve everything at once.)

Nobunaga: "Mai, Tell me everything."

Mitsuhide: "Kyubei, I'd like to write a letter. Could you leave the tent for a moment?"

Kyubei: "Understood."

Mitsuhide: "You don't look pleased. I told you to stay in Azuchi, didn't I?"

Kyubei: "If I'd stayed in Azuchi, who would deliver this letter to Lady Mai?"

Mitsuhide: "Good grief. A vassal who's too sharp can be a real hassle."

Kyubei: "I think it's still far better than having a too-sharp lord."

Mitsuhide: "I suppose you're right."

Kyubei: "I apologize. I spoke out of turn."

Mitsuhide: "I'm counting on you, Kyubei."

Mitsuhide: "Once everything is over, please deliver my will to Mai."

Kyubei: "........."

Kyubei bowed deeply in silence before leaving.

Eventually, Mitsuhide picked up his brush and wrote, bleeding his true feelings onto the paper.

Mai. As I write this, I am once again reminded of your strength in being able to express your true feelings so honestly.

I've learned from you that such honesty is not something easily done.

The other day, I overheard you telling Masamune that you would leave Azuchi, so I took the liberty of examining that historical book you kept hidden while you were away.

I'm sure, by now, you've realized that I've figured out your secret.

Mai, I have no hesitation. No regrets.

The only thing I regret is that you aren't by my side.

I love you and the world you live in more than anything.

If I could, I would've lived alongside you.

A few hours later.

Mitsuhide: "Well then, everyone. Do you have no regrets?"

The soldiers at the front of the army roared in response.

Mitsuhide: "We're launching a full-scale attack on the Oda forces, so make your mark on history in this battle."

Mitsuhide: "Now, to battle!"

🦊 Previous Part 💔 Tragic Ending

[higuchisora]

Adding onto my headcanon about Zaun culturally valuing art and literature:

The names in Zaun have meanings. Not just in the "Oh, my name means 'flower'" way. These names are primarily references to poetry or music or literature in some way.

This idea comes in combination with my headcanon that Zaun has a different dialect/sister-language to Piltover (like how the Romance languages share a common origin but are different, or how there are a bunch of different types of Spanish but they're all still considered Spanish).

The Zaunite characters' names seem strange to us because they're either a reference to something, or are transliterated Tolkien-style from Zaunite/old Piltovan (at some point League said Zaun was the original Piltover before it sank).

Which is why we see names like Powder and think, what the fuck? It's because it's a transliteration of a name that doesn't really make sense in our IRL languages. In reality, it's probably considered a pretty normal name. Just like how straight up naming someone "beautiful" doesn't sound normal in English (whereas "Hope" does), but is fairly standard in plenty of other languages (ex. Belle/Bella).

Similar to Ekko and why it's spelled this way. It's not "echo but more masculine/quirky," it's actually a name with an entirely different meaning that HAPPENS to sound like our English word "echo." We see phenomena like this IRL all the time (called "false friends"), of words in unrelated languages sounding similar even though they developed entirely independently.

Vi (short for Violet) works fine because it is, in fact, an easily translated name. But the name itself is also in reference to a classic book/song/poem.

Names like Silco, Vander, and Claggor either couldn't be transliterated/localized or sounded even weirder in meaning than Powder. Mylo either is another "false friend"/cognate name, or is a localization of his actual name. Regardless, all of their names are in reference to literature, poetry, and/or some other artistic expression.

(I'd like to add, before I forget- that Vander's name IS real- according to the Internet, it's Greek for "good man", which might not be real but I'm taking it and running with it as a name from an old play or something).

Googling Sevika's name gave a pretty straightforward meaning- it apparently means "female servant"/maid in Hindi (please correct me if I'm wrong, those who know Hindi). Which. I'm not trying to think about the negative implications of that, though there are many. So I'll try to make a positive spin on her name and say she's another "false friend" name, and it means something entirely different in the Zaunite/ancient Piltovan language.

[farfromstrange]

Happy Birthday!! I’m sorry your birthday leaves you with mixed feelings, but I hope this celebration helps direct them towards the happy side of things💖 Can I please request a bouquet of tulips regarding Matt and the stray animals of Hells Kitchen? Cats, dogs, even possums and raccoons? Heck, how does the devil of Hell’s Kitchen feel about pigeons?

Aww, thank you so much, lovely 🥹🤍 And thank you for your request(s)!!

These headcanons were actually so much fun to think about.

Here’s your bouquet of tulips!

Matt Murdock and The Strays of Hell’s Kitchen (Headcanons)

Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist

I feel like Matt is the kind of person who doesn’t usually pay much attention to the animals around him because most of the time, they’re much quieter than the people of New York City, so when he encounters one he won’t let them throw him off his game. However, our Devil of Hell’s Kitchen definitely has his favorites and least favorites.

The stray cat that keeps appearing on his fire escape? He doesn’t want to admit it, but he kind of enjoys the company. He’s fascinated by how easily this tiny ball of fur started trusting him once he started feeding it some tuna. Cats usually don’t find him off-putting when he’s in the suit, and he likes that. He likes petting them, too because cats purr at a frequency that perhaps is soothing to his senses. And if he finds one that’s hurt? You best believe he will take it home, clean it (although that’s a fight he often loses), and patch it up. And he’d drop those who are really bad off at a shelter to make sure they get taken care of.

Matt Murdock and cats (especially orange ones) have a lot in common, so I think they’re the kind of animals he enjoys being around, even though they annoy the shit out of him. He’s just incredibly touched-starved, and having a stray cat dote on him just makes him feel a different kind of way. He certainly wouldn’t mind if the same stray cat came back to him on the regular. He’d adopt that fur-ball without even realizing, and suddenly he’s a cat owner who gets cuddles every night. Using his tie to play with it before he can buy toys? You bet! Finding a vet to nurse the poor thing back to health? Matt Murdock to the rescue. Would it be easy with his sensory issues? No. But he turns into a cat person nonetheless. It’s better than being alone, anyway.

I also think he doesn’t mind dogs. They’re active, they’re fun to play with, and they’re very empathetic. Sometimes a little too empathetic for his taste. He may have shut down Foggy’s and Karen’s idea for him to get a guide dog, but that’s because he is insistent on shouldering everything on his own and accepting help—even if it’s from a dog trained to support someone with his disability—doesn’t sit right with him. It’s an issue. Anyway, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like dogs! You best believe he’ll make sure the stray dogs of Hell’s Kitchen end up at an animal shelter. If you remember Season 2 where Matt searches for Frank and finds the dog instead, he is good with them. They listen to him. They respect him, and he respects dogs. I can see him bringing home a stray eventually, just because he knows what it’s like to be alone and Matt hates the fact that others have to suffer the same fate. He’d have to make sure the dog gets along with the cat though.

Possums? It’s a complicated relationship. I headcanon one bit him once while he was, once again, lying half-dead in a dumpster and the poor thing got spooked by this grown ass man trying to climb back out, so it bit him. He had to explain to Claire that no, he was not bitten by his opponent, it was actually a possum, and she laughed at him. He’s not their biggest fan, but he also doesn’t despise them. I feel like Matt would be open to reconciliation though. Like, they’re just trynna survive on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. He can’t really blame them for that.

Same goes for raccoons. His sense of smell is so sensitive he can smell every last item of garbage they’ve had their noses in, but they’ve never hurt him. He doesn’t necessarily pay attention to them when they cross his path, but he definitely wouldn’t want to stay close to a raccoon for an extended period of time.

I don’t know why, but I feel like Matt’s the kind of guy who feeds the pigeons outside the courthouse. He’d take the breakfast Foggy got him and share it with them, even though it’s technically not allowed. And Foggy would definitely need to call out, “Matt, stop feeding the pigeons!” Before security has to intervene. That may change though if one ever decides to poop on him. New suit? Ruined. He’d never feed them again.

Bonus: I like to think he despises spiders, mostly because he can hear them crawling over walls and stuff, and that’s just a sensory nightmare. If you’ve ever had one crawl on you, you know that feels fucking terrifying, and I imagine Matt would feel the same way. Unless they’re a daddy long legs chilling in the corner, eating all the flies (which he also despises), he will exterminate them. God can forgive him for that one.

[azaharinflames]

Curently 911 is filming episode 11 & 12, and Lou is working on another project. There's no way he's working on 9-1-1 at the same time. LA traffic alone wouldn't allow it.

I thought I have prepared my heart for the possibility of Bucktommy not going back together again. But a new affirmative sign like this still hurts me a little 😔.

Hi, Nonnie!

Listen, I get it. But in my honest opinion? Lou was never gonna come back in the first eps of 8b. We know 9&10 are mostly going to deal with Maddie’s kidnapping and Tim has teased the end of ep 10 changes everyone’s life. Now, you can choose to be a bit skeptical about that part. I know I am.

Either way, we know post ep 10 there is a time jump. My personal theory is that it won’t be a super big one, rather it will be a natural time jump (to make it so what happens in the series happens at the same time as we watch it), and the first couple eps will be to establish some SLs.

Personal theory? We will see the rebound for Buck that Tim teased. I do believe it won’t last more than a couple eps. And then we’ll probably have Buck exploring or trying to get to know himself better. Boring and overused, but if they go in any other direction I will be genuinely surprised.

If/when Tommy comes back… honestly I don’t think it’ll be any earlier than at least midway through 8b, if not in the last couple of eps or even in the last one. Mostly so the audience is hooked for the next season but also because it wouldn’t make sense to make the audience go through the bs of 806-808 if things were going to be fine a few eps later.

We have to remember Tommy is not a main. Most likely, if Buck and he manage to find each other again, it will be something to mostly happen off-season, imo. As in, we will have a cute reunion on screen, then the season will end, then (perhaps based on the reaction idk) we’ll start the next season (if we get one) already with them having worked through their issues.

I know the idea of it sucks a bit but hey. They had Tarlos say their ILYs off-season. So. I wouldn’t be too surprised lmao.

(Also if he does not come back for this season, I honestly think he will only come back if they need a HEA for Buck once the series ends and Lou is available for that. Because imho they are not finding a LI that works better than him any time soon)

As for Lou’s filming schedule, I wouldn’t put too much weight on it. Mostly because we don’t know it. We don’t know if he’s mostly done with the sketch show, or if he only has to shoot 3 days a week, or what. Nothing tells us shooting that and shooting 911 is something impossible to combine.

And I don’t want to pretend I know something will happen, or give anyone false hope. I’m the first person who truly expects nothing from this show anymore and who knows chances are we will be disappointed, because the show has shown us we can’t trust it. Just wanted to point out some things ;)

Anyway, my inbox is open for venting, ranting, and giving your opinions! Physical therapy has been kicking my ass this week but I’ll try to be more present (don’t tear your meniscus, babes. I highly do not recommend)

Take care <3

[sewliia]

Magnus Archives Episode 154 / 200 Analysis

(If this was mentioned by anyone before, I am sorry. I found one tumblr post showing the similarity in John's “Together - one way or another” but nothing more. So if you guys know more sources on this topic please share them with me. I would love to talk about this more.)

(also this is maybe a bit messy but I hope you guys see my vision)

I believe the Ending of the Magnus Archive was already decided in the episode “154 - Bloody Mary” or at least episode 200 is a parallel / continuation of the post statement scene.

I will show 154 in order while adding the matching parts from 200 (the parts from 200 are coloured differently to easily recognize them).

In 154 John learns that they can leave the Institut if they damage their eyes permanently.

After gaining this information he goes to Martin. He is the first to know.

(This one is not hard evidence - just something small I noticed)

(200) Martin is also the first to know what John did (also the only one).

(154) John then proposes to Martin that he wants to leave with him, because he trusts Martin and doesn't want to do it alone. He doesn't even consider the others here. He just wants to be with Martin.

This also plays into Jon's identity crisis in Season 4. Martin was there for him all the time and Jon values Martin's opinion more than the others, cause he loves him, cause he hopes Martin wants the same, cause he wants someone who gives him permission, to tell him what is right.

(200) Here we have it the other way around now. Martin trusted John not to kill Jonah on his own and John finally had the courage to do something on his own.

(154) Martins response is:

He doesn't want to choose for John, since he knows how insecure John is.

(200) John made it Martin's decision. He can’t kill himself at this point and already made his choice.

(154) This scenario is almost the same, just that the roles are partly swapped. In both cases they aren't sure if John will survive this, that it is a risk and a wish to escape.

Ending with the famous “one way or another” spoken again by John.

(154) After John proposes his idea to Martin he gets unsure, saying his idea was stupid. Martin says he has to see things through with Peter, which triggers John to try again.

(200) There is no exact line that fits this, but John derails everything by killing Jonah on his own.

(154) This one is interesting.

Martins says John would never blind himself. John indeed doesn’t want that. He wants to live, he wants to see and he likes his powers.

Blinding himself would be the easy way out.

In this season John fights a lot about his wants and his identity, so it makes sense that he asks the others for guidance and opinions. He is not sure what he really wants and even if it is okay to just take it. I am sure that John at this point loves Martin deeply and wants his input on the situation. He wants to hear “of course I come with you John”, but Martin denies that from him.

(200) At this point not even John's love for Martin holds him back and he does what he wants to do, going from “could” to “did”.

Martin is also in disbelief here, mirroring his and John’s words in 154.

you do - you didn’t

I could - you can’t

“I did. I am “

John is confident in this scene. He IS what he decided to be. He is whole.

(154) More evidence that even Martin doesn't believe John.

Again a parallel:

I can't follow you

Martin pushing Jon away ( to save him)

(200) Where you go I go.

John pushing martin away (to save him)

(and then changing his mind, accepting the proposal of escape)

In short:

(154)

John proposes to leave together.

Martin says John would and can not do that.

He won't make the decision for John.

Martin pushes John away.

John says he waits.

(200)

John does something that Martin dared him to do.

John tries to push Martin away.

Martin proposes to leave together.

Martin has to make the decision for John.

They stay together.

Maybe I went a bit crazy here but these scenes have so much in common.

[ask-rain-world-characters]

Scugs, how do you feel about iterator siblings? 👀

Survivor:

Monk:

Hunter:

Watcher:

Gourmand:

Artificer:

Rivulet:

Spearmaster:

Saint:

Enot:

Transcripts:

Survivor: "If you're talking about the pink and the blue ones (who I have unfortunately not yet learned the names of), then I know who you're talking about at least! I feel a little bad about the blue one since, well... I tried eat her white floaty things a couple times. Keyword being 'tried'. Monk stopped me before I even got to taste one. Apparently, eating the white floaty things hurts them. The smaller pink iterator, on the other hand, I feel no remorse for. I mean, he tore open my buddy Spearmaster's chest! That's freakin' bonkers! I don't like that guy."

Monk: "I-I'm not sure, the iterators kind of scare me a little bit."

Hunter: “If you mean Looks To The Moon and Five Pebbles, then you’re in luck! For I, the great and wise Hunter, have met them both!” “Pebbles was always a little stick in the mud, but I’m sure he meant well! I mean, why would he help me all those cycles back? When I was sent to revive Moon?” “And as for Moon… she was the kindest soul I’ve ever known! Sweet and elegant, and her lessons are a joy to listen to as well! Survivor also likes to visit her from time to time, and I can’t blame him! I just hope she's doing ok…”

Watcher: "I never met them before, but if the stories that I heard from others are true... I feel sorry for them. One wanting to escape the cycle, hurt the other in the process. Now he regrets what he did to the Moon, while rotting inside. Although both of them try to fix their relationship, the scars left from the past won't disappear so easily..."

Gourmand: "Siblings? You mean the two neighbors near the eastern shores? I only recently heard that Moon referred to herself as 'Big Sister'. Somehow, I doubt that they were created by the exact same people, and that they're siblings for real. But I have a feeling it wasn't meant to be understood literally, and was just a nod to how close Five Pebbles' structure was to hers. It seems like iterators use words a lot differently, than us. Which does make sense. We are very different, after all. And in terms of my feelings, I don't really have many, at least not towards them. I met Pebbles once, and he ushered me out rather fast. And I don't really plan on returning, with how dangerous him and his chambers were. Moon is a lot safer, and acts a little more mellow. Likely because she lost her powers. My clan needs me, and she lives quite far from us, so I can't do much for her - but I'm thankful there are other slugcats who can offer her company and aid. She does look like she needs it."

Artificer: "I've never seen the iterators as siblings, Pebbles is like family to me in a way but that's it, really. Besides I haven't really met the others, only slightly heard about them."

Rivulet: “Well, I like Moon, she’s fun to be around cause she listens to me a whole lot! Pebbles, I have warmed up to more recently especially after realizing how dire his situation was, however I remember being very upset with his mean demeanor before, especially towards Moon. Though in hindsight I understand where he was coming from, and well, that’s all I can say, since I don’t have many of the exact details and I've realized it isn’t really my place to speak. For me, if Moon forgives Pebbles, then he’s good in my eyes for the most part.”

Spearmaster: "Iterator siblings as a whole is a nice idea. They need that sort of thing for how lonely they can get. If you mean the specific ones I've met before? I couldn't tell you many positive things. Five Pebbles was heartless and cruel to me, and I won't forgive them for what they've done. Looks to the Moon was a more pleasant experience, even if bittersweet. Even still, climbing up to her chamber was a dreadful experience. I'd much rather stay with Suns for now."

Saint: "Looks to the Moon and Five Pebbles? I haven't met the former, and I'm not too fond of the latter. But...I feel as though it's only a matter of time until our paths, or rather, our fates collide. Whatever that feeling means I'm not sure, but we'll see."

Enot: "I dunno, the only iterator I've seen is pebbles and he doesn't talk about his family drama or anything." "Speeeaking of which, I need to get my next order of Pebbsi."