#it hurts... but healing typically does as Present would say

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

[caitchercatlady]

Not Having a Good Time

-Ignihyde Version

Idia Shroud

When it comes to helping people when they're down, Idia thinks he's the worst at even coming up with solutions to make said person feel better. If it was physical hurt, he'd just send Ortho to do the healing, but mentally and emotionally? He learns from Ortho that you haven't been yourself at the first-year study sessions lately. He explains to Idia that you were down about not doing so well in Potions class the other day, and Crewel hasn't let up about it. Though Idia rolls his eyes about Crewel's typical nature, his heart sinks at how you must feel because you're the most hardworking student he knows.

You receive a text from Idia, asking you to come to Ignihyde at once, which does force an eyebrow of yours to go up. You didn't want to leave the comfiness of your bed, but if Idia is asking you to come over, it has to be something serious. You arrive at the dorm to an empty lounge, but before you know it, you are greeted by the lounge's main computer flashing in front of you. Idia's voice comes through the speakers.

"Um...Welcome, Yuu, to Ignihyde's presentation on well...Yuu. Today's, um...demonstration will cover the...pretexts of why Yuu is the OP player of Night Raven College. The key words we have are the following: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom and Charisma."

It's curious how Idia's acting nervous over audio, but you supposed it was because he was giving compliments, which he's not used to doing. Nevertheless, the presentation on each of your qualities makes your heart skip beats. The further on the presentation goes, the quieter the speakers get. At first you think it's a tech error, but then you turn towards the opening of the hall to see Idia with a microphone, trying to finish the speech. You make your reaction as soon as the ending "Thank you, Yuu" slide appears. Instead of making a big "Thank you, Idia" scene, you give him the biggest hug you could muster. Idia's hair flickers in shock while his face contorts in slight embarrassment, but that quickly fades away as your warmth phases into his. His return hug is the only "You're welcome" you could need.

Ortho Shroud

As the more "attentive" of the Shroud brothers, Ortho can't be lied to about how you're feeling, whether physically, mentally, or emotionally. He sees that you're stressed out about something, nad he refuses to stand by and watch you get worse. He catches you outside in the campus garden, and he politely asks you to tell him what's been going on first. However, the more you resist, the more concerned he gets until he makes his point across.

"According to my research, friends help each other. As we are friends, I will find a way to help you no matter the problem. Now, as my brother would say in campaign, lay it on me."

You reveal to Ortho that Ace and Deuce had invited you out for a Saturday on the town after getting Crowley's permission to exit campus for a day. However, you remember that you have a big Ramshackle cleaning job that can't go without, which is another responsibility added on to an already busy school week. You want the break, but this cleaning needs to be done, so you are afraid to tell Ace and Deuce no. Ortho pulls out his emergency pack of tissues from his storage and offers you one to clear your tears that you didn't realize were falling down your face. He announces that you should go and have fun, and that if cleaning Ramshackle is all you need, he can do that no issue (in fact, he thinks it's a piece of cake). Ortho will make sure you keep you updated on the process, but his main advice is for you to clear your mind and go have fun with friends because it's only every so often that you get to do so.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May

Summary: As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: ~10.6k words. Sorry this chapter took longer than I anticipated. It's more of a filler than anything, but lots of fluff/comfort nonetheless :') (trying out a new layout!)

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist 

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Nearly three months had slipped by since Kate and Arthur's lives intersected on that fateful day at Emerald Ranch, though to Kate, it felt like an eternity. The days following Arthur's return with her had stretched out endlessly, each moment laden with uncertainty and worry. It seemed as if a hundred months could have passed in that single week alone, as Kate grappled with the ever-present fear that each day could be Arthur's last. Despite the relentless onslaught of challenges and worries, Kate found herself adapting to the rhythm of each new day.

Determined to provide Arthur with the best possible care during his recovery, Kate took to heart the doctor's instructions. She made it her mission to ensure Arthur's comfort, meticulously tending to his wounds and faithfully administering his medication. She gave him the penicillin each day, crushed and mixed with a spoonful of honey. And yet, every day brought its own set of trials, but Kate faced each one with unwavering resolve.

As Arthur battled against the fever that ravaged his body, Kate remained steadfast in her optimism. Though his skin burned hot to the touch and his body trembled with chills, Kate saw the fever not only as a sign of infection but also as a testament to Arthur's fighting spirit. With each passing hour, she held onto the hope that Arthur would prevail in the battle against the illness that threatened to consume him. Only time would reveal the outcome of their struggle—where victory hung in the balance between sickness and survival.

Kate tended to Arthur's needs with resolute care and devotion. She recognized the subtle cues indicating his thirst, gently offering him water-soaked cloths to moisten his parched lips, ensuring he stayed hydrated despite the challenges. When his stomach rebelled, she was quick to react, keeping a bucket nearby and assisting him to sit up, determined to prevent any mishaps like before.

The day following the doctor's departure, Kate took on the task of bathing Arthur herself. Knowing he would be more comfortable in clean skin. With a bucket of warm water and fresh cloths in hand, she ventured into his makeshift room, drawing the canvas flaps closed to provide them with privacy. As she worked, memories flooded her mind—recollections of the night Arthur had confided in her about his body, merely days before he would be tortured. He didn’t have to say it, but she knew he felt ashamed of the way he looked. Though the reasons why were beyond her, his body was perfect in her eyes. 

And yet, on that haunting night when she found him again, she had seen beyond his physical scars. His whole body laid before her, his most vulnerable secrets exposed from the cruel hands of fate. Scars carved so deep she knew they would reach his soul. Kate knew how violating it felt, and she vowed to respect every part of his body with tenderness and acceptance.

Regret weighed heavily on Kate's heart as she took in the sight of him, wishing she had expressed the admiration she felt for him during their intimate encounter. To her, Arthur's form was a testament to his strength, he was a strong man built to withstand the storm. But he was also gentle and soft. It was a canvas of stories waiting to be discovered. His body carried with it the song of his past, and Kate longed to hear it. 

Lost in her thoughts, she entertained fleeting fantasies of exploring his body with affection and adoration. Lips gently brushing over every insecurity. Warm hands wandering over every inch. 

Kate shook her head at the thought, jolting herself back to reality with the pressing tasks at hand. Blushing at her own thoughts, she refocused her attention on caring for Arthur, knowing that there were more immediate concerns demanding her attention. 

Deep down, she cherished the secret longing that stirred within her—a silent promise to honor every aspect of Arthur, body and soul.

Starting with his face, Kate delicately wiped away the layers of sweat and grime, unveiling the sun-kissed skin beneath adorned with a constellation of freckles. As her fingers trailed across his beard, she marveled at its softness, each stroke a tender caress. With gentle, wet fingers, she combed through his hair, untangling knots and brushing away dirt and dried blood, restoring its natural silky luster.

Moving down to his arms and abdomen, she carefully pulled back the sheet to reveal his stomach, noting the dampness of the blanket beneath him from sweat. Making a mental note to replace it, she reached for more cloth. The water, now cold, offered a refreshing contrast against Arthur's fever warm skin. Despite the chill, each touch was infused with tenderness.

Kate hummed a quiet melody, her touch gentle as she traced the cool cloth over Arthur's skin. His face twitched, rousing him from his slumber. Blinking wearily, he uttered her name, his voice a whisper in the dim light.

"I'm right here, honey. Need to sit up?" Kate's voice was soft, friendly. As if they were discussing the simplest of tasks.

Their eyes met, Arthur's still bloodshot but slowly regaining their vibrant blue hue. He shook his head, a silent response to her question.

"Did I wake you?" Kate inquired, her head tilted with concern. Arthur nodded, his weariness evident even in this small gesture. "I'm sorry, hon," Kate offered with a jaded smile.

"S’alright," Arthur breathed, his eyes closing again, reassured by her presence. "Feels good. M'really hot," he mumbled, words heavy with fatigue.

Kate hummed softly, dipping the cloth back into the cold water, letting its refreshing droplets cascade over his overheated skin. Arthur sighed in relief, savoring the cool sensation. "Feels good," he repeated, his voice muffled by exhaustion. "You washin' me?" he asked, words tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," Kate replied honestly, her touch tender as she continued her ministrations. "Is that alright?" She was prepared to stop if he was uncomfortable.  

Arthur nodded once more, "S'rotten work, Kate," he murmured, the echoes of past torment still haunting his thoughts. His expression a mixture of gratitude and self-deprecation.

Kate paused, her hand resting on his now-clean cheek, he opened his blue eyes meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity. "Not to me," she whispered, her words carrying a depth of emotion. "Not if it's you."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the days passed, life in the camp gradually resumed its familiar rhythm. Kate, Lenny, and Sadie took turns tending to Arthur, but Kate remained a constant presence by his side, especially during the long, dark hours of night. Only swapping shifts with her trusted companions when she needed to eat or bathe. 

Arthur spent most of his time asleep, rousing only when he needed something. Kate felt immense gratitude for the assistance of Charles and Hosea, especially during the more intimate moments of caregiving. Their help spared Arthur any unnecessary embarrassment, allowing him to retain some semblance of dignity amidst his recovery.

Despite her body's protests, Kate stubbornly refused to leave Arthur's side for a proper rest. Nights were particularly challenging for him, the fever raging through his body like a wildfire, casting his veins in searing, white-hot flames. With just a week's supply of antibiotics remaining, Kate found herself praying fervently for them to be effective, desperately hoping they would be enough to quell the relentless onslaught of infection.

Arthur's evenings were plagued by haunting night terrors and feverish delirium, his mind a battleground of fear and confusion. He would often awaken in a state of panic, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he grappled with the phantoms that tormented his dreams. 

In the quiet of the night, amidst the shadows that danced around them, Kate would find herself stirred awake by the sounds of Arthur's restless slumber. His cries, soft yet troubled, echoed through the stillness of the camp, tugging at her heartstrings like a grim melody. With each silent hiccup, his face contorted in pain, resembling that of a child lost in the throes of a nightmare. It was a sight that weighed heavily upon her, casting a veil of sorrow over her weary soul.

Drawing closer to him, Kate would perch on the edge of his cot, her presence a beacon of relief in the darkness. With tender care, she enveloped his uninjured hand in her own, the warmth of their touch a fragile lifeline amidst the turmoil of his dreams. Her fingers traced soothing patterns through his tousled hair, a gentle caress to ease his troubled mind. In whispered words, she offered him a remedy, weaving a tapestry of reassurance around him like a protective cloak.

In those moments, as she sat vigil beside him, Kate found herself transported back to a distant memory, a bittersweet recollection of her infant daughter Lorena. The late-night awakenings, the cries for comfort that echoed through the still darkness—each moment a testament to the unbreakable bond between a mother and her child. Kate offered him the same unwavering love and protection that had once been bestowed upon her own flesh and blood.

Reflecting on those tender moments of bonding with her newborn daughter, Kate's heart swelled with a mixture of nostalgia and longing. The sleepless nights, the endless feedings, all intertwined with an indescribable sense of purpose and fulfillment. It was a journey marked by both exhaustion and euphoria, a testament to the depths of a mother's love and devotion.

As she gazed upon Arthur's sleeping form, a soft smile graced Kate's lips, her heart swelling with a bittersweet tenderness. The trail of tears that had once stained his cheeks had now dried, replaced by the tranquility of peaceful slumber. With a soft kiss pressed against his forehead, she allowed herself to be enveloped by the comforting embrace of sleep, where memories of her daughter awaited her in the quiet space of her dreams.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As Arthur’s first week of recovery drew to a close, the camp adjusted to his absence, each member picking up his slack with newfound determination. No longer the camp's handyman, Arthur's absence was palpable, highlighting the countless tasks he once effortlessly juggled. Even before his injury, he never knew a moment's rest, always putting the gang's needs above his own.

The afternoon sun bore down on the camp, its intensity softened by rare clouds that offered brief reprieves from the oppressive heat of a July day in Lemoyne. Despite the welcome shade and gentle breeze, the air remained thick with humidity. In Arthur’s tent, Kate sat perched, using a folded newspaper as a makeshift fan to combat the stifling heat. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her, her eyelids growing heavy as she battled to stay awake, the weight of fatigue pressing against her.

Kate sat upright, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair, as the sound of John's urgent call echoed through the camp, accompanied by the quick patter of footsteps. "Jack! Get over here!" John's voice rang out, his own footsteps hastening toward the tent.

Suddenly, Jack's eager face appeared at the tent entrance, his eyes alight with excitement. "Uncle Arthur!" he exclaimed with a wide grin, poised to step inside before he was swiftly scooped up by someone outside, his protests muffled by the canvas flaps.

In Jack's place, John's weary face appeared, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, his arms occupied by the squirming boy. Jack wriggled against his father's hip, clutching a book in his small hands. "Put me down! Why can't I see Uncle Arthur?" he demanded with a hint of frustration.

Kate rose from her seat, bridging the distance between them with a reassuring smile. "It's alright. I can keep an eye on him for a bit, John," she offered warmly, her words soft and comforting.

John hesitated, lowering Jack to the ground. Uncertainty etched in the lines of his face as he glanced at Arthur's slumbering form. "Y’sure? I don't want to..." he trailed off, his grip tightening on Jack's hand, “trouble you.” He silently noted the tiredness in her eyes.

With a gentle smile, Kate reassured him, "It's no trouble at all." She crouched down to Jack's level, her eyes sparkling with kindness. "Did you bring Arthur a book?" she asked with genuine interest.

John sighed ponderously, ruffling Jack's hair affectionately before departing. Kate watched him go, a soft smile playing on her lips as she noticed John's growing presence in Jack's life.

"Papa Hosea taught me a lot of new words. I wanted to show Uncle Arthur," Jack piped up excitedly, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Kate's smile widened. "That's a wonderful idea, Jack! Why don't you come sit on my lap, and we can read to him together?" she suggested, voice warm with invitation.

Jack nodded eagerly, allowing Kate to lift him into her arms as she settled back into the familiar wooden chair. His gaze shifted to Arthur, a puzzled expression on his face. "How long is he gonna sleep for, Auntie Kate?" he asked with innocent curiosity. 

"I'm not so sure. He'll sleep as long as he needs to, I suppose," Kate replied honestly, gentle yet tinged with uncertainty.

Jack turned his gaze back to Kate with a worried frown. "Is he gonna sleep forever?" His voice trembled with a hint of fear, his young mind grappling with the concept of mortality.

Kate could sense the weight of Jack's question, knowing that he had been exposed to the harsh realities of life at a tender age. She struggled to find the right words to comfort him, to shield him from the harsh truth that lingered in the air.

"Arthur will wake up when his body is ready, Jack," she reassured him, offering a comforting squeeze. "Right now, he just needs all the rest he can get so he can keep up with you once he's feeling better." She playfully tickled his sides, coaxing a bright giggle from the boy as he squirmed in her lap.

After a moment, Jack's expression softened as he revealed his longing. "I miss him," he admitted softly, voice tinged with sadness.

Kate's heart swelled with empathy as she felt the depth of Jack's affection for his uncle. She fondly remembered Arthur's dedication to the boy. Abigail had told her how he stepped into the role of a father figure during John's absence from the gang. The thought of their bond being severed filled her with a profound sense of sorrow.

"I miss him too, Jack," she whispered softly, pressing a kiss atop the boy's head, her touch warm and comforting like that of a mother's embrace. "But I know Arthur would love to hear those big words you've learned." Her smile radiated reassurance, instilling confidence in the young boy.

Jack beamed back at her, his grin revealing a gap where his tooth had recently fallen out. With newfound enthusiasm, he eagerly opened the book, its size seeming comically large in his tiny hands.

"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn," he announced proudly, each word spoken with growing confidence.

As Jack read in her lap, Kate marveled at his proficiency, surprised by his advanced reading skills at such a tender age. Since the day she joined the gang, her mind recalled memories of Hosea's patient efforts in teaching Jack, a heartwarming display of mentorship and care that would surely be treasured by the boy for years to come. 

Kate entertained the idea that Hosea must have been the one to teach Arthur to read. She pondered this as her gaze drifted to Arthur's journal, a testament to his inner thoughts and reflections. Despite his reserved nature, Arthur was diligent in recording his thoughts, a habit that intrigued Kate endlessly. What tales did he document within those pages? Did he share his dreams or pour out his frustrations? And amidst it all, did he ever write about her? The questions swirled in her mind, a curious blend of wonder and anticipation.

Although Arthur's journal sat tantalizingly close on his bedside table, Kate resisted the urge to pry into his private musings. Instead, she harbored a hope that one day he would willingly share his thoughts with her, trusting her enough to confide in her the words he committed to paper.

Jack nestled comfortably in Kate's lap, his small frame relaxed against her chest, his feet swaying gently. The rhythm of his soft voice, intertwined with the gentle cadence of his breaths, lulled Kate into a serene half-slumber, the cares of the world momentarily forgotten.

Minutes later, her peaceful reverie was shattered by Jack's urgent grip on her arm, Kate jolted awake, her eyes snapping open in alarm. Startled, she sat up abruptly, her heart racing as she followed Jack's pointed finger to Arthur's cot. 

Kate's gaze shifted to Arthur, his discomfort palpable as he shifted restlessly, his brow glistening with sweat, signaling the onset of nausea. With a weary sigh, Kate sprang into action, moving him from her lap. She swiftly lifted Arthur's body while shielding Jack from the distressing scene unfolding before them. With practiced efficiency, she reached for the bucket, ready to offer relief to her ailing friend.

As Arthur lay back on his cot, Kate's gaze shifted to Jack, her heart twisting at the sight before her. Jack stood by the entrance, his book clutched tightly to his chest, his lips pursed and cheeks stained with tears. His big, sad brown eyes met hers, his voice barely a whisper as he choked out his question, "Is... is he going to die?" The words hung heavy in the air, trembling on his tongue.

"Oh, Jack," Kate murmured softly, lowering herself to her knees to meet his gaze at eye level. "Arthur's fighting with all his might. He just needs some time, sweetheart," she reassured him, reaching out to grasp his small hand in hers, her touch warm and steady, enveloping him in comfort. "And a whole lot of love," she added, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Jack nodded somberly, wiping away his tears with a sniffle before darting off without another word. As the tent flaps billowed in his wake, Kate sighed, understanding his fear but determined not to let him dwell too deeply on Arthur's condition.

Kate eased back into her chair, a low groan escaping her lips as she massaged the soreness from her back, her fingers kneading the tension from her shoulders as she rolled her neck. Suddenly, a groggy voice broke the silence, startling her from her trance. "Did I scare the kid?"

Arthur's tired pink eyes met hers, a hint of blue returning with each passing day. Kate offered him a solemn smile. "He'll be alright. You need somethin’?" she asked gently, weariness lacing her words.

Arthur let out a deep sigh, his good hand dragging down his face in a gesture of fatigue. "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Kate," he confessed, his voice raw with honesty. "I don't feel like I'm in control."

Kate's expression softened with understanding as she realized he was speaking about his night terrors. Tainting his once quiet evenings with haunting shadows. "It's just the fever, Arthur. The dreams will fade with time," she reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Arthur glanced up at her, his eyes tinged with sadness, and she sensed the weight of his torment mirrored in his gaze. "Seems all I’m good for is makin’ people suffer, and it’s finally caught up to me."

“I don’t think that’s the case Arthur,” she added soothingly, leaning closer to him. “You’re suffering is not a punishment, it’s a second chance.” Her thumb traced gentle patterns against his warm skin. Lulling him back into a blissful slumber. Her sweet words like a sugar cube, disappearing into the heat of a dark cup of tea. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the evening air took on a refreshing chill, carrying the aroma of Pearson’s savory beef stew. Kate’s stomach, stirred by the tantalizing scent, demanded attention, and she finally complied, settling into her chair beside Arthur’s slumbering figure with a steaming bowl cradled in her lap. With each spoonful, the warmth of the hearty stew spread through her body, offering relief amidst the trials of the day.

With dusk settling in, Kate made the decision to open the tent flaps of Arthur’s makeshift shelter, inviting in the cool embrace of the summer night. The once stuffy confines now filled with a gentle breeze, carrying with it the symphony of the wilderness awakening with the ascent of the moon. The chorus of crickets, the rhythmic chirping of cicadas, the haunting calls of owls, and the resonant croaks of bullfrogs formed a comforting backdrop to the solitude of the evening.

Amidst the serene ambiance, Kate discerned the approach of two sets of footsteps, drawing closer to Arthur’s tent with purposeful intent.

"Hey Kate," Bill's familiar, slurred voice cut through the evening calm, accompanied by the shuffling footsteps of Micah behind him. Kate let out a weary sigh, her hopes of enjoying a peaceful meal dashed by their unwelcome intrusion.

"Seems Arthur’s gone and turned himself into a real crybaby," Bill jeered with a drunken swagger, casting a mocking glance at Micah. "Think when she’s done playin’ nursemaid, she’ll wipe my ass if I get shot?" His words dripped with alcohol-infused arrogance, punctuated by a bitter laugh that grated on Kate's nerves.

Kate leaned back in her chair with casual indifference, reaching an idle hand for her pistol that rested on Arthur’s table, “you wanna find out?” She retorted, her voice cool and composed, tinged with a hint of warning.

Micah chuckled at her bold response, while Bill's face flushed with embarrassment, his drunken bravado deflated. "Relax, princess," he muttered gruffly, “was just pokin’ fun.” He retreated back to his seat by the campfire. Micah lingered near the tent, his hands resting casually on his gun belt.

Kate stifled a deep yawn, rubbing her face wearily. Feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a heavy blanket. Each movement was a struggle against the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm her. Micah's chuckle grated on her nerves as he closed the distance, casually leaning against the makeshift table that served as one of the walls of Arthur’s tent. He lingered like a pesky mosquito, buzzing around her head. 

"Poor little cowpoke is tired," he remarked with feigned amusement.

Rolling her eyes, Kate brushed off his comment with a sharp retort, "Spare me, Micah. I’m not in the mood for this."

Micah raised his hands in a mock surrender, his smirk still evident. "Just making an observation," he quipped. "Why don’t I take over for a bit? Me and Arthur got some catching up to do anyway."

Kate's response was swift and sharp, her tone laced with defiance, "Over my dead body."

Micah sighed, a moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them as he eyed her with suspicion. "How were you able to find him, anyway?" he asked, curiosity and skepticism coloring his words.

Kate's patience wore thin, her fatigue adding to her irritation. "Dumb luck," she snapped curtly.

Micah huffed, his disdain evident in the tilt of his head. “Sure don’t seem like he got too lucky.”

Kate's gaze turned steely, her eyes flashing with spite. "If only someone had spoken up sooner when he didn't show up after the parley."

Micah shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t call the shots ‘round here, sweetheart,” he replied dismissively, showing no hint of remorse for Arthur’s condition.

“Oh, really?” Kate shifted in her chair, facing Micah directly. “Because it seems to me Dutch has quite the worm in his ear.”

Micah's grin was wolfish, his amusement unsettling. “Care to explain that?” he challenged.

“I don’t buy into your games, Micah,” Kate spat, dripping with contempt. “And Arthur doesn’t either,” she added, gesturing toward the sleeping figure beside them.

Leaning in, Micah loomed over her, his presence imposing. “There’s no game, Kate. Arthur is nothing more than an old dog at Dutch’s heel, just begging for scraps,” he growled. “He’ll do whatever that man asks him to do. You’ll see that soon enough.” With a final tip of his hat, he vanished into the darkness without another word, leaving Kate alone with her thoughts and the quiet of the night.

Kate sighed, feeling burnt out as the weight of exhaustion settled on her shoulders while she observed Arthur's slumbering figure. "Quite the friends you got here," she murmured to him, words tinged with weariness. Yet, her moment of respite was short-lived as the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears once more. With a groan, she buried her face in her hands, bracing herself for whatever interruption was to come.

Turning her gaze towards the source of the noise, Kate spotted Jack hurrying towards the tent, dragging something bulky and hollow-sounding behind him. Javier trailed close behind, calling after the energetic boy. "Más despacio, hermano!" he urged, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Furrowing her brow, Kate strained to make out what Jack was hauling in the fading light of dusk. As he reached the entrance, panting heavily, it became clear—he was bringing her Javier's guitar. "Auntie Kate!" Jack called out eagerly, his small frame vibrating with urgency. Kate's heart softened at the sight, touched by the earnestness in the boy's actions. "You have to sing to Uncle Arthur!" he insisted, presenting the heavy wooden instrument to her with small mighty hands gripping its neck.

Kate's chuckle resonated softly in the tent as she cradled the guitar in her lap, its weight a comforting presence against her. Her gaze lifted to Javier, who had followed Jack inside. "Sorry for his antics," she murmured. Apologizing on Jack’s behalf for his uncanny thieving. Her tone tinged with a hint of amusement, "do you mind if I borrow this for a while?"

Javier brushed off her apology with a warm smile, his demeanor relaxed and jovial. "Little hombre insists your voice is the best medicine," he remarked. “How could I argue with that?” A fondness was evident in his tone. Stepping closer, he regarded Kate with a hint of concern, his brows knitting together in a silent question.

Kate's surprise flickered briefly across her features as Javier's hand gently guided her chin upwards. His touch was tender, filled with a quiet concern that spoke volumes. "Ay, cariño," he murmured softly. "Have you been getting any rest?" His eyes searched hers, Kate’s dark circles and tired hollowness not escaping his notice.

A reflexive instinct prompted Kate to pull away slightly, a feeble attempt to shield her exhaustion from Javier's perceptive gaze. "M’fine," she replied, her voice carrying a weary resolve. "Just a little tired, s’nothing I can't handle." Her reassurance was touched with the gravity of her fatigue.

Javier's worried expression softened into one of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens she bore. With a nod of farewell and a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, he left Kate with her little companion.

Jack had nestled himself into Arthur’s cot, finding security in the space beneath his uncle's uninjured arm. Curled up like a beloved house cat, he nestled snugly against Arthur's side, seeking comfort in his embrace.

Kate's heart swelled at the sight, her lips curving into a tender smile. Jack's innocent affection for his uncle made her feel like she could endure every sleepless night if it meant they would be reunited again.

As she adjusted the guitar strings to her liking, Kate's voice softened to a gentle murmur. "Jack, sweetheart," she began, warm with affection, "where did you get the idea to sing to Arthur?"

A warm virtue radiated from Jack's heartfelt gaze. “Mama told me Uncle Arthur was having nightmares,” he said honestly, “you have to sing him a lullaby so he knows he’s safe.” His wide eyes reflected honey-brown in the low lamp light. Radiating a genuine sincerity. Kate adored how big his young heart was, and she prayed he would retain that kindness long into his adult years.

Her mind wandered to a cherished memory—the night Arthur had kissed her. The warmth of his touch, the tenderness in his eyes. Kate was lost in her emotions as she sang Jack to sleep, and Arthur’s presence was like warm sunshine after rain. Shrouding her in comfort and protection amidst the storming clouds of her loss. She began to notice that Arthur always brought out a tender side in her, one she had long thought vanished with the woes of her past. 

A soft chuckle escaped Kate's lips at Jack's earnestness, her affection for him overflowing. "Arthur is lucky to have you, Jack," she murmured, her voice filled with admiration.

With a quiet hum, Kate's fingers began to dance across the guitar strings, weaving a melody that echoed through the tranquil night air. Each note resonated with the quiet beauty of their makeshift home in Clemens Point, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of their nomadic existence. As she sang, the words flowed effortlessly from her lips, a heartfelt lullaby born from the depths of her soul.

I don't know what steps to take, I do the easy ones until it helps.

Little acts of conversation, I don’t think I really like myself. 

Am I comfortable in this silence, or is it eating me alive? 

Nothin’s ever really quiet when you need distraction to survive. 

It’s part of me, wouldn’t you believe it’s nothing? 

I’m already going under, nothing I can do but sit and wait. 

Are you really having fun, or do you like becoming what you hate?

Am I comfortable in this silence, or am I waiting till it ends?

You were just too stubborn to pretend. 

It’s all you need, to keep the rain from coming. 

I’m good at letting you go, I’m good at letting it get to me. 

I’m good at letting you go. No, you were never the enemy. 

Kate's fingers danced over the guitar strings, the soft melody lingering in the air even after she had stopped playing. Her eyes were fixed on the tender sight before her: Arthur and Jack, their bond unbreakable in the way Arthur's arm had moved to enveloped the small boy, a gesture of pure love and affection. Defying the trials of his torment. 

A heavy sorrow settled over Kate, like a thick fog descending upon her weary soul. The burden of her exhaustion pressed down on her being. Her eyes felt raw and heavy, strained by the lack of rest. It was a relentless force that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment. In the quiet of the tent, emotions swirled within her, a tempest of longing and love that stirred her heart. She fought the urge to surrender her resolve. 

Kate watched Arthur and Jack, a lump forming in her throat as she struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to spill forth. It wasn't just concern for Arthur's well-being that kept her rooted to his side, but a deep-seated devotion that bound her to him in ways she couldn't fully comprehend.

As she looked upon Arthur's sleeping form, a pang of fear gripped her heart. The shadows of her past loomed large in her mind, casting a dark shadow over her hopes for the future. Like some divine conspiracy was once again taking a man of her heart from her grasp. But she had vowed to do better, to not let Arthur meet the same fate. 

Though exhaustion threatened to drag her into the depths of sleep, Kate remained vigilant, her eyes fixed on Arthur's face, her heart remaining unshaken to see him through the storm.

As her emotions threatened to spill from her tired eyes, she sighed and put the guitar down. In a moment of spontaneity, she reached for Arthur’s journal. Flipping to a blank page, she grasped his worn dull pencil and spewed her plaguing thoughts onto its pages: 

Dearest Arthur, 

As I write these words by the light of the moon Jack has curled up by your side, sleeping peacefully. He insisted that I must sing to you, to chase away those bad men that haunt your dreams. How could I refuse? His heart is as vast as the sky above, and he holds you in the highest regard. Oh Arthur, one of life’s greatest tragedies, is that you will always be loved more than you’ll ever know. 

In these quiet moments, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life. I've come to understand the depth of my feelings for you. They have come on gradually from the day we first met and I have been ever so sweet on you since. 

Arthur, there are no words sufficient to convey what you mean to me. And yet, some part of me fears that you will never hear these words from my lips, so I commit them to these pages in the hopes that they'll reach you when you return to this journal.

I yearn to live an honest life, and never be cruel. A quiet life, where I can be good to you. A life filled with family and friends, where we soar like birds in the endless sky. But I fear we may never change, that we may never learn from our past. 

In my fleeting moments of slumber, I dream of a wooden house. Filled with our laughter and love. Where we can sit upon a porch swing, admiring the sunset. As we whisper to each other and say, “it was hard, but we made it.”

As challenging as it has been, to sit by your side in these dark times. My heart aches to see you back in the saddle, riding free across the open plains. To witness once again the spark in your eyes and the warmth of your smile, the very essence of the man I hold so dear.

You are a beautiful soul, Arthur Morgan, and I am blessed beyond measure to have crossed your path. If you'll have me, I will give you the beautiful life you deserve.

With all my love, Kate 

p.s. On my honor, your words contained within have not graced my eyes. They belong to you, and to you alone.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

With a weary sigh, Kate closed the heavy leather journal, the weight of its contents lingering in her thoughts. As she rose from her seat, she stretched her arms wide, her tired muscles protesting the day's strain. "C'mere, little love bug," she whispered softly, lifting Jack's sleeping form and cradling him in her arms.

Like a mouse with gentle steps, she navigated through the camp, the darkness enveloping her like a comforting shroud. Intending to settle Jack into his own bed. She returned to Arthur's tent, only to find Hosea occupying her usual spot.

"Evening, Hosea," Kate greeted, her voice soft with fatigue, though her smile held a flicker of warmth.

Hosea nodded in response, his gaze distant, lost in the recesses of his thoughts. "A fine evening it is," he murmured quietly, his tone tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Leaning against the post of Arthur's tent, Kate studied Hosea's weary demeanor, a pang of concern tugging at her heart. "Something troubling you?" she inquired, her voice laced with genuine curiosity despite her exhaustion.

“I can't shake this feeling that I should have done things differently,” Hosea confessed, his voice tinged with regret. “I raised him to be the way that he is. I’ve come to realize that my teachings were a death sentence.”

Kate took a moment to absorb Hosea's words before responding. “Hosea,” she began softly, “you've been a father to Arthur in ways that go beyond his actions. You gave him guidance when he needed it, and stood by his side. You gave him a home and the tools to navigate an unforgiving world.”

Hosea let out a rueful chuckle, tinged with bitterness. “Taught him how to kill and steal, and look where that got him.” He gestured to Arthur’s sleeping form. 

“Arthur was taken by Colm,” Kate gently reminded him, “protecting what he holds dear. Because he was taught to fight for his family.”

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years, Hosea leaned back into the chair, his eyes fixed on his son's still form. The lines etched on his weathered face told stories of countless battles fought, both on the frontier and within himself. After a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that seldom surfaced.

“Do you mind if I stay with him tonight?” His request was simple, yet carried a profound sincerity that resonated with Kate.

She smiled softly, a tender expression that spoke volumes of her trust and respect for the older man. She would have hesitated to leave Arthur with anyone else, but she knew he was in loving hands with Hosea by his side. With a nod of understanding, she gathered her belongings, preparing to take her leave. But before she could step away, Hosea called out to her once more.

“By the way,” his voice carried across the dimly lit tent, “Abigail is looking for you. I believe she’s over by the chuck wagon.”

As she stepped out into the cool night air, the stars above seemed to twinkle with secrets, whispering tales of uncertainty. What could Abigail possibly need her for at this hour? Perhaps she doesn’t want Jack to be around Arthur too much, or maybe she wants Jack to visit him more to give herself a break. With each step Kate felt the world bearing down on her shoulders, her muscles aching with the weight of her own body. As much as she loved the little filly, she was growing increasingly more drained with each encounter. Kate's heart ached with the weight of her responsibilities, the constant juggling act of tending to Arthur's needs while fulfilling the demands of their community.

As she neared the back of the chuck wagon, the soft murmur of familiar voices reached her ears, weaving a tapestry of comfort and familiarity. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, she rounded the corner, her eyes alighting on the gathered group before her.

"What's all this?" Kate exclaimed breathlessly, her eyes widening in astonishment. There, amidst the soft glow of lanterns and the gentle summer breeze, stood Abigail, flanked by Sadie, Mary-Beth, Tilly, and even Karen, gathered together in a tight-knit circle. They had fashioned a cozy enclave behind the bustling chuck wagon, cocooned by canvas blankets that offered a sense of sanctuary from the outside world. The space was dimly lit by flickering candles and oil lamps, casting warm shadows that danced across the makeshift walls.

In the center of the little haven sat a large wooden wash barrel, steam rising from its depths like wisps of magic. Nearby, a small table was adorned with a bounty of provisions: fresh fruit, savory meats, and an assortment of cheeses, a feast fit for royalty.

Overwhelmed by the gesture, Kate felt her eyes welling with tears, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I... I don’t—" she stammered, unable to find the words to express her emotions.

Abigail approached her with a gentle smile, her eyes shimmering with warmth and compassion. Taking Kate's trembling hands in hers, she guided her into the cozy sanctuary. "You've been working so hard, Kate," she murmured softly, her voice like a soothing lullaby. "We thought you deserved a proper rest."

As Kate stepped inside, she was enveloped in a hug by Mary-Beth, who stood by her side with a reassuring presence. "We turned the storage wagon into a room for you," Mary-Beth whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "You can use it for as long as you need."

With a heartfelt smile, Kate allowed herself to be led into the haven of peace and comfort. The weight of the week’s burdens seemed to lift from her shoulders as she stepped into the warm embrace of the steaming bath. Had it not been for the supportive presence of the girls, she feared she might have collapsed to her knees from the overwhelming gesture of kindness.

With tender care, they helped her undress, their movements gentle yet purposeful. They said nothing about her scars, silently embracing every aspect of her being with no questions asked. 

Mary-Beth meticulously washed away the grime of the day from her arms and body, while Tilly worked her nimble fingers through the tangled knots of her hair. Karen, ever the nurturing soul, offered her bits of succulent fruit and creamy cheese, providing nourishment for both body and soul. Meanwhile, Sadie tended to the bath, ensuring that the water remained at the perfect temperature, adding more as it threatened to spill over the sides. Eventually bringing her a fresh clean pair of clothing to change into.

By her side, Abigail sat with a comforting presence, her skilled hands kneading away the tension from Kate's shoulders and palms. The warmth of their collective care enveloped Kate, soothing her weary soul in ways she had never imagined.

As she surrendered to the comforting embrace of the bath and the love of her companions, Kate felt a swell of emotion rising within her. Overwhelmed by a mixture of love and exhaustion, she could no longer contain the flood of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Hot droplets mingled with the bathwater, forming a poignant symphony of release. Her sniffling hiccups echoing into the night.

They held her close, offering silent comfort and understanding as she allowed herself to be vulnerable in their presence. Their actions showed no judgment for the state she was in. 

Abigail tenderly tucked Kate's head against her chest, her fingers tracing soothing circles on her cheek as if she were comforting a crying child. "It's okay, Kate. We're all here for you," she whispered softly, the warmth of her embrace a comforting balm to her shattered spirit.

Kate sniffled, her voice quivering with emotion as she struggled to articulate her overwhelming grief. "Christ," she choked out between sobs, "I've barely graced his life. I just–I can't–I thought I had more time with him." Her heartache was palpable, the ache of longing for the man she had grown to cherish threatening to consume her.

Karen's voice broke through the heavy tension, her words carrying a mixture of tenderness and determination. "Arthur won't go down without a fight, sweetpea," she reassured Kate, "but you need to look out for yourself too."

From behind her, Tilly's gentle voice joined the chorus of support, her hands working magic as she massaged Kate's scalp with a tender touch. "You can't take on all these burdens by yourself, Kate," she urged softly.

Abigail echoed their sentiments, her voice filled with unwavering solidarity. "Anything you need, you've got us girls. Just say the word, and we'll be there," she promised.

As Kate nodded in silent acknowledgment, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within her soul, painting the canvas of her heart with hues of gratitude and awe. In that moment, she realized she was not just an individual navigating the tumultuous seas of life, but a cherished member of a sisterhood, bound together by threads of resilience and unwavering love. 

Each tear that traced its path down her cheek was a testament to the profound impact these women had made on her life, transforming her solitary journey into a tapestry of shared experiences and dreams. With them, she found solace in the embrace of kindred spirits, a sanctuary where her fears were met with understanding and her joys amplified by celebration. They were the pillars of strength that held her aloft, the guiding stars that illuminated her path through the darkest of nights. And in their warm embrace, Kate discovered a sense of belonging, a home within the hearts of her newfound sisters, where she was cherished, accepted, and loved.

Kate had found family once again, and they had become her fortress. 

As Kate whispered amidst the tide of tears, her voice trembled like the flickering candlelight around them. Each word carried the weight of a soul laid bare, grappling with emotions too vast to contain. "Thank you," she confessed softly, her words barely audible above the rustle of water and fabric, "I don't know how to say it. Arthur he– I just... I..." Her voice trailed off into the night, lost in the labyrinth of her thoughts as exhaustion cloaked her in its tender embrace. With each passing moment, she felt herself surrendering to the warmth of their love and care, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of her mind.

Mary-Beth's voice, filled with gentle understanding, saw the depth of her heart. "You love him, Kate," she murmured, her words laden with shared experiences and whispered confidences. Kate's nod was accompanied by a choked sob, her cheeks flushed with the heat of her emotions. Once more, the girls gathered around her, their arms forming a protective cocoon against the harsh realities of their existence. 

"But what kind of woman loves a man she barely knows? I may never know if he even feels the same," Kate lamented, tinged with doubt and longing.

In that moment, the air seemed to shimmer with unspoken truths as the girls exchanged knowing glances. They had witnessed the subtle nuances of Arthur's heart, the tender gestures and lingering gazes that spoke volumes of his affection for Kate. Though shrouded in the shadows of their unfavorable situation, his feelings were as undeniable as the stars that adorned the night sky. All he needed was time, and perhaps a gentle nudge, to unveil the depths of his love for the woman who had captured his heart.

Tilly's soft giggle cut through the heavy air, a beacon of light in the midst of Kate's swirling doubts. "You and Arthur, my oh my. You two are like a match made in heaven," she chimed, her voice dancing with warmth. Drawn from her reverie, she could hear the smile in Tilly's words.

"Really?" Kate's voice trembled with uncertainty, her heart hanging on the edge of Tilly's response. The other girls exchanged cheeky grins, their eyes sparkling with mischief as if they were engaged in the usual camp gossip that takes place during their shared chores.

"If I were none the wiser I’d say your souls were meant to find each other," Karen interjected, her fingers delicately plucking a piece of fruit from the tray Kate had abandoned. 

Abigail, ever the beacon of reassurance, enveloped Kate's shoulders in a comforting embrace. "Love waits for no one, Kate. It has no rhyme or reason, it comes when it comes," she whispered.

As Kate nodded, her vision blurred by tears she couldn't contain, Sadie's strong hands enveloped hers with a tenderness that belied her fierce exterior. Kneeling before her with unwavering sincerity, Sadie met Kate's gaze with an unspoken understanding born of shared loss and unwavering resilience.

"I understand what it's like to lose a husband, Kate," she began softly, her words drawing from the depths of sorrow. "That fear of losing someone you love, it can weigh heavy on your heart for a long time." A silent understanding passing between them. "But you can't let that fear chain you down," she continued, her tone urging Kate to consider her own well-being. "You've got to rise above the waves, put yourself first to stay afloat. Or else you’ll drown in that fear."

As Kate felt the weight of Sadie's words sink in, she was overcome with a sense of gratitude for the support surrounding her. Abigail stepped forward, eyes brimming with admiration. "You're the strongest woman we know, Kate," she said with a warm smile. "But even the strongest need time to rest."

With gentle hands and loving care, the girls helped Kate dress in fresh clothes, their actions speaking volumes. As she settled into the cozy embrace of the transformed wagon, now a sanctuary of comfort, Kate felt a wave of tranquility wash over her.

With a whispered "thank you" to her companions, Kate allowed herself to surrender to the embrace of sleep. In the warmth of their support and the quiet comfort of the unlikely bedroom, she found peace, knowing that she was not alone in her journey. And as she drifted into slumber, she silently hoped that Arthur also felt the love and support of his makeshift family. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate slept through two moons, rising with the dawn of the third day. She felt like a new woman, rejuvenated and ready to tackle the challenges ahead. The girl's kind gesture had filled her with an undeniable surge of gratitude and strength. She knew Arthur was in good hands, and together, they would see him through his recovery.

Rising from her cozy makeshift bedroom in the back of the storage wagon, Kate stretched her limbs with a satisfied groan, feeling every muscle come alive. She stepped out into the fresh morning air, the camp bustling with the start of a new day. The sun cast a golden hue over Clemens Point, and the familiar sounds of morning chatter and clinking pots filled the air.

Making her way to the chuck wagon, she was greeted warmly by Mr. Pearson, who looked up from his preparations and smiled. "Well, look who's finally up and about! You look refreshed, Kate. Like your usual self."

Kate returned the smile, her heart lightened by his words. "Thanks, Pearson. I feel much better."

Pearson wiped his hands on a rag and approached her. "I was thinking of heading into Rhodes later to get some ingredients for a soup. It would be easier on Arthur’s stomach and help him keep down food so he can recover his strength."

Kate nodded appreciatively, touched by his thoughtfulness. "That's a great idea. Thank you. It's good to know everyone cares about his well-being."

As she savored a hearty breakfast, Kate realized it wasn't just the girls who were looking out for Arthur. The entire camp shared the burden of his recovery. Pearson's gesture struck a chord in her, reminding her of the importance of community and the support that surrounded them.

With newfound energy, she decided to make some house calls to the other members, expressing her gratitude and checking in on their needs. She was determined to give back to those who had shown her such kindness.

While the women normally took care of the chores, Kate knew the rest of the gang had stepped up in Arthur’s absence. She finished her meal with a sense of purpose, ready to contribute in any way she could. Rising from her seat at the table, she made her way to greet her mare, Lorena. She had been neglecting her faithful companion, only tending to her in fleeting moments when she could steal away from her duties.

As she neared the hitching station, a tender sight met her eyes. Lorena’s familiar black coat lay next to another horse, Belle, whose brilliant white contrasted sharply with Lorena's midnight sheen. The two horses were comfortably sprawled in the grass together, nuzzling their heads in a display of equine affection. The scene warmed Kate’s heart, momentarily lifting the weight of her worries.

Approaching them, she was suddenly interrupted by a wavering voice calling from beyond the treeline. "I-I wouldn’t get too close to them!" A moment later, Kieran stepped into view, visibly relaxing when he saw her. "Oh, it’s just you."

Kate smiled warmly, appreciating the sight of the skittish young man. "Morning, Kieran," she greeted. Raising a curious eyebrow, she asked, "Is something the matter with them?" referring to his earlier warning.

"N-no! Nothin’s wrong," Kieran stammered, scratching his neck nervously. "It’s just, um—your mare, Lorena. She don’t really like when anyone gets too close to Belle," he explained, his voice trailing off. "She’s become real protective of her since, um, you know." Kieran looked away, a guilty expression crossing his face.

Kate’s eyes softened as she regarded the two horses. Lorena’s protectiveness over Belle mirrored her own feelings toward Arthur.

Kate recalled how Kieran had come to join the gang, once a reluctant member of Colm’s crew. His past affiliation with the O'Driscolls had initially cast a shadow of doubt over him, but over time, he had proved himself loyal and trustworthy. Nodding in understanding, she approached the horses cautiously. Lorena, recognizing her rider, whinnied in excitement, while Belle's ears perked up with curiosity.

“I’ve missed you girls,” Kate cooed, bending down to scratch their snouts affectionately. As she ran her hands over Belle, she noticed the horse's wounds had been carefully stitched and tended to. “You did this?” she asked, turning to look at Kieran, who stood awkwardly nearby.

He nodded, shuffling his feet. “I did the best I could. She’s still a little skittish about getting the saddle on, but she should recover fine.”

Kate beamed at him, her heart swelling with gratitude. Arthur would be immensely thankful for Kieran’s care, she was sure of it. “Thank you, Kieran. Really, you’ve been a huge help. I don’t know how I can repay your kindness.”

Kieran shrugged modestly, brushing off her gratitude as a faint blush colored his cheeks. “No need for that, Kate. Just glad I could do something useful.”

“I’m serious, I would be lost without my girl. Arthur too. I’m really grateful for your help.” Kate urged. 

A wide smile tugged at Kieran's lips as he looked down bashfully. "Oh, s’nothing. I just really love horses. I’d do it for any of ’em," he said, gesturing to where the other horses were idly grazing.

Feeling a new sense of confidence, he joined Kate on the grass, running his hand along Lorena’s strong neck. "You know, I tried singing to her."

Kate chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How’d that go?" she asked, her grin cheeky.

Kieran raised his brows in amusement. "Oh, she loved it so much she nearly bit my ear off!" He laughed, the sound rich and genuine. Kate couldn't help but join him, their laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of the trees.

As their laughter subsided, Kate found herself reflecting on Kieran's presence in the camp. She had never had much of an opportunity to get to know him, but she was finding him to be quite pleasant. A pang of guilt struck her heart as she recalled how some of the other members, especially the guys, had treated him with suspicion and disdain.

"I took the hint after that," Kieran added, shaking his head with a chuckle.

Kate's smile softened. "Well, sounds like you've done a great job with them, Kieran. They look happy and healthy. Arthur’s gonna be real happy  when he sees how well you’ve taken care of Belle."

Kieran's eyes lit up at her praise. "Thanks, Kate. That means a lot. I just want to be useful, y’know?"

Kate nodded, understanding all too well the desire to prove oneself. "You are useful, Kieran. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. We all have our roles to play, and you’ve found yours."

A moment of comfortable silence passed between them as they groomed the horses. The simple act of brushing the horses' coats brought a sense of normalcy and peace to Kate's heart. The rhythmic motions, the gentle rustling of the leaves, and the occasional snort from Lorena and Belle created a tranquil atmosphere.

Kieran suddenly faced her with a hesitant expression. “Kate, I-I’m sorry for what happened to Arthur,” he squeaked, his voice shaky despite his earnest apology.

Kate’s expression softened as she looked at him. “S’not your fault, Kieran. You got nothing to apologize for.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, s’just… Colm, he’s a nasty man. Scares the piss outta me for sure. I’m terrified he’s gonna find me one day, and Arthur he’s—” Kieran hesitated, searching for the right words. “He’s lucky to be alive. I’m honestly shocked Colm let him live.”

The gravity of his words sank into Kate, a cold shiver running down her spine. She had never met Colm, but after what he did to Arthur, their feud had become personal to her as well. They had tried to take someone from her, and she had vowed long ago to never let anyone make her feel so powerless again.

“I’m sure Colm will get what's coming to him,” she said gravely, her gaze distant and hard.

Kieran scoffed, shaking his head. “That man is like a cockroach. Every time you think he’s dead, he ain’t. And somehow he always comes back with more men. And he will come back.”

A heavy silence enveloped them, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the breathy whine of the horses. Kieran kept his focus trained on the horses, his hands moving methodically through their manes. After a moment, he spoke again, his tone serious and low. “Colm don’t care what Arthur means to you, Kate. If you were wise, you’d keep your head down and out of the crossfire. 'Cause he’ll kill you too and won’t think twice about it.”

Kate swallowed hard, the weight of his warning pressing on her. She understood the danger, but the thought of hiding away while others fought for their lives felt unbearable. Micah’s words hung heavy in her heart ‘Arthur will do whatever Dutch asks of him’. As much as she despised the greasy blue-eyed snake, she couldn’t help but feel his words held some truth. She glanced at Kieran, his face etched with genuine concern, and gave a resolute nod.

“I hear you, Kieran,” she said softly.

Kate bid Kieran farewell with a gentle smile and a grateful nod. She watched him for a moment as he continued to tend to the horses, his quiet dedication a testament to his loyalty. With a sigh, she turned and made her way across the camp towards Dutch’s tent. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of the confrontation she knew was coming.

Dutch's tent stood at the heart of the camp, its presence grand and imposing. As she approached, she felt a mixture of determination and apprehension. Dutch had always been a commanding figure, his charisma and vision drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But beneath his charm, Kate sensed a deep responsibility that he sometimes seemed to neglect. She felt that Dutch bore some responsibility for Arthur’s condition, and he had not even so much as glanced in his direction nor asked about his recovery. It made Kate’s blood boil, the facade of brotherhood and family that he so often preached about. But was never a man of his words. 

She stopped outside the entrance, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The flap of the tent was slightly ajar, and she could hear Dutch inside, muttering to himself as he pored over maps and plans. Steeling her nerves, Kate stepped inside. Slightly surprised to see he was sitting alone, Molly must be occupied elsewhere.

“Dutch,” she called softly, her voice firm but respectful. 

Dutch looked up, surprise flickering across his features before he masked it with a charming smile. “Kate, my dear. What brings you here?”

She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be swayed by his easy charm. “I need to talk to you about Arthur.” As frustrated as she was, she dared not to challenge his command.

Dutch’s expression shifted slightly, the charm dimming as he registered the seriousness in her voice. “Arthur? Worry not. I’ve already got a plan to get back at Colm. We’ll show the O’Driscoll’s who’s in charge ‘round here.”

Kate shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. “You know that’s not what I mean Dutch. He needs to see you, now.” Her words came out with a sharp bite. 

Dutch leaned back in his chair, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “Kate, you have to understand. Everything I do, I do for the gang. Arthur knows that. He understands the bigger picture.”

Her patience waning, Kate took a step closer, her eyes flashing with determination. “I don’t care about the bigger picture. Arthur is fighting for his life. He needs you by his side. Not plans, not strategies. He needs you.” Kate emphasized her words, straining to get her point across without insulting him. 

A heavy silence filled the tent as Dutch stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He looked away, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Kate, you have to trust that I’m doing what’s best for all of us,” he said, his voice softer but still laced with stubbornness. “I had a plan to get Arthur back–” 

“Enough about the plans!” Kate shouted, her voice echoing through the tent. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Dutch's eyes widened in surprise, but his hard gaze never left hers. At that moment, Kate realized it wasn’t about the money, nor the family Dutch claimed to have created. It was about control.

Dutch always had to be the one in control, dishing out orders, calling all the shots. Kate knew, deep down, there was a part of Dutch that truly cared for Arthur. But his disappearance meant little to nothing to him; he had bigger plans, different goals on his agenda. Now that Arthur was back, Dutch seemed confident he had regained his throne, as if Arthur's torture were nothing but a minor setback in his grand scheme.

The realization made Kate seethe. Dutch treated Arthur like a soldier, cannon fodder in his relentless pursuit of power and influence. His indifference to Arthur’s suffering was a betrayal of the brotherhood he so often preached about.

“Don’t you get it?” Kate's voice was raw with emotion. “You talk about family and loyalty, but where is that now? You say you make all these grand sacrifices for the gang, but where is your sympathy for the sacrifice Arthur made?” Her voice boomed, and though she knew she was losing composure, she couldn't hold back.

Dutch's eyes softened slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Kate, it was a miscalculation. I had no idea that—”

Kate cut him off, stepping closer with an accusatory finger, like a mother scolding a child. “You should count yourself lucky it didn’t cost him his life. He may never use his arm again, did you know that? His ankle was nearly shattered. It’ll be a miracle if he can even ride.”

Her worries and fears bubbled to the surface, and she poured every ounce of frustration onto Dutch, heedless of the consequences. “He ain’t gonna be the same, Dutch. And I’m real worried because you haven't shown a care in the world. Like he’s just some retired workhorse.”

Dutch's gaze hardened again, but he rose from his seat, his posture stiff. “No, no, of course not,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Arthur is... Arthur is more than that.”

Kate's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she continued, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “Arthur thinks highly of you, Dutch. He looks up to you, always has. And now he needs you more than ever. He’s lying in that bed, fighting for his life, and he needs to know you’re there for him.”

Dutch swallowed thickly, his expression grave as he nodded silently. “Alright, I'll go to him,” he said, his voice carrying a weight of solemn determination. With a final, meaningful glance at Kate, he bid her farewell, his footsteps heavy as he left the tent.

As Dutch's departure left Kate alone with her frustrations, she couldn't help but feel a weight being lifted from her shoulders. Though uncertainty lingered, she found solace in the knowledge that her words had struck a chord with Dutch. For the first time, she dared to hope that perhaps things could change between them. That Arthur can be the kind of man he wanted to be, despite the changes in himself that lie ahead.

~~~

A/N: My lord, I wrote way too much. That last section with Kieran and Dutch was added last minute because I forgot about the horses and then that reminded me of Dutch and I was like AHH! So much tooth rotting fluff coming up next. Also lots of healing and tender moments. Things between Kate and Arthur are finally beginning to pick up pace. I’m sorry for making y’all wait so long…sometimes I have to remind myself this is a slow burn.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I want to be pristinely clear that while "The Melody of Love" critiques patriarchy, it doesn't promote the war or tension between sexes, this deep soul wounding, or encourage the de-centering of men. While I understand what women who participate in this movement are trying to do and I agree that there is a dire need for women to stop obsessing over men and generally become priorities in their lives, when you listen to those who promote this movement, there is a haunting hollowness of hidden, unaddressed hurt and pain at the root.

That's why the "de-centering men" movement would never be part of my mission. Far from it. I like to get to the root of the reality—which is deep in the body and not out there. And yes, you should be at the center of your reality, at the center of your universe, the "de-centering men" movement puts a wedge between men and women, instead of bringing us all together, including non-binary people. As usual, I find myself not being part of typical polarized ways of thinking, and more present in a nuanced 3rd lane which has been the case for most of my life. When the handy man comes over to work on my home, if I'm in that movement, I would not consider giving him some tea, juice, or water to quench his thirst. While this gesture from me is not necessary, it does show kindness to someone who enters your home and will feel thought of and move around your space with good vibes due to your hospitality. Such beautiful energy shared between two people and emitted out into an aching world.

Through my critiques, I am making a much larger point about the level of harm these systems-patriarchy, capitalism, and Abrahamic religion do to us because they live in our bodies. They cause breast pain, pelvic pain, back pain, pussy pain, period pain, blood clots, cysts, tumors, and the like. These systems ferment like sauerkraut into our breasts/hearts, hips, bellies, tailbones, and spines and impact our wellness like our moon cycles and experiences with menopause. They negatively influence how we breathe, how we think and perceive, how we make love, how we regenerate, the care and attention we cook a meal, and what we receive and attract. They trigger us to value production over getting a good quality of rest and not staying up late at night. These punitive systems do the work of keeping our nervous systems locked into flight or fight and survival states on a daily basis. Only healthy relaxed women engage the most openhearted passionate love and yield healthy families and healthy communities/villages.

But I don't just critique like an academic. I am rootsy, braless, barefoot, and revolutionary to my core, therefore, I channel practical solutions that lead readers towards healing their bodies and truly evolving their lives into bliss.

The melody of love movement is about deep spiritual repair and care: the strength and capacity of love, the truth of our soul and destiny, the intimacies and passion of the body meeting earth, and the regenerative qualities of the female body and how they favorably impact her quality of well-being and abundance. Essentially my work brings your body into a state of love that allows you to masterfully maneuver beyond these wicked systems as an embodiment of love, one of the highest frequency, a reclamation of your original sovereign template that taps you into the inexhaustible reservoir of energy that lives inside your female body, this spark of creation. After we build up our energy and increase our capacity, it is my vision that we will then lend our bodies over to being of service to something larger that favorably recalibrates our global world into greater harmony.

There is actually a deep yearning present inside my own heart to witness more men truly rise into a more healthy honorable expression of themselves on the planet. To de-center men, no matter what your sexuality may be, yields great harm to the feminine heart. I’m not sorry to say this but-- a real woman could never do that. She would die sorrowful...deeply heartbroken. -India Ame'ye, Author

[toxic-ship-tournament]

ROUND 1 / SIDE B / POLL 2

Esmeralda Poofenplotz x Alice Luoja ( @cantdanceflynn ) vs Pash x Illoma ( @floralprintshirts )

lyrics by The Amazing Devil (Battle Cries)

who makes up your ship?:

Esmeralda Poofenplotz(Canon Phineas and Ferb character(although I draw her differently from canon)) and Alice Luoja(Background character turned Phineas and Ferb oc)

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

THEY BASICALLY STARTED OUT AS TWO DUMBASS TOXIC AF TEENAGERS GOING TO EVIL SCIENCE HIGH SCHOOL TOGETHER AND BEING THE TERRORS OF THE SCHOOL(POOFENPLOTZ BC SHES BIG ON BEAUTY AND WOULD BASICALLY DESTROY EVERYONE'S SELF ESTEEM AND ALICE BC. SHES WILLING TO KILL ANYONE WHO RLY FUCKS W HER), AND WHILE THEY ORIGINALLY HAD A RIVALRY IT GOT A LIL TOO HOMOEROTIC VERY QUICKLY AND THEY DON'T RLY KNOW HOW BUT THEY ENDED UP DATING. THEY ENDED UP, SURPRISE SURPRISE, RUINING EACH OTHER EVEN FURTHER THEN THE TWO OF THEM WERE ALREADY TRAUMATIZED!!!! A TYPICAL INTERACTION BETWEEN EM PRETTY MUCH WENT ALONG THE LINES OF POOFENPLOTZ POKING FUN AT SOMETHING ABOUT ALICES BODY OR PERSONALITY SHE KNEW WOULD TICK ALICE OFF("YOU KNOW, I'M NOT SAYING YOU NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT, BUT THROWING UP YOUR LUNCH LATER COULDN'T HURT"), ALICE GETTING PISSED OFF AND PULLING A KNIFE ON HER("YOU KNOW, MAYBE THIS TIME I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR TONGUE, STOP THAT HORRIBLE NOISE YOU CALL A VOICE"), AND THEN SOMETHING WOULD HAPPEN OR ONE OF THEM WOULD FUMBLE OR FLIRT AND THEY'D JUST GO BACK TO NORMAL BANTER AND TERRORIZING PEOPLE. THEY DID CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER, AND WHATEVER THEY WERE EXPERIENCING CERTAINLY FIT SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE STRANGE AND NEBULOUS RANGE OF ROMANTIC LOVE, LIKE THEY DEFINITELY LIKED EACH OTHER, THEY WERE JUST TOXIC AS SHIT AND HAVING THEIR BEHAVIORS EXPANDED UPON OR REINFORCED BY THEIR ENVIRONMENT. EVENTUALLY ALICES OBSESSION W GODHOOD AND HER IDEA OF PERFECTION (ONE THAT HAD ALWAYS BEEN THERE, EVEN IF POOFENPLOTZ MADE IT MORE PHYSICAL) ENDED UP DRIVING THE TWO APART, WITH HOW HORRIBLE ALICES DECLINE WAS, AND POOFENPLOTZ ENDED UP BASICALLY LEAVING AND IGNORING HER AS A DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO SNAP HER OUT OF HER DECLINE BUT ONLY PULLED HER FURTHER IN. AS IT STANDS NOW IN THE PRESENT, THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS A COMPLICATED SPIRAL OF "POOFENPLOTZ ACTUALLY HEALED AND REALIZED HOW AWFUL SHE WAS BEING AND WHILE SHE STILL HAD A DEGREE IN EVIL SCIENCE SHE HAD TO USE SO SHE MIGHT AS WELL GET A JOB DOING THAT, SHES ALSO RLY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT EVERYTHING W THE CAST AND HELP THEM, ESPECIALLY MILLIE AND PINKY, WHILE ALSO DEALING W " WHOOPS YOUR EX IS BACK IN TOWN AND SHES NOW BEEN RESPONSIBLE FOR MORE DEATHS THEN MOST FULL ON TERRORISM COMBINED, BUT SHE IS ALSO STILL KINDA HOT SO *NONCOMMITTAL HAND GESTURE*, YA KNOW?", MEANWHILE ALICE IS "OH RIGHT. SHE QUALIFIES FOR LOVEMUFFIN TOO. IM ALLOWED TO DENY ON HER ON TERMS OF HER BEING MY EX, RIGHT? BUT ALSO IM STILL GONNA INVITE HER TO OUR MEETINGS AND ALSO OFFER TO LET HER " LEAD" THE CULT IVE MADE THAT CONSISTS BASICALLY JUST OF MY VERY ABUSED OWN SON AND A VERY ABUSED TEENAGER WITH ME BC IF I CAN CHANGE HER MIND I CAN CHANGE ANYONES!"

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

Esmeralice, https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLnP0Xop8gS5VdFNCP4Uetvq2pM5A9NZTe <- BAD PLAYLIST BY MY STANDARDS OF USUALLY A HUNDRED SONGS AT LEAST BUT ITLL DO FOR NOW

****

who makes up your ship?:

My ocs Pash and Illoma!!

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

OKAY SO theyre blorbos from a book a plan to write and basically the premise is that the main character, Illoma, is tasked with assassinating Pash. Theyre both from different families that have control over dragons and are both dragon riders in their own right. Illoma is from the 2nd most powerful house right after the royal family, which Pash is a part of. Their empire is ruled by an immortal god-king who has had many children over the course of his long life. Pash is one of his many descendants, but highest in the line of succession after her father (which is meaningless since the king is immortal). Basically, Illoma's mother believes that Pash's parents are going to try to find a way to kill their emperor and put her on the throne. This would be a terrible outcome for everyone because Pash is a hedonistic party girl who seems to have no regard for her own life or the lives of other people. She shows up to important meetings drunk/high, has a reputation for sleeping around with women, and is overall just an undisciplined mess. Illoma is a dutiful daughter who follows the rules of society, so when her mother tells her that she needs to kill Pash for the good of the empire, Illoma does what she says. It’s easy to emotionally disconnect herself from the action at first because Illoma doesn’t know Pash at all and doesn’t particularly like her. So she tries to poison Pash. When it fails the first time, she tries again, and again, and again. None of the poisons she’s been given are working. So Illoma is left with no choice but to get closer to Pash so she can try to kill her more effectively. The twist ends up being that Pash is basically a hommuculus created for the sole purpose of dying in some blood ritual that will kill the immortal god-king. She has a year left before this happens, but until then, he body has the regenerative properties of Wolverine. So with what little time she has left, she’s decided to keep herself entertained by fucking with Illoma. At one point, she makes a toast in Illoma’s honor to praise her tenacity and drinks the goblet Illoma poisoned while making direct eye contact with her. It only gets worse from there. As they grow closer, Illoma finds that she has more and more trouble keeping her gay thoughts in check. She is a super repressed lesbian and Pash is a very much not repressed lesbian. Illoma resents Pash quite a bit for being able to break all the rules without any consequences but genuinely has fun when they go out on excursions together. Lots of projection on Illoma’s part and gaslighting on Pash’s (“haha what do you mean you stabbed me last night, Im sitting right here at breakfast!”) Halfway through the story they start boning. Illoma is still actively trying to figure out a way to kill Pash and Pash is both aware of this and aroused by some of her more intimate attempts. They have an actual connection and like each other as people, but they have opposing goals and lots of underlying animosity to work out. In the meantime, they’ll be making out about it.

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

I use the tag "dragon horse girl story" on my sideblog to vaguepost about them!! :D

[halfelven]

typical my life was fucked up stuff under the cut (csa)

i have quite high self esteem and self confidence which always surprises psychiatrists bc of my background but the thing is i don’t really know why i do? possibly out of spite? from pure necessity? byproduct of having to be as independent as i had to be?

i’m also not a people pleaser and i don’t really have social anxiety so it might stem from the idea that there was nothing i could do to get attention, affection, or help and the only person i could ever rely on was myself

i did use to hate myself and think a lot of the shit they told me about me was true, but i really like myself now and i don’t think my close friends all secretly hate me. i have to force myself to respect (good) authority and not think i’m better than other people. i think this probably does stem from the hyper independence. i also have to force myself to form attachments.

(this is one thing that i told my mother would happen to me in my ‘why i shouldn’t be this isolated’ presentations. i have referenced it in previous posts without admitting what it was since i don’t want to hurt people’s feelings by saying it is hard for me to form attachments or really care if someone stays in my life. it’s not consciously a choice to avoid hurt from people leaving, but it might be subconsciously that. i saw too many friends die as a child and then went into near total isolation and didn’t form any new relationships during a crucial time in child development—as i told my mother.)

i find it interesting how it is so different from what psychiatrists are expecting, but all my good drs have admitted there’s hardly any studies done on cases like mine, so there’s not that much to compare it to.

but my current dr doesn’t think i should do long distance therapy due to she thinks my therapist should closely monitor my body language and facial expressions.

(‘like what you’re doing with your hands,’ she says, as i glance down at how i’m twirling my thumbs round each other. i laugh since i knew that was one big thing she meant when she said it would be better in person. ‘yes, that makes sense, of course,’ i say. i smile at her, looking straight into her eyes and laugh again because i know the other thing she’s thinking and that we’re both not saying. ‘so much of trauma is held in the body,’ she says, ‘and long distance you can’t see more than the face. and you can’t mark changes.’ ‘of course,’ i agree.

i can’t remember our last appointment in february or the one before that in december. she tells me that both times i spoke clearly and was tidy and presentable. that she hadn’t noticed anything about me being completely gone. she asks if i was gone somewhere else. i truthfully tell her that i can’t remember most of the winter. nothing felt real and now most of it is dark.

she says i’m the perfect candidate for rehabilitation because i’m so driven and strong. that i need time to heal and establish myself. but i know what i want. i nod again. i know what i want. i don’t know who i am. she says my background was inhuman and inhumane. i nod and smile again. i haven’t smiled this much in weeks.

i tell her i’m glad i got the rehabilitation because i do know what i want and my studies will help me get it but i was scared that if i started therapy while expected to do full time studies i would just fall apart completely. ‘it’s going to be bad,’ i say. it’s going to get worse before it gets better. i push away images of inhuman cruelty that did not happen to me.

‘therapy is very hard,’ she says. ‘but it helps. no one would do it if it didn’t help. it’s too painful… unless they were extreme masochists!’ we both laugh. i have bruises running up my arm from bite marks.

i don’t get home before i break down crying in the park. i lean against a tree and cry. she’s telling me i’m getting real help, actual stability. i’m crying because that’s a mean joke to play on someone. it’s not real. and even if it were, i can’t grasp the concept of stability. i’ve never been able to plan my life more than a month ahead.

and nothing seems real anyway. i’m floating instead of actually stepping on the ground. i didn’t sleep last night and i have just come back from a funeral that reminded me that i have no one to turn to. it’s so warm, and it was still winter in the north. and i’m tired so all the light seems brighter.

nothing is real and i didn’t live through that hell. yesterday i read a sad, sad book and knew that it had to have happened. my denial, my memory working exactly like that. it couldn’t happen. it was too cruel. i couldn’t deny it longer. but today is real. of course it didn’t happen. nothing is real. i whisper old words in my mind, ‘this isn’t happening. this isn’t happening.’ so it didn’t happen. so it could never have happened. it wasn’t real then and it’s not real now.

and i fall apart for no reason, and they’re going to find out, and get mad at me for lying, and take away all my help and i’ll never be able to keep a job because i’m too dramatic and just want attention.

of course that’s not true. i know i couldn’t fake this. i’m too strong anyway. if it didn’t happen i would already have gone so far in life. become a surgeon or something. i’m too smart. too resourceful. too determined and independent and brave. it was something bad that made this. it just didn’t happen to me.

another doctor stared at me before and told me i had a fire inside me she had never seen before. and another doctor told me i had the strongest will he had ever seen. that sounds made up but it happened and i still don’t know what to think of it.

the one who called me strongest liked me so much that it was not at all professional. he told me that i was too self aware for him to be anything but entirely direct. and then he told me i was brilliant and had to go to grad school so my mind wouldn’t be wasted and that i would change the world. ((people who haven’t gotten off their computer in ten years will say it never happened.))

and i am sitting here today knowing that i have written a book that could probably help change the world. and it would also give my soul away, in a sense. it’s brutally raw and there’s not much that i’m hiding—there is some of course, but i would go insane if there wasn’t. and sure i’m brave. but am i that brave?

ever since i was a child i knew that i would always be hated. not because i was at my core entirely hateable but because i was always going to make so many enemies.

i heard their stories and what they wanted for the world, and i was going to make myself their enemy. an evil villain who they could focus some hatred on, get it away from people who didn’t want it. change others’ minds.

that’s not the part i’m scared of. it’s just going to be so hard to hear people who say they want to help csa victims say i survived wrong. coped wrong. got my sexuality wired wrong. and i’m not leaving that out because i know other people kill themselves over this. i’m sick of saying i’m sorry for being raped as an infant and coming out wrong. i’m not sorry.

i’m violent and angry. i’d like to torture him to death. and people say they want to do that for less. if you are stripped entirely of your pride and humanity what do you become?

at least he never broke me

[alyjojo]

Advice to Work on Yourself 🏊🏼‍♀️ in August 2023: Gemini

The Hierophant - 6 Swords - Knight of Wands

Regarding: Justice

You’re being asked to take things a lot more seriously than maybe you’re typically comfortable with. The Hierophant when you’re usually a Knight of Wands. You like to follow your impulse wherever it leads, spend money wherever, on whatever you feel like in the moment, and indulge in probably several hobbies or interests that leave you feeling heartbroken later when things don’t work out the way you want them to. When you can’t pay for emergency purchases like a rock massively cracking your windshield, because you spent all of your money on…idk, shoes. It also negatively affects your relationship, and may be related to passionate “hobbies”.

If that applies to love then it’s like straddling the line between committed and being a fkboy/girl, flirting online with pornstars or something. What would be considered an unnecessary indulgence, it pleases you but it’s disrespectful to someone else, especially if they’re serious about you. The Hierophant with The Hermit is needing to go deep within to ask yourself some tough questions about The Lovers rev…why do you have a hard time with relationships? What is the common thread between all of them? Like one person complaining about something could be a difference of opinion, but…12 of them? At some point, they’re all onto something.

If you’re someone that likes to go to the club a lot, that’s being highlighted as something that needs to stop with 4 Swords. This could also be an injury of some kind that’s had you knocked down for awhile, but has or will be healing. Some of you may have been bed bound and it created a whole online addiction of the “wand” variety. Some outside thing you’re doing is hurting someone else - 3 Swords. Your wand needs discipline, maturity, and restraint, male or female. Could be money too, restraining your impulses either way. 10 Cups comes with Temperance…being patient, mixing elements of yourself with another person so that everyone is happy. The Hierophant, standing by your morals and what you know to be right, acting in a serious manner, or how *you* would expect a committed partner to act. And Justice, cutting off everything that isn’t that.

Now Camel does show you’re bored, possibly have been stuck in one place for some time, you’re feeling restless like you want to pounce on anything new just to feel ALIVE. This is saying calm down. Do this with your person, if you have one. Spirit wants you to be passionate about things, but…smart things, good for you things. Couch Time refers to things you’re watching specifically, things like TED Talks or “100 most amazing beaches” or for example I just watched a documentary on Cheeses 🧀 It was very boring 😆, I don’t recommend it, and I still don’t know how it’s all made the same way but comes out different…I digress, but at least I now know that Gouda is actually pronounced “how-da”, in its native language, which is great, and Geminis love nerdy fun facts like that. Or yanno, whatever good for you thing you enjoy, that feeds your mind. You could find a whole new passion in this way.

Animal Oracle: Camel 🐪

“Trust that you have the resources to get through the challenges before you.”

Sometimes it feels like you’re journeying across a vast, lifeless desert that stretches behind the horizon with no end in sight. Journeying across this seemingly barren landscape before you, your thirst for comfort and solace during these times can most readily be satisfied by looking to your inner resources. All the experiences you’ve had in your lifetime, the challenges you’ve successfully faced, and the wealth of knowledge you’ve accumulated can be called on not only to cope with any type of adversity that presents itself, but to help you move forward with courage and determination. First, identify where you want to go and then proceed slowly, steadily, and deliberately toward that objective. As you move along, cast away your fears, doubts, and hesitations whenever they arise, letting the four winds lift them up to the sun to be burned away. Ease your mind and heart, and know that all is well and you’re protected at all times. Call upon your helping spirits who have assisted you up through this point in your journey. You have what it takes, you will get through this!

Artist Oracle: You have two

AI WEIWEI

- When authority says to be quiet, get a loudspeaker

- Art must fight for freedom or the whole world is a prison.

- Some things are whole only when they shatter.

JEAN-MICHEL BASQUIAT

- In lieu of a canvas, find a wall.

- Try collaborating with Andy Warhol.

- Good work can come from bad habits.

Advice:

- Upgrade Your Couch Time

- Make Saving Easy

Charms:

Intuitive ♋️ on Camel shows resources being slim with this reading in general, but this card says you are resourceful enough to get creative with it and be able to manage everything that you need to, with a little disciple from this Saturn charm & Hierophant.

Saturn 🪐 on Knight of Wands is disciplining the wild monkey 🙉 within that wants to spontaneously buy shit, travel, flirt, hop from person to person and not commit to any of them. It’s a necessary “grow up” kind of a lesson that’s being shown here, but for your own sake. What you really want long term is to get a handle on what the wild monkey in your brain wants NOW. He can wait, give him a banana 🍌 and take care of what needs taking care of first. Making Savings Easy is connected to this.

Dancer 💃 on 4 Swords are hobbies that you’ve either been forced to stop, creating this lull in your normally excitable energy, dissatisfaction and boredom because you can’t do what you used to do, or they’re things you need to stop, either way. I’m literally hearing “find new hobbies”. I really get this is for someone with ten porn subs and have watched them all, or clubs all week every week, excessively doing too much. This could even be impacting your health and you’re not realizing it. Spirit recommends active movement (if possible), but using your brain, wit, and knowledge more often too. Purposeful healthy activities that are fun & active over whatever over-indulgent ones that leave you feeling 😓 later.

[nieves-de-sugui]

I need to put my thoughts somewhere so here goes.

I'm currently watching this show on netflix and I have thoughts. I am super intrigued with it so spoilers ahead for the people who might happen to be watching it.

Ok so, I just watched the most recent episode and I am a little sad they decided to have Kang Ho get back his memories like this. One of the things that I liked about this show is that despite having the typical corruption storyline they seemed to be going/exploring a different outcome when they had Kang Ho's mom burn all the evidence. Which I was intrigued by. The kdramas are all about vengeance and justice, however this show is about good intentioned people making bad choices in the name of revenge or pursuing justice. Kang Ho's mom wanting to save Kang Ho from this revenge plot he's put himself into (that has cost him his life and happiness). Trying to correct the mistake she made when she forced him on the path of becoming a prosecutor.

It seemed to me like they might explore another way out, by letting the past be in the past and learning to move on with Kang Ho's current condition. There's enough to unpack there, and also the whole exploration of living with someone with a disability. How much Kang Ho and his mother have hurt each other, how much they love each other, and how to find happiness in such a complex family situation.

I would have loved for Kang Ho to get his memories slowly. I still hope he does, and doesn't revert back to being who he was a 100%. Hopefully he gets them back gradually and, combined with his most recent memories he can learn from his past mistakes and learn to understand his mother more. I hope they end up having a few heart to hearts by the end of the show.

I really love how they show how even with the best intention mother can be bad. We see it in how Mi-joo doesn't tell the truth to her kids about their dad. In Mijoo's mom who wants to save her from a fate similar to hers, but doesn't listen to her daughters wishes. In Samsik's mom too.

Anyway, all this to say that for me this show is about healing. And Kang Ho getting his memories back implies we're gonna spend more time with the revenge/corruption plot line. Which is intriguing and all but I hope it doesn't eclipse the main part of the story. Which is about learning from our past mistakes, stop thinking we know better than others (and hurt them I the process) and enjoying the present in whichever shape it comes.

I hope this show sticks the landing because it could easily become one of my faves. So fingers crossed! 🤞

[ghostofpolaris]

Actually I want general reading if universe want me to know something

Hello hello @purpleoceanuniverse! Happy Samhain to you! As with every reading, I have a song as well to accompany the tarot and your song was:

when the party's over by Billie Eilish

As per usual, it could just be a nice tune to listen to, or perhaps it holds a deeper meaning. At the end of the day, it is up to you to decide. With this in mind, let's go ahead and see if there is something the Universe would like you to know about.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

What Does the Universe Want You to Know? (Three of Swords) -

First of all, I am very sorry that this is the kind of card you got because the connotations around this are usually not that great. This is a card people typically do not like to see (especially in love readings of all things). However, I think we are more than allowed to break tradition here and not only inspect the deeper meanings of this card but I truly think that perhaps the song that came for you has more depth than what I maybe have originally given it credit for.

Before we go too crazy with the meaning of the Three of Swords itself, let's go ahead and examine what the Swords suit means first. The Swords suit is of the element of Air which speaks of a balance between intellect and power. This is an element that can breeze by like a gentle gale or rip us apart like a wild tornado. The Swords suit is one that mainly focuses on action (whether constructive or destructive), change, force, conflict, courage, oppression and ambition.

The Swords mirror the quality of the mind present in your thoughts, beliefs, and attitudes. Remember that just because something may be constructive or destructive does not automatically mean it is good/bad. With this in mind, let's dig at the Three of Swords and what the Universe has to say.

The Three of Swords is a card that talks of heartbreak, grief, sorrow, emotional pain and hurt. There really must be a ton of hurt going on and like the person in the image of this card, these wounds run deep. You have suffered a lot recently and I wished I could give you a hug through the screen because the Universe I think really recognizes that pain.

Whether it could have been a bad relationship (romantically, familial or platonically), or perhaps a disagreement that turned nasty really fast, someone has definitely said some things that left an impact. This really has set you back emotionally and man does it sting.

But let's look away past the face value of the Three of Swords. Let's dig some more.

"Let's just let it go"

This part of the song really hit me, along with this crescendo of harmonies as if perhaps you finally are trying to just heal from the hurt and wish to bathe yourself in a release form the hurt. The Universe I believe really wants you to know that it is okay to release your emotions. Grieve. You are allowed to feel things and it is just a necessary part of life to feel that pain, sorrow and grief. Of course, one should not linger there forever, but you are allowed to be human.

Allow yourself to feel and get out what you have been bottling up. Whatever has been said, know that you don't need to accept those words as truth whether it is you telling yourself something mean or someone else saying them. Projections are not physical. They are just another shadow in the dark whether it is the darkness of someone's own insecurities or even our own. It's safe for you to grieve here and please feel free to do so for as long as you need, but do not forget that you also must move on and begin walking again.

Keep in mind what hurt you and why. Is there more truth in what has been said that you do not want to face? Use this pain you feel to expand your perspectives and see the bigger picture. I believe in you. I am proud of you.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I hope that this reading helps you! Feel free to look back on it anytime you need and may you have a happy Samhain!

Free Tarot Readings Open!

[steely-eyedmissileman]

The Vampire Diaries, Ep. 1x20

Blood Brothers

true in more ways than one, good vampire pun.

i'll sum up my thoughts on this episode with an excerpt from my notes, 'oh this is so… that thing french chefs do with their fingers.' (i believe i meant italian chefs.)

the most important thing to know about this episode is that it is all about parallels. everything is paralleled from damon to stefan and back. the brothers are at their most shadow/self dichotomy, both of them playing both parts. it's a story best enjoyed by thinking about the ways that history is repeating itself, the ways that the brothers work for and against each other, how their stories intertwine as they hurt each other in myriad ways.

so we begin the episode by watching both brothers get shot in the chest as stefan flows in between his past and his present. in a set of interesting historical/present parallels, elena and katherine exchange places (not the interesting part) and damon changes places with jonathan gilbert (the interesting part). stefan views his brother and the man responsible for his death in the same way. let's let that one sit.

we also learn that damon doesn't care about his brother, according to damon. contrary to his words, we have plenty of examples of damon caring about stefan. he wants to pretend he doesn't love his brother, but he does. he's also emotionally constipated, so he's incapable of saying so.

back in the past, we've got my favorite person again! bianca lawson is back!!! she explains what happened to the brothers, how they got their rings, what the whole situation is. she is working for katherine (still don't know why) even after katherine has been sealed in the tomb. from bianca lawson, we learn that stefan was compelled to drink vampire blood, but damon was willing. he wanted to become a vampire and spend his life with katherine. also, stefan has a very amusing almost perfectly circular blood stain on the center of his chest. and damon's hair is cute.

back in the present, damon is wearing a really good sweater. damon proves that he cares about his brother by encouraging him not to die. then ht calls damon about a vampire house he learned of. so now they're going to go on a date to investigate the house. the two of them have so much sexual tension, and it doesn't look like it's going away anytime soon. elena's trying to figure out how to get stefan to eat and damon is not being helpful. elena gets in the zinger 'i would say drop dead but...' which was very funny.

back at the house, i want john gilbert dead. john tries to guilt trip elena into giving up stefan and damon by invoking her mother. she says, 'which mother?' which is another excellent way to end a conversation.

in the past, damon says that he intends to die because he only wanted to become a vampire to be with katherine and she's dead. stefan says, 'i don't want to survive.' for once, they're on the same page.

elena and damon are talking about stefan again. elena is concerned that he is so upset. but damon takes a more cynical view, 'he feels bad about hurting that girl. it's very typical stefan martyr stuff. it will pass.' damon believes that time (and blood) heal all wounds. he's a big believer in repression, moving past things by internalizing them. he does not punish himself for his actions, unlike his brother. damon thinks stefan should just move on, but that's not how stefan works. they have two different ways of handling things, and there are positives and negatives to both.

damon and ht go to the vampire house. damon says 'you just brought me along for my company?' further cementing the idea that this is a date. of course, it's a date where the goal is to find their mutual ex, which is all kinds of awkward. they also prove that this tomb plot line is not over, which makes pearl's declaration in the last episode even more strange.

elena and stefan's conversation in the crypt is particularly interesting: elena: 'talk to me, stefan. Why are you doing this?' stefan: 'i'm making the decision i should have made years ago.' elena: 'what are you talking about?' stefan: 'you have to feed in order to complete the transition.' elena: 'i know that.' stefan: 'it was a choice i shouldn't have made.'

stefan feels guilty about his very existence. he has not processed his guilt over becoming a vampire, even though it has been over a century since these events. having seen it, the way he became a vampire is pretty brutal. he kills his father, who had already shot both him and his brother. killing your father is a classic vampire move, but it is quite traumatic, especially when the father seems to have not sucked that much until recently. freud (*vomit sounds*) considered replacing one's father to be one of the most important steps in a young man's progression. that process is often deeply upsetting, and made worse in this case because of the death and stuff.

stefan: 'how can you even look at me right now?' elena: 'you need to be able to talk about these things, stefan. i need to hear them. come upstairs. we can talk about it more, and we'll keep talking as long as you need.' stefan: 'you're so sure i'm ready?' elena: 'and when you feel the same way...i'll be upstairs.'

elena's trust în stefan is so great. she truly believes that he is not inherently evil, and now that he has no human blood in his system, he must be okay. she believes in his innate goodness, which illustrates a few fundamental things about elena. one: she is quite naive. two: she believes in the goodness of all beings unless there is very very very good evidence to the contrary. three: she does not have a huge amount of concern about preserving her life. she's not suicidal or anything, but her own safety is always a lesser concern than the well-being of the people around her. i think that's part of why she seems so uncomfortable when stefan asks her if she's sure—it had never occurred to her not to be. that sort of overwhelming self-denial is such an eldest daughter trait (as an eldest daughter, i'm a bit of an expert). it's not that she doesn't want things or have desires, it's that it never occurred to her she could. we see throughout the season that she's always more concerned with damon or stefan or jeremy or bonnie or matt or caroline than herself, even when she is in mortal danger.

back to ht and damon, they are being very gay. the vampire whose home they've infiltrated is almost criminally dumb and gives up so much of the plan it's hilarious. and then they have to kill him, and they do it in the gayest possible way (by pushing his body in between them onto a stake). it was at this point that my girlfriend said, 'they need to fuck nasty.' after all this, ht says, 'i'm through with isobel,' therefore ensuring that she will immediately appear.

then, damon reveals to elena that stefan made him become a vampire. stefan says, 'the guilt, the pain...damon, i can turn it off. like a switch. katherine was right. it's a whole another world out there, damon...you can turn that off, too. you don't have to feel that pain anymore...don't fight it. we can do this...together.' the girl that damon drinks from is spencer from pretty little liars. the allure of vampirism, in this show, is particularly interesting. thus far, tvd has associated life with pain. living is painful, and being truly alive, truly a good person means accepting that pain and trying to overcome. becoming a vampire, turning down your life is seductive because it allows you to escape from that overwhelming pain. vampirism is a way to escape from the emotions that are too overwhelming. it's drugs, kids, vampirism is drugs.

stefan recently went on a bender and now he's getting clean. but that made him suicidal. he's gone, left the house, without his ring. he's going to go wait for the sun, like another vampire on another show that i won't mention here. stefan has gone to the place where he forced damon to turn. he's here to die.

in the past, we see bianca lawson again, and she and stefan have an amazing conversation. bianca lawson: 'katherine saved my life once. i owed her. That doesn't mean i'd wish her curse on anyone.' stefan: 'it feels more like a gift.' bianca lawson: 'that will change.' stefan: 'why is that?' bianca lawson: 'because even in death, your heart is pure, stefan. i sense that about you. that will be your curse.' she was right, of course. stefan is unwilling/unable to turn off his emotions. instead he spends most of his time regretting his past mistakes. as soon as he became a vampire, he did terrible things and now he can't escape them. stefan is unwilling to give up his emotions, but he is also unwilling to work through them and move past them. he's decided that the right thing to do, the thing he deserves is to suffer. when he tasted human blood, he stopped suffering. he wants the suffering to stop again now, but he's unwilling to become a monster to do it. thus, death. bianca lawson called it—his heart is pure.

back in the present, the sound design is killing the vibe. i feel a bit bad for putting so many full conversations in this, but we need at least one more (probably two). elena: 'damon told me the rest of the story. i thought i might find you here.' stefan: 'i should have died that night, just like i had chosen. i should have let Damon die, too.' elena: 'but you didn't. and if you die now, it's not gonna change what happened.' stefan: 'every single person that's been hurt...every single life that's been lost, it's because of me.' elena: 'the night that my parents died...i blew off family night so that I could go to some party. i ended up getting stranded, and they had to come pick me up. that's why we ended up in the car at wickery bridge. and that's why they died. pur actions are what set things in motion. but we have to live with that.' stefan: 'i made a choice, elena. because of that choice, a lot of people were hurt.' elena: 'you also made a choice to stop, to reject the person that the blood made you. you made a choice to be good, stefan.' stefan: 'no. please don't do that...please. don't make this all okay.' elena: 'that's the person who saved my life.' stefan: 'it hurts me. it hurts me, knowing what i've done, and that pain...that pain is with me all the time. and every day, i think that if i just...if i just give myself over to the blood, i can make that pain stop. it would be that easy, and every day, i fight that. and I am so terrified that one day, i'm not gonna want to fight that anymore, elena. and the next time i hurt somebody...it could be you.' elena: 'there will be no next time.' stefan: 'you don't know that.' elena: 'maybe i don't. but what i do know is that you can take this, throw it in the quarry, and let the sun rise. or you could take this ring and put it on and keep fighting. it's your choice.'

elena brings up the relevant argument, the argument that stefan can't fully disagree with. stefan has saved people. he has done good. sure, he hasn't done all that much good, but he has done some. just like the good doesn't cancel out the bad, the bad doesn't cancel out the good. stefan needs to keep trying to do good, to keep trying to leave the world better than he found it. and it's hard, it sucks. living well is a difficult thing, a horrifying thing, the hardest thing a person can do. but it's still worth doing. elena believes that wholeheartedly and she wants stefan to believe it too. and he does. he is convinced, here at the end of the episode. he's going to self-actualize!

back at the salvatore house, after a few quips, damon says something genuinely kind and insightful to stefan, 'you brood too much. everything on this planet is not your fault. my actions, what i do, it's not your fault. i own them. they belong to me. you are not allowed to feel my guilt.' this is a shocking expression of care from damon. this is a man who has historically made fun of everyone for feeling any kind of guilt. and now he's claiming his own. i don't think it's just to make stefan feel better either, i think damon really does feel guilt over his actions, whether he shows it regularly or not. damon is also self-actualizing!

[curtklingermanposts]

When Asking Others for Forgiveness

t’s About Them

When asking others for forgiveness, it is important to make it about them. It is not for our benefit. Grappling with a guilty conscience can divert our attention to ourself, because of the desire for relief associated with it. Frankly, we should not be driven by guilt; rather, we should be led by love. Love allows the conviction of the Holy Spirit to steer us in the right direction.

When love leads, the focus shifts to those who have been hurt or offended. It understands the importance of forgiveness, and that it is crucial to their relationship with our Father, as well as their healing.

Mark 11:25-26 Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father who is in heaven will also forgive you your transgressions. But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father who is in heaven forgive your transgressions (NASB).

It is important for them to forgive us, so they may continue receiving forgiveness from our Father. If they will not forgive, neither will He forgive them. This is a huge reason we go to them. We want to avoid being a stumbling block to others. Unforgiveness leads to bitterness, and that is a very unhealthy thing to have.

However, we cannot use this verse to manipulate someone into forgiving us. Ironically, those with guilty consciences may have a tendency to use guilt to control others. When people become desperate for relief, they tend to use whatever means necessary to get it, which has consequences. Once manipulation is employed, things tend to go south. How do people typically respond when they feel manipulated? They push back. In short, it causes a greater wedge in the relationship. It creates a stumbling block!

“I would feel better if you forgave me.” The moment we make it about ourselves, and seek to get off the hook, it will come across as being insincere. In fact, it may reveal a lack of repentance. It exposes the fact one has a limited concern for the other, if at all. Even if a person is sincere, the other person won’t see it that way. “You only care about yourself.” This is one reason people find themselves unforgiven from others.

When someone is genuine, it is much easier to forgive him or her. “I’m sorry” is less meaningful than, “Please forgive me.” The latter requires more humility. Saying, “sorry,” may imply one is sorry for getting busted and looking bad.

Asking Requires Humility

Asking for forgiveness requires humility, and humility does not rationalize. There are a number of things that can cause a riff between people. When there’s a misunderstanding, for example, one might give an explanation to clear things up. Nonetheless, there is a difference between rationalization and explanation. Self-deceptive rationalization lacks integrity. Humility is honest, and will go to the heart of the matter, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Individuals will use rationalization to cover selfishness, or even malicious intent. Obviously, this points to self-deception. If we want to make it about ourselves, it would behoove us to be honest with ourselves, so we are able to be honest with others, and thus, make it about them.

Truthfully, we all have blinds from time to time, and we need clarity to get rid of the self-deception. Communion with Holy Spirit plays a critical role in this endeavor. Asking Him to reveal blind spots, and repenting, when necessary, vacates self-deception which is rooted in pride.

Matthew 5:23-24 Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your offering there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your offering.

perfectfaith.org

[kangaroo-r00]

POETRY DISSECTION

Title - Refers to how present Roux looks back on little Roux. Hence the two-way mirror concept. Present can see Little but Little can’t see Present.

1st paragraph - Little Roux was like any other child basically. Happy-go-lucky, persistent, and friendly.

2nd paragraph - Little never shut up. They didn’t care if nobody was listening to them.

3rd paragraph - Similar to paragraph #1

4th paragraph - Present wonders what Little would think of them in their current state

5th paragraph - At one point Little convinced themself nobody listened and stopped talking as much. They felt like a burden. They stamped out their creativity. Present wants to help them restart it.

6th paragraph - Little overheard their father essentially say he wished they hadn’t been born. It hits them hard.

7th paragraph - Closest words Little remembers that he said

8th paragraph - Present wants to hurt whoever hurt Little but knows Little wouldn’t want that.

9th paragraph - Their father told Little that whenever they threw tantrums, got angry, cried, or showed any emotion really

10th paragraph - Little bottled up emotions until they explode. They got yelled at and spanked for that a lot.

11th paragraph - Present wishes they could give Little the proper childhood they deserve.

12th paragraph - “Clipped your own wings” refers to the anxiety and depression that was developed. Present suffers Little’s thoughts. They don’t blame them.

13th paragraph - 

(Not mentioned but addressing the trauma shatters the two-way mirror. After all this time, Little is still there all alone and the two can now interact. [Little’s there because they were repressed by A & D] The two clean up the shards of glass together.)

Healing hurts. We go through the trauma we suffered and patch it up one piece at a time.

14th paragraph - After all this time, everything still hurts. Present reassures Little it’s okay to cry. Their father lied. It’s okay to show emotion.

15th paragraph - Present is amused by Little’s indignation and tells them how they used to pronounce “truck” wrong.

16th paragraph - Present teaches an important life lesson to Little. Words have no impact unless you let them. Different tones convey different meanings. If you don’t care, it can’t hurt you.

17th paragraph - It’s hard to heal and we won’t be the same, but we’ll be whole again. We’ll be one again like we were supposed to be. Little will be able to grow up properly to become Present while Present becomes Future.

18th paragraph - Little feels bad for being a burden but Present reassures them it’s their own fault. They should’ve been more resilient and protected them better. Should’ve been as strong and brave as Little had been. They’ll treat Little with the kindness they deserved.

19th paragraph - Present will nurture them. Little wanted to be a zookeeper or an author when they grew up. Present will carry them and let them see that even if it seems hopeless, they can achieve their dreams.

20th paragraph - Present’s promise to Little. A promise to never give up and end both their chance to be happy and a promise to take them along and never allow them to be abandoned.

[danddymaro]

Stubborn | Rohan Kishibe x Reader

Recap :

- Kira is Dead (LOL)

Josuke isn't massively fucked as he was in the last episode LMFAO. Basically, things went a LOT smoother here, with only one little exception.

Rohan admitting his feelings while almost losing his (F/n)

Character injury 

Major change in story

Happy end , no worries

Warning : Not so much romanticism but it was an idea I've had. And we just need to get these drafts outta here.

A/N:

Thoughts are in italics and quotations // ‘ Example,’

Flashback are all in just Italics

Word count: 3451

Stubborn

Rohan glowered at the younger, limping male as he trudged his way closer to him and the woman that was gingerly held within his secure hold.

"You..." the emerald-eyed male sneered before tenderly easing the (h/c) haired female down, mindful not to bring her any more unneeded distress.

He was then quick to shoot back up, moving in long strides, advancing towards Josuke with no trace of the tenderness he'd held moments ago, but rather, maliciousness that itched over his features as he came face to face with the younger.

“ Stay back !”  Rohan nearly roared, moving to stop the dark-haired teen from further advancing towards the hurt, (h/c) haired young woman as she lay injured on the concrete ground.

Jojo was then pushed back by a jut to the shoulder that was executed by a bloodied hand that stayed and had every intention in the world from letting him advance forward.

"Don't you dare come any closer Higashikata," Rohan huffed out with the same venom.

With glaring eyes, Josuke shoved the shaking man aside, quickly doing away with the sudden grip with his own vicious jerking motion, not willing to waste any more time with useless quarrels when it could be spent helping (f/n).

“ - You can't be freaking serious!” Jojo cried out in return while not holding back on the aggressive shove,  "What are you doing?" He then proceeded to ask, his tone wavering in the slightest, struck by the elder man's opposition. 

'- Don't you care about her?' He wondered with bared teeth, ' Doesn't it hurt you to see her like this?' He added, eyeing her beaten sight, all with threatening tears ready to path way onto his young, yet worn face.

“- I need to heal her”!  He then declared as he reached out past the artist, all in spite of  his determination to stand in opposition

.

‘Closer...I'm almost there... I'm almost there (f/n),’ Josuke thought to himself, knowing he was just centimeters away from his stand’s working range.

“ What you need to do is get the hell away from her!” Rohan retorted, still fighting back, and yet, throughout the entire time, he hadn't taken the liberty to look down at (f/n), instead, training his spite-filled green orbs eyes on the frantic teenager.

 “I didn't ask for your help!” Kishibe added, his spite heightened as he reminded himself just why she'd been targeted.

‘If it weren’t for you…’ The mangaka thought to himself, glaring venomously at the other male. ‘If it weren’t for you.... this wouldn’t have happened…’ He thought with assurance. 

'If she hadn't gone out of her way...all for you...' He then added with the same spite, his entire body trembling with fury.

"I'll get her out of here myself, And I don't need you to get in the way!" Kishibe added, soon hearing sirens in the distance as the paramedics approached.

"I don't need your help," He proceeded to speak lowly.

"- But she does," Josuke said back, sternness in his voice, "and I'm going to save her," he said with certainty, not wanting to have another loss on his hands.

"I didn't ask for your help," Rohan insisted, and the arrogant declaration stiffened the teen with silence. “Because if it weren't for you..." Rohan then repeated out loud, his sentence going unfinished before he continued with another line instead. 

  "....You should have just stayed away from her, ” he maundered, going ignored by Josuke as he wordlessly brought out his stand, the large humanoid being standing tall and just as determined as its wielder, who by then had a grasp on what the real issue was.

It only took the few uttered words prior to understand the true reason behind the elder male's actions, and it made him seethe with rage,  

“ You're pathetic,” Josuke said below his breath, unable to look away from (f/n) as he spoke, doing just what the other man couldn't. 

'Is that was this is about?' He wondered, 'That asshole...he can't just man up, can he?

- Not even for you,' He thought bitterly while gazing down at (f/n).

  “I don't give a damn about what you want. And I could care less about that simple-minded pride of yours,”  he went on, his voice rising as he finally took a chance to look back at the other male as he let crazy Diamond's power befall upon the female.

Cobalt met emerald, and in between the fierce gaze were unsaid words shot in between the two, whereas an understanding was made. 

'- Try to stop me.' Josuke taunted Rohan with a tight toothed grit, his body standing rigid straight as his hands which were at his sides trembled with his withheld fury.

The younger's haggard breathing steadied for just a moment as he stood as strong as his convictions were, and the very sight made the other man that glared at him scorn.

“I despise you,” Kishibe hissed before a sharp gasp came from below, the little noise stealing his attention, his eyes finally trailing down to the female to watch as the shattered bits of her bones took form. 

The endless flow of her cuts then closed, stopping the messy spill.

His expression then unscrunched from its frustrated sneer to melting relief as he saw her breathing begin to steady and afterward, a low, drawn-out breath left him as he saw her (e/c) colored eyes slowly flutter open, the lovely drops gradually adjusting to the light of the cloudy sky.

A small grunt emitted from (f/n) before her (e/c) colored eyes fell upon the teen kneeling before her. Her two hazy orbs then locked onto the concerned blues staring down at her,

 'JoJo...it's you...' She thought with a wave of comfort that soon livened her.

And after the relief settled, she then surged with elation, " JoJo! " (f/n) said amidst bubbling joy, her arms immediately circling his neck, tightly holding him with a urgent need to feel him close. 

" Jojo...you're ok," she said sweetly, soon crying into his neck. 

Her face then pressed directly onto blood and grime, ignoring the filthy stench that clung to him as fiercely as she presently did.

 'You're alive...' She thought with joy, knowing that, that was all that mattered.

"...But you’re all beat up," she sniffled afterward, grateful that even if he was injured, he was well enough to stand, enough to tend to her.

A weary chuckle then left her as she realized how fortunate they were to barely scrape by.

“Yeah,” he breathed while releasing the same breathy chortle she did, and instantaneously, his tensed body melted under her loving embrace, realizing that they had somehow gone against the odds, and he was thankful that it was all over. 

" Glad your back...and just as cuddly as ever too," he then smiled, the palms of his hands laying on her back, bringing her close while he returned her affection, grateful that he had another moment with her to add to his memories. 

'He would have taken you too...' Josuke thought while closing his eyes, ‘ He was so close to taking you...' He added while sniffling, grateful that Kira had left without claiming another innocent life.   

Peeking out from over the healer's shoulder, (f/n) then caught sight of the mangaka, observing as his face twisted into frustration, and she wasn't certain if it was fueled by pain or anger.

She noticed he was bloodied too, but couldn't see from where the gore spilled from, and she wondered when he'd arrived.

She asked herself whether or not he'd made it during their fight and had been caught in between as well because he'd seemed to have gone through an entire battle himself.

'Rohan...why do you look so...troubled? So …Beaten?' She wondered with concern, not knowing that the scarlet color that had clung to him so passionately had come from her, unaware that the reason he'd become so tainted by the tint was because of how strongly he'd held her.

He kept her in his arms, his vibrant, green eyes dimmed with horror as he felt how much of her life oozed from her stilled, cooling body.

"(f/n)?" He said softly while gingerly cradling her in a nurturing demeanor that wasn't too difficult to comprehend because by then, any fool could see how much he cared about her. 

By then, every bit of the hesitance he showed before was disregarded as he left himself bare, unable to face the situation with anything but the truth.

Swallowing thickly, he let out a soft, weary chuckle as he looked down at her, his thumb gently gliding over the running red that painted her lovely lips. 

"...You've made your point already, " He murmured softly as he witnessed the flow of his sorrow trail down the sides of her paling face.

' I can't live without you. ' He mused while he sourly smiled. 

"...You're my best friend." He openly admitted to her, the softness in his voice so tender, one would never believe it ever had the viciousness in it to convey his typical arrogance. 

' And I don't want to lose you,'  He thought while pressing his forehead to hers before huffing out three little words that had knotted in his throat before, but somehow, now found easy to utter in spite of the thickness that clotted his throat, 

"I love you..." he huffed, closing his eyes tightly. 

Gingerly, the hand that wasn't supporting her trailed over her bruised cheek before holding it, 

'Why....Why was it so hard to say before?' he wondered with frustration. 'Why is it that now, now that I finally have it in me to say it...you can't even respond back,' he added, lamenting being so cold with her in the past. 

 "Can't you hear me?" he asked her softly.

It was then that each and every instance he'd shown her anything but welcome tormented him because he recognized that every second of those memories could have been filled with her smiles instead.

If he hadn't been so bullheaded, then maybe he would have let his pride go for a moment and tell her what he felt.

If he hadn't let her go hours before, then she wouldn't have been in the killer's sight.

If he'd just pulled her back into his home and told her that he wanted her to stay a moment longer, then the outcome would have been different.

"Now, please...just wake up," He compromised with her, " Please...?" He whispered faintly, his voice falling into silence as she stayed still, unstirred by his plea.

And as he continued to speak and beg, the white material of his clothes soaked in the infectious red, letting it creep through the fibers until every thread was replaced with the color of her fleeting life.

And it wasn't long before the murmurs of bargain he released were then drowned out by a familiar voice, and it was at that moment that all of his suffrage evolved into bitter resentment.

' Why do you insist on risking yourself for him...?' Rohan thought with bitterness, witnessing how willingly she leaned into the other male, and much more, how happy she was to see him. 

'Don't you get it?' He continued to silently maunder, 'Don't you get that ...eventually...one day...he won't be able to heal you?' he added.

'In the end...he'll lose you too...'

"Rohan..." She breathed, slowly easing away from Josuke, offering him one last smile before her eyes found their entire focus drawn to the irritated male whose sight drew far from hers, finding the rubble of the street more his taste.

His lips were pressed together until his mouth formed a thin, firm line that wouldn't allow a single peep to escape. 

'Do you remember any of it?' he then wondered, not knowing which one of his organs had it worse, his twisting stomach of his overworked heart.

Slowly, his face filled with red, and he lost his ability to gaze at her any longer without turning completely vermillion.

Before she could question his sudden fluster, a faint memory of a sweet, sorrowful murmur came forth, and it made her eyes grow wide. 

With widely peeled (e/c) colored eyes she gazed at the dejected male before trudging her way to him, all while slowly functioning before happiness flooded her and filled her with giddiness.

'It was you...' She thought with a bursting heart, her hands both flying to her torso to press over her heaving chest.

"Rohan!" she said while suddenly leaping towards him, surprising him with the sudden pounce. 

"Rohan! I..." swallowing down thickly she chuckled, hoping it wasn't a delusion of hers.

'I heard... I think I heard you,' She thought with a heavy heart. ' I think that … we feel the same...' She mused while she felt his arms tightly wrapped around her. 

She took the risk and pressed her lips to his, quickly discovering that she was accepted by the simple ease he displayed while melted along with her. 

As Josuke watched, he took notice of the embrace they shared, observing the longing glow in Rohan’s eyes before they shut tight, taking in the way his hands held her, almost as though there was nothing more precious to him as she was.

"Of all people..." Josuke started, slowly shaking his head at the young woman, unsure of what to tell her, deciding to go with what was most obvious, and could basically sum it all up, 

"Rohan...That guy...he's just insufferable," he mumbled lowly, and it made (f/n) giggle. 

Rather than be insulted, the young smiled instead, 

"He is, isn't he?" She admitted, unable to count all the times the man had made her fume, because, truth be told, he got under her skin more than anyone else could.

"He's insufferable, and kind of full of himself, and don't forget that he can be a real jerk too," She added while looking up at the bright sky. 

"He's all of those things," she admitted while continuing to beam, acknowledging Rohan's worst points and accepting them.

"- But he's also sweet," She informed the Joestar descendent.

 "When you ask him something, he might say no," She reminded him, " But for the most part, he'll give in, with almost no fight, just an annoyed, little sigh that makes it seem as though he could be doing better things when in reality it's all a front," She informed the listening male.

"It's all a front so you won't see how eager he is to please everyone," She explained. 

" And it doesn't come from insecurity," She quickly added with certainty.

"It's not that he wants to be loved by everyone, or needs their validation," She further explained, making certain he grasped the reasoning behind the other man's actions.

 "He's just...Well,  he just wants to have all the answers, which in turn will help everyone he loves, and cares about, and that is including you." She spoke, and during the last bit, Josuke scoffed.

" He can't stand me!" he said with certainty, " But it's not like I care !" He quickly added. "'Cause it's not like I like the guy either, So it doesn't bother me one bit, " he added with a huff, crossing his arms while trying to seem indifferent. 

"You've gotten the best out of him." she started,  " - More than once," She then added with sagging shoulders.

 "To him, you're a rival. No matter what he says, you're on par with him. And the small admiration he has for you is flushed within that stupid arrogance of his." she sighed, wishing it wasn't so.

"He's just such a sore loser, and what's much worse, he hates having depts., because it means that he's somehow failed,"  she added, falling into the root of the problem.

"He might seem like he hates you, but if anything were to happen to you, he'd be concerned, " She revealed. "Because, Morioh is his home, and he knows that if anyone is capable of protecting it, it's you," she said while gazing at him with trust, setting the same trust on the youth.

 "He wants to be the one to do it...and in his own way he does, but he's well aware that when it comes down to it, you have the strength he lacks," (f/n) continued on. 

"He detests it...but at the same time... he's so grateful." She said with amusement, remembering that the only reason she'd come to the conclusion was because Rohan had let just a bit too much of the truth slip out during their talks. 

"He seems difficult to understand, but, that's just because you think about it too much. He's not so complex. He's just a bit eccentric and weird, " She said with assurance. 

"And weaved within all that strange nature is a good person." She added with a grand smile.

"You could write a whole book on him, huh?" Josuke teased, and she took it in with a bright glow, hanging her head afterward, 

"It'd just be a long love letter," She said while grinning stupidly, it being something Josuke threw his head back at. 

He laughed, openly teasing her, but silently admiring her at the same time.

'That's what I want,' he then mused. 

'Someone like that. 

Someone that dedicated. 

Someone that's willing to understand me,' He thought while praising the young woman, hoping he'll be lucky enough to have someone as comprehensive and sweet as her one day. 

In a sense, it reminded him of his mother and the sweet way she always expressed herself about Joseph Joestar. Granted, the situation hadn't been ideal, but he always smiled when his mom showed her tender side as she recalled the love she still held onto.

Josuke was well aware of how much she'd suffered, but when he'd asked her if she could change it all, she never changed her answer. 

She always chose to relive it all, and Josuke accepted it, compromising with himself that even if it ended up in suffrage, he'd be willing to cherish every moment he had with the one person that could give him that same love and understanding.

' That idiot...' Josuke thought to himself, unable to understand how Rohan couldn't see the way her eyes glowed when she looked at him. 

'That giant idiot,' He added, feeling insulted on the young woman's behalf whenever the other man showed jealousy towards their friendship, one that he never had any intention to morph into anything else, because it wasn't necessary.

And (f/n) would never dream of it either.

' Isn't it obvious?' He wondered, '(f/n) doesn't see anyone but you, just like, sometimes, you can't see a damn thing besides her,' He added.

For just a split second the two men aligned their eyes together, yet again lively green and bright blue met, though, with a different message sent in between, and it was almost amiable.

The artist's hand held the young woman's, tightly grasping it as he pulled her along before they both stood before the teen. 

"Josuke...Higashikata," Rohan said lowly, uttering the name with the same disdain as always,

"You won't hear this from me ever again, " he started before quickly looking back at the darling woman for a quick charge up in inspiration.

"But..." He started, all while still eyeing (f/n), " Thank you." he breathed, trying to keep his face stern, though faltering as he remembered the pitiful state the female had been in moments ago. 

"Thank you for healing her,"  He said with true gratefulness before looking back at the other male. 

At a loss for words, Josuke stayed silent before nodding quickly, 

'Sure, ' he silently added because he was left blubbering and flustered, having no chance for recovery before Rohan retreated, leaving with the young woman close behind him.

She looked back at him with a halfhearted smile, partially apologizing for not staying any longer, and somewhat sheepish for simply walking away with the other man while Josuke was still injured himself. 

But, the Joestar descendent didn’t mind in the least bit.

Granted, Rohan Kishibe wasn't his favorite person in the world, but he made his friend happy, and after the shitty day they'd had, Jojo wasn't going to insist to have her stay with him instead for what was just a couple of stitches he needed.

He then walked over the sidewalk, moving towards a more comfortable spot on the grass to lay on as he heard the blaring sirens ring louder. 

With a smile, he looked up at the Morioh sky, and he smiled, grateful that the bizarre summer of 1999 was finally over with. 

[alfredolover119]

I looooove your zukka rec lists! I recently became Avatar-obsessed, never got a chance to watch it as a kid and only just got through it all! I was wondering if you'd consider doing a specifically angst rec list? I love fluffy zukka everything, but sometimes you just gotta have your heart ripped out of your chest and put back in after being thoroughly blended.

thank you! i relate heavily to “recently became Avatar-obsessed” haha. as for the angst list, i sure can try! warning: all of these have happy endings because im a crybaby who can’t read unhappy endings. also, p much all of the fics in the completed section were featured on my other lists but this is specifically the ANGSTY ones >:^)

angsty zukka wips

first, most obviously, feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe

-currently at 102k with 19/27 chapters posted; rated teen

-the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. you know. i haven’t actually read it yet because, as previously mentioned, i’m a crybaby and am waiting for it to finish up but, from my understanding, this fic will murder you in a dark alleyway with no remorse. if u like zukka angst, you’ve probably already read this, but just in case!

An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. // But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

Yeah, nah.

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @goldrushzukka

-currently 38k with 6/8 chapters posted; rated mature

-holy shit. holy SHIT. modern au based on the “my cat likes my fuckbuddy and i am falling in love” trope(?). maybe it’s just because of how the last chapter ended, but oh my god. this one made me cry. made me want to commit violence. when it’s not angsty as hell, it’s pretty funny, but holy shit. ao3 user nebulastucky please.

It’s supposed to be a one night stand. Pick up some guy at a bar, barely remember his name and never learn anything real about him, send him packing in the morning with a thanks for the ride and a cup of coffee to-go. That’s how it’s supposed to go. // But then it’s the best sex Sokka has ever had, and he thinks he’ll hate himself if he never gets to have it again.

Violet Blossoms and Celestial Objects by @hollypunkers

-currently 15k with 2/? posted. rated teen.

-this is the sequel to blue (an angsty, zukka rewrite of book 2-- go read it if u havent!)! !! this is a book 3 rewrite. only two chapters in and mrs hollypunkers is really abusing the miscommunication tag, as zukka writers seem to enjoy doing. im excited to see how the world and story develops with the changes to the story! you should be too!! its very good! obviously spoilers for blue lmao

Having sided with the Avatar in Ba Sing Se, Zuko not only must navigate his new relationship with Sokka but returning to the Fire Nation as a banished enemy. His own journey of self discovery and personal growth must now coexist alongside the personal struggles of every other member of the Gaang as together they blaze a treacherous path toward an unsure victory against Zuko's own father and nation.

breakable heaven by @fruitysokka

-currently 71k with 9/11 chapters posted. rated teen

-swt ambassador zuko! soon to be chief sokka! fake dating ur best friend to get out of an arranged marriage! what could go wrong!!! i also haven’t read this one ((see: i’m a crybaby who is being hurt by too many zukka wips already)), but it has been hanging out in my marked for later for months. from what i understand, this fic has: angst.

With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? // Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

angsty zukka fics (completed!)

(i’ll put these in wc order)

lighthouse beam by @incorrectzukka

-7k, rated g

-a modern college au!! zuko’s inner-monologue is very angsty in this fic. typical zuko. also per usual, theyre both fucking dorks. they sort themselves out in the end, but not before The Angst. zuko is semi-deaf in this fic and also he has a bit of internalized homophobia.

Sokka’s breathtakingly beautiful and he’s smart and makes other people laugh. Zuko has a half-burnt face and a deaf ear. It’s not rocket science. // Or, Zuko falls in love with the boy in his Philosophy class.

This Isn’t My Idea of Fun by @khaleeseas

-9k, explicit

-moon spirit/nwt prince!sokka, no war to be found here! admittedly this isnt THAT angsty but like. the angst IS present. zuko is still the prince. a lovely childhood friends (though they hated each other for a minute haha) to lovers story. 

If you asked Zuko, he and Azula saw far too much of Chief Hakoda of the Northern Water Tribe’s children growing up. It wasn’t until they were older, and Azula pointed out that - duh - their families were trying to set them all up, that he realized why. // He was told by his mother to be polite. These people were their friends and allies, and though their nations were as different as they came, harmony between nations was the most important thing. // It wasn’t his fault the Chief’s children were so annoying.

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don’t touch) by @celestialceci

-9k, teen

-modern au! zuko and sokka are college roommates. zuko goes to spend the summer with sokka. again,, not really that angsty but-- its there!! the detail and feeling of Home in this story make me happy. zuko is insecure as hell here too. if ur into that. 

Zuko hates his home. He likes college alright, but he likes Sokka even better, his assigned roommate turned best friend. Spending the summer with Sokka will be fun, a welcome change of pace he desperately wants. It probably won't awaken anything in him... right?

the thing about dancing by anodymalion

-9k, teen

-yes. this one right here officer. it makes my heart ache. also trans sokka! which is cool. but the zuko angst in this one. hurts me. not so much relationship angst as it is zuko learning he deserves happiness angst. i’m sure u know The Type.

The first time a attendant spills Zuko’s tea and doesn’t immediately fall to her knees, begging the Fire Lord’s forgiveness, it is not anger but a resounding warmth that fills his chest.

i could (never) give you peace by @zukkababey

-10k, mature

-OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH. boys please learn to communicate im begging u. also zuko.. zuko, dude. as the tags of the fic say, hes “really going through it” in this one. YOUCH. post-canon.

Zuko almost said it. He almost said the words I think I’m in love with you, but he choked them back down at the last second. // Zuko would never be able to be what Sokka wanted. They might have needed each other during the summer, when two boys with too much weight on their shoulders found comfort in each other in the only way they knew how. // But now Zuko was Fire Lord, and Sokka was leaving.

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by @meliebee 

-18k, teen, major character death 

-i lied. THIS is the one, officer. found family.. good mai and zuko and toph friendships.. . ozai escapes prison and tries to overthrow zuko. OBVIOUSLY angst ensues. poor boy. he Does heal in this but it gets worse before it gets better. angst angst angst angst.

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.

Anything for You by beersforqueers

-23k, explicit

-istg. this is probably one of my favorite zukka fics. its PAINFUL. modern au where theyre broken up but sokka hasnt told his family yet so zuko goes home with him for kataang wedding. a bit smutty, but the plot oh my god ohgm y fuvk. made me cry the first time i read it. (see: crybaby!me) insert that one picture of the horse with the caption PAIN. 

In which Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend. // Things don't go as planned.

Moving Mountains by @thefangirlingdead

-64k, mature

-so. when i read this the first time it was in one sitting. soulmate au set within canon era / the comics, to an extent. soulmates can hear each others thoughts. i will happily say this is slowburn, jesus christ. champagne without the cham. 

Soulmates are chosen by the spirits and can hear each other’s thoughts. Sokka thinks it’s cheesy and dumb. Zuko thinks it’s poetic justice that he doesn’t have one because he doesn’t deserve it. Cruel irony is finding out that the prince of the Fire Nation (and the person currently hunting you) is your soulmate.

In the Soft Light by @voidcenturyscholar and @romancedawning

-83k, teen, graphic depictions of violence

-moon spirit!sokka living in the northern water tribe. zuko is sent to the northern water tribe as a cultural liaison. iroh is the fire lord but while he is away taking care of lu ten after his injury ozai steps up. i cannot express how many emotions this fic made me feel. background yuetara. i would almost say found family?? but. anyway. plenty of angst to spare here with a healthy dose of enemies to friends to lovers.

As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him.

That Midnight Sky by @zukkababey

-103k, teen

-now now now. tms... modern college au where sokka agrees to tutor zuko in physics because zuko has to maintain straight a’s and physics is just not doing it for him. so. thats cool but THEN azula moves in, randomly, with zuko. to hide the fact that sokka is tutoring zuko, they fake date! what could go wrong!! the mutual pining in here combined with the angst... wonderful, tasty. everyone read it rn. also SLOWBURN 

In Zuko’s strict family, needing a tutor is just about the worst thing you could do. Failing a class, however, is even worse. The only rational solution? Take up Aang on his offer to find him a physics tutor and have Sokka—beautiful, smart, handsome Sokka—tutor him in secret. // When Azula’s arrival threatens to reveal Zuko’s secret, it’s up to Sokka to convince her this definitely isn’t what it looks like. See, he’s actually… Zuko’s… boyfriend? // Hmm. There’s no way this could get complicated, right?

[toxic-ship-tournament]

ROUND 2 / SIDE A / POLL 2

Esmerelda Poofenplotz x Alice Luoja (@cantdanceflynn) vs Res x Leo (@adanaac)

who makes up your ship?:

Esmeralda Poofenplotz(Canon Phineas and Ferb character(although I draw her differently from canon)) and Alice Luoja(Background character turned Phineas and Ferb oc)

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

THEY BASICALLY STARTED OUT AS TWO DUMBASS TOXIC AF TEENAGERS GOING TO EVIL SCIENCE HIGH SCHOOL TOGETHER AND BEING THE TERRORS OF THE SCHOOL(POOFENPLOTZ BC SHES BIG ON BEAUTY AND WOULD BASICALLY DESTROY EVERYONE'S SELF ESTEEM AND ALICE BC. SHES WILLING TO KILL ANYONE WHO RLY FUCKS W HER), AND WHILE THEY ORIGINALLY HAD A RIVALRY IT GOT A LIL TOO HOMOEROTIC VERY QUICKLY AND THEY DON'T RLY KNOW HOW BUT THEY ENDED UP DATING. THEY ENDED UP, SURPRISE SURPRISE, RUINING EACH OTHER EVEN FURTHER THEN THE TWO OF THEM WERE ALREADY TRAUMATIZED!!!! A TYPICAL INTERACTION BETWEEN EM PRETTY MUCH WENT ALONG THE LINES OF POOFENPLOTZ POKING FUN AT SOMETHING ABOUT ALICES BODY OR PERSONALITY SHE KNEW WOULD TICK ALICE OFF("YOU KNOW, I'M NOT SAYING YOU NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT, BUT THROWING UP YOUR LUNCH LATER COULDN'T HURT"), ALICE GETTING PISSED OFF AND PULLING A KNIFE ON HER("YOU KNOW, MAYBE THIS TIME I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR TONGUE, STOP THAT HORRIBLE NOISE YOU CALL A VOICE"), AND THEN SOMETHING WOULD HAPPEN OR ONE OF THEM WOULD FUMBLE OR FLIRT AND THEY'D JUST GO BACK TO NORMAL BANTER AND TERRORIZING PEOPLE. THEY DID CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER, AND WHATEVER THEY WERE EXPERIENCING CERTAINLY FIT SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE STRANGE AND NEBULOUS RANGE OF ROMANTIC LOVE, LIKE THEY DEFINITELY LIKED EACH OTHER, THEY WERE JUST TOXIC AS SHIT AND HAVING THEIR BEHAVIORS EXPANDED UPON OR REINFORCED BY THEIR ENVIRONMENT. EVENTUALLY ALICES OBSESSION W GODHOOD AND HER IDEA OF PERFECTION (ONE THAT HAD ALWAYS BEEN THERE, EVEN IF POOFENPLOTZ MADE IT MORE PHYSICAL) ENDED UP DRIVING THE TWO APART, WITH HOW HORRIBLE ALICES DECLINE WAS, AND POOFENPLOTZ ENDED UP BASICALLY LEAVING AND IGNORING HER AS A DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO SNAP HER OUT OF HER DECLINE BUT ONLY PULLED HER FURTHER IN. AS IT STANDS NOW IN THE PRESENT, THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS A COMPLICATED SPIRAL OF "POOFENPLOTZ ACTUALLY HEALED AND REALIZED HOW AWFUL SHE WAS BEING AND WHILE SHE STILL HAD A DEGREE IN EVIL SCIENCE SHE HAD TO USE SO SHE MIGHT AS WELL GET A JOB DOING THAT, SHES ALSO RLY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT EVERYTHING W THE CAST AND HELP THEM, ESPECIALLY MILLIE AND PINKY, WHILE ALSO DEALING W " WHOOPS YOUR EX IS BACK IN TOWN AND SHES NOW BEEN RESPONSIBLE FOR MORE DEATHS THEN MOST FULL ON TERRORISM COMBINED, BUT SHE IS ALSO STILL KINDA HOT SO *NONCOMMITTAL HAND GESTURE*, YA KNOW?", MEANWHILE ALICE IS "OH RIGHT. SHE QUALIFIES FOR LOVEMUFFIN TOO. IM ALLOWED TO DENY ON HER ON TERMS OF HER BEING MY EX, RIGHT? BUT ALSO IM STILL GONNA INVITE HER TO OUR MEETINGS AND ALSO OFFER TO LET HER " LEAD" THE CULT IVE MADE THAT CONSISTS BASICALLY JUST OF MY VERY ABUSED OWN SON AND A VERY ABUSED TEENAGER WITH ME BC IF I CAN CHANGE HER MIND I CAN CHANGE ANYONES!"

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

Esmeralice, https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLnP0Xop8gS5VdFNCP4Uetvq2pM5A9NZTe <- BAD PLAYLIST BY MY STANDARDS OF USUALLY A HUNDRED SONGS AT LEAST BUT ITLL DO FOR NOW

****

who makes up your ship?:

Res and Leo

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

Leo can’t remember anything that has happened to him before the age of twelve. All anyone knows is that he was in an accident that should have killed him, then he returned with an indestructible body and a void where his personality should be. He cannot comprehend good or evil, does not understand the concept known as ‘choice’, and cannot envision an existence where Res isn’t his Master. He imprinted onto Res the moment he met the other man and pushed himself into Res’ life without considering whether or not Res might want it. His first Master did not pass, he simply changed how he looked, and what he looks like now is Res. Period. He has nothing to offer, nothing to say, no emotions and no heart to give. All he knows are the facts, and the facts tell him that there is no Leo without Res. So he’ll make sure that there’s no Res without Leo. Res has always been very into science, but he isn’t too fond of how there are a bit too many restrictions on the experiments he can perform, and he’s even less fond of how they die whenever he tries some of his more ‘exciting’ stuff. Thankfully he has Leo, his little obedient puppy who will obey his every word and donate his body for research. Of course, he’s never asked him whether he was okay with that, but signing a consent form is so old school. He believes that we should be doers, not dreamers, and he’s always wanted to see what the insides of Leo’s body looked like. And all the resistance it’s putting up just makes it all the more exciting. Leo spells unending excitement, and that’s all the reason Res needs to make sure no one else has him. Res is life, but he is not Leo’s purpose for living, because Leo has not questioned whether or not life has a purpose. He doesn’t need to. Res is Leo’s Master, and Leo’s Master is the very concept of life itself. Without his Master, the earth does not spin, and the sun does not shine. Why would it be anything else? Leo is not a person, he is Res’ dream. The dream of a creature that would do nothing but obey his every word, and the dream of an anomaly that he could endlessly explore without an expiration date. A thing that Res will never get bored of. To Res, Leo is just an adorable lab rat who happens to be the only one in the world who can fulfill his dreams. He does not care for Leo, the person, because Leo is not a person, but he does care about Leo, the humanoid playground that belongs to Res, and Res alone. This is love, because love is when someone makes your heart race, and love is when someone makes you feel like you’re free-falling into obsession. Res loves him, loves him, loves him loves him loves himloveshim. Just as we don’t get emotionally attached to the oxygen that keeps our heart beating, Leo does not get emotionally attached to Res, and he doesn’t need to. This isn’t love, it’s something more than that. Love can change, fade and evolve- it’s fickle, fleeting and easily manipulated. What Leo and Res have is a constant. Res belongs with Leo, and Leo belongs with Res. Don’t argue with the facts. Because you’re wrong, and Leo will make sure you know you’re wrong, no matter who you are. It’s a good thing they’re with each other, and no one else. (Leo is Uno's oc, Res is Canada's oc. Above description written by Uno. Canada's description below) They're basically like those AITA stories where both are the asshole and its a good thing they're together and making each other worse. btw Res is the short pink one and Leo is the tall one.

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 9)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Nine: The Night at Sea

The second you attempt to reach behind to untie your corset, your arm spasms. The collision with the hull of the ship has left you shaken and battered and in no position to twist your body to undo the double knotted ties Seil, your handmaiden, would have tied. And your heart aches when you think of her.

You know that you shouldn’t sleep in the dirty clothes and the corset, but with the secure double knots there is no way to undo the ties yourself. And so you pull yourself into the hammock, landing face first, when your back muscles give out, into the netting tied to the wall. With a groan, you don’t even bother trying to move, and you pass out on the ship - having been through the ringer for what feels like a million times in one day.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“Where is she?” Hunter grumbles when Tech returns to the group, looking up at the stars Hunter was using to calculate their ETA.

“Probably asleep in Echo’s hammock I'd guess.” Tech says plainly, and he watches as his sergeant’s face hardens.

“You need to learn how to follow orders.” He snaps, before going back to the map.

“Sarge,” Tech starts, “you’re displaying worrying symptoms.” He decides on. And under the hat he sees his eye twitch.

The barrage never ended, and the cannons never ceased. How much ammunition either side had left was impossible to guess. This creeping barrage was working. But only just. All they had to do was keep the separatists busy, the regs should be able to manage that at least. And rescue missions were the best kind of mission out there these days…

In the medical bay, Hunter shakes, the wookie child is long gone, and his vod have returned to keep their sergeant company while he heals. They’re angry, and resent him for the return-to-ship order from before. But the carnage that was left of Kashyyyk proved how right he was in securing the safety of Clone Force 99.

“Hunter, your hand.” Tech says looking at the cuts and mangled tissue.

“Kriffing door wouldn’t open.” He explains through drugged eyes. Thinking that the war is over. It has to be over. If not now, it has to be over soon. They can’t continue like this, there can’t be more missions like this. The war has got to be over soon.

Outside, the artillery starts firing again.

Hunter looks at Tech, watching the goggles reflect moonlight, and realises something that, in the chaos of the day, went unnoticed.

“Did Wrecker even lock the cell door?” He interrogates the shorter man in front of him.

“I don’t know.” Tech answers honestly with a shrug. “But even if he didn’t. You know he made the right call.” Hunter grunts in response.

“She’s a Aaray. A danger to us all” He says.

“We’ve been in worse predicaments.” Tech states. Watching as Hunter walks away from yet another conversation of theirs, and he wonders to himself, how long it will take for his captain to start screaming because of nightmares on this clear, calm, night at sea.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

Everything on your left side hurts. The hit from the ship has battered your skin, muscles, and bones. Sleep evades you because the only thing you can focus on is the pain. And when even laying down becomes too much, Gonk moves herself out of where she was curled on your back as you clumsy step out of the hammock, and begin to tread outside.

The three boys are asleep, and part of you chides yourself for being vulnerable in front of them. They could have thrown you in the birg - or worse. But a bigger part of yourself says that you can trust them. Probably more so than you’ve trusted anyone in your life. It’s a naive thought - and perhaps it’s built off of never having someone you can trust before, but a part deep inside of you jumps onto and clings to the idea of putting your faith in these men.

Maybe Crosshair was rough around the edges, and from what you can see, his glare stays with him while he sleeps. It makes you smile a little. And Wreckers exposed scars, they scare you, but the eye patch was so typical of the pirate stories you heard as a child, it’s like living in a fairy tale.

Someone clears their voice behind you.

It’s the Captain, or rather Hunter. Now only in his pants, and tunic, that's been bunched around his forearms in his sleep.

“Plotting something else perhaps?” He asks, crossing his arms in front of him.

“N-no,” you say, annoyed at how easily he makes you nervous. “I couldn’t sleep, I wanted fresh air, and they…” You pause, looking back at the crew. “They’re more manageable when they’re asleep.” The captain lets out a puff of air that's not in annoyance, and you take that as a small victory. And he watches when you crane your neck to look at the stars. He knows it’s because you feel awkward, but in another life, he would’ve found your curious eyes endearing.

“Am I missing something?” Crosshair asks, having woken on his own, and deciding to investigate the scuffle outside.

“Didn’t want the Aaray skulking around the ship.” Hunter answers, “nightmares?” he asks his brother, watching him shake his head no, and with that, one tension is lifted from the sergeants shoulders.

“Are you in pain?” Your voice comes out softly, and they both stare at you unabashedly. “I only mean, i just,” You go to explain. “From earlier the side of the…”

“Hull.” Hunter corrects on instinct, before chiding himself for doing so.

“The Hull, when you caught me…” You motion randomly with your hands as if that helps communicate to Crosshair what you mean, and he stares at you looking tired and vaguely annoyed.

“You’re in pain.” He tells you. And you’re a tad taken back because it hadn't shown on his face that he knew what you meant, let alone made the connection as to why you were awake and hence asked if he too, was hurting.

“I’m okay, I just wanted to…” you try to brush it off

“There’s no point in lying.” Crosshair interrupts, watching at Hunter’s features soften when he also takes in your appearance, leaning against the door, tense and radiating anxiety. He wonders if you’ve ever felt pain like this in your life. Living on a velvet cushion of upper class coruscant would call for little more than flimsiplast cuts. He watches you shrug off Crosshair's comment, intent on being the smallest problem you can possibly be. The man that Hunter was before would be reaching out for you, your messy hair, soft features, and innocence that he knows lesser men are itching to take advantage of.

“You should take that off.” Crosshair nods towards your dress and you gape at him.

“Crosshair!” Hunter barks on instinct, and not standing for the disrespect. He sees your face flush and your arms go around your waist protectively.

“Have I missed something?” A forth voice joins them outside of the bunks and Hunter inwardly groans. Now Tech is awake, what he hoped would’ve been a private nightly stroll has turned into some kind of situation report.

“Shockingly the Aaray is being uptight.” Crosshair moves to the opposite side of the doorway you’re leaning on.

“I don’t think it is fundamentally uptight to want to preserve my own modesty.” You say incredulously, and Hunter notes that you resort to your training as a lady when you become nervous. Just like his men resort to being soldiers when faced with problems.

“Crosshair!” Tech exclaims, glaring at his brother - he really needed lessons in things that are appropriate to say, and things that are not.

“I’m only asking you to take the corset off.” Crosshair says smirking, enjoying how flustered everyone is. And Hunter sees something flash in your eyes.

“Do you think you’re funny?” You snap, and the sniper stops smiling. “Is this a game to you? Clearly you have no concept of the ramifications on a woman should she ever do something like that. Or you have no concept of how dresses and corsets work - which wouldn't surprise me given your temperament.”

Hunter catches a small grin on his face, you’re alive tonight and he hates to admit that he likes it. The inference that Crosshair is too unintelligent to understand womens garments or that no women has let him close enough to understand them is both funny and potentially accurate.

“He does have a point.” Tech chimes in.

“Tech!” Hunter shouts, expecting better from him.

“I mean it might be adding pressure to areas already in pain.” He says quickly, his face as red as a zarrabak. And no one is surprised that he’s caught himself up in the conversation.

Behind all of you - Wrecker snores.

“I-I… can’t.” Your voice is small, and you’re looking at the floor, embarrassment pings in everyone's hearts when they realise that this is an important issue to you, and they’re talking about it like you’re not even present.

“We can give you private space if that's what you require.” Tech speaks up. And when you pause you can hear the waves crash in the night.

“Thank you.” You stammer out. This whole ordeal has become very embarrassing and as much as you want to deny the pain and tell the clones it’s nothing, you know both Crosshair and Tech will see right through whatever lie you construct.

“It’s, it’s just that…” You pause again. Maker if you tell them you can’t do it yourself you’re going to look as pathetic as you feel. “I would need assistance with the ties…” You mumble the last part to your bare feet that poke out under your dress. When you have the courage to look up again, all eyes are looking at Tech. The latter of the three simultaneously having decided he was most equipped for the job.

“Have at it, loverboy.” Crosshair jeers at his brother, and now both you and Tech are blushing madly.

“I’m surprised you're not jumping to the occasion.” Tech cracks back at him. And if you weren’t so self conscious in this moment you’d roll your eyes at how much they argue. Hunter remains deathly quiet.

“Unless she wants it cut off as i’m usually-” “Alright! Alright!” Tech cuts him off, and moves towards you while Crosshair snickers.

“Turn ‘round.” Hunter barks, and while you might think he’s telling you, he’s actually giving an order to Crosshair, as the trooper made no move to divert his eyes. And as Tech undoes just enough buttons to start loosening the corset he sees how taught the ties have become and yanks it towards him for leverage.

“Tech!” You squeal and gasp, trying to get away from him and he accidentally constricts you more. Sending pain shooting all over you as your injured body is put under more stress.

Hunter turns around at the sound of pain and sees both of you shaking, he knows you must be beyond embarrassed and Tech even more so. Your moss coloured dress is unbuttoned and the back pushed aside to reveal the cream corset. Hunter sighs, and pushes his brother aside.

You hear an ‘ow’ from Tech as well as what you suspect is Crosshair's hand connecting with the back of his shorter brother's head. As they walk away you shiver as you realize the captain is standing behind you.

“You’re fine.” He says plainly. Nimble fingers working at the knots quickly, you shake in the absurdity of it all, and the feeling of Hunter exhaling into your hair and neck as he works.

“This is so unbecoming.” You mumble to yourself in shame, jerking when you feel the tips of his hair brush against your skin.

“I recall you saying ‘fuck’ earlier.” Hunter scoffs at you, “I think you’re past unbecoming.” silently praising himself when one knot becomes free, whoever tied them must have known what they were doing because it feels more complicated than half the sail ties on the Muraduer. Then again, your activities of the day probably didn't help the situation.

“Captain, you’re basically undressing me.” You tell him, looking over your shoulder just in time to watch him still at your words. The part of his face you can see in this position is covered by the tattoo, but what the moon and stars manage to light up is stunning nevertheless.

“If you’re worried about modesty, I can’t see any more of your skin than I could before.” He reassures you, and you’re beginning to wonder what kind of man he really is. Hunter is so tender at this moment, so gentle. And yet you know what lies underneath.

Technically what he just told you is a lie, he can see the expanse of your back, and parts of your shoulders. But the way your brows creased in concern as you look back at him makes lying worth it as you relax a little bit. Trying to be annoyed at you for causing him grief, he goes back to the knots.

You gasp and clutch your chest as you feel him loosening the string as the last knot comes free. And you see the shock in Hunter's face when you whip around so he barely catches a glimpse of the slip that sits underneath the corset.

Maker, he thinks to himself, you’re so disheveled and scared by a simple act. He grits his teeth at the thought of how Nython would treat you, someone like you needed soft and gentle touches, words of affirmation. Hunter’s grinding his teeth together as he realizes the pride Nython would have in hurting someone as defenceless as yourself.

But then he thinks about how you held your own against his own crew today. And the captain of the Havoc Marauder thinks you’re not as defenceless as you look.

Tags: @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @peacefulwizardfox @rex-meshla @s1st37 @and-claudia @kamino-mermaid @thelambandthewolffe @starwarsmeninhelmets

@bronvin @myeternalsin @sweetsunflowerkisses @loverofclones @beizm @gunsmoke-blu

@logina6 @wondergal2001 @lafy-taffy @lafy-taffy @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

@starskenobiwan @lordellbell @kaetavlos @violetjedisylveon @​​vergol @Lackofhonor