#and understand that he has failed his people

[hollandsfavbabe]

Wet & Wild II

pairing: art donaldson x reader

synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life

warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo

word count: 5.5k

part 1

tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk

masterlist

a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!

A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.

“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.

“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”

“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.

You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.

“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”

“What if I don’t break the record?”

“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”

“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.

It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.

The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.

It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.

It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.

Art came. He actually came!

The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.

The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.

“Swimmers, take your marks…” 

You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.

You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.

You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.

Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.

The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.

You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.

You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.

“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.

Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.

“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.

You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.

“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.

“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.

“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.

“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.

“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”

You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.

“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.

“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.

You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.

Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.

“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.

She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.

“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.

“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”

“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”

He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”

This makes you smile.

“And?”

“You were right.”

You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.

“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”

“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.

“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”

You wait for the answer.

“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”

“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.

Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.

“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.

“I think you know what I want.”

It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.

“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”

“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.

“I’m not kidding.”

You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).

“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.

He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.

Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.

“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.

“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”

You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.

“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.

He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.

“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.

“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.

“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.

He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.

You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.

Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.

The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.

His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.

“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.

He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.

“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.

He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.

He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.

“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.

“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.

He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.

“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.

Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.

You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.

“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”

Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.

“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.

It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.

The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.

“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.

You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.

Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.

You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.

“Hey guys, long time no see!”

“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.

“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.

“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.

“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.

“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”

Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.

“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”

You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.

[remlionheart]

you're the thoughts that can't be tamed

and i'm trying to be sane

⋆˙⟡♡ MDNI. whewww. the people demanded more high / toxic!megumi and the people got more high / toxic!megumi. tw for angst, daddy issues, drug use, smut. 4.3k words. all characters aged up 21+. ๋࣭ ⭑ life held no promises - it was a fact that you and megumi were made well aware from a very early age. from sleeping under blanket forts as kids to sneaking through windows as teenagers, he'd always been your one constant in a sea of variables. but what happens when the tides become strong enough to pull him away too? ๋࣭ ⭑ this was fucking emotional to write, not gonna lie. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ⋆˙⟡♡

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

“No one else has what we have.”

Those were Megumi's favorite words to say to you.

On the nights where both of your dads would take off together, deciding that they were done being responsible for the two of you for a few days, you would hide under blankets in his room and laugh at the things that only 9-year-old you would understand.

You'd keep yourselves occupied with video games and books and dive so far into each other’s imaginations that you'd completely forget about the world around you.

It was all late-night summer air, swinging in your backyard for hours, and the way that you two were somehow able to turn something as damning as parental abandonment into adventure.

As teenagers, reality became harder to sugarcoat but there was still that same unfettered energy between both of you that made it doable.

At 14, you'd sit on the edge of his bed during the wintertime, drinking beer that you'd stolen from Toji's stash and exchange secrets in-between drunken kisses that neither one of you would be brave enough to acknowledge the next day.

You'd walk to school together with matching tired eyes and unkempt hair and he would tell people to fuck off when they’d ask you why you'd been wearing the same hoodie for a week straight.

He'd sneak through your bedroom window on the nights that your house didn’t feel safe just to lay with you, running light fingers through your hair while sharing a set of tangled headphones to drown out the sound of your parents arguing.

The things that he couldn’t tell his other friends, the things that he couldn’t tell his family, the things that he could barely tell himself – he'd tell you.

You were two halves of two very broken homes. Rigid and unstable when apart but perfectly balanced when together. From spending practically every weekend together to essentially raising one another since none of the adults in either of your lives had any interest in doing so – he was right:

No one else had what you had.

‎𓆩🖤𓆪

Nobara's ceiling fan creaked steadily above you as you stared back at it, trying but failing to swallow down your emotions.

You rolled over, careful not to wake her as you reached for your phone to see the time "3:33" displayed across the screen. With a heavy sigh, you unplugged it from the charger and crept out of bed, keeping your movements light as you made your way into the living room.

You wrapped one of her knit blankets around your shoulders, sinking down onto the couch like you'd done so many times over the last few weeks you'd been staying here. There were bags under your eyes that you were convinced would never go away. Tear stains on your cheeks that felt like they'd been permanently adopted by your skin.

Thinking about Megumi was nothing new, it was the unfamiliar pain that came along with it that you couldn't quite adjust to. The way your chest tightened and your insides burned with each memory that surfaced. What used to be the most comfortable part of your brain was now the one place you were desperate to stay away from.

"So you're leaving then?"

You'd replayed the last conversation you'd had with him so many times, it still felt like you were in his room most days. A ghost that wandered the halls, hopelessly waiting for him to come back no matter how much time passed.

You had struggled to look back at him that night, his pupils dilated from the Oxy he had taken. There was something so unnerving about being so close to him and so far away from him at the same time. How physically, he was within arm's reach, but mentally, there might as well have been galaxies separating you.

Your voice betrayed you, shaking as you fought to keep your resolve. "That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

He was silent, his worn-down demeanor saying more than his voice was capable of at the time. You watched his hand twitch at his side as if his own body was attempting to fight against his sentiment. "Just go."

You stared at him, forcing yourself to take in his pale face and hollowed out blue eyes. You'd seen the whole thing. The entire progression of the boy who used to build blanket forts with you to protect you from the outside world to the boy who'd taken your virginity on a rainy September night when you were 15 because "you both deserved to know what it felt like to be loved" to the vacant 22-year-old who was standing in front of you with nothing left to offer to you or himself.

You'd been there for every day and every moment that had led the two of you down that one pivotal breaking point, but you still couldn't fathom it. You didn't have it in you to fight with him. Didn't have it in you to push back or yell or fall apart in front of him like you both thought you would.

Instead, you did something much more damning: you mirrored him. Leaving him with an empty, "Okay." as you closed the door to his apartment and disappeared back to your car, realizing that his words still reigned true, only they held a new meaning - no one else had what you had, not even you.

You nestled into the couch, using your phone to put the same song on repeat as you tried to close your eyes again. Out of all the grievances you'd experienced throughout your life, you had never considered until recently how much harder it was to mourn the living than it was to mourn the dead.

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi had barely slept in the last three days. His thoughts were blurred by hazy white pills and scattered flashbacks of the things he should've never said to you and worst of all...

The way your face used to light up when you'd wake up next to him and what a jarring contrast it was to have his eyes flutter open to an empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand instead.

"I feel awake when I'm with you."

He'd said it to you one morning when you'd both just woken up, his fingers running lazy circles over the top of your shoulder, his arms still wrapped protectively around you from the previous night's sleep.

"I'm listening." You hummed, propping your head up to meet his blue eyes in quiet encouragement.

He wasn't always the best with his words - you both knew that, but he still tried as he kept his fingertips featherlight against your skin. "I'm always so tired, but... not when I'm with you."

He remembered the way your pupils bloomed while he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting himself say the things he'd usually be too afraid to admit. "I... feel like the only time life really makes sense is when we're like this, you know...? When we're both half asleep tangled up in each other."

You cried, your hands finding the back of his neck as your lips met his in a gentle mid-morning daze.

It was the first time you'd said it - it poured out in between breaths and tears, opening up like a floodgate once it began: "I love you." you whispered against his lips. "I love you." You repeated while you pulled him on top of you. "I love you." as he slid your shirt above your shoulders. "I love you." only, it was his voice this time fanning across the nape of your neck. "I love you." he exhaled again, carefully sliding into you. "I love you." you moaned, your eyes completely fixated on him as he thrusted harder.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

The nostalgia was so intense it rang through his ears, his stomach churning violently. No matter how much he tried to bury you, you were still everywhere. Stuck to the walls. Stitched in his blankets. Embedded into his skin.

Panic swelled in his chest, his hand shaking as he dug the cellophane baggy out of his hoodie pocket and promptly shoved two oval-shaped pills into his mouth. 

"That's what you want, right? For me to leave?"

The answer wasn't yes because he didn't love you, the answer was yes because he did love you. Because after all that you'd been forced to deal with between your dad and his, the last thing you needed was for another man you trusted to let you down the way he was.

"Just go."

It wasn't that he wanted you to, it was that you needed to.

𓆩🖤𓆪

"You're not responsible for him." Nobara said as she handed you a cup of coffee, taking a seat next to you on the couch. "You realize that, don't you?"

Despite her rough edges when it came to men, she was truly the gentlest friend you had. She was patient. Kind. Non-judgmental. She listened to your feelings no matter how repetitive or morbid they may have been. There really weren't enough 'thank you's when it came to how much she'd been there for you over the last few weeks.

You dropped the blanket from your shoulders and took a sip, struggling to look back at her. "I know, I just -" you faltered, your eyes still locked onto the steam rolling off of your mug. "I just hope he's okay..."

It was the longest you'd gone without seeing him and no matter how many times she'd tried to remind you that you couldn't hold yourself accountable for his well being, you still felt an odd sense of responsibility for him. It was a feeling that you'd held onto for so long, you weren't sure how you were supposed to even separate yourself from it now.

Nobara let out a stifled breath, shooting you a pointed look as she took her own sip. "Has he ever been okay?"

The question was damning enough to bring your attention to hers, your breath hitching in your throat as you looked back at her.

"Look, I know you love him." Her hand was on your shoulder, her eyes softening a bit. "But you can't save him."

Flashbacks of an 11-year-old, chubby-cheeked version of him smashed through your mind. The way the warmth of his hand contrasted the coldness of your feet as he helped sneak you in through the sliding back door. You apologized to him for having to risk getting him in trouble just to let you in, but you couldn't be at your house for another minute. Even at his young age, he looked so perplexed by your guilt, shaking his head as his eyebrows furrowed. "If you're ever in trouble, I'll always come get you."

There was such an indescribable amount of safety laced into that one sentence alone.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

Nobara's grip tightened on your shoulder, gently trying to pull you back to reality, but his words were suddenly everywhere. His promise echoing on an unwanted loop as you sat your mug down on her coffee table and grabbed your phone.

Even with the falling out you'd had, he never stopped sharing his location with you. It wasn't an invitation back into his life by any means, but it was proof that his sentiment from all those years ago still held merit. That no matter what happened, he'd always know where to find you and you'd always know where to find him too.

Her expression was serious as she watched you, trying to find a tactful way to say what she needed. "I can't stop you." She finally exhaled, "And you know that I'll never tell you what to do, but..." It was that same sense of comfort you'd felt as a child, only this time it came in the form of protective brown eyes. "Remember that you're important too, okay? You matter just as much as he does."

Your body stilled, your stare lingering as you nodded back at her. A wave of the same fear you'd felt that night on his back porch swept over you again. "I know." You said softly. "We both matter. That's why I have to at least try."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi stood under the warmth of his shower, letting steam fill the room as water beaded off of his pale skin. His eyes were heavy, his stomach struggling to keep up with the deficient mix of painkillers and nothingness he'd been offering it the last few days.

He was tired - physically, mentally, spiritually.

Absolutely drained in every sense of the word.

He let the water pour over him until it began to run cold, his hand finally reaching for the dial when he was certain there wasn't a drop of heat left for him. He reached for a towel, haphazardly running it through his hair before wrapping it around his waist. The bloodshot stare of his reflection was haunting, a painful familiarity laced into the tidal wave irises looking back at him.

"One day you'll understand." It was something that he had heard more times than he could count growing up. "One day you'll fuckin' get it." Megumi had always written it off as a jaded excuse from the man who'd raised him. A despondent explanation for his father's shitty behavior in place of an apology. But as he stood in front of the medicine cabinet in his empty apartment, he realized that for the first time maybe it wasn't an excuse for his father's neglect. Maybe it had been something much worse: a warning.

His fist slammed into the mirror without a second thought, an impulsive blur of blood and shattered glass flying past his face as he watched his hollowed-out reflection fracture and drop to the ground in tiny, severed pieces.

"Megumi...?"

Any fleeting amount of relief that he'd gained from the impact was instantly stolen by the softness of your voice.

His head snapped up, the bathroom door cracked open just enough for your eyes to lock with his.

He'd heard as a kid that the only time angels were visible to human beings is when they were needed the most. He didn't believe it back then, but it was the only explanation he could find to explain seeing you in his hallway.

He blinked back at you slowly, his gaze drifting from his battered knuckles to the blood staining the wall in front of him, to the floor that was covered in glass shards.

You didn't hesitate. Didn't pause to ask for an explanation. Didn't flinch at the scene you'd walked into. You just stood there, observing him in quiet understanding.

Time felt like it had come to a grinding halt as he watched you extend a hand out to him with all of the patience in the world. You were goodness incarnated and he was so undeserving.

"Let me help you."

𓆩🖤𓆪

His grasp was warm, his cut up fingers tangling cautiously into yours as you helped pull him away from the wreckage.

He followed behind you, letting you guide him back to his room where you promptly began cleaning and bandaging his injuries. It was almost nostalgic to be sitting with him like this again. Memories of middle school and the way he'd plop himself down on the edge of your bed after his most recent fight surfaced through your mind as you tended to his wounds.

You were almost done, lifting his wrist up to double-check your work when his hand broke free from yours. His thumb suddenly finding the underside of your chin to tilt your face up to his. It was the first time all night that you'd been able to look into him rather than just at him.

"You have a pretty big gash on your middle finger, but -" your voice was barely audible, completely overruled by the way he was staring at you. "It should be okay..." you swallowed, struggling to hold onto the calmness that you'd fought so hard to maintain thus far. "Where's your vacuum? I'll grab it real quick and –"

"Why're you here?"

Your mouth opened and then closed again, the wheels in your head viciously turning as your eyes searched his. There was an extensive list of reasons as to why you were here. A never-ending list, really. And he knew that just as well as you did.

You looked over him carefully, drawing in a shallow breath before pulling away from his hand. "A promise is a promise, right?"

His pupils widened, a glint of what almost resembled anger flickering across his face. "You've gotta let that go, you're smarter than that."

It was enough to snap your attention back to him, resentment settling heavily into the pit of your stomach. "Yeah well, unlike you, when I said 'always', I meant always - not 'always' until it got too hard. Or 'always' until I'm done. I meant fucking always, Megumi."

He leaned in closer to you, his tone every bit as sharp as his expression. The heat from his body was suddenly noticeable as it filled the small space between you. "God, you're dense sometimes. You really don't get it, do you? I didn't tell you to leave because things 'got too hard' or because I was 'done'." His stare was piercing, his face only centimeters away from yours. "I told you to leave because no one deserves to treat you like this. No one deserves to hurt you. No one, not even me. I don't get some pass just because of a promise we made as kids."

The scorned rebuttal you had lined up abruptly died on your tongue by his last sentence. The air felt stagnant and far too thick to breathe. Tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill the longer you looked at him, but you fought with everything you had to keep them at bay.

"I guess we're both facing the same problem then." Your tone was light despite the crippling weight your words held. "Because no one deserves to hurt you like this either, not even you."

It felt like every late-night conversation, every right and wrong decision, every major life lesson that had played out between the two of you had only been practice for this one grave moment.

You watched the first small crack form in his concrete demeanor as you rested your hand on the back of his neck. Could almost hear the second one splinter down when his fingers traced along your jawline, catching tears you didn't even realize had fallen. Could practically feel the reverb of how shattering the third fracture was as he leaned in and attentively parted your lips with his tongue.

"I think the only time life makes sense is when we're like this."

You pulled him in closer, letting the past and present blur together through gentle, desperate touches. His grasp tightened around your waist, neither one of you able to stop what you'd started. You'd kissed him so many times before, groveled for him in so many different ways, but you weren't sure that you'd ever known this type of fervency for anyone or anything else in your life.

His hands were calloused, damaged but still tender as they ran through your hair, pulling your head back slightly. His mouth drifted to the side of your neck, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. "I love you." It was so faint that you weren't sure if he had actually said it or if it was just another part of your past coming back to haunt the both of you.

He hovered over you, gradually leaning you back into the mattress as the towel wrapped around his waist fell to the floor. You followed his lead, letting him delicately slip your t-shirt up over your head. Your heart stuttered in your chest, watching his eyes roam over you as he unbuttoned your shorts.

There was something so intimidating and overwhelmingly comforting about how well he knew you. Every freckle. Every scar. Every blemish. There wasn't a single part of your body that he hadn't familiarized himself with over the years.

His fingertips traced easily over the inside of your thigh, his eyes locked intently with yours. "You're sure this is what you want?"

His movements were calculated as he drew up towards your center, keeping his touch featherlight and his voice low. "You could have anyone else you wanted, you know that? Probably even have a pretty normal life without me.”

You shook your head at him, trying not to squirm as he slid a slender finger into you. "Just you." you whispered.

His thumb brushed against your clit with just the right amount of pressure while he added another finger. "I'm hard to love." He reminded you, his eyes glazing over as he watched your hips thrust up towards him.

"D - don't care." you moaned, trying to keep your focus despite the way he was picking up the pace, plunging innn and outttt of you, only going deeper with each time you tried to speak. "I... don't - oh, f...fuck."

"You don't what, baby?" Your walls were wrapped around him so tight, swallowing him hopelessly as you writhed beneath him. You opened your mouth again, but your thoughts were all but stolen from you as he slammed into you, rendering you a whimpering mess. "Words." he demanded.

You were trying so hard to keep it together, trying so hard not to soak him, but your release and emotions were all threatening to flood out at once the harder he went. You were grabbing onto him, clenching around his fingers as they continued their relentless assault on you.

"I don't want easy," it was almost one word with how breathlessly it came out. "I don't want easy –" you repeated, your body needily bucking up towards him again. "I want you. I'll always want you." you were finally at your breaking point, drenching him as he looked down at you with feral adoration. "Fuck Megumi, please."

He withdrew from you, his composure a bit more feverish as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard, urgent.

"Bend over for me." He said against your lips.

He helped you roll over, grabbing your thighs to lift you into position while you arched your back for him and buried your face into the softness of his comforter. The absence of his fingers was short-lived, his tip suddenly prodding at your entrance.

He went in slow, watching you carefully as he held onto your hips for support and pulled you onto him. His pace was determined by your breathing. You were taking him so well, your body practically melting under his touch as he entered you, but he wanted every confirmation he could get that you really were in this as much as he was.

"I love you." you panted, tilting your head to look up at him over your shoulder. "I love you." you said again, feeling the hesitation from him finally start to dissipate.

His grip dug into your sides, each thrust rougher than the last. "Say it again." He nodded.

But you could barely get the first word out before he buried himself into you, taking away every last bit of resolve you had left. He leaned over so that his body was locking yours in place, his breath trailing across your shoulder as you shook underneath him, heady little whines filling the space between you.

His hand wrapped delicately around your throat while his voice picked up where yours had left off. "I love you." he exhaled.

Your eyes widened when they caught his. There was something so irrevocably binding about the way he was looking at you, it almost felt like an agreement. A soul tie. A meeting between angels and mortals. A promise where "always" really meant always.

"I love you." You whispered, not breaking away from his stare as his pace quickened. His thrusts were unyielding, his body becoming just as needy as yours while your nails dug desperately into his sheets. "I love you." you let out again, your walls nearly smothering him. "I love you." you whined, feeling yourself clench and spasm around him. "I love you." He groaned, holding you in place as he filled you - his cum mixing with yours, sealing the unspoken contract you’d both created.

"I love you. I love you. I love you..."

𓆩🖤𓆪

Megumi was careful not to wake you the next morning. He slipped out from under your grasp with all the caution he possessed as he got to his feet, throwing a pair of boxers on and sliding a black hoodie over his head.

He grabbed the empty bottles that were littering his nightstand before closing the door to his bedroom and heading to the kitchen. It was the first time he'd woken up sober in roughly 3 weeks. The clarity that came along with it was almost too much to handle as he looked over the state of his apartment. The piles of dishes. The destroyed bathroom mirror. The blood stains on the floor of the hallway.

It all told a story, painted an entirely too vivid picture of his own self destruction. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, finding a cellophane baggy filled with the last 4 Oxys he had.

He took a breath, looking over them. Knowing that they were the one thing that could make everything feel so much more bearable and all it would take was one quick swallow. "God damnit..." He sighed.

Your footsteps were too light for him to hear as you crept around the corner, watching him dump the contents of the baggy into the kitchen sink.

He hastily turned on the water, fighting the urge to fish them out as he let them disappear down the drain. Today might hurt. Tomorrow might hurt. But as he turned around and caught your eye, he quickly realized that they weren't the only thing that could make everything better, they were far from it…

"Need some help?"

No matter how out of control life got, he would always have one advantage: No one else had what he had.

𓆩🖤𓆪

[rreids]

LIAR • S. REID X READER

gn reader; fluff despite the title; unestablished relationship; kissing; a little banter; like ~1k

Rossi’s house was beautiful. Even having been over dozens of times, you find yourself drawn to explore and wander on the property to admire the architecture. 

It’s also a good excuse for when you’re found out for having left the gathering, well over thirty minutes ago. You step out to be alone and catch a breath, and when Morgan or JJ finds you? Just one quick ‘oh, I just got distracted by this part of the stairs and its railings! I had been reading about the origins of this style and why it grew in popularity, do you want to hear? was enough to get a polite smile and your peace and quiet back.

Unfortunately, this tactic didn’t work on Spencer. 

“What are you doing out in the garden?”

“Just looking at the roses!” You smile up at him sweetly, bat your lashes. “I heard there are new roses being bred to have more natural resistance to insects. You think I should talk to Rossi about it? He complains that his bushes get eaten.”

Spencer hums. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Just… um, just in an article. I forget where I read it.”

He levels you in his gaze. “You know, you’re an awful liar.”

“That’s not true,” you mumble, turning your chin down and to the side. “I’m great at lying.”

Spencer chuckles. “Really? And you’re proud of it?”

“Mhm. They call me the best liar in the West.”

“You live in Virginia.”

“And, somehow, I’m still the best in the West. So I’m really, really good.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Can I meet the people saying this? I doubt they’ve met many liars, if you’re their golden standard. Because, as a profiler, I think you’re an absolutely awful liar, __.” You pout and turn to meet his gaze again. “You’re an open book. Everything’s laid out on your face.”

You try to school your expression quickly but fail, smiling and laughing softly. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah,” his voice is softer now. You can’t put your finger on what’s so different, but it has you relaxing without meaning to. “You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

He takes a step closer — just one — but your breath hitches slightly. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiating off him, a nice contrast to the night air, and smell a mix of wine and his cologne. 

“Maybe it’s just to me.” He sounds like he’s come to a revelation, in a way, features relaxing into the beginnings of a small smile.

“What?” you manage to ask, voice remarkably level for the way your heart is beginning to race as you study the shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the softness to his features among all the sharp angles and signs of age. As you look into his eyes, eyes that are clearly studying you, you see them somehow glow with a warmth and fondness that makes you ache.

“I think you’re only this open with me,” Spencer answers, voice softening impossibly more as his fingers wrap around your wrist. He can feel your pulse thrumming with your nerves and your hyperfocus on the way his thumb rubs your skin soothingly. “Why is that?”

“I’m open with everyone I care about.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “But I don’t think you’re like this with everyone.”

“Like what?”

“Vulnerable.” You don’t speak. You can barely even breathe. He’s so close to you. “I think,” his eyes drop briefly to your lips. “That you want me to understand your feelings. That’s why you wear your heart on your sleeve, don’t filter the truth of your opinions or thoughts from me.” Spencer’s head tilts down and to the right slightly. “You want me to see you.”

You nod. “Yeah.” It’s breathless, airy and a barely there whisper. “I do.”

Spencer kisses you.

Your fingers grab the sides of his jacket and pull him towards you with a weak tug. It’s everything you could have wanted, that you could dream of — that you have dreamt of, waking up hopelessly alone and frustrated when you realize none of the tenderness in his touch was real. It is like he sees you. Understands you. 

His rhythm matches yours perfectly and smoothly, no awkward clashing of teeth or weird bumps of noses and foreheads. Just soft kisses that build and build, give and take in equal parts until both of you are breathless. He pulls back first, and your eyes flutter open to see red spots high on his cheekbones and a sparkle to his eyes.

“__,” Spencer whispers and you nod, hands still fisted in the fabric of his clothing. “Can I ask you a question?”

You tug him a little closer, smile as you say “you already did” before nodding.

“Am I right in thinking you would like this to happen more than once?”

You let out a sound that’s a mix of a scoff and a laugh. “No.” You can’t even believe your own lie, and he just grins. “Of course I do, Spencer. But you’ve got to at least take me out to dinner,”

He kisses your smile away and pulls back when he’s unable to tamper his own enough to kiss you properly. “Would you like to go to dinner?”

“You’re not full of carbonara?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I still have some room. I can manage some shitty fast food and fries over a milkshake. You know anyone who’d be interested?”

You smile. “Depends on the milkshake.”

“Chocolate, of course,” Spencer brushes hair off your temple.

You hum. “With whipped cream and you have a deal.”

Spencer smiles. “As long as the cherry on top is another kiss.”

It was. Along with another. And another. And a lipstick mark on his cheek that he told you he would get tattooed. Your horrified expression had made him laugh, and he told you he was a far better liar than you.

unfortunate but true: local girl has forgotten how to write and lost any semblance of a style she had going. i hate how this came out much like everything else i have written recently. big feeling of: i will never have a compelling way of writing that hooks the audience and feels natural everything is stilted and bad and not descriptive in the way i want.

[prettyboykatsuki]

literally BEGGING you to elaborate on oliver and his doggirl... trying to be nonchalant and aloof but your tail won't stop fucking wagging and him mocking you for it... HIM GRIPPING IT AND TUGGING A LITTLE IN PRONE BONE...

✮ tags ; hybrid stuff, self indulgent nonsense, hybrid heat, petnames (pup, mutt, girl etc.), petting and praise etc, reader has a sad backstory lol and this became??? crazy soft?? free me from this, mentions of dog fighting and hybrid mills. its v brief

✮ a/n ; this is a little pathetic for me but whatever. also

You're not a stray.

Not exactly.

Oliver isn't exactly looking for a hybrid when he comes to the pound. He's trying to pick up the girl who works there, more specifically. Really you're getting in the way of that - which is why he even meets you in the first place. His failed attempts at picking her up have him following her all around the facility.

You're a recent find - an abandoned and highly intelligent hybrid. You're capable of non-verbal communication and generally speaking independent. But it's rare that people come to look after you since you're well past being cute and cuddly on first glance. You've got visible scars and everything.

You're more mangy, more mutt than puppy and you've got a nasty glare until she comes to greet you. Oliver isn't exactly trying to adopt a hybrid when he meets you, but you lock eyes and he gets the strangest feeling.

You're definitely uncute.

Oliver tries to stay away from all the hybrid stuff. He doesn't even really like pets. But he knows enough about them to know that most people look to take a hybrid home want them to be cute, obedient, and clueless.

From the scars on your face and the general disdain you show him, a warning growl in the low of your throat - he can tell you're none of these things. Fuck you too, really. If Oliver brought a doggirl home, it wouldn't be you anyway.

The girl he's trying to sleep with has nothing but adoring things to say about you. At one point, she's petting you and you're licking against her hand with something he's damn sure is smugness. It's personal after that - driven by petty annoyance Oliver agrees to bring you home.

You definitely understand given the way you protest. You're cagey when he tries to get near you - bitey and difficult. Mean.

The weight of his choice doesn't really hit him until he's home with a doggirl and none of the things necessary to care for you.

Though Oliver is a lot of things, he's not a complete piece of shit. It was mostly a choice made on a whim, but it'd be a lie to say he wasn't drawn to you in some unknowable and nonsensical away from before.

So, Oliver becomes a hybrid owner to a very mean doggirl in the span of a few days.

For the first few months you live together, you do nothing by fight with him. You tear up his furniture, ruin his clothes, growl loudly when he tries to bring girls over and suck up to long-time hook-ups so he can't get rid of you. You spend a lot of time making his life difficult and his life alone. When he's busy from work, all the sitters only have nice things to say about you. Well-behaved, quiet, easy to handle.

It's just him you seem to drive crazy.

You understand every word out of his mouth but pretend otherwise. He spends a lot of time threatening to toss you out onto the street. Worse though, you get a real kick out of pissing him off.

He ends up calling the shelter again after a while goes by with no improvement. He calls with full resolve to send you back to that damn place, but the cute girl picks up the phone.

He doesn't even ask to hear about you. She just starts talking as soon as she hears him.

They ran background through some tags and found you prior in the system. It's a chilling feeling hearing where you used to come from - a fucking hybrid mill to a rich family with no morals - something to do with dog fights. Oliver watches you sleep in the corner of the living room, curled up on the dog bed he bought you that you've always been territorial over.

You've never been able to sleep without fits, but he didn't put together that their may be any reason for it.

He hangs up the phone in the dark that night, too prideful to say sorry - but decides to try and get along with you the best he can afterwards.

There's a weird period of adjustment where Oliver gives up on trying to get you to behave around him. He deals with your messes and growling in nonplussed silence and sometimes amusement, and occasionally feels so guilty about all of it he pets your head when you're asleep. All soft fur and pointed ears and fitful rests.

He feels kind of ridiculous about all of it - but the change in behavior on your end is incredibly noticeable. Eventually you also seem to give up on trying to fight him.

It's tense and not much more than camaraderie at first.

Once you get comfortable, you act like a lot more like a dog than he was expecting. You move your things to sleep by the foot of the bed and greet him when he comes home despite not having any prior interest. You don't get on the couch unless he invites you up, and you wake him up properly to take you on walks and run together. You're an athletic breed and keep-up with him fine.

It's weird, but Oliver finds you to be pleasant company when you're not trying to piss him off. You're intelligent, clever and curious. He starts to find you cute when he starts petting you as soon as he's home from practice. Try as you might to keep up the nonchalant act, you perk up adorably every time. Your tail wags and you you get just a little impatient and Oliver can't help but find it sweet after all you've been through.

He teases you about it every time, and you growl and hiss but still preen under the praise anyways. Times like that you feel more puppy than mutt.

He doesn't know when exactly the lines blur, or when he it becomes so normal to make you curl into bed next to him. When the affection makes him bleed to into a proud enough puppy owner to praise and sometimes spoil you between teases.

He's grown quite fond of you over the last few months.

So, when you spend all night in distress, he find himself honestly worried.

You spend an entire night whimpering before he decides to call in sick for practice and stay with you. But you're avoiding him like the plague, in an entirely different way than you were before. It's a hassle to get you to let him onto the bed without growling. He spent all morning googling symptoms before a forum from years back asks the exact same questions as him.

dude she's probably just in heat. chill out.

The realization dawns on him a little too later as he manages to pull you away from the pillows you're buried in as he sits next to you.

Your face is flush when he finally gets a good look at you. It's clear all at once that you are going through heat. Your gaze is lust addled and embarrassed - when he lays you flat on your stomach, you rut against the air in ashamed groan. You've always been so smart for a hybrid, maybe smart enough to know shame and humiliation better than most.

Most hybrid owners have this taken care of already. Sometimes bringing another hybrid home to take care of it. Oliver though, feels responsible for you - so he decides to be the kind of owner to take care of it himself.

You must know that, just like you know that it'll be painful unless you get some relief.

You look so embarrassed when Oliver glances at you. He doesn't know what it is exactly. "Were you planning on whining like that for your entire heat?"

You make a soft noise in the back of your throat and try to roll away from him in bed. Oliver is quick to catch you though as he lays down beside you. His hands planes around your stomach, laughing against the back your neck as your tail brushes against his shirt. You're squirming. He's never heard you hiccup so much.

"Did you suddenly get shy about needing my help?" He asks, affirmed by the desperate shake in your throat when you whimper. "Take what you need puppy. Go on."

Your eyes go wide. You understand him clear as day. He thinks normally you would nip at him for the smugness in his voice, but you don't. You're docile and uncertain, and your hands shake so terribly that you can barely turn around.

But Oliver is a responsible hybrid owner, no matter how petty. Turns to help you face him while he drags his thumb across your lip - your canines nearly cutting his thumb as he pulls your lips back to the examine them. He takes a long look at you - the ears on your head twitching and your tail wagging with such desperation he can't help but laugh.

"'s good I know something about this, huh girl? C'mere."

He thought he'd feel more put off by all of it - but he doesn't. The difference in how you act is stark and Oliver can't help but find it endearing. You whine and whimper when he kisses you and puts a hand in your shorts. You don't really know how to kiss proper, but Oliver doesn't mind.

You kiss like a puppy, he figures. You lap at the scruff of his cheek and nudge him, your hands settled on his shoulders gripping at him when he plays with your tender clit. You bury your face in his neck and inhale slow.

"You're latched onto me," He hums. You growl without any real threat. "D'ya always get this sweet when you're all wet or is it just the heat talking?"

A soft sound emits when he rubs you nice and slow. There's desperation to your voice, huffing and panting as whine again. "You want my dick, pup? Is that why you keeping whimpering?"

When you pull away to look at Oliver, your eyes are shiny. It's not a face he's seen you make. Your pupils are dilated, drool at the corners of your taut lips - sliding down your feisty canines. He can't help but be surprised. He watches you as you wiggle out of your shorts before turning towards him again, inviting him towards with pure lust and need.

He feels his throat dry up at the gesture. He kind of feels like a freak but it's outweighed by his desire. His voice is weak. "It might hurt if we're not careful."

You huff against his neck and it sounds like saying please. He's more quick to cave to you than he thought.

"Alright, alright - stop growling at me, jeez," He reprimands, though he isn't mad at you. He pulls your leg up, eyes settling between your bodies admiring your cunt in the soft lights. All the hairs shiny and slick from arousal.

He's careful as he's pushing into you. You're right that it was fine - there's less resistance than he's used to. Must be something to do with heats. You mewl against his neck and chest as the tip stretches you, gripping his shoulder as you huff him with need. You like licking him - though you rarely do outside of this. He can't hold back his amusement when your tongue laves over his jaw and all the pointed scruff. Your cheek presses to his as he starts to bottom out.

He pulls back to kiss you as he buries the length of his cock into your tight, wet pussy. You can't help but slobber into his mouth, all messy and dirty. It's so fucking cute. Makes him so hard he's almost ashamed. Almost.

Clinging aside, there's real desperation in the way you seem to need him. When he thinks of how deep you ask for him, he pulls out again much to your dismay - before turning you onto your stomach so you can bury yourself comfortable in the scent of his sheets.

He slips his cock into you against just like that, all the down to the base of his shaft and groans as you clench around him. He can see the drool dampen his pillowcases. The right choice.

He doesn't have much control of his hips after that. Can barely contain himself as your pussy grips onto him for dear life. He's not trying to be mean, really - but for all the shit you like to give him, you're so pliable with his cock in you. Your tail wags and shakes each time he slams his hips and he can't help but tug it. Just to hear you whine some more like a sweet little doggirl ought to.

"Should've done this from the start, huh girl?" He hums it as he bends over you, face close to your pointed ears. "Needy fucking puppycunt needed some attention from it's owner, I get it now. Let's stay on good terms, okay?"

[fightmewiatch]

The emotion behind the way Edwin uses fuck is so heavy, because outside of the pilot episode and the scene on the stairs, he doesn't swear. He's a proper boy, repressed and focused and he bottles everything up.

In the Pilot, "The police don't know what to do with a fucking witch", he isn't swearing about the witch. He's angry, and he's upset, and he's frustrated. He's trying to focus on solving this case, saving the girl, doing the right thing, fixing things. Edwin spent seventy years in Hell, fighting for a way out (the detail in his journal, he didn't get out on the first try, he spent those 70s years trying over and over and over to find a way out - but that is a story for a whole other time), torture and pain and heartbreak, only to get out and fall into the school to find out no one cared that he died. "An act of God." The school wrote him off, everyone wrote it off and that was it, that was the end of it, no one cared that a 16 year old boy went to bed and was never seen or heard from again, poof, gone. He spent Charles' last moments with him to keep him company, and calm, and not scared, the two of them knowing what had happened only for the school to once again cover up the death of a 16 year old boy and pretend that whatever happened didn't. Edwin spent the next 30 years connecting with Charles, trying to help ghosts so they don't spend their entire afterlives in a state of absolute sorrow and heartbreak like has. We get such a bare taste of the ghosts they've saved and helped move on, who knows how much good they've truly done, how many they've saved from going to Hell on technicalities like Edwin had done. He's frustrated with Crystal, because he's spent 30 years working with Charles and only with Charles, he knows his friend, he knows how he behaves and how he works and how he acts, those two are connected on a level some people only dream about, and here she comes, she latches on, and she joins them to help but she's so hyper focused on herself and David (understandably so), that she isn't giving the same attention to the case that Edwin and Charles have always done, and he's angry, and he feels like it's going to happen to this girl, he is worried that her focus on David, is going to cause them to fail. Crystal has every right to be upset and scared and everything else that she is, but she doesn't consider, until that moment, that Edwin has a right to be upset about how it seems to be interfering with the case. The way that she reacts when he says "The police don't know what to do with a fucking witch," she realizes it then just how important this case is. Edwin was dragged to hell, the boys around him obliterated - leaving behind the idea that maybe he was, too - so to the school, maybe Edwin just disappeared, like Becky, like all the other little girls over the years in Port Townsend. Solving Becky's case is so damn important to Edwin that he is taking it personally. And while it's subtle, Charles reacts to him swearing, too, as though Edwin does not swear. And based on the rest of the season, it's clear he really doesn't. The way he swears in the pilot is from a place of complete and utter sorrow and anger.

In ep 7, it's different. He's spent the whole season struggling with who is he, trying to come to terms with a feeling he'd repressed for at least a century, and he's had to do it while dealing with the Cat King and Monty and watching Charles flirt with Crystal and struggle through his own rage, he's done it as quietly as he could, as if bringing it up out loud might ruin everything that he's worked so hard for. But now he's in Hell, again, now he's trying to get out, again. Edwin encountered the reason he was sent there in the first place, and found out what really happened. Edwin spent all those years thinking it was purely malice that got him sacrificed, only to find out it was just because Simon had a crush on him, and did an absurdly stupid thing thinking it was harmless. I think in that moment, Edwin realized how easy it is to misunderstand something - because clearly, Edwin had absolutely no idea that Simon liked him at all, until the moment he admitted it in Hell. And then Charles shows up. Charles came to save him, armed with a bomb, a Molotov cocktail, and Edwin's notebook with a map of hell on it. Charles came down, he listened to Edwin's directions, he ran behind him most of the time to make sure Edwin was going to get out. Charles was with him, saving him from one of the rooms, following him to the stairs and up. He stopped with him, even when they needed to keep going, Charles let him have a moment on the steps. Edwin is in shock, he cannot believe it. All these years, all these write offs, all these moments where Edwin genuinely didn't think he'd ever get out of Hell if he were to go back, believed that if they ever got caught by Death or anyone from the afterlife, he would be damned forever because who gives a shit about a technicality, who cares about the poor boy that was sacrificed and written off by the rest of the living. Edwin didn't know what else to do or say, the emotions he'd kept bottled up while he tried to figure them out were coming out one way or the other. "It's so fucking stupid, it's unbelievable." Edwin didn't think he deserved it, thought it was stupid to come down and save him, because who would do such a thing. Charles risked himself to come down to Hell to save Edwin. Edwin never thought he'd be worth it. And when Charles just shrugs it off a bit, reminds him that he was gonna do it, and he's so easy about it that Edwin just. Confesses. And corrects him, when Charles misunderstands for a second. Charles didn't think twice about "Great. Love you too. Can we go?" And he really didn't even hesitate to reassure Edwin when Edwin clarified what he meant, that they had forever to figure things out.

[thethiefandtheairbender]

my most underrated Kataang take is, I think, the inclusion of Katara's epiphany in The Fortune Teller at all. We've talked ourselves hoarse about how it's the clear turning point in how she consciously thinks of Aang (I will always mandate that she was just unknowingly down bad since the pilot because Look at her behaviour dear god) and how it's important that she has this epiphany even after knowing Aunt Wu's predictions 'aren't real' or necessarily set in stone.

What I want to talk about is why I think it's important that THIS is the moment she sees Aang in a new light amid his previous attempts to have her think of him 'differently' than she did at the beginning of the episode.

When Aang is being sweet to her (making her a woven accidental-betrothal necklace that she happily accepts), Katara is appreciative and responsive, but still says "he's just a good friend, a sweet little guy, just like Momo".

When Aang tries to flirt with her under Sokka's aloof guise, it falls flat. When he tries to get her attention in general (and when having parallels with Meng), it likewise doesn't work.

Finally, he tries the flower but it falls into the lava (symoblism, anyone?) and they have bigger things to deal with, like making sure the town isn't completely wiped out by the volcano. It's also worth noting that after Aang's conversation with Meng:

He never actively tries pursuing or wooing Katara in the same way. He's still kind towards and supportive toward her, of course. He, at some point (probably after the 2nd cheek or third cheek kiss) eventually starts to think (understandably) that Katara has feelings for him. But as of The Fortune Teller, he's stopped trying to have her see him in a new light or do a big romantic gesture.

And that's exactly when she does, consciously, fall for him.

Not when he's trying to woo her in failed, false personas, not when he's being his sweet romantic self, but when he's being the most himself all episode: Aang, "the bravest person [she] knows, who's done nothing but help people and save lives" since she met him (1x12).

He's not paying attention, he's not trying to impress her. He's just being a good, determined Avatar. A good, helpful person. A powerful bender, completely in control of himself and his element. Being himself.

Her Aang.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Catching up on My Stand In episode 6, and I gotta say - I understand Joe.

I'm not talking about whether he's made all the right decisions or not, there's a lot to consider on all sides, but I do understand why he would take the deal with Ming.

It would be lovely to live in a world where it's possible to borrow money from friends & family without strings, but we don't. The nature of our society's relationship to money doesn't allow it.

There's a reason so many marriages fail due to money. There's a reason groups of siblings will stop talking after their parents' estates are distributed. There's a reason friends will fall out over 50 bucks, much less thousands. Money changes relationships.

Because it's never just money.

Sometimes the strings are ones of love, and guilt, and shame, worries that you are letting someone down, or holding someone back.

Look at the relationship between Joe and his new mom - absolutely one of unconditional love. And they are both utterly wracked with guilt about the financial cost the other one incurred due to their illnesses. His mom was ready to fucking die! Over money!

Taking money he doesn't feel like he's earned causes pain for Joe, because it is a huge fucking deal and he knows it. There will be strings. And it will change things.

And I know Joe is a trusting dude and only consciously thinking of not being a burden, not bringing his problem to people he wants to keep as friends, but also, subconsciously, it makes sense there would be hesitance with them.

Wut has been helpful to new Joe, yes, but when old Joe revealed he had been literally kidnapped, what was Wut's response? Sorry, can't help. He didn't even try to talk to anyone, didn't try to problem-solve, come up with a way for Joe to still work - maybe he doesn't go to sets, maybe he trains the new crop of stuntmen, maybe he learns to do something else. The point is, Wut just shrugged and said sorry. That's when old Joe decided to take the dangerous job. And sure Wut feels guilty now, and is trying to make up for it, but - but what would he do when the chips are down? What would he do if Joe struggled to pay him back? If it impacted his wife, his kid?

And sure, Sol may generally be a "good guy", but he still didn't give a shit about knocking Joe to the ground while fighting Ming. He's not entirely selfless. And what happens if he decides he likes new Joe? Wants to date him? You think Joe would feel like he could say no? Striiiiings.

Those relationships would never be the same.

But with Ming - Ming already destroyed his life. There's no guilt in taking from Ming. Joe sees it as going to work, to once again being a stand in. The strings are laid out upfront, he knows just who Ming is, and thinks he can manage it (which of course we know is not true, but he's trying to believe it!)

So yeah, I get it Joe.

[dindjarindiaries]

Senator's Shadow - Chapter 6

summary: As time winds down to the upcoming attack, you and Sergeant Hunter both find yourselves as conflicted as ever.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x fem!reader

rating: mature (18+)

tags: bodyguard romance, forbidden love, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut

word count: 6.821k

chapter 5 ⟸ series masterlist ⟹ chapter 7

chapter 6 ⟹

“I just don’t know, Senator.” Your jaw ticked in your effort not to show the way you bristled with anger at the falsely disappointed words of yet another diplomat. “The problems are only getting worse, and Count Dooku is offering us much more than the Republic is.”

You furrowed your brow in frustration. “It’s not an equal exchange. Can’t you see that?” You looked around the massive, circular table full of Eirus’ highest-ranking officials, silently begging for them to understand your perspective. “Once they have their grip on our world, they will not let go. Their chosen government will absolve yours, and all of you will be outed while our people will be exploited and forced to work in their droid factories.”

The Prime Minister huffed an arrogant breath. “That’s a paranoid thought process, Senator.”

You fixed your intense stare on the Rodian. “It is not ‘paranoid’ when it has happened before on other worlds, Prime Minister. That makes it realistic.” You paused and looked around the group again. “And probable, if we cannot come to an agreement.”

“These attacks have only gotten worse since you arrived.” The Prime Minister wouldn’t back down. “Our people need order, and clearly, the Republic cannot provide that, seeing as it has failed to do so already.”

“It does not help that you have not implemented any of the resources the Republic and I have supplied you with from Coruscant.”

Another diplomat was quick to speak up. “Count Dooku is offering us even more resources.”

Your head snapped towards them. “And where is he now? Where are any of his officials?” You yet again waved a hand around, gesturing to the empty section of seats that would have been directly across from you. “They refuse to come here, yet here I am, trying to make things work in the best interest of all of you and our people.” You shook your head. “He cares so little about our world that he does not even value sending himself or someone else here on his behalf.”

Silence fell upon the diplomats as they considered your words. Some of them continued to stare at you, while others broke their gazes and looked around the room. You hoped that would promise some progress, but deep down, you knew the truth. 

You rose from your seat and continued. “But I care.” Hunter’s words from the night before ran across your mind, warming your chest as you went on. “And because I care, the Republic cares, too.” You nodded. “I fought for this world once before, and I will do it again if I have to.”

The diplomats shared looks, but you didn’t care to read them. Your frustrated rage was boiling hot just beneath the surface of your skin. This was a room full of people who would do nothing to save your world, and you weren’t going to wait for them any longer.

“With that, I believe we can conclude today’s sessions.” The Prime Minister was the next to stand from his seat, his gaze averting yours altogether as he nodded at the group. “We will resume tomorrow, as usual.”

You composed yourself with a breath and kept your mask on, despite the overwhelming urge to embrace your frustration wholeheartedly. With a dignified nod, you turned to the captain of your guard, allowing him to escort you out of the room. Even just stepping through the threshold released a tense weight from your shoulders, though it was far from eliminating all the burdens you were holding there.

The biggest was no doubt the decision that had been looming over your head for the past day. It was becoming more clear which choice you had to make, but it wouldn’t be easy to go that route. You would manage, but the squad who would be standing behind you… would they be punished for their role in your rebellion?

Would Hunter be punished, even hurt, for your own actions?

It wasn’t a thought that you could bear. You had to force it to the back of your mind for now, especially since they hadn’t yet arrived at your doors for the night. That thought at least brought a smile to your face. They were enjoying a meal, if all was well, and that satisfied you. No matter what was to come, you were still providing them with something.

You had a meal in the privacy of your suite, one you had to force down thanks to the pit that had been created in your stomach. In the silence of your lonesome, you ran through plans and probabilities a dozen times. The advantage to being betrayed by those you used to fight alongside was that you knew their plays—because many of those plays had been created by you.

As eager as you were to continue planning, you were utterly relieved by the sound of knocking on your doors. You smiled and rose from where you had been sitting, smoothing out the skirt of your dress before you reached the doors. They opened to reveal the sight of both Hunter and Tech.

You addressed Tech first, bowing your head in his direction. “Tech.” He returned the gesture before glancing back down at his datapad. You fixed your stare upon Hunter, who was already gazing at you with a once-over you were both familiar with and never quite used to. “Sergeant.” The smile on your lips remained even as you lifted an eyebrow. “Another briefing, I presume?”

Hunter bowed his head. “That’s right, Senator.” His dark eyes sparkled with too many emotions to identify in an instant. “We found what we were looking for.”

You were hit with a puzzling mix of both relief and dread as you nodded. “Good. I look forward to hearing about it.”

With that, you turned and walked back inside, encouraging Hunter to do the same. It wasn’t until you heard the doors close that you fully relaxed with a deep exhale. You closed your eyes and turned around to face the sergeant, only reopening them when you were ready for whatever he had to say. His worried gaze was already searching your own.

“How much time do we have?” Your voice was stronger than you had expected it to be.

Hunter took a step closer to you. “Two nights.” His voice was even raspier than usual as he spoke, as if there were also invisible burdens he was hiding on his own shoulders. You furrowed your brow. “Tech was able to slice into their comm channel, and he ran an analysis on their past attacks to prove it.”

You nodded, a rush of adrenaline pumping through you. “Okay, that’s fine. We can work with two more nights’ time.”

Hunter returned your nod, though his stare never left yours. “Have you decided what you’ll be doing?” He asked the question slowly, clearly reluctant to bring the topic up.

“I have.” You raised your chin, but only for a moment. “I’m going to fight.” Your gaze fell from his as you crossed your arms over your chest.

In your silence, Hunter approached you, setting his free hand upon your chin just as he had done two times before—but not since your beautifully haunting kiss. It was hard to focus with that thought lingering in the back of your mind. Hunter’s voice, however, broke through your brief reverie. “Then we’ll fight with you.”

You tightened your jaw, drowning in the comfort of his dark gaze as you voiced your fears to him. “Will that be safe for you and your squad?”

Hunter’s brow knit together. “What do you mean?”

You sighed a light breath. “I know you’re all willing to disobey orders, and that it’s a big part of the reason why I brought you with me. But…” you paused, gaining courage in the softness of Hunter’s expression before going on, “is it safe for you to do that?”

Hunter huffed, his gloved hand moving from your chin to your cheek in a smooth, calming motion. “Trust me, Senator. They stopped trying to reprimand us a long time ago.” He nodded, his eyes searching your own. “You don’t have to worry about us.”

Your hand covered his as you began to smile at him once again. “That’s much easier said than done, Hunter.”

The corners of Hunter’s lips also widened. “I know.”

The silence that followed shifted something between you, bringing you back to that moment in the base by the village. Both your gazes flickered low as your heart steadily started to beat faster and faster. You were drawn to him by the invisible tether you had created between you, and when your nose brushed his, you were yet again at a loss for breath.

But Hunter spoke before either one of you could make a move. “I should let you rest, Senator.” His voice was nothing more than a soft breath.

You shook your head, tightening your grasp on the hand of his that continued to cup your face. “You don’t have to leave.”

Hunter considered your words, both his stare and his voice lowering as he did so. “If I kiss you right now, Senator, I won’t be able to stop.”

The way his words weakened your knees further proved that you couldn’t let go of this moment, one you had been hoping for ever since that night at the village. “I’m okay with that.”

You made the move to close the distance between you, but you were stopped by Hunter’s thumb on your lips. Your eyes fluttered open to see that his were closed, as if he was in pain. You furrowed your brow and waited for him to break your tense silence. When he reopened his eyes, you saw all the conflict within him—and though your heart was stricken with pain on his behalf, it also filled you with a frustrated flame.

Hunter finally spoke, but his voice was nothing more than a whispered plea. “Please.” He exhaled, moving his face away from yours to lower his head. “Make this easier for me.”

His refusal was the last fracture that made you crumble under the weight of all your pressures. You narrowed your eyes and shook your head at him. “No.” Your hand grabbed his wrist and forced it away from your face. Hunter’s stare rose to yours again, and this time, it was filled with a confused panic. “I won’t play this game, Hunter.”

Hunter blinked a few times, his lips parted before he found his words again. “What are you talking about?”

You scoffed. “Days ago, you were encouraging me to indulge in my wants, telling me I didn’t have to choose between them and my people’s needs.” You gave him a disbelieving once-over. “Now, it’s suddenly a problem?”

Hunter hesitated, and you could hear the breath he held in his chest. His gaze was lowered, but it darted around as he tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s never been my intention to confuse or hurt you, Senator.” His stare met yours, its brown depths clouded with too much emotion to decipher. “I guess I’ve still got a lot to figure out myself.” He shook his head, and each word he spoke was strained with meaning. “I’m sorry.”

An apology wasn’t really what you wanted to hear, as genuine as it was. “Well, I’ve made my choice.” You lifted your brow, as if you were challenging him. “You have to make yours.” You gave your head another shake. “Because I’m not letting you have it both ways. Not when I’m already being torn apart by this crisis.”

The pained crease in Hunter’s brow nearly made you regret saying the words, but there was no getting around it. You already had the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, and you couldn’t take on another with such a push-and-pull relationship. He was going to have to choose.

“I should get some rest.” You stepped away from him to move towards your bedroom, trying your best to ignore the burn of his gaze on your back. “I trust that you can see yourself out, Sergeant?”

For the first time, your use of his title was nothing but bitter. When you gained the faith to look at Hunter again, he just nodded dutifully, turning on his heel to stride towards the doors of the suite. Before he got there, however, he stopped. His head turned over his shoulder so that all you could see was his profile. “Senator?”

You said nothing. It was clearly the invitation he was looking for to go on, and the hopeful part of you that wanted to be wrong about everything you had just said let him do so.

Hunter’s shoulders rose and fell with a steady breath before he turned to face you again. Still, he remained where he was, respecting the distance you had put between yourselves. “I was made for this war. I’ve never known a life without it, and I’ve never been able to think of a life beyond it.”

Your heart weighed heavy at the painful truth of his words. You lowered your gaze in shame as he went on.

“I’ve never even had the luxury of ‘wants’ outside of battle, especially with the squad in my care.” Hunter gestured with his head to the doors. “It doesn’t excuse me letting you get caught up in my own confusion, but…” he paused, his gaze once again lowered and searching before he went on, “I hope it helps you realize that you’ve never been the problem.”

Hunter’s stare found yours again, and a rush of strong flutters exploded within you at the breathtaking sincerity of his gaze.

“I know what I want. I’m just not sure if I can let myself have it.” Hunter looked over his shoulder. “For their sake as much as my own.”

You couldn’t think of any words to say. It was your turn to be speechless, lost in the weight of what he had so vulnerably shared with you. He had spent this entire mission understanding your perspective and prioritizing your desires, but you had made the mistake of never once trying to do the same for him.

“Goodnight, Senator.” Hunter dismissed himself with another nod before he walked through the doors that slid open for him, leading him back into the corridor.

As soon as he was gone, you shouldered the heavy weight of his absence. The doors closed at the same time your eyes did, your chest rising and falling with a deep, trembling breath. At the beginning, you had remembered it so well, the weight of Hunter’s own responsibilities that could put him at risk if you pursued a relationship together. But then the kiss had happened, and your rationality slipped away. Rather than talking to him about it, you sought more, more of what he knew he could not have.

Then, you made him feel bad about it. You ended up hurting him after all, long before he would even set foot into the upcoming battle. And of course he remained as honorable and genuine as possible, never once putting the blame on you.

You forced yourself to turn back to your bedroom door and walk through the threshold. As you settled into bed that night, it felt colder and emptier than ever—especially with the creeping fear that you may have ruined whatever potential you and Hunter had for a future together. 

You woke earlier than usual that morning. The time on the chrono was still within Hunter’s window for his watch shift, and you couldn’t deny yourself a chance to at least apologize. You weren’t sure when you would get another opportunity alone with him, aside from the usual briefing later that night. You couldn’t wait that long to put an end to the anxious agony that had made your sleep so restless.

As you dressed for the day, your thoughts dwelled on your current inner crisis. The guilt consumed you whole, but so did the helplessness of the situation. You both wanted the same thing and you had no idea how to help him pursue that. Not when he had so many burdens on his shoulders already, burdens that he had quite literally been created with.

That could be explored later. For now, you just had to apologize. You reminded yourself of that as you headed to the doors of the suite, your pulse racing in anticipation as they opened for you.

You furrowed your brow when Echo turned around to face you. “Senator?” He checked the nearest chrono. “It’s pretty early for you to be awake.”

Your heart sank in disappointment, though you kept a small smile on your lips. “I have a lot to prepare for, Echo.” Was Hunter really so upset that he changed his watch shift?

The ARC trooper removed his helmet, revealing his raised brow. “At this time of the morning?”

You continued to mask with a soft huff. “It’s never too early to begin preparations.” You let out a deeper exhale, bowing your head. “But I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Echo. I…” You paused, trying to find a fitting lie.

“You thought it would be Hunter.” Echo’s words made your gaze snap back up to his. He was smiling, but when his stare caught yours, the smugness began to falter. “Did something happen?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze focusing on the sight of Hunter’s door beyond Echo. “I simply owe him an apology for something. That’s all.”

Echo looked as if he was going to question you about it, but he must have changed his mind. “Well, Hunter’s finally getting some sleep. He found out Wrecker hasn’t been getting enough rest, so he changed the shift schedule.”

Your chest constricted with a confusing number of emotions. “How so?”

“In typical Hunter style, he’s taking a double shift, now. Watching the doors for most of the night, getting maybe a few hours of sleep in before the wake-up call.”

You exhaled a soft breath. That was no surprise to hear, but the fact he hadn’t communicated such a change to you himself hurt worse than it should have. “I see.” You nodded at Echo. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, Echo. My apologies again.”

As you turned back to your doors, however, Echo went on. “If it’s any help, Senator, I don’t think he’s upset with you.” You froze, turning your rapt attention back to Echo. He lifted his brow. “He’s upset with himself.”

You faced Echo fully again and crossed your arms. “What makes you so sure?”

Echo sighed and looked at Hunter’s door. “When he gets upset with himself, he just… keeps to himself. Starts taking on extra responsibilities.”

You grimaced. “Like the watch shifts.”

Echo’s stare found yours again as he nodded. “Exactly.”

You held the side of your face with your palm and exhaled. “He shouldn’t be upset with himself. It’s my fault.”

Echo hesitated for only a moment before he spoke. “Well, Senator, if this is about what I think it’s about… it won’t be easy to convince him of that.”

Your self-loathing began to subside in your sudden concern for Hunter. You dropped your hand from your face and held your arms tighter. “Why?”

Echo shook his head. “Well, Hunter’s good at just about everything. Exceptional, even. But vulnerability?” Echo gave his head a fond tilt. “That’s not his strong suit. And if he thinks he hurt you somehow while he was already trying to be vulnerable…”

You were able to finish the thought. “He’s gonna shut me out.”

Echo stepped closer to you and set a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “But if anyone can get through to him, Senator, it’s you. I’m already amazed at how much you’ve been able to do that.” He chuckled and raised his brow. “Never seen the man so giddy before.”

Your ears burned as you laughed with him. You took his hand from your shoulder and held it between yours in pure gratitude. “Thank you, Echo.” You sighed and let your worry consume you for a moment. “I just hope he’ll give me the chance to help him.”

“Based on how he spoke about you last night during the schedule change?” Echo huffed as he slid his helmet back on over his head. “You don’t have to worry about that at all.”

You beamed, giving your head a fond shake as you turned back to your doors and stepped through them. They closed behind you, and though you should have tried to get more rest, you had too much to think about. You were already planning the next private conversation you would have with Hunter, one that would hopefully go much smoother than last evening did.

This at least made time move by faster, and soon, it was time to reemerge. You approached the doors with a new mindset, preparing yourself for a whole different kind of battle than the one you would be facing tomorrow.

When the doors opened, you were shocked to see that Hunter was already standing there with Echo. Your heart skipped a surprised beat at the sight of him, though the way he was already concealing his face from view with his helmet forced a pulse of disappointment through you.

Hunter’s visor turned to you, and you were caught in the intensity of it. He nodded, breaking the gaze almost straight away. “Good morning, Senator.”

The corners of your mouth tightened before you returned the gesture. “Sergeant. I hope you were able to get some rest.” It was time to give him a push, to see if Echo was right about his true motivations for taking yet another responsibility on his shoulders. You glanced at the ARC trooper. “Echo told me you changed the shift schedule.”

Hunter tilted his helmet. You wished more than anything that you could see his eyes. “It’s better this way. Now, everyone gets equal rest.”

You furrowed your brow. “Everyone except for you?”

Hunter straightened his posture at that. “I’ll be fine, Senator. I’m used to it.”

You still wouldn’t back down. “Cutting back on rest before such a dangerous mission isn’t a very wise choice, Sergeant, regardless of whether you’re used to it or not.”

Hunter sighed and set a hand on his hip. “Senator—.”

Echo cleared his throat when the squad’s doors began to open. You looked past Hunter to see Wrecker and Crosshair making their way over, and it was more than likely that Tech would emerge from your suite at any moment. You folded your hands behind your back and took a deep breath for composure. Once Tech had arrived, you spoke up to the gathered group first. “What are your squad’s plans for today, Sergeant?”

Hunter’s helmet turned towards you slowly, as if it was a cautious movement. “Scoping out their camp again. We need to get as much information as possible before we put our official plans in place.”

You nodded. “I concur. Will the briefing be tonight?”

Hunter shook his head. “We’ll do it tomorrow. I want it to be fresh.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Will I at least be briefed on today’s findings?”

Hunter lifted both hands to his hips. “If there’s anything to report, then yes.”

You gave him a disbelieving once-over. Never before had Hunter pushed back on keeping you as in-the-loop as possible. Now, after already failing to notify you about the watch schedule change, he was going to avoid your usual evening briefings.

You were going to have to push him even harder.

Tech tried to speak up into your stunned silence. “Given how much we already know, it is doubtful that we will find anything—.”

“Considering this is an attack on my home village, Sergeant, I would appreciate receiving details on any and all findings, no matter how small.”

“We can make that possible,” Echo cut in, clearly trying to both help you and ease the tension. “I’m sure we’ll find something worth noting.”

“That makes one of us,” Crosshair muttered.

“I have to say, I am with Crosshair on this one,” Tech added. “Like I attempted to share before, it is doubtful that—.”

Hunter was the one to cut him off that time. “I don’t want to waste any of your time if we don’t find anything worth noting, Senator.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Anything that has to do with my home village is not a ‘waste of time,’ Sergeant.”

Hunter exhaled and held a hand against his helmet. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It kinda sounded like it was,” Wrecker insisted. Hunter’s helmet snapped towards him, making Wrecker shrink back in surprise.

“Listen.” Echo continued to be the voice of reason as he cut into the noise. “We’ve got tons of daylight on our side right now. We’ll make sure we can find something for you by tonight, Senator, if only to put your mind at ease. All right?”

You nodded at him. “I like that plan of yours, Echo.” Your gaze flickered to Hunter’s visor, but only for a moment. “It’s a sensible approach.”

With that, you strided off, heading to your guards who awaited you at the far end of the corridor. The further you got from the group, however, the harder it became to leave them behind. Hunter’s stare was burning so intensely into your back that you were half-convinced he would leave a mark behind. Clearly, whatever you were doing was working to a degree, but you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

You had never wanted to show a person they were deserving of love so badly before.

Throughout your diplomatic sessions for the day, your thoughts dwelled with Hunter and the two battles you were fighting. There was no point in participating in diplomacy any longer; you would keep your mask on and leave it at that. Yesterday had proven that these officials were far beyond saving. You could afford to let your thoughts stray in these sessions if it meant that all the people you were actually trying to help would be saved—if they would let you, Hunter included.

The day trudged on, but eventually, it came to an end. You were relieved to be heading back to your suite, even with the anticipation of facing Hunter again. You had rehearsed conversations in your mind a thousand times throughout the day, leaving you more prepared than ever to speak to him.

But when you got to your doors, he was nowhere to be found. It was Echo who awaited you with a half-hearted smile. You returned it even as you raised your brow and looked around the end of the corridor.

“Good to see you again, Echo.” You nodded at him, and he returned the gesture. “Where’s your squad?” You lowered your voice to keep it between the two of you. “And the sergeant?”

Echo exhaled and closed his eyes. “I tried my best, Senator.” Your chest tightened as Echo’s eyes reopened, his stare meeting yours. “Hunter insisted on staying later at the camp tonight, and he’s got Crosshair and Tech with him. Wrecker and I are covering the watch shifts until they get back.”

You frowned and attempted to ignore the worried pang that gnawed at your stomach. “How long will they be gone?”

Echo shook his head. “I’m not sure. I don’t think it’ll be too long.” He offered a hopeful smile. “Hunter doesn’t like to leave you on your own, even now.”

You scoffed and held your arms with your hands. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

Echo took a step closer to you. “I will say, Senator, that he stayed because he wanted to be able to bring back something new for you.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a genuine smile. “Just like you had asked him to.”

You softened, though your frustration and worry continued to fester within your chest. “Well, it works very conveniently with his plan to avoid me.”

Echo huffed. “Yeah. For now.” He nodded at you again. “Just give it time. You’ll have your chance.”

You set a hand on Echo’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right, Echo.” You added a pat before you walked over to your doors and watched them open for you. “Make sure you get some rest, okay?”

Echo called into the suite after you. “You too, Senator.”

You smiled to yourself at his meaningful concern for you as the doors closed, leaving you in your lonesome once again. Though you wished more than anything that you would be getting an evening briefing from Hunter again, and thus an opportunity to talk to him, Echo had been right. He just needed time—and maybe you did, too.

But neither one of you had time, and that was the problem. Tomorrow’s battle would more than likely put an end to this mission, whether you were successful or not. Waiting was the last thing you wanted to do. You couldn’t bear the thought of letting both your world and Hunter slip through your fingers.

Despite these strong worries, you were able to do what Echo had gently requested you to. Your body was exhausted with the weight of all the burdens you had been putting on it, and it wasn’t long before you were able to fall into a deep sleep.

You weren’t sure what time it was when you heard the door to your bedroom open.

The knife was thrown before you could even sit up. Rather than hitting you, however, it disarmed a mysterious shadow at your side. You tried to kick your startled body into action, but before you could roll away to the other side of the bed, you were seized by the shadow’s two strong arms. They forced you out of the bed as they held you tight against their front, soon adding a blade to your neck as you were forced to look at whoever stood in the threshold of your door.

Hunter. You nearly breathed his name in your strong relief, despite the situation. His helmet was on, but you didn’t need to read his face to see all the panic and tension he held for you. The slight tremble of his blaster that was raised at your attacker spoke for him.

“Move, and she’s dead,” your attacker snarled. It wasn’t a voice you were familiar with, at least.

“Let her go,” Hunter warned in a menacing tone you’d never heard from him before, “or you’re dead.”

“Sergeant,” you called for him, raising your brow as his visor met your gaze. His protectiveness meant everything to you, but your injuries policy still stood. He had to understand that, even now.

“Quiet.” Your attacker’s voice shook with nerves as he tightened the blade on your neck. You grunted at the movement, but you weren’t alarmed by it. It was predictable. “Put down the blaster.”

Hunter tilted his helmet, and his grip on the weapon only tightened. “Yeah, I don’t really do that whole ‘following orders’ thing.”

You spoke up just after him. “Neither do I.”

You held your attacker’s arms and pulled yourself down as hard as you could, flipping him over your back. You rose back to your full height and took up Hunter’s discarded knife, but the sergeant had already shocked the attacker. His blaster, however, was now aimed behind you.

You stepped and turned just in time to avoid an attempted blow from a second attacker, who had hopped through the same open viewport as the other. Gripping Hunter’s knife tighter, you lunged towards them, jabbing the blunt end of the blade against their wrist to disarm them. Just as you leaned back to avoid another blow, the blue light of Hunter’s shot hit the attacker, stunning them and sending them into a steaming heap on the floor.

You steadied your breathing as you rushed over to the viewport, leaning out to make sure there were no others. When you closed it again and stepped away, you were immediately met with Hunter’s concerned expression, his helmet and blaster having been left behind on your bed.

“Are you okay?” Hunter’s brow was knit together, and his voice was strained as his dark gaze gave you a thorough once-over. Your ears burned when you remembered that you were still in your small nightgown. “Did they hurt you?” One of his hands held your shoulder as the other ran over your neck, where the attacker’s blade had been.

“I’m fine.” You kept your voice soft and nodded at him. “Thanks to your senses.”

Hunter exhaled a relieved breath, and as the adrenaline wore off, you could see him returning to his usual self. He withdrew his hands from you and returned your nod. You grimaced at the distance he was putting between you again as he reached for the comlink on his belt and spoke into it. “Boys, we’ve got infiltrators. Crosshair and Tech, do a perimeter sweep, make sure there aren’t any more. Echo, watch the outside door. Wrecker, I’ve got two men in the senator’s suite that I need you to take to the brig.”

You looked down at the unconscious attackers as he spoke. They weren’t any of the trained fighters you would have recognized, and that at least made one glaring truth evident. “These are rogue assassins.” You spoke before you even knew if Hunter was listening to you. “They’re not trained fighters.” Your gaze rose back to Hunter’s, which was watching you with both concern and curiosity. “If they were, that would’ve been a much harder fight.”

“And the trained fighters wouldn’t have jeopardized their upcoming mission.” Hunter lowered his stare to the two men and took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

You attempted both a smile and a joke. “Aren’t I always?”

That at least got Hunter to huff. The sound warmed your chest with a sweet flame, though it was quickly snuffed out when Hunter continued to avoid your gaze. Maybe pushing him wouldn’t be the solution, after all.

You sighed and wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly conscious of the way you were dressed. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Hunter’s stare found yours in disbelief. “For what, Senator?”

You chuckled and gestured to the bodies on the floor with your eyes. “For saving me.”

Hunter softened, even as his jaw tightened. There was a swirling cloud of emotions in his gaze that made it hard to resist reaching out for him. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for that.”

Wrecker entered the room before either one of you could continue. He gave himself some time to stretch before he bent down to pick up the unmoving men. “Looks like you two got ‘em easy.” Wrecker let out a hearty chuckle and nodded at you in approval. “Good work, Senator.”

You smiled and nodded at him. “Thank you for your help, Wrecker.”

Wrecker returned your nod and turned to Hunter. “You said you want ‘em in the brig, Sarge?”

“Yeah.” Hunter had already holstered his blaster, and he had his helmet tucked underneath his arm. “We’ll talk to them in the morning. For now…” he gestured to you with his head, but he didn’t look at you, “we should let the senator rest and recover.”

No, rest was the last thing you needed. What you needed was the same man who had just come to your rescue, and you weren’t letting him walk away again. As he started to follow Wrecker, you stepped forward, tightening your hands around yourself. “Sergeant?”

Hunter’s head turned back to you. You let your vulnerability show as you pleaded with your eyes, and your shoulders shook with a deep, trembling breath.

“If I could speak to you for just a moment?”

Hunter couldn’t deny you, just as Echo had insinuated before. He only turned to nod at Wrecker and dismiss him. Wrecker continued on through the threshold, leaving you and Hunter alone in the darkness of your bedroom.

You wasted no time getting to the point. “I owe you an apology.”

Hunter let out a heavy sigh, his head hanging in a guilt he wasn’t even trying to hide. “No you don’t.”

“I do.” You took a step closer to him. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that last night. What I should’ve done is remember that this isn’t as easy of a decision for you to make as it is for me.”

Hunter’s gaze darted around as he considered your words. You took his silence as an invitation to keep going.

“But you don’t have to avoid me. I understand that I was unreasonably harsh, and I can’t emphasize how deeply sorry I am for that, but… is this really what you want, now?”

The pain in your voice caused Hunter’s stare to find yours again. His dark eyes did nothing to hide the conflict he was holding deep within him, and neither did the strain of his voice as he spoke. “It’s not what I want at all, Senator.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But I have to avoid you, because I don’t trust myself to be alone around you. I’ll only end up giving in and hurting you again, and that’s not something I’m willing to do.”

Your chest ached for him, but you still took another step closer, keeping your voice level as you spoke. “Your avoidance is hurting me more than the alternative would.”

Hunter’s eyes snapped back open at that, and they were widened in the same panicked way they had been last night. You softened and offered him a reassuring nod.

“Ever since we met, you’ve done all you can to understand me. To show me a sweet kind of sympathy I’ve never gotten before. And I… I never did that for you, at least not in the same way.”

You let your arms fall to your sides, opening up to him completely.

“Now I understand. I understand that this decision isn’t as easy for you as it is for me. But I think that’s because you’re forgetting something.”

You paused, giving Hunter the opportunity to speak. When he continued to remain silent, his jaw tight and his brow furrowed, you went on.

“It’s the same thing you’ve been reminding me this entire time. That I’m not alone.” Another step caused you to be nearly chest-to-chest with him. You reached a hand up towards his face, keeping the movement slow to let him stop you—but he didn’t. Your palm met his cheek, and he started to melt against it. “Neither are you, Hunter.”

Hunter’s eyes closed again, but this time, the motion was less desperate. He finally looked at ease, and you smiled to yourself at the progress you were making.

“If this is something you want… if we’re something you want… you don’t have to figure it out on your own.” You lifted your other hand to the tattooed side of his face, nodding once he had opened his eyes to look at you again. “I’ll be right here, and you know your squad will, too.” You giggled. “Especially Echo.”

Hunter laughed with you at that. It was a soft chuckle full of the same warmth you had gotten to see from him before. A hopeful flame burned within your chest, along with another that was deeply rooted inside of you. It was getting harder to ignore, and you let it fuel you as you leaned your face closer to his.

“Let me help you, Hunter, if that’s what you want.” You searched his gaze, which was only getting softer the more you spoke. “You gave me a choice before, and like I said last night, I’ve made mine. Now, you’re free to make your own.” You brushed your nose against his. This time, the motion drew a soft breath from his lips rather than your own. “Do you want this?” Your eyelids fluttered, your heart racing as your lips just barely touched his. “Do you want me?”

All the worries and pleas had been freed from your chest. You could only wait on him, now, even if every single part of your mind, heart, and body pleaded with you to close the distance. Like you had said, he had given you the choice before. This time, it would be his.

For a moment, Hunter pulled back, and your chest tightened with worry. Then, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and his lips were on yours for the first time in much too long.

chapter 5 ⟸ series masterlist ⟹ chapter 7

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831 @yunggoblin @maddiedrmr @Molmcb

senator’s shadow tag list: @violetlilly2020 @jellybeanstacey0519 @dindadjarin

[dragonseeds]

do you think dany knew what she was doing when she hatched her dragons or was it just an accident?

oh yes i think she knew exactly what she was doing. the magic in her blood and the eggs and the fire was speaking to her, coming through in her dragon dreams—especially that last fever dream after her miscarriage. i think she knew it was possible before because she could feel the eggs stirring and the magic waking up (and she was already connecting with drogon and drawing strength from him), but it was mirri maz duur who actually taught her how to do it.

i love that what she’s actually doing is never explicitly stated, yet everything she’s doing saying and thinking gives her away. like she swears to jorah she doesn’t intend to die with drogo, she directly compares herself to aegon, she places the eggs on the pyre and tells mirri maz duur that she’s going to take her life because only death can pay for life, etc., but the closest dany ever comes to directly saying it is when it’s done and the last dragon is about to hatch:

like calling herself mother of dragons and then calling them her children is unequivocal, but before that grrm’s building the suspense and creating this heady wild momentum. it feels very similar to reading her wake the dragon fever dream, and provides such a great insight into her character. the space in the narrative where she doesn’t acknowledge what she’s doing or exactly why she’s doing it is where the magic lives, and it also gives her a place to hide any lingering uncertainty or fear, while still making it clear that she understands what’s happening: that she is in fact making it happen.

but like speaking of accidents, i’m obsessed with the difference between dany’s success and egg’s flop tragedy. she uses her husband’s funeral pyre, the husband whose life she traded her son’s for, to wake the dragons (including herself) and creates life from death. aegon v tried to hatch dragon eggs during rhaegar’s birth (the child he and jaehaerys ii traded rhaella’s happiness and agency for) and instead made a pyre of summerhall and most of his family. rhaegar was the last dragon, born in fire, and now it’s her—but it was always her and he always had to die. “the face within was her own.” crazy. insane.

i’m sure people have pointed this out before, but the magic here always makes me think of this line from the last unicorn: “real magic can never be made by offering up someone else’s liver. you must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.” grrm’s use of magic is very similar, just as the unicorn and dany are similar, and i think it’s very possible that other attempts to hatch dragons in the past failed in part because whoever was trying didn’t understand this (and also because they were a. men and b. not daenerys lol). magic has a price, and it’s always high. this is one of the hardest lessons dany has to learn, and she thanks mirri maz duur for it in the end, because she understands that it had to be her own child, her womb, her husband, her sun and his fire that’s really hers burning someone’s life away—and this whole time, the entire book up until this point, she’s been cracking open like the moon, like the eggs on the pyre, and then she joins them in the fire.

[chilahh16]

"Loving you is beautiful, and it's killing me."

They say the universe works in mysterious. That everything is planned in accordance to a higher force that allows one to experience the glory and loss of life . However, over generations, people was taught to live life to the fullest. To make decisions that would benefit the person, to not look back to the past; to keep moving forward up until the taste of glory from the finish line is in reach.

But, was it so bad to linger in the past when the present offers monsters one cannot fight?

Because if so, Y/n L/n is guilty of such crime.

She often think of the past and the overwhelming feeling of changing something to help her navigate to the right path. A path that would allow her heart to not fall for the one person she deemed far beyond her. If there was some higher power in charge, she would wish to have never been friends with him, Charles Leclerc.

Formula 1 driver for Scuderia Ferrari, Il Predistinato himself, the Golden Boy, the one and only Lord Perceval, the charming, enegmatic, kind, dedicated, brave, loyal and most of all, her very important friend, Charles.

But was it alright to keep such title when her heart has betrayed her from long ago? When the fact of seeing a glimpse from him causes her lips to curve into a smile and for her heart to burst - wanting to be free from its cage.

And as she stands from the sideline, watching as her friend get ready for the awaited race of the year for the people of Monaco, Y/n realizes that the love she has for Charles carries pain beyond the beauty it brings.

The day he dated Charlotte, was the day she knew the burst of love she has for him. And as they continued to spend time together, she saw the happiness that is constant whenever Charlotte is within radius. It was an eye opener for years on end, but she evaded the signs. She denied the warnings as though they were but dust in her shoes. Yet now, now that she watches how his eyes glowed with both love and adoration, she knew that the game has ended. But how can it be when there was no competition at all?

Heartbreaking the truth can be, it still tore the heart that longs for a love being displayed at front. Y/n will never be able to deny it, Alexandra is such a beautiful soul. She has everything that the driver would want. Intelligent, kind, understanding, and she is a beauty to behold. She might have one or two of the things that Charles' girlfriend is but she is not her, and will never be.

Nevertheless, beyond the pain it brought, she held her ground and smiled as Charles made way to her.

" Everything is going to be alright. You're gonna stand on top of the podium today while all of Monaco cheers for you." Y/n stated as she saw how his eyes dimmed its shine from the wreck of which anxiety has taken hold of him.

Charles does not need to say anything. Y/n knew him like the back of her hand and she had always believed that one of these days, Monaco will finally give the love that he deserves.

" Thank you." Was all Charles said upon hugging the woman that has always been by his side.

Through the ups and down, she was there. Not on the spotlight, but a constant reminder that he will never be alone. A shadow that brings comfort in him, knowing that someone firmly believes that he can be champion one day. And he is grateful for her.

" Always." She whispered like a silent prayer.

And it goes like that during the agonizing race. Even when Charles was leading and able to maintain a large gap, Y/n couldn't find it in herself to celebrate yet. The dread was still there from the past races where the very circuit he love seemed to curse him to fail ang grovel. Even when there were only two laps left, Y/n gasp out a breath as she felt the anxiety, excitement, and pain combined accelerate her beating heart.

When the checkered flag was waved, when the cheers echoed from the streets of Monaco, when she saw the blazing red marked with a number she knew all too well printed on it, Y/n's heart stopped, literally, that she clung to her chest as she kept on gasping for much needed air.

If anything, she would have been on the floor, unconscious, if not from the bone-crushing hug of Pascale and the Leclerc brothers. Y/n may not have heard it clearly when they spoke, but she know how proud Charles' mother and brothers are. From the trembling hands that envelop her, the wide smiles and red-rimmed orbs of his brothers to the break from the adult's sentence, she knew it, surely. Apart from this, she heard it, loud and clear, as Monaco finally love Charles back. She felt it in her body as the electrifying taste of glory overcame the once cursed circuit - the circuit that witnessed and mocked Charles to be a failure.

Y/n is standing to the dream envisioned by a pair of friends from long ago. The past motioned from her eyes as she saw the small figure of a child dreaming to one day conquer the very streets that he walks all his life. She saw how his eyes sparkled and a smile to form from his face. She always believed in it. All throughout the years, for every season that the driver has to race in his home circuit, Y/n would picture the Monaco flag waving, a sea of red and white celebrating the win from the only Monegasque driver and a logo of a prancing horse moving from how the wind kissed its flag.

Finally, it happened. She saw Charles standing atop his car, hands up above as he bask in the celebration of his win. Even with how blurry her orbs had gone from the tears she did not knew came, she still saw from his face covered in helmet, the redness from his own eyes clearly from crying, yet beyond it is the inexplicable surge of happiness.

Everyone ran closer to their dearest driver, they chanted his name; further solidifying the fact that he is loved by his home, by his people, and by everyone who believed he could do it. And when joy was hard to keep, Charles ran towards his team, praising him for making history. He also hugged Arthur, Enzo and friends, ran to his girlfriend, Alex, and kissed the life out of her. He showed the world the most important people in his life that contributed to his win. At last, he bathed in the triumph and praise.

All the while, Y/n stood stuck from her place with Pascale. Looking intently at her after the showcase of love her son displayed to the world for his girlfriend. The adult saw how the smile, tears, and happiness of before was washed by pain from that simple display of affection. She was no brainier to not see how the younger woman looks at her son. How simple gestures from Charles causes red to stain her cheeks. And from years of being a mother figure to Y/n, Pascale admired and pity the situation the younger woman is in. How can a person love so much and be killed from such love is truly unacceptable.

" Aren't you gonna go and congratulate him?" Pascale asked as she side hugged the younger woman.

" Maybe later, Maman. There's still so many people that wants to have a moment of his time and congratulate him. It will not hurt anyone if I give way, right." Y/n replied to her mother figure.

" But he'll be happy if you would do it now. You're the most important person to him."

" I doubt that. I'm no more than a friend to him and I see nothing wrong with it." Y/n muttered. Trying to convince Pascale and herself of such truth. But the older woman knew. If it was easy to see it from Y/n, how difficult was it to see how her son felt for his closest friend. The woman that has always been constant in his life. When every girlfriends of his come and go, when his career becomes suffocating, and when everything seems to crush him, Y/n was always there to be a leaning shoulder, a helping hand, and the person he's able to find comfort in.

However, no one can deny the fact that she really is just a close friend of the famous driver. She is not his girlfriend that can openly show to the whole world how loved he is. Hence, the ceremony continued at its peak. Charles stands on the top podium - the Monaco flag drape upon his shoulder, face red from undeniable relief and tears, whilst he proudly sing his nations anthem.

Y/n bear witness of this monumental moment. She stands below and in the comfort of Pascale and everything dawn on her. The win, the celebration, the smile, the cheers, the anthem, the flag, and the pain that swims depths in her core, yet she smiled.

[opbackgrounds]

To add to the discussion on the “wounds on the back are a swordsman’s shame” line, I’d argue that it’s a thesis statement of sorts about the purpose of swordsmanship ultimately being about protection. Pell, who is notably a swordsman, is the one of the first characters to outline that there’s a difference between fighting and protection. In that same arc, Zoro understanding what it means to “cut everything and nothing” occurs right after he reflects on how his friends are doing - connecting the event to protection. But I think the biggest piece of evidence is Wano, the country where this phrase likely originates in-universe, depicting the samurai as tattooing the emblem of the clan/lord they serve on their backs. Which, notably is a practice Whitebeard takes up after meeting Oden, whom the story makes a point to emphasize that his back (and in turn the jolly roger tattoo that symbolizes his family) are unmarked.

Which to me signifies that the original intent of the phrase was not some empty machismo, but because whatever the swordsman is protecting should be at their backs and therefore wounds on a swordsman’s back are shameful because they imply that the swordsman failed as a protector.

Which on a side note I think also makes it significant that Ace - who also has this theme of protecting things behind him - gets impaled through his Whitebeard tattoo back-first protecting Luffy.

I can’t entirely agree and do think it’s more strictly about honor. As far as I remember, the only character other than Zoro to be directly connected with the idea of wounds on their back is Whitebeard when he died, and though Whitebeard did fight with a legendary named blade he was in no way a swordsman. Whitebeard did die giving his crew a way to escape Marineford, but the big point of emphasis was his honorable behavior compared to Blackbeard’s dishonorable begging for his life before getting bailed out by his crew.

Even tattooed symbols are more about protecting the ideas those symbols represent. Which, yes, includes people, but to me it can also fall under the same category as Luffy protecting Dr. Hiliruk’s flag on Drum. The only thing he was protecting was Hiliruk’s legacy and memory, and in that moment that was the honorable thing to do.

There is a underlying current of honorable and shameful behavior in One Piece that is spread throughout the more martial characters, a “right” way one should do things, whether you be a swordsman, a pirate, or an Elbafian warrior. Brogy would probably agree with Zoro about wounds on the back being shameful for all that he uses an axe, but would connect it back to his religion, which is something the atheistic Zoro would never do. The Kuja also have a martial culture where honor and shame are very important, and the Boa sisters are terrified of their people finding out about their marks of subjugation on their backs despite them not being swordsmen.

So yeah, I personally think it’s broader than protection, although protecting others fits under the honorable behavior a swordsman should strive for.

[fictionfixations]

tamashina-mina event (aka the sunset savanna jp event)

so anyway because i cant read jp (the translated vid is in parts so thats why im posting multiple links)

leona brushes it off but

so LISTEN. The chamberlain whatever his name is isn't happy with Leona for not putting his intelligence to help the country

but when he DOES provide an idea (aka actually mining the mineral resources) its shrugged off because they're all for being with nature

so what im understanding is leona is proposing to actually make use of what the land has to, yes, make a profit, but also it could help with all loads of things? like spreading water to be a little more easily obtainable once having the funds to idk throw away money for the good of the people (i mean. they're already rich aren't they? i don't really get it but also the world runs on money. i dont know if there are any benefits to it just sitting there, or if there are cons to digging them out or not but leona seems very passionate about it.)

but so its like this then

where if its not modernized then people will just. not live modernized. and i get that ig, wanting to live with nature (well not really but i mean its all down to preference isnt it? which im not an outdoor person so uh)

maybe it'll make more sense in the EN version (whenever it comes). or maybe i need someone to dumb it down to me like im 5.

but anyway you see my point right?? Leona provides an idea (is very invested in it) that goes to the good of the kingdom (making more profit but its also like they dont have to mine ALL of it he at least just wants them to make use of it at least instead of not even touching it)

and then it gets shot down because. basically. tradition. ???

anyway heres my idea: if someone like Ruggie Bucchi can exist (i mean as in someone born in a poor environment) in the Sunset Savanna, then clearly there can still be something done to keep people healthy and in comfortable situations without compromising idk the beauty of also being able to live with nature at the same time? to help make it a bit more convenient in the process at least? (like there could be a system that brings them water, but it could still be in a well so they can still do that process by hand, there will just be more water so they dont have to worry about idk running out? i dont know how wells work but i imagine they can run out eventually)

and if anyones like 'oh but we wont make a profit' then propose ANOTHER way we can make big income. aka MINING the MINERAL resources so it could be like nothing even changed or that we might be even making more than we usually are (but also probably supervised so they cant take advantage and just i mean get rid of the entirety of it? cause. its.. important right? so some but not all.)

maybe i just dont understand this, maybe im biased towards leona who knows, but i kind of also feel like its dumb to just brush it off. and i mean who knows maybe hes proposed it many times before, maybe hes shown them so many ideas and proofs and proposals related but they mightve been flawed in some way i dont know and thats why they refuse. who knows. it just rubs me the wrong way

its also kind of related to people brushing off leona just as being lazy and stuff like that (also did you know he only failed ONE year? he joined NRC a year late) but leona isnt really doing anything to try to change peoples perceptions of him because 'thats what they think of me, why should i bother?' like people hating on him for being [something something] compared to falena so then just. takes that in and is like 'okay so people think of me this way. if thats how they view me, then whatever.' hes still very competitive and all that stuff but theres also apathy in 'people will think whatever they want of me, why should i even try to change it?' (and hes probably heard all kinds of things at a young age that really stuck with him and shaped who he was. which goes from being really hurt by it to not even caring about peoples opinions anymore. dont get me wrong it can still affect him because the part of him that got hurt by it the first time is still there but yknow)

but so then the chamberlain is like 'why dont you use your smarts for the country'

and leonas just like

THEN SAY SOMETHING TO MAKE HIM NOT SAY SUCH THINGS??? (you knew him as a kid surely you could do something) like. theres. just. such an utter lack of trying to convince him otherwise. and i guess to him it would sound so fake so he might not be convinced at all. but then if you stop trying at all then he'll think that he was right in what he thought people thought of him and wont try to correct anyone. or in fact will correct anyone if they think positively of him.

i mean theres also not wanting to say it in front of other people. but. listen. if youre afraid of what the people think then it will affect the other negatively.

like for example if you try not to do lovey-dovey stuff in public then your lover will naturally feel like youre just trying to hide them away. or that you might feel ashamed.

so if the chamberlain tries to convince him when they're in private but in public he doesnt. then you can see what kind of conclusion leona would come to, right?

its kind of a tough situation because i honestly dont know what youd do in that situation. its just. i feel like they could communicate better. that there could be things to be done and it just frustrates me.

yes he does go on to say that leona is strong

and that he believes in him basically but

it just. doesnt feel like enough. and it could definitely be on leona for also not being willing to listen so hh. and i also get the chamberlain has a lot of responsibility so he cant just be there all the time and everything hfeuishfdi

[soloorganaas]

Im very curious about your thoughts regarding sirius holding everyone - but not remus - responsible for their actions 👀

I have a lot of thoughts which are not organised at ALL so I’m just gonna ramble a bit and see if they form some kinda answer

so as I said in those tags: choice and responsibility are central to who Sirius is. he sees himself as the sole agent of his own life because he’s made these huge and difficult decisions to reject the path other people chose for him. so because of that he holds himself entirely responsible for his own actions and knows he has to be ready to pay the price for them. it’s why he carries around an enormous amount of guilt about James and Lily’s deaths, because he sees it as something he was responsible for and he failed at. but it’s also why he’s so comfortable being rude and abrasive or not repressing his feelings to make other people happy - he makes a choice knowing the consequences and that he’s prepared to deal with them.

Sirius also views the rest of the world through the same principles and he judges the actions or inaction of those around him through it. if you do something knowing the consequences it will cause, or fail to act whilst pretending there are no consequences, he holds you responsible for that. the most obvious example is Peter, who he sees as having committed the ultimate sin in capitulating to the wishes of others because of his own cowardice, and enabling the murder of their friends because of it. and if you see loyalty as a form responsibility as well, then it’s a double crime in Sirius’s mind.

he treats James and Harry the same way. he tells James bluntly that Lily rejects him because he’s an arrogant ass. he calls Harry out when he’s being reckless or irresponsible, not in the sense of him being a disobedient child, but as someone who understands the consequences of his actions and needs to take responsibility for them. I actually can’t think of a single person in the series who Sirius has some relationship with that he doesn’t criticise, except Remus.

this fascinates me, because of all the people Sirius could get angry at, Remus is the most likely target. we know for certain he believes to some extent that Sirius is guilty of murdering innocent muggles and betraying James and Lily (a huge grey area as to what exactly he believes but that’s another post) and doesn’t challenge his 12 year imprisonment. then there are all the things that aren’t explicitly stated in canon so we can assume Remus did or didn’t do: he didn’t try and contact Harry or get involved in his life in any way despite the fact he was the son of Remus’s best friends and an orphan; he didn’t advocate for Sirius or challenge his imprisonment; he didn’t tell the authorities or even Dumbledore about Padfoot, or hand over the Marauder’s Map, when he still apparently believed Sirius was out to kill Harry; he didn’t contact Harry at all after PoA; he didn’t do anything to advocate for Sirius even after he knew he was innocent, or assist him whilst he was on the run.

I personally think there are defenses and explanations to literally all of this, but that’s not the point. Sirius always holds people accountable for their actions first and foremost - it’s only then that he considers their justifications with how he responds or whether it affects his view of them or their relationship. but we never see him hold Remus accountable at all. the closest he comes is a brief acknowledgment that Remus falsely believed he was guilty, which is then quickly forgiven.

obviously we could blame this on shitty writing, but I think that’s a lazy explanation, especially when Sirius is such a complex character. the next explanation is that we simply don’t see this confrontation play out because it doesn’t happen in front of Harry. I think this is a decent one, considering that we already know Sirius and Remus have a completely different and much more open relationship in private, from the snippets we do see through Harry.

but even if Sirius does call Remus out off screen, he still places a wildly different level of accountability on him than he does anyone else. between the end of PoA and the end of GoF, Sirius would have had to fully process what Remus had done enough to verbalise some really complicated feelings; confront Remus about them, which in any realistic relationship would not happen in just one conversation; process whatever Remus had to say as an explanation or defense; and then accept that enough to completely forgive him. because the level of trust and intimacy they show in OotP can only exist between two people who’ve worked through their past mistakes and have built a new relationship.

so taking all that into account: either Sirius forgave Remus with illogical ease, or he didn’t blame him much in the first place. either is a wild double standard, but to me in my little headcanon it makes sense. I think Sirius does have a double standard when it comes to Remus. I think he sees him through this lens of Remus being exceptional, because to Sirius he is. there’s something Remus sees in Sirius, some person he allows him to be, some bond they share that could never be possible with anyone else, and I think that Sirius just fundamentally cannot break that. he’ll let almost anything slide. I think it’s the same for Remus, by the way, and one of their most toxic and delicious dynamics. but Sirius is always willing to give so much more, just by his very nature, that means he compromises to an unhealthy degree, and I definitely think Remus takes advantage of that sometimes. this was a lot of my thought process behind a grave mistake and it’s soooooo delicious I want to dig into it so much more.

so I guess my conclusion is that Sirius is a better person than Remus but too unhealthily in love and/or traumatised to demand better of him. or that there are unknown events outside the narrative that absolve Remus of everything! but I prefer the first idea 😈

[lazysublimeengineer]

Isagi and his Football Theories of Personality

I knew at some point in this manga we will have an intervention of personality types attached to players based on how they play lol.

Sometimes I really think that the author himself has read numerous books about psychology such as Theories of Personality by Feist. How did I have a random thought like this? Just looked at Isagi's inner monologue about World Type Ego and Self-Type Ego.

That is the closest thing you can compare it to the MBTI of people.

At first it's amusing to read to have Isagi categorized the players according to what motivates them to play soccer. But it's also creative because the author is injecting another angle and subject other than playstyle and strategies out there in the field.

An explanation of World Type Ego vs. Self Ego Type is also helping the reader to get a glimpse of the character's motivation and reasons for playing that sport.

In this chapter, it is revealed that Kaiser has a World Type Ego just like with Isagi since in the previous chapters he couldn't ascertain which type he is alongside with Rin, Ness and the others. To get a gist of it, a World Type Ego is motivated by the external factors of their surroundings or environment such as prestige, fame, money and other tangible elements that can be calculated and explained in a pragmatic sense. From the start, reputation is an important thing to Kaiser. He doesn't hesitate to immediately assert his top and special position in BM when the Blue Lock players such as Isagi and the others joined their team in NEL. In the recent chapter, Kaiser had shown to abandon everything and go back to "zero" because his playstyle with Ness doesn't work anymore. His position and offer bid is being now threatened by Isagi's presence and skills so now he decided to do what is best even if he doesn't do it usually: teamwork with the other Blue Lock players such as with Raichi and now with Kunigami (or as the orange haired guy as he aptly calls him lol).

Well, in this part you can actually ask then what the hell is all of this and how does it connect with everything?

It's connected because this can also explain why his partnership with Ness is now in shambles and getting worse in each new chapter. Clearly Ness and Kiyora's type is not revealed yet. But well, as a reader we can prolly surmise what Ness and Kiyora is which brings me to the other type of ego according to Isagi: Self Type Ego.

According to what is being explained in the franchise, their motivation is determined by internal or intrinsic factors such as their beliefs, morally right or wrong actions and other personal factors that are important to them rather than the external and pragmatic factors. From the moment we were shown of Ness' character, his interpretation of events and surroundings around him is according to his personal values and beliefs. He makes decisions based on what he feels at that moment and that's a clashing thing to his family who greatly values logic and sound reasoning above everything else.

He decides to follow Kaiser because he sees a potential in him that no one else has and showed him the "miracle" of soccer. His interpretation of his character is independent from the other people's remarks about him being a diva and an asshole. His personal belief about Kaiser is so great as the statue of Liberty that it extended to great lengths of serving him until the end.

Which is quite ironic because in reality they really don't understand each other and their judgment of each other is distorted. For all Kaiser yapping that he molded Ness into being his servant and such, he doesn't really understand him in the end which explains his bafflement in the last chapter of the manga when Ness still declared his loyalty to him despite discarding him out there in the field. One can be the said to the other as well because his reassurance to Kaiser is the last thing that Kaiser wants to hear or see from him and fails to see the bigger picture which is now they're in this mess in the field because they're motivations are clashing: World Type Ego vs. Self Type Ego.

I remember someone asking me, but what about Reo? He's the same with Ness right?

Not really.

Isagi has put Reo in the World Type Ego because first and foremost his original motivation is to win the World Cup which is an external motivation alongside with prestige and money. Reo is shown to be a logical and strategic person well, except for Nagi when he met him. But he is different from Ness. Their situation is different.

That's why when Nagi is losing motivation to play soccer again after beating Isagi and offering the millions of bid that he can gain to motivate him, it doesn't move Nagi as much because he doesn't need it. Nagi is motivated by intrinsic factors in playing soccer and that's why he was clashing with Reo at times. This is quite evident during the second selection.

Well, I can already guess what Kiyora's type of ego is but I'll reserve my judgment on that after we get more from his character in the future chapters.

Guess this is where this ends and my shower thoughts. If you've reached this part then congratulations for wasting your precious time to read this ramblings of mine.

[paleghostinthecorner02]

Because Gwen is a teenager who was betrayed by her father and taken in by adults who constantly filled her head with the idea that people, including her dad, had to die for millions to be saved. Because despite said adults knowing the bad situation she was in chose to treat her completely like an agent, a warrior, a soldier instead of a child that needed love and compassion. Because despite living in fear of Miguel sending her back home, she still chose to disobey him to see Miles when she had the chance because she loves him that much. Because she was in a lose/lose situation where telling Miles about his dad needing to die would inflict a pain she was experiencing and didn't want him to bear, but not telling him would run the risk of him finding out from someone else and making her look like she was being malicious. Because she was used as a scapegoat by Miguel when he was the main reason Miles was able to escape, and punished by him for it. Because she recognized the hurt she caused and took accountability, unlike any of the adults in her life including PETER B. PARKER. Because she is actively trying to make up for the mistakes she made while she was still under Miguel's influence.

None of you media illiterate dweebs who treat her like she's Judas Iscariot and the Whore of Babylon combined because she made some very understandable mistakes should continue to watch these children's movies because I'm afraid the writing for Gwen is too complicated for you to grasp. Gwen has actual, meaningful flaws than cause actual, meaningful conflict and lead her her having actual, meaningful character development. Even more pertinent, her failings aren't a result of any kind of malice, but rather a desire to not see the people she loves hurt, an understandable character trait that stems from the trauma of her accidentally killing someone close to her OH MY GOD DO YOU NOT WATCH THESE MOVIES?

Honestly Peter B is way more infuriating in this movie since he's an adult who doesn't view Miguel as an authority figure (if their comic relationship is the same in this movie then they're friends and Miguel has a lot of respect for Peter) and has nothing for Miguel to hold over his head like Gwen did. He should have known better, he should have been the one most defending Miles, he should have defended Gwen when Miguel was blaming her for something Peter knew wasn't her fault. He was RIGHT THERE next to Gwen on the train and saw Miguel fail to subdue Miles (despite the fact that he could have, you know, injected him with a powerful, non lethal paralytic that would have made it exceedingly easy to take Miles into custody and instead decided to monologue like a dipshit). Give me a reason other than abject misogyny why you think Gwen deserves to be hated in a way Peter doesn't, I dare you.

Rant over. TL:DR, Gwen doesn't deserve the hate she gets from idiots in the fandom who can't see past "Muh poor Miles got his feelings hurt."

[losyash]

SHIMON ARC: Hibari to Tsuna

Recently I've been liveblogging my Shimon arc reread to my friends.

On chapter 323 one of them said they always wondered if the headband being there meant something. And yes, curtains might be blue because it's a nice color. But no. No, curtains being blue is incredibly goddamn important.

HEAR ME OUT

First, to recap what is happening: Shimon arc, pre Adelheid vs Hibari battle they briefly argue about Tsuna and Enma and decide on their pride and the rules of the battle: to seize each other's handband. Adelheid creates an ice prison that is impossible to penetrate from outside and 500 ice clones to fight Hibari. He fights them all, tells Adelheid she is wrong about Enma and small animals (which i will talk about later) and uses minirolls to crush the ice fort from the inside. After this he gets her handband, they talk about Tsuna again and Hibari drops his "it is because of the sky the cloud can float freely" thing.

Before I delve into it, however, I feel like I should take a quick dive in Tsuna-Hibari relationship from Hibari's perspective.

To put it simply, at first Hibari does not give a single fuck about Tsuna personally. Even after this glorious scene happens

All Hibari thinks about that day is that he wants to meet Reborn again. During the course of Daily life arc however Hibari messes with him plenty. Ny the time 43rd chapter (sakura viewing) rolls around, Hibari's opinion on Tsuna is summarized by this:

And this is actually the key. Hibari does not understand Tsuna. To him Tsuna is some weird ass alien creature who does not fit his rigid worldview. At first Hibari tries to make him make sense again by asserting himself over Tsuna and putting him back to the role of herbivore which he does follow every time except when he doesn't?? For some reason?????

Kokuyo arc is the arc that changed the manga tone in general but it's also the arc that changed Hibari himself. He is brutally shown that he as he is does not have the power to do whatever he wants. Something has to change. And Hibari seeks that change in Tsuna, who somehow managed to defeat Mukuro when Hibari himself failed.

chapter 123, cloud battle aftermath

He stops trying to still Tsuna. Instead he wants now to understand what the fuck is up about him and what can he do. The answer is Tsuna can burn a man alive in a fit of rage btw.

BUT THE THING IS. THE THING IS EVENTUALLY HE DOES UNDERSTAND TSUNA. AND THIS LEADS US TO TAKE A LIL BREAK FOR THE PRIDE TALK

Now, the obvious thing: headband symbolizes Hibari's pride.

Here is what he says, when first asked about it:

But also Hibari vs Adelheid battle is the one that finally clears up what the hell does "pride" mean.

The thing is. What Hibari is saying (and what he tried to make Tsuna understand, because the whole battle here his two goals are to win (duh) and to help Tsuna find his conviction again) is that the actual meaning of "What is your pride?" is "What makes you yourself?". You, as a person, should be proud of who you are. And he tells Tsuna, that it is whatever he cannot give up, whatever makes the very core of Tsuna's self is what he should fight for (And then Tsuna tells Enma "You are my pride" which is very juicy but deserves its own post).

Okay, now with this out of the way, let's get to the next thing:

Hibari vs Adelheid (but not the violent edition)

Hibari and Adelheid are not only fighting, they are also talking to each other. And by talking I mean arguing. About Tsuna and Enma and little animals.

Here is important thing to note first: asking around some people who know some people who know japanese gave me information that actually "small animal" is. Not different from herbivore at all. They are apparently used intechangingly based on how much space speechbubble has.

This does affect things: when it is usually thought that Tsuna in Hibari's eyes carves a new category for himself, not worth calling by name nor insulting nickname, nor he can be classified as a simple herbivore, he is just his own thing. Instead it seems like Tsuna changed Hibari's opinion on entire population of herbivores-small animals. (and if those people just got me confused ill die of shame (;-;)b)

ANYWAY, THEIR DEBATE

yes i had to put it all here. it's good. read it.

Do you see it guys? Do you see how far he came from daily life? He now really does understand Tsuna. He cracked the code. And he does now acknowledge that yeah Tsuna (and by extention other ppl like him. Like Enma) has his own way to live life and it does work for him. Tsuna is not weak. Being a herbivore does not automatically mean being weak.

Another interesting thing here is this:

"Why is a man like you with the likes of Sawada Tsunayoshi?"

"I'm not with him"

And I think it's important to remember here that Adelheid does see Tsuna=Vongola boss thing. To Tsuna it's Him and His Friends against Enma and His Friends. To her? It's Vongola vs Shimon

And when she talks to Hibari about Tsuna, she is saying "Why are you with Sawada Tsunayoshi?" but what she means is "Why are you with Vongola?" and this difference does impact Hibari's answer. Case in point:

I DON'T LIKE THE WAY YOU SAID THAT... WELL... TRUE ENOUGH.

BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE CLOUD GUARDIAN OF THE VONGOLA'S SKY? ACCORDING TO WIKI, THIS:

A drifting Cloud, whom cannot be bound. Protecting the famiglia from an independent standpoint.

AND SO

I am sorry, I am very normal about this, promise.

And so Hibari basically admits that he will not be bound to Tsuna, but he will be around, involving himself when he feels like it. They're friends your honor.

BUT THERE IS MORE.

The attribute of the cloud flames is propagation. Why is it relevant?

this is the hype up text at the end of chapter 322.

and this is the last page of chapter 323.

Remember i briefly mentioned Hibari stagnating in daily life arc and realizing that there must be something more during Kokuyo arc? He found it. Tsuna is the one who gave him this opportunity. Just being around Tsuna allowed Hibari to grow. To propaga- Okay, that does sound silly. But I think the point still stands. Tsuna gave Hibari space to grow, and frankly, Hibari is grateful for that.

now we are entering the deranged territory

Hibari watched Tsuna grow all during the course of the manga and at some point Tsuna DID outgrow him. Not psychologically, but powerwise? Def. And Hibari cannot be not aware of that.

You might ask, how is he okay with that, but the thing is, Hibari is actually very chill with not being the strongest person in the room. What he actually needs is people to respect him and his authority as Disciplinary Committee chairman and Namimori protector. Reborn respects it and is stronger than him. Does Hibari want to fight him? Yes. But he is not actually going out of his way to attack him.

Tsuna has a great deal of respect for Hibari, and in turn Hibari does not feel the same hostility to him he does towards Mukuro despite Tsuna being totally able to win against him in a fight. Once again, rip Byakuran.

BUT. HIBARI IS NOT GOING TO STOP GROWING ANYMORE. HE LEARNED HIS LESSON, HE IS NOW ENDLESSLY EVOLVING OR SOME SHIT.

AND

WHAT I AM SAYING IS

HE IS NOT ONLY NOT GOING TO STOP HELPING TSUNA TO BE BETTER BUT HE ALSO IS GOING TO USE TSUNA AS BENCHMARK

NOT AS SOMEONE TO BE LIKE. BUT SOMEONE TO BE BETTER THAN

THE PRIDE AS SYMBOL OF SELF AND AND THE BAND AS SYMBOL OF PRIDE

AND DISCIPLINE BEING THE KEY TO BETTERMENT OF SELF

HE DECLARES TSUNA BOTH HIS FRIEND AND HIS RIVAL THATS WHAT THE BLUE CURTAINS MEAN I REST MY CASE