#and how has it taken me this long to realise these two scenes are both “attempting” to do the same thing

[modern-day-classic]

If you're trying to tease your ship, or give your fanbase a glimpse of the ship they want this is literally the best blueprint...

So someone tell me why in the year 2023 we were fed a "tease" of tedbecca which laughed and poked fun at the fans, when Gilmore Girls did this successfully back in 2002.....

Like just imagine Rebecca being the one having the dream of her and Ted's domestic bliss in their kitchen, she wakes with a fright and calls Deborah who talks her through what her subconscious is trying to tell her.... which I believe Rebecca already knew but just for the purposes of this...

This just goes to show you can feed your fanbase a glimpse of the biggest ship on the show without disrupting or changing the overarching story plan.... Once again reiterating the malice behind the kitchen scene from the finale

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

what friends do | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you were a simple town girl. finnick odair was the crown jewel of panem. both of you needed an escape and found it at a secluded beach just outside district four. these were three ingredients that created a year-long friendship. but were friends supposed to have… impure thoughts about one another? you weren’t so sure.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, wayyy too much detail, dirty thoughts, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, mostly readers pov, pre-rebellion, HEAVY dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v (big no no), multiple orgasms, so much pining, creampie, cock-warming

notes: i’m so sorry this took me so long. life has been up my ass lately and, as y’all know, i’m a slow writer. but thank you sm to everyone who patiently stuck around, i love y’all <3 this was supposed to be a short smut fic but um, apparently not. anyway, this has taken long enough to come out so imma stop rambling. ENJOY <3

word count: 11.7k

Mid-Autumn was closely approaching District Four.

Harvest in the fishing industry was at its peak and the docks were chock-full with boats bringing in their plentiful catches. The town centre was a bustling scene, crowded with people selling produce and trading for food to bring home to their family's kitchen table.

Last year's autumn harvest was the same picture—overflow, hustle, commotion; chaos like this was something you never came to enjoy. So, it was also around this time last year that you had decided to set off in search of the perfect location away from the rest of society. A place where you could be at peace, where you could forget the disastrous world you lived in.

District Four was home to many popular beaches, but the one you discovered was uninhabited, isolated, found after an hour-or-so-long trek through overgrown dirt pathways and a thicket of sea-grape and palm trees. A true paradise away from society. Or so you had thought in the first few weeks.

You weren't too sure when he had started showing up or how he had even discovered the beach.

However, one evening, as you were seated in the sand watching the sunset on the darkening horizon, you noticed a dark figure diving and surfacing in the flat, glimmering water. Their movements were so poised and fluid like the ocean was something they had conquered. You guessed it to be a dolphin or shark because there was no way a human being could move so gracefully.

But then the figure started wading to shore, and the next thing you knew, they were standing on two legs and exiting the water. You knew then that you had guessed wrong. The sun behind him obscured the bronze of his hair and the swirling lukewarm sea that pooled around his pupils. All you could see was the outline of his tall broad figure as he hiked through the sand toward you.

Fear had told you to bolt from the approaching stranger. You were in the middle of nowhere—it was the perfect place to be murdered or kidnapped. But something else, some deep and tangible instinct, also told you to stay.

"Didn't realise I had a captive audience," thestranger spoke, droplets of gleaming water sliding off his body and into the sand as he stood a few feet away.

Taken by surprise, you fumbled over your words trying to form a sentence in response. "I wasn't—I didn't—"

"Easy, honey," he chuckled. The sound was so warm and pleasant that it almost alleviated the slight chill in the air. "Just pulling your leg."

Your mouth formed a small circle. "Right," you said, gaze locked on the golden sand in embarrassment. "I, uh, didn't think anyone else knew about this place."

To be honest, you were pretty sure it was a restricted area. Probably the reason it was so isolated. If a Capitol official found you, the consequences would most likely involve your tongue, a scalpel, and a hell of a lot of pain. All for a wanting a little peace and quiet.

"Neither did I," the man said. "I only come every now and then. Need an escape from the constant buzz back home. Time for myself, you know?"

"Yeah." You smiled, feeling the stranger's words resonate in your soul. "Yeah, I do know."

You thought you saw the corners of his lips curve into a smile, but the shadows on his face were so prominent that you couldn't tell.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

Well... if he were going to murder you, he would have done it already. So, you nodded. Sometimes you questioned your survival instincts. Or lack thereof.

He didn't leave much space as he sat beside you. Only an inch or two, meaning you could feel the humidity of body heat and salt water emit from his skin. Even sitting down, he was still quite tall compared to you, but that wasn't what caused your heart to drop into your stomach.

The setting sun, which no longer disguised his face with shadows, now illuminated his entire figure and revealed his identity. His hair was a mess of wet wavy strands, the colour alight like a pale fire beneath the sun's orange radiance. His skin was sun-kissed, no doubt from days he had spent perfecting his swimming abilities. And those dimples... wow.

He was gorgeous. A man sculpted by the gods of beauty, just like everyone in Panem had depicted him to be. Even his sea-green eyes were as striking as everyone said.

Finnick Odair.

The man who was crowned victor of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games at fourteen. Who trapped multiple tributes at once in a net and killed them one by one with his famed trident. A killer.

The man whose reputation in the Capitol was known nationwide. A proud womanizer.

That was what everyone made him out to be.

Only, in the brief interaction you shared with him, he seemed like quite the opposite. He radiated effortless charm and warmth, but not in the arrogant way the media had portrayed him. Then again, did the media ever accurately portray the truth of anything?

It was then that you determined it didn't really matter who people said he was or what he had done. He was a human being—just like you. He deserved a chance.

His pink lips stretched into a knee-weakening smile; you were grateful that you were sitting down.

"I'm Finnick, by the way."

The both of you knew he didn't need to introduce himself. The whole of Panem knew his name and face. Though the fact that he humbly did so anyway made you like him the tiniest bit more.

You returned his smile with one of your own and introduced yourself.

Time passed and the sun had set; the moon had risen, but you both remained sitting side-by-side in the sand. Conversation flowed so naturally between the two of you that it was difficult for you to remember that stopping and getting some air into your lungs was an important factor in keeping a conversation going... as well as keeping you alive.

You told him about yourself as he did himself—some things that were meant to remain secrets, some things that seemed too strange to tell anyone else.

At some point, he had offered to walk you back to your house. The trek was over an hour long but neither of you seemed to care. The time flew by. 

When you were standing at your front door and he was gazing up at you from the bottom of the steps, you both promised to meet again the next day. And you did. 

As you did the day after that... and the day after that... and the day after that...

**********

As soon as the nights carried that familiar chill and the town congested with markets and fervent buyers, you knew mid-autumn had made its return. This meant most of your evenings were spent at a certain secret beach with a certain District Four victor.

Having already finished his pre-sunset swim, Finnick was sitting beside you, fingers weaving dried palm leaves into the mat beneath you. A couple of weeks after you had first met, he had shown up one day holding it all rolled up in hand.

"Made this for you to sit on," he had said with a proud smile. "Took nearly all night and earned me a few good finger cramps, but I think it was worth it."

Pinpointing the exact moment your attraction to him first formed was tricky. However, that gesture was one your mind returned to often. That little palm-leaf mat, the time and effort he put into making it, was scored on your heart.

Finnick was very much a gentleman.

He would always offer you a hand when standing up and whenever you walked back through the overgrown seaside forest. Sometimes he picked fruits for you such as sea grapes and mangos or would climb one of the palms and knock down a few coconuts. One thing he always, always did wasmake sure you got home safe; he never let you out of his sight until you were safe inside your front door.

All those gestures, big and small, added up. Soon enough, Finnick Odair had infiltrated your heart and consumed all your thoughts. You saw his sea-green eyes staring back at you whenever you gazed out at the ocean by your house. Felt the ghost of his hands on yours whenever you picked a grape from the kitchen fruit bowl. Heard his voice calling out your name in your most vivid of dreams.

But there was more to it than innocent adoration.

The guilt came when your gaze started lingering on his body a little too long whenever he left the water at the beach. Shimmering droplets would glide down his beautifully tanned skin; his arm muscles would flex as his fingers raked back his dripping wet hair. It wasn't yourfault he was the walking definition of perfection.

Unholy was the closest word to describe the filthy thoughts that had perverted your imagination. What started as endearing daydreams soon became fantasies that had you seeking relief between your thighs late at night. Your thoughts went wild whenever he dropped you off at your house. It took everything in you not to invite him inside and ask him to fuck you senseless against the front door.

All you had to do was ask. You knew he would say yes.

A year is a long time to know someone. A long time for feelings to grow. It also serves as a lot of time for things to happen between two people—things that linger in your mind even months after they have happened.

Like the times he would walk by you and teasingly whisper something provocative in your ear, then disappear for an hour of swimming, leaving you all hot and flustered in the sand. Neither of you would acknowledge it when he returned. Or when conversations took such a flirtatious turn, the tension only dissipated when houses were separating you at the end of the night.

But that's just what friends do, right? They tease and banter?

Maybe.

However, not all things could be chalked up to being just friends.

Another thing about Finnick's eyes was that they were transparent. You saw how helplessly they clung to you the days you stripped to your underwear and joined him in the water. He had this sort of reaction that turned his eyes into a dark violent sea, like you were some divine temptation planted to test the strength of his resolve.

Sometimes he could resist. Other days it was obvious he couldn't help but reach out and touch.

He would try to be subtle about it. Hands holding yours a little longer than necessary when he helped you stand up. Sitting too closely beside you so that your arms and legs would graze against each other. Brushing off pieces of seaweed that would stick to the dip of your waist and then constantly using the same excuse just to feel the heat of your soft skin.

There was one interaction, though, that you fell asleep to the thought of every night. It was a moment when things almost went too far; an interaction friends definitely did not share.

You could remember it clear a day. Hell, you could still feel it clear as day.

It was a hot summer evening. Both you and Finnick were at the beach and swimming in the water since being in the muggy coastal heat for more than five minutes was parallel to roasting in a thousand-degree sauna.

You were about twenty meters offshore, bobbing beside Finnick as he dived to collect various seashells. That boy could hold his breath for an unbelievable amount of time which meant sometimes you spent minutes alone on the surface, waiting, listening to the calm waves lap eerily around you.

This is exactly how people die in shark movies, said an unwarranted voice in your mind.

As usual, a minute went by. Nothing to worry about. Then a minute turned into two and you were starting to become a little concerned. And then it was two and a half minutes and you were now panicking.

"Finnick?!" you called out, hoping he could somehow hear you from the dark depths.

Three minutes had totalled, and you were pretty certain he had drowned. Just to add to the utter dread coursing through your veins, something slimy brushed against your foot. Most likely a piece of seaweed, but you didn't make that connection at the time.

That very same moment, Finnick burst through the water's surface, only mildly breathless and pinching a small iridescent shell between his fingers.

"Look at thi—"

Before the words could leave his mouth, he found himself enveloped in your distraught embrace. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, crying tears of relief. 

Damn that stupid seashell.

He automatically secured you in his arms, concern palpable in his voice as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You pulled away, an indistinguishable combination of tears and saltwater rolling down your cheeks. Though it was hard to miss the look of distress found in your furrowed brows and trembling lips.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" you exclaimed, gripping his arms to emphasise your urgency. "You hear me?! Ever!"

Finnick's head tilted slightly, surprised by your emotional reaction. He hadn't realised he meant so much to you. The surprise faded into remorse, softening his features.

"I won't. I won't, I promise," he said sincerely. His eyes flickered over the worry lines etched on your forehead. He unconsciously brushed his thumb over the lines, hoping to draw out the anxiety with his touch, and then tucked away a strand of hair. "I'm sorry I scared you."

You took in a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to compose yourself. A mess of emotions stirred inside you—worry, embarrassment, irritation. You were partially frustrated with Finnick for making you fear for his life. Mostly annoyed with yourself for showing such vulnerability in front of him.

"God, you're an idiot sometimes," you sighed, shaking your head.

He smirked. "Didn't think you cared so much about me."

"No, you just don't think, Finn."

He glanced off into the distance for a moment with furrowed brows. "Well, that's definitely not true," he countered, meeting your gaze again with a half-smirk. "I think about a lot of things, actually."

"Oh? Like what?" you asked, slightly annoyed. "Do tell me what the great Finnick Odair thinks about instead of his own safety."

Slowly, the smirk faded from his lips. Something new tinged the atmosphere and suddenly everything around you seemed hotter than it previously was. Not an uncomfortable or sweltering heat, but one that held an intensity that sparked the air with electricity.

You suddenly became very aware that Finnick was still holding you in his arms. You recognised the confined proximity between you and him and realised that, before this moment, your bodies had never been so close.

Your legs were curled around his hips, pelvis pressed firmly against his. The position of his hands, which were keeping you afloat, was bordering on inappropriate but would only be deemed as such if you cared. Which you didn't. You liked it—having his hands on you.

One thing you couldn't ignore was the flickering of his gaze. How his eyes kept dropping to your lips. How they blatantly revealed a long-awaited confession that words just couldn't capture. Still, you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted to hear the purr in his voice as he told you.

Then he was leaning in. You weren't sure whether it was on purpose or if the pure magnetism of the tension between you was drawing him closer. Regardless, you started to lean in closer too, eyes drooping as you focused on his mouth.

And before the short distance between your lips and his became immeasurable, you whispered, "Tell me, Finn."

The hands keeping you afloat trailed up and down your back restlessly as Finnick forced a tense exhale through his nose. He seemed to be wrestling with thoughts. You waited in anticipation, and right when it seemed like he was going to make a move—

"I think..."

—you were interrupted. By no less than a pod of dolphins as they leapt from the water, causing you and Finnick to jolt from each other's embrace.

The rest of that evening was not worth mentioning. Not because you had forgotten what happened, but because the sheer awkwardness between you and Finnick afterwards was so torturous that you wanted to keep the memory squashed in the recesses of your mind. Neither of you acknowledged what happened. Finnick still walked you home, but it was done so in agonising silence.

Surprisingly, you both returned to the beach the next day. You hadn't expected him to be his usual upbeat self, but he was. So, in turn, you too acted like the previous day was erased from history. But your friendship with him was never the same.

Flirty conversations no longer felt like a joke; they now had a deeper meaning. Fleeting touches caused full-body goosebumps that didn't happen before. There was so much unresolved tension, and it was painfully thick. Inescapable.

So, as Finnick sat beside you present-day, weaving dried palm leaves into the mat beneath your bodies, you couldn't help but notice the transparency of your body language and his. The gap between you both was comparable to the size of a pearl and even though neither of you acknowledged it, you kept catching each other stealing quick glances every half-minute or so.

When you were sure he wasn't looking, you found your gaze drawn to his fingers. They were sturdy, yet nimble; curling and manoeuvring in ways that had your face feeling hotter than the heat of any sunburn or warm summer's day. This heat was beneath your skin. Spreading through your limbs in little tendrils and wrapping around your nerves. A dip in the salty sea wouldn't cool you down nor would a gulp of cold fresh water.

As you stared at his hands, you knew only the source of the sensation could offer reprieve. But that wouldn't happen, so there you burned.

The fact that he was shirtless and that his hair was a gorgeous mess of damp bronze curls helped not one bit with taming the consuming desire inside you. God, you were a mess yourself.

You sighed.

The sun, glowing intensely with a divine orange, was beginning its descent on the horizon. Your feet were buried beneath the soft sand, trying to retain some warmth as a slight breeze blew against your exposed skin.

Wearing a short sundress probably wasn't the most practical idea. Embarrassing as it was to admit, practicality wasn't what was going through your mind when you decided to wear it... Someone—Something else was.

"Something on your mind?" Finnick asked suddenly.

Your heart fumbled in your chest, terrified that he had somehow heard your thoughts. "Sorry?"

"You sighed," he said, turning his head to look at you. "Or am I just getting so old that I'm already starting to hear things?"

With relief of his lack of mind-reading abilities, you laughed softly. "You're definitely getting a bit old, Finn," you teased. "Any nursing homes you've been considering?"

"I heard retirement by the sea has its perks," he quipped, subtle dimples present as he returned to his weaving. "Although, I will need someone to make sure I don't fall asleep while swimming and get carried out by the tide. What d'you say, sweetheart? Up for becoming my personal lifeguard?"

Absolutely. "Depends. Will you force me to wear one of those awful flowery swimming caps with a matching tankini?"

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm thinking more like those little red bodysuits. You know, the ones that zip open down the front?"

You reprimanded him by pushing his shoulder, wearing a betraying smile. "Very charming."

"I just think red's your colour, that's all," he laughed.

Your stomach fluttered. You knew he was teasing you; teasing was basically the foundation of your... friendship. Deep down, you knew there was also some truth behind his words. A truth that was as electrifying as it was upsetting—how long were you both going to keep up with this whole 'friends' charade? Could you handle it if the answer was forever?

Best not to think about it. For your sanity's sake.

Finnick finally settled into a comfortable position with his forearms locked around his bent knees, apparently having decided to continue his mat-weaving another time. He had been extending it bit by bit ever since he first made it for you. At this point, you were sure he was attempting to cover the entire beach. For now, it was only big enough for two people to lie down on.

Sounds pretty convenient, came an abrupt thought.

And then you fell down yet another rabbit hole of depraved daydreams... A pair of hands interlocking your own above your head. Hot lips pressing kisses to your neck. Tongue gliding up the sensitive skin of your jugular. Your fingers tugging at bronze curls between your thighs.

You were sick. Diseased with immorality. Finnick was your friend. If not your best friend. You're not supposed to fantasise about fucking your best friend.

"Thinking about anyone in particular?"

You almost choked on your saliva. "W—What?" 

How did he keep doing that?

Finnick seemed to find joy in your perplexity. It was written all over his face. God, those fucking dimples. "You've been completely still for nearly five minutes and your legs are covered in goosebumps," he pointed out. "Hence the question: who are you thinking about?"

As you looked down, you found that your skin was in fact riddled with goosebumps. It didn't occur to you then that the only reason he could have noticed was if he was staring at your legs in the first place. It also didn't occur to you that Finnick obviously had the very same debauched thoughts running through his own mind.

Why did you have to wear such a revealing dress? He already struggled enough with resisting you at the best of times.

If you had been paying attention, a simple glance in his direction would have revealed how his ears were pink and his pupils were dilated. More importantly, you would have seen his legs constantly shifting to ease the discomfort tenting his pants. Fortunately, he had mastered the art of winding himself down in a short amount of time.

Unfortunately for you, that ability was not within your skill set.

You scoffed. "In case you haven't noticed, Finnick—it's autumn," you said, a quick snappy lilt in your tone. "I know you've got some weird internal space heater built into you, but normal people tend to have a reaction to the cold."

Well, it's a good thing you didn't sound defensive...

Finnick raised an eyebrow at you, displaying a puzzled half-smirk that spoke a thousand words.

You lowered your head in embarrassment, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry," you murmured. "I just, uh, don't really like the cold."

"Who could've guessed."

Despite serving as an excuse, it wasn't entirely untrue. You really did dislike the cold. And it was now that you seriously regretted your choice of sparse attire. The breeze kept blowing up the dress's skirt, threatening to expose your dignity to the world. Or more accurately, to Finnick. Thankfully, you had decided to wear a pair of delicate lace underwear that morning instead of old granny panties.

Nevertheless, now that it was on your mind, you couldn't think about anything but the cold gusts of wind blowing against you. Chills ran over your skin and you were shaking like a leaf.

Finnick, being the gentleman that he was, scanned the surrounding area for anything he could use to keep you warm. He would've given you his shirt had it not been crumpled in a ball of wet sand on the ground.

There was nothing else of use. Nothing except a single apprehensive idea sitting in the forefront of his mind. It was all he had. He bit the inside of his cheek as he contemplated the potentially disastrous idea.

Then, after taking a silent deep breath, he finally said, "Come here then." Your eyes snapped to his. You must've looked like you had seen a ghost because his brows knitted together in confusion. "What?" he breathed out a chuckle. "I'd prefer not having to carry you home as a block of ice."

You thought about it for a moment. Was it really such a good idea after the thoughts that were just swarming in your mind? Another gust of wind blew by and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself.

"I won't bite, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to," he added.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, shut up."

With that, you slid across the mat, positioning your body, which was still facing the sunset, in front of his legs. There was a moment of hesitation. Anxiety. But before you could reconsider, Finnick wrapped a strong arm around your middle and pulled you back against his chest, situating your body between his legs.

The exhale that left your lips was instantaneous and you couldn't help but shudder at the warmth of his skin. "God," you sighed, overwhelmed by the sudden change in temperature. "How are you so warm all the time?"

"Oh, you know. Weird internal space heater."

You laughed softly, then felt Finnick's chest vibrate against your back as he joined you. His bare arms wound tighter around you, motivated by the affectionate atmosphere. Your body seemed to melt into the cocoon of warmth he provided, and a soft smile graced your lips.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded, responding with a whisper, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

You could hear the smile in his voice and how intently he was trying to hide it. You wished you could have seen it. To see the sense of peace you shared. However, feeling it in the way he held you was enough.

Instead of blood, your heart now seemed to be pumping out rather odd alternatives—waves of sea-green salted ocean, iridescent seashells, smiles paired with heart-stopping dimples. How could he? How could Finnick condemn you to loving him like this? So unwaveringly; so without a hope of ever being able to return to life without him in it.

He made a mess of you. A ruin. And even with wholesome affection running through your veins, you still couldn't ignore the hazy images conjuring in your mind from the way his body was pressed firmly behind you.

How could he?

The sun had just touched the horizon, granting the sky a few more minutes of light, meaning it was almost time to head home—an upsetting reality. You weren't sure how much time had passed before your body started to ache from lack of movement.

You wiggled your toes which were buzzing like television static. The feeling started moving up your legs and you knew if you didn't stretch, you would later embarrass yourself trying to stand on dead legs. So that is what you did. You started moving.

First, you stretched out the muscles in your legs and then moved onto straightening your back against Finnick's chest, feeling the faint pops of your spine offer you relief. And then you started readjusting your position and wriggling your hips to fit more comfortably between Finnick's toned thighs. That was your first mistake.

"Stop moving."

You were taken aback by the rigid inflection in his tone. "What?" you asked, ignoring his warning and continuing your restless movements.

"Stop. Moving," Finnick repeated, sounding more strained.

His hold on you became stiff. Completely frozen.

You were confused. Everything was perfect a moment ago, and all you were doing was stretching—why was he being so weird and snappy?

In response, you exhaled sharply. "I'm just trying to get comf—"

"Fuck," he breathed out.

Your eyes widened and it was safe to say your stomach had flipped inside out.

That was the moment you finally realised your second mistake. The rigidness in his voice wasn't him being snappy with you at all. Not even close. He was just trying to prevent the pleasure he felt below from reaching his vocal cords.

But it was too late. It wouldn't have mattered if he managed to keep quiet because you could feel it now. The achingly hard length that was pressed against your backside, reaching all the way up to your tailbone.

"...Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Finnick said. "Oh."

Now it was your turn to freeze. Fear consumed you, similar to what you imagined having to remain motionless in front of tyrannosaurus rex to prevent from being eaten alive was like. Thanks to the damning wind, strands of your hair blew behind your shoulders, undoubtedly tickling the exposed skin of Finnick's chest. Even that minuscule movement had your heart threatening to explode with anxiety.

As per usual, panic wreaked havoc in your mind.

What do I do? Do I get up? How will we come back from this? Does he—

Finnick cleared his throat. "Uh, you still alive in there?" he chuckled nervously.

You felt minor relief enter your bloodstream upon hearing the normality in his voice. At least one of you was composed enough to act normally. Well, as normal as one could act after becoming hard due to their best friend sitting in their lap.

"Is it—" You swallowed the nerves rattling your voice "—is it because there's a girl sitting on your lap, or is it because it's me?"

That was the million-dollar question. Was his reaction simply biological? A natural response to stimulation? Or was it deeper than that? More personal.

Finnick was silent.

The rapid thumping in your chest moved to your ears, like a drumroll leading up to some grand reveal. You felt dizzy; both filled with dreadful anticipation and exhilaration. Your senses were so heightened, fuelled by an inane bout of adrenaline. You swore you could almost hear the gears turning in Finnick's mind, smell the smoke as they rotated over and over, trying to make sense of your question and form a suitable response.

Religion never played a factor in your life, but, oh, how you were zealously praying his answer would be the one you spent all your nights fantasising about. But still, he was silent.

And right when you believed he wasn't going to respond at all, his lips finally uttered that single life-changing word. "You."

Fireworks seemed to light up every nerve in your body. You.

You weren't sure what to make of your thoughts at first. The overwhelming abundance of emotion caused by a singular word was difficult to fathom. Only one sentiment stood out from the rest—and that was the fact that Finnick felt the same as you did for him.

It was no longer a speculation. It was a fact. A truth. An undeniable reality. You had both verbal and physicalproof, literally digging into your backside.

Finnick slowly, very slowly, unwound an arm from your torso, and you held your breath. His hand slid across your waist and then plastered itself over your hipbone, careful not to apply too much pressure to make you feel uncomfortable. When you felt the slight movement of his thumb gliding across your clothed skin, you exhaled the burning air in your lungs with a shaky sigh.

"Do you want me to get up?" you asked softly while staring at the sunset, although you were focused on anything but.

"Not a chance." And then he unwound the other arm, now cupping both sides of your hips with two large hands. The heat from his palm sank into your skin, sinking deeper layer by layer until it reached the rapid flow of your bloodstream. "Do you want to get up?"

You felt a pulsing sensation between your thighs that had your parted lips inhaling slow deep breaths, and you knew the only logical answer was no. So, you shook your head.

Finnick reached up to skilfully tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before placing his hand back on your hip. He then leaned down beside your ear, voice a hot, velvety whisper, "What next then, sweetheart?"

A wave of chills ran down your entire body.

What next? Another question for the ages. You had dreamt of this moment a million times over. You had pictured the unholiest, most vivid of scenarios, and yet here you were, mind blank as an empty void.

Then it hit you. Rather than acting from a pre-planned script, wouldn't it be better to just let your body act on what it naturally desired? On instinct? You took in a deep, stabilising breath and gave yourself into moment.

You slowly began turning your head to the side until, for the first time since he pulled you into his arms, your eyes flickered up and found Finnick's. His lips quirked with the ghost of a smile at the exchange, but he held it back. His jaw clenched and unclenched, muscles ticking with tension.

He was looking at you in a way you had never seen before. Or perhaps, you were just never close enough to notice, and he had always looked at you this way. There was a blazing intensity in his eyes, dark and penetrative, a bridge between yearning and total reverence. It was so enticing that you could feel your hands itching to undress yourself in front of him.

Finnick murmured your name.

"Yes?" you managed to whisper.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"

Those words—he had stolen them from the tip of your tongue.

You couldn't find the strength to muster any profound response. So instead, you found your head tilting back and the crook of your elbow winding up and around the nape of his neck. You didn't need to guide him down; he came willingly.

His lips caught yours in a soft, warm exchange. Singular yet prolonged. Then there was a brief pause of disconnection, a calm before the storm. And with Finnick, when it rained, it poured. Suddenly, a hand was cupping the area where your jaw and neck connected, and his lips were on yours again.

There was so much more heat in this kiss. A depth that kept growing with each connection of your lips. You could hear the fervour in the breathless exhales that exited his nose, the quiet groans that slipped into your mouth. Though the same could be said for you.

You couldn't subdue the moans and meek whimpers that leaked out. Especially when his tongue slipped into your mouth and took control over your own. At this point, you couldn't even be called putty in his arms; you were pure liquid, totally and completely submissive in his embrace.

It was impossible to tell who was throbbing beneath you anymore. All you were sure of was that the pretty lace panties you had put on that morning were now soaked. Though even if he never touched you, you wouldn't have cared. Having his lips on yours, his tongue on yours, was enough. And if he kept at it long enough, you were sure it would even be enough to get you off. That's how much power Finnick had over you.

Apparently, he felt the same too. Because when you leaned further back into him and your ass pushed against the length of his erection, his fist scrunched the fabric of your dress by your hip and his lips left yours to let out a shuddering breath.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he huffed, half chuckling.

Technically, it was a suppressed moan. Either way, you swear you almost came then and there.

With one last gentle kiss, you opened your eyes, pulling away to replenish your lungs with air. Finnick's eyes were already locked on yours in a drunken haze from the taste of your lips. Your arm unwound from his neck, grazing down his broad shoulders and bicep. During so, your eyes caught on the tiny bumps and raised hair scattered across his arm.

"You've got goosebumps," you smiled, trailing your fingertips across his skin.

His gaze moved to follow your hand, wearing a boyish grin. "Would you believe me if I said I was cold?"

Your throat buzzed with a suppressed giggle. Seeing the way his body reacted to yours was incredibly motivating. Someone telling you they lusted after you could easily be spoken with deception. But having visual confirmation, witnessing a reaction that couldn't possibly be forced, was a whole different story. Finnick's body craved you.

Given that incentive, the slight trepidation still holding you back now disappeared into the back of your mind. Your fingers curled around his wrist, dragging the hand beneath your jaw down to your neck, and then down to your chest. It didn't take him too long to figure out your intentions. He overtook your influence and autonomously moved his hand to cup your breast.

You were essentially caged in his embrace. Exactly how you wanted it.

You stared ahead with relaxed eyes, watching as the sun slipped into the dark water. Night had officially blanketed District Four and, now being shielded by darkness, the stars were your only witness. Strangely enough, you felt a new sense of shamelessness.

So as Finnick kneaded your breast in his warm hand and pinched the sensitive peak of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger through the lace of your bra, you allowed a soft moan to escape your lips.

It was almost as if you could actually feel the smirk growing across Finnick's lips behind you. One thing you actually could feel was the twitch of his achingly hard cock beneath you.

"You like that?" he asked, definitely smirking.

"Yes," you sighed almost immediately.

If only he knew how truly euphoric you felt. If only he knew how many times you had imagined being in this exact situation. Having him touching you like this. The guilt of imagining him in such a way used to eat you up. But now that you were past the guilt, there was no shame connected to the thought of Finnick eating you up.

Fuck, he would look so perfect between your thighs—bronze curls all messed up from your pulling and tugging; sea green eyes squeezed shut as he dedicated his attention to dragging you down to the pits of hell with his tongue.

Your head fell back against his collarbone. He took this as a signal to move your hair aside and start planting hot kisses onto the curve of your shoulder. Then he trailed further across, brushing his lips across your skin until he reached the side of your neck and started sucking gently, though enough to leave behind pretty little red marks of possession.

"What about this?" he murmured against the delicate skin.

The faint taste of sea-salted air sat in the back of your throat as your breaths deepened. You felt his tongue glide partially up the length of your carotid artery, and your entire nervous system seemed to short-circuit.

"Yes,"you practically whined.

He must have found this amusing because you could feel the vibrations of his chuckle against your neck. But he wasn't finished yet. Hell, the finish line was a lifetime away regarding the things he planned on doing to you. They probably couldn't all be done in one night though, unfortunately.

You had completely forgotten about the hand still splayed on your hip. Why would you pay it any attention when it was sitting idle? Only it wasn't simply resting on your hip anymore. No. Now it was moving. Moving down.

His lips were still on your neck and he was still cupping your breast, but all you could focus on was the carnal descent of his hand. He found the hem of your dress, fingers toying with the flimsy material as one did when deciding whether or not to go through with something potentially consequential. Ultimately, he began to drag the fabric up your thighs, knuckles grazing over your soft skin until the skirt of your dress was ruched around your hips.

You sucked in a sharp breath. The vulnerability of suddenly being exposed in such a manner hit you like a tonne of bricks. This was really happening. Finnick, the Capitol's darling, District Four's golden boy, and more significant;y, your best friend, was touching you. He was kissing you. He was seeing and feeling parts of your body you had never let him see or feel before.

Naturally, this unfurling web of thoughts produced a surge of insecurity.

But, when his hand curled around your inner thigh and spread a wildfire of warmth across your skin, every thought that was previously passing through your mind disintegrated and was replaced with unadulterated yearning.

Finnick's mouth finally detached from your neck to hover beside your ear. "And this?"

He lightly kneaded your thigh to emphasise his question, dangerously close to the place that undoubtedly crossed the boundary between friend and lover.

You were speechless. The desire running through your veins was paralysing. All you could do was look, see, feel, and hope to god you didn't pass out from the shallowness of your breathing.

"Come on, sweetheart," he roused in that low, seductive purr. "Don't go quiet on me now. Use your words."

And how could you ever disobey a voice like that? It took every ounce of strength and concentration you had in you, but eventually, you managed to find your voice.

"I—" You cut yourself off with a gasp as his thumb purposefully wandered up to the edge of your underwear. Asshole. "I lie awake every night imagining us like this, Finn. You don't need permission to touch me. You've already had it for months."

Suddenly, a gentle finger was turning your chin, compelling you to meet Finnick's gaze. His eyes lacked the intensity from before and were now brimming with awe, brows knitted as if he was asking for confirmation if what you had said was truthful. And it was, painfully so.

To answer his wordless question, you leaned forward and connected your lips with his. He responded with ardency, and not long after, you could feel his hand wander up to the waistband of your panties. 

He wasted not a second before dipping his hand beneath the lace material and finding that sensitive spot that had been begging for his attention.

Your lips separated from his to let out a breathy moan. "Finnick."

He simply smiled, two fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He pressed gentle coaxing kisses to your lips, and you really did try to respond, but you were never one for multitasking. Especially when the man you had fallen in love with was touching you so.

His other hand wandered across your torso, holding your waist, grazing over your stomach, tracing the length of your sternum. All very loving adorations compared to what his other hand was doing.

"I think I'm going to hell because of you," he murmured, millimetres away from your lips. Such a disconcerting thing for someone to admit, but all you could manage was a hum in response. "Every time I see you, I can feel myself getting closer and closer. You derange my thoughts, sweetheart. You corrupt them.

How am I supposed to be around you if I want to fuck you every time you say my name? And what makes it so much more impossible is that you don't even mean to make me feel this way; you just do. God, you're maddening. So sweet and maddening," he cooed, fingers picking up in pace which caused you to melt back into his chest and let out a pretty little moan. "Drives me crazy."

"And to think," you managed, "I thought you had your hands between my legs because you hated me."

Your hips were rolling lightly along with the rhythm of his fingers.

At the very same time Finnick's thighs tensed around your hips from the friction against his cock, he abruptly plunged two fingers inside you. Punishment.

The moan you let out was positively filthy.

"Such an attitude you have," he said. "Anyone would think you're completely innocent in a dress like this. But I know better than that." His fingers slid in and out, curling every time the base of his fingers bottomed out inside of you. "I know exactly why you wore it. Just like I know exactly why you wore those lace panties you pretend that I can't see whenever you bend over."

Heat crept up into your cheeks from hearing his words. You wanted to provoke him by saying 'And look where it got me'but who knew how his fingers would respond to your attitude.

"You can't do that to a man," he continued. "It's criminal."

"It's only fair, Finn," you breathed out, struggling to keep your voice level. "You ruined me."

A deep moan rumbled in his chest, though it never escaped. He couldn't break that easily. He needed to remain in control. This moment, to him, seemed like an eternity forthcoming. He needed to make the most of this moment with you, needed to show you what it was like to receive earth-shattering pleasure so that you only ever wanted to receive it from him. No one else.

Despite his obvious attempts at keeping himself in check, you could still feel his thick impatient cock twitch beneath your ass. Even through the layers of clothing between you, you could tell that he was incredibly big. So much so that it worried you a little. Only, when his fingers curled again, you forgot all about it.

The pads of his fingertips buried into your inner walls with every curl. The heel of his palm struck your clit with every thrust of his fingers and you could feel your stomach start tightening. Fuck, he was amazing at this.

It had been so long since someone had touched you like this. Well, someone that was actually good at it. Just a few minutes and Finnick was already about to make you come.

"Feels so good, so—ah—good!" you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

He reached a free hand up to your breast, lightly pinching your nipple between his fingers until you let out a gasp. At least one of you was good at multitasking.

"You gonna come?" he asked, not that he even needed an answer. He could feel the way your walls were contracting around his fingers, feel the sticky warmth of your slick leaking onto his knuckles.

You nodded fervently.

"Say please first."

"Finn," you whined in frustration.

You could hear him chuckle self-satisfyingly behind you. "Come on, baby. Sweet girls are supposed to have manners, aren't they?"

His low, husky voice almost threw you over the edge. Oh, how you would love to listen to the sound of him talking you through your orgasm. That is if he ever even let you get to that point.

Never had you ever thought you would be pleading with a man for anything, yet here you were. Though, Finnick Odair could hardly be called a man. He was so much more than that; he was bordering on divinity. And you weren't going to miss the chance of being unravelled at the hands of a divine being.

"Please, Finnick," you begged, your body literally buzzing with desperation. "Please make me come."

He pressed a kiss below your earlobe. "Since you asked so nicely."

His fingers picked up in pace. They weren't even plunging in and out anymore but were rather curling, over and over again in that electrifying spot inside you. He went hard and fast, working to bring you to your high as quickly as possible. Your moans were so unrestrained, so breathless and shallow that you started to feel the world spin around you.

Your hand flew back to hold onto his arm, nails digging into the hard muscles of his bicep. Your hips were writhing in Finnick's lap and you could hear him groan out a string of curses. He held you down by the hip to try and keep you still, then moved across to the bottom of your abdomen where he pressed down.

That is what did it for you.

You cried out as tightness spread down your stomach and pure ecstasy took control. Finnick murmured words of praise and reassurance as you rode through your high, though a lot of it didn't register in your mind. You heard only a few bits and pieces which were enough to prolong the feeling that was overwhelming your entire body.

"Taking it so well."

"That's it, sweetheart. That's it."

"Such a good girl."

As the waves of pleasure slowly began to subside, you returned to reality. The heat that had been building up inside you started melting away, leaving you in a state of relaxation. Your fingers, which previously clung onto Finnick's arm, now grazed absentmindedly across his skin. It felt like you had been sucked into a dream—a little hazy and surreal, but incredibly tranquil.

"You okay?" Finnick asked softly.

You hadn't even noticed that his fingers had left your body. He had pulled down the hem of your dress— not that your dignity really needed saving anymore—and was holding your melted figure in his arms.

"Mm," you hummed contently, eyes fixed on the view in front of you. "Warmed up."

If only you were able to see his face, his smile. Those dimples. A powerful longing to be able to see every expression known to man morph his facial features washed over you. It was a little ridiculous how attracted to him you were. Nonetheless, you indulged the desire.

You pushed yourself from his lap and pivoted to face him

You were straddling his lap before any ounce of hesitation could hold you back. Finnick circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into his chest. He was smiling. He was smiling and it was even more beautiful than any sunset you had ever witnessed. You concluded that you had definitely made the right choice in deciding to face him.

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hey, stranger."

He brushed back a few pieces of hair from your face, observing the blown size of your pupils and the sultry colour of your lips. He did that—he could not get over the fact that he did that to you. Finally.

You shrunk away from his gaze, a timid smile on your lips.

Finnick tilted his head slightly. "Shy thing."

You buried your face into the side of his neck, groaning quietly in embarrassment. You could hear the perfect sound of him laughing above you. He stroked the length of your spine, somehow managing to ease the nerves from your body with a simple touch. You left a quick kiss on the warm skin of his neck and rose back up to meet his gaze.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," you replied, sheepishly. Your eyes flickered across Finnick's, hesitated, and then gestured downwards. "But... you're not." His head tilted as though he were confused as to what you were suggesting, so you leaned in closer until your lips ghosted over his. "Still need to take care of you."

A breath of warm air fanned across your face as he chuckled. He shook his head. "It's alright. I can hold off for another time."

And although the prospect of doing this again another time was downright exhilarating, you couldn't ignore the palpable heat still lingering in your lower stomach, throbbing between your thighs. You could only imagine how he must have been feeling—cock throbbing with a need for relief, though ready to deny himself the same amount of pleasure he just gave you.

You suddenly curled a hand around the back of his neck and brought him into a slow kiss. To show him he was allowed to indulge himself. That you wanted him to. You ground your hips down on his lap and felt his lips falter against yours.

You pulled back and echoed your previous words, "It's only fair, Finn."

Time seemed to pause for a moment. Your breath and his mixed with one another in a sort of hot whirlwind of anticipation. Your bodies were still. Finnick's eyes were half-lidded staring at your mouth.

Then came the explosion.

His hands were hastily tugging your sundress over your head; his lips were on yours as he reached down between your bodies to unbutton his pants. It felt like a race against time. Like if you didn't do this now, the chance would never come by again. Hell, his pants hadn't even made it off his legs before he was holding himself in his hand and you were rising to your knees, positioning yourself directly above his length.

Your lips never left his, strenuous as it was, meaning the only gauge you got of how big he was wasn't from seeing it, but from feeling it as you pulled your panties aside, guided his cock to your entrance with one hand, and felt the entire veiny length of him fill you completely as you lowered yourself onto him.

A quiet, synchronised gasp left both your lips as you enveloped him completely in wet velvety warmth. His pelvis was connected with yours and his cock was pressed right up against your cervix. So incredibly deep, you could almost feel him in your stomach.

You stayed like this for a few seconds.

"So big," you gasped against his lips.

His hands were on your back, dragging up and down. "Want to stop?"

"Never."

This was so not what friends did.

He trailed kisses from your mouth, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You were grinding sinuously back and forth, Finnick's hands now on your hips as a guide, feeling his tip bury into the sensitive walls inside you. Your head fell back with a gratified moan as he nipped your neck unforgivingly, only to soothe the spots he marked with the glide of his tongue.

At that moment, the past and future were of no significance. The idea that doing this might ruin your relationship with him afterwards didn't concern you. You didn't bother recollecting a time when you and Finnick were merely friends, nor did you ponder how you even managed to reach this point.

All you could focus on was how fucking perfect his cock felt inside of you.

The cold, which was previously a nuisance, now served as a stimulant to your nipples which were only covered by the thin unpadded material of your lace bra. They were bouncing with every movement you made, the hard peaks rubbing against Finnick's chest and creating a triangle of pleasure between them and the depravity that was happening further below.

He was so hungry in the way he kissed you. His lips were soft, but they moved with heat and determination. His tongue was supple as it pushed against yours, moving masterfully in a way you could only compare to how he swam in the ocean. A conqueror—able to bring you into submission with ease.

You pushed yourself upwards, the muscles in your thighs slightly burning as you did so, and felt his cock glide through you. He inhaled harshly through his nose when his tip almost left your wet heat, and then groaned into your mouth when your hips sunk back down, engulfing him once again.

"Shit," he almost whined as your walls clenched around him. "I fuckinglove you."

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. It was incredibly difficult for you to contemplate his words—his confession—when he was, what, eight or so inches deep inside you?

He didn't look like he regretted saying it. He was simply staring at you with raised brows pinched together in pleasure, awaiting your response as you continued your sequence of rising and sinking to fill yourself up with his cock.

"You love me?" you asked in a laboured breath. He only nodded in response. You sank fully down onto his lap, discontinuing your movements, willing him to prove his so-declared devotion. "Then show me."

He was breathing heavily and watching you through strands of sea-salted hair messily splayed across his forehead. He was so beautiful it actually kind of hurt to look at him. His eyes fell to your mouth during this brief amnesty, a decision prominent in his mind. Then he was rushing forward, crushing his lips to yours and forcing your body to lay back on the mat beneath you.

Finnick somehow managed to remain inside you as he switched your positions—him now above you as your legs were wrapped around his waist. His body pinned you down with a comfortable weight, skin warm and flush against yours.

He was overpowering and dominating, and his thrusts were laced with a sense of appropriation like he was making you his. The slow grinds of his hips were hard yet measured and so breathtakingly deep, and the gentle upwards curve of his cock made sure his tip was prodding against that swollen pleasure-inducing spot every single time.

His kisses were sensual and slow; his tongue slipping languidly into your mouth, swirling and massaging your tongue like it was made of pure silk.

You had told him what to do—now he was showing you. Finnick Odair wasn't fucking you. He was making love to you.

Your hands were on his back, fingertips leaving red marks on the curves of his shoulder blades. You moved up to his hair, scratching your nails softly into his scalp, which earned you a soft moan in your mouth. Even you could feel yourself pulsing around his cock. Everything he did, every sound and action he made, had your body yielding to him.

His hand pulled you up into him by the waist, arching your back off the palm-leaf mat so that he was thrusting more profoundly into that blissful spot inside you. He never sped up his pace. He didn't need to. He was savouring the moment as much as he could, memorising each warm ripple of your walls his cock glided over inside you, every intoxicating moan your soft lips released, the pressure of your warm supple thighs hugging his waist.

He was committing every aspect of you to memory. Inside and out.

Having that knowledge only made the moment so much more pleasurable. Knowing that he wasn't just thinking about you with his cock, but was thinking about you with his heart too.

That feeling started creeping up inside you—the blissful burn of heat pooling in your lower stomach. It made your walls flutter around him. Made you whine and moan uncontrollably into his mouth until you couldn't focus on kissing him anymore and had to pull away.

Your head fell back onto the mat, hair strewn out around you. The sounds coming out of you were pure sin. Desperate, greedy sin.

Finnick chuckled adoringly above you. "Too fucked out, sweetheart?"

He couldn't exactly talk. The second you clenched around him again, he groaned out a curse and you—the parts of your mind that were still relatively comprehensible—were sure you could feel the warmth of pre-cum ooze inside you.

"Finnick," you mewled, and he caressed the baby hairs framing your face. "Feels so good. Should—should've done this sooner."

Through your half-lidded eyes, you watched as he nodded and then descended to your forehead, pressing his lips tenderly against your skin. I know, the gesture said. You felt a rush of affection flood through your body, ultimately accelerating the build-up happening inside you.

You could feel yourself teetering so impossibly close to the brink of your orgasm. The tightness inside you was so hot and overwhelming; it was a struggle for you to keep your eyes from fluttering shut and rolling back, though you willed yourself to keep them open. You had to.

Watching Finnick's face contort with pleasure as he's thrown into his own high from feeling your walls contract around him would probably be the highlight of your entire life.

"So beautiful," he cooed as he thrusted into you. "My sweet girl's gonna come, isn't she? Can feel it."

The words flew out of your mouth. "Come inside me."

"Come inside you?"

You were pretty sure he was mocking you from the devilish curve of his lips and furrow of his brows. But your lust-drunk brain didn't really care.

"Please. Wanna feel you—" Your chest heaved with each breath "—everywhere."

Finnick was so obviously trying to keep himself from giving in before you. But you could see how delirious his eyes were as they stared down at you and you heard how every low, gratified—frustratingly sexy—sound he made betrayed him. He was so close.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he said, finally.

He managed to unhook your hands from around his back and guided them upwards, holding your wrists together above your head with one hand before he brought his other back to your waist. It was oddly romantic how he held you, given that he was fucking you like life after that night wasn't guaranteed.

And then, without warning, he was pounding into you, bottoming out completely with each thrust.

It was almost animalistic now—how you were both unable to control yourselves anymore. You were writhing beneath him, impulsively fighting against the grip he had on your wrists. And Finnick, well, he was fucking you so hard, you weren't sure if walking home that night would be a possibility.

He was a disaster of pleasured vocals, deep moans, and heavy breaths. You thanked the absolute heavens he was because it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard in your entire life.

When your own moans started to rise in pitch, you knew you were done for. You felt so full. Stretched out to the max. Blinded by the heat that was drowning you. But your eyes managed to remain clear and locked on Finnick's the entire time, just as his were on yours.

With a fleeting glance downward, he once again placed a large hand over your abdomen and pushed down, and your back arched off the ground.

You were gone.

"Oh fuck!"

The heat, white and fiery, had consumed you. Your thighs tensed uncontrollably around Finnick, your body shaking beneath him as your insides pulsed all the way down to your stuffed entrance. White, sticky sweetness covered Finnick's cock as he continued to thrust into you, the wet sounds overpowering the waves cresting on the sands. It felt like fucking heaven.

He let out a moan, broken and breathless, and released the grip he had on your hands. In that short moment, you instantly gripped onto him, feeling his body shudder beneath your hands as his throbbing cock spurted out ropes of warmth deep inside you, the essence of both of you mixing inside your body, making you one.

You pulled him down and crushed your lips to his with a sudden intense urge to be as close to him as you could, if it were even possible to be any closer to him at that point. It felt a little spiritual, the way you practically wanted to merge your body with his. That's what having sex with someone you truly loved was like, you supposed.

The kiss was sloppy and messy, but it never lacked heat or affection. Lacking heat was impossible between you and Finnick.

A lot of time passed before either of you even contemplated pulling away from one another. Finnick was inside you for what must have been a good half hour after you had both finished. It felt close. Deeply intimate. He held you in his arms, his hands mapping out various parts of your body with unhurried measure as you lay beneath him, lazily yet affectionately making out with warm, reddened lips.

There were quiet giggles and heated words whispered between you that would have prompted another session had either of you been graced with the energy.

But it was late. The remnants of the sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon, dimming the sky to a deep dark blue, the world's only source of illumination being the stars casting their sparkling light on the rippling water.

It was a new moon.

Eventually, you ended up laying over his chest, legs strewn across his as you both faced the ocean. Your head rose and fell with each breath Finnick took and it felt unreal. 

You were momentarily worried your infatuation with him had grown too out of hand and you had imagined the whole day, or perhaps, the entire time you had known him. That it was all a figment of your vivid imagination.

Then, his warm hand slid into your own, which was draped across his stomach, and you knew that this, the newfound relationship between you and Finnick, was undeniably and rapturously real.

He slowly lifted them together above your bodies, palms flat against one another. There was a notable size difference between them—his palm was large and calloused with long fingers that squared off at the tips, meanwhile, your own fist could probably fit into his palm.

Your fingers danced delicately together as you both watched from below. He traced the length of your fingers with his fingertips; followed the etches in your palm, and turned your hand to explore the protrusions of your knuckles. There was a certain gentle curiosity in his touch, similar to that of someone who was discovering the act of human connection for the first time.

"I don't know if I can walk home," you whispered.

Finnick lowered your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before placing them back on his stomach. "I'll carry you."

"For an entire hour?"

"I'll manage," he said, "I've got muscles."

You scoffed quietly to yourself, smiling. "Ok, big strong man."

"Says the girl who needs to be carried home."

"Well, you are kind of the one to blame for that."

You tilted your head to glance up at him and found exactly what you were expecting to see. He was wearing a proud grin, all apple cheeks and crinkled eyes. It was something you had come to adore, even though sometimes it was out of arrogance.

Your head turned to rest back on his chest. You watched as his thumb caressed slow circles over your knuckle.

"What you said before," you began, "is it true? Do you really... love me?"

The heart beating beneath your ear genuinely sounded like it skipped a beat. You imagined that was a good sign, though your nerves were still a little frayed. What if he had only said it because of the heat of the moment?

A beat went by. "I've been trying to tell you ever since I first wove the mat for you," he confessed, his voice quiet yet holding the weight of the history that made up your friendship.

There it was—the truth laid bare. Despite hearing the words, it didn't really change anything. You suspected deep down you knew the entire time; you were just too self-doubting to accept it. To accept that Finnick Odair, the crown jewel of Panem, had fallen in love with you, an ordinary girl from District Four who just so happened to meet him at a secret beach.

Although, there was a sensation you remember upon first meeting him. That instinct that had told you to stay instead of running away, as any logical human being would do upon being approached by a stranger in the middle of nowhere. That instinct, despite sounding utterly ridiculous, caused you to believe that perhaps it was fate.

Maybe you were destined to meet. Maybe it didn't matter that he was a nationwide celebrity, nor you a simple town girl. Maybe your souls were entwined from the start and, one way or another, you would have met anyway.

Maybe.

"That's a long time," you said.

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I thought you would've gotten the hint by now."

And you couldn't help but join him. You thought you were the one who was deranged out of their mind. Here Finnick was telling you he had spent an entire year trying to confess his love without you even realising.

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

"It's alright," he said, earnestly. "I'd say it worked out pretty well. I mean, look where your obliviousness got us."

You smiled. Your legs were tangled with Finnick's; his arm was holding you tightly against his bare upper body, and his fingers were lovingly tracing over yours. Yeah, you were pretty grateful for your obliviousness sometimes. A new pair of underwear might have been something to consider, though.

A silence settled between you, comfortable, peaceful. Being in Finnick's embrace almost made you forget entirely about the reality of your existence—the Games, the dominion over Panem, the chaotic environment back home. It was the reason you had set off last year in search of a place away from society.

You had now found that the escape you were looking for wasn't a place or a hidden paradise, but a person. It was Finnick.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

The trees and palm leaves danced in the light breeze. Waves lapped on the shore.

You angled your head back to look at Finnick and felt him pull you closer. His expression was a picture of relaxation and contentment. His eyes gazed down at you, glimmering with the reflection of scattered stars in the night sky, just like the sea in front of you.

He seemed to already know what you were going to say. Always the mind reader.

"Say it, sweetheart." The corners of his lips twitched expectantly.

Sweetheart. Oh, how could you have ever felt for him in any other way?

"I love you too."

His face broke into one of the happiest smiles you had ever seen.

...roll credits

[hiraethwrote]

just come home pt. 2 - satoru gojo

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[satoru gojo - f!reader] ✧ summary: dealing with the breakup has been hard for the both of you, and it doesn't help when your randomly bump into each other ✧ cw: angst, some fluff, denial, slight intoxication, somewhat proofread ✧ word count: 3.6k

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

35 days has passed since he had last seen you, let alone heard your voice and he never knew he could miss something so much. The first week after everything had went down, he had blown up your phone in hopes you two could talk it through. But he hadn’t been so lucky, as he was sent straight to voicemail every time.

He was dying to know how you were doing, wondering if you were as miserable without him as he found himself to be without you. Every time he stepped into the abandoned apartment, the scene of you leaving him played over and over in his head. It wasn’t until your friend had picked up all your stuff he realised how imprinted you were in the apartment. It didn’t feel like home to him anymore.

The apartment was, in theory, Satoru’s. In the beginning, you spent the night every now and then. But the relationship was just so intense, quickly escalating to spending the night, every night. Eventually you both figured it was just better you moved in, so you wouldn’t have to travel in between places for small necessities. As time went on, your stuff and decor brought new life to the place, something he had wanted for a long time but never taken the time to do. But now every trace of your time in his apartment was erased and he couldn’t stand being there.

“She’s not telling me anything, Satoru,” Suguru sighed as he was continuously begging him to spill whatever he had heard from you. Throughout your relationship, it was only natural for you to get to know his friends. Therefore, Suguru had reached out to you once he learned what had happened. But much to Satoru’s dismay, you gave short replies, only answering out of pure politeness.

“She’s a chatty person, I find it hard to believe she’s sending you one-word texts.”

With a sigh, Suguru threw his phone at him, taking Satoru by surprise. “Have a look for yourself.” Suguru didn’t have to ask him twice as he instantly entered the texts exchanged between the two of you. Not only did you answer shortly, but you took your sweet time sending any form of reply. But once he saw the last message he had received from you was yesterday, his heart did a small jump. It was the first sign he’d seen himself that you were even alive.

y/n: doing fine. hope you have a nice weekend too :)

His eyes kept staring at the small screen, fighting the urge to start typing anything just to be in contact with you. After a while, he reluctantly handed the phone back to Suguru.

“Happy now?” Suguru asked, earning him a cold glare from Satoru. “If I’m gonna be honest, I thought the two of you had been having issues for a while.” His glare instantly softened and his entire demeanour had changed into one of pure sadness.

“Come again?”

“You can’t be serious, Satoru?” Suguru asked tauntingly, his voice dripping with disappointment. “You hate work. I thought the first time you volunteered to stay after a meeting, you guys had been fighting and you were just being petty.”

“I’m not petty,” Satoru raced to defend himself.

“That’s beside the point!” Suguru said, rolling his eyes. “You know how you can get. I thought you just wanted to piss her off, but it kept happening. I tried asking you about it, but you just brushed it off every time.”

“I’m telling you, we were fine. There were no issues!”

“You keep saying that, but something changed. Satoru, do you remember the last time Shoko or I begged you to shut up about her?” Now that Suguru mentioned it, Satoru began to think about what Suguru had said and realised he was making a point.

He felt as if his heart was breaking all over again, to hear how even his friends had managed to pick up on his blatant disregard for his girlfriend, but it had managed to slip right by him. And because of that, the image of you, choked with tears because of him was forever burned into his mind.

“I just really want her back!” He stuttered, clearly in despair which caught Suguru off guard. For all the times Satoru had explained the situation to his friends, he had never really let his emotions show to anyone. He kept all that locked up until he was sound in his bed, when he couldn’t keep it together anymore. Nearly every night since you’d left, he fell asleep crying.

“It’s not like you deserve it.”

Satoru scoffed. “I never meant for this to happen, Suguru." He really didn’t appreciate his closest friend going against him on the matter, even though he was fully aware it was what he deserved.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” his friend shrugged. “But it did. This is the bed you made, it’s time you lay in it.” Every word that left Suguru’s mouth was entirely true, and Satoru hated himself for it. Ever since he last saw you, he had tried to convince himself this wasn’t his fault, that there was no way for him to have seen this coming. But every time he went down that road, he came to the same conclusion that he could have avoided it a hundred times over.

Satoru was definitely blaming himself enough, to the point where he was in no mood to sit there and listen to his friend spew statements of how badly he screwed up, so he got up from his seat and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t even bother answering Suguru, as he slammed the door behind him as he left.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

It had been the longest and most dreadful 35 days of your life. Luckily, your friend had been kind enough to open her home to you and put absolutely no pressure for you to leave anytime soon.

She’d been asleep when you came banging on her door in the middle of the night, extremely confused at first when you had just collapsed into a bundle of sobs on her living room floor. Once she’d wiped the sleep out of her eyes, she had managed to decipher your broken words into a coherent narrative about how you and Satoru had broken up.

The first week was definitely the worst, huddled up on her couch in a blanket, only getting up to go to the bathroom. She had provided you with whatever you needed; ice cream, movies and takeout. You name it, and she brought it.

You were thankful she’d just let you have some time to be a complete mess before being forced to deal with life again. So after the first week, she started to pull you out of you comfort zone in order for you to start a healing process. At first, she just had you help her cook dinner, then she brought you along to shop for groceries. Before you knew it, you found yourself doing your makeup again which seemed like a huge step. Finally you were putting in some effort in making yourself feel a little better. It felt like a breath of fresh air when you returned to a form of normalcy.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less. In the moments you found yourself thinking about your relationship — past relationship — the sadness struck you all over again, and it didn’t seem like it would fade away just yet. But it had at least become manageable, and it was nice falling asleep without sobbing to the point where you couldn’t breathe.

Finally, your progress had resulted in the first social outing since the breakup. Your friend had been invited to a barbecue, and she had begged for you to join her. After some convincing, you decided it would actually be nice to go out and meet some people and regain some of the social life you had lost.

That’s how you found yourself in the grocery store, trying to find anything to bring to the barbecue, not wanting to come empty handed. You stopped your search when you felt a pair of eyes staring at you. Turning to face the person, you immediately froze, your breath hitching in your throat.

A few feet from you, Satoru was standing, his mouth slightly hanging open. You felt your heart begin to race, banging against your chest like a hummingbird.

Time stood still as you both stared at each other, wondering who would be the one to break the ice first. Wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort, you tightened your grip to contain the overwhelming feelings filling your body.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“You didn’t see his face, y/n. I mean, he has never been embarrassed like that before,” Satoru laughed. He had his arm tossed over your shoulders, while your arm was wrapped around his waist, stumbling down the deserted street. It was definitely not unlike the two of you to leave a party early, as you both much more preferred only each others company.

“Why didn’t you come and get me?” You whined. “I would have loved to see a girl get Suguru all flustered.”

“I mean, she was hot too. Way out of his league.” With the hand resting in his waist, you pinched hard.

“Watch it mister!” You growled, but in reality you were chocking back the drunk giggle that was bubbling up inside you. “If she was so hot, why don’t you go see if she wants to join you for the night.” You shrugged his arm off your shoulders, and released your grip on him. However, he was quick to grab ahold of your hand again and pulled you towards him so you collided with his chest.

“Oh, don’t be like that, pretty girl.” His voice was teasing you, clearly not taking your fake anger seriously. He wrapped one arm around your waist, making it impossible for you to pull away. The other hand grabbed your face before he began to place a bunch of kisses all over your face.

“Satoru!” You squealed in between giggles. Pressing your hands against his chest, you tried to push him away and get out of his grip, but to no prevail.

“What? You don’t want my kisses?” He pouted, loosening his grip, but you remained close to him. “Maybe that girl is interested in them instead?.” His eyes were so soft as he looked down on you, a small genuine smile dancing on his lips. Even with his playful attitude, you had zero concern he would even consider going back to her.

“You’re a funny guy, aren’t you?” You hooked your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes leaning in closer.

“I think I'm hilarious.” Your nose brushed against his, your lips only an inch apart. His hot breath touched your skin, and his eyes travel your face.

“What makes you think she’d even go for you, darling?” His head fell back in laughter, as you flashed him a huge grin, still hanging on around his neck.

“Suguru’s a handsome guy. If I were her-“

“Shut up,” Satoru cut you off before he finally connected his lips with yours in a sweet and passionate kiss. The butterflies went wild as you felt him smile into the kiss. “Doesn’t matter anyway. You’re the only girl I have eyes for.” He said after he reluctantly pulled away.

“Keep it that way,” you giggled before pulling him in for another kiss.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

It was strange to see him again, and a new sensation of melancholy entertained you. From the second you’d left his apartment, you began to picture what it would be like to see him again. You imagined you’d be struck with the same sorrow of that night, only thinking of how he had been unable to provide for your needs. But you found yourself only thinking of the good memories you had shared with him. Every sweet affirmation, every gentle touch, just in general the time spent together.

“Hi,” you croaked, observing how his body was brought back to reality at the sound of your voice. He took a few steps closer and removed his signature sunglasses. Seeing his captivating eyes in person for the first time in so long made you tighten the grip around yourself even more, if that was even possible.

“Hey.” His voice didn’t have the same unease as yours, but it was visible on his stance he wasn’t as confident as he usually was. “What brings you here?”

“To the grocery store?”

“Yeah, what brings you to the grocery store?” Satoru repeated awkwardly, trying to play off his weak attempt to make small talk, his cheeks turning to a faded shade of pink.

“Well, I’m going to a barbecue party so just wanted to bring something.”

“Barbecue party. Fun!”

Seeing you again was overwhelming for him as well, and created a twinge of hurt within him. You looked so different from the last time he saw you. There was a hint of a glow in you he hadn’t seen in a long time, and it hit him again that he was the one who had smothered that glow in you in the first place.

Satoru knew he couldn’t continue to lie to himself much longer, and seeing you again was what made him realise that. Right now, looking at you wearing a cute summer dress, looking absolutely stunning, he saw the extreme contrast in your person compared to a month ago. He finally had a clear visual of how his ignorance had truly damaged you, when time away from him had brought a new form of life into you.

What was even worse, was how he could still see the love you had for him in your eyes. From the moment you had gotten together, one could never have doubted the fact that you loved Satoru Gojo. And you’re unwavering love for him had made him feel so safe and seen, like he’d never experienced before. Which was probably the reason he’d let everything get to this point. He knew your feelings for him wouldn’t change if he stayed late a few times, because you never hesitated to show your affection. He just took it for granted he did the same. To him, it wasn’t a question if he was entirely devoted to you, since he was so adamant that he was willing to do absolutely anything for you. He just sort of figured he had given you the same reassurance he’d received. But looking back, he could clearly see that wasn’t the case.

“I hope it’ll be,” you said with a weak smile and his heart fluttered instantly.

“I thought you weren’t big on barbecues though,” he dared chuckle a little.

“I'm not, but figured it was a good opportunity to meet some people.”

He so wanted to reach out his hand and cup your soft cheek, slowly stroking his thumb while his other hand intertwined with yours.

“How are you?” He blurted out, asking the question he had dreaded the answer to.

“Well, I’ve been better,” you stuttered. “But getting there I suppose. Taking it one day at a time. You?”

Whatever dumb thing he thought of answering, trying to conceal how broken he had been the past month, would do no good as you would see right through him. He simply shrugged, which was received by a compassionate, yet sad smile from you.

“You look great, by the way,” he gestured towards you, causing you to blush.

“Thank you,” you whispered, not able to peer your eyes off of him. He was still as gorgeous as ever, but he didn’t look the same. He clearly wasn’t sleeping well, dark circles under his eyes. Knowing him, he probably wasn’t eating well either. But his snow white hair fell the same way, and his eyes looked at you the way they always did. “I have to get going.”

“Wait-“ Satoru quickly interjected, stepping closer again so he was only standing two feet away from you. “Would you like to grab coffee or something sometime?” He sounded so unbelievably innocent, almost like a child as he made his suggestion. He anxiously waited for your answer, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Gojo.” He flinched ever so slightly at the use of his last name, something you’d never done in the span of your relationship. It created a new distance between the two of you that felt untouchable.

“Don’t you think we could both benefit from talking about everything? I mean, things ended very abruptly-“ he quickly shut up when your friend joined your side, pure fury written all over her.

His posture changed, immediately portraying more confident. He seemed now like the Satoru everyone knew, but you saw through his façade.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than torture this poor girl?”

“We were simply chatting.” Satoru tried to play it cool by flashing your friend a smug grin, but it only seemed to fuel the fire.

“Suddenly have time for her now?” He squinted at her comment, knowing it was more than called for. It didn’t stop the urge he had to fire back at her. “Hope your job promotes you, so it’s all worth it at least.”

“I don’t see how this concerns you,” he replied, trying to keep a considerate tone, but you knew better than to think it was genuine.

“It concerns me when she’s absolutely inconsolable, bawling her eyes out in my apartment.” Your friend didn’t need to go into further detail for him to get a pretty clear picture of the scene. He had, after all, been unfortunate enough to witness it himself.

“I just want a few words with y/n alone,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. Your friend was about to continue to argue, but you placed a hand on her shoulder, signaling for her to put down her pitchfork.

“It’s okay,” you took a deep breath. “Just wait by the register and I’ll be with you shortly.” She gave one last stern look in Satoru’s direction before doing as you requested.

Looking at Satoru, his cocky expression had disappeared the second your friend had turned a corner. It felt so bittersweet, seeing the kind person you knew inside out, standing before you so fragile. Old habits die hard, and you felt yourself fighting the urge to stroke his cheek and comfort him.

“Y/n, I just feel like there is a lot of stuff that we’ve left unsaid.” His calm, cool and collected manner had been thrown out the window and he resembled himself the evening of the breakup. “I never got to say my piece or apologise properly.”

“I know,” was all you said, using every fiber of your body to seem levelheaded. You observed how he constantly tried to reach out for you, but stopped himself every time out of respect.

“Believe me when I say, I truly am sorry. I’ve never regretted anything more.”

“I know,” you repeated, same calm tone.

“Maybe it would give us a chance to heal properly if everything is out in the open. So we both know exactly what the other is thinking.”

“Gojo-“

“No, please, listen. I know I messed up and I really want to fix this!” He rambled on, his desperation resembling the one from that night

“Gojo-“

“Maybe even there’s a chance for us-“

“Satoru,” you said sternly, finally silencing his tangent. Your eyes flickered between his as you saw him trying to find the focus to calm his breathing. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

You saw the heartbreak wash over him, his shoulders falling in disappointment as he whispered your name. You’d missed hearing him speak it with such tender care.

“I am finally starting to get back on track. I’ve even started looking for an apartment,” you said with a sad chuckle. You wanted to show him, and yourself, that you had gotten to the point that you could at least manage to not completely breakdown when you were out in public. “I stand by what I said that night.”

“And you should! You deserve to be loved, and I can be that person. I am that person! There has never been a moment where I haven’t loved you.”

“Satoru, stop it.” You raised your voice slightly. “This is not the time or place for this.” It seemed as it wasn’t until now he was reminded of where you were standing. You gathered up the courage and walked up to him, carefully placing your hand on his cheek. The second you felt his cheek against your hand, you felt as if your skin was on fire.

Satoru didn't hesitate eitherm to place his big hand over yours as hea leaned into your touch. His eyes became glossy, realising how much he had craved feeling your skin against him again. “I just think I need to be the most important person in my life for a while.” He slowly began to nod in agreement, and you heard his breath began to quicken like it had done previously.

He licked his lips, trying to find his words. “See you around then?” His voice was unsteady and his chin quivered.

“Yeah, probably,” you spoke sadly. You let your hand fall from his face, but he held onto your hand until you were too far away. In a way, it felt as if both of you were aware that your story wasn’t over just yet. Satoru was right, there was a lot of stuff still left out in the open which made you believe there were still chapters to be written, whether they were good or bad. But it brought you some form of comfort.

Drying the single tear that had fallen from your eye, you turned away and began to walk away. “You look beautiful, darling,” he said, making your head turn one last time. You gave him a sad smile before he disappeared out of view.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tags: @alisstaa

a/n: oh my, thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback on part one. it is greatly appreciated and really motivates me to write. that being said, i am not as happy with part two as part one but i rewrote it like two times and i guess it's alright. its more important you like it rather than i. hope you guys like it, and again thank you guys so so much for the feedback. reblogs, comments are greatly valued

Plagiarism not authorized

[emeryhiro]

What Daryl and Carol mean to each other

And why France may have been the best thing for Caryl

This idea has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, but now that we're only 9 days away from the Tribeca premiere, I finally decided to flesh it out and post it.

This post can be taken as part two of my previous one on what Carol means to Daryl [here], but it can also be read independently. And just as a disclaimer, this is just my understanding and opinions on Caryl and all the scenes I mention below. So grab a nice cup of your choice beverage and get comfy 'cause I had a lot to say, and this turned out to be a long one.

I want to start by pointing out some moments where Daryl and Carol got to enjoy each other's company and talk in peace.

Yup, that's all of them... a long list of 4...

I didn't realise how rare these moments were until I started looking through season after season. Don't get me wrong; I know there are countless sweet and meaningful moments that they've shared both on screen and off screen (implied), but very few that we've seen without heartbreak, grief, or danger looming over them. And even the moments in the gifs above were still sandwiched between disasters.

I've read and received many questions, such as, "Why have we had to wait all these years and are having to continue to wait for Caryl to be canon?" and "If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now." and I feel like the above gifs answer all of that.

These two have endured unimaginable pain before and after the outbreak, and throughout it all, they have been each other's light, held each other together, helped each other heal from their past, and become the strongest versions of themselves.

However, they have never been allowed to be selfish, to take a moment to think about what they deserve, or to imagine the possibility of accepting the love they want and need; why? Because they have been so busy protecting and making sacrifices for everyone else.

For the past 13 years, they have been content as long as they have each other in their lives, accepting their current circumstances as long as the other seems happy. But during all that time, they also connected in more ways than they had realised.

The major connection I wanted to point out is that their lives depend on one another now (mutually inclusive). Whether knowingly or unknowingly, they are alive at this moment because of each other. I don't mean this just in a 'save their life when they're in danger' way but also as a 'I can't imagine my life existing beyond yours' and 'I can't distinguish between my life and yours' kind of way.

I briefly touched on this in one of my previous posts about Carol [here], and the show, in general, has been a lot more open with us regarding what Carol wants, but here are a couple of more nuanced instances from the later seasons where we see those feelings show from Daryl and Carol's perspectives:

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl)

The first scene I wanted to mentions is when Alpha confronts them about crossing her border. The moment she says, "You have to be punished," and the whisperers reach for their weapons, we see Daryl shifting on his feet as he prepares to move at a moment's notice.

And as soon as Carol talks back to Alpha, calling her words "Bullshit", Daryl is already moving.

He immediately places himself between them to shield Carol in case Alpha decides to attack her.

Then, when Carol snaps and tries to shoot Alpha, Daryl grabs and takes complete hold of her.

He's not just trying to stop her; he's using himself to shield every inch of her from any possible incoming assault from the whisperers.

Once Alpha allows them to leave, he grabs Carol and her bow and arrows without a second of hesitation (leaving behind his own crossbow) and immediately moves Carol away from the situation.

Once again, when everyone is in danger all Daryl can think about is Carol, making sure she's safe and unharmed, with no concern for himself.

I also think it's so beautiful and important to point out here that while all Daryl could think about was shielding Carol, Michonne was also there trying to protect both of them ♡

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl) - Part 2

The second one I want to mention is later in the same episode when Daryl and Michonne rush Carol back to Alexandria/Siddiq for help after she cuts her arm open badly.

We first find Daryl holding onto a column outside to steady himself while he waits to find out if she's okay.

When Siddiq comes out full of hesitation and can't find the words to answer Michone when she asks if Carol is okay, we see a look of pure fear on Daryl's face.

He freezes; he's holding his breath and won't dare move or say anything because he feels like his whole reality is hanging by a thread, and in the moment, the smallest thing or whatever Siddiq is about to say next might make it all fall apart.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP9 Squeeze (Daryl)

The third moment I wanted to mention is when Carol is hanging off the edge of a rock in the cave, risking her life just so she can try to destroy part of Alpha's horde, but Daryl finds her and is so confused and terrified by what she's doing.

He tries to tell her, to warn her that she's gonna get herself killed if she tries to go through with what she's planning.

Look at how he flinches and instantly loses his breath when her hand slips a little... breaks my heart every time.

When she responds to him by saying, "She killed my boy", Daryl's fear is now also combined with desperation because he realised that he didn't need to warn her about the possibility of getting herself killed; he realised she knew the risk all along and was in such a low place that she was almost welcoming the consequences.

What previously was a tone of alarm in Daryl's voice turns into a whisper, and he's now pleading with her. Without saying the actual words, he's begging her to choose to live again, even if it's just for him.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP14 Look at the Flowers (Carol)

What Caryl wants is also kind of answered in 10x14, where Carol is having an internal confrontation with herself. Subconsciously, she has chosen and manifested Alpha (who is now dead) as the face and voice of the one confronting her.

Timestamp 19:10 - 20:15

When "Alpha" says to her:

"Being out on your own... you've tried it before. They always pull you back. Always wanting more. Love. Motherhood. Death. But they don't know what you truly want. Admit it. What do you want? Say it..."

Carol responded by saying :

"I want to be alone."

To which "Alpha" says:

"Yeah. That's not it."

So the question here is, if it's not love in general, motherhood, death, or being left alone, then what does Carol actually want?

It's important here to note that Carol already knows the answer to that question. She's only asking herself this question because she hasn't accepted it; she isn't being honest with herself yet.

Timestamp 33:15 - 35:20

While Carol is stuck under the rubble and can't get out as the walker is getting closer to her, "Alpha" taunts her by saying:

"Stop fighting. No matter what you do, you lose people. Sophia, Lizzie, Mika, Henry, Ezekiel... And if you go back, Daryl could be next."

To which Carol responds:

"I could never let that happen."

This internal confrontation with herself and the realization that even when everything else in her world is dark, just having Daryl and making sure he's okay is worth living for and fighting for and that it's not too late for her to start over. The acceptance that that's who/what she truly wants gives her the strength at that moment to fight again, dislocating her shoulder to get free and killing the walker that was about to reach her.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP16 A Certain Doom (Daryl)

Looking back at 10x01 for a second, Carol asks Daryl to run away with her, but he says no and explains that life in tiny boat cabins is not for him. Then Carol presents the idea of running away on his bike instead, and he's much more enticed by his idea; however, by the end of the episode, they both agree that they can't because they still feel responsible for the people around them and making sure that they're safe against the threat from Alpha. 

Back to 10x16, after Carol went to lead the horde off the cliff, Daryl would have almost been expecting and terrified that she wouldn't come back, that she'd take this "out" and end her own pain in a permanent and self-sacrificial way like she's tried before, but this time, he wouldn't be there to beg her to come back to him and to save her. 

Once again, we find him leaning and steadying himself against a tree, preparing for the worst possible news or, as the episode's title suggests, a certain doom.

And when he sees her again, he can't take his eyes off her.

He doesn't believe his eyes at first; he looks all over her to make sure she's not hurt, but when she speaks, asking him if he's good, he finally breathes again, letting out the breath he's been holding.

The community is safe (for now) since the horde has been dealt with, and his next immediate thought is, "You still got me" and "New Mexico is still out there." He immediately brings back the idea of running away together; why? Because he now knows that this time he got way too close to losing her forever and will not be risking that ever again. He's now ready to leave everything and everyone else he cares about behind, so he'll never risk losing her again. 

He loves her so much that, once again, all else comes second.

When he hugs her, he pulls her in tighter than ever before, making sure he's holding onto as much of her as possible because he needs to know that this is real, that he's actually holding her, that she's right there, unharmed and breathing, and not just a part of a dream of what he wants to see. 

I believe he forgives everything in that instant, including her actions that led to losing Connie, because his pain is not worth causing her any more of it. He will now carry that guilt for himself, taking as much of her burden as possible just to make living a little easier for her. Because he'd rather shoulder all the pain and guilt than lose her, and because he can live with the pain and guilt, but he can't live without her. 

~~~~~~~~

S11 EP24 Rest in Peace (Daryl & Carol)

I believe the events of the season 11 finale forced them to come to a new level of internal acceptance. Seeing the people around them lose the ones they love the most started a spark, and it started to force them to have those internal conversations.

The reality began to sink in for both of them that there had been too many close calls to keep denying themselves what they truly wanted, and It's now more true to them than ever that their tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

We all expected this to be the moment they went for what they'd wanted for so long, but we were wrong; their wounds were just too deep, and their instinct to self-sacrifice was once again too strong.

A year later, we see them once again dedicating their lives to helping others, Carol taking over Hornsby's job and helping put the commonwealth back together, and Daryl setting out to see what's left out there, hoping to find Rick and Michonne and bring them back to their family.

~~~~~~~~

TOWL S01 EP04 What We (Daryl & Carol) - A Parallel

There's a pretty important parallel that I'd like to point out as well. In episode 4 of TOWL, when Micheonne asks Rick what the CRM took from him, Rick responds to her by saying:

"When I got taken, I fought, and I fought, and not just by trying to get away, but by how I would dream. I'd meet up with Carl in my dreams. And that's how I survived in here. Kept me alive... But then I started dreaming of you [Michonne]... and it kept me going... I can't live without you. Without you, I die."

It's important here to note that Rick is speaking to his wife. When he was taken away and at his lowest, he survived because when he went to sleep, he dreamed about Carl (his son) and Michonne (his soulmate) and his happy memories with them.

So what does Daryl dream about when he's taken away and at his lowest? (TWD:DD S01 EP01)

He dreams about Judith (his surrogate daughter) and Carol (his soulmate).

He dreams about Judith telling him that he deserves a happy ending too, and his very next thought is of Carol, seeing her again and being with her again because that's the happy ending he truly wants.

And what does Carol dream about when she's at her lowest in season 10?

She dreams about Henry (her adoptive son) and Daryl (her soulmate)

She dreams about the life she's always wanted, a home, a family and a life with Daryl because that's the happy ending she truly wants.

Also, just a quick mention that even Michonne refers to Rick (her husband) as her friend when speaking to Virgil in TWD 10x08 (TS: 40:00 - 41:20)

~~~~~~~~

So why is TBOC going to be any different? And why was Daryl ending up in France the best thing that could have happened for Caryl?

Because they have finally reached a point where they almost believe they've lost the other, they have been forced to feel the dependence of their existence on the others.

They have never been truly separated before, not to this extent. And what to them was previously only a fear has now become a reality.

When they're reunited, it's going to be with a completely new perspective and total understanding of the extent of their need for one another, and the idea of just having one another in each other's lives will no longer even remotely come close to being sufficient.

I'll elaborate a little...

After all these years, we've seen them constantly save one another and be terrified of losing each other. But no matter what, nothing got them to the point where they felt they needed (more than anything) to confess to the other. So far, everything they have faced during the main show has been different shades of the same thing, and the urgency was never high enough to outweigh their self-doubt and insecurities.

What France has given us is a whole new level of steaks. Where we'll find them in season 2 is on the verge of believing that they'll never be able to see each other again; this, coupled with the fact that they don't even know if the other is even alive, and the fact that the distance and time apart has given them a true taste of how much they need the other, we now have the perfect and unique recipe for something that outweighs their self-doubts and insecurities.

It's the age-old idea of you don't know what you have until it's gone. The difference between:

Watching everyone around them lose the people they love most: they empathise with them, their heart breaks for them, they may even be devastated by that loss, and ultimately, it probably makes them cherish the ones they still have even more.

They, themselves, losing the person they love most: this is something that needs to be experienced to be understood. It's reality shifting, and the pain/loss outweighs anything else.

And now, after experiencing that loss for themselves, by some miracle, they're given another chance with that person... what a way to completely shift someone's priorities and ability to act past insecurities.

~~~~~~~~

To wrap up I wanna go back to Norman's words from the NYCC TBOC press conference:

"[Carol] feels something's wrong. They have that kind of bond, where there's a lot of unspoken things that are said... the bonds that we made in the flagship show are still very strong... [Carol] can take care of herself, of course... but the bond just keeps getting stronger and stronger..."

And David Zabel's words from his interview with Entertainment Weekly (interview link):

"The main focus of season 2 for me was always Daryl and Carol coming back together and what does that mean? And it becomes ultimately a story about how we as people can save each other. She's trying to find him, but in the process of telling that story: How are they ultimately getting to a place where they're kind of saving each other?...showing what's happening inside these characters as people in the most intimate personal way"

Daryl and Carol have loved and cared for each other so profoundly, especially when they couldn't love themselves, even to the point of sacrificing their own happiness to prioritise the others. If that is not the true meaning of soulmates, then I don't know what is. And we all know that some of the greatest loves are routed in the truest friendships.

~~~~~~~~

Thank you to everyone who read through this! I know it was an extra long one, and it could have been even longer, but I've decided to post their moments from 10C separately, as there's a lot more to break down there. I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm so happy/grateful that I have this platform to share these thoughts with you all. I'd love to know your thoughts on the things I've mentioned or missed ♡♡♡

As some of you already know, I'll be attending the Tribeca Premiere for TBOC in 9 days. After that, I'd like to write and share a spoiler-free-ish afterthought for this post, including what I've taken away from episode 1, what was said during the cast panel afterwards, and my thoughts on what's to come for Caryl. If anyone would like to be tagged when that's posted, please let me know.

I'll be posting a more detailed and spoilery analysis of Episode 1 once it's actually released.

[humbledragon669]

S1E4 – Saturday Morning Funtime Write Up P2 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from The Fields of Megiddo to "You're better off without him."

Given the rather abrupt interruption I made to the previous part of the write up for this episode, let’s just get stuck straight in and pick up where I left off. Other than the lovely implication that selfies are the work of the devil, there’s only one thing I want to talk about in relation to this scene, and it’s the music. It’s been a while since I waxed lyrical over David Arnold’s soundtrack, so I’m sure it’s about time I brought it up again. We can hear a piece of incidental music playing throughout the conversation between Hastur and Eric (or Junior Demon if you’re looking at the original script), the character of which perfectly underscores the tone of the conversation. There are three sections to it – one for each iteration of the disposable demon, each growing less playful than the last (represented by the harpsichord in the orchestration). What I especially love about this little piece of music is that if you listen really, really carefully, you can pick out some instances of the motif from the theme music (played by a glockenspiel). It’s a lovely reminder of how much music enriches our experience of film and television without us even realising it.

Without giving a blow-by-blow description of what’s going on in the episode (which I’m sure you’d agree would be tedious both to write and read), I don’t have much to say about the next scene either, other than pointing out Anathema’s pathological desire to feed the kids whenever they appear. It makes me wonder if she’s like that with everyone (in which case Aziraphale would probably adore her) or it’s just children (in which case, creepy). It is interesting to see that Adam’s nature is starting to be corrupted by his powers – where the consequences were previously of a childlike innocent nature, they are now starting to manifest in his attempts to dominate others. We also have confirmation that the change in his nature is now being noticed by others in his vicinity.

Hastur’s next scene, other than providing some lovely moments of perfectly delivered black comedy, forms a mainly narrative purpose, serving nicely to remind us why Aziraphale was so incredulous at the Antichrist being left with an American diplomat’s family in the first place – they’re abhorrent. The Dowlings I mean, not all Americans. Or even all American diplomats. Not that I know any American diplomats to say any different. Anyway. We also see how quick Hastur is to come to the (correct) conclusion that Crowley is to blame for this monumental cock up. Given that Hastur shows his dislike of our demon just prior to the baby switcheroo 11 years earlier (and who knows how long he’s actually felt that way), it’s almost surprising that it’s taken him this long to find something concrete against Crowley.

Alright, Easter egg time! The scene of Crowley in the cinema has a couple. Let’s start with the one glaring at us from the movie theatre screen.

That’s our episode title, right there in front of our eyes! I don’t know whether these creepy little rabbits were always intended to be holding the banners and this is where the episode title came from, whether the episode title came first, or whether it’s somewhere between the two but I love the meta-reference nonetheless. Whilst we’re on the topic of those weird little fuckers, has anybody stopped to wonder why, in the name of all that is and isn’t holy, has Crowley would pick this film to watch? I know we get that deliciously dark sequence of a bunny massacring another bunny as a result, but it’s an odd choice for the demon you have to admit.

Second Easter egg:

The only other audience member in the movie theatre, in case you didn’t already know, is played by a certain Neil Gaiman. Who also happens to provide the voice for the cutesy-wutesy bunny rabbits on the screen. It’s tempting to ask the same question about why on earth an adult man would choose this child’s cartoon to watch, alone, on a Saturday morning but really I’m just chuffed to bits that they found a cameo for Neil.

As a quick side note, I also want to point out that the attention to detail has not been neglected in the cartoon – the frog (toad?) on Hastur’s head can be seen gesticulating in line with his speech. Not to mention you can sporadically hear a “ribbit” in the background. Bloody genius.

Back with Anathema (who, for once, does not offer her guest any food) and Newton, there’s an interesting return to the idea that the same word can be used to convey different meanings dependent on its recipient. Remember back when Adam showed up on her Anathema’s doorstep and she renamed herself to accommodate his preconceived ideas? Well she switches right back to calling herself a witch here, for the exact same reason, but with Newton instead. In fairness, he’s playing the same game in calling himself a computer engineer. And whilst I appreciate the need to remove matches from this particular individual, I wasn’t actually aware that he had any, though we do know he has firelighters.

Side note: there is a note written on a newspaper article pinned on the board in this scene:

It might be nothing at all, but if anybody has any suggestions as to whether there’s an Easter egg to be found here, I’m all ears.

Moving on into Adam’s rapidly increasing decline into his true nature, the only thing I have to say about the scene with The Them being dragged through the woods is that the speech delivered by the aspiring Antichrist here is incredibly relevant to current day.

Everything’s being killed or used up and no one takes it seriously. Everyone thinks somehow it’ll all get better again.

Makes it rather difficult to argue with him, doesn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe global extinction is the way to go about fixing things, but his point is valid. And from a child’s perspective, it might actually seem logical that the way to solve the problem is to just start everything from new.

OK, I need to take a moment here to do a little bit of an outline, because for some reason, my brain really struggles to comprehend the timeline of the Crowley and Aziraphale scenes for the rest of this episode. Which isn’t so unusual, given that we don’t see them all in chronological order, but there’s just something about these scenes that I find hard to make them piece together into a whole story. So, here’s the sequence as I understand it:

Crowley visits the movie theatre, where he discovers that Hell knows he has something to do with the Antichrist mix up.

Crowley goes to Soho to try and convince Aziraphale to run away together.

Aziraphale is confronted on the street by a group of archangels, telling him he has to choose a side (complete with a threatening wall slam).

Aziraphale attempts to talk to God, where he discovers that Heaven intends to have their war, regardless of any external circumstances.

Hastur and Ligur arrive at Crowley’s apartment (probably concurrent with Aziraphale talking to Metatron) to “collect” him.

Aziraphale calls Crowley to tell him he knows where the Antichrist is (and presumably to suggest they do something about it together), approximately 28 minutes after his attack.

Shadwell enters the book shop, triggering the Aziraphale’s discorporation and causing the fire to start.

Crowley leaves his apartment to go and get Aziraphale having heard the voicemail he left. This may or may not be after Aziraphale has already been discorporated.

I think that’s it. Even now I feel confused about it all, and I have no idea why. I probably didn’t need to spell it all out quite so explicitly for anyone other than myself but hey, this is my write up, so my rules.

OK, let’s move on to another horribly painful exchange between Crowley and Aziraphale, shall we? Before we get there though, it would be remiss of me not to talk about the Bentley’s registration plate. I *think* this is the first time we see it properly, as it’s obscured by the front bumper in most of the shots in episode 2.

It’s a pretty poor picture, but the registration is “NIAT RUC”. As in “curtain” backwards. As I understand it, this is a reference to some writing on the wall of a mausoleum in “Monty Python’s Meaning of Life”, paying homage to Terry Gilliam (one of the Monty Python members) who was involved in the first attempt to bring Good Omens to the screen.

Alright, first question about the upcoming scene. Why doesn’t Crowley just park the Bentley in his usual parking spot and go looking for Aziraphale? We can be pretty sure that the only reason he would be driving through that particular street in Soho is going to be something to do with Aziraphale. The space across the book shop is empty when he drives past it, yet he barely slows down to take the corner. Why not just park?

Next question about the exchange that takes place between our hero pair. What exactly is Crowley apologising for? By my reckoning it was Aziraphale that delivered the deciding blow during the breakup in the previous episode, even if his reasons were honourable.

My money on the answer to this question is that Crowley is in full panic mode at this point. He knows that apologising is likely the only way he’s going to be able to spark any sort of conversation with Aziraphale, hopefully taking him so off guard that he simply does as instructed. And it nearly works – you can see the angel’s relief when his shoulders relax.

He’s desperate – why else would he offer such a carte blanche apology for “whatever he said”? The fact that Hell have finally twigged to his involvement has sent him into full flight mode and the only thing he’s stopped to collect on his way out of dodge is the only thing that really matters to him – Aziraphale. He doesn’t believe he has time to talk about it – it has to be now and he’s asking Aziraphale to trust him. As a human resident on Earth, I feel obliged to side with Aziraphale on this one, seeing as he’s still trying to find a way to stop the obliteration of the human race. But that doesn’t make the rejection any less heartbreaking, even though he does seem to give it a micro-second of consideration before he digs his heels in.

And can we just take a pause on Crowley’s choice of words for his plea? “Run away together”, that’s what he says. This is such a clear indication of the true nature of their relationship to me – running away together is generally not the sort of thing people entertain in a platonic way, is it? Noticeably, Aziraphale doesn’t reject the idea of being “together”, which further serves to the idea that they are already familiar with exactly what the connotations of the word, and that it’s something he’s comfortable with. His rejection is actually grounded in the fact that he thinks he can still persuade the powers that be to just call the whole thing off by simply talking some sense into them, so he brushes Crowley’s panic off as “ridiculous” (side note: the music kicking in at this point should tell us that this discussion is on a road to nowhere – we’ve got slushy strings in a minor key again). What he fails to realise is that even if he can by some miracle (no pun intended) actually pull that off, Hell will still be looking to wreak some sort of personal revenge on Crowley for his involvement in the Antichrist mix-up. Crowley hasn’t forgotten that though, you can see the panic written all over his face as the realisation that Aziraphale isn’t on the same page as him.

What Crowley has failed to realise is that he’s not the only one panicking. Aziraphale is on that train too, but he’s taking a very healthy dose of denial with him. He simply cannot contemplate the possibility that the whole situation can’t be fixed. Crowley’s pleading might be painful to hear but I find it harder to watch Aziraphale’s version of the same emotion – you can almost hear him screaming at Crowley, trying to explain how terrified he is and how much he needs him on side.

Let’s not forget that Aziraphale desperately wants to be a company man. He wants to believe that his side is the inherently good side. That everything they do can be justified by sound moral decisions. Asking him to stop believing that would undo everything he is and ever has been. Even if it is completely ridiculous. We shouldn’t forget that because Crowley, in his panic, does.

You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?

That one little line, emotionally vomited as it is, conveys so much about Crowley’s feelings. I’m trying to think of another instance where he reveals an opinion he holds about Aziraphale, particularly one that is complimentary, and I am coming up blank. Admittedly I don’t know the entire script by memory (probably not far off) so I wouldn’t swear by it, but I think those three words about Aziraphale’s intelligence are exceptional as far as Crowley’s talking of the angel is concerned. And then he has to go and spoil it by calling Aziraphale “stupid”. There is little doubt at how affronted he is at that particular term.

We all know what’s coming next. Aziraphale’s very own stick-the-knife in phrase to counter Crowley’s use of the “s” word.

It’s not the first time we have seen Aziraphale express a desire for Crowley to be forgiven, but it is the first time we see him actually offering forgiveness. When I watched this scene through for the first time, I found myself wondering what Aziraphale thinks he’s forgiving Crowley for, but having seen the fleeting looks of panic on his face we’ve seen throughout this conversation, I think it’s for not understanding he needs him to stay, for not hearing the subtext he has been trying to convey. I also happen to think that Aziraphale actually uses this 3-word phrase as a coded way of telling Crowley that the conversation is over, nothing more to discuss, not unless the demon makes a compromise. I will be talking about that a fair bit when I get to its use in the Final 15, but for now let’s just say it has its desired effect – Crowley’s response is one of frustration and the discussion is indeed over.

What I find interesting is that Aziraphale appears to be confused by the reaction he gets, before the pain of watching Crowley walk away again sets in. It’s almost as if he realises he might have misjudged the situation, failed to understand how frightened Crowley is, and I think we can see real self-doubt there for a second before the demon delivers the final blow as he characteristically runs away from the difficult situation.

I think there is likely a bit more than a literal meaning to Crowley’s statement that he’s going to be “off in the stars”, particularly given what we saw of Lesley demise earlier in the episode. As briefly mentioned, the concept of entities residing within starlight at the end of their mortal lives is something that Neil uses in other works too (and not just in his work – this idea can be found in varying guises across multiple faith systems). Perhaps this is part of the reason Aziraphale is so reluctant to go with him? Either way, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that Crowley is clearly bluffing with his departing line, and knows he is.

WON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT YOU GIF

The whole dismissal feels full of holes really, after all, why on earth why would you need to go and get anything at all if you were planning on leaving the planet? Why didn’t he just take the things he wanted when he left his apartment on his way to Soho in the first place? Honestly, I don’t think he thought he’d entertained the idea that the conversation with Aziraphale would have resulted in anything other than them joining forces again, one way or the other, but the fact that he announces to Aziraphale that he’s going home says to me that he has no intention of doing anything other than that. He knows he has to reassess his options now that he doesn’t have what he came for. And how much do we all love that passer-by? He sees their relationship for what it really is, just from a single line of heated argument.

I’ve been there. You’re better off without him.

Importantly, Aziraphale doesn’t try to correct him in his assumption that they are a couple. And the passer-by is wrong of course, we all know that Crowley and Aziraphale are much stronger when they’re together. Better together you might say. Even Aziraphale knows it.

Right, that’s the lot for this part! As usual, comments, questions, discussion, always welcome. See you next time 😊

[hugmekenobi]

Goes Both Ways

A Bad Batch Series interlude oneshot

Gif by @transkestis​

(no, the S2 fits aren’t here yet, this gif just worked the best)

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: You and Hunter both realise there are trickier feelings that need navigating in a relationship but the two of you manage to work with them.

Warnings: Swearing, possessiveness/jealousy, reader doesn’t really stick the Jedi teachings (but we knew this anyway lol), pet name (sweetheart), Gregor being what I need in the form of a flirtatious plot device, Force communication working how I say it does, brief mention of death, no y/n, PDA in the form of making out, affectionate biting/marking, spicy and suggestive language and touches, awkwardness, getting caught/interrupted

Masterlist for S1 chapters

Word Count: 3.4K

Rating: 18+

Author’s notes: I can’t justify the main trope here, my brain just went into this headspace and took it and ran lol. Things get a bit spicier, but I appreciate this sorta thing isn’t for everyone but to those who do read, hope you enjoy :)

The three of them watched from the bar at the scene unfolding in front of them. They weren’t sure how exactly you would react once you came back from putting Omega in Cid’s room, but one thing was certain, you weren’t going to be very happy.

“Hey guys, what are we looking-” You stopped as you saw what it what they were staring at, or rather who they were staring at. “Who the fuck’s that?” You asked, attempting levity but it wasn’t very convincing.

“We don’t know. She appeared once you left.” Tech answered.

“Did she now?” You replied, your voice tense. The feelings bubbling within you were unfamiliar and you were still getting used to the whole relationship thing, but you could already tell you weren’t a fan of what was happening in front of you.

You continued to stare at the young woman currently standing by Hunter at the other end of the bar counter. She was being a little too touchy-feely for your liking, her hands kept wandering to Hunter’s chest and hands. Hunter, to his credit, kept inching away every time she did that, but she was not for dissuading.

“Are you alright?” Echo asked.

“Uh huh.” You replied stiffly.

“You sure?” Wrecker asked as he saw the way your jaw clenched.

You sucked air through your teeth. “Yup.”

“You know he’s not going to do anything.” Tech added.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

“Are you sure you-”

“Relax Echo, I’m not going to cause a scene.” You said calmy as you watched them.

You understood to a degree, hell if you were in her position you’d probably try too, but he was taken now.

Now he was yours.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, where the fuck did that line of thought come from? You thought to yourself, shocked that you’d even gone down that road so quickly. That jealousy and possessiveness was something you’d been taught for years was a very bad thing, yet you jumped to it immediately. You took a deep breath. “It’s fine, I’m fine. He’ll come back over once he's done talking.”

The three of them regarded you suspiciously.

“Chill with the fourth degree. I’m okay.” You reiterated as you felt their eyes on you.

“You’ve still not looked away.” Tech pointed out.

“And that bar stool leg wasn’t bent like that before.” Echo said, indicating to the chair you were closest to.

You glanced down and sure enough, the leg has curved slightly. Clearly you weren’t as fine as you were trying to make yourself out to be. “Wrecker, stand in front of me.”

Wrecker did as you asked. “That better?”

You took another deep breath. “Yeah. Just gotta wait until they’re done.” You stole a swig from Echo’s drink and willed the streak of possessiveness that was residing with in you to go away.

--

“Okay, how long has it been? Seriously, what could she be saying that’s so interesting?” You asked irritably. “Also, Hunter isn’t exactly a conversationalist, what could she be so captivated by?

The others shared a smirk. It had been five minutes and you’d only lasted two before you’d moved past Wrecker to watch them again.

“I don’t think it’s his conversation skills she’s interested in.” Tech said simply as if he was answering a question about the weather.

You shot him a glare as Wrecker and Echo both shook their heads at him. “Sometimes Tech, I forget you’re the smartest one here. I know what she’s interested in but how many times does he need to back away for her to get the hint? Or better yet, why doesn’t he leave?”

“Maybe he’s just being polite?” Wrecker offered.

“Or they’re genuinely having a conversation?” Echo suggested.

You hid your head in your hands, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes I really can’t talk to you boys.”

“Although I doubt a genuine conversation would involve that.” Tech said indicating over to them.

You lifted your head and that possessiveness you had been attempting to quash came to a head as you saw the way she looped an arm around the back of his neck and drew her closer to him. “Oh, for fucks sake.” You muttered. The Jedi were dead, and they weren’t perfect anyway, so you didn’t have to be. You downed the rest of your drink and began to walk over to him.

“I have 5 credits on her bumping into her and making her spill her drink.” Wrecker said as he watched you go.

“Nah, she’ll use her Jedi abilities for that.” Echo countered. “Tech?”

“I think she’ll rise above and merely ask her to leave.”

Echo and Wrecker just stared at him; eyebrows raised.

Tech sighed, “Fine. She’s using the Force.”

--

Hunter had been itching to leave for the past ten minutes but this woman was not getting the message. He had just taken her hands off him for what felt like the one hundredth time when he felt you next to him as you wrapped an arm around his waist.

He glanced at you and saw a hint of darkness in your eyes as well as something he couldn’t quite place. “Hey, how are-” Your lips on his abruptly cut him off and it was a kiss that was definitely not meant for a public space. It was deep and intense, and he was sure it had something to do with whatever it was that was lurking behind your eyes. After what was probably too long for a casual expression of affection, you pulled away and he found that all words had left his brain.

“You were stolen away from me. I had to come check on you.” You said sweetly as you gazed at him, pleased with the slightly dazed look on his face. Keeping your hand wrapped around him, you faced the woman, and you felt a hint of smugness as you saw the flash of irritation on her face. “I see you’ve met my Hunter.”

Your Hunter? He regarded you curiously, but your eyes were focused on the woman in front of you.

“Yeah, we just got chatting.” She said innocently.

“Oh, chatting, was it? Looked to me like you were hitting on him.” You said with fake politeness.

Oh, that’s what this was, Hunter realised. You were jealous. He worried for the woman across from him since he’d never seen you like this, so he didn’t know what to expect. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t-”

“Oh, don’t worry, I trust you.” You said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his neck and you smirked to yourself as you saw her frown out of the corner of your eye.

You faced her again. “Honey, you should really look for men that are interested in you. You’re not going to get what you’re looking for here, I can tell you that.”

“Oh, I’d never-” She began, placing her hand over her heart as if she was shocked by such an insinuation.

“No?” You asked as if you were willing to believe her.

“It’s just he never mentioned you, so I assumed-”

You could tell she was lying and that was confirmed by the way Hunter stiffened next to you. “See, I think he did, and you just don’t know when to quit.”

“Well, I didn’t think sewer rats were his type.” She sneered.

You were glad you could be done with the fake niceties. You placed a hand on Hunter’s chest as you sensed him getting ready to speak. “I think you better be going now.” You said coolly and with a subtle flick of your finger, her drink spilt on her lap.

She shouted in annoyance at the red puddle that was now forming on her lap.

“Oh, now that’s unfortunate. You better get outta here and sort that cause white and red? That’s a bitch to clean and I wouldn’t want your lovely dress to get ruined.” You said with a cat-like grin.

She glowered at you and walked out of the bar.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Hunter kidded into your hair as he kissed your temple.

You looked back at him and looped your arms around his neck.

Hunter’s hands found your waist and as he stared into your eyes, he saw that that hint of possessiveness hadn’t left yet, and he realised it wasn’t necessarily just the woman he had to worry about.

“She was trying to take something that wasn’t hers.” You said as your hands threaded themselves in his hair. You pulled on it and brought his lips down, so they were mere inches from yours.

Hunter had to bite back the groan that threatened to leave his mouth and instead he tightened his hold on your waist. “We can’t… not here.” He managed to rasp out.

“See, I think it should be here. How else are people going to know that you’re mine?” You purred as you moved your lips to his ear before you bit down on his neck, using your tongue to sooth the sting of it.

“Fuck.” Hunter hissed out and he had to grab the counter so as to stay upright.

“Did you like talking to her?” You continued to whisper as you kissed along his jaw.

“No.” He replied hoarsely. His brain was having to work overtime to form even the simplest of words.

“You didn’t leave.” You murmured as you traced your lips over his. You took them away as you saw him go to make something more of it. “Why didn’t you leave?” You asked again, your hand trailing up and down his chest- thankful that they’d all decided they could take a break tonight since his armour would’ve made this difficult- whilst you sucked a mark on his pulse point.

Hunter’s head fell back, and it took all the willpower he possessed not to let out a moan. “Didn’t- Maker- didn’t want to be- Fucking hell- rude.” He ground out as your lips and tongue continued to do things to his neck that left him unable to think straight.

“If there’s a next time, Sergeant…” You crooned, bringing his head back up. “Be rude.” You whispered before kissing him once more, gently biting his lip and relishing in the way he couldn’t keep it together anymore as you heard him groan and hold you tightly to him.

“Oi, you two! This is a public space. Do that in your own place!”

Hunter snapped back to the current moment. He broke away and he saw Cid standing behind you.

You didn’t seem bothered at all. “We will.” You said simply as you took Hunter’s hand and led him out the bar.

All Hunter could do was follow you, too hooked on whatever it was you were acting like to argue or even really think.

--

The others had turned away from the moment that was unfolding between the two of you now, but Wrecker handed the credits over to Echo and Tech.

Echo heard Cid shout and risked a glance over his shoulder and as he saw you lead Hunter out, he guessed they’d be banned from the Marauder for a while. He sighed.

Tech and Wrecker stopped their conversation and followed Echo’s gaze.

“Ah.” Tech said plainly.

“Guess we’re going to be here a while.” Wrecker grumbled.

--

Hunter watched as you laughed at whatever it was Gregor had said. He wasn’t that funny. His jaw went tight as he saw the way Gregor placed a quick hand on your back. He felt that cold stab of jealousy, something he thought he’d risen above since he knew that it was really nothing more than friendly banter between the two of you, you’d told him as much and he trusted you. Plus, Gregor was a brother, and he was doing what brothers do which was very successfully winding him up and Hunter knew he should’ve been better at ignoring it. But seeing the flirtatious repartee come so easily to Gregor and watching him lean in closer to you was doing enough so that the primal feeling of possessiveness was able to take over his brain.

He got up as he saw you pass the table and followed you as you headed into Cid’s office.

--

Echo, Tech, and Wrecker watched from another table as you picked up your communicator and gently nudged Gregor out of your path, making your way out of the bar. Their eyes then fell to Hunter, who stood upon seeing you leave and followed you out of the room. The scene was all too familiar, and they all shared a knowing look as the deja vu settled over them.

“Who knew he could get jealous too.” Wrecker said. “I figured he’d be better than that.”

“Not with her, he’s always had an issue with Gregor. He flirts with her. It’s innocent enough but it gets to him.” Echo said.

“Yeah. Remember when Gregor brought her those flowers? Hunter didn’t leave her side the entire day.” Tech reminded Wrecker.

Wrecker nodded his head in agreement as he remembered.

“Hey fellas.” Gregor said as he sat down next to Wrecker. “Where’s the Sergeant?”

“No idea.” They all said together, and they were thankful that Omega was out running errands with Cid.

--

You finished finding those datapads Cid had asked you to bring to her but just as you were turning to leave, you felt Hunter’s presence but before you could say anything, he’d whirled you around and brought his lips to yours. It was the kind of kiss that took your breath away and left your head spinning as he pulled away. Gathering yourself, you put the datapads down and stared at him as he kept a firm grip of your waist. “What was that for?”

Hunter didn’t answer. He just kissed you again and tangled his fingers in your hair.

You felt it then. You felt the possessiveness that was flowing through him, and this kiss definitely had that in it. It was rough but it felt really fucking good. You just didn’t know what had set this off. What’s going on? You managed to send as you kissed him back just as eagerly.

“I never like it when he flirts with you.” Hunter muttered as he followed your jawline with his lips.

Letting out a happy sigh, you tilted your head back and let him explore your neck. “Who? Gregor?” You watched as his gaze met yours and you nearly let out a groan at the sight. His eyes were dark, and he was breathing heavily. “He’s harmless.” You managed to say, though it was a struggle.

“He wants you and I don’t like what that does to me.” Hunter growled as he kissed you again and pressed himself tighter to you.

“What if I like what it does to you?” You whispered breathlessly as you broke away, a coy smile on your lips as you leaned forward.

No. He wasn’t going to let you turn this one around. It was his turn now. “I don’t like people coming for what’s mine.”

The guttural way he said that had tingles running down your spine and your toes curled as he made his own mark on you. You’re lucky I love you, had that come from anyone else, I’d have kicked their ass.

“I must not be doing a very good job if you’re still able to find a way to speak.” With that, he kissed you again and he tugged on your lip, delighting in the way your breathing hitched as he did that. He grabbed the backs of your thighs and picked you up and carried you over to the edge of Cid’s desk.

You were grateful that the mission you’d been on had been tamer and involved blending in because if he was wearing his armour right now, you wouldn’t have been able to grab fistfuls of his shirt to hold him close to you.

Hunter brought his lips back to your neck. “Do you like it when he flirts with you?” He rumbled against your skin whilst his hand began to steadily trail a path along the inside of your thigh.

You couldn’t help the moan that left your mouth, but you stopped his hand from going any higher. “Someone could-” You broke off with another groan as he bit the sensitive spot just behind your ear before he cooled the sting of it with his tongue. “Walk in.” You said, your voice hoarse with effort.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Hunter crooned. “Maybe Gregor should see who you’re with so he could get the message that you’re mine.” He kissed you again before he repeated his question, “Do you like it when he flirts with you?” He needed you as speechless as he was when you were this way, so he made another mark on the junction where your neck and shoulder met.

“Fuck!” You couldn’t help but shout and you removed your grip on his wrist since you needed both hands to keep yourself upright.

“Answer me.” Hunter ordered as he slowly continued to move his hand upwards.

Right. Words. Come on. “I-um- shit-” His teasing touches were killing you. “No. I’m just being nice.” You managed gasp out as your head fell back.

“Hmm.” Hunter stopped just before he reached where he knew you were wanting him. He grabbed the back of your neck so that you were forced to look at him.

You could barely keep your breathing under control. You’d never seen him like this, and you were scared by how much you were loving it. You found the edges of his shirt and found that all worries of being discovered were rapidly leaving you.

“If I went higher, what I would find there, would that be because of me or because of Gregor?” He hummed against your lips as he moved his fingers in small circles at the juncture of your thigh.

You could only moan in reply and your head fell into the crook of his neck.

Hunter paused what he was doing, pleased that you were as wrecked as you’d made him.

“You.” You croaked out as you felt him stop. “Please, Hunter.” He’d reduced you to a begging mess, but you were too far gone to care. “It’s only you. I’m just being nice. I’m yours. Please just-”

Your words sent him over the edge, and he kissed you hungrily.

You were about to lift his shirt over his head when the office door opened.

“Kriffing hell! Not my office!”

You pushed Hunter away and jumped down from Cid’s desk and you wanted to curl up on the floor and die but Hunter… he looked cool as can be.

“You two, out!” Cid yelled, shooing you out the door.

“The datapads are there.” You said sheepishly as you pointed to the small pile on the end of her desk.

“Well, now I know why you never brought them to me.” Cid snapped. “What if it was the kid instead of me?”

“It wasn’t.” Hunter replied breezily as he re-entered the bar.

You glanced at him, confused as to how he could answer so casually, but then you saw the look on his face, and you could feel that he wasn’t done with you yet and the thought sent a thrill through your veins.

Hunter snaked an arm around your waist and began to hurry you out the parlour.

“Ready to hear the rest?”

You stopped and turned to face Gregor. Hunter’s arm had wrapped itself around your front and he was pressed into your back. “Not right now but yeah, Gregor, you can finish that story later tonight.” You let out a small yelp as you felt Hunter nip the back of your neck. “Tomorrow. Can talk tomorrow.” You corrected quickly and you let Hunter push you out the parlour.

Neither of you had noticed Omega squashed between Wrecker and Gregor.

“Um…” Wrecker said.

“I know, I know. ‘We’ll tell you when you’re older.’” Omega said grumpily as she crossed her arms and slouched.

“Just don’t go to the ship tonight. I think we gotta crash here.” Echo said.

“Those two…” Cid came in shaking her head.

“Hey, we gotta live with them.” Wrecker pointed out.

“So long as we don’t get our timings mixed up, we should be fine.” Tech said.

“We can only hope.” Echo muttered.

Masterlist

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy​, @tpwkcalli​, @fuckoffthanos​, @arctrooper69​ @graciexmarvel​, @flyingkangaroo​, @nightmonkeysstuff​, @a-streakofazure​, @ladytano420​, @dragonrider9905​, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf​, @yyourmotherr​, @xxeiraxx​

[gofancyninjaworld]

Garou in the Manga and Webcomic

So… the differences between Garou in the manga and the webcomic, how they're turning out, and what I make of it? Sure, for a story that seemed to be following the webcomic's tracks, Garou's trajectory sure has gone elsewhere (so far).

This is seriously long, and I make no apologies.

Let me start with the easy part, what I make of it. I think ONE is a DAMN LUCKY WRITER. You can't write something without wondering, at least in passing, how else you might have developed a character, a scene, what might have been. Heck, you can't make a decision in life without glancing occasionally at the path not taken and wondering where it might have led. ONE has gotten to not only wonder how else he might have taken the story of One-Punch Man, but to flesh out and publish TWO VERSIONS, and have audiences enthusiastically read both. Lucky, lucky man. A dog with two tails couldn't be happier and I'm glad for him. I'm also the greedy person double-fisting on story goodness. Mama didn't raise no picky eater! I find a lot to enjoy in both realisations of Garou.

Now for the tough part. I think I'm going to answer this from two perspectives, the in-story (intradiegetic) approach and the out-of-story (extradiegetic) one. I feel both are needed here for a reasonably comprehensive answer.

Rest below the cut.

A: In-Story

Garou's problems There isn't a change in the fundamental character, motivations, or outlook between WC!Garou and Manga!Garou. Same highly-driven, cocky, sarcastic martial arts genius. Same keen observation of the vissitudes of the world, and same soft heart that breaks at how little is done about it. Same issue with heroes as the saviours of the world. Same grandiose plan to make the world safe through terror. Same love of speechifying. The difference lies in what happened.

If I were going to put a finger on the most important difference in how things turned out, I'd put it on the issue of softness. Even if you reject all performances of toxic masculinity, as a young man, it's impossible not to internalise some of its poison. Garou is a soft guy -- and he's ashamed of his softness. When he feels he's being soft, he sees it as weakness and lashes out. Even before Saitama points this out on the battlefield in the WC, we see Garou feel that weakness and choose to lash out by trying to kill Saitama when the latter lets him off for dashing-and-dining. It's a good thing he picked Saitama, no? However, even there, there is a difference: WC!Garou is more focused on the opportunity to hunt a hero, while Manga!Garou is stung by his feeling pathetic at being pitied by even a no-name hero.

Fascinating, the change between hunting and murder attempt

In the WC, ONE doesn't make further use of this afterwards, but he comes to revisit the issue in the manga, in the aftermath of Garou accidentally saving several people and Saitama pointing out that he has a hero's instincts. While Saitama taunted Garou a bit in the webcomic so the latter would give him everything he had, it's nothing compared to the relentlessness with which Saitama keeps pressing Garou's buttons, and that combination made everything much worse.

Garou spells it out for us," I can't let myself forget this anger… not until the entirety of humanity has been made to suffer the same pain and despair I did!" Recalling the people thanking him, he thinks, "It was that simple to make my preparation and resolve waver. That's how pathetic I was…and it fucking pisses me off!" It's that incident that opened the door to how differently things went.

This is it: the point where Manga!Garou resolves to really do evil rather than Evil Lite.

Manga!Garou isn't the only guy to act this way. Even within the same arc, we see two heroes, Flashy Flash and Superalloy Darkshine, also lash out when they feel their egoes threatened. ONE shows how weak, destructive, and self-defeating this is. Fortunately, they tried hitting beings who could hit them back harder. Good!

They both had it coming: let's hope that they eventually improve themselves.

Unfortunately, what usually happens is that a bloke looking to lash out to assuage his internal feelings of weakness meets people he can punch down on, and BOY HOWDY DID GAROU PUNCH DOWN. Besides being literally poison to anyone around, his refusal to leave came from his dark joy at finally being able to provoke the fear and panic he'd hoped to from his mere presence. He targeted and murdered Genos, not just because he wanted to provoke Saitama into showing him all he had, but because he figured (correctly) that this would hurt Saitama as no punch he cared to throw could. And God, did he want to wipe that stupid smile off that bald guy's face.

It is very important to note that WC!Garou also met "God", but all he got out of the deal was a fancier outfit that Saitama quickly punched off him. It's the toxic determination to cause pain that marks the difference with Manga!Garou.

At the end of the day, His Yeastiness is a facilitator, not a controller.

It appalls a lot of readers to think that the lovely Garou, whom we so want to admire and root for as the underdog, can also be the same Garou who is so ugly, but it's the truth: all people are capable of all things.

We can well look some askance at Saitama for taunting Garou to do his worst rather than just beating him down and giving him a good talking-to, but the responsibility for his actions all lies on Garou. Say what you like about Garou, but you can never accuse him of riding on others' coattails: he has slapped away every hand proffered to him, so for him to recognise his limits and humble himself to ask Saitama for help is a huge credit to his strength of character and courage. He taught Saitama how to travel back in time to stop him from making the same mistake, and bravely persisted even though it cost him his life.

The manga explores what Garou could be much more thoroughly than the WC does (this is not a criticism of the WC -- I'll come back to that later), showing us both the heights of how noble he can be and the depths of how toxic he can also be.

Farewell, noble prince.

Who cares? By this, I don't mean this as a slight to the reader, but rather as a way of noting that the comparison is incomplete without also considering who cares about Garou in each version. WC!Garou is really alone. Yes, Bang goes out to stop him, and, notably, the old man finds himself moved to sorrow rather than rage when Garou is finally stopped by Saitama. However, as of yet, there has been no further meeting nor reconciliation between the two.

The contrast with Manga!Bang is fascinating. While Manga!Bang is no angel (indeed, we learn that he is a deeply selfish man… learn? We kinda knew that), he really does give up everything (the regard he enjoyed as a martial artist, his dojo, and his hero career) in an attempt, not to subdue Garou, but to bring him back to the good side, the same way his elder brother did for him so many decades ago. You need a heart of stone not to be moved by his acknowledging how he has failed as a master and all but begging Garou for a chance to start over.

When Garou runs away at the end of the night, Manga!Bang goes to find him and persuades him to turn himself in. When Garou's parents refuse to come and pick up their son -- as an 18-year-old, Garou is a minor -- Manga!Bang steps in as his guardian, goes with him to the police to answer for the one outstanding crime (the dine-and-dashing), accompanies him to apologise to the heroes he hunted, and is very present in Garou's life. Even if I'm giving Bang's tough love regimen the side-eye, the way that Manga!Garou hasn't been abandoned unloved into the world to fend for himself is a welcome development. It's interesting to see some of Bang's former students who left because they didn't trust that Bang would not favour Garou even though the latter beat them up, have started to come back to see if the old man really has changed.

What really matters If you will forgive my diverging a second, one of the fun things ONE comes to frequently is that we don't know what will make us happy. In chapter 85 (86 in print), the panel of Fubuki staring agog at the sight of several heroes stuffed in Saitama's tiny apartment, with Bang, Bomb, and Genos all tending their wounds, really stands out to me. Not 24 hours ago, there is no way Genos would have been comfortable enough to start repairing himself with the other heroes around: this point marked his no longer being 'the weird new guy' and rather being 'one of the guys'. If you had told Genos that he was looking for acceptance, he'd say you were talking nonsense, and yet, acceptance is one of the things he's looking for, even though he doesn't know it.

Garou isn't looking for acceptance, but he is looking to be seen and appreciated. Even as he grumbles about being made to clean the dojo and go to court-mandated jobs, Manga!Garou really is happy to be doing something to build the dojo back up. Just as importantly, working day-by-day to build up rather than tear down has brought WC!Garou a sense of peace and perspective. His work ethic and strength being appreciated can't not have an effect on him, even if he isn't cracking a smile when complimented.

Even if he's being either sarcastic or glum, Garou contributing something valuable and being appreciated for it really is something he was searching for.

What about next time? Finally, I'll point out the differences in what's facing them. Because Saitama solved his internal problems by pointing out that he was a frustrated hero at heart, WC!Garou's ongoing problems are largely external. He's an outlaw who needs a way to be rehabilitated into society. I'm hoping that the Neo Heroes affair offers Garou a way to redeem himself and get outstanding charges dropped. Working under the table, unable to get full working benefits, go to school, own a house and the like on account of unspent criminal convictions gets old fast.

Persisting and building despite all the fools harassing him, WC!Garou is developing some maturity fast.

Manga!Garou has not had to critically examine his beliefs yet, so he's not convinced he's wrong. What he does know is that he absolutely does not want to become a monster and that hunting heroes is a stupid idea. There's an internal struggle that needs to be finished here. He also has external problems: Bang's very helpfulness in getting so many charges against him dropped, means that there are going to be a lot of people out there in the story who feel he hasn't been punished enough. It is going to be exacerbated by the fact that Bang plans to introduce him to the Hero Association as a new hero, and Sicchi fully intends to parachute him into Class S despite knowing that all hell will break loose among the heroes. I don't think Garou's yet been told of this plan -- expect fireworks.

At the moment, Garou's ongoing ambitions are being treated as a joke. But like most things OPM, it won't be a damn bit funny when it comes up again.

B: Out-Of-Story

The art of constraint The differences in the space and time available to the manga and the webcomic really do matter. Just as you can say the same thing in a short poem, a short story, and a novel, the form of the art creates both restrictions and opportunities in how ideas are explored and expressed.

I think ONE is using both the super-compact storytelling of the webcomic and the more expansive saga of the manga well, but they create different possibilities. The webcomic is compact, and interestingly, ONE has usually preferred to focus on the characters sequentially: when it's a character's turn to get their fish fried, we see their fish thoroughly scaled, gutted, filleted, dredged in flour, fried to a crisp and served with a garnish. Their problems are pulled out, they face their crisis, it gets resolved with Saitama's help, and they're kicked out into the cold to make room for the next character. We don't mind seeing them again, but they've had their anagnorisis, they've had their peripeteia, they've had their denouement, and all they have to do is go and implement what they've learned. It's very satisfying, very compact.

However, the manga has a lot more space -- it's after all, the paid jobs of ONE, the workaholic artist Murata, Murata's assistants, and the staff at Shueisha -- and so, it's got more bandwidth. The manga tends to do character development in parallel: we see a lot of characters facing challenges and developing in tandem. Very little needs to be finished at a given time, and so ONE is happy to leave characters with further work still to do.

WC!Garou got his answer all neatly tied up. He was in a position to swallow that bitter pill, and so when we see him, he's working out how to live and has renounced his old beliefs. Manga!Garou has not had any neat answers. On the one hand, it's less satisfying to us as readers, but on the other hand, it gives Manga!Garou much more scope to develop over time to become someone WC!Garou can't imagine being.

Swings and roundabouts: ONE does not believe in giving characters what they haven't worked for, and so where there's less space for characters to work things out, there's also limits to what can be explored. However, he doesn't shortchange the webcomic characters: they get the right amount of development for the space in the webcomic.

No nuclear-powered truths for Garou in the manga; instead, a deliberately more open observation that leaves him more to work out.

A colder world Without a doubt, I'd rather live in the webcomic version of the OPM universe than the manga one. For a given timepoint, the manga universe is so much more dangerous it's not even funny. However, if you ask most readers, without thinking, they'd say the webcomic is the darker place. It isn't, but what it is, is bleaker feeling. A major part of that is that there is less interaction between characters. Not a lot less, just sufficiently less to start to matter, and that compounds. I'm not going to belabour this point: I've already written about it elsewhere.

Since one of ONE's wheelhouses is that we need others in order to be fully ourselves, with even the negative interactions having value, the webcomic becomes an increasingly bleak reflection of the manga for the characters, as we see how many opportunities they've lost. And I'm sure that part of the reason WC!Garou appears so subdued is that he's having to face the reality that he really is all alone in the world -- and he's got no one to blame but himself. It's funny, even when we say that we don't give a fuck about others, we sure hope that at least a few others will give a fuck about us.

If you want me to sum up where they are in their respective stories, WC!Garou has hit rock bottom and is rebuilding his life one brick at a time, while Manga!Garou has been spared hitting rock bottom (for now: the rock bottom he was heading for was 100% fatal). The latter's day of reckoning is yet to come but come it surely will.

Summary

In short, chaos theory rules here: small changes to initial conditions lead to large changes in outcome, all while being quasi-deterministic. I think both are good explorations of the character in context.

[luckycheesefoodie321]

PJO CHALICE OF THE GODS FULL SPOILERS REVIEW

Non-spoiler review: Very wholesome. Arguably you could pick this up without prior knowledge of the past series and understand it perfectly fine. A good throwback bite sized adventure with our OG trio, literally adventuring on weekends style. Strictly within New York (and the surrounding suburbs but I know nothing of New York geography).

Such a familiar voice to ease back into and feel so at home with. Percy is Percy and will never stop being Percy.

The domestic demigod scenes were so wholesome and heartwarming, further proving Sally and Paul have created the ultimate safe space and Sally is the best mom to mom and why all demigods, gods, and other traumatised individuals just love her upon meeting her.

A LOT of wholesome interactions within the Jackson-Blofis household, between Annabeth, Percy and Grover, Annabeth and Sally, Annabeth and Paul, Paul and Percy, Percy and Grover. The family was family-ing.

Zeus continues to be supremely disgusting. In such an open way which is the closest true acknowledgement to the mythology we will get in a book series largely targeted to a younger demographic. Rick has come such a long way in how he frames his characters, acknowledging the world they live in, touching base with reality quite often in a way that feels like “yeah ofc Percy would see all this and realise this as a traumatised 17 year old living in New York City”.

At times, Percy’s rampant sarcasm throwing around all this commentary felt a touch on the nose and like “Percy Jackson is an eternal 17 year old but the world around has been adjusted to make sense for the current day and age and not the mid-2000s-2010s”. But this feeling didn’t occur very often.

But Percy looking at Ganymede as this traumatised kid who was plucked from his life to serve as Zeus’s eye candy for the rest of his immortal life. Him embracing Gary, the god of Old Age (who was giving me strong Cupid energy in terms of his metaphors and language use and general aggression), because immortality had never tempted him and being an older demigod who can actually look forward to the future is something to celebrate and cherish. Him feeling guilty about exploding on Elisson (when he was literally so overstimulated and experiencing some major sensory overload and the fear and disorientation that comes with that - like he was literally gonna die so go figure he’d let rip his powers in what was like… the most effective and helpful way possible) bc Elisson was clearly stressed out of his mind and two stressed people exploding on each other, with one being an exceptionally terrifyingly powerful demigod and one being a god who wants peace and quiet and for his river to not be polluted, is not in any way productive or healthy.

Dark!Percy stans tho, you ate. That scene was for y’all. Annabeth tho, just vibing acting as a therapist for Elisson.

But I just think the stories Rick has woven have matured in such a wonderful way, as reflected through his beloved main character, Percy. Percy has taken every turn possibly to make sure he doesn’t turn out like Luke, he doesn’t hit that point between jaded and hateful, that he doesn’t ever stop cherishing and valuing his mortality and the people around him. Him being such a rare example of a positive home life, arguably on both his mortal and godly side (see his slightly more stable relationship with Poseidon than most big three or indeed regular demigod children) allows him anchor himself and remind him exactly why he’s doing what he’s doing.

The fact that he can sway the sentiments of minor gods like Geras, or make those “small waves” with people like Barbara, or help out his friend Grover as well as reassure him of their friendship and bond without hesitation, shows time and again why Percy Jackson is such a beloved character and the blueprint of a good boyfriend. Him being so devoted to Annabeth, so delighted for his mom and Paul having a baby, him being upset about not being there in the early stages of Estelle growing up. I was fully expecting there to be a flashforward to her being born but alas not.

BUT SURELY THIS MEANS THERE WILL BE TWO MORE PARTS. WITH TWO MORE RECOMMENDATION LETTERS, RICK I WILL BE WAITING FOR THE ANNOUNCEMENT.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

*SaB season 2 spoilers! (I think mostly episode 5/6 onwards)*

Let’s talk about the hallucinations that Tolya, Kaz, Jesper, and Inej experienced when they were breathing in the poisonous/toxic gas. It was watching this scene that made me realise I was going to need to take notes if I wanted to convey my thoughts properly to you guys, so rest assured I have a lot to say.

It would seem at first that Jesper and Inej are experiencing things they desire, whilst Kaz and Tolya are being forged through their greatest fears, and I’ve seen a lot of people mentioning this. However, Jesper’s longing for his mother ultimately culminates in more pain for him, both in losing her and in the parts of himself that he’s been burying in her absence. He uses the experience to overcome his repression because he’s in a stable enough position (in terms of his emotional state relating to his mother’s death not his gambling addiction) to start healing, but that doesn’t mean mean that the experience isn’t still deeply painful for him. In a similar way, Inej’s hallucination shows her something that she cannot experience - not just because of Kaz’s pain but because of her own as well. When I fist watched it the hallucination bothered me a little, because although she internally expresses a desire to be with Kaz in the books, it is not something she physically wished for. However, the more I think about it the more I understand that this was necessary because it was absolutely the reason that she was the first of them to ‘wake up’, as it were, and acknowledge that the visions weren’t real. As much as she theoretically wishes for a relationship with Kaz, her desires are not only for him but more so to one day be capable of having a relationship at all. If the hallucination had shown her family or memories of her childhood like Jesper then it would have fooled her far more easily because she is prepared to want them and to want to go home. She is not prepared to want Kaz. When I initially made my notes about this I wrote about the “I will have you without your armour” scene in the books, not knowing that we would get to see it later on. In the books, Inej reflects on this conversation afterwards and wonders how she would have felt if Kaz had responded like she thought she wanted him to. Like him, she has a fear of physical contact - she describes flinching when Nina and Jesper hug her, and closes in on herself when Heleen touches her - but instead of protecting herself from contact like Kaz she forces herself through it in hopes of improving. Her fear of contact is less severe than his, in part because she feared reaching the point that he has where any future of touch seems impossible, and in part because her fear is not of touch alone but the impact that sexual contact will have on her state of mind. She wonders whether, had Kaz ‘taken her’ in that moment, she would have been able to reciprocate any kind of connection or if she would have shut down and become “a doll in his arms” as she was forced to do for survival at the Menagerie. If that happened, she would not only feel fractured and betrayed because of her mental state, but she would also never be able to see Kaz in the same way again; her would become aligned with every horror she experienced and all the pain she went through. Her pain is still to fresh; in the books she was only a year or two out of the Menagerie and I think we can assume it to be less in the show since Heleen still holds her contracts. Until she’s had time to heal she cannot possibly enter a relationship of this nature because it has the power to break her. There’s a tragically beautiful line in the books that I think described this really well when she says “And what was she supposed to do? Find a nice husband, have his children, then sharpen her knives whilst they slept? How would she explain the nightmares she still had?” It’s a heartbreaking line, but it also more than proves that she has not yet reached a place of healing because she cannot imagine being able to explain her experiences to the person she’d spend the rest of her life with. With this context, I think the most important part of her hallucination is that Kaz asks for permission before he touches her, but unfortunately I don’t think there is enough emphasis on her backstory to make this clear in the show.

I think that Inej and Jesper’s hallucinations appearing to be more about longing but ultimately being painful and Tolya and Kaz’s to be more about fear tells us a lot about their characters. If I had to group them as optimists and pessimists, I’d have probably called Jesper and Tolya the optimists and Kaz and Inej the pessimists, but I think this scene is telling me exactly why I was wrong. Starting with the pessimistic visions: Tolya is drip fed im his greatest fear whilst Kaz is forced into it immediately, and I think this is because Tolya is less pessimistic than Kaz but struggling to find his way to optimism. His vision takes place on the Volkvony/Hummingbird, making him feel endangered somewhere that he should feel safe and at home to kill his longing for optimism, and he finds Tamar slowly because he is trying to push away the thought of losing his sister but it just keeps coming back. I also think that arguably his greatest fear is not just her death, but somehow causing it. And then for the optimists: Inej’s vision differs from Jesper’s because she is finding it so difficult to remain the optimistic child she used to be. If she were still who she once was, she would have seen her parents or her brother, but instead she sees Kaz because her life has been narrowed from travelling through Ravka (and I think North Shu Han but I’m not sure?) to the limits and confines of Ketterdam alone, until the city has become her whole world. She is clinging desperately to the edge of this optimistic outlook, a child with no knowledge of how cruel the world can be, but the hallucination almost taunts her by showing her something she could be optimistic about if she wanted to but ultimately knows is unattainable, at least right now. Jesper’s is arguably very similar, which I think highlights how similar they are both on the family-oriented childhoods they both lost very suddenly and the way their personalities were shaped because of it, but his is overall more positive because he is closer to being able to heal from the loss of his mother than Inej is the loss of her innocence.

This is so long I’m so sorry I only just realised, if you read this far thank you very much I hope it was interesting enough for the effort

[lelitachay]

Frozen fanfiction: Søsken

Summary: An accident in the North Mountain forces Elsa to spend several weeks in her brother’s apartment under Anna’s care. During that time, Anna realises there is more to Elsa than meets the eye. The truth about Elsa’s past comes to light after an unexpected family reunion, and both girls’ lives begin to fall apart when they realise Elsa wasn’t the only one with a big secret and a turbulent past.

Anna/Kristoff - Elsa - Family - Family drama - hurt/comfort - Modern AU - Elsa & Kristoff are adoptive brother and sister - Ice bros - Found family - Serious injuries - Mental health issues - Health issues - Frohana

Links:

Fanfiction.net - HERE AO3 - HERE

Tumblr -

Chapters 1 to 10 - Here Chapters 11 to 20 - Here Chapters 21 to 30 - Here Chapters 31 to 40 - Here Chapter 41 - Here Chapter 42 - Here Chapter 43 -Here Chapter 44- Here Chapter 45 - Here Chapter 46 - Here Chapter 47 - Here Chapter 48 - Here

-

It don't matter to the sun

“My family and I will find a way to pay you back.”

For the first time in the last twenty four hours, Anna felt something akin to optimism growing inside of her as she watched her father and Kai coming to an agreement. Even if it was only a small glimmer of hope, she was delighted to know her sister could count on their father when she most needed it.

She felt proud her father had given her his undivided attention the previous day, when she had asked to talk to him in private. Anna then explained Elsa needed his help and, following Kristoff’s suggestion, she kept all the small details for him to discuss with Kai. It had only taken a few minutes to convince her father that the clinic needed a down payment to continue with Elsa’s treatment —given her delicate health condition. And to her good luck, Agdar hadn't asked too many questions, promising to go talk to Kai as soon as he informed the board about the family emergency and got a partial approval. True to his word, the next day he was at the clinic in the early afternoon, discussing Elsa’s health with Kai and coming to what she believed was a favourable agreement. He’d pay for Elsa’s treatment, taking the load off Kai and Gerda’s shoulders.

“No need to give anything back,” Agdar said with a small tight smile. Regardless of their agreement and knowing he could finally start helping his daughter, he knew there was nothing to be truly happy about. Elsa was still unresponsive.

“It’s a lot of money…” reminded Kai, uncomfortable about the enormous favour he was asking.

“We'll have to delay a few projects and make some cuts,” Agdar explained. “ArenCo will manage nonetheless. It's nothing we haven't done in the past.” Placing his hand on Kai’s shoulder, he reassured him the money was Elsa’s, no need to pay it back. “I've denied my daughter the help she needs for far too long. Don't worry about the money.”

Smiling in return, Kai nodded with a faint, “Thank you.”

Smiling at the scene unfolding in front of her, Anna hoped Elsa could see them at that moment as well. Sure, her sister still had her reservations about her biological parents —about their father in particular— but thankfully he was proving how much he did care.

“There's only one thing I don’t understand,” Agdar said, pulling Anna back to their conversation. “Why is the payment so urgent? Anna insisted it couldn’t wait.” Looking over his shoulder, her father found her gaze expecting her to confirm what he was saying.

Anna opened her mouth to explain the situation better, but Kai beat her to it.

“It's a delicate matter. I was hoping we could discuss it in private. With Dr Nielsen, as well as Kristoff and Anna.” Kai then turned to Idunn who had been standing by Anna’s side in silence ever since the two families had met. “You’re welcome to join us too, Idunn.”

Idunn glanced up and took a second to think about his offer. “Umm… Kai, I was hoping–” She looked down, wringing her hands, unsure of what to say. “Anna has told me they’re being quite restrictive with the visits but… Would it be possible for me to see her?”

From the moment Elsa had been admitted to the hospital, Idunn had been dying to get the chance to see her. Always asking Anna if there existed the possibility of her being allowed inside the ICU. All she wanted was to sit by Elsa’s side and talk to her at least once. Finally getting the chance to say everything she had ever wanted, even when Elsa couldn’t hear her. The idea of waking up one day, only to realise it was too late to make amends terrified her mother. And with every passing day, Anna knew she was becoming more and more afraid of never getting one that last chance. So, the moment Anna saw her mother walk into the clinic that day, she knew it was only a matter of time until she asked Kai or Nielsen to see Elsa. Yet, now that she had the chance, Anna could see the doubt and uncertainty consuming her.

“We'll need to ask Nielsen,” Kai said. “Perhaps he’ll allow you to.”

Idunn nodded as she anxiously tried to smooth the invisible wrinkles of her dress. “Is she all alone in there?”

“No.” A small smile formed on Kai’s lips as he paid a quick look to the door that led to the wards. “My wife’s been by her side from the very beginning.”

A watery smile drew on Idunn’s face. “I’m glad.”

Turning his attention back to their main conversation, Kai addressed Agdar once again. “Anna mentioned something about a good legal team working for you, is that correct?”

“There's one working for us at the company, yes.” Her father’s seriousness told Anna he was more than willing to ask the legal team to start working on anything that was needed. “What’s going on, Kai?”

“Dr Nielsen will be here any minute now. He's checking on Elsa as we speak. I'll explain everything as soon as we can discuss things with him.”

Her father agreed, and she knew there wasn’t much to do than wait for Nielsen after that. Deciding it was best to go for a short stroll before their meeting, Anna walked to where Kristoff was sitting and gently informed him she was going out to get some fresh air. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded staying. She would have talked to her mother or found excuses for both families to bond. But this time, the situation was anything but normal and staying still only made her more anxious.

Looking up in concern, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

She smiled and nodded. “I just need to move my legs.” She kissed his cheek reassuringly and left the room in silence.

---

Truth be told, she could barely tolerate being inside the small room. It was where they had stayed after receiving the news about Elsa a week before, and the place they had awaited every medical report they’ve got ever since. It was more comfortable than the hall leading straight to the unit, but it didn’t mean Anna liked it any better. More than once they had shared the room with other families, who just like them, were sleep deprived and hoping for positive medical reports. The only thing she saw inside that damn room were long faces and hopelessness. Not wanting to think about that anymore, she hurried down the hallway and into the main waiting room.

“No, you listen to me.”

Anna heard an angry man say as she walked into the now crowded place. The voice was coming from Andrea’s desk, and Anna didn’t need to see the face of the man to know it was no other than Marshall. She had gotten used to his frustrated tone of voice by now, and she was certain the receptionist had too. This time, however, he sounded hostile and more aggressive than he had in the last week. Wanting to make sure things didn’t spiral out of control, she decided to go see what was going on.

“I've been coming here for the past week, day after day, asking time and time again to see her. You can't tell me no when I clearly saw the two of them walk in.” Marshall had both hands on the receptionist’s desk, leaning forward and making the poor receptionist deeply uncomfortable. Andrea tried in vain to put some distance between them and Anna knew it was only a matter of time until she called security to escort Marshall out.

Anna was curious as to what had finally driven him over the edge, though it was best to put a stop to it and then ask than to see a disaster unfold in front of her. Grabbing Marshall’s good arm, Anna forced him away from the desk.

“Marshall, what do you think you're doing?” Glancing in Andrea’s direction, she offered her an apologetic smile. “Excuse him, Andrea.”

Frowning at her for a split second, Marshall tried to pull his arm from Anna’s grasp. “Get away, Anna.”

She was able to hold his wrist firmly and called his name again. When he didn’t pay attention, she tried once more, this time, appealing to his emotional side. “Marshmallow, please.”

“Don’t– Don’t call me that,” he said, clearly displeased.

Anna took a step back, startled by his reaction, letting go of his arm. This seemed to bring Marshall back to his senses, finally taking a step back and turning in Anna’s direction.

“They keep telling me I can't see her.” He was trying to stay calm, but Anna could see he was failing miserably, making the people around them uncomfortable. “Always the same excuse!”

“I know you're frustrated,” Anna said in a lower tone of voice, expecting him to listen and understand they could discuss whatever was going on more quietly. “But this isn’t the receptionist's fault. Only family members are allowed inside. You know that.”

Part of her was confident he’d calm down once he was reminded of that fact. She had been expecting him to say he already knew, like he had done a few times before. However, what she hadn’t been expecting was for him to look daggers at her as she was the one to blame.

“I saw your parents walk in.” He spat, surprising Anna.

Anna gaped at him unsure of what to say. She couldn’t really understand why her parents being there was reason enough for him to get so mad. “They're family,” she muttered.

“No, Anna,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “They are not.”

The way he towered over her, glowering, made Anna realise how truly intimidating he could be. But she wouldn’t let that stop her from talking some sense into him. “I thought Elsa told you about us. My family is—”

“She did,” he said, interrupting her. “I know the two of you are related. I know you're sisters. That doesn't mean your parents are part of her family.”

Not understanding the logic behind his words, Anna couldn't help but crack a smile. “That's exactly what it means. They're family.”

“No, that's what you want them to be.” He took a step closer and Anna couldn’t stop herself from taking one backwards. “Your parents have no right to call themselves family all of a sudden.”

The way he kept glaring at her gave Anna the impression that no matter what she said, he wouldn’t change his mind. Her best bet was trying to show him she understood what he was going through. “Marshall, look, I know you've been coming here everyday. Trust me, I know how frustrating it is, but—”

Marshall groaned, exasperated. “Elsa wouldn't want them visiting.”

“You don't know that.” Now Anna was getting irritated. Marshall was entitled to his own opinion, it didn’t mean it was the right one.

“Yes, I do,” he said, lowering his voice. Anna guessed he had finally noticed the rest of the people in the waiting room, all staring at them. “She doesn't trust your parents.” He took another step closer and poked her shoulder. “The only reason she ever gave them a chance is you.” 

Anna glared back and slapped his hand away. “My parents are helping her right now. They've got the right to see her.”

“She's told them time and time again she doesn't want to see them,” Marshall scoffed. “As soon as she's unconscious they walk all over her wishes, I see.”

“Marshall—”

“I can't believe Kai and Gerda agreed to this,” he continued, ignoring what she had to say. “I can't believe you agreed to this. Elsa trusts you!”

“I— You’re getting it all wrong.” Anna was at loss for words. What he was saying was getting to her, and she wasn’t sure how to explain everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “You talk as if I'm doing something terrible to her.”

“It baffles me you don’t see it!” Marshall shouted, startling Anna and everyone around.

Unable to hold his gaze, she looked around. A man, a couple of years older than her father, wouldn't take his eyes off Marshall, ready to intervene in case it was needed. Anna then noticed Andrea had already stood up from her desk and she was holding a phone’s headset to her ear. It was a matter of time until someone came to walk them both out of the building and Anna couldn't let that happen. She knew he was probably just taking his frustration out on her and he would regret being blacklisted.

“The least you could do now is respect her wishes,” Marshall kept talking, ignoring everything that was going on around them. “She loves you so much she chose to ignore the pain your parents have caused her just to make you happy. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

She felt a sudden pang of guilt and she tried to speak up, but no words came out as she felt her throat tightening. Was he truly talking out of frustration, or was he finally speaking his mind? ‘Or Elsa's mind?’  she wondered, the uncertainty making her shudder.

Marshall took her silence as an answer and a new wave of anger ripped through him. “You kept pushing. And pushing. And pushing. All you wanted was for Elsa to forgive them, to make your family happy, even when you knew she was miserable.”

Anna’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears and she instinctively took another step back.

“I know Elsa’s never been truly happy,” he admitted with bitter sadness. “I’m not going to pretend that’s the case. But she wasn’t this miserable until your parents walked into her life.”

“She said that?” Anna managed to ask in a quavering voice.

“I may not have known about her po—” Marshall stopped abruptly, finally aware they were surrounded by strangers. Most of whom were paying close attention to their conversation and whatever he chose to do next. He looked around and after making up his mind, he took one more step and leaned in closer to Anna, whispering, “I may not have known about her powers, but it doesn't mean I don't know her.”

By the time he finished speaking, the man who had previously been staring stood up and gently asked Marshall to give Anna some space. To Anna’s surprise, Marshall did take a few steps back, even when he glared at the meddling man. Only a moment later, a man wearing a white shirt with the clinic's emblem approached them as well. He ignored Marshall and made sure Anna was okay before he asked if she needed him to escort Marshall outside.

Ignoring the staff-member and the old man, Marshall found her gaze once again and said, “You and your parents are crossing the line, Anna.”

Anna ignored the men as well. She didn’t need them to stand up for her. All she needed was for Marshall to listen and perhaps talk things through in a less crowded place. “Marshall, you don't understand—”

“No.” He shook his head, stopping whatever she had to say. “You don't understand. It's sickening to think I've been in Elsa's life far longer than her biological parents have ever had; yet, somehow, I'm the one who’s not allowed to see her. Not allowed to say goodbye.”

Although he mumbled the last part, Anna and the men standing between them heard him clearly. What he said, combined with the raw pain in his eyes, finally helped Anna understand his anger and resentment. Marshall was not only mad at her family and the rules in place. He was afraid. He was starting to lose hope and Anna couldn’t take it. Anna’s stomach was in knots and, once again, try as she might, there was nothing she could say to lessen his heartache as the anxiety and fear for her sister’s life consumed her.

Placing a comforting hand on Marshall’s shoulder, the man in the white shirt said, “Sir, perhaps it’d be better for you to get some fresh air.” His cautious look now morphing into a compassionate one.

“Let go— “ Marshall said, annoyed at the man, moving his arm away from him. Anna knew he couldn't stand the pity look the men were giving him, making him over react once again.

Just as the staff-member was about to talk, a familiar voice called their names. “Is there a problem?” Kristoff said as he approached them.

“No, there isn't,” Marshall said loud enough for everyone who had been interested in the scene to hear.

Anna watched him walk away, and once again the pang of guilt constricted her throat, barely allowing her to breathe. Before she realised, the tears she'd been holding back began streaming down her face.

“Hey,” Kristoff said, engulfing her in his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She nodded against his chest and in vain tried to dry her tears. “Don't worry.”

Kristoff took a hard look at her, then the people around them and finally at the door through which Marshall had disappeared. “Whenever I think he's finally learning how to behave around people, he shows the kind of moron he is. I don't understand what Elsa sees in him.”

“He loves her,” Anna mumbled, as she hugged Kristoff tight, feeling thankful for his presence.

“So do you and I,” he said with contempt.

Anna nodded, but didn't say anything. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t completely agree with Kristoff this time. Marshall had successfully planted the seed of doubt in Anna, and she couldn’t help but feel as if she was in fact breaking Elsa's trust.

Kristoff thanked the men for stepping in, and then apologised to Andrea for the inconvenience. To Anna's surprise, instead of blaming Marshall like he'd have done in the past, Kristoff explained the last few days were finally catching up with all of them and begged Andrea not to kick Marshall out next time.

With things calmer around them, Kristoff walked Anna outside and asked her about their argument. Anna shook her head, not wanting to discuss it with anyone. The last thing she needed was for Kristoff to find reason behind Marshall's words like she did, and for him to realise they were making a terrible mistake. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. I’ll talk to him if you need me to.”

“No, Kristoff. It doesn’t matter.” Before he could insist, Anna decided it was best to change the topic. “Has Nielsen met our parents?” 

Kristoff stayed silent for a short moment, debating what to do. After a minute, he breathed out and nodded. “Kai told me to get you and wait for them at the café. They don’t want to discuss things in the hospital.”

---

The door leading to the ICU closed behind Idunn and only then she breathed out with relief. Until then, she had been afraid the medical staff would suddenly change their mind and she wouldn’t be allowed to see Elsa after all.

She had been told to wait for a nurse to come get her and she didn’t plan to move from that spot until they did. The last thing she needed was entering a room or area she wasn’t supposed to, when Nielsen had been clear about the staff making an expectation for her to visit — given the circumstances.

As she waited, she wondered what she’d find once she walked into Elsa's room. The last time she had seen her daughter, Elsa looked thin and fragile. Like she hadn’t been taking proper care of herself. It made Idunn wonder how many things she had been dealing with, only for Agdar and herself to make things worse the day they met. No matter how hard she tried, Idunn couldn’t get rid of Elsa’s words during their last conversation. Elsa had not only admitted needing her mother more than anything, she had also confessed suffering more than they could imagine. Her words were on repeat in Idunn’s mind. Taunting her and showing her she was responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong in Elsa’s life.

Even this, she realised regretfully. If she had only stopped Agdar on time. If she had only taken Elsa to the ER instead of trying to get Elsa to like her; then, perhaps, her daughter wouldn’t be on the brink of death now.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts, it took a moment for Idunn to realise a nurse had been standing in front of her for half a minute, waiting for a reply. She apologised and nodded her head when the young woman checked her name on the clipboard in her hands. When everything was set, they began walking down the hall at a faster pace than Idunn would have liked. There were so many questions she wanted to ask about her daughter and so little time. But as they moved past the doors in the unit, Idunn became more afraid of the answers she could get, desisting finally of her idea. The nurse continued walking until they got to the end of the hall.

The last room in the unit. Away from everyone else. Forgotten.

The thought alone made Idunn’s chest feel heavy and she had a hard time trying to understand what the young woman was explaining.

The young woman explained she was only allowed to remain inside the room during visiting hours and she was to leave the room if a family member requested her to do so. Idunn nodded in agreement, hiding the pain of not being allowed to see her daughter for as long as she wanted. But then again, she had lost the privilege years before.

When the nurse left, Idunn drew in one more deep shaky breath, gathering her thoughts before she grabbed the handle. Slowly, trying to bother the people inside, she opened the door just a crack. The first thing she saw was Gerda, sitting by Elsa's bedside. Eyes closed, the older woman rested her forehead on her clasped hands which were holding onto Elsa's. Opening the door a bit wider, Elsa's face came into view and only then she realised it didn’t matter how long she had to wrap her mind around the idea. Finally seeing Elsa’s pale form, connected to more machines and wires than she had imagined, made her stomach turn. Her heart constricted painfully and for a moment she couldn’t breath nor move.

Gerda raised her head slowly, opening her eyes and looking at Elsa, unaware of Idunn’s presence. She caressed Elsa’s hand with her thumb and a sad smile drew on her face.

“You know, there'll still be a tomorrow even if you choose to leave.” Gerda’s voice, barely over a whisper, got Idunn’s attention. “It ain’t gonna stop the world… but I think it'll be the end of mine.”

The sorrow in Gerda's voice made the situation too painful, too real. And for the first time since that night, when she abandoned Elsa, Idunn felt as if someone was ripping her heart out. She imagined she’d never feel the way she felt back then, until now.

“I know it’s unfair —selfish of me— to ask you this, but…” Gerda said, as one of her hands let go of Elsa’s to dry a lonesome tear running down her cheek. “Please, dear. Don't go.” The hand returned to its original position and she held Elsa’s hand a bit tighter. “I know you're tired and I understand why it'd be easier to just let yourself go. But I need you. I'm not as strong as you are. I—” She breathed out, tiredly. “What would I say to Kristoff?”

Unable to deal with the aching pain in her chest, Idunn tried to hold back a sob and close the door, hoping to give Gerda some privacy, but the sudden movement caught the old woman’s attention and she turned to look at the door, their gazes finally meeting.

“I didn't mean to interrupt,” Idunn blurted out as best as she could. “It's— I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Gerda murmured. “Kai told me your husband or you might stop by.” She let go of Elsa’s hand and looked at her watch, surprised to see it was already time for visiting hours. She tried in vain to blink away the tears and stood up. “Is Agdar waiting outside?”

“No.” Idunn shook her head and silently hoped Gerda didn’t feel pressured to leave. “He's in a meeting with Kai and Elsa's doctor… Uhm—”

“Nielsen.”

“Yes.” She regretted not paying more attention to the names of the people who were doing everything to help Elsa.

“What about Anna and Kristoff?” Gerda asked, sitting once again by Elsa’s side, unsure of what else to do.

“They're with them as well. I don't understand what's going on, but it seemed urgent.”

Gerda nodded. “I don't have all the details yet. They said it’d be best for me to look after Elsa instead of worrying about it. Come in,” she offered at last, inviting Idunn into the room with a hand gesture.

Idunn did as told and she walked until she was standing at the foot of the bed, keeping her distance from the machines. “She looks so pale,” she murmured, unable to keep her voice from shaking.

Both women stayed quiet for several minutes after that. The heavy silence that fell between them was only interrupted by the beeping noises of the machines. The minutes stretched and Idunn felt as if they were running out of air inside the small room.

After twenty minutes, which felt like an hour, Idunn decided it was best to break the silence. The only thing Gerda had done during that time was hold onto Elsa’s hand, and something told her she’d like a distraction or the opportunity to move her legs.

“Please don't take this the wrong way, Gerda.” Idunn said, hoping she wouldn’t be overstepping. “I could stay with her for the next hour if you need. You look awfully tired.”

“I'm not leaving her,” Gerda answered with a frown.

Only then, Idunn realised how stupid what she had just said truly was. The woman had been looking after Elsa for over a week. It was more than obvious she already knew how she looked and how tired she was. But even then, Idunn felt bad and wished she would take a moment. Breathe some fresh air at least.

“I don't think she'd mind you taking a short break.”

“I can't selfishly beg her to stay.” Tired eyes looking up to meet Idunn’s gaze. “Only to leave her alone a moment after, Idunn.”

Choosing it was best to drop the subject, Idunn looked at Elsa’s left hand. It was slightly raised and covered in bandages. It seemed surreal that that small injury could be the cause of her current state. “Her hand's getting better from what I heard.” Kai had told her so before Nielsen met them in the waiting room. “Why isn't she recovering?”

“Her body is fighting more than just her hand’s infection. She has a hard time breathing and now her kidneys are failing. Her blood pressure needs to go up before we can even think of pulling her out of the coma.”

“Will she have permanent damage?” Idunn was terrified of the answer. Elsa had struggled her whole life with her powers getting in the way. Dealing with physical or mental damage on top of that would certainly be more than she could handle.

“Only time can tell,” Gerda said, her eyes filling up with tears. “It all depends on her.”

“She's strong,” Idunn said with conviction. “She'll make it.”

As Gerda shook her head, Idunn felt her throat constricting. “I fear she might see no reason to keep fighting…”

“What do you mean?”

“Elsa's soul is older than mine. She's endured too much and…” Taking a deep breath, Gerda tried to make up her mind. “Lately she's been losing—” She stopped again, unsure if it was right to share what she was about to say with Idunn. “She’s started to wonder if it's all worth it.”

---

As soon as the words left her mouth, Gerda realised trusting Idunn with the way Elsa felt about life had been a mistake. From the moment Idunn had walked into the room, Gerda could tell it was hard for her to face the truth of what was happening to Elsa. Gerda couldn’t blame her for it, everyone in the family had had a difficult time coming to terms with it, but she did wonder why she’d put herself through it when she could barely look at the girl in the bed. It was no surprise then, that with every new piece of information she began to crumble until the weight of it all was too much for her to handle. Idunn was nothing but a crying mess now that she knew the truth and despite the way she felt about the Arendelles, Gerda considered it was necessary for her to do or say something that could help the younger woman. Though, before she could make up her mind on what to say, Idunn surprised her by suddenly pulling herself together.

“I wanted to thank you for loving and caring for Elsa the way you do.” Idun’s voice cracked and she pressed the heel of her hands to her eyes to stop her tears. “I understand seeing her like this must be as difficult for you as it is for me, still you manage to stay strong. I don’t know how you do it.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You may think it’s the same, but no.” Gerda tried to focus on the good side, the positive thing Idunn was trying to say; but try as she may, she couldn’t do it.

Idunn blinked a few times, unsure of what she meant, and once again Gerda tried to make an effort to remain calm, hoping to find the right words before she spoke. “Seeing Elsa like this is not—” She took a deep breath, and started over. “When I see Elsa, all I see is the malnourished little girl I met over ten years ago. The little girl who somehow found comfort in my arms and begged me to stay… who still to this day begs me to. I see the daughter life once took from me, and the one I fear will be taken from me again. So, no, Idunn, I don’t think it is.”

Idunn’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened, unsure of what to say.

“I’m not saying you feel no pain,” Gerda clarified. The fact she was feeling heartbroken didn’t erase whatever Idunn was feeling. “I’m sure the guilt and regret must be eating you up alive in moments like this, but when night comes and the day is done, you go back home and I’m the one who stays to try and put back together what's left of her.”

Just as Gerda finished speaking, Frida, one of the nurses who worked in Elsa’s recovery, opened the door, calling their attention. “Gerda, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Mr Bjorgman and Dr Nielsen are asking for you.”

“Tell Kai I’ll meet them later,” Gerda said, not turning to look at her. Her eyes fixed on nothing but Elsa.

“They said it’s urgent,” the nurse insisted, knowing Nielsen would send her back to get her if Gerda didn’t come out.

“More urgent than Elsa?” Gerda scoffed, not believing there was something more important at that moment. She was aware how serious their current situation was. She couldn’t blame her husband for needing her to meet them. After all, they were discussing the next step to take. But her role was to look after Elsa, make sure she didn’t become a test subject to those bastards in charge.

“I– I don’t know what to say,” said Frida. “They just asked me to—”

Gerda knew the girl wouldn’t stop insisting. She had worked under Nielsen’s instructions during her time at the hospital, and she knew he could be a pain when things didn’t go his way.

“This better be important,” she murmured and stood up with a weary sigh. She looked at her daughter and then where Idunn was still standing. The woman’s head was hanging low and she didn’t seem to be aware of the nurse’s presence. “I know now doesn’t seem like the right time to ask you a favour,” Gerda said, calling her attention. “But… Could you stay with her until visiting hours are over, please? I promised I wouldn't leave her alone.”

“Of course,” Idunn said, her voice barely over a whisper.

With a heavy feeling in her stomach, Gerda brushed a few strands away from Elsa’s face. “I’ll be back soon, dear.” She smiled sadly at her and gave her a short kiss on her forehead before she followed the nurse out of the room.

---

Gerda’s words and the chapter’s title were inspired by the homonymous song: It don’t matter to the sun by Rosie Thomas.

I want to apologise for not answering your reviews sooner. I’ve read them all and I loved each one of them, but I didn’t have too much time in my hands to reply. Now that the new chapter is out, I’ll take the time to get back to all of you. Rest assured I really appreciate every word, comment and reaction you guys have sent my way.

Originally, this chapter was going to have two (or three) scenes more. I changed my mind yesterday when I realised that would push the update for at least another week. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Take care. --

Do you guys still want to be tagged? Let me know, please. I don’t want to bother people who are no longer following the story. Also, do tags even work?

@swimmingnewsie @melody-fox @kristoffxannafanatic @kristannafictionals @neptrabbit  @skneez @ellacarter13 @wondering-in-life @who-i-am-8 @fanfictionrecommendations-com  @815-allisnotlost @khartxo @joannevixxon @betweenthedreams @burbobah @rileysfs  @earlvessalius  @blood-jewel @snowycrocus @the-sky-is-awake @disneyfan103 @anamaria8garcia @welovefrozenfanfiction  @bigfrozenfan @bigfrozenfan-archive @frozenartscapes  @deisymendoza  @zackhaikal123  @cornstarch @roostercrowedatmidnight @showurselfelsa @when-dawn-arrives @tare-disney  @wabitham @just-your-local-history-nerd @dontrunintofirexoxo @daphmckinnon @poketin @luna-and-mars  @shimmeringsunsets @aries1708  @wabitham @agentphilindaisy @spkfrozenkindikids123 @jimmi-arts @snowmanmelting @loonysama  @hiptoff @loonysama @tare-disney @frozenwolftemplar  @true–north @holycolordreamertree @bigfrozensix

[rebelwrites]

Winner Takes It All || Twenty Two: She’s a fighter

Charles Leclerc x Valentina Hendrix (OC)

Winner Takes It All Masterlist

Summary: Charles is losing his mind not knowing what was happening

Warnings: hospital, mentions of injuries, emotions

A/N: I am sorry this has taken so long to get this part out and leaving you on a cliffhanger

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Charles’ POV

Seeing the red flag icon on the screen of the steering wheel my heart stopped, multiple people had spun off out the track but we were yet to see a major accident.

“Box, box Charles.” Xavier said through the radio. “The race has been suspended due to a bad crash.”

The moment he mentioned there had been a crash my heart stopped, instantly I felt my stomach churn at the thought of the crash involving Vali or Pierre. “Who is it?”

The moment I was greeted by silence I knew it was Vali or Pierre. “Xav, who is it?”

“Charles, it's Vali.” Xavier said, his voice was quiet as he admitted who it was.

Turning the corner I saw the debris all over the track, I wanted to throw up. The moment I saw the state of the car I knew it was bad, Vali’s car was now missing the front and rear wing and it was currently on its roof.

I didn’t care if I got penalised there was no way I was boxing when Vali was in this state. Glancing over to my right I saw Pierre I lifted my arm in the air motioning to him that I wasn’t boxing and was going to go back around to Vali. Once I received a thumbs up we both sped off not caring about the consequences. Xavier quickly realised what I was doing. I muted the radio, I didn't need to hear him lecturing me on not boxing.

As me and Pierre arrived at the scene of the crash I never moved so fast, once I was out of the car I ripped my helmet off tossing it into the seat before sprinting over to Vali’s car. I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks, I watched helplessly as they pulled Vali out of the car. No one knew her condition and that scared the living shit out of me.

“Nugget,” Pierre breathed, rushing over to the stretcher taking her hand in his. Pierre glanced over with tears in his eyes. “Char, you coming?”

His words pulled me back into reality and I finally got my feet to move and soon enough I was by her side clutching at her hand. There was no way I was leaving her.

-

My mind was spinning, we hadn’t heard anything from the doctors regarding Vali’s condition and it was stressing me out, it hadn’t been long since I came off the phone with her parents keeping them up to date on the situation even if we didn’t have any news yet. My pride had gone out of the window right now as I dried my eyes after I broke down on the phone with her dad.

“Stupid question but how you holding up man.” Hudson said, passing me a coffee.

“I just want to see her, it’s killing me not knowing anything.” I sighed, leaning against the bland wall of the hotel. “I feel so helpless.”

“She’s a fighter.” Hudson said softly. “She will come back stronger than ever.”

He was right, everything the world threw at her she didn’t stay down for long. She was like a phoenix that always rose from the ashes. Taking a sip of the coffee I winced at the bitter taste of it. A small smile crossed my lips as I realised just how pissed off Vali will be at how shit the coffee was.

“I just wanna say thank you.” I hummed, looking over at Hudson. “For everything you did for Vali.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said quietly. “She is a great girl but I knew from the first day that her heart belonged to you. I was just the person to make her see that for herself.”

“Maybe you are right but you were there when I wasn’t, so thank you.”

He didn’t say anything else but he smiled softly at me before wandering off to give Josh and Pierre their coffees.

Running my hand over my face I let out a shaky breath as I started pacing the hallway. I tried everything to take my mind off everything but nothing was working. I wasn’t going to be able to settle until I saw she was okay.

The moment I saw the doctors wheeling Vali back into the room I had been staring at since the moment we got here, I wanted to break down.

The sight of her broke my heart, she looked so fragile in the clinical white hospital bed. Rushing over to the window I watched as the nurses transferred Vali onto the bed in the room.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her, her soft skin was scattered with cuts and a large bruise had formed around her eye. My eyes dropped down to the cast that went from the middle of her thigh down to her ankle.

“Mr Leclerc,” a nurse said softly, causing me to spin around, waving everyone else over.

“How is she doing?” I breathed, adjusting the knot of the arms of my race suit wrapped around my race.

“Miss Hendrix is a very lucky girl, we did have to sedate her due to the amount of pain she was in. She came around whilst we were examining her and let's just say that girl is strong for her size.” she said, tucking her clipboard under her arm. “She definitely had someone looking over her today. With the severity of the crash we would tend to see more injuries but she has come away from it with a broken rib, three breaks in her leg, and cuts and bruises on her face and body.”

Squeezing my eyes closed I let out a shaky breath, thanking Jules and my dad for keeping her safe. I didn’t know what I would have done if we had lost her today.

“Can we see her?” I asked.

“Of course,” she smiled softly. “She is starting to come around from the sedation, so she might seem a little out of sorts.”

None of us needed to be told twice, within seconds we were all piling into the room. Rushing over to the side of the bed I softly took her hand in mine, brushing my fingers over her knuckles.

“We are here babygirl, everything is going to be okay.” I whispered, looking up at her with tears in my eyes. It hurt to see her like this. All I wanted to do was switch places with her taking away all her pain.

Seeing her open those green eyes was an amazing feeling but that quickly fizzled out when she stared at me blankly. It was a look that scared me, it was like she was looking straight through me, like she didn’t know who I was. This was something that had crossed my mind that due to the impact of the crash that she would suffer memory loss.

“Bear,” she whimpered, reaching out for my hand.

“I’m here Babygirl.” I whispered, brushing my thumb over her skin, relief flooded my body knowing she hadn’t lost her memory. “You scared us all to fucking death out there. And the FIA will regret letting the race go ahead.”

The tears that were threatening to spill over my lash line finally fell once again, this girl was my life and if we had lost her today I honestly didn’t know what I would have done.

The hours passed but I refused to leave Vali’s side, apart from when she managed to bribe me to go to the local coffee shop she found on google, I ignored all of the calls coming from the team and just focused my attention on Vali.

Everyone had left to get out of their race gear, Pierre did come back with a change of clothes for me so I wasn’t stuck in my race suit.

Walking back in the room with a coffee from the local coffee shop my heart broke hearing the whimpers and cries coming from the bed.

“Baby,” I whispered, placing the coffees on the side before perching on the edge of the bed. “What’s all the tears about?”

“My season is over.” She cried, turning to face me. “My first season and this happens, what if I can’t come back from this.”

Letting out a shaky breath I took her hand in mine. “You will come back from this, I promise you.” I whispered. “You are the strongest person I know. I will work with you to build your strength.”

“Can you do something for me?” She whimpered.

“I’d do anything for you, Vali.” I hummed, pressing a kiss against her bruised knuckles.

“Can you stay the night? I just want to be held, I want to feel safe.” Her voice was quiet as she spoke.”

“Scoot over then bug.” I smiled softly, not missing the small smile that appeared on her face as I called her the old nickname I used to call her when we were kids.

It took her a little while to find a position that was comfy due to the cast on her leg and her broken rib but she eventually found the comfiest position with her head resting over my heart. It felt so good to have her in my arms but I hated the situation.

It didn’t take her long to drift off to sleep, letting out a heavy sigh I ran my hand over my face, my heart could finally slow down knowing that she was going to be okay. Yes the road to recovery wasn’t going to be easy, there would be a lot of physical therapy involved once her leg had healed, along with the mental strain it would take on her. There was no coming back this season and I knew how much that would be upsetting her.

Staring up at the ceiling I tried to calm my racing mind, the only sound in the room was Vali’s breathing. I let myself focus on her little snores losing track of time. I knew Vali wouldn’t want me to miss any races but I didn’t care, I needed to be there for her, I needed to show her how much I cared.

The nurse walking in the room dragged me from my thoughts, the soft smile she had on her face was comforting.

“Sorry I know visiting hours are over.” I whispered, running a hand over my face.

“Mr Leclerc, don’t worry about it.” She smiled, as she checked over Vali’s chart. “I never saw you in here.”

“Thank you.” I hummed, feeling the corners of my mouth tug into a small smile. “Quick question, when will Valentina be released?”

The nurse glanced up from the chart, “We are hoping at some point tomorrow, all her vitals are good but we just want to make sure she isn’t showing any delayed signs of concussion or any other injuries.”

I thanked her before she left the room, before I could get lost in any more thoughts my phone started ringing. Smiling when I saw Enrico’s name on my screen I answered the call instantly being greeted by Vali’s parents along with my mum.

“I feel so bad for not being there.” Enrico sighed the moment the call connected. I could see the sadness in his eyes that he wasn’t here for his little girl.

“She understands Papa.” I whispered, dropping my gaze to Vali. “She knows the reason you couldn’t be here.”

“How’s she doing?” My mum asked, causing me to look back up at my phone.

“She’s still kinda out of it from being sedated but it’s honestly going to be a long road ahead.” I sighed, knowing how hard this was going to hit her in the next couple of days. “She’s already been in tears over the fact her season is over.”

“Sono felice che tu sia con lei, figliolo. I am glad you are with her, son.” Enrico said softly.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” I smiled, pressing a kiss against the top of Vali’s head. “Not now, not ever.”

@chibsytelford @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @stillbreathin @angywritesstuff @miamedyu @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @micks-afterglow @livo67 @buendiabebeta @pleasedontfollowinlost @ferrarifwendvale @hungryhungarian @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @sunf1owerrq @queenslife @panicforspec @inesramoss30 @justme2042 @liv67 @sessgjarg @derpinathebrave @idkiwantchocolatee @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @alynoa @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @organasith @inchidentwithmax @raaaaabzzz @teamspideyman @marvelousmendess @mehrmonga @sbgal @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @mloyer

[loopstagirl]

Legacy and Destiny

For @janetm74, who requested this. It's kind of an added scene to my Thunderbirds/Merlin crossover found here.

-x-

Resting his elbows on the railing, Scott stared out to sea.

Events of the last few days were… baffling, to say the least. The island invasion by itself was enough; the fear of realising potential hostiles had snuck aboard Thunderbird Two.

But everything else?

How was he supposed to say two people from legend that weren’t supposed to exist had turned up on their secret island? Or Virgil seemed to possess gifts that were impossible? Or even how-

No.

He wasn’t going there.

Thinking about that damn sword made him shiver. He was scared of it. He’d handled enough weapons in his time, that wasn’t it. It was because he wanted it. His hand clenched on the railing. Even now, it called to him…

“Am I disturbing you?”

Scott looked around. Arthur was hovering in the doorway, albeit casting the sliding doors a suspicious look, not quite figuring them out. Scott shook his head, and the legendary ex-king, once-dead monarch of a mythical kingdom, stepped out to join him.

For a moment, both men stood in silence. Arthur stood with his hands clasped behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart. Scott smiled. It had taken him a while to stand at ease after he’d left the USAF, instinct making him slip into parade rest. Constant teasing from his family had cured him of that.

But then Arthur relaxed. It didn’t take long for him to mirror Scott’s position, elbows resting on the railing, also looking out to sea. Scott’s gaze returned to the rhythmic movement of the ocean.

“I remember when my father explained to me what being a prince meant.” Arthur’s voice was soft and Scott glanced over. The man continued to look out to sea.

“That it wasn’t just a title and status and didn’t mean I could do whatever I wanted.”

There was an embarrassed lilt in his tone. Scott had picked up enough from the jibes between Arthur and Merlin to know that even by the time Arthur had grown up, he still expected to get his own way.

“But that it was a responsibility. It wasn’t just my future; it was my kingdom’s future.”

“That’s not how our world works anymore,” Scott said. He felt he knew where this conversation was going and wasn’t sure he was ready. This was his home: he was the one in charge here. Yet he’d never felt so out of his depth.

“Where are the others?” He was deflecting. His brothers usually took the hint, but Arthur only looked at him.

“Merlin’s showing your brother some more tricks.” He was trying to shrug it off, as if it was no big deal, but Scott heard the respect in his tone. Arthur, who had lived in a world where magic was real, was impressed.

How was Scott supposed to feel?

“I understand,” Arthur said.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Understand what?”

“How’re you’re feeling.”

Scott snorted. “No offence, but no, you don’t.”

“I didn’t know he had magic. My father taught me to believe it was evil. Every time I tried to challenge my beliefs, tried to see it differently, someone proved me wrong. Then I find out my manservant is one of the most powerful sorcerers.”

Arthur trailed off, and Scott glanced at him. There was an old hurt in his voice. Something he’d dealt with, come to terms with, and still got hit with the emotions when he was least expecting it. He didn’t sound so sure of himself any longer.

“I understand what it feels like to have everything you’ve ever known turn on its head.”

“Your best friend kept a secret from you. That’s not the same.”

“He’s not-,” Arthur sighed, then rolled his eyes. Not at Scott though; more at himself. As if there was no point denying it. “That wasn’t what I meant. I died. I finished my fight. Then I’m in this world where nothing makes sense. Where everything I knew and understood has faded into stories. My kn- my friends are with us. We’re all here. But nothing is the same.”

Scott turned, resting his elbows on the railing instead and looking towards the house. It meant he could see Arthur better. He’d never considered it like that: the feeling of being thrust into a brand new world. If he suddenly dropped into Camelot, Scott was certain he wouldn’t last very long.

“Even after all I’ve seen and learnt, this world is strange to me.”

“I don’t think that goes away,” Scott said with a smile. “We’ve seen things too; seen how low humanity can fall, and how high they can raise themselves when disaster strikes. The strangeness of the world makes it worth living in.”

He flushed. John was the one for speeches, not him. But there was something about Arthur… Maybe it was standing in the presence of someone who had once been a king, a ruler in a way so absolute that it made his father as CEO look childish.

Or maybe it was because the magical sword that had caused this entire mess had looked into their souls and seen them as equals.

Arthur made a sound of agreement, then sighed. “Learning what it meant to be my father’s heir was hard,” he continued, returning to their previous topic. “What was expected of me; what people wanted from me; how most would only see me as a prince, not a man.”

Scott jolted. They came from different worlds – but he understood that. As soon as his father had risen in the business world, there’d been a hidden pressure on him. He was Jeff Tracy’s eldest: he had to set the example to his younger brothers, shield them from the press and the questions by taking it on himself. Once the money started coming in as well, he had to protect himself – and them – for those who were only interested in his name.

He'd been prepared to dislike Arthur, wanted to hate the man who’d snuck into his brother’s ‘bird and caused all this chaos. He didn’t expect to understand him, much less like him.

“Why’re you telling me this?” he asked softly.

Arthur straightened. Their heights were identical.

“The sword chose you, too. It saw in you everything it takes to be a great leader.”

Scott couldn’t hold his eye. “I told you, this isn’t how our world works anymore. Being my father’s heir doesn’t me this will all fall to me. It’s not like that these days.”

“Isn’t it?”

Scott frowned.

“You wouldn’t take on the mantle of leader to protect your men – sorry, your brothers – from having to make those calls? Not shoulder the responsibility of dealing with everything that’s related to your name so they could live a life free of that burden? You wouldn’t lay down your life for them?”

Turning, Scott looked back at the ocean. He couldn’t look at Arthur. It was unnerving how right he was. These were the decisions that he’d been making since he was fifteen-years-old.

“I don’t inherit a kingdom,” he said. His tone sounded desperate. That damn sword had got in his head. It wasn't his destiny to become a great ruler. He was supposed to save the world; someone else was supposed to run it. Someone like his dad.

“You inherit a legacy,” Arthur said. His tone was soft. He took a step closer and, to Scott’s surprise, put a hand on his shoulder. Arthur didn’t strike him as the type of man to initiate contact.

Scott looked at him. How could a man who was out of his own time be taking this calmer than he was?

“Don’t make my mistakes,” Arthur said. “Don’t do it on your own.”

“He’ll never be on his own.”

Both men turned. Virgil was standing in the doorway. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, but his eyes were full of excitement. Scott knew his brother was trying to look serious because of the conversation he’d just interrupted, but was bursting to tell him something.

“What?” Scott sighed, although a small smile was tugging at his lips.

“Nothing.” Virgil tried to look serious. Scott rolled his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Look what I can do!”

Virgil’s expression was one of apt concentration. A shimmering glow filled his eyes, making Scott uneasy. His brothers all had different skills to him, but he didn’t usually worry about them being dangerous (Alan and his racing was another matter). But this? Magic? It was so far beyond him, beyond any logical explanation, that he was uncomfortable.

“It gets easier,” a voice murmured.

Scott glanced over to find Arthur was watching him.

“After a while, you start to see a certain beauty in it. And it’s uses.”

“I’m not using him like a tool! Or a weapon.”

“It’s not your choice to make. He won’t give you that option.” Arthur was no longer watching Scott. His gaze had focused beyond Virgil, and Scott saw Merlin standing in the shadows.

When nothing seemed to happen, Merlin stepped forward and whispered something in Virgil’s ear. The artist nodded, then exhaled, regulating his breathing. Suddenly, one of the small plant pots that lined the balcony rose into the air. It hovered for a moment, then shot skywards.

Virgil gasped. Before Scott could react, a wave of power rolled over him as Merlin’s own eyes changed colour and the flowerpot settled softly back in its spot.

“Still working on it,” Virgil said sheepishly. Scott just shook his head. Half wonder; half bemusement. If someone had told him 24hours ago, he’d be watching Virgil do magic – real, powerful magic – he’d have said they’d had one too many.

“Impressive,” he said, truthfully.

Virgil wiped his forehead, his excitement fading now as he’d done what he wanted to do.

“I meant it,” he said, as if he hadn’t just levitated a flowerpot using magic. “He’ll never be doing this on his own.”

“See what I mean about choice?” Arthur muttered, but Scott could hear the smile in his voice. The king turned to face him.

“Embrace your legacy, your destiny,” he said, tone serious. Scott had to fight to keep his expression neutral at the formality of the words. “It was who you were born to be. The sword knows that. Only the worthy can pull it free.”

“Huh?”

“Long story.”

If Scott wasn’t mistaken, Merlin was shifting uncomfortably behind Virgil.

Arthur stepped forward, heading back inside. Scott called him back.

“What if I’m not worthy?” If anyone other than Virgil was present, he’d never dare say it. “What if it’s wrong?”

To his surprise, Arthur smiled. "That you think so shows it’s chosen well. No one who deserves power chooses it.”

Merlin suddenly snorted, ruining the moment, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

“How did you bring it back down?” Virgil asked Merlin. It seemed an abrupt change of topic, but Scott knew his brother. Or, rather, Virgil knew him. He was giving him space to process his thoughts, taking the attention off him for a few moments.

Merlin glanced at Arthur.

“May I?”

“May you what?”

“Show him.”

“You’re asking permission?” Arthur sounded incredulous and Merlin shrugged.

“Feels like the right thing to do after that speech,” he said, the glint in his eye having nothing to do with magic this time.

“Since when has it mattered to you if I give you permission or not? You never do as I say, never have.”

“I do, too!”

“Name one time you did what you were told.”

“When you threw me out of your rooms when Bayard came to Camelot after you were crowned.”

Arthur snorted. “You weren’t doing as you were told: you wanted a day off.”

“Which you never gave me.”

“You did no work to warrant one.”

“I was too busy saving your life!”

“Of course you were.” Arthur’s tone was dry. “Being the youngest First Knight of Camelot counted for nothing, then?”

“Not against magic, it didn’t.”

The pair moved inside, still bickering. Scott caught Virgil’s eye, and as soon as his brother’s lips twitched, laughed. Virgil came to join him, resting his forearms on the railing and staring at the ocean.

“Okay?” he asked causally. Scott mirrored his position.

“Says the guy who just floated a flowerpot with nothing more than his mind.”

Virgil shrugged. “That’s new and exciting. You’re dealing with something that you’ve always known and never wanted to accept.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re our leader, Scott. Sure, Dad’s our commander, but it’s always been you we’ve followed, ever since we were kids.”

“That’s what being a big brother is all about,” Scott said. “You know that.”

Virgil just smiled at him. “It’s more than that, and you know it.”

Scott didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He had always known in. He’d taken the lead when they were children, blaming it on being the eldest. But then he’d become a captain in the USAF with his own team, slipped into the role of Field Commander when International Rescue was established…

Arthur had a point. Being his father’s heir didn’t mean inheriting a kingdom like it might have done in the past. But it meant something. Something he planned to live up to.

“C’mon.” He pushed away from the railing and headed back inside. “I’m not sure we want those two running loose around the island.”

It wasn’t about trust. It was more that one had powerful magic Scott didn’t understand, and the other was a strong king who had no idea how a microwave works.

[safetycar-restart]

What about helping Carlos through his subdrop?

Ooo really great question! I'm gonna set this in the d/s au because in that au he's a switch and we said that he is quite prone to subdrop when he does need to submit so I think it would be interesting to discuss it there. Though this is something that could absolutely be discussed in the house husband au or just normally as well so if you'd like that then just let me know :))

(Also wow this ended up being so much longer than I thought it would be oops)

Firstly, Carlos doesn't need to submit as much as Charles, not nearly as much and he has a very complicated relationship with submitting as a whole. For years he just ignored the submissive side of him, thought that he could just scene with submissive and ignore that he needed to submit himself.

With Ferrari's old team dominant, he would force himself to submit about once a month, and he would only ever enter a very light subspace. He pretended it was enough, even though if he was honest, he was absolutely experiencing some side effects of not submitting enough.

Then you come along and never try to force him to submit. Instead, you work hard to gain his trust, letting him dom Charles with you, even lying to the team and telling them that Carlos was submitting to you so that you didnt have to force him.

And slowly over time, Carlos starts to trust you enough to actually want to submit to you. His first scene with you is literally just kneeling and letting you play with his hair, the second scene with you is just letting him cook you dinner and then hand feeding him, so it's very slow going with him.

And what you also realise very quickly is how easily prone to subdrop Carlos is. Even as he kneels for you for the first time, he's apologising to you for taking your time, saying he shouldn't need to do this, trying to rush through it. You have to calm him down immediately, praising him and promising him that you love him submitting to you.

He goes into subdrop properly after the third scene with you.

He loved the scene, and it the first time in years that he had submitted properly and entered a deeper subspace. But the moment the scene was over, rather than just laying with you and enjoying slowly coming down, he panics almost immediately because he thinks that he's already taken so much of your time. He stays just long enough to get cleaned up and then insists on leaving. You try to get him to stay, but you can't exactly force him so you let him go.

Within two seconds of seeing him the next day, you know he's in subdrop. His eyes are glazed over, just staring into face as he sits in the hospitality, not even looking like he's listening to his manager. You call his name and when he looks at you, you can almost see his confusion at seeing you again.

You pull from all duties that day, taking him straight back to your hotel room. He kept on trying to insist he was fine, despite the fact that he couldnt stop shaking and actually whined out loud when you pulled him into a hug.

You have to order him to come with you and order him to cuddle with you. He won't do it if you just ask and as his dom, you have to do whatever you need to in order to look after him.

Eventually you manage to get him to talk to you, and he admits that he feels like both a and sub and a bad dom. He felt like a bad sub because he wasn't good enough, he needed attention and care afterwards, he fights submission, he can't do intense scenes. And he felt like a bad dom because a good dom wouldn't need to submit.

You tell him none of that was true of course, but it's not that simple to get him to understand that.

And ever since then, you have to be very careful with Carlos and watch him for subdrop after scenes.

[brian-in-finance]

Video 📹 from YouTube photo shoot BTS forJuly 2018 Irish Tatler

Instagram cover and contents video 📹

Facebook Watch fun Q&A video 📹

Outlander-Online Instagram Story screenshot 📸

Screenshots: Caitríona Balfe Fan

time for more

Caitríona Balfe talks to Shauna O'Halloran about time-travel, wedding plans and why women have had enough of Hollywood's shitty behaviour (her words, not ours).

A pair of stonewashed Levi's 501s, flat white converse and a little white T-shirt are all that Caitríona Balfe needs to rock up to a day's shooting in North London, and still have a full crew comment on how beautiful she is in real life. It's never something I like to lead with in interviews - we're here to discover the person, after all - but I do feel that to not mention it would be a shame, because she is quite stunning, even when off-duty. It's not that much of a surprise of course. The Monaghan native was once one of the most sought after runway models in the world, having been spotted by a Ford Models scout in Dublin. At 18, she was opening and closing shows in Paris for Chanel, Moschino, Givenchy and Louis Vuitton, to name a few. And this humble glossy is just one of many she's graced the cover of - with Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and Elle magazines all having starred Caitriona over the years. So no wonder there was literally not one bad shot to be found in the photographer's edit.

Today however, Caitríona Balfe is known best to most of the world as Claire Beauchamp Randall - Outlander's time travelling 1950s nurse who falls for a dashing highland warrior by the name of Jamie Fraser, played by her costar Sam Heughan. The show, now on series four, is based on a series of novels by Diana Gabaldon and to say it has mega fandom is an understatement. Having taken up acting after her modelling career, Outlander was Caitriona's first major role and has propelled her into a stratosphere with over five million viewers per episode. How, I wonder, is that?

"It's been such a wild ride!" She tells me as we sit down to interview. She's back filming in Scotland for her fourth season and we already know that seasons five and six are a go, so Claire is going to be part of Caitriona's life for some time to come. "I was cast late into the proceedings. I got cast on the 11th of September and I was in Scotland [for fittings and filming] on the 15th of September 2013. I guess I knew about two days before they announced it!" She says of the whirlwind entry into Outlander. It didn't take long, however, for Caitríona to realise the scope her new role was going to have.

"After we filmed about four episodes Sam and I were taken to LA and we did a fan event. Nobody had seen anything and there was over two thousand people at this fan event...having not seen one minute of footage. We came out on stage and everyone was just screaming!"

The core fan base has stuck with them as the seasons have gone on and Outlander has won multiple awards. Caitríona, too, has been widely recognised for her role with 20 plus nominations and a host of Best Actress wins from institutions like the People's Choice Awards, the Golden Globes, the Saturn Awards, IFTA and BAFTA.

One of the notable points of the drama series is the sparky on-screen chemistry between her and Heughan during their many steamy scenes together. So much so that people have had a hard time believing that they're not a couple in real life. No matter how much the actors insist.

"It's nice that people kind of see something in that, but you know, we've always just been friends. And I said it from the beginning but people didn't want to hear it!"

Even so, it must be hard after four years of filming sexy scenes with someone to not get embroiled in a romance of some description.

"We went for a walk," Caitríona explains on how the deal was cut early on. "Both of us had to go to London right before we had to start filming, I was getting my second perm of the week and he was getting his hair dyed, probably for the 15th time that month and we met down in Kensington and went on a big long walk in the park. I was there with my poodle perm and he was there with some kind of terrible ginger-red version of his hair and we were like, You know what, who knows what this is going to be but we're going to be in this together and we gotta have each other's backs.' And from that time on we always have." A sweet moment that has led to a lasting friendship and has probably been key to Outlander's success.

"The shows that have been successful - I think you always see that they stick together. The minute you let ego or your pride or all of that kind of stuff get in the way, I think that it can really sour things," she says with honesty. It has to be said, there is no ego about Caitríona Balfe and as the lead role in the show, it's easy to imagine that she sets the tone for all involved.

The atmosphere on set, she says is supportive and tight, although she's painfully aware that not all hit shows and Hollywood sets are so lucky.

"Our work is really tough and we're in tough conditions, like when you're out in the pissing rain or sideways snow, which happens! To have people be supportive of each other and care about each other, that makes such a huge difference.

"I know somebody who worked on a show as the lead male and he and the lead female never spoke, literally didn't speak to each other unless they were in a scene. I can't imagine ever wanting to be in a situation like that, I can't imagine waking up in the morning and feeling like I have to go to work with someone who won't even speak to me. That's horrible."

But the stories are rife; even before #MeToo broke, celebrities and bad behaviour on set seemed to go hand in hand. And it makes for great, salacious tabloid fodder. And women, notoriously, seem to get the raw end of the deal, in everything from respect standards to salaries.

"I think everybody's waking up to the fact that they can't get away with that stuff," Caitríona chips in. "I obviously came to this point of my life a bit later so I've always felt very comfortable about standing up for myself or speaking up for myself but there can be a bit of a double standard. But I don't think, I mean I will stress this, it's not always men enforcing that. We've had male directors or male producers who are so much more sensitive and supportive than sometimes the females can be. I don't necessarily think that it's a split line down the middle about sex; it's not all women supporting women because that's not my experience. I think it's really about people." And does it hurt more, when it's a woman being the unsupportive one?

"Yeah, I think you expect better. And I think sometimes they think because they're women they don't think they're being discriminatory, but if what you're asking is completely out of line..."

In the hierarchical worlds of modelling and acting, people entering the careers at the bottom rungs are more vulnerable to mistreatment.

Caitríona notes that she did experience it in particular as a young model and her first career left her with some healing to do.

"I remember one of my first ever photoshoots in Dublin. I was so young and I remember coming back from it and my sister was like 'Where have you been all day?' I was just being sent off with a strange photographer who was older and with no kind of knowledge about where I was going, what was expected, just sort of thrown out to the wolves at 18."

It was that age that she first began travelling too, to Paris and Milan, and with little to no support structure. "It's just incredible when I look back now at how I navigated all of that because you literally are just sent off on your own, traipsing around strange cities where you don't know the language. You are just expected to fend for yourself.

"It was the wild west and you were lucky if you had a job. There was a discrepancy of power - the agency was really supposed to be there protecting you, but it was almost like you needed to please them to get the jobs.

"I think that's why so many girls who have gone through that experience are as tough as nails," she adds, also referring to herself, although that toughness hasn't come without cost.

"When I left the business, I moved to LA and I am so grateful that I was able to take a year...a lot of that was just dismantling a lot of the mental issues I had taken from the business because your confidence and your self-esteem is in the toilet after you've been in that business for so long. Most models I know have terrible self-esteem which is the most crazy thing."

Thankfully, in both modelling and acting, the industries are changing.

As someone who is in the Hollywood stratosphere and has been in the company of the likes of Weinstein and more, Caitríona has first-hand experience of being with the people at the very centre of the #MeToo storm.

"A lot of my year in LA was just dismantling a lot of the mental issues I had taken from the business"

"A lot of the names that have come forward, it's strange because you kind of go 'Oh yeah, that's not surprising.' With someone like Morgan Freeman; I grew up watching him and he's been that voice that calms everyone. But I had previously heard rumours. Nobody is above the law and what I do hope is that all of these things go through a process because I think the worst thing is that we get into this situation where there is like a mob mentality and we start being judge, jury and executioner on social media because that's never the right way of doing things.

"But I think there has been a real shift and I think people aren't going to put up with shitty behaviour anymore. And they shouldn't."

The one thing that high profile and influence does afford people is the ability to shine a light on situations that deserve more attention. It's something that Caitríona’s very aware of and since her Outlander fans have always asked 'who can we support on your behalf', she went out of her way to discover a charity that she could be an ambassador for. As a result, she is now a patron of Wold Child Cancer and travelled to Ghana last year to see two of the hospitals the charity works at. "It's very humbling when you see the different kinds of care you can expect if anything ever goes wrong in your life just because of where you are born," she says of the experience but is equally quick to downplay her role as a patron versus that of the people working on the ground, despite using her own time and profile to raise awareness and funds for the charity. "I feel so grateful that I can, the people in the trenches are the people who do work day-to-day and it's super impressive because they don't get a lot of credit for it."

Check Caitríona’s Twitter and you'll see how impassioned she is about this, as well as being a big supporter of other issues: she was vocal on repeal, supports ethical fashion choices and promotes a meat and dairy-free lifestyle.

"I believe that no matter what you do you should be a responsible citizen of the world," she says, "I think a lot of my social media is promoting issues I believe in and causes that I believe in.

“As for my more private life, frankly I'm not interesting so I don't like doing selfies, my partner is super private so he isn't on any social media and doesn't want to be so nothing is said about him. So yeah, that's naturally how I am!"

It's clear as the conversation goes on how grounded Caitríona is. She's fiercely proud of her Irishness and uses it as a conversation starter worldwide (*We command goodwill - people genuinely like us!") and while she laments how badly her name gets 'butchered' she misses the fada which she dropped for ease some years ago. "I'm devastated about it!" she says, before also confessing that technology had some part to play in its demise.

"In the early days of computers I didn't know how to put it on! I just learnt a couple of months ago, like ohhh it's that button there. So I might bring the fada back."

And she hasn't ruled out an upcoming wedding in Ireland - the actress is recently engaged to intensely private music producer Tony McGill, but plans for the nuptials are still undecided. Would she consider coming back to Ireland to tie the knot?

"If you put a sun lamp over it, yeah I'd love to!" She laughs. Wedding planning is not really her thing however, and doesn't garner giddy chats and wishlists.

"I would just love to have all of my friends and family and have a great party," she clarifies when coming across as less than enthusiastic about planning her perfect day. "I think the production side of it is just too much like work!"

And finding time that suits both their schedules is also proving challenging, with Caitríona lined up to film in LA with Matt Damon and Christian Bale. It's a biopic of mechanic and driver Ken Miles (Bale) and the conflict between Ford and Ferrari during the 1960s. "I play Christian Bale's wife and James Mangold [Walk the Line, Logan, The Wolverine) is directing. It's set in the sixties, it's all about Le Mans, the 24-hour race so it's a lot of fast cars, hot men and me!" She laughs. "I've been watching loads of documentaries on Le Mans which is really cool."

And this is Caitríona: totally unfazed, seemingly, by the prospect of working with some of Hollywood's most famous actors and directors and yet, nerdily researching so she can be prepared on the day. Oh, and consciously enjoying it too. With more projects in the pipeline, that demand is only going to get higher, but of one thing I can be sure: to her own self, Caitríona Balfe will always be true.

Remember… we command goodwill - people genuinely like us! ☘️ — Caitríona Balfe

[bl-bracket]

Round 3: Pat and Pran First Kiss (Bad Buddy) vs Tinn and Gun First Kiss (My School President)

[Submitted Reasons Under Cut]

Pat and Pran First Kiss: "There aren’t enough words to describe the way I felt the first time I watched this kiss happen. The buildup is immense, Pat is jealous but he doesn’t understand his feelings, Pran has been in love for so long he doesn’t want to even think there’s a chance. Pat talks about how damn lonely he was without Pran. He recontextualizes their whole relationship, yes they were enemies but they were also the only two people who understood eachother. And with that they’re not quite enemies, at least not anymore. And if they’re not enemies do you think they could be friends? When Pran asks, “Do you want us to be friends.” The hesitation before Pat just says no. It holds the weight of the world. And of course Pat is the one to lean in and cross that barrier, Pran is still petrified of his own feelings after years of beating them into submission. But once Pat has taken that leap and crossed that line you can see Pran say ‘fuck it’ and just go for it. If this is the only time he ever gets to kiss Pat then godammit he is going to make it worth it. Hands in each other’s hair like they couldn’t get closer to one another if they tried, desperation spills out of every corner of their kiss. And when then break apart, Pran is beyond devastated, he knows they could never be together, that this kiss might have been his one and only taste of something he has longed for, and he leaves Pat standing there for him to slowly come to the same bitter realisation as his face shifts from lovestruck to heartbroken. Ohm and Nanon raised the standard for every other kiss in any future bl. Not to mention the kiss happened when Pat was wearing a shirt that says ‘baseball mom.’ There is no other kiss that could be more deserving of this win"

Tinn and Gun First Kiss: "Obviously MSP was a roaring success even before the final episode. I think we were all a little nervous if they’d really stick the landing. And goddamn did GMMTV come through. It was SO true to the characters sweet, wholesome first love. I don’t know how a scene could be more perfectly executed. Between Tinn’s not so subtle horny jokes, Gun picking up on it and teasing him, and then both of them giving in and having the softest kiss on the bed followed by Tinn’s shyness, their whispered “I love you”s and right back to their adorable playfulness. Idk how many times I’ve watched that scene and it still gives me butterflies."

[esther-dot]

I'm the 2011/2013 Tumblr anon, and this is kind of embarrassing to admit but I'm also the original Dune anon, if that gives you any idea of my fandom background. (*/ω＼*) I've been in fandom since I was probably eleven or twelve, so fandom is basically home to me lol. I was always more of a sci-fi fan than a fantasy fan growing up, and so it wasn't until GOT I heard of the books; I'd never been a fan of the show, and I was impartial at best to the books. (At school, I knew classmates were reading them--- but for full context, I was a nerd disliked by other nerds for being too weird, so I wanted nothing to do with Tolkien/GRRM lol). I still have a bone to pick with GRRM (and this is partly what limits my participation) and in the case of my regular fandom, I'm very much used to isolation lol. (It's alt-right trolls who have a problem with me... sigh. Imagine a ship like Jonsa which redeems the books' thematic ideas and that's my situation).

I actually was familiar with the Sansa/Sandor ship long before I was interested in either media, because of the shipping circles I run in. Going from that lack of context to the context revealed in the actual books was very weird, because they seem like extremely disparate concepts. If you take Sansa/Sandor scenes and rearrange things, including the numbers in Sansa's age, it does feel like a powerfully violent BatB rendering with a dash of medieval pseudorealism; he's no prince and the romance is impossible, but perhaps he could be her knight or guardian in an unconsummated chaste romance or secret affair etc. It made me really rethink some of the ships I was interested in, and why, and where my tastes diverged from people I usually trusted. I am much less interested in ship archetypes by themselves than how those are enshrined in the narrative/themes at stake. It's also just interesting to me that Jonsa is an arguably truer, redeeming rendering of BatB, or a revisitation of that theme--- which GRRM is interested in, Sansa/Sandor fans are correct about that, but I think it's foreshadowing a future arc for her. Surely all the BatB exploration is being set up for something big?

So how did I find Jonsa.... well, it was a consequence of reading the books lol, though I imagine many people would say the show was illuminating (which is no condemnation that antis think it is). My interest in the books was primarily piqued through the show's ending--- I came to things rather late, but I'm thankful for that, considering that it seems like some of the best fandom discourse has taken place since then. I was mostly interested in it for the purposes of comparison of adaptation, which I find very interesting, and because I find predicting endgames in general very fun albeit painful. I watch a lot of things just to see what my instinctual feeling is because I like practising my narrative divination. I like engaging with storytelling! But I do have a mechanical fascination with it as well. I think this motivated my sending an ask about Dune to both you and transdimensional-void, mostly because the thing that often leads me in the right direction is getting a 'feeling' for the tone of something--- sometimes even beyond pure narrative reasoning. Lol

You'd ordinarily think the show would be offputting to a Jonsa theory (and this is a major spanner in the works, although I do kind of only semi-ironically believe they paired Jon with D/aenerys because E/milia Clarke is shorter than Kit H/arrington, where S/ophie is too tall, which they couldn't have predicted before being informed about a potential Jonsa resolution--- when in doubt, assume stupidity) but Jonsa is also deliciously ironic and tragic even if redeemed through an actual marriage (and we have so many weddings, over and over, that a symbolic redemption of Rhaegar/Lyanna's wound is basically being begged for--- Lyanna is realised in many ways in the story, through both Arya and Sansa... but it makes sense they'd redeem two sides to Lyanna, the wild wolfgirl and the girl married to a dragon. The wound inflicted through Rhaegar's absconding with Lyanna has to be redeemed, whether that is positively or shirking the possibility of a Lyanna/Rhaegar union altogether, so the door is open for tragic Jonsa in my eyes. These types of narrative questions are what I look out for when predicting narrative resolutions and is what led to me to seriously consider Jonsa). I was meditating on this recently because people were asking whether Cat and Ned would approve, and the marriage is only possible because they're dead. A Jon/Sansa arrangement is only possible because they have lost the people they loved most, and perhaps--- like I've seen suggested!--- it might even drive Arya away. As a writer, that, to me, is how you make Ned and Catelyn's deaths in the story echo in a bittersweet way. It's good storytelling. It goes beyond 'and we re-enact the lessons of parents' which is the normal way you'd realise parental remembrance and legacy. And something tells me GRRM isn't interested in predictability. Unless you've read Gothic literature.

So, beyond Jonsa I'm very interested in the reasoning underpinning the show's derivations, and in my case I'm much more interested in Jonsa in the books than the show (that wasn't really what did it), though in the case of the show, I'm interested in where you can potentially see reflections of a book dynamic. But so much of the adaptation is muddied that it's hard to parse, and I'm really not sure how much of GRRM's suggestions they truly had versus what they stuck to. If they knew they needed 'a Jon romance', in the same way as they needed Robb to break his wedding pact with the Freys, but supplemented Talisa, what was motivating their decisionmaking? D/aenerys was the selling star of the show and basically the face of it, and the face of the merchandise and the cultural conversation etc. (which is why they made her death punishing--- the storytelling is so spiteful, and normally I'm a villain apologist through and through, but this case was particularly egregious) and it would seem silly not to give her a romance, because how can you write important female characters without romance? Now, I'm a perennial romance apologist, but the thinking here, to me, seems rather suspicious. So, I think what's special about ASOIAF right now is we've got a theoretical ending through the show, but where does that translate to the books? And where does the fandom get it wrong, and where do they get it right? The historic ubiquity of Sansa/Sandor, and many other fandom trends (e.g. D/aenerys is the rightful ruler, or tragic heroine, and so on) is kind of like honey to me, because all of those theories were completely blown out of the water by the show, but critically--- critically--- there's still room for expansion in the book for other directions. I was put off by simplistic interpretations of the books that floated around and when I read them the fandom characterisation, crossplatform, was actually shocking to me.

Since you asked--- and I'm terribly sorry--- I have a lot of feelings about when TWOW may or may not come out, not just because of anticipation, but because GRRM's authorial struggle is hard to watch through the eyes of fandom. The condemnation of his procrastination, his apparent carelessness--- that he 'took the money and ran'--- the hopelessness--- it's very hard to watch, and what I wonder is how he feels as a writer. Releasing TWOW will lead him into the final endgame, and he'll have to say goodbye to his magnum opus. That is very hard, beyond the show sailing ahead, and beyond anything else. It also gets to me in a personal way (which no one else can help!) because I am a writer trying to finish a long work, and I'm literally at the equivalent point GRRM is, and--- although he's a celebrated published author, and I'm writing for the sole joy of it--- I think that there is probably something fundamentally similar there, which is that holy fuck it's hard. It doesn't matter how much you know what you need to do, doing it is hard, and writing itself is actually an extremely difficult task. And by writing that means formulating ideas, as well as actual finger to DOS machine.

Writing sometimes is kind of like trying to paint a person, except you've never seen a human being before.

But I think that if GRRM is really committed to his bittersweet romanticism, he can pull off a goodbye, lol. And as much as I quibble with his narrative ethos and sometimes he makes me tear my hair out, I want to see him complete his work, because I think every single author deserves that. And because I think that at a minimum, for something like ASOIAF, the legacy of its ending ought to be his final say. I can't speak to his actual psyche but I do fully believe if he can publish TWOW, he can do ADOS. My observation is that TWOW is structurally much more difficult than ADOS, and I think that's one of many reasons he's been dragging his heels, long before the show caught up. Once he gets to the victory lap of ADOS, he will probably have both a professionally and emotionally easier time in terms of having to finish it. TWOW merges the split threads of AFFC and ADWD, whereas ADOS will only have to follow through (touch wood) on the one book, where many perspectives and their storylines will have converged--- at some point, we may have Sansa, Jon, and Brienne all unified! Which resolves character goals as well as being more economic with POV distribution. This is the angle I find very interesting because I think the way he uses character chapters to establish context and meaning beyond pure character is actually genius and rarely done so well in genre fiction, and I'm completely envious of it. (This is also why Jon/Sansa makes so much sense).

This is a terribly long ask so please don't feel the need to respond line by line, lol. I think I got a little excited! Having a positive fandom interaction is so nice. It's really weird that fandom has become such a polarised place (I mean, we had ship wars, but people kept to themselves more), and you're lucky Jonsa is your first fandom--- well, outside of the anti-Jonsas--- because I think it's a lovely place.

This goes for any Jonsa reading it: thank you all for literally keeping me sane. 🥰🥰🥰🥰 If I may ask, Esther, I think you've said that you came to Jonsa through the show then the books--- what drew you to Tumblr fandom? I'm always interested in how people find fandom!

Dune, anon! I'll tag @transdimensional-void because your convo about it did make me finally watch Dune (although I still don't think I'll read the book, sorry!), but the film was gorgeous. I didn't realize the director was Villeneuve. He always has very interesting projects and arresting visuals. Arrival was such a surprising take on an alien movie and it has really stayed with me. I think he has exquisite pacing, too.

Well now I’m even more concerned about the attempted doxing! Horrifying. The internet can be a wonderful thing, but I swear, it brings out the absolute worst in people.

I totally get what you mean about S*nsan seemingly being a BatB thing, but I’ve suggested before that it’s more in line with one of the old monster movies or even King Kong which love to pair something terrifying with a beautiful woman or little girl. It doesn’t mean romance, it’s the juxtaposition of extremes, raw power being stopped by beauty, violence being calmed by gentleness. There’s that line at the end of King Kong, “It was beauty killed the beast.” IMO, the beast and beauty idea is certainly there for the Hound and Sansa, I just don't think it's Disney's Beauty and the Beast. It's a highly romanticized idea, but not a romance in the way we use the term now.

My parents are both huge readers, not really into novels. My dad liked The Hobbit and LOTR tho, and got really into doing dramatic readings of those at bedtime for us kids. I remember The Hobbit the best because he’d make up tunes for all the songs and sing them. They’re very nostalgic for me, that love extends to the LOTR movies, but made it impossible for me to sit through the Hobbit adaptation. Anyway, I read a few sci fi and fantasy books, but I never really got into it. My little sister on the other hand luuuuurrrvs fantasy and she was the one who got me to watch GoT (I’d heard of the books, hadn’t read them) together, but then we ended up living in different states and she decided that it should be our thing to avoid spoilers and only watch the show when we got together. So, we were always running behind from that point on, but we made it through s5 that way. Eventually we just didn’t have the time to do that, and she was so disgusted with s5 she was happy to drop it completely--never watched another episode. I was too invested to stop, so I watched s6-7 myself and was simply appalled by the characterization of Jon. It made me get online for GoT content for the first time. This was in 2018. I saw that Martin gave interviews saying the show’s ending would be his ending, so I a) sped read the books, b) started listening to some of his interviews, c) saw the term “Jonsa” for the first time in the comments of one.

It took nothing to get me onboard because Jon and Sansa were my favorites, I really loved their scenes together, I hated everything after they separated in s7, and I read a lot of 19th century lit as a teenager, so cousin marriage didn't even strike me as weird in the historical context. I can't remember which meta it was I read first, one of Fedon's or blindestspot's prediction of a Jonsa reunion and marriage from 2013, but I got on tumblr and was totally sucked into the fandom.

“I do kind of only semi-ironically believe they paired Jon with D/aenerys because E/milia Clarke is shorter than Kit H/arrington, where S/ophie is too tall”  — I’m screaming. D&D @ Kit: "Sorry buddy, if you didn’t want your character to fall in love with a mass murdering tyrant you should have kept growing." lmaooooo.

“Jonsa is also deliciously ironic and tragic even if redeemed through an actual marriage (and we have so many weddings, over and over, that a symbolic redemption of Rhaegar/Lyanna's wound is basically being begged for--- Lyanna is realised in many ways in the story, through both Arya and Sansa... but it makes sense they'd redeem two sides to Lyanna, the wild wolfgirl and the girl married to a dragon. The wound inflicted through Rhaegar's absconding with Lyanna has to be redeemed, whether that is positively or shirking the possibility of a Lyanna/Rhaegar union altogether, so the door is open for tragic Jonsa in my eyes.” --You put this so beautifully. I wish you'd get a side blog and post that in the Jonsa tag, I love it!

One of the major puzzles to me is how the fandom all know just how much the text talks to itself, it's notably self-referential, so the way they dismiss the idea of Rhaegar's son and a Stark girl romance...I have a really hard time believing they don't see the logic there, how it would bring things full circle. The way they treat S*nsan as "practically canon" while calling Jonsa a crack ship when we have that hanging over our heads is a little incomprehensible.

“I was meditating on this recently because people were asking whether Cat and Ned would approve, and the marriage is only possible because they're dead. A Jon/Sansa arrangement is only possible because they have lost the people they loved most, and perhaps--- like I've seen suggested!--- it might even drive Arya away.” --I agree with this too. I am very struck by how NedCat, some of the best people and one of the best relationships Martin offers, has this pain and tragedy written into their love. That's a big reason why I can't quite get on board with an easy resolution to Jonsa, because Martin is just drawn to conflict which is why his characters and story is so compelling, but also makes me think, there will be layers to Jonsa, some real pain there.

“And something tells me GRRM isn't interested in predictability. Unless you've read Gothic literature.” — I once posted a list of gothic lit tropes and he’s included all of them. But Gothic heavily influenced horror, and ASOIAF has horror elements, so that isn't totally surprising when you think about it. It still amuses me though!

It’s definitely a real struggle to see the sense behind D&D’s choices but when I was reading an interview looking for a specific quote, I did see that even in 2011 Martin was saying he knew the endgames, which is a) comforting for Sansa ending up safely in Winterfell purposes, b) reassuring for Dark Dany believers, c) hilarious when you think about how many people are still pissed about Arya and Bran’s fates. And Jon? Well, I’ve made my peace with a tragic ending (although I’ve mocked it a great deal too because I can't see how it works), but we all know they fucked him over the most in s7-8, so I could also see D&D trashing what his ending was meant to be in favor of catering to Targ fans. Apparently Emilia has recently reiterated her frustration that Jon “got away” with killing Dany, so like…imagine the rage if he’d killed Dany and then got a HEA in Winterfell. 

My feeling is that Martin told them Jon would kill Dany and they chose to do "the romance" (which imo, they didn't like because the way they wrote and filmed it and permitted Kit to act it just...sabotaged it in every way imaginable) to make it more palatable to her fans who ate it up. They actually are comforted that Jon "loved" Dany and after s8 dropped pics/gifs of him cradling her dead body into our tag bragging that he loved her. Like, D&D made really crappy choices, but I think it was about manhandling their audience while hitting Martin's plot points they knew the Targ fans would hate, not a result of them throwing out the endgames.

“ The condemnation of his procrastination, his apparent carelessness--- that he 'took the money and ran' --I’m not a Martin defender, I have real reservations with some of his choices, but I have family his age and do try to think of him as a person. I find a lot of how people speak of him...well, I have no issue with people being frustrated we don't have TWOW considering how long ago he said he'd finish it (like, back in 2016) and how often since then he's indicated getting close to the end only for it to then sound like he's quite a ways away. As long as people don't harass him, I don't think it's an issue to talk about this in fandom spaces. However, they often sound ignorant of what it takes to write something like ASOIAF, with all the levels he's trying to work on. Also, his writing style sounds like a total nightmare? The idea of tearing things up to fix them seems hopeless to me, and he’s talked about doing this repeatedly—it would be so hard to finish a chapter or several and then realize, nope, gotta rework all of it.

“because I am a writer trying to finish a long work, and I'm literally at the equivalent point GRRM is, and--- although he's a celebrated published author, and I'm writing for the sole joy of it--- I think that there is probably something fundamentally similar there, which is that holy fuck it's hard.” --Oh ho ho! Well, you know that’s gonna make me have all sorts of questions, so if you want to tell me about your work (genre, tome or series, influences, themes etc) I am all ears, but I also know some writers have to keep all that to themselves until they’re done so I won’t pry. Although, because of our exchanges, I would be interested in how you use romance in your own writing.

“writing itself is actually an extremely difficult task” // “Writing sometimes is kind of like trying to paint a person, except you've never seen a human being before.” —dead! I think the issue is, many people don’t distinguish between types of writing? So someone doesn’t distinguish between the goal and what say, a modern romance is attempting to accomplish versus a Jane Austen novel. They might end the evaluation at "like or didn't" and not grasp what all goes into different types of novels, their individual successes or failures, and why some novelists can complete multiple novels in a year, another might spend a few years on one. I think about this a lot when I see people suggest Martin get some ghost writers, and like, this man isn’t churning out genre fiction (which I love, I was a snob as a teen and cured myself, but it is an entirely different kind of writing!), so it's just...a lot of fans totally misjudge the effort required and how easily replicated the work would be.

“I think that at a minimum, for something like ASOIAF, the legacy of its ending ought to be his final say” --I find it incredibly sad every year that goes by and the chance of him completing his series dwindles. People forget that what holds sway over a culture doesn’t always have staying power and a) I think his work is doomed to being forever misinterpreted unless he finishes and b) I don’t think he’ll have accomplished what he wanted to regarding elevating fantasy / getting it the respect he believes it deserves unless he gets to that ending. It's a shame.

I enjoyed reading all your thoughts on Jonsa, the ideas it touches on and how GoT/ASOIAF might differ. Thank you!