#i just mean. as a reader. do i read their story arc and see them go from bad to good and progress in meaningful ways

[lord-squiggletits]

Something I keep seeing when I speak to others about MTMTE Megatron is basically the idea that he's going on a personal journey to become a better person, that the point isn't for him to be "redeemed" but for him to get a chance to do good and die as a person he can live with again. That MTMTE presents a unique take on this because being away from Cybertron gives Megatron a chance to be a person rather than a political figure and this is how it gives him more depth as a character. Or just generally pointing out in a narrative sense that Megatron being in MTMTE limits his story options so of course his story is going to be more focused on a personal journey than on politics of him dealing with the Decepticons/Earth/etc and that just because JRO made a choice to take that path with Megatron doesn't mean that it's inherently bad.

And I'm just, mmm like I understand all of those points and acknowledge that they all contributed to the MTMTE Megatron we got. I even think that without JRO writing Megatron we wouldn't have had his lore be as fleshed out and 3D as it ended up becoming.

(Post starts out as a sort of meta analysis or at least me giving a reasoned explanation for my interpretation of the story, ends up being petty bitching in the last 1-2 paragraphs)

I just..... I just personally don't agree with the "he's becoming a better person by getting a chance to relax and experience happiness and trust after a life of trauma" as being the best choice for his character? Because the problem is that maybe if he were a random Decepticon foot soldier that would be appropriate, but he was literally the leader of the Decepticons that made them Like That and has political/cultural/societal responsibility for why things are the way they are? To be completely frank, I don't care about him going on a personal journey for self-peace, I think that he should become a better person by helping to un-fuck all the things he actually screwed up???

Like idc about the debate of whether he can be "redeemed" or if he should've been killed/imprisoned/etc at the ending. It just comes down to the fact that for me personally, I feel that since Megatron's wrongdoings were at a social level, him "being a better person" would've been better shown by him engaging with those people who he wronged instead of just going on a frigging personal journey for his legacy and self-peace???

Especially since in other series (exRID, possibly Windblade) we literally got plots like "the neutrals hate Autobots but they hate Decepticons even more" and "the Decepticons have been taken over by Galvatron and are now invading earth 2 electric boogaloo" and "yeah the Decepticons are literally living in slums because people hate them so much and won't give them any work." It just leaves me wondering why in the hell people are like, "oh Megatron got to be happy and have a chance to be a normal person." I don't want him to be normal! I want him to repay his debts to the people he actually wronged! Like if you want to cast Megatron as a hero of the people so badly (which so many of his stans do as if he actually cared about the Cons) then how do you reconcile the fact that Megatron just fucked off and left the Decepticons to suffer on Cybertron? Including some of them attacking during his trial and getting killed and Megatron is basically like "sorry, I'm not coming with you and this isn't going to work." And then Megatron complains about "toxic Decepticon loyalty" as if he didn't literally make them that way? Like I get that MTMTE Megatron is still an asshole but if you've read something besides MTMTE and know what the Decepticons are going through, it just ends up being really grating.

I just don't see Megatron as being a particularly good hero or having a particularly fulfilling story if he's completely isolated from all the bad things he did on Cybertron/the way the Decepticons are suffering until LL#25 where it's like "ah damn I'm going to trial now, well this is what I deserve so it's fine." Why could we not have seen something like Megatron trying to deradicalize the Decepticons or change their public image so they could integrate into normal Cybertron again? They were living in SLUMS and getting gunned down by Starscream's badgeless enforcers!

The best we got was the Functionist Universe but like.... I'm sorry, but JRO inventing a whole alternate universe for Megatron to save doesn't do jack shit to save or fix the people he left behind in this one. It was especially grating to read because JRO literally wrote in someone saying "you saved billions of lives from the Functionists" as if he was trying really hard to show how good Megatron is because he saved people (and also if not for Megatron existing Cybertron would be even worse and half of your faves would be enslaved or dead, also the Functionist Council was going to genocide organics too so technically they're WORSE than Megatron since they hate organics AND want to enslave their own race).

I read Barber's, JRO's, and MScott's series concurrently using the omnibus + a release order list for phase 3, and after all that I'm kind of puzzled why the fandom seems to ardently love MTMTE Megatron and think he's so well written but then also shit on Optimus for things that he did during the same points in the story? Because, and I know this is a blazing hot take, I honestly think that Optimus makes a better hero of his story than Megatron does for his, and Optimus' personal journey combines his personal and political identities into a narrative that's a lot more gruelling and questioning of his goodness than we got for Megatron in MTMTE. Which is fucking saying something considering Megatron committed crimes against sapient species and Optimus is the guy who tried to stop him from doing that and has always been pro-equal rights for all beings. But people pretty much just cherrypick things like Optimus annexing Earth or beating up Prowl and go "he's bad" and I'm like no??? IDW OP isn't a bad person or a bad character??? It's just that unlike MTMTE Megatron he's placed in a narrative that actually suits the nature of his actions and has themes that match. To the point that IMO sometimes Barber's narrative shits on Optimus excessively or paints him mainly in the most unflattering ways.

But like. It's just funny to me because Optimus spent his entire part of the story doing things like trying to stop Earth from being invaded/colonized yet again. Grappling with his identity as Prime and dealing with the fact that people literally worship him vs. the fact that his upbringing made him see the Primacy as nothing more than a facade of authority/leadership. Having people get mad at him for prioritizing politics over friendship/relationships with other people. Even getting shit on for being a cop a decent amount so people can STFU about IDW OP being "copaganda" or "not held responsible for his actions". The problems that Optimus dealt with were personal because they had to do with his self-doubt, culpability for the war as a leader of one of the armies, distance from his soldiers, etc. But all of these are also POLITICAL struggles. Because Optimus gave up on the chance to just be a normal person having personal struggles when he chose to become a LEADER, which also means that he's held to extremely high standards that he regularly fails at in the eyes of others.

That's why, to me, MTMTE Megatron falls flat in comparison and really as a "hero" or heel-face character in general? Because he also made a decision to be a leader, and IMO once you do things like become the commander of an army and start your own galactic empire, you lose the right to prioritize your personal problems and instead are obligated by the power you've chosen to wield to focus on your POLITICAL problems. If Megatron's power, influence, and crimes are of a social-political nature, then his heel-face turn arc and ways of showing that he's a better person/helping to heal what little damage he possibly can should have been shown with actions that help on a social-political LEVEL. That's why I'm not particularly impressed with his character arc and feel as if it was overhyped by other people in this fandom: sure, the extra character depth and emotion is nice, but I'm not really going to see him as extraordinary or even particularly good when the extent of him "becoming a better person" happens entirely on a random road trip to fuck-off nowhere. Especially not when the ending of LL tried to sell me a "they lived happily ever after" ending while basically leaving the freaking MUTINY as just Rodimus going "oh it's okay you're forgiven, we're all together again" and I guess everyone was fine with Megatron and wanted to spend an eternity on a ship with him just because Getaway died.

This is why I like (the concept/themes of) exRID/OP and the way Optimus' character arc was handled a lot more. Because for Optimus, the personal and the political were as one. He was held accountable for his actions towards others and the disruptive effects they had on a social level, sometimes to a ridiculous extent (the fucking "oh Megatron is an Autobot so now that makes the Autobots colonizers" plot and that stupid colonist screaming about how Optimus is "literally fascist" my beloathed). Even his very personal issues like his relationship with Zeta were still cast in a wider lens of, yeah this is a personal struggle that Orion faced, but he was still part of a Society TM and his actions were sometimes ill-informed or harmful to others. Even if I had a lot of problems with the way Optimus' story was written by Barber (plot holes, little meaningful character interaction, forced conflicts), at least the BASELINE of it was way better than Megatron's in MTMTE. Especially since Optimus' struggle was explictly about things like struggling with responsibility and how he feels he HAS to intervene in political affairs because has to save people/make up for his past mistakes. That's something that a good leader/good person actually does, so I found Optimus to be a better hero (even if his actions weren't all "good") because he was trying to be a good person by actually getting involved with Cybertron/Earth and subjecting himself to something he hates (leadership, war) and dealing with a shitload of criticism instead of just going on a fuckin "personal journey" lksdlkfsd.

Which just makes me extra salty that people hold up MTMTE Megatron as the pinnacle of Megatrons and literally the best Transformers writing evar! while turning up their nose and ignoring or outright despising IDW Optimus. Like okay. I guess since Megatron got handled with silk gloves on while Optimus got put through the wringer of being shit on by every other person in the story, it's easier for you to pretend that Megatron is a poor uwu boy who just needs friendship and love while Optimus is literally the worst bastard to ever exist. Or maybe it's just that since Optimus' story involves him sometimes fucking up, being criticized, or making things worse, that makes him morally bad. As opposed to Megatron who disrupted a lot of other characters' stories in MTMTE, had to have an entire alternate universe invented so that he could "save lives," and got to sail off on a quantum Lost Light happily ever after, so since he's happy and the story says he saved people that means he's a good hero.

[tendorksclasspecting]

Rose and Dave both gain their godhood rejecting their roles on a suicide mission to blow up the sun and that's fabulous, I love it. But Rose gets the short end of the stick attention-wise both before on her planet and after on the meteor.

When Rose goes grimdark, I wish she did more with her planet than trash it & leave. When Dave rejects his role he gets an important broken sword and figures out stable time loops, and then they scratch their session on his planet. Rose goes Grimdark from unlocking her seer powers and immediately rejecting them, but then her planet doesn't really get addressed at all after she goes Grimdark. She could have ridden that thing like a cue ball into the green sun. She could have killed her planet and resurrected an undead army of later-relevant consorts. She could have no-clipped to Cetus, had an argument, and banished her to the Furthest Ring leaving LOLAR inky and lightless and invisible to Lord English for use fighting him later. Rose was supposed to be a beautiful tool but she wanted to be a weapon, and she never narratively gets to be without utterly destroying herself.

On the meteor, I wish we got more of her being catty as her sense of purpose falls apart post suicide mission - I wish we'd seen her struggle instead of just being told oops Rose is an alcoholic now. I wish we'd gotten more of her falling in love with Kanaya, this person who uses her needles and teeth to clothe and protect. Of them understanding themselves better because of each other. Of them transitioning (maybe through addiction) from the violent necessities of the game to plans for their future, for what the Mother Grub would need and how to combine their cultures, deciding who they want to be. But Rose kind of just gets sidelined into the background of Dave and Karkat and Terezi, and that's a fucking shame.

Rose is a character with so much depth and we got cheated out of seeing her make the final decisions of what her arc is and who she wants to be, which imo is the whole point of her character arc.

[dave rejects his assigned role] woww this says so much and is so interesting and awesome i am suddenly a master of analysis [rose rejects her assigned role] omg i cant belive hussie made this unintentional oversight thats really stupid rose is sooo boring

[bueckets]

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two | Three (you're here)

Description: Following the viral video of Paige and Azzi, you spend the next three months redefining what perfect means. Each shot becomes a statement, each swish echoing with something colder than precision. Your teammates watch you stay late every night, turning heartbreak into headlines, until even UConn's dynasty seems breakable.

The game approaches like destiny. Harvard versus UConn in the Final Four, a collision course that ESPN calls "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For." Twenty thousand tickets sell out in minutes. The whole sport holds its breath.

You haven't spoken to Paige since that night in the snow. Haven't read her texts or opened her letter. Instead, you let your game speak - 47 against Princeton, 51 against Yale, perfect shooting in both. They call it The Revenge Tour, though you never bother correcting them.

Now Dallas looms like a storm on the horizon. One game to prove that some things break you, and some things make you unbreakable.

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

After that night in the gym, you don’t miss. Not once.

Every shot is a calculation, a release, a fury of physics and heartbreak. Each arc is perfect, each swish feels like vengeance. The ball obeys because it has to. Because it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

Paige’s texts come in like a storm. Desperate, raw, and relentless:

Monday (3:47 AM): please just let me explain.

Monday (4:15 AM): it wasn't what it looked like.

Monday (4:22 AM): i miss you.

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

You sit on your bed staring at the ceiling, the blue glow of your phone lighting the room like a taunt. Sierra grabs it from your hands and sets it face down on your desk. “Nope.”

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

Tuesday (2:13 AM): i know you’re mad. i’d be mad too.

Tuesday (3:01 AM): rocket, please. you mean everything to me.

Tuesday (3:45 AM): i never meant to hurt you. i’d do anything to take it back.

By Wednesday, she calls. Seventeen times. Sierra’s thumb hovers over the block button. Jasmine glances at you, but you just lace up your shoes and head for the gym.

Thursday, the texts shift to something softer, almost pleading:

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

Sierra and Jasmine take turns deleting the messages before you can see them, but you know. You always know.

“She’s hurting,” Jasmine says carefully one night, her voice soft like she’s walking a tightrope.

"Good," you respond, and sink another three.

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

"i know i screwed up. i don’t even know how to start fixing it. all i know is that i want to."

"i miss how you made me feel like the best version of myself. like i could do anything."

"i miss you solving equations while watching film. i miss your voice. i miss you."

"rocket, i love you. i don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, but it’s the truth. i love you."

"please just tell me to fuck off or something. anything is better than this silence."

You don’t read them, but Sierra does. She updates you with clipped summaries: “She’s still apologizing. Still desperate.” You just nod, focusing on your form. Release. Swish.

“She says she loves you,” Sierra says one day, her voice careful.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, grabbing another ball.

WEEK THREE

Thursday evening, it snows. Heavy, wet flakes that stick to the ground and blanket campus in white. You’re in the gym, as always, the only sound the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, then the net.

Sierra bursts in, out of breath, snowflakes clinging to her jacket.

“She’s here,” she says, voice strained.

You pause mid-shot, the ball resting heavy in your hands. “What?”

“Paige,” Sierra says. “She’s outside. Just standing there. She’s not leaving until you talk to her.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. “In the snow?”

“Yes. In the snow,” Sierra snaps. “Want me to handle it?”

You glance at the door, at the faint glow of the snowstorm through the windows. Your chest feels tight.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

Sierra looks surprised but doesn’t argue. “You sure?”

You nod, dropping the ball onto the rack. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

You push open the gym door, and the cold hits you like a slap. The snow is coming down hard now, heavy flakes swirling in the wind and catching in your hair, on your lashes, melting instantly on your skin. The air bites at your face, sharp and unforgiving, and you pull your sweatshirt tighter around you as you step into the storm.

Paige is there.

She’s standing under the dim glow of the parking lot light, a lone figure against the blanketed white. Her coat is too thin for this weather, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if that could keep the cold out. Snowflakes dust her hair, her shoulders, even her lashes, sticking there like delicate glass. Her nose and cheeks are red, raw from the wind, and her breath comes out in uneven clouds that catch the faint light before disappearing.

Your heart pounds as you take her in. It’s not fair, how seeing her still makes your chest tighten, how her very presence feels like it could knock you off balance. You feel your feet ache against the frozen pavement, the sting of cold air in your lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

She looks up as you approach, her eyes locking onto yours immediately. They’re red, glassy, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears making them glisten. She uncrosses her arms, her hands trembling, and takes a single step forward.

“Rocket,” she says, and her voice cracks. Just that one word, and it’s enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You stop a few feet away, planting your sneakers firmly into the snow to keep steady. Your throat feels tight, your tongue heavy. For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, the silence between you as thick as the snow falling all around.

“What are you doing here?” you manage finally. Your voice is sharper than you intended, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to sound anything but cold.

She shifts, wiping her hands on her coat as if that’ll stop them from shaking. “I—I had to see you,” she stammers. “You weren’t answering, and I just—” Her voice breaks again, and she swallows hard, trying to steady herself. “I just needed to try.”

The words hang in the air, weighty and raw. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay grounded, to not let your emotions spiral. The wind picks up, whipping snowflakes against your face, and you blink hard against the sting.

“You’ve said enough,” you say, your voice flat.

“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. Her boots crunch against the snow, and the sound feels deafening in the quiet. “I know I’ve said everything wrong. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say. I just—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I need you to know how sorry I am. How I got into my head leading up to it. I was scared. I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining us.”

Your breath catches at that, and your chest tightens even more. Her words hit like a weight, heavy and suffocating, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to respond. You feel the sting in your fingers, the way the cold air pinches your ears, the dull ache in your feet from standing still too long.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, Paige,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound steady. “It was trust. It was everything we had.”

She nods quickly, tears finally spilling over. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to hide it, but her hands are shaking too much. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I know I broke it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you.”

The tears keep falling, streaking down her red cheeks, and she doesn’t bother wiping them anymore. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t look away from you. You want to turn away, to stop seeing her like this, but you can’t. Your eyes burn, your throat feels raw, and the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

“I loved you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Her breath catches audibly, and you see her shoulders slump further, like the words are knives she’s been bracing for.

“I love you,” she says, her voice breaking entirely. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

The snow falls harder now, coating everything in a thick, suffocating white. You feel it collect on your shoulders, your hair, melting down your neck. Paige shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her breaths coming out in ragged clouds.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you stare at Paige. The snow falls heavier now, landing on her lashes and melting against her flushed cheeks. Her nose is red, her hands trembling as they clench at her sides. The cold bites at your skin, your ears pinching, your feet aching, but none of it feels as sharp as the weight in your chest.

“Go home,” you say, your voice cracking slightly despite your attempt to sound firm.

Paige doesn’t move. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes stay locked on yours, brimming with fresh tears. Her lips part, but no words come, just a soft, shaky breath. Then:

“Please,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind. Her voice is raw, broken, and it hits you like a punch. She takes a step closer, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she can’t. “Please,” she says again, the word shaking with everything she’s trying to say but can’t.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening as you force yourself to stand your ground. “Paige,” you say, softer now, almost pleading yourself. “Go home.”

She flinches, like the words physically hurt, but she doesn’t argue this time. She nods slowly, blinking hard against the tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders slump as she turns away, her steps hesitant, dragging in the snow like she’s leaving pieces of herself behind with every step.

You watch her walk toward the far end of the parking lot, her figure blurry through the curtain of falling snow. She stops once, just for a moment, her back to you. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the motion is weak, almost futile. Then she moves again, trudging toward the lone car parked under the faint glow of a streetlamp.

The driver’s side window rolls down as Paige approaches, and you see KK leaning out, her face a mix of concern and frustration. KK says something—low and sharp, the words lost in the wind—and Paige shakes her head, opening the passenger door and climbing in without another glance in your direction.

The car idles for a moment, exhaust puffing into the frozen air, and you catch a glimpse of KK glancing your way, her gaze hard but questioning, like she’s debating whether to come out and say something. But she doesn’t.

The brake lights flare as the car shifts into gear, and then they’re gone, disappearing down the snow-covered road.

You stay rooted to the spot, the cold seeping through your clothes, the sound of their departure fading into silence. You don’t move for a long time, staring at the empty space where they’d been, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You stand there long after the car disappears into the swirling snow, the cold seeping into your bones. Your feet ache from standing still, your fingers sting from the frost, and your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. You force yourself to turn, your legs heavy as you walk back toward the gym, the door looming like a safe haven you don’t feel like you deserve.

The moment you push it open, the heat rushes out to meet you, thick and suffocating. It hits your face like a wall, and suddenly, you realize how cold you were—how raw your skin feels, how your ears throb with the warmth sinking in. You blink against the hot air, your vision blurring, and that’s when you feel it. The damp streaks on your cheeks, the burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

The thought stuns you for a moment, but there’s no time to process it. Your feet move automatically, carrying you deeper into the gym. The echo of your footsteps bounces off the empty court, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. You make your way to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber hitting you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Sierra and Jasmine are waiting. They’re sitting on one of the benches, their expressions tight and unsure, like they don’t know what to say—or if they should say anything at all.

Your eyes meet Sierra’s first, and the look she gives you is soft, pitying, like she’s trying to hold you together with just her gaze. Jasmine looks away quickly, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, her shoulders tense with unspoken guilt.

Neither of them says a word.

You don’t either. You don’t have the energy.

You walk past them, your legs threatening to give out, and sink onto the bench in front of your locker. The cold from outside is still in your body, lingering in your muscles, making everything ache. You press your hands to your knees, trying to ground yourself, but the weight in your chest is too much.

It breaks.

You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. They tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable, and you can’t stop them even if you wanted to. The locker room fills with the sound of your crying—ugly, unfiltered, and nothing like The Prophecy at all.

Sierra shifts behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Neither of them does. They just sit there, giving you space to break apart, their quiet presence the only thing holding you from completely falling apart.

Your tears soak into your palms, your breath coming in gasps, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel the full weight of it all. The cold, the betrayal, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I love you.” It crashes over you, relentless and unrelenting.

And you let it.

Because in this moment, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to calculate the pain away or turn it into fuel.

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

Her last attempt comes in the form of a letter. Handwritten. Twelve pages. Sierra finds it slipped under your door one gray morning, the paper just slightly bent, as though it had been clenched tightly before being left there.

“Want me to burn it?” Sierra asks, holding it up like it’s fragile, like even touching it too long might do damage.

You don’t answer at first, your eyes fixed on the envelope. Your name is written in Paige’s handwriting, unmistakably hers—soft, looping, careful. It looks like she spent a long time on just that one word. The ink is smudged in places, faint blotches where you know she must have paused, maybe wiped her eyes.

“Rocket?” Sierra asks again, her voice gentler this time.

You reach out, hesitating before your fingers brush the paper. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding every unsaid word she couldn’t force into those desperate texts, every plea she couldn’t voice the last time she saw you.

“No,” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the knot in your chest. “Don’t burn it.”

Sierra doesn’t press. “What should I do with it?”

You swallow hard, still staring at the envelope like it might crack open on its own. “Keep it,” you murmur finally. “For after March.”

The corner of her mouth twitches in a faint, understanding nod. She tucks the letter carefully into her bag without another word.

Because that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Every ignored call, every perfect shot, every breath you’ve taken since that night in the gym has been leading to one thing: March.

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

You hear whispers everywhere—teammates speculating, reporters asking veiled questions about how you feel about the matchup. You stay quiet, dodging the noise with an unshakable focus that keeps the world at bay.

Paige doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. But one night, you see it.

It’s subtle, so subtle you almost miss it: a photo on her Instagram story.

She’s sitting on the floor of her dorm, the soft golden light of a bedside lamp pooling around her. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head resting on her arms. There’s no caption, no obvious sign of you. But in the corner of the frame, hanging off the back of a chair, is your Harvard hoodie.

The air leaves your lungs.

It’s so small, so quiet, but it feels loud in your chest.

Sierra notices you staring at your phone and gives you a sharp look. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m not,” you reply, locking your phone and sliding it across the table.

And you aren’t.

Instead, you lace up your sneakers and head to the gym.

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

The bracket predictions start rolling in. Every analyst has the same storyline: Harvard and UConn are destined to meet in the championship.

ESPN calls it "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For."

You don’t watch their coverage. You don’t need to. You just shoot.

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

You delete it without reading. (Sierra tells you about it later anyway.)

25 DAYS

“Did you hear?” Jasmine says as she slides into the locker room after practice, her voice quieter than usual.

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

“Paige was at some party last night. Someone saw her with... someone.”

You pause mid-lace, your fingers tightening. “And?”

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

Later, Sierra shows you the photo: Paige with her arm around a tall blonde, both laughing like the world doesn’t hurt them.

You close your phone, drop it in your bag, and hit the gym for 200 straight shots. Each one lands, clean and precise, but your chest tightens with every swish.

At midnight, Sierra finds you still there. “She’s doing this on purpose,” she says softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make you feel what she’s feeling.”

You grab another ball, square your shoulders. “Bold of her to assume I still care.”

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

Your game is evolving. Whatever limits you thought existed don’t anymore. You’re not just making shots—you’re erasing boundaries.

Reporters ask Coach about it after Harvard crushes Penn by 30 points. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

She shakes her head, her voice filled with awe. “She’s playing like someone who has nothing left to lose.”

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

Another photo surfaces: Paige dancing at a club, the same blonde close enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. The image spreads through whispers, not headlines, but it’s enough to reach you.

The next morning, Jasmine deletes all your social media apps. “Focus on what matters,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

The whispers around you grow louder. People call it The Revenge Tour, though you don’t bother correcting them.

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

Harvard enters March Madness ranked #1 for the first time in school history. UConn is #2.

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

You hear the buzz but tune it out. Paige posts a hype video for the tournament. There’s no sign of you in her clips, but you don’t need to be.

That night, you shoot until your arms shake. The sound of each swish reverberates through the gym, the echoes cutting through your chest like heartbreak.

5 DAYS

The tournament begins, and you burn through the first two rounds like wildfire:

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

UConn advances too. Paige plays like she’s on fire, dropping 38 against Duke and 41 against LSU. But she misses. She stumbles. She’s human. She’s flawed.

You tell yourself that’s why she couldn’t keep you. Because perfection is lonely.

2 DAYS

The Final Four is set: Harvard vs. UConn. The matchup everyone’s been waiting for.

Your teammates feel the weight of it, the buzz of history swirling around them, but you stay quiet. Focused.

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

You glance at her, your expression steady. “Always.”

1 DAY

The press conference is brutal. Every question is a thinly veiled attempt to dig into the drama. Paige. The rumors. 

You give them nothing.

“I’m here to play basketball,” you say flatly. “Nothing else matters.”

Later that night, alone in your hotel room, you stare at the letter Sierra saved weeks ago. It sits on the desk like it’s daring you to open it.

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

"I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I broke something perfect. I know I lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

You stop reading. You don’t need to see the rest.

The paper burns easily in the sink, the edges curling in on themselves like the words are folding into ash.

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

The arena in Dallas feels alive, like it has a pulse of its own. Twenty thousand fans pack the stands, and the roar of the crowd is more than sound—it’s energy, crackling in the air, vibrating through the floor. You can feel it in your chest, in the way your heart beats a little faster as you stand in the tunnel, waiting.

This is the game. The one people will talk about for decades.

“Harvard vs. UConn,” ESPN’s voices echo faintly from the screens overhead, carrying over the din “The Game Women’s Basketball Has Been Waiting For.”

“Harvard’s perfect season against UConn’s dynasty.”

“Two programs. Two stars. One unmissable collision course.”

You don’t look at the screens. Don’t let the noise creep in. You focus instead on the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the ball in your hands, the perfect arcs playing out in your mind. Force vectors, trajectories, momentum. The physics of what’s about to happen.

Sierra steps up beside you, her face all business, her game face as sharp as you’ve ever seen it. “You good?”

You nod once. She doesn’t ask if you’re sure. She’s seen you these past weeks—seen the extra hours, the obsession, the way you’ve turned heartbreak into something almost unrecognizable. She’s seen you rewrite what’s possible when perfect turns to steel.

“They’re out there,” Jasmine says quietly, stepping up on your other side.

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t let it show. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” Sierra presses, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m perfect,” you say flatly, the word cold and sharp.

The crowd’s roar deepens, and you know UConn must be taking the court for warmups. You can picture it without looking: Paige leading them out, her stride confident, her expression poised. She feeds off this energy, always has, like she was built for these moments.

You think about everything—every ignored text, every late-night practice, every time Paige’s name appeared on your phone screen and you turned away. You think about the letter, folded and burned, its words turned to ash: "I know I broke something perfect."

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

Coach nods. “Good.” She turns to the team. “Ladies, listen up. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to tonight. They’re bigger, they’re stronger, and they’ve got more banners in their gym than we’ll ever see. But we’ve got something they don’t.”

She looks at you, and there's something fierce in her eyes.

"We've got perfect."

The team huddles up, hands in. But before they can do their usual chant, you speak. It's the first time you've addressed them all day.

"When we take that court," your voice is quiet but carries weight, "you're going to hear a lot of noise. They're going to talk about everything except basketball. But that's not why we're here."

Your teammates lean in closer.

"We're here because I made you all a promise three years ago. That we'd make history. That we'd show the world what Harvard basketball really is. That we'd be perfect when it matters most."

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

The tunnel erupts in fierce agreement. Your teammates are ready for war.

"One minute!" calls the official.

You close your eyes for a moment, center yourself. Think about all the shots that led here. All the nights in empty gyms. All the physics problems solved between free throws. All the moments that built The Prophecy.

And yes, you think about her. About early mornings in her dorm. Late nights watching film. The way she said your name like it was something precious. The way she looked at someone else the same way.

The anger rises, cold and precise. You use it, let it sharpen your focus until everything else falls away.

The tunnel lights flicker as the official signals. It’s time.

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

You step toward the light of the arena, toward the noise, toward destiny.

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

The sound hits you like a wave the second you step onto the court. It’s not just noise; it’s a force, a physical thing that presses against you, vibrating in your chest.

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

The chant rolls through the arena like thunder, swelling as the crowd rises to their feet. Signs wave above the sea of faces:

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

Your entrance stops UConn's warmups cold. Every player freezes mid-drill, even the legendary Geno Auriemma turns to watch. You catch Paige's reaction in your peripheral vision—the way she stumbles slightly, ball slipping from her fingers. But you don't look at her. Won't give her that.

The Harvard section is delirious, but it's more than that. The neutral fans, the media, even some UConn supporters are on their feet. This is what happens when you spend three months turning heartbreak into headlines, when you take "perfect" and make it look easy.

Your teammates hit the court, their warmups sharper, fueled by the energy of the crowd. But your routine is different. Quieter. Singular.

You start at the three-point line, the ball resting in your hands. The noise fades as you focus, your heartbeat steadying. One shot.

Swish.

The explosion of noise is deafening. You don't react. Just catch, shoot, swish. Again. Again. Again.

On the other end, UConn's trying to maintain their composure, but you can feel their eyes on you. Feel the way their usual swagger has been replaced by something else. Something that looks like doubt.

Your teammates are feeding off the energy now. Sierra drills a corner three, the ball cutting through the net with a satisfying snap. Jasmine blocks one of Taylor’s layups in a mock defensive drill, both of them grinning fiercely.

"Focus on our game!" Geno barks, but even he keeps glancing your way.

The media's having a field day. Every camera in the building is trained on you, catching every perfect shot, every ice-cold expression. ESPN's commentary carries over the speakers:

"We're watching something unprecedented here, Rebecca. The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she's transcendent. Look at the way UConn's players are watching her. They're supposed to be the dynasty, the standard-bearers, but right now they look shook—"

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

The crowd's volume keeps building, impossibly louder with each perfect shot you make. NBA players sitting courtside are shaking their heads in disbelief. Olympic champions in the stands are filming on their phones. This isn't just a warmup anymore—it's a statement.

Finally, mercifully for UConn, the buzzer sounds to clear the court for final preparations. As the teams head to their benches, you allow yourself one glance at their side. Just one.

Paige is standing near the sideline, her hands resting on her hips, her gaze fixed on you. For a split second, your eyes meet. Her expression shifts—shock, pain, something that might be regret.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer, then turn away, your face unreadable.

You turn away, face impassive. But inside, the cold fire burns hotter.

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

This is about showing the world what happens when perfect stops trying to be loved.

And starts trying to be legendary.

The starting lineups are about to be announced, and the arena hums with anticipation, the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. It’s not just loud—it’s electric, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Every cheer, every chant, every flash of a camera feels sharper, brighter, heavier. History is about to be made.

The announcer’s voice booms, reverberating through the cavernous space, calling out names that blur into the roar of the crowd. You barely hear them—don’t need to. You’re locked in. You can feel the ball’s weight in your hand even though you’re not holding it, the phantom rhythm of your dribble steadying your pulse.

The Prophecy is about to speak.

And everyone—Paige, UConn, the world—is about to listen.

Sierra wins the tip with authority, the ball snapping to Maria like it’s been rehearsed a thousand times. Harvard’s ball. The crowd leans forward collectively, the sound dropping to an expectant hum as you cross half court, their energy feeding into the moment.

UConn’s defense is already set. You see it as soon as you step over the timeline: box-and-one. Four players sagging into a tight zone, leaving Paige on you.

Of course they’d make her guard you. Of course.

She’s close, closer than you expected, the kind of tight defense that borders on personal. Her eyes flicker for a moment, uncertainty bleeding through her usual focus.

“Please…” she whispers, so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise. “Can we just—”

You don’t let her finish.

A crossover—quick, precise, lethal—cuts her off mid-sentence. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath, as Paige stumbles, her footing faltering for just a second. But a second is all you need.

You rise up from 25 feet, the motion as natural as breathing. Perfect form. Perfect rotation.

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

"THE PROPHECY STRIKES FIRST!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "ICE COLD FROM DEEP!"

UConn pushes the ball upcourt fast, their transition game as polished as ever. Paige has that look now—the one that used to make your chest tighten, the one that once made you believe she could do anything. Now, it’s just data to process, another variable in the equation you’ve already solved.

She drives hard to the right, her speed and body control flawless. She’s counting on you to back off, to avoid contact, to give her just enough room for the pull-up jumper she’s perfected.

But you don’t.

Your body stays with hers, every step mirrored, every shift anticipated. When she rises for the shot, your hand is already there, contesting at the perfect angle. The ball leaves her hands, spinning slightly off-axis.

Clank.

The sound of the ball hitting the rim feels louder than it should, the miss reverberating through the arena like a misstep in a symphony.

“REJECTION!” The crowd erupts again, their voices rising to a fever pitch. “THE PROPHECY WITH THE PERFECT DEFENSE ON THE PRINCE!”

Maria grabs the rebound and pushes the break. You trail deliberately, your movements fluid, waiting for the play to unfold. The ball swings to you on the wing. Another catch. Another perfect release.

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

Geno Auriemma doesn’t hesitate. Timeout, 47 seconds in. His voice carries across the court, sharp and commanding as he pulls his players in, trying to steady a ship that’s already rocking.

The ESPN commentators are incredulous. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The Prophecy isn’t just scoring—she’s controlling the entire game. And having Paige Bueckers guard her it’s psychological warfare at its finest.”

In the huddle, Coach Matthews stays calm, her voice steady amidst the chaos. “Keep executing. They’re rattled.”

Your teammates nod, feeding off her composure. You don’t say anything, don’t need to. The look in your eyes says enough.

Back on the court, UConn shifts their defense. KK Arnold takes over guarding you, her physicality immediately apparent. Paige shifts to Jasmine, but you feel her eyes on you anyway, like a weight pressing against your back.

You make her pay for it.

A quick backdoor cut—sharp, timed to perfection—leaves her a step behind. Maria sees it instantly, the lob arcing perfectly into your hands. You lay it in cleanly, barely breaking stride.

8-0 Harvard.

The UConn section is restless now, the nervous energy rippling through their chants.

From the crowd you hear, “She's not that special! Lock her up!"

The next time down, you catch the ball at the top of the key, KK’s hand pressing into your hip. You rise anyway, unfazed. The ball barely brushes the net on its way through.

11-0 Harvard.

Geno is furious, calling out defensive adjustments. But there's something different about UConn's energy—they're not just trailing, they're shook.

Paige tries to take over, driving hard to the rim with an intensity that feels more desperate than controlled. Her first step is sharp, her movements calculated, but there’s something frantic in the way she moves—like she’s trying to match you shot for shot, trying to prove something to herself as much as to the crowd.

Her floater arcs high but catches the back iron and rolls out.

The crowd groans, the sound rippling through the UConn section like a wave of disbelief. Paige’s jaw tightens as she sprints back on defense, but you’ve already moved on, focused, untouchable.

On the next possession, she pulls up for a three. It’s a clean look, her form textbook, but the ball rims out again, drawing a gasp from the fans and a loud clank that echoes through the arena.

Then she drives again, barreling into the paint, trying to force her way through Sierra’s perfect positioning. The ball pops loose, Sierra’s quick hands stripping it clean, and the Harvard section explodes in cheers.

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

Athletes talk about it, but few ever get there: the space where time slows, where the game feels less like competition and more like art. The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum, the edges of the court softening as everything sharpens around the ball in your hands.

It’s not just instinct—it’s control, precision, the physics of perfection in every step. Each shot feels inevitable, each movement unfolding like an equation you’ve already solved.

On defense, you can feel the tension radiating from UConn, their movements tighter, their communication louder. When Emma finally scores off a put-back—muscling through a sea of Harvard defenders—the UConn section celebrates like it’s a game-winner.

11-2 Harvard.

You glance at the scoreboard, then at your teammates, your calm focus unshaken. They know what’s coming next.

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

KK Arnold presses into you as you bring the ball up the court, her hands swiping aggressively, trying to throw you off balance. You shift your weight left, plant your foot, and cross over so quickly it sends her stumbling, her arms flailing for balance as the crowd gasps.

You take one step back, rising effortlessly over Caroline’s outstretched arms as she contests, her fingertips barely brushing the air beneath the ball.

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

The Harvard bench leaps to their feet, arms raised, while the UConn section sits frozen, unsure of how to react. Geno is pacing now, barking orders to his team, his sharp voice cutting through the tension.

"We're watching history," the announcer's voice trembles with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just winning—she's rewriting what's possible in this sport."

Paige is pressing harder, trying to shoulder the burden of momentum, but it’s slipping through her fingers. She forces another drive, this time straight into Sierra, who holds her ground like a wall. The whistle doesn’t blow, and Paige stumbles as the ball goes loose again, Maria scooping it up and feeding you on the wing.

The moment your hands touch the ball, you already know what’s going to happen.

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

UConn tries everything: double teams, traps, full-court pressure. Nothing works. You split defenders like they're standing still, find teammates for open shots when they sell out to stop you, and when they give you any space at all.

The quarter ends with one final dagger. UConn tries to hold for the last shot, but you read Paige's eyes—you always could read her eyes—and jump the passing lane. The steal leads to a breakaway with three seconds left.

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

You take off from just inside the free-throw line, rising up as the buzzer sounds. The ball leaves your hands at the perfect angle, with the perfect spin, following the perfect arc.

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

The arena absolutely detonates. Your teammates mob you as you walk calmly to the bench. Even Coach Matthews cracks a smile.

In their huddle, you can see Geno gesturing frantically, see Paige's head hanging.

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

The second quarter opens with UConn desperate to change the momentum. Their energy is sharp, frantic, the kind that comes from a team not used to being punched first. Geno has abandoned the box-and-one, switching to a triangle-and-two defense. It’s designed to suffocate you—two defenders shadowing your every step, cutting off your air, daring the rest of your team to beat them.

You glance at Paige and KK as they close in, their feet shuffling in sync. Paige’s jaw is tight, her expression unreadable, but there’s tension in her shoulders, the kind you’ve seen in every film session this week. KK is louder, her movements brash, barking orders at the rest of the defense.

The first possession, you take the ball at the top of the key, waiting for the defense to swarm. KK gets there first, her hands low and active, trying to force you left. Paige closes in immediately after, her presence suffocating.

You don’t flinch. You shift just enough to pull both defenders with you, then flick a no-look pass to Sierra cutting baseline. The ball drops into her hands, and she lays it in cleanly, untouched.

31-10 Harvard.

"The Prophecy showing she can dominate without scoring!" ESPN's excitement builds. "This is basketball genius at its finest!"

Then it happens.

Four minutes into the quarter. Harvard up 37-15. You shake loose from the double team, slicing through the defense like a knife through fabric. Sierra's screen creating the perfect angle of separation (47 degrees, optimal for catch-and-shoot scenarios), your feet set precisely shoulder-width apart, knees bent at the textbook 110-degree angle.

The ball feels good leaving your hands—perfect, even. The rotation is clean, the arc flawless, the trajectory straight out of a physics textbook. It’s the kind of shot you’ve made thousands of times. The kind of shot you don’t even need to watch to know it’s good.

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

The ball hits the back rim, bouncing straight up, a little too high, a little too slow. It hovers for an agonizing second.

The entire arena holds its breath. Twenty thousand people frozen, watching the impossible happen. The ball hangs there, defying gravity for one more precious second, before falling away.

You’ve missed.

The UConn bench explodes, their cheers wild and unfiltered, like they’ve just won the championship. Their fans echo the celebration, chants swelling and overlapping.

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

Paige takes a step toward you, instinct guiding her more than logic. It’s the same look you’ve seen in practices, in dorm rooms, in quiet moments when her guard was down. She wants to reach out, to say something, to bridge the gap between who you were to each other and who you are now.

But she stops herself. Her foot hovers for half a second before she steps back, her hand falling limp at her side. She remembers where she is. Who she’s supposed to be to you now.

And still, everyone waits.

Your teammates glance at you nervously. They’ve seen what happens when you miss. They know the last time you broke. They know why.

But you're not the same person who broke in that dark gym.

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

It’s small, controlled, more ice than warmth, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the arena. The silence shifts into something sharper, heavier.

The message is clear: Missing doesn’t break me anymore.

Nothing does.

"Oh my," the ESPN announcer’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That might be the scariest smile I’ve ever seen in basketball."

Next possession.

You take the ball at half court, KK and Paige closing in again. Their energy is different now—more cautious, less certain. They’re waiting for you to pass, waiting for you to hesitate, waiting for the doubt to creep in.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at the defense sagging just slightly, expecting hesitation, and then you do the thing no one else would.

You rise from the logo, the shot pure and effortless, the ball spinning through the air like it was destined to fall.

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

Your teammates are screaming, their hands raised in disbelief. Coach Matthews stands for the first time all game, clipboard forgotten, her face a rare mix of awe and pride.

"THAT'S HOW YOU RESPOND TO ADVERSITY!" ESPN's voice cracks with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she’s unstoppable!"

UConn calls timeout, but it's too late. They've lost whatever psychological edge they thought they'd gained. The rest of the quarter becomes a masterclass:

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

Turn their defense into a highlight reel of broken ankles and shattered hopes.

By halftime, the score is 52-27 Harvard. You've got 31 points, 8 assists, and a message that's louder than any perfect streak:

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

The teams head to their locker rooms, but the story of the second quarter isn't the score. It's the smile after the miss. The logo three that followed. The moment when The Prophecy proved that she's not just a perfect player.

HALFTIME

The locker room feels like it’s vibrating, the energy practically bouncing off the walls. Your teammates are loud, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of disbelief and celebration. Sierra’s pacing, too hyped to sit, while Jasmine reenacts your logo three for the tenth time, miming your shooting form with exaggerated flair.

"DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?" Sierra's practically dancing. "When you smiled after that miss? I thought they were gonna pass out!"

"That logo three was DISGUSTING," Jasmine adds, mimicking your shooting form. "The disrespect!"

You let their voices wash over you, grounding yourself in the chaos without joining it. Sitting on the bench, you pull a water bottle to your lips, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

But Coach Matthews raises her hand for quiet. "They're going to come out desperate. Geno's never been down this much in a Final Four. Expect everything."

You nod slightly, her words steadying you. She’s right. The storm is coming. You can feel it brewing beyond the walls, the hum of the arena like distant thunder.

Through the locker room door, the halftime show filters in faintly. ESPN’s voices carry over the noise of the crowd:

“Harvard leads UConn 52-27 in the most lopsided first half of a Final Four in recent history…”

“31 points, 8 assists, 12-of-13 shooting, 5 steals. These aren’t just numbers; they’re history in the making…”

“And it’s not just the stats. That smile after the miss? That was the moment The Prophecy stopped being perfect and became something more. Something immortal.”

Sierra catches you listening and grins, holding up her phone. “You’re trending worldwide. Again.”

You wave her off. You don’t care about that. You’ve never cared about that.

But then Jasmine nudges you, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she shows you another text. This one’s from KK.

Paige is crying in the bathroom. Whole team’s shook. 

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

The second you see UConn retake the court, you can tell they’ve changed. There’s a new energy to them—sharper, more desperate. Paige’s eyes are slightly red, a telltale glint betraying her earlier tears. But there’s also something dangerous in her expression, the kind of desperation that makes even the best players reckless.

Geno’s thrown everything at the wall. UConn opens with a full-court press, their defenders swarming like bees, aggressive and chaotic.

It’s laughable.

You slice through them on the first possession like they’re standing still. A quick pass to Maria in the corner. Perfect release.

55-27 Harvard.

Paige tries to respond immediately, driving hard to the basket with her head down. The play is pure determination, her shoulders hunched as she barrels into the lane, but you’re ready.

Sliding over, you plant yourself perfectly, your feet set, your body immovable. When she crashes into you, the impact reverberates through your chest, but you don’t budge.

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

Paige hits the floor hard, her hands slapping against the hardwood. For a split second, instinct kicks in—the memory of a hundred practices where you’d help her up, offer her a hand, a joke, a smile.

But that was then.

Now, you simply turn and walk away, your expression colder than the ice under her feet.

“Ice. Cold,” the announcer breathes, the disbelief palpable.

On the next possession, Paige picks you up full court, her body language bristling with frustration. She presses in close, practically stepping on your toes, her voice low and cracking.

“Please,” she whispers. “Just look at me. Just once.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you hit her with a combination that feels less like basketball and more like poetry:

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

The crowd doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the net. The moment Paige stumbles backward, they’re on their feet, screaming.

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

The UConn section is dead silent now. Even Geno has stopped pacing, his arms folded as he stares helplessly at the court. Paige glances toward their bench, her eyes briefly meeting Geno’s, but he has no answers either

Next possession, you wave off the screen, motioning for everyone to clear out. The court feels impossibly wide as Paige crouches in her defensive stance, her body coiled with tension. You can see the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, the way her breathing hitches as she exhales.

Time slows.

Can see the tears threatening at the corners of Paige's eyes.

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

Through the legs at half speed, letting her think she's got you.

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

You rise up from 30 feet, Paige's hand right in your face.

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

Your teammates mob you as you jog back, their faces alight with disbelief. Even the referees exchange glances, one shaking his head like he’s just witnessed the impossible.

61-33 Harvard.

Paige doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot where you left her, her head bowed, her hands on her knees. The weight of the game—of the moment—presses her into the hardwood.

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

The quarter ends with Harvard up 73-41. You've got 45 points on a shot chart that looks like abstract art. Each bucket more impossible than the last. Each move designed to teach them all the same lesson.

FOURTH QUARTER

Ten minutes left in the biggest game in women’s college basketball history. Harvard up 73-41. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, sensing the inevitable.

Paige opens the quarter like someone with nothing left to lose. Her movements are sharper now, more fluid, like she’s untethered from the weight of expectation. There’s desperation in her eyes, but also glimpses of what made her special.

What made her yours, once upon a time.

She hits a deep three. Then another. Her teammates respond, pressing full court, fighting for every inch, clawing for one last stand.

On the next possession, UConn doubles you at half court, but you see the opening before they do. A quick bounce pass threads the needle, hitting Sierra in stride for an uncontested layup.

75-44 Harvard.

The press comes hard again, but you stay poised, letting it collapse around you before sending a no-look pass over your shoulder to Maria in the corner. She drains the three, and the crowd explodes.

78-44 Harvard.

Paige tries to answer with a contested jumper at the other end, and it rattles in. She’s pressing now, forcing every play, trying to drag her team back into a game that’s already slipping away.

Back on offense, you hesitate near the arc, drawing in the defense before flipping a behind-the-back pass to Jasmine cutting baseline. The ball barely touches her hands before it’s in the net.

80-46 Harvard.

Coach Matthews calls timeout to sub you out with 1:32 left. The ovation is deafening—every single person in the arena on their feet, cheering until their voices crack. You’ve got 34 points, 15 assists, and 7 steals, but the numbers barely scratch the surface of what just happened.

You jog to the bench, your teammates mobbing you, their hands slapping your back, their voices a chaotic blur of celebration.

As you pass Paige one last time, there are no words. No need.

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

Confetti falls, a blizzard of crimson and gold, as your teammates tackle you in a storm of laughter and tears. Cameras flash everywhere, their lenses capturing history in real time.

You stand at center court, calm amidst the chaos, the weight of the moment settling over you.

Because you did it. You won.

The locker room is a storm of joy, the kind that only comes from rewriting history. Music blasts from a speaker in the corner. Sierra’s leading a conga line with the championship trophy hoisted high. Jasmine and Maria are filming every second, screaming into their phones about being “FINAL FOUR CHAMPIONS, BABY!”

You should be reveling in it. You are, to an extent—smiling as Sierra shoves a bottle of sparkling cider into your hands, laughing as Jasmine accidentally sprays half the team with the foam.

But deep down, there’s an itch you can’t scratch.

You made the statement. You dominated the game. You won the war.

But the battle inside you—the one that started long before tonight—is still unresolved.

Later, when the celebration starts to wind down, you find yourself leaning against a corner of the locker room, still clutching the now-empty bottle of cider. The room feels quieter, though the energy still hums faintly in the air. Your teammates are scattered—some FaceTiming family, others sprawled on benches in blissful exhaustion.

Sierra catches your eye from across the room. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head slightly, a silent question.

You shake your head. Not yet.

An hour later, you’re back in your hotel room, the championship hat still perched on your head, your phone buzzing endlessly with texts and notifications. Most are from reporters, friends, family. A few from Jasmine and Sierra, who are probably still partying somewhere downstairs.

You scroll through them aimlessly, not sure what you’re looking for until you see her name.

Paige.

She hasn't texted. Not since before the game. Her name sits there like a ghost in your messages, daring you to make the first move. To break the silence that's grown between you like a wall.

For a while, you just sit there, staring at the empty message thread. You replay every moment of the game in your mind—the way her voice cracked when she guarded you, the way she pressed harder and harder as the score slipped further out of reach. The way she nodded, warrior to warrior, as if she knew what you’d just written into history.

And yet, it doesn’t feel complete. Not entirely.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

The message is simple. No explanations, no context. You don’t even wait to see if she reads it before tossing your phone onto the bed and heading to the bathroom to wash off the night.

When you come back, the screen is lit with her reply:

where?

Your heart stumbles over itself as you type the room number. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, trying to ignore how your pulse picks up with each passing minute.

The knock, when it comes, is so soft you almost miss it.

For a second, you just stare at the door, your pulse thudding in your ears. The part of you that has spent months building walls tells you not to answer, not to let her in.

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

She’s standing there, still in her UConn travel gear, hair tucked under a beanie. Her eyes are tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable, tentative—that catches you off guard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let her in. She moves hesitantly, as if unsure whether she belongs here.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken words, with everything the game couldn’t settle.

“You played…” Paige starts, then stops, biting her lip. “You were unbelievable.”

“Thanks.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound awkward and raw. “I tried.”

Silence stretches between you again. The words you want to say stick to the back of your throat, stubborn and heavy. You watch her hands fidget with the strings of her hoodie, a nervous tell you used to find endearing. Now it just makes your chest ache.

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

“I thought it would feel better,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “Losing, I mean. Seeing you win. It’s like I needed you to win. I needed you to be okay without me. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her honesty feels like a gut punch. You unfold your arms, suddenly unable to stay distant. “Paige…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.“For all of it. For hurting you, for not fighting harder, for—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, your voice quieter now. “I know.”

She looks at you, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Do you?”

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. And I…” You take a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to carry it anymore.”

Her shoulders slump, the tension leaving her body all at once. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room.

And then, slowly, you reach out, your hand brushing hers. She looks down at the contact, her lips trembling, and you feel something shift.

Forgiveness isn’t instant. It’s not easy. But it starts here, in this quiet room, with the two of you trying to find your way back to something that feels whole.

“Sit,” you say softly, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, then sits down, and for the first time in months, the space between you feels less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to cross it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for something. You grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, needing something to do with your hands.

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

Paige glances at you, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hand it to her, and your fingers brush—just for a second. It’s such a small, fleeting touch, but it makes the air between you feel charged, like something fragile and important is hanging there.

She twists the cap off the bottle but doesn’t drink, just stares at it like it holds answers. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually let me in,” she says softly.

“Neither was I,” you admit, sitting down beside her. The bed dips slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of the small space between you.

Her lips curve into a faint, rueful smile. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You look at her out of the corner of your eye—the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the water bottle, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Paige murmurs, breaking the silence. “You were… unbelievable tonight. I mean, you always are, but tonight…” She trails off, shaking her head like she can’t find the words.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t just talking about the game,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “The way you handled everything—the pressure, the expectations, even me. It was like watching someone I didn’t even know existed.”

You glance at her sharply, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” she says, her lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “But I think I only knew the parts of you that let me in. And I don’t think I earned the rest.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to bury. You look down at your hands, twisting the cap on your water bottle. “You didn’t need to earn it,” you say quietly. “It was always yours.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and you can feel her staring, feel her trying to read between the lines of your words.

“I should’ve fought harder,” Paige whispers. Her voice cracks, and she drops her gaze back to her lap. “For us. For you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupt gently, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping like a weight has just been lifted. “Really?”

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sound of her breathing fills the room, slow and uneven, and the faint hum of the city outside filters in through the window.

“It’s weird,” you say after a while, breaking the silence. “I thought beating you tonight would feel like closure. Like I could finally move on. But it didn’t.”

Paige looks up at you, her brows furrowed. “What did it feel like?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Like I was still waiting for something.”

She doesn’t ask what, doesn’t press, but the way she looks at you tells you she knows.

The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—like the space between you is slowly shrinking, like the air is shifting.

You shift slightly on the bed, your knee brushing hers. The touch is small, accidental, but neither of you pulls away.

“Do you want to stay?” you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them.

Paige blinks, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Stay,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “Just for tonight.”

She looks at you, searching your face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that might make her say no. But she doesn’t find it.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, standing up and grabbing a spare blanket from the closet. “You can take the bed. I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, we can… share. If that’s okay.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod again. “Yeah. Okay.”

The bed feels impossibly small as you both lie down, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. You’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close she is. Paige shifts slightly, the mattress dipping under her weight, and you catch the faint scent of her shampoo.

You try to focus on anything else—the faint hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of someone laughing in the hallway, the rhythm of your own breathing. But your mind keeps circling back to her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers after a while, her voice tentative in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…?” She trails off, and you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, the soft light from the window catching the gold flecks in them. “Can I hold you?”

The question catches you off guard, but only for a second. Then you nod, shifting onto your side to face her.

She hesitates, like she’s still waiting for you to pull away, and then she closes the space between you. Her arms wrap around you carefully, like she’s afraid you’ll break, and you feel the warmth of her body settle against yours.

You exhale slowly, your head resting against her shoulder, your hand curling slightly against her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel your own racing pulse start to calm.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her breath warm against your hair.

“Yeah,” you murmur, letting your eyes close. “It’s okay.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you like a cocoon, the world outside fading into the background. You focus on the small details—the way her fingers trace absent patterns against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her cheek brushes against your temple.

“I missed this,” she whispers, the words barely audible.

You don’t answer right away, your throat tightening with emotions you’re not ready to name. Instead, you shift closer, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. “Me too.”

Her arms tighten slightly around you, and you feel the faintest press of her lips against your hair. It’s not a kiss, not really—just a gentle, fleeting touch, like she’s afraid to ask for more.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to share the silence, to let yourselves be close again, to let the cracks start to heal.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” she says quietly, breaking the silence.

You open your eyes, your gaze meeting hers in the dim light. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, hopeful and tentative, and you let yourself smile back.

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

Thank you for following The Prophecy's story through these three parts. Your comments, messages, and support have meant the world to me. You've helped shape this story of what happens when perfect meets human, when physics equations meet matters of the heart, when being unbreakable becomes more important than being flawless.

Thank you for being part of this journey (cornball moment lol). If enough people want I can do a 6 year time jump as a short story where they're married.

[muffinlance]

Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???

Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:

Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.

"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.

None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.

An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:

I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it

I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.

Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”

TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.

[ot3]

What Is ORV?

The number one question I get asked on this blog, now answered better than ever. Today I am going to formally introduce you to Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

To start off this recommendation: ORV might very well be my favorite thing I've read. Ever. If I could only reread one thing for the rest of my life it'd be this webnovel.

My elevator pitch is this: something with the cosmic-scale goofy video game nonsense and intricate setting comparable to Homestuck in its prime, paired with the deft emotional poignancy and emotionally-driven fights of Mob Psycho 100, topped off with the sort of compassionate and heartwrenching metanarrative of Undertale.

ORV is a love letter to it's own readers. ORV revels in the joy of losing yourself in fiction, even when it's the kind of fiction that tends to be considered lowbrow or worthless. It's something that dances the delicate line between recognizing the difficult nature of using media as escapism without condemning it. I've rarely seen anything else that accomplishes everything it sets out to do in its narrative with such remarkable precision. Frankly if you're reading a tumblr media recommendation post in 2023, I can almost guarantee ORV has the kind of meat you're looking for in a narrative, whatever that may be.

The story follow the antics of protagonist Kim Dokja, a 28 year old office worker on an expiring contract, whose only real joy in life is reading his favorite massively long and massively boring webnovel. One day, the novel’s events - worldwide deathmatches aired for the entertainment of mysterious higher beings called ‘constellations’ - begin playing out in reality in a sort of reverse-isekai. Kim Dokja, the only longterm reader of this webnovel, finds himself uniquely poised to succeed based on the advantages given to him by his knowledge of future events, but the webnovel’s actual protagonist, Yoo Jonghyuk, is a violent monster who will stop at absolutely nothing to complete his goals, no matter the cost to anyone else. Kim Dokja finds himself in a delicate dance of guiding the events of the story to play out more favorably than the version he read while trying to avoid being massacred in the fallout, all while trying to see it through to the story’s end. 

Below the cut I'll go into a more in-depth (but non-spoilery) explanation of what exactly makes ORV so unique and worthwhile, and what you're in for if you choose to read it.

Clocking in at 550 chapters, and over 1.3 million words in English, ORV may seem incredibly daunting to dip your toes into, but I assure you it's worth every moment. I would read 1.3 million more words if they had them for me. Here are some things about ORV I consider to be selling points, not necessarily in any particular order:

The tone. Its funny, for starters. It is extremely funny, which is very high up on my media priority list. In ORV, there will be incredibly grim things that make you laugh, and incredibly cringe and silly anime bullshit that will hurt you as heavily as any other media you’ve seen. I always love this kind of tonal whiplash when it's well executed, and ORV probably executes it better than anything else I've seen to date.

It’s got fun and fascinating worldbuilding mechanics. the core concept being ‘reality now operates on the rules of a shitty novel’ means that the worldbuilding doesn’t have to function logically, it functions thematically. It’s explicitly stated in ORV canon that some of the internal rules governing this new reality are objectively really stupid and illogical, but they just have to roll with it because that’s what was in the book, and i think it’s a really enjoyable way to do it. This may at first sound like a copout to excuse bad worldbuilding, but I promise it isn’t. The worldbuilding is actually incredibly deeply thought out, but it doesn’t exist for the sake of rational function, it exists for the sake of furthering orv’s thematic arcs. The rules by which this universe operate do a magnificent job of strengthening the core concepts the authors are exploring.

It plays with the trappings of isekai/litrpg in a really thoughtful way. These are genres I'm not super familiar with, so I can't comment on this point too heavily, but with my limited knowledge ORV feels a lot less of a deconstruction of it's genre and more of a celebration/interrogation of it. Despite that, it's still accessible to readers such as myself who are not super familiar with these genre conventions.

It deals with morality in a really wonderful and nuanced way. there are almost no characters in ORV’s extremely large cast who are just explicitly morally condemnable, and almost every conflict allows you to understand exactly why the antagonists believe they’re in the right by opposing the actions of our protagonists. The central conflicts are never pure right and pure wrong; they’re always about contrasting goals, conflicting worldviews, and different priorities between ends and means. this makes the conflicts all feel so much more dynamic and engaging than those where the only stakes are physical harm.

The characters interpersonal relationships are some of the most interesting I've ever seen. ORV is very slow burn and it takes a long time for a lot of these to come out of the woodwork, by design, but by god once they do they fucking hit. Similar to the plot conflicts, the interpersonal conflicts also almost never occur where there’s one side clearly in the wrong. The characters are almost all genuinely attempting to do their best by each other, and the tension comes from the ways in which human communication is fundamentally imperfect and part of our feelings and intentions get lost in translation. it’s very heartwrenching and heartwarming to see unfold, in equal measure.

Following from that, it’s a narrative that really meaningfully prioritizes non-romantic relationships over romantic ones as the central focus. Orv is about love, but not about romance. Obviously there’s shipbait and the ot3 is real and good and my friend but if you’re looking for deep complex platonic, (found or otherwise) familial, and antagonistic relationships that never get ruined with forced romantic arcs, we got em baby!

The pacing is unlike anything i’ve ever seen before. from a purely technical standpoint, it is genuinely a fascinating case study in how to execute a narrative that is almost constantly escalating without exception. there is very little downtime or breathing room in orv, which is insane for something that clocks in at over a million words, and somehow, it still works. i’ve never felt more like a frog in a pot of slowly boiling water than i did when i was reading orv and i can’t believe they pulled it off. it’s so interesting to read something like that.

It is a tragedy without resorting to cynicism and a very adult narrative that’s really steeped in childlike wonder. I’m a big fan of cartoons made for children. Cartoons made for children are some of my favorite things to watch, but of course children’s media will always be simplified and not very relatable to an adult audience. ORV is very much a serious and heavy adult narrative, and a deeply tragic one at that, but it never delves into torture porn. It’s a very compassionate piece of media overall, that holds a lot of reverence and sympathy for the ‘naive’ optimism of children that gets stripped down over time. if you, like me, feel more like a grown up child than an adult some days, I think it’ll hit for you.

It is extremely cathartic and meaningful. I am not exaggerating at all when I say that reading it gave me the closest thing I have ever felt to any sort of spiritual breakthrough. It helped unfuck my head a ton during some very grim times and i think the perspective it offers on the value of human life and our relationship to storytelling is a really really good one.

And if my word isn't enough, here's some reviews from satisfied customers. With that, I'll leave the rest to you, and hope you one day reach the end of the story.

[prettyboykatsuki]

“How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

lines that kill you instantly and immediately and also swiftly and

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre:pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type:longfic (6 parts) reader:fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l​ and @sipsteainanxiety​ for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

Keep reading

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 4

Part 4 - Furigana and double meanings

I discussed in Part 2 how Japanese is comprised of three different alphabets: hiragana and katakana (together referred to as "kana") which represent pronunciation, and kanji which represent meaning. With there being over 2,000 kanji in common use, as well as various ways to pronounce any one kanji character depending on the word it's in, children learn kanji gradually throughout their school years. So manga and books aimed at a younger audience will typically have kanji "translations." These are comprised of small kana called furigana which are printed to the right of the kanji to show how to pronounce it. In the below panel for example, the one word that has a kanji is the 嬉 in 嬉しい. The furigana shows that 嬉 is pronounced うれ ("ure") to make the adjective "ureshii" (happy).

Sometimes manga authors will use furigana+kanji in creative ways to convey different meanings to words that specifically suit their story/characters. This alternate way of translating kanji is called 当て字 (ateji). One way of using ateji is to help introduce fictional terminology. In SxF for example, Ostania and Westalis are made-up words, but Endo assigns them their own kanji: 東国 for Ostania and 西国 for Westalis. The second kanji for both of them is 国 which means "country," and the first kanji for Ostania is 東 which means "east" while 西 for Westalis means "west." However, to differentiate them from the actual words these kanji represent ("toukoku" and "saikoku," which mean "eastern country" and "western country" respectively), Endo writes out their pronunciations in katakana next to the kanji. You can see this in the panels below.

Even though they're not real words, by assigning them kanji that represent what they are – "east country" and "west country" – even without any context, Japanese readers get more information about these terms than English readers do thanks to the use of kanji and furigana.

Another way manga authors can use ateji to suit their needs is by telling readers to pronounce otherwise normal Japanese words in the "language" they want. For example, the word used for "codename" in SxF is 暗号名, which is a real word that is pronounced "angoumei." However, when we look at the furigana that Endo assigns to it, he specifically tells us to pronounce it like the English word "codename" (コードネーム).

Since SxF is a series that takes place in a fictional version of Europe, Endo must have found it more fitting to use English for specific keywords like this.

While the above examples are fairly common throughout all manga, especially those that have a lot of fictional terminology, Endo also gets creative with using ateji to form double meanings that lend insight into the characters' thoughts/feelings. And we get one of the best examples of this in the very first chapter:

This is the scene where Twilight's saying that he became a spy to create a world where children don't have to cry. The word for children, 子ども, should be pronounced "kodomo," however, the furigana is telling us to pronounce it as じぶん (jibun), which means "self." By creating this double meaning of Twilight saying he'll make a world where children and/or he himself doesn't have to cry, points out in a subtle yet poignant way just how much Twilight's trauma as a child shaped his determination to make sure other children don't have to suffer the same fate. It's a brilliant way of showing a deeper side of the character that he wouldn't outwardly show.

A similar example occurs in chapter 49 during the cruise arc, in the scene where Yor is guarding the room at night, thinking about how she was dragging her feet during the Barnaby fight. Her last thought during that scene is wondering what she's fighting for, however, even though the word used is いばら姫 (ibarahime), which means "Thorn Princess," the furigana tells us to pronounce it as わたし, which is the "I"/"me" pronoun that Yor uses.

The ambiguity of reading the word as "I" or as "Thorn Princess" emphasizes how she's struggling with her Thorn Princess identity at that time. It can almost have a different meaning when reading it one way or the other. For example, reading it as わたしは何のため ("For what reason am I [doing this]…) or as いばら姫は何のため ("For what reason is Thorn Princess [doing this]…) gives the impression that she's trying to distance herself from "Thorn Princess"…that she's unconsciously seeing herself and "Thorn Princess" as different people.

Another example that's not as deep but still interesting is from chapter 87, where Sylvia visits Fiona in the hospital and tells her not to push herself so hard, even for his sake, with "his" referring to Twilight. The kanji used is 黄昏 (tasogare) which means "Twilight," but the furigana translation is あいつ (aitsu) which means "that guy/that person."

This is a clever way to use kanji/furigana to indicate that Sylvia is indeed aware of Fiona's feelings for Twilight by having her not refer to him by name, but also informing the reader that she definitely knows who she's talking about.

I also find it interesting that all three of these examples are spoken from a character we're viewing from behind. I think it's just a coincidence, but still interesting 😅

I'll wrap up with one more example from chapter 58, where Loid notes that his understanding of Bond is lacking, just like Anya. Once again, the word for children, 子ども (kodomo) is used (Loid likes making double meanings with that word, doesn't he?) but the furigana translates it to アーニャ(Anya).

I interpret this as him saying he needs to understand children better, but he specifically means Anya (even though he doesn't want to admit his particular yearning to understand her).

If you're wondering how the anime handles these ateji, it seems to vary. In the anime version of the chapter 1 example, Loid says the correct kanji translation "kodomo," but in the chapter 49 example, Yor says the furigana translation "watashi."

The anime seems to use the reading that would make the most sense if spoken out loud by the character.

I haven't read enough manga in Japanese to say that this use of furigana+kanji to create double meanings is a common thing, but even if it is, I'm sure Endo has his own unique style of doing it. I know there's more examples in SxF that I missed, and unfortunately I don't have the time to look through every chapter to find them. But if you happen to come across any others, feel free to let me know 😃 I may amend this post or create another one if more interesting examples pop up.

Continue to Part 5 ->

<- Return to Part 3

[not-with-you-but-of-you]

when did you think rory started falling for jess?

I think it happened when Jess handed her her copy of Howl with his “notes in the margins.” She comes to the conclusion that he has read it before, clearly. Not only does he confirm it, but also lets her know that he has reread it multiple times. But, hold on, that doesn’t add up, because he had said he didn’t read much. And then comes one of his most iconic lines: “Well, what is much?”

And this is her reaction to it:

That is the face of recognition. It’s like she’s going, “No. No way… he is like me?? He’s the same brand of human person that I am???” And if he really is, what does it mean that he handpicked that book in particular to annotate for her after they had just met for the first time? What are the implications??? She probably went home and thought about that for the rest of the week.

If I had to pinpoint it, I would say that was when the seed of love was planted. It might have taken a little longer to sprout (maybe it did during the Bracebridge Dinner episode…) and fully bloom (probably when she decides to go see him in New York), but I’m of the opinion that it all started at that moment. (Excuse the corny analogy, but that’s the best way I found to explain my point of view haha.)

Not to get too sidetracked, but it really stands out to me how similar this scene is to this other one in 6x08:

Jess is always pulling Rory (or pulling her back) to him through books. And how interesting is it that, to wrap up their (on-screen) story, Rory is the one to do it?!

“What was that all about?” It’s just a thing between them.

It’s as though she’s gone through all these stages of realization: “Oh, he’s a reader, in the same way that I am?” -> “He has become a writer, and he says he couldn’t have done it without me??” -> “And now I’ll write a book too, thanks to his encouragement!”

Jess and Rory’s arc is just this beautiful journey of seeing yourself in the other, seeing that you’re not alone, and growing and improving because of it, and helping the other grow and improve in the process too — like two gears that perfectly connect and set each other in motion. And I think that’s pretty much what their love was all about.

[thesulkycroissant]

So there's this saying that the only time you see the middle of the road is when you're going from ditch to ditch, and that most of the time is how I feel about the canon v fanon debate.

Genuinely, I feel like people get so stagnanted in this idea that something isn't canon - which, what is comic canon anyway? I strain to unravel the mystery of which comics get to "count" and which do not - and focus on it so much that they miss any aspect of nuance.

Tim's parents are a great example. Tim's parents exist in the way they do for a simple out-of-universe reason: the writers wanted to avoid the mistakes they made with Jason by both differentiating him from Dick (making him not an orphan) and giving him a "buy-in" with Dick (something to connect them -> the circus). (Their logic was that Dick was the key to getting readers to like Tim, and that neglecting his buy-in was their misstep with Jason.) At the same time, Tim having parents is a problem because what parent is not going to notice their kid being gone all the time playing midnight vigilante? Solution: absentee parents. But now the shift to in-universe happens. Tim's parents are gone all the time, but it's not malicious; they're just kind of clueless. They love Tim. Tim loves them. But they are not around. And this out-of-universe choice, once you enter into the universe, logically can - maybe even should, if you're taking the characters seriously - effect how a character reads.

Tim's parents are gone all the time. There's every probability that would cause trauma. Unintentional, but fun to explore! The comics do a very little. I think fandoms can often make the mistake of believing subtle abuse (like neglect) is not sufficient, so it gets elevated to something physical. But your parents loving you and also causing you trauma is a relatable experience, I think. Even your parents doing their best and still causing you trauma is.

Jason being the angry Robin is another rough one. Because yeah, I agree, Scott Lobdell did some wacky and unkind things to Jason's backstory. But Jason, even going back to his original (not original, but his original non-just-Dick-but-blond) backstory, is a traumatized orphan willing to take the risk and steal tires from the Batmobile as a means of survival (in Gotham! In Crime Alley!). Why can't Jason be angry? In the throes of adolescence, at a time when he feels safe with Bruce, doesn't it make sense for his trauma to find its way out in anger? Can't he both believe Robin is magic and be angry? Can't he be sweet and angry both?

Dickie and anger. Yeah, anger plays a role in certain story arcs of his. In NTT, and in the first 80s Nightwing run, the stories take pains to show that the anger is triggered by something and channeled into brutal focus. And that it does not serve him. Dick's relationship with Kory in NTT nearly falls apart because of his anger. He treats her very poorly. I see a lot of people saying they want Dick to be angry, but not allowing Dick to learn how to control his anger is not giving the character his dues either.

And Damian. Shoot. Reading the One Bad Day comic for Ra's al Ghul kinda ruined me a bit because of how much Ra's obviously loves and respects animals, and how can you not see the echo of that in Damian's love of animals? Damian's League trauma is such a thing worth exploring, and I think the value of exploring it only goes up when you add in the complicated factor of the fact that Talia and Ra's do love him, and he does see them when he looks in the mirror, and every day Damian has to decide which parts of his family - his whole family - are good to keep and which are not.

Anyway. There's probably more, but this post is already pretty long lol. Nuance is cool, that's all.

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[atlasofthestaars]

[MX X READER] New Era - Chapter .003

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: First off, thank you ALL so much for the support! I sincerely love every one of your comments so far, and feel grateful you all enjoy the story! The comments are lowkey pushing me to write this all, so again tysm for the support!

Hopefully this chapter showcases how I’ll try to implement extra scenes within the story! Because after this chapter we will divulge for a bit storywise to get bonding moments between the kharacters and the reader! I’m doing this due to the months time skip, and thought it’d be a good time to develop some of the relationships before the Outworld arc!

Sorry for how Lin Kuei heavy the interactions have been, but we’ll soon get the champion squad as the focus soon, so I did want to implement some of this groundwork first. That doesn’t mean the Lin Kuei are totally gone soon, especially since I also need to give Smoke his share of time together, but they will be used less often after this chapter so we can bond with the others.

ALSO, for those reading this on tumblr, please reply to the poll here whether you do want Shang Tsung as a love interest! It will affect my planning somewhat so I would like to gauge interest! AO3 fans, leave a comment on your thoughts !

ALSO ALSO! If you want a character included as a love interest that is NOT part of the initial roster mentioned in part one, please send in messages/leave comments mentioning it so I can see what you all want! It’s not a guarantee, but it is helpful to get input on those types of things.

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO HELPED RECRUIT NEW ALLIES

“Only you and Kuai Liang for this mission?”

You eyed the blue clad and yellow clad assassins curiously as you walked into the room where the Lin Kuei trio typically sat when they were awaiting for Liu Kang. You pursed your lips as you walked right up in front of the two brothers, your gaze switching between them before they settled on Bi-Han. You crossed your arms as you watch Bi-Han’s gaze narrow.

“That should be more than enough.” Sub Zero replied gruffly, keeping his gaze on yours. It felt like a staring contest was always happening between you two. While most times you would entertain it, you instead searched his face. It was hard to tell whether Bi-Han was irritated, or if it was his grumpy face that he always wore, but from the years you knew him, you picked up on the tells.

This time, it was simply his natural face. 

“I’m not saying it’s not enough, I’m just surprised.” You replied smoothly as you moved your gaze from Bi-Han’s face to the arm you had patched up yesterday. You sighed as you pulled out the medical kit you had tucked away on your person. “I would have thought that the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei would know how to regularly change his bandages.” You chided as you knelt beside where he was sitting.

“I know how to change my bandages, fool.” Sub Zero scoffed, but as usual let you come close to inspect the wound you had dressed. You let the insult go, you knew at this point any insults towards you were rarely meaningful. If he really hated you, he would have not even let you dress his wounds in the first place.

It was odd, before he used to be diligent about changing his own bandages. But nowadays it felt like he expected you to change it for him. 

Maybe it was because you started to patch him up for him instead of letting the cryomancer do it himself. It had bugged you, how often he left wounds unattended. Never had they turned into infections, but it irritated you to no end. So one day, you just began to do it for him, despite his initial protests.

Now it was like a routine between you two. It didn’t happen often, since Bi-Han had become more proficient in avoiding injuries, but it happened enough that it felt like a routine.

You gently removed the bloodied bandages from around his right bicep. You hummed as you noted how it was healing. Carefully, you brushed your fingers over the wound to see it had begun to scab over. You noted the odd way he seemed to tense at this, and sent him a small glance.

“Relax, I’m not going to stab you.” You teased, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you returned your gaze back to the wound. Even though you weren’t looking at him, you felt Bi-Han’s gaze burn into you. Maybe being the pyromancer would have fit him better with how searing his gaze was like. 

“As if you would get the chance.” He grumbled as he relaxed. You rolled your eyes as you carefully reapplied the bandages over the wound. Proud of yourself, you grinned as you pat the bandages on his bicep. 

“Done.” You declared as you stood back up. You saw Bi-Han sigh as he reluctantly nodded in acknowledgement. You turned your gaze towards the younger brother, sending Kuai Liang a soft smile. 

Strange, why did Bi-Han seem a bit irritated at your smile?

“Do you need any wounds of yours patched up while I’m at it?” You inquired as you walked over to stand in front of Scorpion. Returning your soft smile with one of his own, Kuai Liang shook his head, holding up a dismissive hand. His eyes sent an almost apologetic look towards you, as if apologizing for his brother.

“While appreciative, it is not necessary. I was not cut during the examination.” Kuai Liang reassured you with a small nod. You returned the nod, glad to hear the news. Still, your eyes roamed his body to see if he had any bruises that were beginning to bloom. 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Your smile grew to a grin as you recalled the events of last night. The exam still buzzed in your head, and you could easily replay it in your head over and over. “Good performance, by the way. I didn’t get to tell you that yesterday.” 

“I was simply doing the job as required.” Kuai Liang humbly said, though you could see a hint of what you interpreted as bashfulness within his expression. You laughed. The Lin Kuei trio, so different, yet all people you held close to your heart. They were the ones you considered to be your friends, and you only hoped they returned the sentiment.

“Come, Lord Liu Kang is ready for the both of you.” You beckoned them to follow, and almost in sync they stood up and followed your lead. It was quiet for a few moments as the three of you walked through the Fire Temple. You felt like a leader of a pack, with Kuai Liang on your left and Bi-Han on your right. You briefly wondered if this is how Liu Kang often felt. “Were you both informed of what our mission is, and where we are going?” 

“From what I recall, we are going to California to recruit an actor and a swordsman to see if they will join Lord Liu Kang’s cause.” Scorpion piped up, and you nodded, pleased at how accurate his memory was. 

“It is unnecessary for all three of us to have to go.” Bi-Han commented. Despite his words seeming rough, you could sense he was only speaking his mind and not trying to insult Liu Kang…even if he could definitely word it better.

“It is probably for the best for all of us to go, just in case.” The younger brother interjected, sending his older brother a glance. “Lord Liu Kang has his own reasons.”

The conversation ground to a halt, and you felt the temperature drop around you three by a few degrees. 

You ignored it as you three arrived at the door of the room where Liu Kang was waiting. Best not to linger on that. 

You all had a mission to get to, after all.

So this was California.

You marveled at how different the city around you was. The buildings were so different. Everything was different. You took in the atmosphere as you basked in the small amount of time you all had to stand around before you had to go.

Even though the area you teleported too was on the quieter side, the area around you was so much busier than it was anywhere you’ve recently been. So many lights, noises…it was so foreign. You were so in awe you even let Bi-Han scoff at your amazement without glaring at him.

“Is it possible for you to confirm the location?” Liu Kang inquired, after calling your name. You blinked as you stepped forward to look towards the fire god. You nodded, pointing to a large fancy home up ahead.

“That one, correct, Lord Liu Kang?” You asked, eying the place. You watched as the fire god nodded approvingly. Jumping and leaping into the air, your form turned smoothly into that one a crow and you flew close to the house. 

You always enjoyed being a bird, feeling the wind in your feathers and the feeling of freedom it granted. Circling the house, you spotted how a wall was completely open, and you soared down towards that area, landing just behind the wall beside the pool. You noted the large floating plastic animals in the pool.

Interesting.

“Step one is selling this place.” A woman spoke. Curious, you tilted your head to peek barely in, seeing who you presumed to be Johnny Cage and a woman. Your head pulsed with the all too familiar headache as you peered at the man who paced inside the house. 

Your mind granted you a vision of a similar looking Johnny Cage, so you knew you were in the right place.

Who was the woman though? You peered at her, vaguely listening in on the argument between the duo. You didn’t even bother to hide yourself all too well behind the wall at this rate, they were too deep in their conflict. 

When you gazed at her, no sense of headache arose in your mind. You continued to eavesdrop, learning about the unfortunate circumstances befalling Johnny Cage and who you presumed was his wife with the conversation they were having. You nodded as the words they said confirmed your suspicions.

Cris…Wasn’t his wife supposed to be Sonya Blade?

Your head seemed to pound upon remembering that, and you winced. Sonya Blade…Sonya Blade… If only you had more time to interpret and unravel these memories when convenient, and not when you were on a mission!

Taking a mental note, you told yourself to write this down in your journal within the Fire Temple as soon as you got back.

Either way, you figured out that in this life, Johnny Cage was with a different woman.

You watched with a sense of pity as Cris walked out on Johnny…or John Carlton as you just learned. Although the man seemed distraught, you were surprised to see that he didn’t chase over his wife. You observed as he continued to drink, berating himself.

You felt guilty intruding on such a private moment. 

Your guilt vanished as you watched a swordsman enter the house, dressed in a suit. Carefully, you backed up behind the wall, but you were sure he probably wouldn’t have even seen you. Even without the pulsing of your mind, you knew who this man was due to Liu Kang: Kenshi Takahashi. You watched the beginnings of their confrontation before backing up.

That’s all you needed to know. 

With a quick flap of your wings, you got back into the air and flew back to the trio who were waiting right where you had left them. Landing on the ground, you stood up as you transformed back and no trace of the crow you had been was left.

“It’s the right location.” You began as you rolled your shoulders back, trying to bend your body back into shape. “Johnny Cage is confronting Kenshi Takahashi over a sword named Sento.” You informed Liu Kang, bowing as you told the fire god of what you had seen. 

“As expected.” Liu Kang said before nodding, a smile on his face. You took that as praise as you stepped around to take your spot again at his right side. “Come, the confrontation will be over soon.” With a nod from the others, you all strode down the hill over to Johnny Cage’s house.

Without hesitation, Liu Kang rang the doorbell as the four of you arrived in front of the front door. You looked around, noting how the house looked from the front instead of the back. It was much, much different than what you had been used to in the Fire Temple. 

Instinctively, you straightened your posture as you heard the door open. You stared forward at the perplexed face of Johnny Cage, holding back the amusement you wanted to let out. You had to look professional. Both of the Lin Kuei brothers stood behind you and Liu Kang. 

“What in the actual fu-”

“Good evening, Johnny Cage.” Liu Kang cut him off, his arms uncrossing as he bowed and introduced himself. Johnny recoiled at the action, looking confused as ever. “I am Liu Kang, protector of Earthrealm.” The fire god introduced himself, wasting no time. He gestured to the inside of the house. “May we enter?”

“Uh…” Johnny leaned over, peering at all of you suspiciously. “Nothing’s being shot here tonight. You sure you’re in the right place?” Johnny inquired, looking at all of you as if you were all crazy. 

“Yes.” Liu Kang answered seriously, nodding. “We come here on a matter of grave importance. We must speak to you and your guest.” 

“What?” Johnny seemed shocked at the mention of Kenshi, before squinting at the group in suspicion once more. He leaned close, dropping his voice to be closer to a whisper. “How do you know about him?” 

“Because I am the God of Fire.” Liu Kang responded, his voice holding an authoritative tone. Despite this, Johnny seemed to brush it off. You raised your eyebrows, surprised to see how quickly the man fell into denial. 

“Cris, you vixen. Nicely done.” You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest. He thought his wife set him up for an odd prank. You looked away until he spoke up again. “Sure.” Johnny said, drawing out the word in such a way to make it obvious he didn’t believe a word of what Liu Kang had said. “Come on in.” And with that, he opened the door to welcome you all in. “Glowing eyes are a nice touch.”

You all entered the house, and you noted how it looked from this angle. Your eyes fell on the swordsman who was now tied to a chair next to the pool, and you were slightly surprised to see he had lost. You followed Liu Kang swiftly as you approached the tied up man.

“Kenshi Takahashi.” Liu Kang addressed the man. He stopped in front of Kenshi and crossed his arms in a disapproving way. “A tragic figure with a noble cause. Your actions this evening do you no credit.” Liu Kang even threw in a disapproving shake of his head.

“Who are these people?” Kenshi inquired, just as perplexed. You focused your eyes on the swordsman as the tiny voice in your head questioned how the man in front of you had his eyesight. It seemed that way, at least.

Past life. Right.

“You tell me, they’re your scene partners.” Johnny Cage answered back with a shrug, looking towards Liu Kang for an explanation.

“I also know of your struggles, Johnny Cage.” Liu Kang spoke, turning his gaze to Johnny Cage. You nodded subconsciously, having witnessed the struggles Johnny had through the argument he had with Cris. “I am here to offer you both a path forward.” 

“Dun. Dun. Dunnnn.” Johnny retorted dramatically, his carefree attitude shining through. He still didn’t believe the situation, and for a brief moment you recalled how this felt all too familiar. The actor let out a laugh, looking around. “C’mon guys. Let’s call this. Cris was a doll to set this up, but…” He shrugged as he scoffed. “As pranks go this one’s…eh…a bit obvious.” 

“This is no prank.” Liu Kang warned Johnny. He looked at you and spoke your name before gesturing towards Kenshi. “If you please.” You nodded as you strode over to Kenshi’s chair and knelt behind him. You observed the rope. Normally, you would transform your hand into claws to free the man, but you did not want to risk hurting Kenshi, especially with how thick this rope was, it was better to untie it.

You set to work untying it. You struggled, noting how strong and tight the knots were. Did Johnny Cage have experience in typing people up? You grimaced as you continued to try and untie the rope. You were so concentrated on the task in front of you, Johnny’s words didn’t register in your head. 

It wasn’t until he laid a hand on you until you noticed he had been talking to you.

Eyes wide open, you paused as you looked up in shock, your mind reeling as you tried to piece together whatever Johnny had been saying. His grip was strong, but it didn’t hurt. You were just confused at what he had been saying. 

You had no time to do so as you watched Bi-Han shoulder tackle Johnny off of you before sending him flying with a heavy kick.

“Bi-Han!?” You exclaimed, surprised at the sudden action from the cryomancer. You were stunned as you watched Johnny groan as he had a glass fixture drop on him. The grandmaster did not turn around to look at you, but you watched as Kuai Liang stride up, sending you a concerned look before looking towards his brother.

You were surprised that Kuai Liang did not tell him off. For a moment, the two brothers sent each other an unreadable look as they got into a fighting stance against the now angry Johnny Cage. You paused in your actions to watch the fight happen, confused at how it escalated so much. 

It had been an honest mistake on Johnny Cage’s part. 

Somehow, the actor knocked down the brothers. 

“I hope you’re insured, because you’re paying for my Hichuli.” Johnny huffed as he stared at the Lin Kuei duo who got up from the ground. You stood up, trying to speak up, but were cut off by Bi-Han’s outrage.

“Imbecile! You have no idea with whom you are dealing!” Bi-Han pointed towards Johnny Cage, seeming ready to go again and fight. You shook your head as you strode over to make Sub Zero calm down.

“Bi-Han-”

“ENOUGH!”

You jolted as you side stepped to avoid the burst of flames that emerged from Liu Kang. Loud beeping occurred for a second, and you winced at the noise. You sighed as you continued your walk over to Bi-Han, standing right next to him.

“Uh…” Johnny said, his eyes wide in disbelief as he had shielded away from the flame. “That’s no special effect.” He continued, and the look on his face told you that he was finally piecing things together. 

“Indeed, Johnny Cage.” You could not see Liu Kang’s face right now, but the tone he held said enough about the frustrated look he was sending the actor. The god of fire inhaled and turned to you three. You held the god’s gaze as he examined you before looking towards Scorpion. “Kuai Liang?” He inquired, gesturing towards Kenshi.

You watched as the younger brother walked away to finish the job of freeing Kenshi. As Liu Kang spoke to Johnny and Kenshi, you sent a perplexed and slightly angry glare at Bi-Han. Why had he been so aggressive? 

Yet, despite your glare, you didn’t think you were actually angry. Just mostly…confused.

Bi-Han, despite his knack for wanting staring contests with you, seemed very keen on ignoring your glare this time. You sighed as you looked away and focused on the conversation with Liu Kang. 

“All will be explained, Johnny Cage.” Liu Kang told Johnny Cage as Kenshi was untied and he got to stand up. “For now, what is important is that you both have been chosen to join its champions.” He said, now referring to both Johnny and Kenshi. 

“Why him?” Johnny pointed at Kenshi in confusion. “Or me, for that matter?” He asked, turning to look at Liu Kang with a perplexed look. 

“Because I have faith that you will rise to the challenge.” Liu Kang explains to the actor. “And because your service will change the arcs of your lives.” Liu Kang looked at the three of you and dismissed you all, allowing you to wait outside while he discussed the finer details with the two. Almost immediately, Bi-Han walked off, leaving you in the dust.

“I would advise to not take offense to his attitude.” Kuai Liang said as he stepped up to stand beside you. You sighed as you crossed your arms, looking towards the entrance. You shook your head as you looked towards the younger brother. 

“I’m not offended.” You clarified as you searched Kuai Liang’s expression. “Just…confused why he would do that.” You also had confusion on why Kuai Liang would also help him take down the actor, but you would chalk that up to the brotherly bond the two had…even if it felt like it was waning nowadays.

Memories of two brothers, one corrupted and inky like a shadow, and the other an icy grandmaster flashed in your mind.

You closed your eyes as you tried to push out those memories. It’s been years since you’ve first had them about the Lin Kuei since you’ve met them so long ago, but when you worried over the two, you were always reminded,

Damn these memories.

“I see.” Scorpion said, and although his words seemed final you could sense the hesitant tone in his voice. It was strange, but you assumed it was due to Scorpion’s manners. He was never one to make unnecessary comments. You turned to look at Liu Kang, to try and focus in on the fire god’s words to get your mind off of things.

Still, you felt the gaze of Kuai Liang burn into you.

Thankfully, the protector of Earthrealm quickly wrapped things up with the new recruits. He turned around, and there was a faint look of surprise to see that both you and Scorpion remained inside the manor. Regardless, he nodded and smiled at the two of you before exiting with the both of you in tow.

Outside, Bi-Han had been waiting, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His eyes were focused on the ground, and a furrow in his brow. He seemed deep in thought, but his demeanor quickly shifted as he heard the three of you approach. The cyromancer straightened up and came to attention, nodding.

“Excellent work, you three…even if there were some hiccups.” Liu Kang commended as you all followed him to the hill where he had initially teleported you three from. Liu Kang did not look towards Sub Zero, but you all knew who he had been referring to.

The walk back to the hill was silent. That wasn’t unusual, but the uneasy tension between the group certainly was. You held back a sigh as you continued to walk beside Liu Kang, trying to pretend like the source of the tension wasn’t you and Bi-Han.

You disliked this.

“You are all dismissed, thank you for your services.” Liu Kang thanked the three of you as you arrived back in the Fire Temple. Teleporting was always quick, and you were thankful for it. You nodded as you began to walk off. You needed to walk to clear your head. 

It wasn’t long after you set off that you heard your name be called. Surprised, you turned around and stood still. You blinked as you watched Kuai Liang jog over to you, nodding as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Would you mind if I accompanied you?” The pyromancer inquired, and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. While it was not uncommon that you had been on walks with the assassins before, it was odd to have it occur after a mission.

“Are you not going with Bi-Han back to the clan?” You inquired, crossing your arms as you shifted your weight to one leg. You scanned Kuai Liang’s face, searching for any sort of answer. He shook his head, and you were genuinely surprised.

“I asked brother if I were allowed to stay for a bit. He was fine with it.” Scorpion answered, and you hummed. Odd, but Kuai Liang was anything but a liar. You nodded, shrugging.

“Alright, I don’t see why not.” You said, curious why he had wanted to stay. Was it just to talk to you? That felt a little ridiculous, but you didn’t know what else it could be. A slight expression of relief settled on the assassin’s face as he moved to your side. 

“Thank you.” He said, and you waved off the words. You didn’t see why he’d be thanking you for something so simple.

“Don’t mention it.” You said, and then the two of you walked off. You tried to not think about the odd scenario, but it ended up haunting you as you walked. You lasted about five minutes before you let out a sigh and turned to face Kuai Liang, arms crossing. “Okay, I’ll say it. Why are you here exactly? I’m not ungrateful for your presence, it’s just that I can tell that you came here for a reason.”

“You are perceptive as usual.” Scorpion praised, and you both accepted the compliment, but also wanted him to get to the point already. “I just wanted to see if you were feeling alright. I could sense you were upset with brother and…”

“While appreciated, you do not need to make up for your brother’s actions.” You said quickly, wanting to stop Kuai Liang from going on. You sighed, sending him a weary, but grateful smile. “Look, I know you are close with Bi-Han, but I don’t want our conversations to revolve around him. We’ve known each other for years, I consider you a friend, and I want to be able to talk to you, Kuai Liang, not Bi-Han’s brother.”

For the first time in perhaps forever, you saw a look of surprise on Kuai Liang’s face. With a moment of hesitation, he nodded. He put on a small smile, seeming genuinely grateful for your words.

“Alright, then let me, Kuai Liang, accompany you on this walk.” 

“Good, I’m glad.” You grinned at him as you both set off on your walk. You walked on, feeling more relaxed and relieved now. Words were exchanged here and there, but with Kuai Liang, you didn’t really need words. The two of you could bask in a comforting silence together.

 Still, the memories from earlier still flew around in your mind like an annoying fly. Sensing this, you noticed Kuai Liang’s concerned look.

“I’m fine.” You lied, a worried feeling filling your mind as you looked at the man who often haunted your memories. Your heart squeezed as you looked back ahead. As much as you wanted to confide in anyone, someone about your memories, you couldn’t. Or rather, you didn’t. 

No one needs the burden of the memories that plague you. Of the knowledge of other “lives” they had lived, especially since you did not even know whether these visions were even memories themselves. You just assumed it, seeing as they all seemed to follow a life you once lived. 

Even though you spent time pondering these visions with Liu Kang, you only did so in the most desperate times now. The fire god had no idea just how many more memories you had unlocked that he was unaware of. That whole dilemma leaves a guilty imprint on your soul. 

Still, the honest and welcoming dark eyes of Kuai Liang was tempting. For a moment, you opened your mouth, wanting to confess how worried you were over the trio of brothers. How you knew of a world where they all were torn apart by death and corruption.

Of how he was the only one alive of the three of them by what you could remember.

You couldn’t though. That knowledge wasn’t fair. Plus, there was no way to explain anything well. You’d just seem like a hallucinating amnesiac, and you didn’t need one of your friends thinking of you that way.

“I’m just thinking about how Johnny and Kenshi will fare during training.” You continued to lie. Despite the momentary guilt, your mind did turn to the new topic with open arms. Ah, right, you were going to be in charge of their training. Or at least, somewhat. You still haven’t discussed that whole ordeal with Liu Kang yet.

You really had to get on that.

“I have a feeling the swordsman will be competent.” Kuai Liang mused, his head tilting to the side as he spoke aloud. “The actor, I fear, will be a challenge.” The yellow clad assassin confided in you, and you let out a small chuckle. “I have faith in you that you will be able to instruct them, regardless of the difficulty.”

“How is it that even when you’re insulting someone, you make it sound somewhat eloquent?” You inquired, grinning at the man. Though he did not have a grin that stretched from ear to ear, you could see the subtle smile on his lips. He seemed pleased with himself, and it was a sight you were blessed to see. “Thanks, still, I’m honored to have you think so highly of me.”

“There is no reason to think so, the high regard I have within you is rightfully earned.” Scorpion replied. You looked away, letting out another laugh, though this one was more bashful. Did this man know how he sounded? You couldn’t tell.

“Okay, okay, stop flattering me before I suspect that you want something from me.” You said, managing to find the words to respond to him after the high compliment he gave you, deciding to play off the warm feeling you got from all this as lighthearted. You felt outdone, not knowing how to make him feel the same way he made you feel after his praise. 

“I hope you know I am serious about the praise I give you, but I shall relent.” Scorpion said, the serious tone he seemed to always have was prominent in his tone. You swallowed as you nodded. You knew. Kuai Liang was never one to play around, especially with the feelings of those close to him.

You wished he did though, just for this one moment, so you could pretend that the words he told you didn’t affect you as much as they did.

“You are too kind, Kuai Liang.” You murmur as you find yourself back at the Fire Temple. The walk had gone faster than expected. You supposed that’s what good company does. You watched as the Lin Kuei assassin stopped at the entrance, and for a moment you found yourself slightly saddened at this.

“I am only saying the truth.” He replied. For a moment, you saw him tense, as if considering something. Instead, he nodded as he stared at you with an expression you couldn’t quite understand. You opened your mouth, considering asking him what he was thinking, but thought better of it.

You weren’t certain if you could handle the answer.

“Goodnight, Kuai Liang.”

“Goodnight.” You smiled at the quaint way he spoke your name, and waved him off. You watched him walk off before turning around and walking to the area where you would usually watch the sunrise.

The moon hung high in the sky now, basking you in the moonlight. Your eyes closed as you took in everything that happened recently. Your fingers tapped along the wooden railing, tracing along the grain. The cool breeze passed you by. You had a lot to think about.

part four

[demigods-posts]

Hi 👋👋

I dont typically send asks, and especially not without being anon. I am a mostly silent participant on tumblr and I have been for years. But I have to say something

It is so refreshing seeing big pro pjo posters able to criticize Riordan. I am not sure if this is just in my little corner of tumblr and maybe other people can tell me if it is the same for them but as far as I can see, you and lilislegacy are the big pjo posters on here. Is that just my dash? But I feel like mostly everyone in the tumblr fandom knows you guys, though I have known about you for longer. And when the book came out and I saw all the issues I fully expected everyone, especially you guys, throwing your full support behind the book and Riordan. So I cant tell you how happy I am that you are calling him out. The post you made today about not understanding why he is making Percy dumb again is so true! It’s not ok because self deprecation shouldnt be glorified. When he wrote Percy has a powerful hero, nobody was upset about it. Adult readers loved how much he had grown and kid readers looked up to him and found it exciting. In the last PJO book and in all Heroes of Olympus Riordan made Percy strong and heroic in addition to kind and funny, which made people happy. It made kids want to be like that. But now these kids are reading about him being so mean to himself. This is not okay! This should not be the example! Kids should not be reading that it’s ok for your friends and loved ones to treat you like an idiot. Riordan should be continuing to write about Percy growing up and maturing and becoming a good man who is content with who he is, not becoming more immature and more self deprecating and treated worse by his friends.

Sorry, I didnt mean to go off. But I just think its refreshing and brave how you are calling him out, no matter how much you have praised him and his books in the past. This fandom is dangerously loyal to him, and it quickly can become toxic and problematic when no one can criticize the author himself. So thank you for what you are doing. I admire it a lot and I hope you keep it up to some extent because we need it so bad

@lilislegacy if you want to add to this, feel free <3

Thank you so much for reaching out, and for being so kind! I hold the series in such high regard, so critiquing it makes me so nervous, especially since my blog is fairly well-known throughout the fandom. I really do love the series and I stand by the fact that there is so much good to come from the recent books, but with that comes some not-so-good. The consistent mockery of Percy's intelligence, the satirical characterization of Percy and Annabeth, and the seeming erasure of certain character and story arcs in the recent books are disappointing, and I enjoy having the space to express my opinion. While I have such love the series, I am open to having respectful discourse about Rick's recent writing choices, and I will engage in more in due time. Thank you again for your kind words and support!

[phantomarine]

Hey what were you trying to say in your “it gets good at page 1001” post

Was it more of a comment directed at yourself ( self degradation), is it satire about perfectionism,

Is it supposed to be inspirational for Beginners webcomic creators, or we’re you just in a bad mood?

More of a warning against self-sabotage, because I see it so much. Sometimes it's tied to perfectionism, sometimes it's the opposite - people surrendering to imperfection when they don't really have to.

Creator chat incoming. I'll put it under the deelybob for anyone who wants to read it 👇

I've been in the webcomic sphere for several years now and I've seen so many people introduce their comic with 'I know it's very long and not easy to read, and I won't be going back and changing anything about what I've already made - but please critique it so I can make the rest of the pages better and attract a bigger audience from now on.'

And that's a hard thing to respond to. If a reader can't get through all those existing pages without being confused or bored, then how can they get to the good stuff that lies past them?

So much of gaining an audience is about actively making it easy to 'fall into' a work. Without that easy entry point, it's always going to be an uphill battle to build an audience, no matter how good the later chapters get. There are outliers, but most webcomics won't be those outliers, especially with thousands of them available nowadays. Some people love the grind, but most people will jump to a new tab and try to find something less frustrating.

And webcomic creation is particularly cursed by its very nature. Creators are hesitant to go back and edit pages, even once they've figured out more details about their craft or story structure. It's mostly because of the seeming permanence of it all - the art takes ages and the words feel unchangeable if even one other person has read them. To go back and edit is to publicly admit your failings, right? That's how it feels. What do you MEAN you didn't get it right the first time? You were supposed to do it live, and do it PERFECTLY!

But ideally it shouldn't be any different than prose writing, which is ALL ABOUT finding the story in those edits. And because your story is digital, you can go back and change things whenever you feel like it. A webcomic is fluid.

And if you're thinking 'I should just redraw my whole first chapter' - NO! Hell no, old art can be a part of the appeal! It's far more about finding little tricks to convey your story/characters more clearly. I have read some first chapters with janky art that made me fall completely in love with the story and cast. It's not about the art - as with all things comic-related, it's about conveyance.

Examples I've seen and some I've used myself: A single extra page with a meaningful interaction can solidify the theme of a character's arc. One additional 5-to-10-page scene can help add visual context for an offscreen event where there was none before. Adding a map can tell people where the characters currently are. Changing a character design can help if they get often confused with another character. Redoing your lettering to make it more legible is a huge one too.

In the end, I just don't want people to be afraid of small edits. When I got feedback about the bad clarity of my own work, I knew it would take some time to fix those problems. It wasn't fun to think about or to do, but I'm glad I did it in the end - because it would have limited my audience tremendously. With just a bit of extra effort, I opened a door that wasn't there before, and it now leads more people even more easily to 'the good stuff.'

tl;dr You started your webcomic for a reason, and you're learning more things about its characters, story, and craft every day. Don't be afraid to go back to old pages and inject some of that wisdom through editing. Even a little can go a long way.

***Caveat: If your goal is to just create chaotically, with no goal of gaining an audience, you are a wild and free little thing, and I am in awe of you. This whole rant doesn't apply to you, and you are stronger than me.

[darlingofdots]

What is a romance novel, really?

So far, the response to this post has mostly shown me that a lot of people don't actually know what a romance novel is, and that's okay! I don't expect everyone to know! However, for my own peace of mind, I am going to do my best to explain what we mean when we talk about romance novels, where the genre comes from, and why you should not dismiss the pastel cartoon covers that are taking over the display tables at your nearest chain bookshop. Two disclaimers up front: I've been reading romance novels since I was a teenager, and have dedicated the majority of my academic career to them. I'm currently working on my PhD and have presented/published several papers about the genre; I know what I'm talking about! Secondly, all genres are fake. They're made up. But we use these terms and definitions in order to describe what we see and that's a very important part of science, including literary studies!

The most widely used definition of "romance novel" to this day is from Pamela Regis' 2003 A Natural History of the Romance Novel, in which she states that "A romance novel is a work of prose fiction that tells the story of the courtship and betrothal of one or more [protagonists]."* People also refer to the Romance Writers of America's "a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending" and another term you will see a lot is "Happily Ever After/Happy For Now," which posits that the protagonists must be in a committed and happy relationship at the end of the novel in order to count as a romance novel. That's it. That's what a romance novel is.

Of course it's a bit more complex than that; Regis also posited the Eight Essential Elements which describe the progression of the love plot over the course of the book, and there's a similar breakdown from Gwen Hayes in Romancing the Beat that is intended more as writing advice, but both of these are really useful for breaking down how this narrative structure works. My personal favourite part of the Eight Elements is that the romance opens with a definition of the society in which the protagonists exist, which is flawed in a way that oppresses them, and then the protagonists either overcome or fix it in a way that enables them to achieve their HEA. A lot of social commentary can happen this way!

It can also be a bit difficult to pin down what exactly counts as a "central love story" because who decides? A lot of stories have romance arcs in them, including dudebro action movies and noir mystery novels, but you would never argue that the romance is the central plot. A lot of romance novels have external plots like solving a mystery or saving the bakery. A useful question to ask in this case is whether the external plot exists for its own sake or to facilitate the romance: when Lydia runs off with Wickham in Pride & Prejudice, it's so that Lizzie can find out how much Darcy contributed to saving her family from scandal and realise her own feelings for him. The alien abduction in Ice Planet Barbarians happens specifically so the abducted human women can meet and fall in love with the hunky aliens. There are definitely grey areas here! Romance scholars argue about this all the time!

I have a suspicion that a lot of people who responded to the post I linked above are not actually romance readers, which is fine, but it really shows the lack of understanding of what a romance novel is. I have a secondary suspicion that the way we have been talking about books has contributed to this miscategorisation in a lot of people's minds, because especially with queer books we will often specifically point out that this fantasy book is f/f! This dystopian novel has a gay love story! This puts an emphasis on the romance elements that are present in a book when a lot of the time, the romance arc is just flavouring for the adventure/uprising/heist and we are pointing it out only because its queerness makes it stand out against other non-queer titles. It makes sense why we do this, but there is SUCH a difference between "a sci-fi book with an f/f romance arc" and "an f/f sci-fi romance." I could talk for hours about how the romance genre has evolved alongside and often in the same way as fanfiction and how there are codes and tropes that come up again and again that are immediately recognisable to romance readers, even down to phrases and cover design, and how romance is an incredibly versatile and diverse genre that functions in a very specific way because of that evolutionary process. The same way that dedicated fantasy readers can trace the genealogy of a given text's influences ("this writer definitely plays a lot of DnD which has its roots in the popularity of Tolkien, but they're deliberately subverting these tropes to critique the gender essentialism"), romance readers are often very aware of the building blocks and components of their books. These building blocks (that's what tropes are, lego pieces you put together to create a story!) often show up in other genres as well, especially as part of romantic arcs, but that doesn't make every book that features Only One Bed a romance novel, you know?

Romance is an incredibly versatile and diverse genre and I really highly recommend exploring it for yourself if you haven't. I personally read mostly Regency/Victorian historicals and I've been branching out into specifically f/f contemporaries, and there are so many authors who are using the romance framework to tell beautiful, hard-hitting stories about love and family while grappling with issues of discrimination, disability, mental health, capitalism, you name it. The genre has a very specific image in a lot of people's minds which makes them resistant to it and it's not entirely unjustified, but there is so much more to it than Bridgerton and repackaged Star Wars fanfiction!**

*the original text said "heroines" but Regis later revised this. There is a very good reason for the focus on the heroine in the first couple waves of romance scholarship, but that's a different post!

**neither of these are a bad thing and part of that genealogy that I mentioned earlier.

[acourtofthought]

@2ndsofseven is extremely clever.

This has nothing to do whether whether Lucien and Elain are mates:

We already knew they're mates, it's confirmed time and again. By Elain, by Mor, by Feyre when she slips into his mind.

Lucien already proved he knew what was wrong with Elain when he demanded they get her outside after officially meeting her the first time ever and she herself later said she needed sunshine. He proved he already knew how to help when she began drinking, sleeping, and eating after he did so.

Her powers were never something wrong with her or something amiss, nothing for him to find in her soul, they're simply her powers. A part of her that's now supposed to be there. Every single character knew Elain was talking in riddles, all Az did was name them and then Mor confirmed it. Only Lucien knew she needed to get outside to help pull her from her catatonic state. His not naming her power doesn't disprove their bond, mates don't suddenly have all the knowledge of the world simply because they're mated.

Sarah often writes lines that seem to be a discussion between two characters but are referencing other.

Take the Suriel. Feyre thought they were discussing Tamlin but their answer was later revealed to be referring to Rhys.

Or Ruhns prophecy. He thought it meant he'd die but it meant he'd destroy the royal line by killing the Autumn King.

Az's story of Nephellle was being discussed with Feyre but it ended up being meaningful for Elain's arc.

Just like Feysand discussing poorly matched bonds while talking of Elain and Lucien's bond is most likely not SJM telling us Elucien's bond will be poorly matched but someone else.

The above scene with the healer was providing us information about bonds unknown at that point. We know that Elain and Lucien are mates, there's no debating it. It's confirmed, it's scented, Mor used her truth on Lucien. In ACOWAR, however, Nessian's bond was not confirmed. Therefore when you get to this scene:

You realize Majda's words were foreshadowing for the Nessian bond.

When Sarah talks about how she likes careful, clever readers, it's her being excited when others pick up on clues (not something directly written in the text). Feyre saying "do you think Elain and Lucien match well" only for some to say "see?! It's proof Elucien aren't matched because Feyre specifically mentioned it" is not careful, clever reading. Az and Elain almost kissing and using it as proof of an e/riel endgame is not careful, clever reading. Those are examples of referencing the text directly as it applies to the exact scene in question. I think what Sarah means when she talks of careful, clever reading is picking up on things like the stars painted on Feyre's dresser and theorizing early on that she'd end up with Rhys. It's applying information learned at one point and connecting it to something elsewhere.

@2ndsofseven pulled off the sort of careful, clever reading when they realized that Majda's words were not there to make you question Elucien's bond (which has already been confirmed as being a legitimate bond) but to help you realize before SF that Nesta and Cassian were going to be mates.

Not everything in these books is about Elain and Az, information learned is meant to also be applied to the other characters in the series.

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (50)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N NOT BETA READ. We are back! I'm so excited to come up on this arc and finish up the story. There are going to be a total of 80 chapters in whole and I am more than happy to say that I hope to get back to it! You guys have to keep me motivated lol. ALSO MY CONCERT TO GO SEE THEM IS SUNDAY. You guys have no idea what I am going to feel coming up. If you are going to the Arlington Concert y'all be sure to hit me up. I got freebies lol.

There was something about spending a long week with the boys on the road that seemed to bring out a pain in your cheeks from how much you spent smiling. You had grown up so used to hearing people telling you to smile because you seemed to have a resting face that made you unapproachable. However it seemed that every moment you spent with the boys had you looking at them softly.

There wasn’t much of a dull moment, not even well into the night when half of you were asleep. Someone always had to bring up some random story or get another angry. You also started to notice how much they actually let go of themselves now that you were with them. It made you irritated a bit to realize that you were the only woman in a large group of men who were ultimately going to act like men. 

But even with that in mind you learned how to stand on your own. You found your feet, quickly turning around to scold or yell at the boys for doing something that wasn’t at all gentlemanly. It seemed that Jongho and Yeosang were the only ones who took into account that you were there. They would be kind enough to say excuse me after a burp or walk off when they were gassy. 

The others, well it really just fluctuated. 

“Wooyoung! Give it back!” You yelled, chasing after the boy with an arm stretched across your chest. 

You heard one of the boys wolf whistle from the wagon, chuckling as he watched you trying to reach for your shirt in Wooyoung's hold. You had only gotten to put on a pair of pants before turning around to find the second youngest running away with a cackle. 

The two of you, along with San and Mingi were washing up in the stream that you had taken camp in for the night. You weren’t shy by any means to be naked in front of them anymore. However because you didn’t know what could be in the water all you did was take off your shirt and kept on your underwear. And thus when you were not looking and had your back turned, Wooyoung thought it was a funny idea to pull a prank on you. 

“I like you better like this.” Wooyoung mock pouted, swinging your shirt around in the air above his head. 

“I'm not about to walk around without a shirt in the elements. Are you dumb?” You pouted at the boy, trying to reach for your piece of clothing once more. 

“Give me a kiss and I'll give it back.” Wooyoung grinned, his lips forming a pout ready for your kiss.

You rolled your eyes but tried to prevent the smile from over taking your lips anyways. 

One of the boys had come up behind the younger one without having him notice and quickly snatched your shirt from the teasing boy. 

“Hey!” Wooyoung shouted, turning to find Yunho standing behind him.

“There you go, Angel.” Yunho told you, handing you your shirt without much protest. 

You hummed in thanks, hands falling from your chest as you moved to put it on. Yunho giggled, lightly flicking at one of your nipples before you screamed and swatted his hand away. 

“I was going to say thank you but I don’t think I will anymore.” You scrunched up your nose, glaring at the tall boy. 

Turning away from the cackling man, you sighed as you saw Wooyoung pouting at you with his arms crossed. While it looked like he was only playing around, you did feel as though he was actually serious. 

“Come on, stop pouting.” You cooed, moving to squish the boys cheeks together. 

“It's not fair the others have had their time with you—”

“Are you asking me for sex, sir!?” You gasped, looking at him incredulously. 

“Maybe.” He whispered. 

It had only been a week since you left your home so in reality it wasn’t that long that you had been spending time with the boys. However even if it wasn’t a long while you knew that your feelings for all of them were more than words could ever express. You would never be able to tell them how much you actually appreciated them. So the little things you did for now, you hoped got through to them just enough. 

“You'll get it when you get it.” You rolled your eyes, moving to give his cheek a kiss. 

“Let's get going! We should almost be to Aurora.” Hongjoong called out, buttoning up his shirt as he had just finished getting cleaned.

The boys had told you that it was the last day they would be making camp the night before. After leaving early in the morning, they explained that they would reach the city by midday. But as you made your way closer you came to the realization the Aurora was much larger than you cared to admit. 

You were riding in front with San on his horse. They all rotated between the horses and the wagon in order to not get cramps from sitting in a saddle for so long and you were not exempt from it no matter how much they tried to keep you from doing it. 

When houses and more people began to show up along the road, you looked around in wonder asking San if you were there. However he only told you they still had an hour until they reached their home in the center of the city. If the houses were so large on the outskirts you could only imagine how it must have looked in the center. 

And you were more than right when you came across the high buildings and the paved roads. The vehicles that zoomed past you, the people walking around in their fancy clothing or the shiny windows that seemed to be cleaned on the daily. 

It was something you would have never imagined you would get the chance of seeing. 

“Amazing isn’t it?” 

You turned to your side, coming across Hongjoong’s grinning face as he watched you look around in amazement. 

“It’s like nothing I’ve seen.” You smiled at him. 

“If this stuns you just wait until you see our actual home.” San spoke behind you, arms wrapped around your front to hold onto his horse's reins. 

San’s words had you pausing for a moment, turning your head a bit to look at him.

“Is this not it?” You furrowed your eyebrows. 

“It is for now.” Hongjoong answered. 

The place they stopped seemed to be the entrance to a market. You could smell the food that the people were selling in the stalls, see the ripe fruits and vegetables from the entrance as they shined in the sun. 

You heard a loud bell go off, turning as your eyes went wide from the large vehicle that was coming your way.

It was rectangle shaped, high and with many windows that showed the inside as various people sat in seats. You watched as it stopped at the entrance to the market, a large group of people getting off and chatting constantly with each other. 

“Woah.” You spoke out loud, moving to the side to allow the large car to pass. 

“Come on, Love.” Jongho took your arm in his, wrapping his fingers in between your own. 

Your head snapped up, finding only four of the boys standing with you while the others continued on their way in another direction. Jongho, Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Mingi all stayed at your side, looking around the market as they tried to find what they might want.

You watched as the other four took their leave, turning back to Jongho.

“Where are they going?” You asked.

“They’re going to the warehouse.” Yeosang answered from your side. “We’re gonna show you around for a bit if you’re up for it.”

“Always.” You smiled brightly, skipping along with Jongho in tow.

The market was colorful and full of life. You had never seen so many fashion options or even food stalls open for the public. Sure your own city had a market but it was nowhere near as big as this one. The city of Aurora made Chromer look like a small town. Which in your opinion, it might be now compared to this. 

Each boy pulled you along to where they wanted, showing you different things like trinkets or clothes you might want for later on. You tried to hold them off from getting you so many things but they told you money wasn’t the problem for them. 

“This has the best burgers in town.” Mingi grinned, holding a plate out for you to try his food.

“They’re okay. If I had the funds to buy the ingredients I would make them myself. “ Wooyoung spoke up, crossing his arms as he glared at Mingi scarfing down the carb filled food. 

“I’m sure yours are great.” You smiled at the boy, licking your lips from the bite you took. 

“You just wait!” Wooyoung clapped, taking a fry from Mingi’s plate causing the taller man to pout. 

You all took some time around 5 to take a break in some shady spots. You had a bit of a late lunch so now you were all just lounging around and waiting for time to pass before making your way to the boys home. 

“I’ve noticed there’s no wanted posters here.” You spoke out loud, watching how everyone seemed to bypass them without so much as giving Mingi a glance. 

“They are all at city hall and not many people go to look at it unless they want rewards. But honestly, the black pirates always take Mingi’s poster down before someone can notice it.” Yeosang answered, thigh pressed into yours as he took up one of your sides.

“The ones who are working with you?” You asked, tilting your head as you remembered the boy who had come out a few weeks ago to speak with them all. 

“They are all over the city. We have a common goal and are gonna try to destroy Strickland the best we can.” Jongho explained.  

With everything going the past couple of weeks you forgot all about the real battle they were fighting. The one that they had been trying to win for the past couple of years. Way before they even met you. 

Having only gotten just a smidge of what they had to go through really made you feel something worthwhile. You felt like your life had meaning being able to stop criminals who wanted to ruin the world for everyone. You felt good about yourself–felt like your life finally had meaning. You wanted to keep going–keep feeling that feeling all the time because it was what you felt was right. 

“Count me in.” You smiled, cheeks hurting from how much you were determined to get to where you wanted. 

“That’s something you’re gonna have to get through to Captain.” Yeosang smiled.

“Let’s take this to the boys.” Mingi spoke up, gesturing to the boxes of food they all had. 

The place they took you to was a large building that looked like it was abandoned. It was half-way finished–like a project that lost its funding. The windows were still intact though so you saw it as a place that was still enough to keep you from catching something from the outside. It was a lot better than camping out in the woods that was for sure. 

“This is where you live?” You asked, looking around the large space. 

It was all open, with a living room area, kitchen off to one side and another side with tarps and blankets put out to signify their room areas. It looked a lot like the camps they would make along the way but much more organized and larger. In here you could see they had much more supplies. 

“For now.” Seonghwa smiled, going up to you and giving you a kiss in greeting.

“It’s nice.” You smiled, trying to memorize where everything was. 

“You can stay with one of us and if not you can have your own bed.” Yunho explained, nodding his head to some spaces that had beds.

There was a partition of tarp to create the spaces for different rooms. Some of them even had their tents up for privacy. But overall the space was open and everyone could see everything but it didn’t seem to be a problem seeing as they were covered from the elements securely rather than sleeping inside sheets. 

“It’s okay. I got used to sharing.” You grinned up at him.

“I call first!” San shouted, head poking out from behind a column. 

“No fair!” Yunho retorted. 

“I’ll cuddle you, Yunho. Don’t worry.”

“Wooyoung!”

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