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moonlight-joy · 2 months ago

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The Queen’s Flame

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Your marriage to Daemon Targaryen reshaped Westeros, bringing balance and stability to his fiery nature and securing his place as King. While Daemon commanded respect with dragonfire and ambition, you proved that strength lay in unyielding resolve, diplomacy, and loyalty. Together, you forged a reign that united the Targaryens and established a legacy of power, love, and stability, remembered as one of the most celebrated in the realm’s history.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

Your marriage to Daemon Targaryen was a union that altered the course of Westeros forever. Daemon, the fiery and unpredictable Rogue Prince, had found in you not a dragonrider but a partner of unshakable resolve and intelligence. Where others bent to his will or recoiled from his tempestuous nature, you stood firm, becoming his equal and complement. Though you had no dragon of your own, your influence was undeniable, and together, you proved that strength could take many forms.

King Viserys, observing the balance you brought to Daemon’s life and rule, made a decision that shocked the realm. Against the expectations of the court, he reaffirmed Daemon as his heir, declaring that the line of succession would pass through Daemon and you. The announcement sent ripples through Westeros, and while some welcomed it, others bristled at the idea of the once-reckless prince taking the throne. Yet, your partnership with Daemon began to silence even the harshest critics, cementing your place as the future queen.

The day of the proclamation was one of grandeur and tension. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was filled with lords and ladies, their whispers echoing as they speculated on the King’s intentions. You stood beside Daemon, his hand resting at the small of your back, a subtle but powerful gesture of support. His violet eyes scanned the room, and a faint smirk played on his lips as though he found their unease amusing.

When Viserys rose from the Iron Throne, silence swept through the hall. His voice, steady and commanding, carried to every corner of the chamber. “The realm has faced its share of challenges,” he began, “and it is my duty as your king to ensure its stability for generations to come.” His gaze swept the gathered nobles before settling on you and Daemon. “My brother, Daemon Targaryen, has long been my chosen heir. Though some have doubted his worthiness, I have seen his loyalty, his strength, and his commitment to this realm. With his marriage to Lady Y/N, their union has brought wisdom, balance, and stability to House Targaryen.”

Daemon’s hand on your back tightened slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his pride in this moment. “Today,” Viserys continued, “I reaffirm my decision. Daemon Targaryen shall remain my heir, and his line will inherit the Iron Throne.”

The hall erupted into murmurs. Some lords exchanged wary glances, while others bowed their heads in reluctant acceptance. You stood tall, your composure unshaken. As the lords began pledging their fealty, Daemon leaned close to you, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “Let them whisper,” he said, his tone edged with amusement. “Soon, they will kneel.”

Though you lacked a dragon of your own, your presence at Daemon’s side was a power unto itself. In a realm where fire and blood commanded respect, you proved that strength could be found in diplomacy, intelligence, and unyielding resolve. Daemon often teased you about it. “How is it,” he asked one evening as you walked together along the battlements of the Red Keep, “that you, without a dragon, command more fear and respect than half the lords in Westeros?”

You smiled, brushing your fingers against his. “Perhaps it’s because I don’t need a dragon to remind them of my strength.”

He laughed, pulling you close. “And perhaps that’s why you’re the only one who can tame me.”

Your bond with Daemon became the foundation of a renewed Targaryen dynasty. While he ruled the skies with Caraxes, you ruled the court, weaving alliances and extinguishing rivalries with quiet precision. Together, you presented an image of unity and strength that silenced dissent and inspired loyalty. The smallfolk began to speak of your influence in reverent tones, calling you the “Queen of the Hearth,” a symbol of fire’s enduring warmth rather than its destructive force.

Even Rhaenyra, once her uncle’s closest confidante, struggled with the changes your presence brought. Though she respected you, the bond she had shared with Daemon had been replaced by your unshakable connection. During one rare moment of shared company, she raised her goblet with a faint smile. “It seems you’ve managed what none of us could,” she said, her tone half admiring, half begrudging. “You’ve turned my uncle into a man of reason.”

You returned her smile, sensing the truth behind her words. “He has always had the capacity for reason,” you replied lightly. “He just needed the right cause.”

Daemon smirked, raising his goblet. “Or the right woman.”

As the years passed, your partnership with Daemon became the cornerstone of House Targaryen’s stability. When King Viserys’ health began to decline, the court braced for Daemon’s ascension. By then, even the most reluctant lords had come to accept the inevitability of his rule—and with you by his side, the realm began to anticipate a golden age.

On the day of Viserys’ passing, the court gathered to witness Daemon’s coronation. Standing before the Iron Throne, his hand in yours, Daemon addressed the realm. “We are the blood of the dragon,” he declared, his voice resonating through the Great Hall. “And together, we will forge a future worthy of our ancestors.”

As the lords and ladies knelt before their new king and queen, Daemon turned to you, his violet eyes burning with the intensity that had drawn you to him from the start. “You are my crown, my love,” he murmured. “And with you, we will rule the world.”

Though you lacked dragonfire, you proved that strength was not born of fire alone but forged in love, loyalty, and resolve. Together, you and Daemon reshaped the fate of Westeros, your reign remembered as a time when the blood of the dragon burned bright and unbroken. Your legacy, built on unity and ambition, became one of the most celebrated in the realm’s history—a testament to the power of fire tempered by unyielding strength.

Please support my work with like and comment

#daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #hotd daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #house targaryen #house of the dragon

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igotanidea · 9 months ago

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Smooth criminal: AK!Jason x reader

part 1 : Somebody's watching me

part 2: Run baby, run

Yeah... I know it's been a while. Sorry guys. But here we are :)

***

They say that history repeats itself. That’s its merely a one big circle in which people get lost endlessly, not learning from the past mistakes, instead doing them all over again.

Like an Uroboros, forevermore biting his tail.

And that was how Y/N felt at the moment, shaking over the cup of tea Dick so generously offered her alongside with his hoodie. And even more kindly – not asking any questions of why she showed up at his apartment (or rather under it) in the middle of the night looking crazy.

She was back at the beginning. Back over Jason’s grave, sobbing and shaking while the memories of the news of him being gone forever haunted her mind.

Felt like all her efforts to forget and move on have come to nothing.

“Y/N…”

“No. No please I don’t want to talk Dick-“

“I was just gonna say you can stay here for as long as you like. I don’t know what got you so freaked out, but the Y/N I know – knew – was not the one to get scared over a spider or a mouse. So it must have been serious. Stay.” He grabbed and squeezed her hands reassuringly. “I’m serious.”

“No, no it’s too much to ask for—”

“Good thing you did not ask then.” Dick grinned “Cause I believe I offered It myself.”

“You really didn’t change a bit, Grayson. Same golden, sunshine boy.”

“And you’re still the same, not holding back girl. Woman. How long has it been exactly?”

“Two years.” She sighed

“Two years.” Dick sighed too, his eyes becoming a little blurry from the memories. “I missed you, you know. And not only me. So did Tim and Alfred and Damian and I’m sure even Bruce became a little more grumpy without your presence to challenge him.”

“He’s got enough criminals to keep him entertained I believe?”

“Oh, Y/N, criminals he can handle easily, they are no fun. But having a woman with a sharp mind? That’s something Bruce still needs a lot of training in.”

***

It was shockingly easy to reconnect with Dick.

Or maybe not, given the fact he was always awfully friendly, keeping in touch even with his exes and even having considerably good relations with some villains.

Long story short, in a months’ time she was regularly back in his life and he was back in hers. And much to her surprise, this time it was not a constant reminder of the person she lost, neither filling the void, but rather a soft recollection that she was not the only one who felt the repercussions of Jason being gone.

If anything, after that time apart, it felt like Y/N and Dick’s relationship could finally move past the tragic events and bloom. Not in a romantic sense, because he had Barbara and was making plans in that area, but like a true, deep friendship, cemented with similar feelings.

And she even got the guts to meet with the rest of the batfamily, ditching those girls who left her alone at the party. Slowly, but steadily, she was getting back to her old, familiar self, dropping the act of a girl who wanted to be anything but the version she was when Jason was alive and with her. She was not running from the past anymore, but rather embracing and accepting it. And that was the real healing.

Only that Jason was not gone.

Observing her carefully from the shadows, watching almost every step, be it himself or using his militia. With explicit orders given to not let her know they were there. He had bigger plans coming, and making the same mistake as before, by coming as close as to touch her, could never happen again. Even if somewhere deep inside, the very subdued part of him screamed for that. For the warmth he remembered and knew would come with tenderness and not pain.

She never gave him anything less but love and devotion.

If anything Jason was only cursing himself that he let her step into the Batman world again. That is was his reckless behavior that drove her back into the arms of people, who were nothing but bad news. Who would eventually end up hurting her too.

And he was going to protect his little, innocent princess from that.

So yes, he was watching.

Sending his goons when he knew she was walking back home from work late, to ensure no one would lay a finger on her.

Causing a commotion in the area that happened to be dangerous only so she would choose another way.

Sending her colleagues threat letters so they would drop the chase for the same promotion at work as her.

Beating up a guy who was trying to flirt with her when she was buying coffee-to-go at her favorite place.

Doing it all smoothly, like a professional he was.

Building up a way to execute his master plan that would keep her safe from any danger, real or hypothetical. Forever.

***

“She got home, boss. Safe and sound, not one hair out of place.” One of his militia officers reported to him

“Good.” Jason only grunted in response. One whole month and he was so close to the finale. The end was right in front of him and he had to hold himself back to not make a single rookie mistake that would derail his efforts.

“If I may, sir, why exactly are we wasting resources on some woman? She’s no one important, just a regular—”

“What did you say?”

If the sinister voice wasn’t enough to make the man stop his sentence, the iron grip on his throat did.

“I- I-“

“No one important? Huh? Was that what you said?” Jason mocked tightening fingers on the man's jugular. “Answer me!”

“I- I-“ he was struggling for air.

“Pathetic!” Jason threw him on the ground, retrieving the gun from his holster, pointing it at the man’s head.

“Please, don’t—”

“I should put a bullet in your head for talking about her like that and second one for questioning my plans.” The gun outlet was now pressing into the man’s temple. “You are doing what I tell you, you hear me? No questions. No doubts. You are here to serve me, unless-“ Jason put a little bit of pressure on the trigger.

“No! No please!”

“You’re a piece of shit.” Arkham Knight muttered, taking the gun away. “But I am feeling merciful today. We can’t have blood on the floor when Y/N arrives. Now go! Get out of my face before I change my mind! And you make sure everything is perfect because if not—” he caressed the arms with a cruel glint in his eyes, enjoying the way his officer rushed out of the room, throwing commands left and right, halfway out the door.

“Soon, baby… Soon we’ll be back together…” Jason muttered to himself once he was finally alone.

He was so close to having everything he needed.

@vaniasagitaa @gone-batty-fics @astrelz @not-herexo @deans-spinster-witch @calicocat45 @princessbl0ss0m @rosieandthethorns @beingaturtlespiritually @grierpilots @killerwendigo @teenytinytunes

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x you #arkham knight x you #jason todd angst #arkham knight jason todd #dc

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mswyrr · 7 months ago

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Qimir consistently aches to see the pain the dark side causes Osha and I believe this will lead him to resist Plagueis' plans in s2.

His first moment of regret and resistance is, in fact, at the very completion of his seduction! He gets Osha to put the helmet on - and it hurts her. It's causing her pain, so he fights to rescue her from that. Even though, presumably, this was (with Plagueis, whether knowingly or unknowingly) the goal.

Let's backtrack a second and reflect on the seduction itself. The show creator/lead writer, Leslye Headland, has said that it wasn't manipulation on Qimir's part, that he meant everything he said. Two relevant quotes from the same interview with her on this point:

"So, in my opinion, Osha is extremely in denial about her own anger at the Jedi and at her father, i.e. Sol. She's in extreme denial about that because she feels like she's not allowed to be angry, and she's in an enormous amount of pain over her sister and their history, and she also feels like she's not allowed to feel that. So, someone coming in and saying, “Actually, feeling all those things is not only okay but actually could restore your spiritual foundation,” is almost too much. I don't think that's manipulation. I think he's telling her the truth."

"[T]he relationship between Lo and Jen in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was an influence in the writer's room. We referenced that relationship over and over again. The intentional parallel is that they are equals and their relationship is earned through mutual vulnerability, not intimidation or manipulation."

However, someone can be themselves misled and so mislead you too, from a place of sincerity! That is, perhaps, the most heartbreaking way of all to mislead someone. Qimir is lost - the Jedi path damaged him and he (like so many Jedi before him) snapped to the Sith path. It's not working for him, it's causing him pain likely, but he believes it and shares from that place. But the moment Qimir sees this path is causing Osha pain, he feels compelled to do something to help her.

Once he gets the helmet off Osha, Qimir seems relieved when he learns the vision Osha *thinks* she saw, of Mae "killing a Jedi without a weapon." (Which Qimir somehow knows is the goal here - to get Mae or Osha to fall - presumably because Plagueis either gave him the vision or told him directly to try to get that to happen?)

He's content with the idea that Mae will be the one to do it, fulfilling the vision/directive, and actively seeks to make it happen from this point on. He tries to talk her up into doing it at the pivotal moment, but that's not what she's about, her feelings about Sol are not so out of balance for her to "fall" as the Jedi and Sith understand it. She feels anger but also wants justice most, not revenge.

I read disappointment in how Manny plays his reaction to Mae's "No" - disappointment at "failing" sure but also I think it's related to the fact that he wanted it to be Mae, not Osha.

This was cemented for me by the way he played Qimir's reaction to Osha's fall. He's not celebratory, though he's just accomplished what he had been trying to since he began teaching Mae! He seems stricken, actually. There's no pleasure or satisfaction in his "success"! Witnessing Osha's pain only makes him feel compassion and bow his head in sorrow. This "success" is ashes in his mouth.

As a mutual on Twitter pointed out to me (♥️_LokiDokie!), Leslye's commentary in this interview supports this reading of Qimir as grief-stricken by what he's seen:

"Then it's like this passing through, stepping over the threshold, that actually will bring them closer together, which is so interesting. But the motivation I gave to Manny in that moment — in theater, we would call it dramaturgically — for, “Why is he stepping over to do that,” because it said it in the script, was, “You have been in this position. If you have a red lightsaber, you have felt this level of despair, rage, and dejection. So go over there and let her know that you have had that experience.” And he just did that beautiful thing. I was like, “Jesus Christ.”"

His reaction is a stark contrast to Mae, who never fell to the dark side, and doesn't understand what she's seeing - she mistakes this for Osha being liberated from Jedi mindwashing. THIS is what Qimir's face would look like if he thought this was a good thing and was happy about it:

The contrast is quite stark.

Qimir's sorrow for Osha continues as he attempts to comfort her and then sees she's bled the saber.

Intriguingly, Qimir has the helmet on and is "hiding" emotionally when he wipes Mae's memory. We don't get to see how that pain effects him. But the pattern throughout the episode is that when Osha hurts he aches too.

In the final scene, Qimir approaches Osha, again, without triumph at any of this. He's gotten everything he thought he wanted, but he looks at her and I read concern, sorrow, wariness.

He steps closer to her and takes her hand supportively, continuing his pattern (3 times in this episode!) of physically coming close to help/comfort her when she's hurting.

Then he raises his chin with resolve, but no happiness. They are facing the future, but they are "doomed" on the Sith path. Romantic love cannot live there anymore than it can thrive on the arid, repressed Jedi path. I think he suspects that - whether or not he's knowingly in league with Plagueis. Whatever is coming, the Sith path can only cause Osha more and more pain...

He cannot help but ache with her when he sees Osha in pain and want to help her. I cannot imagine an s2 where they continue down the Sith path without him breaking under the strain of watching the pain it causes her - he could endure it himself but seeing her do it? He'll snap. And that romantic love--something BOTH the Jedi and Sith reject and denigrate--that will help them escape imo. Here's a quote from Leslye I interpret as supportive of this reading. She references how the Sith path is inimical to romantic love and then alludes to the tantalizing possibility of escape:

HEADLAND: Oh, yeah! Again, they’re Sith. It's a different vibe. To me, it's gonna hit different because of their allegiance and who they are. So, yes, it is framed as romantic, but I do think, again, it's not gonna turn out great. I think if he's training her, “One to hold the power, one to crave it.” So they're starting off as equals, but what's gonna happen? Like in Romeo and Juliet, it's amazing because right at the beginning they're like, “Okay, these two die. Let's start the play.” As you're watching this incredible love story unfold, and it's one of the most beautifully iconic plays ever written, in the back of your mind, you're like, “This is not going to turn out well.” I want to clarify: They are not necessarily doomed or destined to fail as a team. But the Sith rule of two denotes a power imbalance. Which clearly, due to the final shot, is not their relationship. Also, Plagueis complicates their journey as Sith, because we know his apprentice is eventually Palpatine. They will not defeat him.

I feel pretty confident that the love he feels for her is pivotal to their journey away from the Sith path and what Plagueis wants for Osha - both because Leslye knows this is not a good path and because of the deep sense of care and connection Qimir already feels for Osha.

Combine this with Leslye's comments and imo it being unlikely that they'll repeat the same pattern with Qimir & Vernestra that they did with Sol & Osha and just the overall "sameness" that would come of hammering the endless cycle in more and I just don't buy that as the direction we're headed.

It is possible to tell it as a relentless tragedy and keep hammering the endless, inescapable cycles but, while tragedies are valid (I enjoy hotd!), even they have a narrative form more varied than that usually. And this IS a "coming of age" psychological/mythic Star Wars story at the end of the day. And one Leslye (happily gay married with a child!) drew on her own experiences (with religious trauma) to write... she didn't end up trapped in darkness why would a young protagonist like Osha have to?

Here's the full Leslye quote about religious trauma, since I believe it's vital to understanding where she and the writing team are going to take Osha, Mae, and Qimir:

You have a play, Cult of Love, coming to Broadway this fall. It’s about a Christian family gathering for the holidays. It’s inspired by your own experiences with your family. You were working on it at the same time as The Acolyte, from what I can tell. Did they influence each other? Our director, Trip Cullman, and I were talking about how it’s called Cult of Love because all cults have a dream, and the dream is really beautiful. Even Jim Jones started out trying to desegregate Indianapolis. This family in the play has this dream that they follow to the logical conclusion, which is that they never achieve it. I was raised Christian. Christianity is the ultimate dream. It’s a beautiful concept that God becomes human in order to love you more. Then you look at what Christianity has done to the world: colonization, genocide. It was a beautiful dream that doesn’t justify the human action that comes along. The Jedi also live in a dream, a dream they believe everybody has. In The Acolyte, the pilot ends with the line “An acolyte kills the dream.” The drama is to wake up to the fact that the dream doesn’t exist.

I think the point is for Osha and Qimir to wake up to the fact that both the Jedi and Sith "dreams" do not exist. They are toxic mirrors of each other - and Osha and Mae were born into a culture (the culture of the Coven and their mothers) that didn't see the force in the binary way the Jedi&Sith both do. Mae, who remembered and kept to the pov of the Coven, never fell to the dark side in a Sith way --she felt anger but balanced with a desire for justice, even when she killed-- it was only her sister, taught repression and self-denial by the Jedi, who did. Qimir and Osha have a conceptual/spiritual escape route open to them if they wish to use it.

Finally, Leslye has said that she's written Qimir as her "shadow" (in the Jungian sense) and that she feels close to him - and what does he want? "I want freedom." I don't think someone driven by that desire is going to just surrender himself AND the woman he loves to Plagueis the Creeper.

My wife was like, “What do you want to say?” I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.” By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When he says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody. That's why I feel so close to him.

#oshamir #the acolyte #the acolyte meta #qimir the acolyte #osha aniseya #my meta #long post

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pbaz7 · 2 months ago

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AGAINST THE TIDE: PART THREE

paige x azzi

word count: 5.3k

A/N: Here’s a chapter with a lot more interaction between Paige and Azzi. Don’t do too much on my girl this chapter y’all she getting better😭. Let me know what you think and leave reactions! I’m low key starting chapter 5 today 🤭

—————————————————————————

April 2021

Azzi and Paige's respective seasons had come to an end, though in completely different fashions.

For Azzi, it was the perfect finale to her high school career. After a long recovery from her ACL and MCL injury, she returned stronger than anyone thought possible in her senior year. And she was able to cement her place as one of the best players in the nation after everyone questioned if she would be able to come back the same. She became a McDonald's All-American and earned the prestigious Morgan Wootten Player of the Year award on top of carrying her team to another state championship, leaving her high school legacy on the highest note possible. When she walked off the court for the final time in her high school jersey, the roar of the crowd and the embrace of her teammates felt like the perfect send-off. Azzi was content. She had conquered every challenge thrown her way, and now she was ready for the next chapter at UConn.

For Paige, the end of her freshman year at UConn was a much different story. On paper, her season was nothing short of extraordinary. She had helped the Huskies defeat their rivals time and time again, putting on performances that left commentators and fans in awe. She’d scored a season-high 32 points and dished out 7 assists against St. John’s of New York—a game where it seemed like her fierce competitiveness toward the St. John’s she’d grown up playing against carried over to this completely unrelated team.

The accolades poured in. Paige was named Big East Player of the Year, unanimous Big East Freshman of the Year, and helped UConn secure the Big East Championship title. She had the most points by any UConn player in their NCAA tournament debut. By the end of the season, she’d been crowned AP Player of the Year and Naismith College Player of the Year—the first freshman in history to earn both honors.

But none of that mattered to Paige.

For all the individual awards and historic milestones, she couldn't forgive herself for how the season ended. UConn had made it to the Final Four, and the weight of expectations—both internal and external—was immense. Paige believed it was her job to lead her team to a national championship, but when they lost to Arizona in the semifinals, everything came crashing down for her.

She replayed the game in her mind constantly, scrutinizing every missed shot, every turnover, every moment she thought she could have done more. The praise and accolades felt hollow, and no one could convince her otherwise. For Paige, and according to the media, the loss was a failure. It didn’t matter that she was only 19 years old, it didn’t matter that she was only a freshman, the media tore into her from every angle and she hated herself for giving them the room to talk in the first place, despite what everyone around her said. If she had won they wouldn’t have had anything to say.

While Azzi basked in the glow of a picture perfect end to her high school journey, Paige drowned herself in guilt and frustration. Day after day, she was in the gym, pushing herself harder and harder. No one had to tell her to work—she was relentless. The sound of basketballs hitting the court echoing through an otherwise empty gym.

For Paige, there was no off-season. The only way to make peace with her freshman year, she thought, was to be better.

Her freshman year had been historic. But Paige didn’t care about history. She only cared about winning, and anything less wasn’t good enough.

May 2021

Paige was back home in the DMV, spending her days exactly the way she had since the loss in the Final Four. The small, private space her trainer let her use had become her sanctuary. She had poured every ounce of herself into her offseason grind, putting on muscle and sharpening her skills. Each shot, each drill, each drop of sweat was a reminder of what she wanted to fix.

The gym was empty, just how she liked it. Paige worked in solitude, her sneakers squeaking on the hardwood as she moved through her drills. The sharp echo of the ball bouncing against the floor filled the space. She was locked in, oblivious to everything but the rhythm of her workout.

The faint creak of the door opening didn’t even break her focus.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out.

Paige barely glanced over, recognizing Azzi immediately. She gave a slight nod in polite acknowledgment but kept shooting. Azzi lingered near the door for a moment, unsure if she should stay or leave. Last summer, she would have turned around and walked away without hesitation like she almost did. But not this time. She stepped farther into the gym, watching Paige as the other girl moved with mechanical precision, no emotion on her face

After a while, Azzi spoke again, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Are we ever going to talk? You know, now that we’re going to be on the same team.”

Paige didn’t even look up. “Not really in the mood to talk today, sorry.” She said, launching another three-pointer that swished through the net.

Azzi sighed, crossing her arms. “Seems like a pattern,” she muttered, just loud enough for Paige to hear.

That made Paige pause. She caught the ball as it rebounded toward her and turned to face Azzi, her expression annoyed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Azzi leaned against the wall, arms still folded. “You know what I’m talking about. When I came to visit UConn in December, you blew me off. You couldn’t even speak, let alone stick around for five minutes.”

Paige scoffed, dribbling the ball lazily as she shook her head. “Not everything is about you, Azzi.”

Azzi pushed off the wall, her brows furrowed. “That’s bullshit. You were avoiding me. Just stop being pussy and admit it.”

Paige let out a humorless laugh. “Contrary to this inflated-ass ego you seem to have, other people have things going on. It didn’t have shit to do with you Azzi.”

Azzi stared at her, stunned eyes almost bulging out of her head. “I have the ego? You can’t be serious right now?”

“Yes,” Paige said flatly, bouncing the ball once before shooting it again.

Azzi stepped closer, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You couldn’t put your feelings aside for two seconds to welcome me to UConn because your ego’s so damn big.”

Paige rolled her eyes, spinning the ball on her hand before letting it drop to the floor. “Like I said, it didn’t have shit to do with you. I played like garbage the day before and needed to clear my head.”

Azzi tilted her head, her tone incredulous. “You played fine, Paige. I watched that game.”

Paige snorted, shaking her head as she bent to pick up the ball. “No, I didn’t.” She straightened up and started ticking off mistakes on her fingers. “I had a sloppy turnover, missed three shots that all hit the rim the exact same way because my footing was off, got scored on because I went under screens too many damn times…” Her voice was rising, her frustration with herself evident.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the laundry list of self-criticism. “That’s not even that bad, Paige. You’re just trying to find excuses for being childish and avoiding me.”

Paige’s eyes flashed as she now fully faced Azzi, her tone sharp. “See that’s your problem, Azzi. You’re fine with ‘not bad.’ You’re fine with mediocre shit and you get mad at people who aren’t.”

Azzi, clearly offended. “You don’t know shit about me if you think I’m fine with mediocre Paige.”

“Oh, I know enough,” Paige shot back, her voice laced with irritation as she shot the ball again.

Azzi let out a muttered, “Whatever,” as she turned away. She grabbed her basketball shoes, plopping down on the bench to lace them up. Afterward, she moved to stretch, her movements calm and deliberate, just like she always did.

The silence between them was heavy, but neither seemed willing to break it. Paige resumed her shooting, her focus sharp and a little intense now. Azzi followed suit, picking up a ball and taking her own shots. Unlike last summer, when they’d somehow found a rhythm together, this time they kept their distance, rebounding their own shots and staying on opposite ends of the half court.

The only sounds were the echo of the basketballs, the swish of the net, and their heavy breathing. The tension that lingered between them from the argument didn’t dissipate, but they both seemed like they were just going to ignore it.

Paige’s focus faltered as her phone, lying on the bench nearby, began to ring. The sharp tone interrupted her music in her ears, cutting into her concentration. She ignored it the first time, then the second, but by the third, she was definitely irritated.

“Are we serious?” she muttered under her breath, catching the ball after it went through the net and tucking it under her arm. She walked over to the bench, her frustration evident in every step. Grabbing the phone, she glanced at the screen before answering.

“Yes, E?” Paige said, clearly irritated with everything happening today.

Azzi glanced over briefly but kept shooting as she heard the nickname she knew was for Evina, her movements still smooth and efficient. She couldn’t help but listen to Paige’s side of the conversation, even if she pretended not to.

“I’m fine,” Paige said, her tone clipped. A pause, then, “No, I don’t need you guys checking in on me every five minutes. I’m not a kid.”

Azzi caught her rebound, her curiosity piqued. She heard Paige’s exasperated sigh before she continued. “I said I’m fine!…I’m sorry…I’m just in the gym, okay?”

Another pause, longer this time. Paige’s expression softened slightly, though her tone remained defensive. “Yes, I’m eating. No, I’m not overdoing it. Can you guys please just stop hovering for like two seconds? I swear I’m fine.”

Azzi missed her next shot, distracted by the way Paige’s voice wavered slightly on the last sentence. She retrieved the ball and glanced over again, noting the way Paige’s jaw was clenched slightly with the conversation.

“Yes E, I get it, okay? I do. But I don’t need you to—” Paige stopped mid-sentence, closing her eyes and letting out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, I know it’s not my fault–Yes I know. Ok, I’ll call you later.”

She hung up abruptly, tossing her phone back onto the bench with more force than necessary. Her shoulders sagged for a moment before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and straightened up, spinning the ball in her hands as she made her way back to the court.

Azzi didn’t say anything, but she watched Paige carefully, her expression unreadable. Paige didn’t acknowledge her, resuming her shooting with a little more force than before, as if trying to work out her frustrations on the court.

The silence between them stretched on, filled only by the rhythm of bouncing balls and the occasional swish of a perfect shot.

July 2021

The short break before heading to UConn for the summer session had gone by a little too quickly for Azzi. It felt like one moment she was at home with her family, soaking up their familiar warmth, and the next, she was packing her bags, giving tight hugs, and heading off to start a new chapter in Connecticut. The thought of being at UConn felt surreal, even though she’d visited before. Now it was official—she was part of the team.

The roster had shifted quite a bit since her last visit. Azzi wasn’t the only fresh face; two other freshmen, Caroline and Amari, had joined the team. The sophomore class had thinned out, now consisting of only Paige, Aaliyah, Nika, and Piath. Aubrey was the only junior on the team, and was known for her quiet but steady presence on the court. The upperclassmen rounded out the roster, with seniors Christyn and Olivia bringing their experience, Evina stepping into a leadership role, and Dorka, a graduate transfer, joining the fold for her first year at UConn.

It was a balanced team, a blend of youth and experience, and Azzi felt a mix of nerves and excitement at the thought of working with them. The expectations were high, but she was ready.

…

From the moment she arrived, the practices were intense. UConn’s reputation as a basketball powerhouse wasn’t just for show, and the demands were grueling on Azzi’s body. The upperclassmen set the tone, with Evina and Christyn emerging as clear leaders, guiding the team both on and off the court. Paige, despite being only a sophomore, was right there with them. She had an undeniable presence, her skills speaking louder than words, and her surprisingly calm demeanor commanded respect everyday at practice.

Azzi, however, was still trying to get a read on Paige. The girl was an enigma. For someone who could be so fiery and competitive on the court, Paige seemed almost indifferent to Azzi off it. She didn’t go out of her way to ignore her, but she didn’t engage either. Paige showed up to team bonding events, polite and cordial, but her interactions with Azzi were nonexistent unless they were arguing during drills or scrimmages.

It was frustrating, to say the least. Azzi couldn’t tell if Paige didn’t like her or just didn’t care for her presence. And yet, somehow, during today’s team bonding activity—a scavenger hunt organized by Coach CD, of all things—Azzi found herself assigned as Paige’s partner.

Paige muttered something under her breath when the pairs were announced .

Azzi crossed her arms, arching a brow. “Trust me, I’m not exactly jumping for joy here either.”

Paige rolled her eyes at Azzi’s comment , adjusting the strap of her backpack. “Let’s just go.”

The rest of the team was already scattering in pairs, armed with clue sheets and a mix of determination and excitement. Azzi glanced at their first clue and sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.

The two of them trudged through the scavenger hunt, their movements as tense as the silence between them. Paige seemed perfectly at ease with it, her eyes fixed on the list in her hand. Azzi, on the other hand, was brimming with unspoken frustration. She wasn’t one to hold things in, and after several minutes of biting her tongue, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why don’t you like me?” Azzi blurted out, the words cutting through the quiet.

Paige barely looked up from her paper. “I don’t not like you,” she replied, her tone not hinting at her emotion.

Azzi huffed, folding her arms as she followed Paige. “Yeah, sure. That’s why you barely talk to me outside of practice. That’s why all you do is argue with me when we scrimmage. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you roll your eyes every time I open my mouth.”

Paige finally stopped walking, turning to face Azzi with a mixture of confusion and something else. “You’re reading too much into it Azzi. Just because we don’t hang out doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her expression incredulous. “Then what does it mean, Paige? Because from where I’m standing, it sure feels like you’ve decided you can’t stand me and you bust my ass everyday in practice.”

Paige sighed, glancing around as if hoping for the next clue to appear and rescue her from the conversation. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means I think you need to be better.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the statement. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, her voice even. “You’re good, Azzi. Everyone on the planet knows you’re good. But if you want to be great—if you want to be what this team needs—you have to start acting like it.”

Azzi scoffed, her frustration bubbling over. “Are you kidding me? I work my ass off every single day. I’m in the gym just as much as you are—probably more.”

Paige shrugged, not bothered by that last comment knowing it wasn’t true. “It doesn’t matter how much you work if you don’t carry it with you onto the court. Until you start playing like you know you’re the second-best player on this team, it’s not going to mean anything.”

“Second best,” Azzi repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, what an honor.”

“Exactly,” Paige said, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t agree. You need to own that. Play like it. Make everyone feel it.”

Azzi shook her head, incredulous. “Just because I don’t have a giant ego like you doesn’t mean I don’t think I’m the best.”

“I don’t have an ego,” Paige said. “I just know what this team needs.”

Azzi stepped closer, her voice rising slightly. “Oh, you mean they need another uptight, self-centered recruit who thinks they have all the answers?”

Paige’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice calm. “No, they need the top recruit they just got to stop being passive and start leading. They need someone who plays like they know they’re the best so the rest of the team can feed off of it.”

Azzi let out a bitter laugh. “So... basically an asshole?”

Paige exhaled sharply, clearly done with the conversation. She shook her head and turned back to the scavenger hunt, muttering, “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t,” Azzi shot back, her tone challenging. “And you know what? You don’t get me either. You think you’ve got me all figured out, like I’m some shy, passive player who’s too scared to take charge. But you don’t know the first thing about me Paige.”

Paige stopped walking, spinning around to face Azzi. “And you think you know me? You think I’m just some uptight ass self-absorbed player who doesn’t care about anyone else? I just have my own shit to deal with. Not everything is about you.”

Azzi bristled at the words, her voice dropping to a quieter but still heated tone. “I never said it was about me. But you could at least try to make me feel like I’m part of this team instead of treating me like an outsider.”

Paige’s expression softened for just a moment, but she quickly masked it with a shrug. “Maybe stop acting like one.”

Azzi stared at her, her frustration mixing with hurt. “You really think I’m not trying?”

Paige didn’t answer right away, her eyes flicking back to the scavenger hunt paper. “No that’s not what I said, I think you’re holding yourself back. And this team doesn’t have time for that.”

Azzi shook her head, biting back a retort. They resumed walking, the silence between them now heavier than before. Paige stayed focused on the clues, while Azzi followed a step behind, her mind racing with everything they had just said—and left unsaid.

After a stretch of silence, the tension between them still hung heavy in the air. Azzi walked a step behind Paige, her frustration simmering beneath the surface as Paige stayed focused on the scavenger hunt paper, seemingly unaffected.

Finally, Paige slowed her steps, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was quieter this time but still firm. “Azzi… I don’t not like you. Seriously.”

Azzi looked up, startled by the unexpected comment. “Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered.

Paige turned to face her, her expression unreadable. “You belong on this team. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. And yeah, you can be frustrating as hell and I definitely don’t agree with a lot of the things you say, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re good. Doesn’t mean I don’t like you and I’m sorry if I made you think that.”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by the blunt acknowledgment. She shifted her weight, her frustration tempered but not entirely gone. “Well, maybe if you didn’t act like I had something to prove all the time, I’d actually feel like I belonged.”

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “Pushing you is how I know you do belong. I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you if you didn’t.”

Azzi’s lips pressed into a thin line, but a flicker of understanding passed through her expression. “Fine,” she said after a beat, her tone quieter now. “But maybe try dialing it back a little. Just… once in a while. It’s tiring.”

Paige shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Azzi rolled her eyes at the silence but didn’t press further. They resumed walking, the tension between them still lingering, but the weight of it had lessened—just enough to keep moving forward. Maybe Azzi would try her luck again at getting to know the blonde.

…

Later that night the team was gathered in one of the larger suites, the atmosphere buzzing with energy as conversations overlapped and laughter echoed through the space. Players lounged across couches and the carpeted floor, munching on snacks and joking around. It was one of the nightly bonding sessions the seniors insisted on, a tradition meant to bring the team closer as the season loomed.

Paige sat at one end of the couch, scrolling through her phone with a focused expression. Azzi, perched on the armrest opposite her, noticed how Paige’s grip on her phone tightened slightly, her jaw set in a way that betrayed her usual calm demeanor during times like this. Curiosity piqued, Azzi leaned subtly to get a glimpse of what Paige was reading. The headline immediately made her frown: “Paige Bueckers: Can She Handle the Pressure This Season?”

The article was harsh but clearly biased, questioning Paige’s ability to bounce back from the previous year’s challenges. Paige’s face betrayed nothing, but Azzi could feel the tension radiating from her as her jaw continued to tighten.

Without a word, Paige suddenly stood, catching everyone’s attention.

“Where are you going?” Nika asked from her spot on the floor, looking up with a raised brow.

“The gym,” Paige replied flatly.

A collective groan went around the room.

“Come on,” Christyn said, leaning back against the armrest of a chair. “We’re supposed to be bonding, not sneaking off to the gym again.”

“You’ve been there all day already,” Olivia added, shaking her head. “What’s left to work on?”

Paige crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed by the protests. “You don’t have to drag me out later I swear. I’ll be fine.”

Before anyone else could chime in, Azzi spoke up, her voice cutting through the noise. “I’ll go with her.”

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Azzi. Nika blinked, looking as though she misheard.

“Wait, what?” Aaliyah asked, tilting her head.

“Azzi, you good?” Christyn asked, confused about her voluntarily being around Paige.

Even Paige hesitated, glancing at Azzi with a mix of surprise and confusion. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Azzi interrupted, her tone firm. “There’s some stuff we probably need to work on together anyway.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to figure out Azzi’s angle, but she didn’t argue.

Nika glanced at Caroline, who sat beside her on the floor. “Am I the only one wondering what’s going on here?”

Caroline shrugged, looking equally curious. “Nope.”

“I mean, we’re all thinking it,” Dorka chimed in, earning a few quiet laughs.

Paige sighed, clearly ready to leave the scrutiny behind. “I’ll grab you some clothes,” she muttered, already heading toward her room.

Azzi stood, ignoring the murmurs and exchanged glances from the team. Aubrey, who had been quietly observing from the corner, gave her a small smile, the only one not visibly surprised.

As Azzi followed Paige out of the suite, Nika leaned toward Aaliyah, whispering just loud enough to be heard, “This is either going to end in a fistfight or... something we don’t want to know about.”

“Probably both,” Aaliyah replied with a smirk.

Azzi caught the comment but didn’t react having no idea what they were talking about.

…

Azzi and Paige had just finished an intense workout. They worked through it together in silence for the most part with the occasional high five or pay on the back. The gym was eerily quiet at this hour, with only the hum of the overhead lights and their heavy breaths filling the space. Both of them were seated on the floor, backs resting against the padded wall, their bodies dripping with sweat.

Paige let her head fall back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before finally looking at Azzi. “Thanks,” she said, her voice softer than usual.

Azzi glanced over at her, slightly caught off guard. It wasn’t the thank-you that surprised her—it was the way Paige was actually looking at her. For the first time, there wasn’t a guarded or dismissive edge in her expression, just sincerity.

It threw Azzi off balance for a second, and without thinking, she blurted out, “Woah your eyes are blue.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “They sure are,” she said, amused.

Azzi shook her head, laughing at herself. “I just mean, I never noticed before,” she admitted. “Probably because you’re always glaring at me the few times you actually address me.”

Paige laughed again, the sound lighter than Azzi expected. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I know I can be... a bit much sometimes.”

Azzi shrugged, brushing it off.

They sat in comfortable silence for a beat before Azzi tapped her phone screen, the faint glow illuminating the time. “So, you wanna tell me why we’re in the gym at...” she squinted at the numbers, “1:47 a.m. on a Wednesday?”

Paige glanced at her, the corners of her mouth quirking up slightly. “I know why I’m here. You wanna tell me why you decided to join me?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the wall, smirking. “I knew they wouldn’t let you come if I didn’t. Plus, like I said earlier, there’s some things we need to work on.”

“Like what?” Paige asked, her curiosity piqued.

Azzi turned to face her more directly, her expression serious but still teasing. “Like you passing the ball where I’m going instead of where I am.”

Paige rolled her eyes, a playful scoff escaping her. “I’m a great passer.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing. “And I’m the best shooter in the country. I move a lot. You need to figure out where I’m going to be, not just where I currently am.”

Paige blinked at her, processing the critique. Her lips twitched like she wanted to argue, but instead, she let out a small laugh, nodding slightly as she thought about it.

Azzi stood up, brushing off her shorts before grabbing the ball that sat nearby. She spun it in her hands and tilted her head toward the court. “Come on,” she said, motioning for Paige to follow her.

Paige smiled despite herself, pushing up from the floor. “Fine,” she said, her tone mock-defeated.

Azzi grinned. “Let’s see if you’re as great as you claim you are.”

Paige laughed, jogging after her toward the court, the tension between them starting to ease in the quiet rhythm of the game.

Paige and Azzi stood at the top of the key, the ball in Paige’s hands as Azzi explained what she’d meant earlier.

“You follow my eyes, just like everyone else,” Azzi said, dribbling the ball before passing it to Paige. “But my eyes don’t always tell you where I’m going. You’ve gotta look at my movements instead.”

Paige nodded slowly, absorbing the critique. She dribbled the ball once, then shifted her stance. “Alright,” she said, her voice intrigued. “Let’s run through it.”

They started with basic passes, Paige watching Azzi closely. Some were spot-on, hitting Azzi perfectly in stride. Others lagged slightly behind, forcing Azzi to pause or adjust.

“See?” Azzi said after one of those off passes, tossing the ball back to Paige. “You’re looking at where I am. You’ve gotta watch my hands.”

Paige tilted her head, brow furrowing. “Your hands?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, holding them up. “My hands show you where I’m going to end up. Pay attention, and you’ll see it.”

Paige bounced the ball a couple of times, nodding. “Alright, let’s try again.”

They went through the drill several more times, Paige focusing on Azzi’s hands like she’d suggested. Slowly but surely, the passes started to click. Paige began to notice the subtle flicks of Azzi’s fingers or the way her hand angled before she cut. After a while, the passes were seamless, their movements flowing together effortlessly.

“See?” Azzi said, catching another perfect pass in stride. “Told you.”

Paige smirked, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. “Guess you were right.”

“Always am,” Azzi teased, tossing the ball back.

The two of them had been running the same drill for what felt like forever. Paige’s passes were sharper now, landing perfectly in Azzi’s hands as she moved seamlessly through her cuts. The flow of their movements had become natural, like they’d been doing this together for years.

Azzi caught the ball mid-stride and jogged back to the top of the key, bouncing it casually. “You know it’s almost three, right?” she said, glancing at the clock.

Paige paused, hands resting on her hips. “They’re going to kill you for letting me stay this late,” she said, half-smirking. “You’re supposed to be the responsible one, remember?”

Azzi shrugged, her lips curving into a small smile. “They never said what time you had to leave,” she replied. “All they said was that it was supposed to be team bonding.” She held the ball out toward Paige. “I’d say we bonded a little bit. Plus,” she added, her smile widening, “we haven’t argued the whole time we’ve been here, so that’s a win.”

Paige chuckled, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the hem of her shirt. “Guess you’ve got a point.” She reached out and took the ball from Azzi. “And for the record, I wouldn’t call you responsible. You’re just as bad as me for sticking around this long.”

Azzi laughed softly, leaning back against the padded wall at the baseline. “Maybe. But if you didn’t notice, I’m not the one who dragged us here in the middle of the night.”

Paige shot her a playful glare, bouncing the ball a couple of times. “Fair enough. But you didn’t exactly put up a fight about it either.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Because I saw how tense you were and someone had to make sure you didn’t overdo it. Like I said—team bonding.”

Paige shook her head, laughing under her breath as she lined up a shot. The ball arced perfectly through the air, swishing cleanly through the net. “Fine,” she said, turning to Azzi. “But if they ask, this was your idea.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure they’ll believe that.” She walked over and retrieved the ball, tossing it back to Paige.

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet gym, the weight of the night settling between them. Paige glanced at Azzi, a hint of gratitude in her expression. “Thanks, by the way. For coming with me.”

Azzi shrugged, though her smile softened. “Don’t mention it.”

Paige held the ball, debating for a second. Then she smirked. “One more run?”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head with a chuckle. “Fine. But only one more.”

“Promise,” Paige said, already moving to her spot.

Azzi jogged to hers, the exhaustion fading as they fell back into the rhythm they’d built over the past few hours. It was definitely more than one run through.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics

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max-nico · 5 months ago

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Sonic is feeling abnormally sentimental, everyone around him thinks it's warranted, but it doesn't stop the fact that he feels like he could burst into tears any moment. Gosh, he's just so proud. He essentially raised this kid from a toddler to almost an adult, because he's only sixteen, but still! That's his baby brother!

His baby brother who is doing an amazing job, giving his amazing speech, at this amazing venue. He's gotten tall, his tails are thick and bushy, and he looks so confident. Sonic knew he would see that day Tails could stand on his own, from the moment he took the little fox in, he knew.

And the kid looks all grown up in his brown suit, he's wearing pants and everything! If Sonic was a lesser hedgehog, he'd be a blubbering mess of tears right now. Watching his little buddy be presented with an incredibly prestigious scientific award, that Sonic doesn't fully understand in all honesty, has his heart squeezing in so many emotions he's getting overwhelmed. He's big enough to admit that there are bittersweet feelings tied up in all his big brother pride.

"Euhg, you reek of ego." Knuckles says, walking up to Sonic.

"Can you blame me? I raised that kid."

"Barely."

Sonic rolls his eyes, leaning against the stage walls. He's unperturbed by the echidna's rudeness. Some people never change. Though, if anyone should stay the same it's Knuckles, not that Sonic would ever tell him that.

"How'd you even get back here?"

"Your lowly guards are no match for a warrior." Knuckles puffs his chest out, like beating up poor unsuspecting security workers is a flex. "They could not stop me from congratulating Tails after his acceptance speech... Also, Amy's going to be late and she wanted me to make sure I give Tails a bouquet of flowers."

"And we all know how Amy gets about her flowers." The two say in sync, matching smiles on their faces.

Amy opened a flower shop a few years ago, a business that she and Vanilla are teaching Cream how to run. It's sweet, and her own opinion, what gift shows love better than a bouquet. Sonic would argue that a good chilli dog beats flowers any day, but Amy also says he has no taste, so truly, what does he know.

The two lapse into silence as they listen to Tails talk. He answers questions fluidly, with a charismatic ease you could only get from spending time with Sonic the Hedgehog. Even rude comments from the audience are taken in stride and spun in his favor. Geez, maybe Sonic should've taken those PR classes with Tails a few years ago, the kid is much smoother than him when it comes to the media.

It feels like no time at all as well as a hundred years have passed by the time closing statements are being given. The crowd has begun to get antsy as well, the energy shifting as the award ceremony comes to an end. Not without Tails giving a concluding speech obviously, because his little brother has officially cemented himself in history, and is very clearly the most important person here.

"And of course, I would like to thank my older brother, Sonic The Hedgehog!" Tails gestures to backstage, and the crowd goes wild at just the mention of Sonic's name. "I know right. The guy who's devoted his life to saving the world is the same guy who raised me, sometimes I still have a hard time believing it myself!" He chuckles. "That is, until I remember he's also the same guy who refused to eat vegetables until I was old enough to start hiding them in his chilli dogs."

The joke got the crowd to laugh, and Sonic promises that's the only reason why he doesn't go out there and set the record straight. Because first of all, he didn't refuse, he just never felt like making a second serving! Tails got his vegetables and that's what mattered! Some brother he is, lying on Sonic's name like that.

"I would like to thank the rest of my family as well! They're your heroes, but they're the ones who gave me the confidence to do anything even close to this! I don't know where I would be without them so I kinda think this award belongs to them too... Still going to my trophy shelf though, they can get their own."

There's another laugh from the crowd, and a little tear wiped from Knuckles' eye. Sonic isn't doing much better beside him, the hedgehog is holding it together as well as straw holds up a house. Hell, Sonic barely listens to the rest of the speech, too focused on keeping it together until his little brother comes off stage.

All too soon there's clapping and cheering from the crowd, and Tails is beelining towards them. The curtains are coming down, blocking the stage lights, and within moments the fox's mic is removed and his blazer is thrown to the floor. None of them have ever been much for the restriction of formal clothing, Tails being no exception.

"Did I do good?" He asks. Sonic's heart clenches at how deep it's gotten. "Gosh, I was so nervous."

"You did very well." Knuckles scoops up Tails from behind, giving him a good noogie and messing up his tamed fur. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

The fox beams at the praise. For a moment, all Sonic can see is that little 8 year old smiling at him like he's the only good thing in the world. That same sweetly sharp grin, packed to the brim in naivety, but obvious intelligence below the surface. He's trying so hard not to get all mushy, Tails will make fun of him if he does. Hmm, he wonders where Tails gets that from.

"You did great, little brother! I told you that you could do it, and look, you got that fancy medal and everything just to prove it."

Tails flushes as Sonic pulls him in for a hug. He's a little taller than Sonic now, and the thought makes the hedgehog slightly nauseous... When did that happen?

"I dunno about little, I think you're more deserving of that title now!"

"As if!"

Now it's Sonic's turn to noogie the fox, much to his chagrin.

"You may be getting tall, but you'll always be my baby!" Sonic says obnoxiously.

"Ew, you're being so gross right now."

"C'mon keed, can't take a little affection from your big bro?"

"Not when you're acting like this, and stop calling me that, you weirdo!"

Sonic and Knuckles laugh at Tails playful disdain.

Hopefully he knows how proud they both are of him, Knuckles might beat it into the fox if he doesn't. Not even Sonic can save him from that fate.

Yeah I'm gonna participate in whumptober I said. WRONG !! WHOLESOME WEDNESDAY ATTACK 🌈🩷🫶🏾

I've had this fic in my drafts for ages, please take it away and treat it with care lol, it's been waiting so long for me to finish it

Also, someone give me an idea for a lil fic to write for Tails birthday !! I could just do the whumptober prompt but if anyone has any better ideas, I'm all ears !!

My askbox is always open !! Come yap to me !! Let's be friends !! @max-nicoxfandom is my general fandom blog if you're interested 🩷🩷

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p123apples · 6 months ago

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please God, I want to be impregnated so bad. I want him. That beautiful, radiant angel. Like a god, having come down to Earth to cleanse us of our sins.

he is beyond divine. I can’t help but drop to my knees in worship whenever I see his beautiful figure. I yearn for him in a way both primal and spiritual. I would commit more war crimes than every president in United States history just to lick the sweet, glistening sweat from his smooth, creamy skin. I want to listen to his moans as his manhood throbs within , I want to hear his heart race as our bodies become one and our souls irreversibly intertwine in the holy sin of carnal union.

I want to suckle at his motherly bosom, slurping that rich mana milk from his teat as I would stir his cream into my coffee and let his balls boil in it. His cries of pleasure and the rocking of our bed would be louder than the cacophony of ten thousand drone strikes. I would make love to him until my body gave out, and then some. I would let him break my rib cage with any part of his body. I would let him hit me with his car just to be near him for a brief moment.

he’s so perfect it hurts. Every moment without him I suffer a pain worse than breaking every bone in my body simultaneously while drowning and also having shards of glass coated in hot sauce forced through every orifice of my body. I want him, I need him. I want to desecrate his crisp general suit. I want to start a family with him and retire after our twenty seven children have grown up and moved out. I want to see those luscious lips speak such filthy, perverse words into my ear while he slides ice cubes down my gaping pisshole.

I want to fuck him like he owes me money. I would let him step on me, just to feel the soft, firm warmth of his feet upon my face and his groin area. I would sleep under him just to catch his drool in my mouth. I would fish the strands of hair from his shower drain just to smell his alluring scent, and braid them into necklaces to keep him with me always. Or cock rings. Whichever would please him more.

God please, I would do anything for him. I would relinquish my life, all my hopes and dreams, just to become the socks on his feet so that I may warm his mouthwatering toes with my very being, so that he may feel the heat of my love always. I would encase myself in cement and become his doorstep, so that he may wipe his heels upon my face. I would tear my own limbs off. I don’t know what I’d do after that, or why he might want my limbs. But I would do it.

My prince, my god, the light of my life. Please God, let me have him. I want him to be mine and only mine. I would lick the Doritos dust from his fingers and fill his belly button with honey mustard to dip my teats in. I would give him a sponge-bath with my tongue every morning and serve him breakfast in bed. I would let him eat my eggs,straight from the source . i would let him eat steak off my body if it pleased him, no matter how painful the third-degree burns would be.

I would bear the torment of eternal damnation until the end of time to taste the seat of his car but once. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him, nothing I wouldn’t say. I wouldn’t even let myself cum until he gave me permission.

I love you,gojo . Please. Be mine. Be my life, my lover, my sorcerer daddy ,my everything. Say yes. I see it in your eyes, when you’re up there yapping about catching up to suguru or whatever. Answer my calls, respond to my letters. Something. Give me a sign, gojo. I’m waiting for you in chapter 269, come back my glorious emperor,it is time you got out of that airport or you would be escorted

descend from heaven satoru,i am waiting.

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sukibenders · 2 months ago

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Glinda mentions to Elphaba how Fiyero can't stop thinking about that moment in Dillamond's class, or that he's having thoughts in general and how it worries her because it's not something she's used to from him (which is him thinking about actual things), in contrast to Elphaba, who doesn't seem all that bothered and, even more so interested in the manner when Fiyero brings up how he can't stop thinking about when they rescued the lion cub. I don't know about everyone else but for me, even with this scene probably being added for lighthearted value, I also see it as another piece in the puzzle cementing how Fiyero's and Glinda's actions will, eventually, either pull them closer or further away from Elphaba. I lowkey don't like it when people act surprised or confused as to why Glinda was spelled or get annoyed that Fiyero is in her place but I, personally, don't think she would have helped in that moment, specifically in the movie.

Prior to the train scene, Glinda is shown to, not only, be completely rude and spoiled (as shown with her literally fainting over not getting her way), when in class, she publicly points out Dillamond's inability to pronounce her name correctly even though it's an obvious struggle, parading in front of the class how easier it was for her other teachers to do it, then being dismissive during the rest of the lesson when learning the importance of history and why to learn from it (correct me if I'm wrong, as it has been a minute since I've seen the movie). All that already tells me that she doesn't really care for the animals' cause, let alone enough to follow Elphaba and Fiyero into the woods after stealing the lion cub and I think, subconsciously, Elphaba knew that. In fact, I can only see Glinda trying to sway them to leave the cub and how what their new professor wanted to teach probably wasn't all that bad (not saying that she would want the cub to be harmed, just that she would try to rationalize what's going as we've seen her do before). This is the same woman who, after learning that the Wizard was a fraud and responsible for the missing and harmed animals, still tried to justify his actions and berated Elphaba for not "acting accordingly" to the news, but yet we still think she should have been there to save the lion cub? That she would have helped those animals alongside Fiyero and Elphaba? I think it could allude to how Glinda could/will be used to help further push propaganda for the Wizard, especially given how it benefits her socially, as figures of propaganda often don't think too hard, or enough to critique the system around them not because they aren't smart enough too (for the most part), but more so because they understand how their world works and understand the consequences that follow when stepping out of line.

You don't have to like Fiyeraba or even find Fiyero interesting, but to purposely ignore what the movie is presenting you is such a cop-out. Fiyero enters the film being a sort of anti-establishment-like character, caring little if he gets kicked out of Shiz for breaking the rules, or just hardly caring in general (something Elphaba calls him out for), and so on. Why wouldn't he be down to rescue the lion? Even if it was to just feed his rebellious streak, he still would have gone, but when he and Elphaba meet, he's on a talking horse and they are conversing like lifelong friends. That might add another layer to the pair saving the lion. Even if he wasn't on the same level as Elphaba at that moment, the train scene shows that it had a profound impact on him that he couldn't shake. I think, had he been presented with the choice of joining Elphaba or staying, he would have gone, not only for her but also because he now knows that the Wizard is a fraud and most definitely wouldn't stand for what he [Oz] is doing. This is what sets him apart from Glinda which, isn't necessarily me hating on her but just stating facts. Glinda isn't/won't be willing to sacrifice her position and what it brings her, until it's too late (which is the tragedy of her character and her relationship with Elphaba), while Fiyero risks everything, even to some extent his own body (Scarecrow) and, in the end, gets to stand with Elphaba.

#i don't want to ship tag this bc im sure if either would necessarily fit but also bc i don't want to attract a certain audience #but idk we'll see how it goes #this was just my perspective giving an analysis to both the train scene and the lion cub scene #it's not an attempt to paint one character as better than the other (in a way bc glinda was acting wild ngl)#i also notice some in this fandom get touchy when you say glinda didn't change until the last minute (which is true)#but lost everything by that point and how tragic that is it's okay to admit that #while i do think fiyero could of had more character development in the movie i don't think he's completely pointless like some try to paint #him as and i hope act ii gives us more of him #dni if can't have a calm conversation #glinda upland #glinda the good witch #elphaba thropp #fiyero tigelaar #wicked spoilers #wicked #wicked 2024 #even my friend who just got into the wicked fandom was like “yeah glinda wouldn't do shit for them animals”#so i know im not tripping

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helvegen-s · 17 days ago

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point of no return | epilogue

index

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!OC

Summary: Love and rivalry collide on the Formula 1 circuit as Ferrari's star drivers, Astrid and Charles, push the limits of their relationship alongside the boundaries of speed. Can their love survive the pressure, or will their ambition become their downfall?

WC: 2.2k

A/N: And with this, it’s finished! I really hope you’ve enjoyed the story and the characters. Honestly, I’ve loved writing it. I’m thinking about writing some extras about Charles and Astrid, so if you have any requests, I’ll be reading them :)

Big hug xx

The press room was packed. Journalists, cameras, and microphones lined up like soldiers in a battle of questions. Astrid Whitmore sat in the center, the Ferrari emblem still on her chest for the last time.

She took a deep breath before speaking.

"After much thought, I've decided it's time to close this chapter of my career. I'm leaving Ferrari and will be joining Red Bull next season."

The murmurs were immediate. It wasn’t a secret that her relationship with the team had grown tense, but hearing it from her own lips gave it a different weight. Astrid answered a few questions with the composure that had always defined her, carefully avoiding what everyone truly wanted to know—how Charles Leclerc felt about it.

When it was over, she walked out of the room with steady steps. She knew he would be there.

Charles was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes said too much. Astrid stopped in front of him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"So, it's official," he murmured, a half-smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Yes," she replied, feeling her throat tighten.

Silence settled between them again. It was strange how, after everything they had lived through, there weren’t enough words to say goodbye.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Charles finally said.

Astrid looked away for a second before meeting his gaze again.

"And I hope you keep fighting for what you deserve."

He let out a small laugh—bitter and sincere at the same time.

"We loved each other too much, but that's not enough, is it?"

Astrid shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it."

Charles nodded, his eyes memorizing every detail of her, as if trying to capture her one last time.

"Take care, Astrid."

"You too, Charles."

And with that, she walked away.

The following years bore witness to her greatness.

Astrid Whitmore conquered two world titles with Red Bull, cementing her legacy in Formula 1. But one day, when she felt she had given everything she had, she decided to say goodbye to single-seaters for good.

Rally found her when she was no longer searching for glory—only pure adrenaline, the thrill without the weight of expectations. There, among dirt roads and wild landscapes, she discovered there was something beyond winning and winning.

There was freedom.

And in that freedom, Astrid Whitmore found herself again.

Meanwhile, Charles Leclerc had become much more than just a Formula 1 driver.

He was a legend. Five consecutive titles with Ferrari, records shattered, epic races forever etched into motorsport history. He had become the man Monaco idolized, his name echoing with the same weight as the greatest champions of the Scuderia.

But amidst all that success, something had always lingered. A ghost that never truly disappeared.

It was Astrid.

He couldn’t count how many times he had searched for her name online over the past five years, how many times he had read about her victories in Rally, how many times he had found himself smiling at the screen as she lifted another trophy. He had always loved watching Astrid win, even if she was no longer by his side.

What he didn’t like was the feeling that followed. That tightness in his chest, that sharp pang of nostalgia reminding him that no matter how much he moved forward, a part of him had never stopped wanting her.

The years had passed, the seasons had piled up, yet Astrid remained there—lingering in his mind, in his memories. In every race where his instincts told him to turn his head and look for her in the paddock, only to remember she wasn’t there.

Now, for the first time in a long while, the FIA was hosting its annual gala in Monaco. The night he would be crowned, once again, as world champion. And in an unexpected twist, Astrid had decided to attend.

He found out days before, when he saw her name on the guest list. His reaction was immediate—he felt the ground beneath him shift. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see her after all this time. If he would still feel the same. If she would too.

The salty Mediterranean air mixed with the scent of freshly brewed coffee as Astrid walked through the streets of Monaco. It had been five years since she last set foot in this city, and yet, everything felt familiar. She had arrived a few days before the gala, taking the time to wander through streets filled with buried memories.

Monaco had been her home. She had loved living here, getting lost in its alleys, driving through its roads with the sea on one side and cliffs on the other. But what she remembered most was that, in every corner, there was a piece of Charles.

They had shared a life here. The memory of those years was imprinted on every restaurant they used to visit, every bench where they had sat talking about everything and nothing, every late-night stroll when the world’s noise faded, leaving only them.

Astrid didn’t regret moving on, finding her own path. But being here stirred something inside her she hadn’t expected.

She had no plan when she stepped into that café. She only wanted a break, a quiet moment before the gala.

What she didn’t expect was to find him there.

Charles.

He was sitting alone, a cup of coffee in his hand, a folded newspaper on the table. She hadn’t seen him in years, but the moment their eyes met, time collapsed in on itself.

He saw her too. And by the way his body tensed, she knew the surprise was mutual.

Astrid stood at the door, her heart a storm in her chest. She couldn’t help but take him in—the way the years had treated him. He looked older, more mature… and somehow even more handsome. But what hit her the hardest was the emotion in his eyes. The same one she had seen the last time they said goodbye.

Charles, on the other hand, felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs. There she was. So different, yet so much the same. Her hair a little longer, her posture more at ease, her eyes reflecting something new—peace.

She looked at peace.

Something inside him broke and healed at the same time.

"Hi," Astrid whispered.

Charles felt like a teenager again, words stuck in his throat, a foolish smile creeping onto his lips.

"Can I sit with you?" Astrid asked with a small smile, trying to ignore the avalanche of emotions crashing over her.

Charles nodded without thinking.

They sat across from each other, as if five years hadn’t passed.

At first, the conversation was light. They talked about racing, titles, how life had taken them down such different paths. Astrid told him about Rally, how much she enjoyed it, how she had found something in it she had never felt in Formula 1.

"It’s not just about winning, Charles. It’s not just about proving I’m the best. It’s… something more. I don’t know how to explain it."

He listened in silence, absorbing every word. He had always loved hearing her talk passionately about racing.

"You look happy," he finally said.

Astrid met his gaze and nodded.

"I am."

And it was true.

But then Charles lowered his eyes to his coffee and murmured,

"I always knew you’d find something to love as much as Formula 1. Though… I would have liked to be part of it."

Astrid felt her heart clench.

"We hurt each other… but we never stopped loving each other," she whispered.

Charles looked up at her, his gaze intense, stealing her breath.

"No," he answered. "And I don’t think we ever really stopped."

This time, the silence between them was different. Not uncomfortable, not painful. Just… full of possibilities.

Astrid leaned slightly forward, holding her cup with both hands.

"Are you scared?"

Charles let out a small laugh, a mix of disbelief and resignation.

"Yes."

"Me too."

And in that moment, they understood something they had perhaps always known: that what had once separated them no longer existed. That life had changed them, made them grow, and that maybe, just maybe, this time they could make it work.

Charles took a breath and, with a lopsided smile, said:

"Maybe this time..."

Astrid set her cup down on the saucer and held his gaze.

"Maybe."

And for the first time in seven years, the future no longer seemed uncertain.

Monaco had always had a special magic at night. The city lights reflected on the water, the echo of music floating in the air, the feeling that, in that small corner of the world, time stood still.

Astrid felt it that night more than ever.

The gala had been a whirlwind of greetings, conversations, and reunions. She was surprised by how much she had missed some people, how much affection she still felt for the family she had built in Formula 1. But even in the midst of it all, a part of her never stopped being aware of his presence.

Charles.

From across the room, in the middle of endless congratulations and impromptu interviews, he was looking for her too. Their eyes met so many times she lost count. At first, it was almost a game. A fleeting glance here, a lingering one there. But soon, it stopped being a game and became something more. A reminder that no matter how many years had passed, no matter how much their lives had changed… they still gravitated toward each other.

Now, back in her room, Astrid let out a sigh. She slipped off her heels, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud, and collapsed onto the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She couldn’t ignore it anymore.

She couldn’t ignore how her heart had raced when she saw him at the café. How her stomach tightened every time she caught him looking at her at the gala. How, despite everything, he was still Charles.

She turned on her phone and unlocked it without thinking too much. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she finally typed:

To: Charles"Congratulations, champion. It’s been an incredible night for you."

It wasn’t enough. It was what anyone else would say. And Charles had never been just anyone to her.

She deleted the message.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes for a moment. Then she typed again.

To: Charles"I can’t remember the last time we spent a night in the same place without talking. It feels strange. Good night, Charles."

She hesitated for a moment, her thumb hovering over the send button. It wasn’t a groundbreaking message. It didn’t promise anything. It didn’t ask for anything.

But it was a first step.

A bridge between yesterday and tomorrow.

She sent it before she could regret it.

The phone vibrated on the nightstand. Charles wasn’t expecting any messages at that hour. His fingers, almost instinctively, reached for the device.

When he saw her name on the screen, his heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, he did nothing. He just stared at the message, allowing himself to feel everything that came with it.

"I can’t remember the last time we spent a night in the same place without talking. It feels strange. Good night, Charles."

He closed his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Of course it felt strange. All night, he had felt her close and, at the same time, out of reach. All night, his mind had drifted between the present and the past, between the urge to go to her and the fear of crossing a line they maybe shouldn’t cross.

But now, this.

A message.

Astrid had been the one to send it, the one to leave the door slightly open. And Charles wasn’t the kind of man to let an opportunity like that slip away.

He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard. His fingers moved across the screen with more confidence than he actually felt.

To: Astrid"You’re right. It feels strange."

He paused. Then added:

"I don’t think we’ve ever avoided each other this much."

And he sent the message.

Just seconds later, his phone vibrated again.

Astrid:"I don’t think we’ve avoided it, Charles."

He frowned, his thumb tapping lightly against the screen.

Charles:"No? Then what have we done?"

Astrid took longer to reply this time. Charles imagined she was debating between many possible answers. And when it finally arrived, he knew he hadn’t been wrong.

Astrid:"We’ve been waiting."

Charles read it several times. His lips curled into a silent smile. Because yes, she was right.

They had waited.

To see if time would wear down what they felt. To see if the other would make the first move. To see if, after everything, there was still something left between them.

And the answer was obvious.

Charles:"And now?"

He waited. Seconds, then a minute. Until the screen lit up again.

Astrid:"Now I don’t want to wait anymore."

Charles let the phone fall onto the bed and ran a hand over his face. His smile widened, accompanied by a sigh he wasn’t sure was relief, excitement, or simple acceptance.

After years, after so many stolen glances and unspoken words, they had finally said what truly mattered.

And for the first time in a long time, the future felt like something they could write together.

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redsrooftopprincess · 4 months ago

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Kintsugi

200 Followers Thank You Fic!

Winning prompt: “Christ on a fucking bike, I could kiss you right now.”

Raphael x GN!Reader

No warnings

"Kintsugi (golden joinery) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise. Lacquerware is a longstanding tradition in Japan, at some point it may have been combined with maki-e as a replacement for other ceramic repair techniques."

— Christy Bartlett, Flickwerk: The Aesthetics of Mended Japanese Ceramics

"Shit!"

The sound of ceramic hitting cement rang through the lair like discordant bells.

"Fuck! No! Damn it!"

You make your way out of the lab where you'd been helping Donnie with one of his latest projects.

You'd excused yourself when you heard his exclamation ricochet against the cement in the open space, and follow the now near constant stream of expletives to the kitchen, where you find the biggest of the Hamato brothers on hands and knees, gathering the shattered pieces of what was once his father's favorite teapot.

Black pottery with white calligraphy and white and pink cherry blossom boughs. It belonged to Yoshi, and is one of the few remaining pieces of his Master's old life.

Raphael hisses and rips his hand from the floor. "Fuck! Damn it!" his voice is thick with barely leashed emotion. Crossing the kitchen quietly, you snatch a paper towel off the roll on the kitchen table, and make your way to him. You crouch down in front of him, grateful that you started the evening in the lab, and are currently wearing thick jeans and boots.

He's maneuvered himself to sitting, and is pulling a triangular piece of the lid from his palm. He stares at the piece for a moment, jaw tight. This means so much more to Splinter than just tea. It isn't usually even kept in the kitchen, but the calligraphy had chipped, and Splinter had taken great care to repair it. The kitchen is the room with the best light, second only to Donnie's lab, and the constant buzzing of electronics gives the old rat a headache.

Raphael bumped the table with his shell, that's all. He swallows hard, clenching his teeth. He's too big even for his own damn home. How the hell is he going to tell his dad?

A sting in his palm brings him back to himself, and he looks up at you ashamed and at a loss. You're pressing the paper towel to his palm, looking down at it, unseeing. He can see the crease in between your eyebrows which usually means the gears are turning. And he's never been more grateful you were so much like Donnie.

You're running through options in your head. It'll have to be repaired and there are a number of ways that would still keep it food safe. Then you think about Master Splinter, and what he will think when he finds out about the mishap.

Hope blossoms in his eyes when he sees your look of concentration soften into a smile and you pull the bloody paper towel away from the now closed wound. You're glad it wasn't too bad, but gripping his sai will be uncomfortable for a few days.

You squeeze his good hand, "We can fix it."

....

You never had a dad, but if you did, you'd want him to be like Splinter. Patient, kind, and always ready with a pricked ear and a warm cup of tea to talk through your bullshit, especially when you don't want to. He has a way of pulling those pesky truths out of people, and probably knows more about you now than anyone else on the planet.

He also has a habit of taking in strays. Yourself included. Of finding the scattered and the broken and bringing them together into this beautiful amalgamation of functional chaos.

Kintsugi, was really the only option.

The traditional method would take too long, the breakage was complex and you didn't have a year to complete the project. But you managed to find a food safe alternative using modern materials.

You take your time setting out the powders and epoxies you'd spent the morning gathering, and pull up a tutorial video on Raph's tablet. It's the middle of the day and Splinter is asleep, which gives the two of you the perfect opportunity to put the teapot back together.

It takes hours, there are so many pieces, and Raphael is meticulous. At one point going back into the kitchen to spend twenty minutes searching for a missing piece no more than 3mm wide, eventually finding it under the fridge.

When you are finished, you both take a step back to look at your work. He's nervous. It's a big change to something that's been the same for as long as he can remember. It looks like it's made of lightning or leaves, veins of flashing gold, as thin as stands of hair, spiderweb through matte black and gloss white, seeming to make the blossoms on the sakura branch glow.

No going back now.

...

Every evening, after waking up, Raphael has coffee with his dad before starting the "day." Most nights, Splinter starts the kettle, so he's surprised to smell coffee before even opening his eyes.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, Raphael is already waiting for him, holding the teapot in his hands. You're at his elbow for support.

"Dad..." He starts, before pausing to take a deep breath as his father crosses the kitchen toward him, "I broke it... I'm sorry. I hit the table and it just fell off. I tried to fix it..." he trails off when Splinter holds out his hands to receive the heirloom.

The old rat's eyes look over his Master's teapot. It was old, possibly older even than Yoshi, and had survived so much. He runs his fingers over the smooth surface, tracing the veins of gold, bright and warm against the cold black, and tears sting his eyes.

A beloved relic broken by fate or circumstance, put back together with time and care by his progeny, to continue it's new life, shining.

His father's wet eyes catch the light and Raph panics, "I know it's not exactly like it was. I'm sorry, I tried to-" he quiets when Splinter holds up a hand.

"My son, it's perfect, and more lovely than ever. Thank you, Raphael," he says, His voice warm with gratitude for this and so much more, "Please join me for tea. Both of you."

You spend the evening learning about the history of the Hamato clan, and listening to stories of life in Japan. He tells you about Tang Shen, his Master, Yoshi, and the love they shared. You can't help glancing at Raphael when he's not looking, and he can't resist doing the same. You miss each other by seconds. His father doesn't.

Once the teapot runs dry, Master Splinter excuses himself for meditation and you and Raph make your way to the living room.

Once the door latches, Raphael's knees almost give out with the rush of relief.

“Christ on a fucking bike, I could kiss you right now.” he laughs, gratefully, before it occurs to him what he said, and then it's a very different kind of laughter, "I, uh... I mean..."

You laugh, you hope casually, as roses bloom in your cheeks. "Hey, no problem," you say, "I'm just glad it worked."

His heart is pounding, as he chuckles uncomfortably, and looks in your eyes. It was a slip up. Just a turn of phrase, but he glances down at your mouth for just a second anyway, and there's a moment that feels heavy with... something.

You'd spent the day working closely beside each other, and the evening drinking tea and hearing stories about a love whose ripples are still moving through time, and as his eyes meet yours again, you can't help but feel the itch of empty hands wanting to pull him closer.

But then he's called away by Leo to his nightly duties, and the moment is over. You're left in the warm comfort of the lair and eventually fall asleep on the couch waiting for the boys to get back.

He finds you there upon his return, and stops for a moment just to look at you. *Really* look at you. Something he wouldn't even attempt if you were awake to ask him why he's acting like a fucking creep.

The whole time his father was talking about his Master's love story, the persistent what if's that tend to follow in your wake were whispering false hopes. He was still trying desperately to ignore them, but some of the gold powder had ended up in your hair, and it sparkles in the colored lights, making you look ethereal. He brushes some of your hair from your cheek, and the dust wisps into the air like starlight.

His guardian fucking angel. Not only did you save his ass, but his father actually seemed more pleased with the result than he was upset that the teapot broke in the first place. Somehow, you have a way of always fixing things and making them so much better. Even him. Especially him.

Somehow, you have a way of always knowing exactly how to put him back together.

.....

A/N:

Currently putting myself back together. Thank you, everyone, for all the love and validation that is helping me so much with that. ❤️

.....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

#bayverse raphael #tmnt #tmnt raphael #raphael x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #raph x reader #tmnt bayverse #200 followers #thank you my darlings!#did you catch the hidden haiku?#😘

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jexnkookie · 8 months ago

Text

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 5]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 3.4k

Authors Note: A little bit of a longer chapter this time around, and I'm very excited to share this part with you. I also wanted to note that I have the next 2 parts in the works, and again, I wanted to thank you for reading my story!

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lallataegi @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Previous Chapter | Interlude

Series Masterlist

The basement is loud with the sound of drunken college students conversing over a pop playlist that played over a DIY speaker system. Boxed wine and cheap beer flowed freely, poured into disposable cups. One of those cups landed in Jung Kook’s hand, and he hoped it would give him the courage to say hello you. He stood against the wall, feeling completely invisible, seemingly blended into the background of grey cement. You, by contrast, were a social butterfly, amazing Jung Kook with how you were able to completely light up the room.

You were sitting on empty table, denim shorts revealing your legs as the swung absentmindedly to the rhythm. A group of your closest girl friends surrounded you, and you sported a large, pearly white smile while you spoke to them. Jung Kook couldn’t hear you over the music and the other party goers, but he could tell just from watching how easily you drew people in.

‘Just talk to her.’ He repeated to himself, taking more sips of his beer. ‘Just talk to her. Just do it. She’s nice, you know she won’t laugh at you. Just do it.”

As though his feet had made a decision for him, he headed towards your little circle of friends. When he approached you, your attention turned to him, and your eyes lit up.

“Jung Kook! I haven’t gotten to talk to you yet this semester, how are you?” You greeted him. Your friends turned to him, smiled and some waved. “You guys, this is Jung Kook, we have a class together! He was in my history class last semester, too.”

“Hi.” Jung Kook waved shyly, not used to being the center of attention. “I-I’m good, thanks.”

With a sigh of relief that the hardest part is over, Jung Kook moved into the space your friends made for him, and attempted to melt into the conversation. He stuttered, unable to take his eyes off of you, but if anyone noticed, they said nothing about it. He desperately wanted to get you alone, away from the noise, but couldn’t quite find the right moment to steal you away from your friends. So he settled for watching your bright smile, sparkling eyes, and listening to your charismatic, sweet voice chat up your friends.

But then,, Kai, the boy who had hurt you just a few months previously, moved in close to you, handing you another cup. Jung Kook detested the way you looked up at him, and the way all your friends fawned superficially over the two of you. Everyone, including Jung Kook, knew he was bad for you, but nobody wanted to say anything when you just looked so happy. He understood, because he never wanted to make you sad, either.

It wasn’t long before Kai led you away from the party, to his parked car, to take you home for the night. You turned and waved at your friends, including Jung Kook, telling them to drive safe. Jung Kook went home right after, feeling sick to his stomach in sadness.

Later that night, at Kai’s, you stepped out of his shower into the steamy bathroom. You feet hit the soft bathmat, and you tied your hair up into a towel before checking the multiple texts on your phone from your group of friends, sending pics of the night.You smiled at the girls, and rolled your eyes playfully at them.

1:13 am - Jihyo: Y/N, that Jung Kook guy is soooo cute. He’s like a bunny lol

1:14 am - Nayeon: I think he likes her??? He stared at her literally all night

1:15 am - Jihyo: I’m so glad you noticed that too lol. I know you have a thing going on with Kai, but he told you he didn’t want anything serious, right? Idk, maybe you should ask Jung Kook out???

1:17 am - Nayeon: Yeah, and I doubt he’ll ever do it himself. He barely talked tonight? I guess he’s just shy.

“Hey, are you alright?” Kai called from outside the bathroom.

“Yeah, I’m fine! Sorry, my friends are texting me.” You responded, putting the phone down and finishing your night time routine.

You met Kai in the bedroom, and he looked like a dream. Shirtless, sitting up in bed with the tv on, he smiled at you, and you wondered how badly it was going to hurt when you inevitably stopped coming over to see him. Logically, you know this was just casual, and that’s all it would ever be. But that night, you put your cares aside, as you dipped under the covers to take him between your lips, just the way you’ve learned that he likes.

“Shit, Y/N…” He groaned, placing a firm hand on the top of your bobbing head. “Go a little deeper… Fuck, keep sucking my dick, baby… Just fucking like that…”

He fell asleep shortly after finishing, leaving you feeling lonely and unsatisfied. You grabbed your phone as he slept, and re read your friends texts. Did Jung Kook have a crush on you? Maybe? You decided to ask him the next time you saw him in class. The worst he could say is no, right?

But the question was never answered when, the next class period, the seat next to yours was empty. As was the day after, and the day after that. You asked around, only to find that Jung Kook had gone home excused for several weeks, apparently to spend time with family.

The reason was only partially true. Jung Kook, after the passing of his father, made it a priority and a personal responsibility of his to take care of his mother. No matter how many times she told him to focus on his studies, supportive of his dreams to be an attorney, Jung Kook came home frequently to help her with house chores, cooking and anything else she wasn’t able to do on her own.

As the pair were in the kitchen, Jung Kook’s hands full with a heavy pot of boiling water and sweet potato noodles, that he carried with an oven mitten on each hand, his mother asked him about his time at university. She sat at the kitchen counter, watching him work as they spoke. The question that always comes up, and that Jung Kook never knew how to answer, was when his mother politely and inevitably asks, “Is there a special girl you’re seeing?”

This time, Jung Kook chose to be honest with her.

“There’s a special girl,” He replies, eyes focused on draining the boiling water into the kitchen sink, careful to keep the noodles in tact. “But I’m not seeing her.”

“Ah, I see.” His mother nodded understandingly. “Does the special girl have a name?”

“Yeah… Y/N.” He said with a small, growing smile, and his mother noted how his expression changed just at the mere mention of you. She knew immediately, without any doubt, that her son was absolutely taken with you.

She smiled as she watched him run around the kitchen, placing the noodles back on the stove, then continuing to cook their family’s special japchae recipe for her. As content as she was with the man her son was becoming, being that he was smart, excelled in school, responsible and kind, she had always hoped he’d meet someone to make him happy. Jung Kook had spent so much of his life taking care of her, behaving just like his father, taking on the gentle protector and provider role. She hoped that he would meet a sweet girl who he could do that for, too. She knew her son too well, and recognized that he has so much more love to give.

“She must be a great girl, to catch your attention.” She chuckled, and Jung Kook’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

“Eomma, stop.” He whined like a child, causing her to laugh.

“I know it’s true, because you’re a good man, Jung Kook.” She said, watching as he tossed the noodles together with the mix of vegetables and sauce. “Just keep trying, and keep being good to her, like I know you already are. One of these days, I’m sure you’ll win her over.”

“Thanks, Eomma.” He said quietly and shyly, ending the topic by handing her a beige-colored bowl of japchae. “I hope this tastes like Appa’s.”

“Your cooking always does.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Jung Kook lifted his head from the pillow, and felt around in the dark for his ringing cellphone by his bedside. The clock said 5 a.m. on a Tuesday, several hours before his time to clock in to the firm, and Namjoon’s caller I.D. was bright on his phone screen. He answered the phone with a drowsy, “Hello?”

“Hello. My apologies for waking you, I know it’s early, but we have a situation.” Namjoon said, his words spilling out quick and panicked. “I know you’ve recused yourself from the Park case, but you’re the only one I could think of to call. I need you at the hotel he and Y/N are staying at, as soon as you can get here.”

“Wait, what?” Jung Kook said, wiping sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain when you get here, just please, be here soon, ok?”

“Ok.” Jung Kook answered before hanging up the phone.

He quickly threw together an outfit that was semi-professional, and did a quick brush of his teeth and hair, before grabbing his keys and phone, and bolting out the front door. Minutes felt like hours as he followed his map to the pinpointed location Namjoon had sent him. The city at this hour was strangely still and quiet, but his thoughts were anything but as he rushed through crosswalks and paced under street lights, thanking the universe for the lack of traffic at this time in the morning. His mind wandered, wondering what was going on, why he was called, and above everything else, are you ok?

“Jung Kook! I’m so glad you’re here.” Namjoon called for him from across the street. Jung Kook looked both ways before he dashed across the road, meeting him in front of the hotel doors. “I’ll explain while we go up to their suite, come on.”

Jung Kook matched his pace as they entered the building, quickly locating the elevator, and entering through its opened doors.

“I called you because Y/N called me.” Namjoon explained, pressing the button for their floor. “You’re from Busan, how much do you know about Jimin? What have you heard?”

“I uh, I knew his family name, like everyone does.” Jung Kook responded. “Honestly, I didn’t know anything about him until I met him.”

“Ok, well let me fill you in quickly.” Namjoon said. The elevator dinged as it stopped, and the doors opened for the men to step out and turn to the right, down the sleepy, luxurious hallway. “Rich kid heir, that much you know. He has a history of alcohol abuse that’s gotten him into some trouble, damaging his family’s reputation among other business leaders, because he’s the next in line to the company’s top position. His father told him not to get in any more trouble, or else he’d be cut off. Getting engaged to a good girl from a good family has been a great look for him. Changing from a party boy into a ‘husband-to-be’ does wonders for saving face.”

“Ok…” Jung Kook said, listening intently.

“It’s important to keep up that appearance. I’ve worked as the main attorney for the Park family for a long time now, and one thing to know about these wealthy families, is that while appearance is everything, it’s almost never true.”

“Are you saying he doesn’t love her?” Jung Kook asked, his heart racing.

“I’m not saying that. What I’m saying, is that it wasn’t enough to keep him away from the bottle. Y/N called me earlier, and she’s distraught. Something about a big fight, I couldn’t quite understand her over the phone. But it sounds like Jimin’s an absolute train wreck right now, and the last thing I need is for my high profile client and his fiancé to have a public blow out in a five star hotel, right before I'm about to argue that he can't be held liable for his bullshit.”

“So why am I here?”

“Personal back up.” Namjoon said, as they pause at the door. “It’s clear that she trusts you, so you’re on my DIY crisis team until we figure this out.”

Namjoon knocked gently on the door, his demeanor changing from stern and focused, to delicate, matching the tone of the situation. Jung Kook could hear muffled cries behind the door, and all he wanted to do was to barge in, wrap you up in his arms, and take you as far away from this as he could. But he steadied his breath, needing to be a calm presence for you.

“Y/N, are you ok?” Namjoon asked softly, moving his ear towards the door. “It’s Namjoon, and Jung Kook’s here, too.”

“Y-Yeah.” You stuttered, a little hiccup to your voice. “O-One minute, please, Mr. Kim. I’ll be right there.”

“We’ll be right here at the door, ok?” He said, a frown plastered on his face as he looked at Jung Kook, who seemed equally, if not more so, concerned.

A few, long moments later, the two men heard the click of the lock, and then met the attention of the woman who was standing at the barely-opened door. You were dressed in a pink silk night gown, bare feet on the hardwood floors, and your hair was wet as you seemingly just exited the shower. But your face screamed that you were tired, like you hadn’t slept a wink before they arrived. Dark circles under your eyes, and dropping lids. Your skin dull, and cheeks red.

“Y/N,” Jung Kook said, heart break evident in his voice. “Can we come in?”

You nodded, and stepped to the side so they could enter. The luxury, executive suite had been turned upside down. Your clothes were scattered everywhere, across furniture and on the floor, mixed together with empty bottles of varieties of alcohol. As Namjoon walked through the suite, examining the damage, taking note of Jimin’s broken iPhone on the floor of the bedroom, Jung Kook made his way over to you. You slowly moved around the living room, attempting to clean up the mess.

“I’m s-sorry, he’s not usually like this.” You explained in the smallest voice Jung Kook had ever heard. You collected garments from your wardrobe in your arms. “He’s always so sweet, y’know? He’s so good, he’s just dealing with stress and I…I..”

“Y/N.” Jung Kook cut you off from your rambling. Before even having time to realize what he was doing, his body took over to come in close to you and take your hand in his, making you drop your clothes to the floor. This was not how he wanted to hold your hand for the first time, but you needed someone there to steady you. “Come sit with me. Please.”

You nodded, and followed him to the couch without letting go of his hand. Jung Kook, in that moment, felt like safety. He felt like a breath of fresh air, just as you were just about to suffocate. Your mind was quick to self-soothe, telling you, Jung Kook’s here. He’ll make it better. You weren’t sure why, chalking it up to a lack of sleep, but you truly believed that. He'll make it better.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Jung Kook asked, as delicately as he could. His thumb caressed your hand, trying to provide you with any comfort he could.

“I… I wanted to leave.” You said quietly, looking down, unable to meet Jung Kook’s eyes. “He woke up, and-and started drinking again, and I….” You choked up, needing a moment, but tears were already flowing. “I love him, but I can’t watch him do this to himself. So I told him I was leaving, and he got so angry that he took the clothes that I was trying to pack, and threw them everywhere. Then I got upset, and I said I wanted to call Mr. Kim, b-because I knew he would help him. But Jimin didn’t like that, so he broke his phone...he threw it against the bedroom wall, t-to break it, to keep me from finding the number. But I was able to find Mr. Kim’s number anyways when Jimin fell asleep again. He’s just so tired, y’know? He just needs to rest, so he’ll be happy again, but I didn’t know what else to do, so I called…”

“I’m glad you did.” Jung Kook said, his eyes locked on you. Listening to you try to take care of Jimin, despite how much he hurts you, shattered his heart. You deserve so much better than this, angel. Jung Kook thought to himself. “I- We, Mr. Kim and I, are always going to help you when you need us, ok? Never be afraid to call.”

Namjoon stepped out of the bedroom, his jaw clenched in frustration, trying to keep his professional composure.

“Mr. Park is asleep.” He said, his eyes glancing to the way Jung Kook held your hand, but seeing how you’ve settled, he decided against commenting. “Ms. Y/L/N, how are you?”

“I’m ok.” You mumbled. “I told Jung Kook what happened… But, I called because I wanted to ask if you could help me, Mr. Kim.”

“Yes, of course.” Namjoon said. “We’ll clean this up, don’t worry.”

"Thank you, but I actually needed help with something a bit more… legal?” You explained, and Jung Kook felt the way you gripped his hand, as though absentmindedly using him to support yourself. “Is there any possibility that we can defer Jimin’s court date, so that he can seek treatment?”

“You’re asking that your fiancé spends some time in rehab?” Namjoon asks to confirm, and you nod.

“I think it would be for the best. Last night was… scary, if I’m being honest with you, Mr. Kim.” You said, gripping Jung Kook’s hand once again. “He would never physically hurt me, please don’t misunderstand. I just haven’t seen him lose his temper like that, or drink in such an extreme way before. I don’t see how he can sit in a court room and properly handle himself right now.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Namjoon sighed. “Ok, Ms. Y/L/N. Between us, I have some pull with this judge, as I’ve worked in his courtroom several times. I’ll make some calls, and see what I can do. But will you do something for me?”

“What is it?”

“I want you to separate from Jimin for a while. This isn’t legal advice, and please forgive me for stepping out of line into personal business, but I just… I’m worried about you.”

“I am, too.” Jung Kook spoke up, earning a look from Namjoon.

“I’m not sure where I’d go…”

“We can help you move to a different hotel for the time being.” Namjoon offered. “Something nice, so you’re able to have some space.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Kim. I’d rather not be alone right now…”

“Then stay with me.”

You and Namjoon both set your attention on Jung Kook. The words slipped from his lips before he had time to catch them, and now they floated in the air, waiting for a response of any kind.

“Mr. Jeon, I’m not sure that’s appropriate.” Namjoon said sternly.

“I’m not involved in this case professionally.” Jung Kook pushed back, before turning his attention to you. “I’m here as a friend. Y/N, I have a guest room that… honestly, may not be as big as what you’d like, but you won’t have to be alone. Please, just let me do this for you.”

Namjoon didn’t like the hopeful tone of his colleague’s voice, or the line this was potentially crossing, but with your reservations about being alone, and his worry over keeping you with Jimin, he wasn’t sure he had a better option.

“Ok.” You responded, the small smile on your lips being the first you’ve had in many hours. “That sounds nice, Jung Kook. Thank you.”

“Any time.” He responded, sounding relieved.

“Let me grab some of my things, and I’ll meet you at the door.” You said, grabbing a handful of clothes from the floor and going to the bedroom to grab your bag.

Namjoon shot Jung Kook a knowing look from across the room, with eyebrows raised and arms crossed.

“I’m trusting you.” Namjoon told him as soon as he knew you weren’t listening. “Don’t let that be a mistake by being a fucking idiot.”

“I won’t.” Jung Kook said, sure of himself and of the situation.

A few silent moments passed before you were standing at the door with a weekender bag in hand. Jung Kook gave Namjoon a nod as he got off the couch and walked over to you, taking your bag to carry for you, and opening the door for you to exit out of the hotel suite.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #the law of attraction #lawyer!jungkook #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fic

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backtothefanfiction · 1 year ago

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Sleeping at Saltburn: Felix’s Room

Summary: It’s your first night back for the summer, but Felix has a guest. How will this affect your sleeping arrangements.

Warnings: none, fluff

A/N: this kind of predates the other sleeping at Saltburn story. The incident with Felix going to your room happens later the same week.

Summers at Saltburn Masterlist

You always fought before you both went back to your separate schools and you always made up when you came back; but the fight you’d had at the end of last summer, because of Michael, was the worst. It was so bad you hadn’t come back to Saltburn during any of the other school holidays, opting to stay at your Uni accommodation instead. But you couldn’t avoid going back for the summer. You had convinced yourself it would be fine, that the two of you would talk and make up like you always did and the events of last summer would just become a part of the past. However when Farleigh picked you up from the train station and told you Felix had brought another friend home, it only cemented the niggling thought in your mind more that things between you and Felix would forever be different now.

He only confirmed it even more when you had both crept away to talk things out so things wouldn’t be awkward for everyone else in the house. “Can we just forget about last summer and just be friends?” He’d said.

Just be friends. To hear that phrase killed you.

You kept thinking it over as you tossed and turned in your bed that night. That bed you always shared with Felix. Even when you were arguing, you still shared a bed with Felix; had done ever since you first stayed over at 8 years old. The old house had freaked you out with its winding corridor’s, creepy painting and suits of armour. It had so much history, so many ghosts. You could feel them in the shadows of the rooms. Their soft treads creeping along the carpet behind you down the halls.

When he’d noticed how afraid you were, Felix had offered for you to sleep with him in his room. He was always there to protect you from the monsters.

But now you were alone, lying in a bed that felt far too big for just one person, far too cold and drafty due to the old and large architecture, a soft summer nighttime breeze whistling down the chimney stack and echoing off the fireplace and around your far too silent room. You needed his warmth, the soft rhythm of his sleepy breaths.

Before you knew it you’d grabbed your robe and started making your way across the second floor landing towards his room. You didn’t knock. You could hear his steady breaths coming from under the gap of the door and didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to risk rejection, him telling you to grow up and fuck off. So you instead quietly crept inside.

Although the bed was as large as your own, Felix wasn’t sprawled out across the middle of it. Even though you had every intention of sleeping apart, his body still slept on his side of the bed, the only thing stretching out to your side of the bed- his arm. It lay just at the base of your pillow, the perfect position to rest between your head and neck once you’d nestled down into the pillow.

You lifted the sheets and shifted yourself carefully beneath them, not wanting to disturb him too much, but given his arm placement, you knew it was unavoidable. You shimmied your body down slightly in order to better lie on the empty pillow next to him and the steady rhythm of his breathing stuttered, a small curious humming coming from his lips.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You quietly explained as you got yourself into a comfortable position on your side. You felt his arm shift to get comfortable, now tucked under your pillow. He paused, waiting a moment to make sure you were settled before he shuffled closer to your body, his arm reaching to rest over your hip, his head shuffling to the edge of the pillow to breathe in your scent on the back of your neck.

“I know.” He quietly whispered into your skin before pulling you back into him tighter and falling back to sleep.

You feel asleep not long after.

#felix catton fluff #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton #saltburn imagines #saltburn x reader #summers at saltburn #sleeping at Saltburn

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roseyswords · 3 months ago

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An analysis of Mastermind (the Song)

Now this is gonna focus primarily on Stolas's perspective throughout this whole song. Not that I think Blitzø or Satan's parts are less interesting they're just more straightforward than the rest of it and I don't think I can expound on them that much.

So first we have Stolas using societies already baked in prejudices against imps to immediately square away the idea that Blitzø could be to blame for the whole thing. And you'll notice that when he's doing this he's putting on the same persona that he used in Circus when he got Blitzø out of trouble with his security guards. The act of a haughty Prince that is taking responsibility for an imp. It's a bit of a go to for him.

Then he starts building up the idea of a Mastermind whose actually behind it all that just using Blitzø for nefarious purposes. I also want to point out the look on Ozzie's face here because it is expressing exactly what I was thinking when I first watched this which was " what the fuck are you going on about Stolas?"

But if you notice something that I'll talk about a bit more later he's not saying he's the Mastermind at this point. He's just talking about a vague Boogeyman esque mastermind here.

Then he goes on to detail what killing Blitzø like this would mean in Hell. First he's doubling down on how lowly he is, meaning he couldn't possibly have done it and that he is clearly just a scapegoat. Basically telling them that doing so won't solve anything. But then next he says that it would "light a fire in the hearts of his race" which as we see afterwards, it did. This whole song stoked massive support for Blitzø and if we remember resulted in the first time in history where an imp sentenced with death got away and survived.

Fuck it! I am the Mastermind. There is the briefest moment here where Stolas closes his eyes and thinks. Right before he says Fuck It. I don't think Stolas had fully cemented on the idea of taking the blame himself until this point. I think this is the point where he realized he can't back down from this, he can't just make up a Mastermind he has to be the Mastermind. I think he has this sort of as the plan the whole time but that he was also giving himself a bit of an out before by being vague. He could have said he was the Mastermind the entire song but this was the moment he started taking full ownership of the title.

I have no regrets/ I have regrets. Publically Stolas is saying that he has no regrets about the whole scheme that he used Blitzø for. But then we immediately go into private mode where Stolas is having some regrets and second thoughts about doing this. He says " why am I throwing my life away for this idiot?" He doesn't like doing this but he's going to anyway.

And he decides to do it because the alternative is Blitzø dying. And that is too horrible of a fate for him to bear. Stolas probably also feels actual responsibility for the whole situation because he made the deal to let Blitzø use the book knowing it was illegal. So if he can do anything to let Blitzø live, this is it and he's gotta do it. So then we get to

I am the Mastermind, the master of my faith. No looking back, we're doubling down. Full on. So much of Stolas arc as a character is culminating in this moment. For so long he has just been a puppet in other peoples plans. He has never been in charge of his own life but now he is the master behind his own decisions and steering his own fate. Even if it's at his own detriment. He sings about how much he loves Blitzø and death itself is the only thing that can break them. He is resolved to this fate and he's taking it head on.

There are so many fucking layers to this episode, it's a gift that keeps on giving. It's my favorite episode containing my favorite Helluva Boss song. I hope you enjoyed this attempt at a breakdown I did.

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #stolitz #blitzø #stolas #Mastermind #mastermind spoilers #song analysis

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ihaveforgortoomany · 6 months ago

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Reverse 1999 and the Nature of Tragedy: Analysis on how the tragic structure is used and potentially why (spoilers for Chapters 2,3 and 6 mainly)

Reverse 1999 loves tragic characters, we don't go any patch without suffering. Here Im going to explore how the tragic structure in literature is presented in the game through at least three main story chapters.

Tender is the Night (although I have covered aspects already in previous Chapter Two analysis)

Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien

E Lucevan le Stelle

What is Tragedy?

Tragedy is often described as a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character (thank you Oxford Languages)

Yes this is common knowledge but the core to a tragic narrative is the inescapability on the tragic ending - the way I usually describe tragdies is like a cake no matter how you slice it, it is either too sweet or stale and never a perfect bite.

Tragedy in Tender is the Night

This will be short as I have analysis on the chapter in previous posts so here will be specific bits. Schneider here can be considered the tragic character as she ultimately gets taken by the storm, while I don't consider her to have a traditional tragic flaw the status as a human pretending to be a arcanist does doom her character. She is denied by the Foundation/ the Chicago Branch so attempts to find safety in the Manus by lying that she was adopted into the Greco family, however likely Manus had captured Mariam and after being tortured by them reveals Schneider's identity.

Throughout Chapter Two there is a moments of false hope that she might be saved, somehow surviving multiple bullets (I mean really she was shot so many times arcane healing must do wonders) . It is only the very end to we realise Schneider was never going to survive (gameplay does trick us as well since we can play as her in the boss fight of Ch.1 and for some reason still in the final tutorial stage which I only found out at lvl 40 when I wanted clear drops lol).

Tragedy in Chapter Three

A large part in tragedy is the helplessness the audience feels at being aware of all events yet unable to prevent events from happening. We get the perspective of Constantine setting up the conditions for the Breakaway attempt to occur on the day of the Storm, even making us watch chess board style how Vertin and her friends are lured into a trap. Tragic characters do not need to experience a literal death, as Vertin could be considered the tragic heroine here, her hubris being the hope and desire for the outside world that led her to attempt to leave SPDM. Ofc she doesn't die but her actions result in the reversal of her friends and cementing her role as the Timekeeper.

The point of no return could be seen in the children choosing to escape on an earlier date, unable to see the scheming and manipulation of Constantine to create loopholes the children view as opportunities to escape rather than a trap.

Tragedy in Chapter Six

This is a big one as operas and plays tend to be tragedies themselves. Isokania is a tragic relationship as both Isolde and Kakania regardless if they lived each other were doomed from the start: being an unethical doctor and patient relationship, Kakania not being a licensed doctor therefore completely misjudging her patient's wellbeing, Isolde's own mental instability, dangers of her arcane powers, the history of her family ... the list goes on. Even if they ended up together they would not truly be happy.

Isolde is a tragic character, other than being a reference to Tosca, she is doomed by the nature of the arcane power and the nature of her family. A family own for misfortune as a result of their arcane skills (her sister dying at age 3 to a seance) + the social pressures of being an upper class woman in the 1910s.

Book six having a reference to 'A Streetcar named Desire?'

So we already know Book Six reference multiple tragic operas such as Tosca but I want to suggest the final chapter in this patch potential makes reference to a 1940s tragic play called "A Streetcar Named Desire".

(This is a stretch since Tennesse Williams published the play in the 1940s not the 1910s)

So. In this scene Kakania attempts to interrogate Isolde on the nature of The Salvation, to confront the fact that she was the co-creator to the painting, the fire was caused by Theophil who hoped to end both his and his sister's suffering but was shot by Isolde instead.

It is notable that Isolde repeatedly asks for the lights in the room to be turned down, refusing to look at the truth in the painting. While we could just view this standalone I think we could make a guess or suggestion that this scene is meant to reference another tragedy.

(Maybe there is an older tragic play that employs a similar scene but Ive only studied this one, someone can tell me in comments)

A Streetcar Named Desire sees a fading Southern Belle Blanche Dubois move into New Orleans with her sister Stella and her husband Stanley effectively as a last resort, her past is filled with "leaky roofs" and instability with sleeping with men to survive, alongside the destruction of the Old South leads to her to seek refuge with her only surviving family.

She almost finds salvation here, finding love in an ordinary man named Mitch. However this is a tragedy. Late into the play Stanley, Stella's husband confronts Blanche on her lies about her past, putting a light to her deception in order to reinforce is own authority over the house. Eventually succeeding in sending Blanche to a mental hostpital (Im summarising a play, I may miss other details and this is long)

And what about Isolde? Like Blanche she is forced to confront the truth she had tried to repress in her memory, remember in a previous seesion with Kakania the detail that she shot Theophil with intent (again who allowed her a gun and who taught her? I guess she can channel the spirit of a sharpshooter?) is omitted, similar to how Blanche in the play distorts the truth with lie, the "what SHOULD be true" could be viewed as Isolde making the world her stage, everything as a performance that never ends.

The idea of having to confront the truth of events being forced into the light is similar to Blanche's reoccurring motif of bring adverse to strong light, revealing all her flaws. However the person forcing them to see the truth is different, where Kakania acts out of a determination to right her wrongs and find the Storm Immunity Ritual to save everyone, Stanley (similar to Mr Karl) acts out of self preservation and malice.

Here's the big one: why does Reverse 1999 employ so much tragedy?

Tragedies are usually employed as a message to the audience, a commentary on the state of the world about people/ individual facing the impossible force of society, its expections and its demand for conformity.

There can be many answers, we still have more chapters to explore the narratives of this game but so far it seems Reverse 1999 wants to tell a story about overcoming adversity, to not be defined by others or your past, to "beat onboard boats against the current" (see what I did there?) even if the odds are surmountable. It is a struggle for both the truth and the future even if the odds are against you.

(This is giant speculation, nothing concrete but yeah feed the brainrot)

(We could analyse each 'focus character' of each patch because I think they generally follow this theme but that's alot, the game is still updating and i have uni soon so)

#ramblings #reverse 1999 #vertin #analysis #tragedy #isolde #schneider #idk what else here lol #dont take this as gospel but the ramblings of the brainrot #Im open to any interpretations ppl have #this game is fun to disect #hi

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