#it would cement them in history as a MOMENT

[slythereen]

if charles really left for rbr and ferrari tried to paint him as a villain... imagine the mess. the drama. the way red bull would engage with it all, making charles and max the anti-heroes of the grid. they'd milk their reputation era to the fullest, i have to admit we would have peak entertainment on our hands

RED BULL WOULD EAT THAT SHIT UP

like. i think about this daily. red bull is the perfect team to defect to, especially if your defection is going to be controversial as hell regardless of where you go. like sure, that's their biggest rival, that makes it spicy...

but rbr is already the villain on the grid. they are unapologetically messy and ruthless. they cause problems on main and laugh about it. red bull the brand is all about the adrenaline of being the best, so good you're hated for it. red bull racing takes that one step further with their history of having extremely talented and extremely hated drivers. they have a tp like christian who will throw down for them and shade their enemies in the press without a second thought. they let helmut marko just wander around unsupervised. they encourage the second driver drama and rumors, even if they pretend not to. they send their junior academy drivers out into an arena to see who survives the blood bath. i love them but they are fuckin deranged (on purpose) and it works for them bc that's the brand.

so if you're going to "betray" a team when you're charles leclerc and the team is ferrari and you are basically the biggest love story in f1 ever... you should pick the team that will make it such a fucking scene that ppl will only remember it fondly for the entertainment of it all. and the team that won't pussyfoot around and act apologetic when ppl get mad about it (cough, mercedes).

[mswyrr]

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.

[igotanidea]

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

[max-nico]

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 🩷🩷

[p123apples]

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.

[jexnkookie]

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. 

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. 

[backtothefanfiction]

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.

[twilightspinkyfinger]

Bodyguard

This work is a part of my Hyrule Historian AU, for more information, check out my masterlist.

Although you had picked up some self-defense skills from Wild during your adventure together, being with the chain and traveling between the various eras of Hyrule still proved to be particularly dangerous for you.

As a historian, you were by no shock of the imagination not as talented in battle and the art of war as the men you were traveling with.

You had gotten used to avoiding the monsters of your own era and had picked up on some of their weak spots by studying Wild during his fights, but every new era led to new monsters for you to encounter.

At first, this fact of life was extremely exciting for you, as it itched that special part of your brain that craved knowledge. Not only could you study the history of Hyrule firsthand, but you could also study the monsters of these eras as well and expand upon your understanding of these creatures. You would jot down any finding after each battle in your journal.

However, soon you began to dread the monsters that would appear in each new location. You did very little learning of the eras you were in before a new portal would boot you to the next one, and with every time jump you were left in fear of the monsters that would soon find you.

You were rarely skilled enough to kill the monsters on your own, and sometimes the portals led to you getting separated from the rest of the chain. Other times the chain was too preoccupied in their own battles to keep you out of yours.

You of course never blamed the boys when this sort of thing would happen to you, but it did leave you with a pit of anxiety in your chest every time you entered a different part of Hyrule's history. The scars you had gained while being with the chain helped to cement this fear of the unknown and the damage it could inflict inside of your mind.

From the very beginning of your journey, Time and the rest of the chain established that your safety came above any of their own. After all, you were not a Hero of Courage like the rest of them, you were just a historian. A civilian who garnered their protection.

At first, you minorly protested this rule as you had been able to hold your own for the most part during your adventure with Wild back on your own Hyrule, however as the monsters and scenery continued to change around you and you had one too many close calls you quickly gave way to their rule.

In fact, the chain even decided to elect a member to become your official bodyguard in battle, someone who would travel beside you and hopefully be there to protect you from harm. The responsibility of the bodyguard did not fall onto any particular member of the chain, rather they took turns.

Once the bodyguard rule was established, you began to get closer to the various members of the chain. It also helped that at this point your travelling companions had realized that you and Wild were not in a romantic relationship.

The boys would also take turns trying to teach you new skills to protect yourself in the event that you would be forced to protect yourself. However, your body was not as used to the constant traveling and the little amount of sleep and nutrition you were getting. This circumstance led to you spending most of your free time recuperating and resting rather than training and preparing for battle.

You enjoyed being around all the members of the chain, but of course, you always had a couple favorites that you would look forward to spending every waking breathing moment with for however long the shift as your bodyguard lasted. Wild being your best friend before any of this mess started was definitely high on that list.

At the end of the day, you were just grateful for the extra layer of protection the boys gave you, even if they were the reason you were in most of the dangerous scenarios that you found yourself in. But these were some of your best friends, they were your family, and you wouldn't change that for the world.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

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)

[opencommunion]

"On the 34th day at last you go on down to rediscover the suburbs and the villages of the south, and you see just how deceptive and lying the photographs have been. A picture can only convey the surface of things. There is no meaning to destruction without the experience of the sound of feet crunching on top of the rubble. There is no meaning to the rubble without the stench of gunpowder blending with the smells of decaying corpses, cement, and iron. And there is no meaning to the smell without the feeling that everything is sand, sand becoming more sand. Those who saw the images of Lebanese devastation on their TV screens, in the Arab world, and in the rest of the world, and then cried or cursed or swore or became upset—really they did not see anything at all. Believe me, my friends, you are living in the delusion that you have seen, but you have not seen. The eye alone does not see—despite the fact that the eye is the torch of the body, as the prophets proclaimed. Human beings see with all of their limbs, organs, and senses. With all of these we confront the unknown, and when the unknown comes to us we become part of it.

I saw, though, and I became part of this horizon covered in ruin. In the Dahiyeh, I saw people wandering about looking for their places. Even more difficult to endure than losing one’s home is losing the capacity to identify the road to one’s home. I saw people’s eyes darting from side to side, searching for a familiar place in the rubble. These were people who had lost any recognition of the features of the streets and the places they knew, people who were no longer able to determine where their home might have been, or even where the road to it might be.

It was a mix of terror and bewilderment. The place had simply abandoned the people, and it had become featureless. Without any signs or indications to go by, memory seemed about to disintegrate as well. At this moment I recalled Palestine. Harder to bear than the Israeli occupation and suffering eviction from one’s home has been the aggression against the place, and the modification of its features through demolition. The souls of the dead flee to their places and spread their shadows over the homes, their perfume mingling with the scent of flowers in the meadows. What would the souls of the dead say today, wandering amid the ruins? Do the Israelis over there in Palestine, or those who are right here, in Lebanon, know that they have been unable to win more than the curses of the dead?

But Palestine only comes to light in southern Lebanon: the ruin of the Lebanese Galilee is embraced by the ruin of the Palestinian Galilee. These are the slopes of the soul that lead you to God. In the south I discovered the fields of lemon trees that stretch from Saida to the horizon’s end, and I breathed the perfume of the orange blossom, the flower that is in its transformation like nothing so much as the silkworm. The silkworm fashions its silk before it becomes a moth. But here the white moth that spreads out on the branches of the trees transforms itself into a fruit, the fruit that gave its name to the 'orange' in European languages. And from the perfume of the naranj we come to the boisterous guffaw of history that you hear reverberating in the Beaufort crusader castle. Today nothing remains of those franj crusaders apart from their fortress, which has become the practically invincible fortification of the resistance. Just as we wrote our graffiti on its walls in the seventies, so they write on them today. But the dogged irony of history does not appear quite so clearly here as it does in the destroyed villages beyond the fortress. In Bint Jbeil, Aita al Shaab, Siddiquine, and Aitaroun—there you see how closely the destruction and devastation coheres and binds with the will to resist and with the will to remain steadfast on one’s land. You can see how the trembling, shimmering pulverized dust hanging in the air becomes a voice that immerses itself in silence, and then produces it. There, the sloping hills stretch out and carry you to a horizon that seems to be embracing the souls of the dead, and you feel that you have been cast into an endlessly circular path."

Elias Khoury, "Meditations Upon Destruction" (2006)

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam as made-up facts

Dick: The biggest biohazard in public swimming pools isn't the kid that peed in it, but rather the body oil from all the swimmers accumulating over time. Not only is oil not neutralized by pool chemicals such as chlorine, but it also floats to the surface and is the first thing you make contact with when you jump in the water. This is why a lot of public pools ask people to shower beforehand.

Jason: Making new memories is simply the process of our brains creating and reinforcing new neural connections. Traumatic or impactful events see denser myelination in the hippocampus (brain's memory center) and it's theorized that when we die and our "life flashes before our eyes," there's more activity in those denser regions leading to more vivid images of those moments.

Tim: Klondike's Equation is one of the lesser-known unsolved mysteries in math. It's a branch of calculus that takes Olivar's Laws of four-dimensional derivatives and creates a paradoxal equation by which the right half of it cannot be fully written if the left half is unsolved, but the left half needs values from the right in order to be computed.

Damian: The oldest interactive/roleplaying game dates back to the ancient Sumerians, according to records. It consisted of a theater of clay puppets that the audience would chime in with how they should act. It was often performed at bars or taverns during holidays with stories themed around mythical deities or fables.

Duke: In 1982, Bill Watterson brought to Archie Comics a standalone concept of a child hero and a sentient animal companion. However, he was rejected in favor of the up-and-coming Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles story. After shopping around at companies and getting lots of rejections, Watterson finally found his big break with Andrews McMeel Publishing, cementing his place in comic history with the cult classic Calvin and Hobbes.

Cullen: The smallest readable book ever made is 12 nanometers long by 8 nanometers wide. It was engineered by four particle physics grad students at the University of Vienna and contains the first passage of the Bible across six microscopic pages.

Stephanie: Most aerosol cans use both oxygen and carbon dioxide as the aerosolizing agent, which is why you're told never to spray them near an open flame. However, for food (like whipped cream or spray cheese), nitrogen is used instead. This is to prevent perishable food from oxidizing and for preservation as nitrogen helps maintain a cooler inner temperature.

Cassandra: The most plausible explanation for the legendary chupacabra was proposed by a team of anthropologists in Oaxaca. Essentially, it combines the theories of mass hysteria with the existence of a similar creature that went extinct in early Mesoamerican history. As accounts of this now-extinct creature was passed down, the image of it was slowly distorted. The modern chupacabra legend likely arose in a period of mass hysteria during political and economical insecurity.

Barbara: Traditional computer programs can be broken down into a series of if-then commands by which a condition is given and the program must respond according to the parameters. However, machine learning algorithms use an expanded version of this, known colloquially as if-then-but-because-however. The "if-then" stipulates the parameters, the "but" is for modifiers, the "because" is for generating explanations (usually pulled from a database of other works unfortunately), and the "however" is for exceptions that may rise over the course of running the program.

Harper: Ambidextrous people actually struggle the most when it comes to the drums. Most drum setups and tabs (sheet music) are designed with right-handedness as a default. Left-handed people can simply flip it around it for themselves. However, ambidextrous players have been found to struggle with the asymmetry of the instrument. That's why, among professional rock drummers, only 6% are ambidextrous compared to the 18% of lefties and 76% of righties.

Carrie: Although it feels like our lungs are burning after holding our breath for a while, the sensation actually originates from our inflated diaphragm pressing against our lungs. Since there are more nerve endings around our lungs than our diaphragm, we interpret the feeling higher than where it actually occurs.

Kate: During the war of 1812, a group of nine Canadian men known as the False Damsels donned women's attire to act as spies against the Americans. Of the nine, four of them reportedly continued crossdressing after the war and one of them started going by Margaret a few months later and remained unmarried for 20 years until they moved to Portugal with an unknown courter.

Alfred: In 1757, the British government attempted to train livestock, such as cows and chickens, to spy on domestic threats (such as anti-monarchists). However, this project never took off due to a regional outbreak of avian flu combined with the takeoff of the Industrial Revolution and new inventions that rendered animal labor obsolete.

Selina: Coffees and wines contain a bitter compound called tannins, and the ability to taste them is genetically determined. Capsaicin can be seen analogously. Some people inherit a gene that allows them to detect capsaicin fully, so when they eat a pepper, all they get is the heat and little to no flavor. Conversely, others have a gene where the heat is "muted" and they can better distinguish the flavors between two spicy foods.

Bruce: There is a correlation between one's taste in food and expectation of others. According to a 2019 Harvard study, people who reported preferring more simultaneous flavors in their food were 26% harsher in an activity where they had to grade students' mock essays.

[merp-blerp]

Honestly, the beardings don't bother me much ever. I don't know if it's just because I'm new or what, but they kind of just roll off my back. I guess I've just... cemented it in my head that it's just a business thing, likely, and that Taylor doesn't have to come out ever if that's what she wants (I believe she wants to come out). More bearding moments will come up, that's expected, but that doesn't mean they're suddenly the truth. I personally don't think they are. TK kissing Taylor with a camera shoved in their faces doesn't sway me, it makes me more confident that it's fake because love's not for show to Taylor. Ms. "I would die for you in secret", Ms. "They got no idea about me and you", Ms "older guys, just playthings for me to use" etc. At most, it felt it's most upsetting for me when she changed the Karma lyrics—that was a bit much. But TK yapping about how "happy" he is with her for some reason doesn't get to me. Is that weird? Should it? Joe and Taylor were "happy" too before they "broke up". I mean, Karlie's seemingly pretending to be married with kids to a guy, that's arguably worse (I believe Kar's kids are indeed real and hers, don't get started on assumptions with me, hetlors).

What gets me are hetlor and actual pieces against gaylor. The backlash to the New York Times article legitimately saddened me. To see so many people, especially queer people, ignore/forget/be unaware of the queer history of speculating on others sexuality was really rough; especially when it's still a thing! I see femme sapphics online talk about wanting to express queerness without telling people their sexuality so that other queers can spot them all the time! News flash: that requires speculation, that thing that's apparently so disgusting! And to see the conversation of it be so trivialized as "Don't out people!" or "Don't be gross!" when strangers can't out strangers through speculation and there's nothing gross about queerness. Especially with how mainstream the discourse became—it was upsetting to not be able to get away from it.

BTW, I understand it gets really annoying to see bearding. You're fully valid if it makes you upset, I'm just saying my feelings.

[centrally-unplanned]

VOR: Hitler and Stalin

They are both S-tier, you can't touch the greats. The thing that set both of them apart is how much more radical they were then virtually everyone else around. The Nazi party was a rotating door of factional hanger-ons that Hitler brought into the room, used, and then dusted the moment they quaked or deviated. Time and again when cementing power other faction leaders went "surely, he won't-" and then the fucker did and put a bullet in their brain to make sure they got the message. He called the bluff of his military, his party ranks, and the governments of Britain and France on more than one occasion and annexed nations and stunned the world for his trouble. The guy fucking cheated death, more than once - he has no VOR because he cannot be replaced. He is certainly in the running for the most impactful political leader of all time, nothing is the same without him. Your feed is 80% discourse about the Gaza Strip today because of him, you live in his world.

Stalin is the same, and in particular what I want to emphasize is that the history of the USSR is not, at all, the history of dictatorship. Lenin was during the insurrection, but once it was a governing body he played that card way less, and by his death it was a full party oligarchy. And it would be that after Stalin too. That was the status quo and everyone pretty-much expected it to stay that way when Lenin died. We all rule together. Stalin had other ideas, and to make sure you understood his point he executed 700,000 political dissidents in three years. If you look at debates in the Soviet bodies in ~1925, its really obvious no one had this on their radar. Bukharin and Trotsky and Khalinin had no plan for this. Even people like Beria, specifically elevated by Stalin and widely hated at the start as bloody barbarians, would pivot-switch the moment Stalin died and start asking "what the fuck we were all doing exactly?" while emptying the gulags.

The USSR would have had totalitarian social structures, don't confuse me here. But the gap between Stalin & Xi Jinping is orders of magnitude, they aren't comparable. The USSR had many Xi Jinping's, it had many Lenin's. It only had one Stalin.

[f4iry-bell]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 | 4

pairing: jameson hawthorne x nerd/goodgirl!reader.

summary: who would have guessed taking an unwanted picture of her could lead to that tense moment? more than that, who would have thought it would get his attention to make a deal? and guys like him drain a person inside out when are interested in you.

series taglist: @clarissaweasley-10 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @elysianwayy77 @lyra-kane @bewitchingkisses @zenikswaffleshop @off-to-the-r4ces @jamcarven

permanent taglist: @clarissaweasley-10 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @elysianwayy77

warning: a bit of angst

word count: 934??

a/n: sort of a filler chapter. kinda mark their spot. that's all

← part 3 | masterlist | series masterlist

Her mind was running the phrase ‘what the hell just happened’ repeatedly as she went back to her dorm. Jameson usually drops her off or walks her to her dorm which she appreciated but this time, he just stood there for her to leave. It is very unlikely for him to just walk back all by herself since he loved annoying her at any given moment. Maybe he wouldn't have let her walk all by herself if they were off campus, he wouldn't, right?

She thought Jameson was just struck by shock of the sudden close proximity in the library, and would have gotten over it by now. I mean, how many girls has he been that close with? It is not new for him. But it was not like they were sharing an intimate moment. So, why the hell is he ghosting her completely? She couldn't find him in any of the classes they shared together, or in the campus. She finally decided to text him three days after the incident.

— Are we doing something today?

She sent it without overthinking, nothing happened. Why is he ghosting her? She thought maybe she DID do something. Maybe it was the question, she was so stupid. But she also wanted to stop fretting over this because all of this worries over a boy who can't say what he actually means?

She let the text be, not bothering whether or not he replied. I guess that is the tale of her and Jameson. A tale of nothingness, and stupidity, maybe some adrenaline. But just as she thought it's over, she got a text from him.

— Meet me.

— Where? 

— You know where.

She hated herself for knowing where he meant, she has talked about it with him quite a few times. It's sort of their place, well kind of. Although they've only been there once, it was an unforgettable experience for her. 

He was already waiting for her, sitting there on the cement railing looking over the view. Once he noticed her presence behind him he held out his hand for her to come, and sit with him. She reluctantly took his hand, and sat. Both of them ignored the chills that went up when their hands touched.

There was a minute of silence before Jameson broke it. “So, since you were so into the games last time. I thought I would bring you Hawthorne Chess. And given your history as a chess nerd you probably have friends who are chess nerds.”

She blinked in utter confusion.

“You know? People who play chess like it's their pleasure?”

She blinked again. “Sorry?”

“Hawthorne Chess requires eight people. But of course for you to play it, you have to complete a mini quest”

She scoffed. She forced herself to not hold onto his shoulder while she threw her legs back to stand on the road, she dusted her back, and started to walk.

“Wait, wait! What the hell?” Jameson gently grabbed her arms.

Which she jerked away from. “I should be asking that!”

“You're mad?”

“No, Jameson. I'm on cloud 9. Why don't you join me?”

“I don't understand—”

“You ghosted me for three days after dismissing me like I'm beneath you, and should just follow whatever you say.”

“It wasn't like that, come on.”

“Oh, yeah?!” Her eyes widened. “Well it was for me. And now I thought you'd apologise or something but then you're going on about some stupid quest, and game?”

Jameson stood there quietly and let her just yell at him, he knows he deserves it.

“You just can't take things seriously, can you?” She added. “You know, you've helped me enough. Enough of the games, heights, everything. Enough of you. Thank you , and goodbye.”

His silence broke. “It was my way of apologising.”

“It sucks. And is not a proper apology if you're marking me do quest before I can play your stupid game.”

“I- Look, I'm sorry. Is that enough? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No. I want you to be sorry. Not just say it.”

“I am! Or I wouldn't have made a quest of my own.” He explained.

She sighed. “Okay. But still my decision is made. Our deal is done.”

“No, no, no. We still have a lot to do.”

“I think I have enough content to write about. I'm serious, I'm not just saying because I'm mad.”

“But…”

“But what? Why do you still want to do it? Why don't you just go back to your friends and leave this stupid nerd alone.”

“You're not a stupid nerd, Y/n. Nerds aren't stupid.” he joked 

She rolled her eyes. “Just leave me.”

“I like your company. You are scared of heights but you are ready to dive into the sky. You are exciting, and I like your excitement. It” he started the last sentence but stopped.

“You can jump from buildings with your friends.”

“But they are not you.” He took a step forward.

“What does that mean?”

“Means you're special. To me.”

She stared into his eyes, he meant it. His eyes don't lie like his mouth does. “And?”

“And I want to spend more time with you.”

“Answer me this.”

“Anything, princess.”

“Why did you just dismiss me that day?”

“I didn't have an answer to your question that day.” His lying mouth spoke words his eyes didn't. 

But she didn't mention that, maybe she did it because she wants to keep hanging out with him. Like he said, she is exciting and so is he. She doesn't want to end that feeling. Maybe he will tell her a different story about that day, the truth even.

[some-pers0n]

Albatross makes me sick. He makes me ill. How does one even get to a point like this. I don't understand. The fixation on this one character is so strong.

In other words, here's that ramble I promised. It's literally just me talking about the massacre with supporting context from my fic that I haven't even written about yet. Why? He makes me that diseased.

I think there's something to be said about the nature of a character who's life begins with violence and ends with it. Albatross discovers his magic via trying to defend himself against Sapphire and Lagoon, and his final few moments alive are spent taking the lives of Lagoon and anybody else in a general vicinity.

He never wanted this. If anything, he wanted his legacy to be more than that. He wanted to be remembered as more than an animus who hurt others. Lagoon defined him as a monster who could barely contain himself, and Albatross believed it. He didn't want others to remember him as such. He wanted to be known as the first SeaWing animus, not some...beast.

I don't think he snapped. He didn't "go insane" or whatever generic trope. I think he was tired. Exhausted. It had been many decades of abuse under Lagoon. When it happened, it was more of a result from years of build-up and pressure finally being released all at once. Tensions are high. Albatross found out that he's going to be replaced by Fathom and likely killed off by Lagoon. Swiftly disposed of as soon as he was obsolete, just like with Marlin. He went in wanting to have a civil discussion, but when things turn worse, he couldn't control himself.

Albatross wanted to see Lagoon bleed the same way Sapphire did all those years ago. He always felt selfish and horrible for this. What kind of person wants to hurt another? That was such a life altering moment. Besides, they were all kids! Little dragonets. They were playing around. They...they didn't mean what they said. It was Albatross who overreacted. It was his fault for it all.

Yet, he hated her. Lagoon was a constant tumour in his life. From that moment on, he was under her control. She would dictate how his life would go. She arranged him to be married with Marlin. She had him have dragonets in hopes that he would have an animus that could replace him. She had him do party tricks. He was like an wild pet to her. Beast of destruction and chaos who had been beaten into submission. A chained lion who wanted little more to be free. An animal who hated the parties they were forced to preform at. A feral creature who wanted to bite and twist the head off the one who trapped them.

He didn't want it to end like this. He always feared it would be like this, but he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. Praying, pleading with himself. He tip-toed around using his magic as much as possible, believing that trying to "preserve his soul" would keep it at bay. Those were just myths. Legends. A lie he would quietly repeat to himself when things seemed most bleak.

But, he couldn't contain it. Since learning that he was being replaced, he knew it was up. Lagoon would send some assassin after him and have him be killed swiftly and like he was nothing. He was nothing to her. His life was meaningless. He was nothing more than her lapdog. This party, some hollow excuse for Lagoon to show off to some SkyWing diplomats, might be the last night he was ever alive.

He had nothing to lose. He wanted something in his life to be of value. To be remembered as more than a footnote in history.

And it happened. That argument. It only cemented what he wanted to do. Like the cracks in the dam finally growing weak enough for the water to burst through. He killed her. Slit her throat and left her dead on the floor, lying there like how he found Marlin all those years ago.

And he loved it. Who wouldn't? After years of being trapped and jumping through flaming hoops for the sake of entertainment, not just biting at the hand that feeds but mauling it entirely was exhilarating. He heard the screams. He heard the cries and shrieks. It was powerful to finally have some semblance of control. Of using his god-gifted powers.

He knew he was going to die this night either way, so why not take down as many as he could? Reason and thought slipped away rapidly as he devolves into pure instinct. Something he once feared he now embraced fully. He feels the freedom and joy of standing up and being seen as the force of nature he was destined to be. Not a servant for others, but an animus. A god.

I think Manta and Eel, his daughter and son, tried to reason with him. The books mention this explicitly. Manta is trying to reach Albatross. Trying to calm him down, Fathom rationalizes. Manta and Eel see their father, who they know has struggled with this all his life, and want to try and help.

This isn't him. They can help him though. They try to reason with him, but he's wild. He's full of paranoia and anxiety. All of these thoughts spill out of his mouth with no filter. It's a mess of "I'm sorry"'s and sentences that seem more like half-formed words stringed together. Manta and Eel try grounding him, but...Splash comes from behind. One of Lagoon's own dragonets. She tries stabbing him in the chest, but he reacts quickly. He kills her.

Albatross breaks further. He assumes that this was a play from Eel and Manta to kill him. His own children. The dragons he loves most. How could they do this to him? Did they never love him? Did they always see him as this force? They wanted to kill him too. They wanted him dead just like the rest of him.

He kills them both. He finishes off the rest of the scraggles, leaving him with only one target in mind: Fathom. He wants to talk with Fathom more than anything. He wants to have one last conversation before either of them dies. The screams have been silenced. It is just him and Fathom that matters.

He finds Fathom in the storage room. He can smell his fear. He monologues and rambles, finally letting these innermost thoughts out. Fathom was just like him. Fathom would've gone down the same path he did had Albatross not...done this. It was necessary. He talks about how he wasted his life before finally striking. He wants to put Fathom out of his misery. To him, he sees it as less of revenge for replacing him, but rather as a means to ensure he would never have the life he had.

But, Indigo attacks instead. He lashes back, fatally wounding her, but Fathom kills him before he can fully do it. The spears plunge into his body. He should be dead, but...he survives enough to stay standing. He remains there, looking at Fathom. He's hunched over Indigo, sobbing and pleading with her to live.

The shock of the spears sobers him enough to have him realize what he's done. His legs shake as he struggles to stay standing. Fathom looks back at him, asking him why he's done this. Asking him why he's not killing them right now.

Albatross winces. He sees the hatred and fear in Fathom's eyes. He tries to speak, but blood gurgles in his throat. The look he gives Fathom says it all though. He murderous rage had subsided. He was...sorry.

But it was too late for apologizes. He had killed dozens. He truly was that monster.

He staggers out of the room and eventually back into the main hall. He finds the statue of Lagoon he had built for her all these years ago. He steps by the corpses of SkyWings and SeaWings he barely knew, yet already mourned the deaths of. He stumbles as he rests his head on the fountain. It's grand. A beautiful piece of art.

He dies there, bowing to the statue of Lagoon.

...he remains there still. The main gimmick of the fic is that Albatross's spirit has survived. He's restless. Unsatisfied. Bound and chained to the abandoned Island Palace for a couple millennia. As a ghost, he wanders the halls. He only ever truly becomes visible and noticeable on certain nights, where the moons above align in such a way.

He cannot rest until he feels he can. The one thing still binding him to this mortal realm is his want to be remembered as more than a monster. More than anything, he wants to be known for what truly happened. To be seen as more than a mad animus.

Eventually, Turtle and the rest of the Jade Winglet come around. It's been thousands of years since the massacre. Turtle is frightened and fearful of it all, but when nightfall comes and the moons shine down from above, he meets the spirit of Albatross by the beach. A specter with a spear still lodged in his body.

Turtle, despite his fear, slowly realizes that Albatross means no harm. Albatross simply wants to tell his tale. His story. This is the framing device of the fic. Albatross telling his entire life's story to Turtle over the course of one night.

By the end, Turtle is in tears. He's crying after hearing about the massacre. He's been through so many ups and especially downs with this story. He feels guilty for ever believing that Albatross was a murderous monster.

They hug perhaps, with Albatross apologizes for subjecting him to such a tale. Turtle tells him that he wants to make up for everything his however-many-great grandfather had been through. He says to Albatross that he wants to spread this story. He's a writer. He wants to put it to paper. Spread to the masses the truth.

And...Albatross smiles. He feels so happy. Finally, after all of these years, somebody listens and trusts him. Somebody, despite viewing him as a horrible monster at first, learns how...broken he was. How horrific it all is.

The sun peaks over the horizon. The night is over. With it, Albatross is fading away. It would be several years before something like this could happen again, yet Albatross doesn't think there will be a second time. He's happy. His one wish, to have his legacy told to another, was fulfilled.

He says goodbye to Turtle and disappears in the blinding light of the sun, leaving the dragonet all alone. Now? He has a story to tell. A tale he wouldn't let others forget. For Albatross's sake.

[clumsiestgiantess]

My first piece for the @gtgotcha4gaza fundraiser! This one was donated by @biggnansmol with the prompt Overhead; enjoy!

My body presses close to the ground as I watch the traffic rush by in a cacophony of tremorous footsteps and raucous voices.  I hunch down near the street corner of a building who knows how many thousands of times my size, looking intently out over the giants walking past.  They travel without a single downward glance at the tiny man just barely taller than their palms.

Many, if not most, of my kind avoid anywhere near this kind of foot traffic.  As a borrower, you can only withstand so much noise and movement constantly around you before your instincts tell you to run.  What separates me from the rest is that my instincts can guide me through the crowd of gigantic beings, to other places entirely.  I can make it to stores all the way on a different street if I really want to.  I haven’t, but I can.

Cracked Concrete Colony — my home — lies halfway between the giants’ colony above, and the giants’ watery wasteland below.  You’d think the giants — humans, they call themselves — would try pitching in to help us ever since they found out we exist.  They didn’t.  In fact, they now have the audacity to label us as pests; vermin.  No wonder we decided to stay away from them.  

As a seasoned package-runner, my job is to deliver supplies from our place to other smaller groups above, and sometimes bring supplies back again.  Oh, and myself.  I bring myself back every time.  Not everyone does.

The worst shape I’ve come out of running is a sprained wrist, but there are some who’ve broken bones, lost limbs, and even died on the exact routes I take.  I’m not too worried, though.  My instincts are better than theirs, I’m sure.  No one in the history of my colony — that people know of — has survived as long as me.  I’m the best there is.  Sure, I’ve come a mere arm’s length away from the sole of a shoe multiple times, but that’s normal for my line of work.  Defying certain death is my average Tuesday.

So, once I see a break in the crowd, I make my move.

My brain and eyes work in tandem to spot every potential danger coming at me.  Thankfully it’s mostly coming from the same side.  The first few pairs of feet I dodge with ease — weaving in and out between the giants’ legs with perfect timing to their methodic gait.  

However, one giant hurriedly stumbles through the crowd in the wrong direction.  I have just enough time to brace myself before their foot rushes up to meet me.  For a brief moment, I believe they’ll dash by right overhead, but the idea is short-lived.  

The tip of a gigantic shoe digs into my stomach, catching on my side and kicking me across the rugged surface of the cement walkway.  I cry out in pain as skin tears off my bare arms in shreds and I land in the ditch between the walkway and the awful road of machines.  Rule number one of package-running: never go into the road.  Ever.  Everyone knows it’s certain death.

Agony spreads through my body, but I grit my teeth and bare it.  I have to get back up onto that walkway.  After a few minutes of desperate struggling — getting blown down and dragged backwards by the sheer force of the machines’ speed — I realize it’s pointless.  It’s hard enough just hauling myself up with my scratched arms.  Even without the machines, I don’t think I’d make it.

Just as I break out in a cold sweat, a shadow descends over me.  A giant’s hand grabs me from above — fingers coiling around my midsection.  Shrieking in both fright and pain, I claw at the human’s hand and get this close to biting them, when I’m flipped over and tucked much more securely against their palm.

Only briefly do I stop struggling to wonder why their grip is so cautious before trying to escape it again.  “Hey, no no; it’s ok!  I’ve got you little guy, you’ll be alright.”  I… what?  The giant slides their hand up against me to keep me from squirming out of their grasp.  Their palm settles against my chest and my heart skips a beat.  “Let me just find a safe spot to put you down.”

Fear still spikes through me like lightning at the way their fingers wrap around my torso to keep me still.  My mind screams at me to keep fighting them because they’ll hurt me for sure if I don’t.  However, there’s something about the way they’re handling me — as much as I hate the fact that they are handling me — that deters me from wanting to escape.  

Then there’s the way they spoke… they immediately wanted to assure me that I’d be alright.  The only things I’ve been told by giants are “Get out of here!” and “Oh eww, what the heck are you?!” so it’s quite the unexpected upgrade.

Suddenly, the hands around me slide away and I’m deposited gently in a small alleyway.  I peer hesitantly up at the giant, kneeling down over me.  Their worried expression softens slightly when I do.  “There you go, safely away from the road and people.  Don’t go back there anymore, ok?”  My mouth drops open, utterly shocked.  “Th - Thank.. you?” I say in awed confusion.  How am I not dead?  Were they helping me get out of the road?

With a small smile, they stand back up and walk off into the crowd of other giants.  I was left standing only a storefront or two up from where I began.  In a few minutes it’s as if none of it had happened at all.

Briefly, I think about trying to go after the giant — ask them why they did that for me.  Then, I take a step and my entire body tenses in pain — dragging me out of my stupor.  Actually.. I think I’ll just head back and get healed up.  I’d tested my luck enough for one day.  Even without the giant’s help, I’m still lucky I hadn’t been stepped on, only kicked.

Maybe I’d dodge past my unlikely hero on the walkway sometime again and ask them then.  I’m just lucky that the strangely benevolent giant had given me another chance to keep surviving.  Hauling myself to the street corner once again, I dash off into the crowd, making it home in only a little less time than usual.