#reader’s whole revenge arc

[bueckets]

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

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

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

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

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

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

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

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

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

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

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

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

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WEEK THREE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

Paige is there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were crying.

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

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

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

Neither of them says a word.

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

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

It breaks.

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

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

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

And you let it.

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

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

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

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

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

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

The air leaves your lungs.

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

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

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

And you aren’t.

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

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

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

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

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

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

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

25 DAYS

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

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

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

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

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

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

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

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

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

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

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

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

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

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

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

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

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

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

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

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

5 DAYS

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

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

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

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

2 DAYS

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

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

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

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

1 DAY

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

You give them nothing.

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

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

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

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

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

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

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

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

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

"We've got perfect."

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

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

Your teammates lean in closer.

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

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

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

"One minute!" calls the official.

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

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

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

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

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

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

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

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

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

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

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

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

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

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

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

Swish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

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

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

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

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

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

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

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

And starts trying to be legendary.

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

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

The Prophecy is about to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t let her finish.

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

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

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

Clank.

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

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

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

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

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

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

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

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

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

You make her pay for it.

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

8-0 Harvard.

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

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

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

11-0 Harvard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

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

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

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

11-2 Harvard.

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

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

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

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

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

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

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

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

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

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

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

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

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

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

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

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

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

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

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

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

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

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

31-10 Harvard.

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

Then it happens.

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

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

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

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

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

You’ve missed.

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

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

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

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

And still, everyone waits.

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

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

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

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

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

Nothing does.

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

Next possession.

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

But it doesn’t.

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

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

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

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

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

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

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

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

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

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

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

HALFTIME

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

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

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

It’s laughable.

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

55-27 Harvard.

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

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

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

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

But that was then.

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

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

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

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

You don’t respond.

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

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

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

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

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

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

Time slows.

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

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

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

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

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

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

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

61-33 Harvard.

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

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

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

FOURTH QUARTER

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

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

What made her yours, once upon a time.

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

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

75-44 Harvard.

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

78-44 Harvard.

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

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

80-46 Harvard.

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

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

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

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

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

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

Because you did it. You won.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. Not yet.

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

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

Paige.

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

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

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

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

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

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

where?

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

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

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

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

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

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

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

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

[tjmsteph]

˗ˏˋ stephanie brown accessible entry point

this is a list of comics to understand the basics of her character! ive seen a lot of people who didnt know where to start to read so ive compiled this list to make it as easy as possible for new readers to get into stephanie brown

who is stephanie brown?

daughter of the criminal and abusive father cluemaster (arthur brown), she became the spoiler to ‘spoil’ her father’s robbery and overall to protect herself and her mother from him. eventually she digs the vigilante life. she becomes robin briefly and is currently one of the batgirls!

as SPOILER:

⟢ secret origins: 80-page giant

this comic /technically/ is set in the future and is steph ‘telling the story of her childhood’ but honestly i find it pretty suitable even with no context and a must read in my eyes to understand her motives and character

⟢ detective comics 647 - 649

her first appearance… with the iconic brick in the face 😭 this comic is not set in a precise timeline, just post-robin 1991 and pre-knightfall so you can read it with no context as well!

⟢ showcase ‘95 #5 (second story)

PLEASE READ THIS i never see it in reading lists and its sooo important to me. it shows steph’s strained relationship with her mother when her dad is not in the picture and briefly some of her school life!

i’d say read robin (1993) afterwards because it consistently features steph, as much as it is ‘tim’s solo run’, but here THE most important stories (they were very hard to pick)

⟢ robin (1993) #3 - 5

her first appearance in the monthly! and lordd the timsteph here makes me sick. tim being saved by steph 🫶 also more on her and her mom as crystal is starting recovery from drug addiction

⟢ robin (1993) issue 15 - 16

not gonna lie, a huge part of me wants me to suggest it because you get to see arthur get his ass kicked by steph (sweet revenge) but theres also steph being saved by tim for a change and more on steph’s relationship with her dad

⟢ robin (1993) #35

this story for me conveys properly the impact that steph’s upbringing had on her sense of justice and morality being fundamentally different from batman and robin’s, something tim and bruce just can’t understand

⟢ robin (1993) #40 - 41

warning / implied SA (ariana ☹️) the story is a two-parter, steph’s side in issue 40 uses diary entries to explain how she feels about the whole vigilante ordeal. issue 41 is more timsteph oriented but it shows tim finally acknowledging his feelings for steph

⟢ huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma

this story happens during cataclysm but its not necessary to read the whole thing + dean’s first appearance 😒 he is the scumbag bastard ‘father of steph’s child’ + helena and steph linkup!!

⟢ robin (1993) #54 and 56-57

BAD CASE OF THE STEPHS MENTIONED + steph and crystal bonding and tim and steph getting together!!! + robin 57 as guilty pleasure :3 their first official date

⟢ robin (1993) #58-65

warning: dixon tackling teen pregnancy. we all know how that goes. remember dean? well steph got pregnant! and that guy bailed on her. dean when i get you. this arc breaks me everytime, steph you deserve the world ☹️

⟢ lewis era robin (1993) aka robin #100 - 120 HEAVY ON ROBIN 111

warning for SA / glimpses on steph’s childhood + dealing with the fact that her father is dead etc etc that will just make you think we should all just kill ourselves yk!!!!

as ROBIN:

⟢ robin (1993) #126 - 128

warning: debatable writing. robin steph! but take everything with like 5 pinches of different salts 😭 its bad y’all but it is essential. dan didio when i get your ass. dan didio when i get youuu

⟢ steph is dead! arc aka batman 634, detective comics 800 and 809, batgirl 62

i fucking hate war games so im not putting y'all through that. here instead: tim being so overcome by grief he can barely react to steph's passing, bruce remembering steph and cass hallucinating her as she is about to die

after that please just imagine that steph came back cause about every issue after her death was the worst ooc writing ever so, again, not putting you guys through that (its tough for stephanie brown fans)

as BATGIRL:

⟢ batgirl (2009)

i wanna say im conflicted about its writing but its about the best thing steph had post-revival. they constantly insult her spoiler legacy so not a fan of that!! but it is essential and i mostly like the rest so whatever :3 steph’s uni arc!

after that honestly nothing happened for her character, so heres on hoping she gets more stuff

[sapphicjackal]

Baby Dimension au

inspired by this

Baby dimension au

One of the many things that had always bothered Shen Yuan about Proud Immortal Demon Way was the way that Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky treated Luo Binghe’s children. 

By the time that Luo Binghe was into his centuries long reign and the story completed, Luo Binghe had dozens of children. Some were named, and others were only known by the fact that their mother had to go into seclusion in the background of a harem drama. The exact number of his kids were unknown, and Luo Binghe showed little to no interest in them beyond their continued survival.

To ensure his children’s survival, Luo Binghe used Xin Mo to create a pocket dimension of sorts. Only his most trusted servants would be selected with the task of living permanently in these hidden realms to raise his children. Each child had their own separate pocket realm and caretaker, with children born of the same mother being grouped together.

Some of the more filial mothers spent time with their children, and Shen Yuan quietly suspects that a number of the ditched Harem members chose to live with their children instead of in the palace full of snakes. 

The reason the fan dubbed ‘baby dimension’ came into existence was because of Luo Binghe’s first children. 

Luo Binghe’s foray into fatherhood began with his first two children, Luo Meiying and Luo Fang. 

When Luo Binghe lived on Qing Jing Peak, he had made a promise with Ning Yingying that when he married her, they would have a beautiful child together. Once the three realms had been unified, revenge had been taken, and the harem had been settled; Airplane introduced that retconned promise. Ning Yingying asked if they could finally have a baby together and Luo Binghe agreed.

Of course, this sent Sha Hualing into a jealous fit. She acted out and terrorized the other harem members until Luo Binghe agreed to give her a child as well. To prevent Sha Hualing from escalating and trying to do anything to make Ning Yingying miscarry, Luo Binghe agreed to impregnate her as well.

Naturally this led to a threesome sex maraton between Ning Yingying, Sha Hualing, and Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe gathered a fertility lotus plant for the two of them, and they locked themselves away in Luo Binghe’s chambers for 3 days. The two girls spent the whole time fighting each other and vying for Luo Binghe’s attention as well as more turne with the Heavenly Pillar. 

It ended with both of the wives undeniably pregnant.

Fast Forward some harem antics where some wives tried to sabotage the pregnancies, and a lot of kinky pregnancy related sex, the two babies were born. Ning Yingying’s daughter, Luo Meiying, and Sha Hualing’s son, Luo Fang. Luo Binghe was there for the births of his children and he seemed genuinely pleased about it. Sha Hualing and Ning Yingying were obviously the most favored wives for a time, as Luo Binghe exclusively dual cultivated with either of them and spent a lot of time with his children.

Then the readers got bored of this domestic arc.

Luo Binghe’s children were faced by constant threats, targeted by the harem and his enemies alike. The dangers were so numerous that Sha Hualing herself wanted to go into seclusion with her child, just so that her son would survive. Of course, she was more motivated by the fact she didn’t want to lose the leverage that the child gave her after all of the effort she spent bringing it into the world, but still. It was a problem.

The solution?

Creating a series of Hidden Realms using Xin Mo. 

Since the space was only accessible through Xin Mo, nobody could threaten the safety of his children any longer. He allowed his wives to choose their most loyal servant to entrust the task of raising their children. After setting them up with all they would need, and telling the mothers they could ask any time for visits, he left the children to be raised in the Hidden Realms, with the expectation they could leave once they reach adulthood.

After that, his children were promptly forgotten and only mentioned in passing.

Ning Yingying ended up having another child later on, and that one joined his older sister in the Baby Dimension after being weaned. 

From there, pregnancies and children were only mentioned in passing. There were no updates as to what goes on in the Baby Dimensions, and Luo Binghe’s children became yet another forgotten plot line. 

Any children he had were forgotten in favor of an ever expanding harem of women who were wedded, bedded, and forgotten.

The whole thing bothered Shen Yuan immensely, being a common topic that he brought up in his vicious reviews of each chapter. Yes, Luo Binghe was a blackened stallion protagonist, but it didn’t make sense for his character to simply have a bunch of children that he forgot existed in favor of getting his dick wet. Luo Binghe seemed to genuinely love his children during the time before he sent them away, and it was the closest thing to happiness that he displayed since the beginning of the story with his adoptive mother.

None of the other fans cared about it, so Luo Binghe’s unknown number of children were thoroughly forgotten. Even the end of the story didn’t address the children whatsoever! Not even a mention of Luo Binghe having an heir, let alone multiple.

Shen Yuan had never forgotten about it, but it did get tucked away in some far off corner of his mind after he transmigrated. 

Now, he lived as Shen Qingqiu, and he was happily married to his own version of Luo Binghe.

The reason all of his prior frustrations came racing back to him is because his husband asked if they could have children. The two of them had been married for 15 years now, and a lot of the problems from earlier in their relationship had been worked on. Luo Binghe was no longer as intensely jealous because of his abandonment issues to the point that having children would be upsetting to him.

They were in a good place to start discussing things. 

Shen Qingqiu had stepped down as Peak Lord with the rest of the Qing generation in favor of their successors, and instead moved full time to the Demon Realm. He had long since revealed his true identity as a transmigrator to his Husband, so Shen Yuan adopted his old name once he left the Human Realm.

Their rule was secure, they had been married for years, and their relationship was stable. It seemed like the perfect time to add to the family.

There did exist flowers and relics that could allow men to get pregnant, however, once Luo Binghe brought up the topic, Shen Yuan’s mind instantly went to the abandoned children of Luo Bingge.

Shen Yuan knew that his Binghe would be a wonderful father, one that would never abandon his children. Shen Yuan never really got over the fact that all those children had been made and discarded, out of sight and out of mind.

So, he made a deal with Binghe.

They would have one biological child together, but after that, any additional children would be ones that they obtained from Binghe’s counterpart. Binghe initially protested, wanting nothing to do with that imposter, but Shen Yuan laid out the way all of those children had been abandoned and how it had bothered him for years.

It took some arguing and tears, but eventually an agreement was made.

Luo Binghe bore pregnancy with grace and sneakily used his blood parasites to ensure that egg split, resulting in twins. Luo Binghe was ecstatic with pregnancy, having fought to be the one that carries the child. Shen Yuan thought that as the Emperor, Luo Binghe should be the one to get him pregnant, but Luo Binghe said he’d only agree to snatching the imposter’s children if he gets to give birth to Shizun’s babies.

Shen Yuan gave in to prevent having a Qi deviation over the sheer nonsense that Luo Binghe spewed.

Shen Mingyu and Shen Yongrui were fraternal twins, a girl and boy. They both took after Shen Yuan more in looks, but shared Luo Binghe’s curly hair, something that Shen Yuan was extremely pleased with. The two were doted on and spoiled endlessly, beloved by their parents and people, who were happy to have an actual heir at last.

When the children were 4, Luo Binghe started to get restless, asking for more. 

Thus began their newfound hobby of breaking into Baby Dimensions and kidnapping children.

Well, to be more exact.

Thus began a series of excursions where they traveled to various baby dimensions to meet with the children there and get to know them. When they offered the opportunity to leave and come with them to their own world, each and every child jumped at the chance to leave, even knowing ahead of time that Luo Binghe wasn’t the father that sired them.

They didn’t do it too often. Not wanting to do the same thing as the original and forget about their children and spending time with them because they valued quantity. They made sure that each and every one of their children were loved, regardless of if they were created by them specifically.

Each new addition to their family brought joy to their lives. Shen Yuan truly couldn’t understand how Luo Bingge didn’t adore each of these wonderful beings that he helped create. Shen Yuan loved all of his children, and they were each a blessing.

Maybe Shen Yuan got a little ambitious, because he started to want the two that started it all. Luo Meiying and Luo Fang, the ones that almost could have had a loving father if only the readers hadn’t gotten bored of domesticity. Shen Yuan wanted them to have better. He had avoided taking them thus far because they were the children of the main and favored wives, but they had taken close to a dozen children without notice over the years.

Just like the rest of their siblings, Luo Meiying and Luo Fang agreed to join them. 

However, this time they caught the attention of Luo Bingge. Turns out, Luo Bingge had been noticing his children dwindling, so he set extra protections around all of his remaining children so that he could catch the culprit and save his missing children, if they were still alive.

Luo Bingge came to demand his children back, but his children all claimed that they were Shen Yuan and Luo Bingmei’s children.

Bingge doesn’t actually have THAT many kids at this point in the timeline

SY was grossly overestimating how many kids LBG had in general

atm Bingge only had like 18 kids and Bingqiu stole 10 of them

Bingge does actually check on his kids when he can get away from his harem (which isn’t often)

this is yet another thing that the fake has stolen from him

even his own flesh and blood prefer an imposter over their own father

it really fucks Bingge up

plus side is that he figures out that Nice Shizun is actually named Shen Yuan

then he finds his own SY

And he makes sure that the rest of his kids won’t get stolen by abolishing the baby dimensions and bringing the kids out

SY becomes their teacher

Bingge believes in adopted parent relationships so he doesn’t try to take his kids back, but he does fall into a weird shared custody agreement with Bingqiu

Bingge makes harming his children punishable by death, and his wives are NOT exempt from this. Little Palace Mistress finds this out the hard way when she tries to eliminate one of Bingge’s daughters and gets publicly executed.

Bingge overhauls the harem in general, because now he has got his priorities in order. Which are railing his kid’s teacher, and also taking care of his kids because he doesn’t want them to get taken from him and lose out on them.

Bingge stops expanding his harem and even downsizes it, plus he works out something other than dual cultivation to control Xin Mo because having sex is cutting into his time braiding his children’s hair. And also trying to sleep with their teacher.

Bingge finds being a dad a lot more fulfilling than being a harem master and emperor of the united realms, and also fucking his children’s teacher. That also fills him better.

[madwomansapologist]

YOU LOVE BLOOD TOO MUCH (BUT NOT LIKE I DO) | RYOMEN SUKUNA

awakened in a new era, ryomen sukuna found endless opportunities to hurt and maim others. he also found you, a sorcerer with an ever-expading soul bonded to oaths of pacifism and self-control. allured by the strength you decided to hide, sukuna realized this era could be far more fascinating than he expected.

PAIRING: ryomen sukuna x reader, satosugu, itafushi, chosoyuki, mechamiwa, nobamaki, inuokko, shokohime, hainana, momomai.

WARNINGS: fix-it; no major character death; canon levels of violence, blood and gore; eventual smut; enemies to lovers (he wants to kill you for fun, you want to defeat him to make a point); slow burn but they're fucking the whole time; cannibalism, hurt/comfort; murder couple; awful villains and insane sorcerers; miwa is not useless + i'll add more as we go.

THEIR SHARED PLAYLIST: ptolomea by ethel cain / i am an animal cannibal by mysteron / strangers by ethel cain / tear you apart by she wants revenge / void in blue by glare / me and mr wolf by the real tuesday weld / rule #34 by fish in a birdcage / oxytocin by billie eilish / killing butterflies by lou bliss / that unwanted animal by the amazing devil / relay by fiona apple / nowhere to go by bad omens

TAGLIST: @snowsilver2000

tell me if you want to be tagged!

BELLA'S NOTE: we're solving plot points with power of friendship, mlm/wlw pairings and a gun toji handed me by accident. think of a dead character. wrong, they're alive. yes, even that one. yes, specially that one. yes, thank you for remembering about this random guy, he's also thriving. in this series i want to explore the quiet moments of jujutsu kaisen, battles within clans and how being perceived as a monster since birth can push people into paths they otherwise wouldn't cross. and blood. a lot of blood. and, of course, i want to make those characters happier. they deserve it. they will suffer a lot before reaching that point, but it'll be worth it.

check it on ao3! ★ check the pinterest board!

ARC I. FEARSOME WOMB

i. a blinding glimpse or the one you politely offered your heart to the king of curses in an attempt of mocking him.

ii. postpone or the one you threatened to obliterate satoru gojo.

iii. the first night or the one ryomen sukuna contemplated suicide.

interlude or the one ct is explained.

iv. three is a magic number or the one with unsupervised kids with knifes.

others to be add!

all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist

[mxtxfanatic]

Let’s talk Yi City Arc! I’ve seen a few posts since my time in the fandom that talks about the Yi City Arc as unnecessary or out of place in the whole of the mdzs narrative. I’ve even seen some suggest that the disconnect is because Yi City was originally a separate story to mdzs, a sort of prototype, if you will, to explain it away. I, too, after my first read questioned the significance of this arc to the overall story. However, the Yi City arc and its placement so early in the novel is actually just a huge and very clever spoiler to most of the important plot points of the overarching story… if you know what plot points to look for, which an un-spoiled first-time reader would not. So let’s talk about those spoilers:

1) The righteous cultivation clans’ refusal to stand against evil—and, really, their indulgence of it—leads to the wiping out of an entire clan and a monastery as well as the deaths of two powerful cultivators unaffiliated with any major sect.

The “righteous” cultivation clans happily ignore that fact that the Jin Clan is amassing power through unscrupulous guest disciples, and it is only when Xiao Xingchen, an outsider, brings the crime against the Chang Clan to light do they bother to pretend to do anything about it. However behind the scenes, the Jin Clan assassinates their only real opposition, and the other clans, great and small, continue to do nothing as Xue Yang is released to commit another massacre. The Jin are never held responsible for their actions. Likewise, all the clans turn away from Wei Wuxian, an outsider, when he calls out the Jin Clan’s crimes against the Wen remnants and accuses them of amassing power via poaching vassal clans and attempting to steal his tools. Behind the scenes, the Jin work to undermine Wei Wuxian’s reputation before joining in to massacre Wei Wuxian and the Wen remnants. The Jin are never held accountable for this, which directly leads into the Xue Yang situation.

2) Xiao Xingchen has his reputation slandered by Xue Yang killing others using his sword.

After Xiao Xingchen kills himself, Xue Yang begins using his sword to enact “vengeance” on the remnants of the Chang Clan, who he considers as having “betrayed” Xiao Xingchen. Finding the signature of Xiao Xingchen’s sword on the slain bodies leads the cultivation world to believe that a disillusioned Xiao Xingchen is killing in revenge. In much the same way, Wei Wuxian is used as a scapegoat by the cultivation world whenever bad things happen, such as the presence of walking corpses or the mass digging of graves. In neither situation does any clan investigate the true events of the situations, happy to blame the easiest suspect and allow the unrest to continue. In both situations, Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian are eventually found innocent of the crimes for which they are accused, and the true culprit is revealed.

3) Xiao Xingchen is betrayed by someone he considered close to him, which eventually leads to his death.

Xiao Xingchen, due to being literally blinded by his sacrifice, ends up running into, rescuing, and caring for his mortal enemy, Xue Yang. Taking advantage of Xiao Xingchen’s blindness, Xue Yang tricks him into murdering a bunch of innocents and his best friend, causing him to commit suicide. Wei Wuxian, similarly, is betrayed by a close friend he kept near, figuratively blinded by a former childhood friendship and the present debt he felt owed to said friend’s parents. This misplaced trust directly leads to his death.

4) Xiao Xingchen must give up his eyes for Song Lan to see again, because Baoshan Sanren is not magical.

This is probably the biggest spoiler of the entire arc, but by the time you get to where this information is relevant, you’d probably have forgotten that this was even said. Xue Yang blinds Song Lan after destroying his home, and to atone for this, Xiao Xingchen goes to his master, Baoshan Sanren, to beg for her help. However, Baoshan Sanren cannot make something out of nothing. Mxtx explicitly writes that tidbit into the narration. Song Lan goes up the mountain blind and comes down with eyes. Xiao Xingchen goes up the mountain with eyes and comes down blind. Song Lan was given Xiao Xingchen’s eyes.

Much later in the story, Jiang Cheng loses his golden core. Wei Wuxian offers the miracle solution of Baoshan Sanren “giving” him a new one. Jiang Cheng, obviously skeptical, questions Wei Wuxian up until the moment he must go up “Baoshan Sanren’s mountain” alone. Wei Wuxian descends, alone, looking pale and weak. Later, when Wei Wuxian is ambushed by the Wen, Wen “Core-melting Hand” Zhuliu touches him and is visibly shocked by a discovery that he then keeps to himself. Jiang Cheng emerges from the mountain with a new golden core, while Wei Wuxian emerges from the Burial Mounds with a new cultivation method wholly independent of the need for a golden core. The Yi City arc tells us why this is: “Baoshan Sanren” cannot make something out of nothing.

And these are just the major parallels I remember off the top of my head. However, while a reread makes a lot of these parallels directly applicable to specific plot points in Wei Wuxian’s own story, I would argue that the biggest role the explicit paralleling is meant to play for a new reader is to make you question the dominant narrative of the main story. The narration tells us that Wei Wuxian is a bloodthirsty man who may as well be a demon, known for cruelty and vengeance. We see none of that from his character when he is resurrected. Then we get a mini-drama where a man with attributes Wei Wuxian directly relates to, with a story Wei Wuxian directly compares to his own life, is scapegoated by society, killed, then eventually vindicated. If nothing else, the Yi City Arc is meant to make you, as a reader, stop and go “Hey, wait a minute, what if Wei Wuxian isn’t the bad guy here???” And once you understand that, you should start questioning everything the prologue told you, just like the juniors start to question what they were told about Xiao Xingchen post Yi City in their group debrief.

[bones4thecats]

When Their S/O Saves Their Life

Type of Writing: #2 - Poll Result Characters: Izana Kurokawa, Baji Keisuke, Shinichiro Sano, and Emma Sano Name: When Their S/O Saves Their Life Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: When I read their deaths for the first time I couldn't stop crying, so, in devotion to their characters, I have decided to have this piece written! Rest in peace to these amazing four! Also, Shinichiro and the Reader are married in his piece.

Spoilers for: Tenjiku Arc, Valhalla Arc, and Black Dragon Arc

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🎴 His obsessiveness was going to be his downfall, you would swear to Kakucho

🎴 Izana was obsessed with getting revenge on Manjiro, for what? Merely being around Shinichiro far more than the white-haired male was, and this was starting to scare you

🎴 You were watched as Tenjiku began their assault against Toman, and it was getting bloodier by the second

🎴 The Haitani brothers were taken down earlier by those two blue-haired boys from Toman, and you could hear the surprise erupting from your boyfriend's followers

🎴 You were standing up where your boyfriend's allies were, and when Mikey arrived and they began their assault on one another, your eyes glimpsed down to Kisaki, noticing how focused he was on Izana's words

🎴 Once he yelled shoot Kakucho, you looked at Kisaki and saw him pull out a gun and raise it too shoot, then you saw your boyfriend snap out of his daze and begin to go to shield his friend

🎴 In blind rage, you grabbed his arm and swung yourself above him, sending your leg down to his head, successfully kicking him into the ground as everyone around stared wide-eyed

" Nobody hurts the people I care for, nonetheless some psychopath in glasses. "

🎴 Izana's eyes were glued wide as Kisaki groaned before passing out from your final punch to his head

🎴 Yelling at everyone to flee, due to oncoming police forces, only Takemichi had any clue of what you just did, you just did something that could fix this whole issue he has been attempting this whole time

🎴 You may have just saved not just Izana... but Mikey too...

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

⚖️ This was getting so far out-of-hand

⚖️ You knew what Baji's plan was from the get-go, since you disliked Kisaki just as much as him, the guy literally was a walking red-flag, but evidently, you guys were the only smart ones here

⚖️ Baji told you his plan, he was going to defect to Valhalla so he could get ride of Kisaki Tetta, the guy who both you and him hated more than anyone else

⚖️ Unfortunately, he jumped into action before you could warn him of what you heard Hanma say to Kazutora

⚖️ Hanma had been manipulating Kazutora, calling him and telling him that Baji had betrayed him, even though you knew that Baji was the one person to stand by Kazutora's side no matter what

⚖️ You watched as your boyfriend went against fifty members of Toman, you even watched as he hit Kisaki on the head with a metal pipe, knocking the glasses-wearing man down and got him to start bleeding from his head where he was hit

⚖️ Once you saw Kazutora pull out a knife and charge at Baji, and you lunged into the fight yourself, picking up a loose piston from a car, you threw it and hit Kazutora on the head, knocking him unconscious

⚖️ You heard Takemichi gasp and mumble something as you ran up and tackled Baji into tumbling down to the ground, and you could hear Chifuyu run towards you guys

" Are you guys okay?! Baji! Y/N! " " We're fine, Chifuyu. Now, get the others back, Baji, let's go now. " " But, Y/N- " " NOW. "

⚖️ Kisaki's yells for his divison men to grab you and Baji was loud, but you picked up a pipe as Baji took out his knife, and you could see what he was planning now

⚖️ Grabbing his arm before he could climb up the cars again, you swung him back and took the knife from his hands, throwing it onto the ground and smashing it, causing Takemichi to smile, why was he smiling?

⚖️ While this fight was far from over, you knew that you were going to keep Mikey from killing Kazutora, and you were keeping your boyfriend away from death, no matter what.

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🏍️ You both were sleeping, curled up into one another as the night began

🏍️ He had wanted to stay at the shop while you wanted to go home, and, because of your issue of deciding, you guys flipped a coin, and it landed on tails, meaning you both were staying at the shop for the night

🏍️ Unfortunately, once you guys settled for the night, the sound of stuff being moved around in the shop emerged through the hallway, making your husband sit up and motion for you to grab a bat for protection

🏍️ He strode down the hall with you in tow, you were obviously spooked, but, your husband was an amazing fighter, and your bat would surely knock the threat out easily

" The hell? We gettin' robbed? Whose shop you think you're breakin' into, huh? "

🏍️ You gripped the bat tighter as the figure of a guy stood out, he was staring at you both, but neither of you could identify him closely, due to distances

" You little bastards... you're not gonna get away! "

🏍️ Gripping your husband's arm, you recognized the small boy, it was Baji Keisuke, one of Mikey's closest friends, why was he here this late? And why was he trying to rob you of the CB250T you had for maintenance?

" Is that you, Keisuke? " " Shi- Shinichiro-kun? "

🏍️ The sound of footsteps behind you strung your attention as Keisuke yelled out a familiar name, Kazutora, was he here as well

🏍️ Hearing Kazutora's light cries, you turned around and grabbed the bolt-cutters that he was about to swing, if you weren't there to grab them, Shinichiro would've been seriously hurt

" Kazutora Hanemiya, Keisuke Baji, you have some serious explaining to do. "

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🥤 Why did Takemichi say that earlier?

" Kisaki, he's planning something big... I can feel it. Keep an eye out, Y/N. "

🥤 You shrugged your shoulders as Mikey, Izana, and Inui spoke, and you stood alongside Takemichi and Emma as they spoke

🥤 Due to your boredom, you stood there with your arms crossed, leaning against a stone pedestal, Emma just chuckled as Takemichi was trying to pull you away from the stone

🥤 You looked up at Emma as she laughed, and you just chuckled, pushing Takemichi back slightly as your girlfriend looked across the street and back at you

" You guys want something to drink? "

🥤 Takemichi and you turned around and you shook your head for no while your friend agreed

🥤 You watched as Emma grabbed the two drinks and began to walk back across the street, but, when the sound of a loud revving engine overlapped your thoughts, you looked up the street with them

🥤 A motorcycle with two men on it was driving really fast up the road, and the male in the back raised his bat whilst they drove

🥤 They were aiming for Emma...

🥤 Lunging up from the wall you leaned up against again, you yelled out for Emma as she froze in place, Takemichi wasn't moving for his life, why was he such an idiot?!

" Kisaki! " "Emma! "

🥤 Emma gasped and dropped the drinks as you tackled her into the ground, causing you both to roll on the street and hit the edge of the sidewalk, grunting as the adrenaline wore off

" Y/N! Emma! Are you guys alright?! "

🥤 You could hear the sound of approaching footsteps interupt your thoughts of Emma, was she alright?

" Yeah... we're fine, Takemichi. Where's Mikey? "

🥤 Oh thank God, she was alright... but whoever the hell dared to try harming your girlfriend was gonna pay...

[gatitties]

Hi! Love your work!

I was wondering if you could do a headcannon with the straw hats in the skypiea arc, if a child reader got merked by Enel (maybe not actually dead just looks as if) and what would be the reactions? And action taken?

Feel free to ignore (please dont😭) bye bye!!

─Strawhats x child!reader (platonic)

─Summary: general headcanons of you being attacked in Skypiea

─Warnings: none

oh!! don't worry I barely ignore requests, I just take a long time to write 😔✋🏻

─ The moment you arrive at Skypiea the crew may give you up for lost, you are a curious child and this whole world of clouds keeps you distracted long enough to forget that you have a crew with which to continue a journey.

─ Everyone is so immersed in the place and its customs that they don't seem to notice how you enter that jungle full of enormous trees.

─ How you stayed alive during all that time of exploration taking into account that you were a wanted criminal for not having paid the initial bail, the number of wild animals in the forest and even Enel's priests is a mystery.

─ You come face to face with Enel, in reality, he approached you because he could feel you, being the weakest link he thought it wouldn't be fun for someone like you to be in his death game, so he decided to get rid of you before it started.

─ You put up a good fight ─bites─ but you didn't have enough skill to defeat the self-proclaimed God, running away only served you for a while until your energy was completely exhausted.

─ Enel's first mistake was thinking that you wouldn't need an attack that was too powerful to knock you out of the game, although you got a good spark, since you started traveling with this crew your body had learned to withstand a certain amount of pain, in short, you did not have the same resistance or abilities that a child your age would have, which helped you stay alive.

─ Robin was the one who found you, despite having just gotten out of her own fight, finding you limp on the ground with barely any breathing made all the pain in her body disappear, she crouched down and took you in her arms in the hope of reaching as soon as possible with the rest, but especially with Chopper so that he could treat you if he could.

─ Everyone seemed gathered except Nami, everyone was completely hurt, their expressions only darkened more when they saw how Robin brought your body, Luffy clenched his fist in anger when he saw you, not knowing if you were going to open your eyes, Usopp hugged Zoro praying in murmurs as Sanji and Chopper approached you.

─ Luffy didn't even wait to find out if you were okay or not, he simply started running towards Enel again, not only for revenge but to rescue Nami as well, Sanji joined in after knowing that you would be in the hands of the crew's doctor.

─ The others couldn't do much more than watch, hoping it wasn't the worst.

─ Everyone's face seemed to light up when you began to cough desperately, you opened your eyes and moved like a fish out of water, when you adjusted to the lighting you found everyone's face looking closely at you.

─ Everything continued as it should, maybe Enel took a couple more punches than necessary while fighting Luffy, but the important thing was that you didn't have any casualties during the trip.

─ Maybe it's a little more annoying for you now, but the crew refused to let you wander alone when there would be potential dangers lurking, so your exploration time was over, only until you could escape of course.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

On Kurapika's Self-Imposed Isolation

While I recognize that probably everything I'm about to say is going to be super obvious, I just wanted to briefly touch on Kurapika's self-isolation, and the reason behind his not picking up his phone or exchanging anything more than clipped words and business after Yorknew.

I think the obvious answer is that Kurapika doesn't want his friends in harms way, or to be used as a bargaining tool against him. This is an understandable and probably accurate conclusion. After all, Gon and Killua did get taken hostage, and Kurapika was forced to negotiate an exchange. Chrollo picked up on Kurapika's "weakness" right away - that he values his friends' safety before his revenge. Fortunately for Kurapika in this situation, Pakunoda was a whole lot more similar to him than he would've cared to admit, as she placed a value on Chrollo's life even though everyone in the Spider was intended to be replaceable. So, now that he's been through Gon and Killua having potentially gotten killed or seriously hurt, and Chrollo knows that he has a soft spot for them, it does make sense that he would try to push them away for their safety and for the sake of not having an exploitable "weakness" in future. He may also not want to burden them more when they have their own lives to live - he does slip off without telling Gon and Killua for the sake of not distracting them from Nen training, after all.

Except that he already tried all this earlier in Yorknew arc. He tried to tell them they shouldn't get involved, and they all agreed that the risks were massive - but his friends agreed to undergo the risks anyways to help him. Kurapika was even grateful for it - "I have been blessed with good friends."

So, for him to push them away solely for this reason after the fact, knowing that this was very much a likely situation to happen, is a little odd to me. Kurapika knows full well that Leorio would be frustrated, Killua would be offended and Gon would worry. So, I think there's a little more to it than that, and I actually would venture to say that "keeping his friends out of danger" is more a secondary reason for his actions - one that would come across as more of a reasonable excuse to others.

The primary reason is likely a lot more selfish than that. Kurapika has to ensure his mission comes first. And unfortunately, he is fully aware that his path and choice in abilities is deeply self-destructive.

Kurapika needs to make sure that he doesn't have exploitable weaknesses, sure, but he also just as much needs to purposefully worsen his headspace - and he can't do that with those three around.

Think back, what are the happiest moments we see from Kurapika in the series? The one that comes to mind first, and the one I'm sure most of us will think of immediately, is this:

[ID: A screenshot from the 2011 anime adaptation. Kurapika smiles - he looks at ease. End ID.]

It's one of the sweetest scenes of the series imo, right before the whole group is reunited for the first time since the Zoldyck Family arc, and it's even more notable because it comes immediately on the tail end of this...

[ID: Three panels from HxH Chapter 101. Kurapika removes his contacts over the sink. His expression is distant. End ID.]

...and this...

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 101. A close up of Kurapika's vacant and furious expression, his eyes wide and dangerous as he says "It might as well be you." Though the art is in black and white, it's apparent his eyes have gone scarlet. End ID.]

...and this.

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 101. A distant Kurapika speaks on the phone on a rooftop at night, the cityscape of Yorknew around him dark, but speckled with lights and stars. He says "The Spiders are dead." His face is not visible to the reader. End ID.]

This is, up to this point in the series, Kurapika at his lowest. In contrast to Gon, who is happy to hear that the Spiders are dead already because now Kurapika can focus solely on finding his peoples' eyes, Kurapika... is clearly not happy - and that's because killing the Spiders himself isn't just revenge. It's penance. It's survivor's guilt. Kurapika's powers, which Izunavi even comments sound much like he is chaining himself in the process of chaining his enemies, are oh-so-beautifully prophecied to destroy him - and Kurapika was aware of this from the moment he set off down this path of revenge.

(As a side note, this is why I'm really hoping we see Gon and Kurapika interact again after the Chimera Ant arc - while Gon has always been pretty attentive to Kurapika's emotional state, in Yorknew, he lacks a true understanding of why Kurapika would go so far... but as of now, he understands rage fueled by guilt and grief all too well. I know we're all rooting for Leorio to reach Kurapika, but barring that, I really think Gon could get through to him - after all, they are similar in several ways, and I find it fairly apparent that Gon reminds Kurapika of Pairo.)

But back to the main point here - I do suspect Kurapika expects (if not wants) his revenge mission to destroy him. I think a lot of times, we forget just how young Kurapika is, and how much his character is dictated by honour, and the abandonment of it.

Certainly, he can and will go against his principles for the sake of his mission... yet, almost paradoxically, he's bound to his promise to his fallen clan; a promise to avenge them made in anger.

But Kurapika... doesn't come across as a naturally angry person to me at all.

He seems like the stoic, vengeful type on his initial introduction... and then we get his panic at Gon's recklessness

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 2. Kurapika and Leorio wear matching expressions of panic in front of Gon, calling him out for his recklessness. End ID.]

...and his near-immediate forgiveness of Leorio after getting the first inkling of his character - of someone who cares just as fiercely as he does.

And after that point? Almost all through the Hunter Exam? Kurapika smiles so readily at them. He's sharp and funny. He mediates at times, but is stubbornly prideful in others. He's very amused by his friends' antics, and it really does seem like he starts to enjoy himself, with them. And, more than that, he counters Leorio's initial impression of him as an independent loner - on several occasions. He decides to follow Gon because Gon intrigues him. Asides from Gon, it is Kurapika who is the most unwilling to fight each other at the bottom of Trick Tower. Kurapika who makes the first move to team up with Leorio, even though that arrangement benefits Leorio much more than it does him. Kurapika who refuses to abandon Leorio to his fate in the cave, and who checks on Gon after noticing his bad mood. Who was furious enough watching him get beat down by Hanzo that his eyes went scarlet for the first and only instance outside of Spider mentions and Emperor Time. Who quite readily detoured to help rescue Killua.

[ID: Three screenshots from the 2011 adaptation Hunter Exam arc. In the first, Kurapika smiles at a sleeping Leorio. In the second, Kurapika stifles laughter as he pretends he's asleep. In the third, Kurapika has an open-mouthed smile as he acquires the airship tickets for them, Leorio and Gon standing behind him. End ID.]

Look at him! He's so bright! So happy!

...too happy. Too happy to do what he promised himself he would do. And that's his biggest fear, isn't it. Without his rage... what is he left with?

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 2. A close up of Kurapika's eye as he says "I do not fear death. What I fear is that my rage will one day fade away." End ID.]

Kurapika is far, far less mired in anger when he's with his friends. I actually dare to say that at certain points, he was able to go for lengths of time without thinking much about it - alternating between almost forgetting in one instance and being hit like a sledgehammer on exposure to a reminder in the next. This violent swing is... actually the beginnings of the natural process of healing from loss and trauma. But to Kurapika, who's made a promise to his people's memories, this is not a relief. This is betrayal.

I think that actually scares him, that he can almost picture it. A life beyond his guilt. That he, too, could learn to be happy, even after unimaginable loss.

And so, as Kurapika continues his mission offscreen, finding more and more gruesome reminders of the cruelty inflicted on his people and losing more and more pieces of himself in the process (in his own words, no less), he prioritizes his responsibility to them, and pushes away his distractions. He cannot be a soul at peace until his work is done; he must be in turmoil. He pushes people away who he cares for, and binds himself, and keeps his people's eyes on him, quite literally, because respite, for him, is unacceptable. Perhaps that guilty part of him even hopes, by the end of this, that his soul will be so unrecognizable as to be fundamentally unsalvageable. But the truth of the matter is, or at least what comes across to me, is that Kurapika cares much more fiercely than he hates. He knows what matters most. And for as long as he does, he still hasn't truly lost himself.

[ID: A panel from HxH chapter 350. Kurapika looks down at baby Woble with a gentle, yet complicated expression. The inking is somewhat softer. End ID.]

Kurapika's soul is kind, really. And it wants to heal - but for the sake of his mission, he needs it damaged and bleeding. And so, he forces himself to exist in that pain. All alone.

[ID: A panel from HxH Chapter 344. Kurapika, dressed in a black suit, sits with his back to the reader, looking down at a photo in his hand. He is slumped a little before the church vigil he has prepared, all his clan's eyes lined up in their jars and honoured with flowers and candles. He thinks to himself "There is no home for me to return to... and nobody to welcome me back. I have nothing left." End ID.]

[xxsabitoxx]

How the Pillars react to your death

Important note: all of these deaths occur during the infinity castle arc, heavy and implied spoilers. Rengoku’s reaction to your death takes place before Mugen Train! Reader’s gender is unspecified.

Warnings: this post contains spoilers for the final arc of the manga. This includes implied spoilers for various characters. Please do not read this if you don’t want to be spoiled and don’t blame me if you go ahead and read it anyways lol

A/N: I wrote this whole post in my head while showering last night and I’m honestly offended it took me 3x as long to actually write it.

Giyu 

“CAWWW! DEAD! KOCHO SHINOBU AND L/N Y/N ARE DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER A CONFRONTATION WITH UPPER MOON TWO!” Giyu’s body comes to a screeching halt, Tanjiro shooting past him before falling to his knees as violent sobs wracked his body. Giyu, on the other hand, is frozen in place, a sob stuck in his throat. Shinobu’s death was a punch to the gut, but you? For the first time since Sabito had died, Giyu felt tears burning at the back of his eyes. Yet, nothing would come out, those tears wouldn’t break the barrier and slip down his cheeks. His tight throat would not let the sob escape. There was no possible way you were gone, you promised him you’d be okay. Though, childish beliefs like that reminded him of his own faults. Once again, he couldn’t protect the people he cared about. Rather than wallowing in sudden grief, he began moving again, past Tanjiro who was struggling to get back up. He needed to keep moving, if he didn’t stop, he was certain he would collapse entirely and never get up again. He couldn’t let your sacrifice go to waste. 

Shinobu 

Her feet barely hit the ground, body manoeuvring through the endless castle with one destination in mind. “CAWWW! DEAD! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER ENCOUNTERING UPPER MOON TWO!” She stumbles, shock hitting her like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. Her mind is racing, not willing to believe what the crow had just said to be true. You had steered away from the plan. In a desperate attempt to save Shinobu’s life you tried to defeat Upper Two yourself. Hot, angry tears are spilling down her cheeks, hand clutching her heart as she tries to understand. “Why would you do this? Why wouldn’t you take my word for it and go with Tomioka? Look what you did… you went and got yourself killed,” Yet again, Upper Two had taken something precious to her. One word flashed through her mind, alongside your beautiful face. Revenge. She would get her revenge, not only for Kanae, but for you. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll be with you soon.” 

Rengoku 

It’s quiet, too quiet even. You should be back by now, the sun has fully risen. Kyojuro’s heart is hammering in his chest, doom creeping up his spine. He has an unshakable bad feeling about your late arrival. His worst fears are confirmed when your crow arrives without you. “No…” breathless, as if all the air is being ripped from his lungs. “Don’t say it…” his knees are giving out as your crow lands on the wooden porch. “T-they’re gone…aren’t they?” he chokes it out, the words are as bitter and burning as bile. Your crow only caws, soft and full of sorrow, unable to share the proper message as Kyojuro begins to sob. He’s curling in on himself, crying so loudly but unable to hear it due to the intensity of the ringing in his ears. It’s a panic attack manifesting in the most intense form. He can’t fathom a world without you, nevermind having to live in one. Senjuro is rushing to his brother's aid, seeing your crow gives him more than enough information to know as tears well in his eyes. 

Tengen

He’s kneeling dutifully outside of Nezuko’s room, Shinjuro by his side. His wives are inside, too stubborn to sit out and not help at all. Their excuse being that Nezuko saved his life, they owe her the same kind of protection now. You on the other hand, were too determined, leaving your retirement to fight the battle against the demon lord himself. Nothing Tengen nor his wives said could convince you to stay on the sidelines. His heart is sinking the moment your crow appears in the distance, he’d recognize it anywhere. “N-no… don’t you dare…” Tengen’s voice is cracking as it lands, Shinjuro is turning his head the other way, knowing what is to come. “Don’t you dare say they are dead…” his voice is rising in his panic, he knows the answer. The commotion has Makio, Suma and Hinatsuru running outside. The moment Hina’s eyes land on your crow, a violent sob escapes her chest, falling to her knees as Makio and Suma come to the same conclusion. “T-they’re dead…aren’t they?!” Makio sobs, Tengen can’t raise his head as your crow delivers your final message. 

Mitsuri 

She’s frozen in place as a crow comes directly for her, fear is ebbing through her body, a cold sweat forming on her brow. She knows the message before the crow can even utter it. “No! Go back! I don’t want to hear it!” Obanai is frozen beside her, grabbing her arm so she doesn’t collapse. The crow circles around her, cawing woefully as she begins to cry. “I-I don’t want to know! Don’t tell me!” she’s hiccupping as Obanai tries to pull her forward, they need to keep moving. “Mitsuri…” his voice is surprisingly soft, the crow is still circling overhead. “We need to hear the message…” she shakes her head, hands coming up to cover her ears as tears slip down her cheeks. The crow caws again, Obanai signals for it to deliver the message. “CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER AN ALTERCATION WITH UPPER MOON ONE!” The crow continued on about who lived and who died, what was important is that upper moon one was dead. That didn’t matter to her though, no she couldn’t even hear the rest of the message over the ringing in her years. Mitsuri let Obanai tug her along, they needed to keep moving at whatever the cost. 

Muichiro 

“CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD!” He keeps running, uncertain as to why he feels a tightness in his chest at the crow’s message. “THEY DIED DURING A CONFLICT WITH UPPER TWO!” He’s still moving, more so concerned over his unexpected and overwhelming sadness. Why am I sad? I don’t even remember that name… but then your kind smile is flashing before his eyes and the world is crashing down around him. He comes to a screeching halt, eyes wide as he finally pieces together the message. “y/n…” how could he ever forget? Before he realizes it, he’s sniffling. Tears blur his vision for a moment before he blinks them away. He begins to move again, the sadness gripping his chest is slowly fading, fading until he can’t even remember why he got teary eyed in the first place. He needs to remember the task at hand… where was he heading again? 

Obanai

The flapping of wings catches him off guard, head craning upwards as the crow begins to caw. The noise is full of sorrow, which can only mean it bears bad news. “Obanai…” Mitsuri is watching the animal circle above them, her heart pounding erratically at the endless possibilities of the message it may share. “CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED IN BATTLE AGAINST UPPER MOON ONE!” Obanai’s feet are slowing, hitting the floor beneath him with a little too much force as the message rings through his head over and over. “N-no… oh… Iguro I…” Mitsuri is crying, staring at the man beside her as the world seems to cave in on him. It’s as if everything is in slow motion for a few beats in time. The words the crow uttered felt foreign, your name paired with ‘dead’ didn’t make any sense in his mind. It was impossible really, there was no way you were dead. You had gone to face Upper One with Gyomei, Sanemi, Muichiro… four hashira against upper One and you didn’t make it? You were so strong… no the message can’t be correct. “Kanroji… let’s keep moving.” he’s turning it off, every swelling emotion is being suppressed as he takes off again. Mitsuri is left with no choice but to wipe her tears and follow. 

Sanemi

Upper Moon One is standing before him, Gyomei at his side. This battle needed to be won, if not, everything would be lost. The demon before him needed to be put down, there was no other option. He’s talking, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen. Rather, Sanemi is gauging every vital point he can strike and how to go about doing it. “CAWW! I BRING A MESSAGE!” he doesn’t glace up, nothing that crow could say would be able to break his focus. “L/N Y/N IS DEAD!” except for that. Sanemi inhales deeply, eyes widening significantly as he debates on if he heard the message correctly. “THEY DIED DURING AN ALTERCATION WITH UPPER MOON TWO! UPPER MOON TWO IS NOW DEAD!” it feels as if all the air in the room had been sucked away with the crow’s flapping wings. Upper One no longer seemed smug about the message after the addition of Upper Two being defeated. Beside him, Gyomei is crying. Sanemi doesn’t realize it, but so is he. He’s oblivious to the hot, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. Still, his patience remains intact, waiting for Gyomei’s signal to attack the high ranked demon. Now, he has absolutely nothing to lose. Kagaya is gone, now you are gone, it is likely the rest of the Hashira wouldn’t make it out of this… he has nothing left to fight for. 

Gyomei “CAWWW! L/N Y/N IS DEAD! THEY DIED AFTER ENCOUNTERING MUZAN!” Tears flow freely as he fights, part of him wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the message in the first place. You had met the unfortunate fate of encountering Muzan himself. It was likely that you were alone, if you weren’t, you were likely the strongest in your group. It pained him, knowing you likely died a brutal death. That pain fueled his attacks, taking every ounce of heartbreak and despair out on the demon before him. You didn’t deserve that, nobody deserved a fate that cruel. He keeps moving, mind reeling yet completely focused. It’s as if he is fighting in a bubble, the world muffled around him yet perfectly clear all at once. Too many emotions are raging through his soul to really pinpoint just one of them. He can only hope you’ll wait for him on the other side, he can only pray you’re watching over him at this very moment. Guiding him, giving him strength. “I’ll meet you again soon, don’t worry. I promise I won’t keep you waiting much longer. Wait for me, please? You will, won’t you?”

[star-suh]

Straight as A Line

Park Jinyoung x Male Reader

cw: homophobic top jinyoung, rough sex, dubious consent, hickeys, college au, swearing at each other, cheating, feminization, porn with a little of plot, a redemption arc for jinyoung lol… 

an: lmfaoooo that redemption arc happened when my music suddenly changed to lana del rey's songs changing the whole mood, i'm so sorry if this isn't what you wanted anon 😭🙏

this was a request.

—

the university where y/n was studying was planning a trip to go camping in the mountains. it was a dream trip for y/n, he could be close to nature and breathe that pure fresh air but all that sounded too nice to be true. 

"i don't know if i want to go on the trip, fuckass jinyoung is going and i don't feel like arguing with that son of a bitch" y/n tells his friend. 

jinyoung is one of those rich guys who have a lot of ass-lickers behind them, they do whatever he asks just for the money, also the guy is a fucking homophobe, when he found out that y/n is gay he started to make his life miserable. throwing slurs and swearing almost everyday towards the guy…

every student had an assigned seat “are we in school or something?” mocked jinyoung, his smile slowly fading seeing that he has to sit besides y/n “what the fuck? who put this pillow muncher beside me?” he yelled, “can you just shut the fuck up? you're not that important dude no one cares where you sit stop being a manchild” responded y/n making jinyoung's blood boil in anger.

“listen here, cocksucker. i don't want people like you near me you disgust me” he spat while signaling towards y/n with one finger. “stop signaling me you weirdo. you know that usually men who make fun of someone who is gay do it to cover up their homosexuality .. like why are you mad about me sucking a dick that's not so straight from you, jinyoung..” a grimace of laughter finding its way onto y/n's face while jinyoung's was red for the anger, y/n swear he can see the steam coming out of his ears.

jinyoung quietly accepted he lost this time and sat beside y/n ‘this is not going to stay like this’ he thought, crafting his revenge towards the guy.

it was night already, all the tents are ready and everyone is going inside them, y/n was getting ready to sleep in his sleeping bag when suddenly the zipper of his tent opens “what the fu-” a big hand covering his mouth to prevent him from making any noises. “hello motherfucker” jinyoung smiled “you thought i forgot what you said on the bus dirty whore? i think someone should teach you manners and how to be a nice obedient bitch, what do you think?”.

managing to get away from the strong grip of jinyoung's hand on his mouth y/n says “what the fuck are you talking about you fucking psycho, get out of my fucking tent before i start to scream”.

jinyoung's big veiny hand found its way towards y/n neck squeezing it hard “do it and what i'm gonna do next it's gonna be worse, you hear me?” scared by how menacing the words came out of his mouth y/n just nodded, “what do you want then, a public apology?. fucking asshole”.

“you see.. i was talking with my girlfriend and i got so horny-”, “and? do i look like some type of… friend to you? i don't wanna know shit about it” interrupted y/n. “anyways as i said” jinyoung continued “i'm so bricked that my dick is poking his way out of my shorts, so i was looking for a way to calm it but the rest of the bitches are sleeping and apparently you're the only one bitch awake so… i thought why not use this opportunity to help you be my obedient slut. after all you like cocks” he slapped gently y/n's cheeks. “fuck you” are the only words coming out of y/n's mouth…

“shh be quiet” whispered jinyoung while forcing his cock down y/n's throat, the gagging sounds making him more horny “you're so talented at cocksucking, truly a whore. you do it better than my girlfriend” he snickered while thrusting his thick cock. 

“never thought i would see you this fucked up” jinyoung was stroking his cock while y/n was laying down panting, trying to catch his breath, with spit and cum covering his face “talking about dirty whores when you can't keep that thing inside your pants. coming here like a needy bitch looking for a hole to fuck”.

jinyoung just stared at y/n with a smirk on his face “i'm not done with you slut, look at this” he pokes his rock hard cock making it bounce a little “i'm gonna wreck your boypussy. come here” his hand snaking around y/n's shorts and discarding them quickly, along with the underwear. “leave me alone whore” y/n tried to push jinyoung with his feet but the bastard was so strong… and sexy.

jinyoung spat on his fingers and rub it on y/n's rim the cold fluid sending shivers up his spine “hngh.. stop it manwhore…” the pleasure clouding his thinking. jinyoung slap his fuckmeat on the rim and slowly introduce it, drawing a loud moan grom y/n due to the stretching “shush be quiet. you don't want someone to find us right? or is that what you want? woah what a pervert” y/n just ignored the comment and sucked on jinyoung's fingers.

“is that all you got, fragile masculinity slut?. not gonna be surprised if your girlfriend kicks you, you suck at fucki-” a slap landed on y/n's cheek. “stop being a loud motherfucker and let me fuck your pussy” his anger being canalized into fucking y/n “i don't give a fuck if you like it or not” he growls “i’m only here to use you like you let other men do”.

“fuck i love the sight of your gaping pussy. after being passed around the whole university is still so tight… even more than my girlfriend's”. “can you stop mentioning her you asshole?. she deserves a better man than you” y/n says, accommodating himself to ride jinyoung “let's get this over with, i want you gone”.

everytime he goes down y/n makes sure to do it hard causing jinyoung to moan very loudly, “look who's the loud bitch now. you call yourself a man and can't even handle me”. jinyoung laughed quickly grabbing y/n by his ankles pulling them towards him folding y/n in the process, his dick going in and out. y/n squirmed, his eyes rolled back and mouth agape, feeling that cock reaching so deep inside him, no other cock has made him feel like that.

“what happened pillow muncher.. too much to handle?” he starts sucking hickeys in the back of y/n's neck. “i'm gonna breed this pussy and after this you're gonna be mine you hear me?” he whispered while flipping y/n a fuck him while he leans on his back “no… i don't belong to.. to anyone not even to a loser like you” the older just ignored it and continued looking for his pleasure.

“guess you're not that straight macho after all” y/n murmured drawing jinyoung's attention, “just because i'm stretching your boypussy and about to cream it right now doesn't make me a homo… i'm straight as a line..”. y/n with his hooded eyes make eye contact with the top, smiled and caressed his cheek “even the straightest line can be curved dumbass” he then kisses his forehead “c'mon cream this fucking pussy… isn't this what you want hurry up before someone wakes up” fucking himself in jinyoung's dick y/n also searched for his pleasure his cock splurting with cum minutes later landing on jinyoung's chest and abs, while that happened he squeezed so hard that jinyoung came without realizing it, emptying his balls in the insatiable hole of y/n. 

jinyoung tried to catch his breath resting his head on y/n's chest falling asleep, followed by y/n minutes later.

the ride back to university was surprisingly quiet, jinyoung didn't say a word about sitting next to y/n, everyone was surprised. one by one they got off the bus with jinyoung and y/n being the last, the tall one grabbed the shorter one by the hand so that he wouldn't come down yet. "i'm going to break up with my girlfriend... what i’m doing with her is not right." "wow, at least there's some empathy inside that empty skull" y/n responded. jinyoung just laughed looking at y/n with a fond smile "sigh... i'm so sorry for what i’ve put you through all these years... i know that's not going to change the damage i've already done but i want to start being a good person… wanna go eat lunch? it's on me".

surprised by the sudden change y/n wondered what happened with him last night “are you okay? did you eat something strange this morning?”. “no fucking asshole i just… i just wanted to change my behaviour… you know if the straightest line can be curved that means that we can change and it's never too late to do it” y/n just stared at him dumbfounded “are you being serious right now? are you philosophizing over a silly phrase i just made up…ugh fucking corny anyways is free food and i can't say no to that so text me where is it and see you there. i guess..” y/n was about to get off but turned around, stood up and pet jinyoung's head, a slight blush covering his cheeks. jinyoung just stood there watching y/n get off the bus with a smile slowly forming in his face.

[ablobwhowrites]

This is for Vehicons! Reader, but I'm mentally imagining him/them going through a similar situation like "The Last Unicorn" when the Unicorn is forced to be human in order to be saved/hidden. "I'm a little afraid to go home. I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am no longer like the others, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but now I do. I regret."

They're still human in a way, their mortal body fused with their Vehicon one, but they can no longer go back to their normal human life. They're not a pure Vehicon and they're not purely human. They're no longer like the rest of the world.

(YOU ARE COOKING!!!! Also vehicon y/n's angst arc is still continuing.)

Cause that's bascially vehicon y/n. He doesn't feel whole and with him wanting to live in earth yet knowing he can't because of how little of energon there is with also the mental toll this has taken on y/n.

He is scared, he feels mortal, he feels like he has no power yet, he feels like he could live forever, and having so much power compared to his old self. He just wants to be home, he wants a hug from his parents, he wants to cry, shout, scream almost anything but he can't as no matter how many times he would do that. No matter how many times people try to make him feel better, he just can't.

Just like the first time he woke up in his vehicon body. He felt pain, probably the scariest moments of his whole life was caused by M.E.C.H. because Silas chose y/n as a guinea pig for this experiment, not caring if y/n died, only if it was successful.

And like you said with the last unicorn quote. When the unicorn finds out she is human. That was y/n also for a little more angst what if vehicon y/n was Miko's older brother as Miko usually saw y/n as a cheerful person but now to someone who was scared and forced to be checked on by ratchet so many times because ratchet doesn't even know how y/n is staying alive for so long. Miko wants Silas dead and if she does get her hands on Silas, she will get revenge for her brother.

Plus he isn't even safe when hes on the deception nemesis ship because of arachnid, because she sees y/n as a exotic trophy because of the episode with her ship having so many trophies she had from her going to planet to planet and killing animals and to display them as trophies. I think if kinda everyone wasn't keeping arachnid away from y/n then arachnid would take y/n (maybe alive? But idk) to make a new trophy because well y/n is basically a anomaly to cybertronian's and humans because of well being alive and yet being organic.

(but that's it for my yapping session for today. If you guys like want more or have story idea please don't be shy and request! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[bots-and-cons]

Can I request a Shockwave with a scientist reader with a Tony Stark like backstory. She was kidnapped and survived being attacked by mech but now has a self invented arc reactor in her chest that keeps her heart beating and shrapnel from reaching her heart, it also controls an Iron man like suit.

A/N: I'm trying to get all of the requests done, I only have three left after this one so I should be able to get them done before the end of the month, maybe even earlier. I'll make an announcement post when I open the requests again, and I'll also give you guys a date about a week ahead of opening them, so you're prepared. I've got this ironman request and this one as well if someone's interested

Shockwave and you met a bit after you escaped from M.E.C.H and he helped you make a better arc reactor to keep you alive

It was quite a process to change the arc reactor to the better version, but Shockwave has a lot of precision tools so it wasn't that bad

You were a bit of a science experiment for him at first, but the two of you grew to be something like colleagues

He doesn't really have friends, and even if you consider him a friend, he doesn't really see you or anyone else that way

Anyway, Shockwave didn't really help you create the first proper ironman suit, but he did follow the process quite closely since you were doing it in his lab

He didn't really give you any tips or anything, because he doesn't really care much for other people's science experiments, but he did kinda watch over the whole thing, so nothing would go wrong

He isn't really aware of the fact that he cares about you a lot, he just always rationalizes it as not wanting anything to happen to his lab or his equipment

He doesn't really care about the little "hero" thing you do, since he doesn't really consider it to have an effect on whatever the decepticons are doing

Not that he really cares about what the decepticons are doing either, he just wants to do his science without any restriction

Though your "hero" thing is mostly you getting revenge on M.E.C.H and disrupting their operations, and it's pretty much only driven by your need for vengeance

[avianconcept]

Lucas Johnson, and why he was one of my favorites in TSC.

I see a lot of people hating on him for his reactions + actions towards Jean in TSC, which is fine! Everyone’s allowed to not like characters, and we’re all on Jean’s side! Lucas enabled a really traumatizing and dangerous situation. But I keep seeing these posts referring to him as an asshole who Jean should have revenge of some sort on, and I’m like ??? 

I thought Lucas had one of the most interesting arcs in TSC, and tied in really well with one of the central messages of the story. I think he’s a character who is in a lot of distress that he is unprepared to handle, and is still seeking the painful truth. Yes he was a dick to Jean several times, but I don’t think this makes him an Evil Antagonist or a little shit or whatever else he is referred to as. I found Lucas and Jean’s plotline to be one of the most compelling in the whole book. It made me think about how much knowing the truth matters, even if it can’t change the scenario. This is going to be a long and unstructured mess that is sort of about Lucas, sort of about the Ravens vs Trojans, sort of about themes. I apologize in advance, but this has been kicking around in my brain since I finished TSC the day it came out. 

I’m going to start with the straightforward bit: why I personally think Lucas is over-hated, and why I liked him. 

I think most of it comes from the fact that we as readers forget that not all characters are operating with the same information and perspective that we are. Our perception of the situation is informed by Jean’s POV– in a lot of ways, his perception is ours. So we have known from pretty much minute one that Jean isn’t an asshole, that the rumors about him aren’t true, and that Grayson is a serial rapist. So when we see Lucas not believing Jean, questioning him or calling him a whore, we see it the way Jean sees it: a nosy, rude, foolish man who is going out of his way to make Jean’s and his own life difficult unnecessarily. 

But when you think about it from Lucas’ POV, remembering that Lucas does not know the things we know about Jean and Grayson, Lucas’ actions make a lot more sense. 

Imagine, for a moment, that you have an older brother. You grew up together, you played the same sport, you loved him. And then he leaves, and goes no contact out of the blue. You try and try and you can’t get a hold of him, even when you join a college team yourself. But then one day, after his team falls apart, he comes home. He comes home angry and wrong and you can barely recognize him.The only way you can get him to engage with you is about this ex teammate of his. He gets angry, attacks you, hits you until you lose teeth. The rest of his team is being put in inpatient care in psych hospitals. You’re not sure whats wrong with him, only that this is not the brother you loved– there is something very wrong with him, and the only thing he’ll talk about is Jean Moreau. 

I feel like when we see it this way, it isn’t hard to get why Lucas came out so hostile when he met Jean. Jean was already surrounded by this (false, unfair) media perception, and then Grayson talks about how much he hates him. When you bear in mind that Lucas has known Grayson his whole life (minus the last four or so years), and Jean for about two minutes– it doesn’t surprise me that he does not immediately take Jean’s side. I’d even go so far as to say that it would make no sense if he did. ESPECIALLY when from Lucas’ POV, Jean starts saying all of this horrible (true) shit about Grayson, which has got to be a sore spot for Lucas atm. Because Lucas doesn’t understand that 

Sidebar: I don’t say any of this to blame Jean, or say that Lucas is without flaw– I say it because it’s a really well written conflict. In both characters' heads, they’re each making perfect sense. It’s irritating to me in books when the author has thrown in a conflict for drama only, by making two characters hate each other for no reason. This situation is really compelling to read about for this reason. 

I’ve seen a few of takes along the lines of, “How dare Lucas keep pushing Jean for answers/bring Grayson to the Gold Court/not believe Jean when Jean is CLEARLY traumatized.” And I get it– it was painful and frustrating to see him not understand. But also I think we as longtime lovers of AFTG have had ten-ish years to get used to the Foxes, and their understanding of trauma. For them, the parts of trauma that are triggers and erratic behavior and strange boundaries are navigated almost instinctively because it is all of their lived experience. They all (mostly) learned the language of when to push and when to back off because they have areas themselves that they don’t want to be asked about. Though they don’t use therapy speak, and though the way they deal with it often ranges from unorthodox to downright problematic, they have an understanding of the weight of what they’re working around. 

Lucas Johnson does not come from this world. He does not have this understanding– it is likely that the first time he was afraid in his own house was when Grayson came home. Now, compared to how gently and tactfully some of the other Trojans handle Jean, like Jeremy, Cat, and Laila, or even Cody and Xavier knowing to back off about Jean’s scars; Lucas isn’t doing so great. He could have been better. There are a few things to consider though. 

One: None of Jeremy, Cat, Laila, Cody or Xavier have as much of a personal stake in this situation as Lucas does. For them, it's an issue between two teammates, not the brother they’re slowly realizing they don’t know anymore. 

Two: There’s been two instances of drama mentioned, one being whatever Cat’s freshman year drama was, and two being whatever Jeremy’s banquet situation is. So the floozies might actually have a little more of a clue about how to deal with difficult situations. 

Three: Lucas is also undergoing trauma. He had the shit beat out of him by the brother he so desperately wanted back. He’s realizing the brother he loved may actually be dead. That is traumatic and painful and does not make someone act like their best self. 

All of this to say– he goes about the situation in a really indelicate, inexperienced way, makes some really bad judgment calls, and I think that makes a ton of sense! 

ANYWAYS. God. 

The reason I think Lucas ties in really well with one of the main messages of TSC is how he reacts as he finds out more and more about Grayson. In his final conversation with Jean, he is grieving, afraid, and in shock, but he is willing to accept that Grayson is not the man he knew anymore– that Grayson turned into something horrific. 

Lucas, upon realizing this new information, doesn’t cling onto his old world view. He doesn’t try to find ways to spin it to keep his brother in the right and Jean in the wrong. He faces the evidence in front of him, and makes an effort to realign his perspective with what he now understands the truth to be. Put a pin in that for a second. 

One of the messages of TSC seems to be that to look away when you know something malignant is going on is an act of violence. 

Jeremy is the one who outright says it, I will not look away, but that sentiment is echoed in the actions of so many characters. Cat and Laila’s continued rejection of Jean’s scrimmages excuse for his injuries. Neil looking for more than a second at the state Jean was in after Grayson’s attack and realizing something was wrong. Lisinski not brushing off Jean’s reaction to the water and banning him from swimming, to keep him from doing it anyway. Xavier, Cat and Cody’s reactions to Jean's scars. Over and over again we see people refuse to look away. 

Think about the Nest, about the sexual assaults Jean’s freshman year. The backliners who assaulted him all knew Riko put them up to it, but none of them ever said it outright. This implies that everyone outside of the backline doesn’t know. Jean caused a stir because of his age and how quickly he changed partners– which means the Ravens knew he was sixteen. The Ravens, though they are psychologically screwed now, came from normal lives. Even though they didn’t know about Riko’s involvement, at least a few likely understood the concept of statutory rape. We know Thea at least saw what was going on, we know Zane KNEW about the assaults, Kevin apparently understands ‘half the truth’; either way, at a certain point, metaphorically or literally, they all turned away from the truth. 

This extends to Riko’s abuse of Jean and Kevin, too. Jean mentions that he and Kevin went to great lengths to hide what Riko was doing to them from the Ravens. But, given the level of forced proximity on the team, I think that even with these layers of secrets, it isn’t insane to think that the Ravens likely saw clues. They apparently knew Riko was violent. They know Tetsuji is, so really, how big of a stretch would it be? In Lazarus, Renee notices that Zane sounds hesitant when he says that Jean was with Riko, which implies that he does have a clue what's going on in that sense.

I don’t say all of this under the impression that the Ravens could have stood up to Riko or Tetsuji, or put a stop to much of it. I say this to point out the significance of the truth, and acknowledging or avoiding it. 

The point is– for these lies to work, for the story to hold, everyone around them had to reach a point of Looking Away. 

Looking away from someone in distress and accepting the simple narrative is easy, but the right thing is always to not look away. To keep looking until you see the whole picture, because the person you’re looking at is worth it. Even if it can change nothing, the truth matters.

To me, Lucas does this! When you think about it from his POV, he has SO MUCH MORE of a reason to believe Grayson. He was a reason to want Grayson’s version to be true. If Grayson is telling the truth, then Jean is a whore and an asshole and maybe, just maybe, Lucas can still have his brother back. Sure, Grayson’s hurt him, but that could just be stress and Raven related trauma. Not acknowledging that Grayson has crossed irredeemable lines leaves the door open for Lucas to keep the version of his brother that he dearly loves and misses. It would be easier for him to double down, to deny and defend. To buy the easy, common story  And yet he doesn’t. He questions and starts to see his brother differently- he BELIEVES that his brother could be different than the man who left four years ago. He does not blind himself to the things he's seeing and hearing in favor of holding onto some false, memory version of Grayson. To me, that takes an immense strength of character, and a commitment to what is right.  And that is why Lucas was one of my favorite

[maidflowery]

Fortified Wager ♣♣♣ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 8

♦︎♦︎ Aventurine x Reader ♦︎♦︎ 𝕀𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕

🄱🄰🄲🄺 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ 7】

𝕋𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥

𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐕𝐒 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 (𝟏)

╔══ ≪ ♥♦♥ ≫ ══╗

“See? You should have just kept quiet and done as you were told. The truth is, I actually like you. You’re quiet and obedient.”

When Big Baddie stood up, you realized he was twice your size.

So, you let the gems fall, teetering on the edge of the table as bait.

Sorry, Aventurine.

Meanwhile, you let your watch slid over your knuckle as a makeshift brass knuckle. There was no way you’d deal any real damage otherwise.

“I was just trying to save you, you know? I’m sure you also don’t know this, but that Avgin slave over there killed his owner.”

The moment he leaned in, eager to grab a hold of the gems, you swung your fist straight into his face!

“Of course I know, you piece of shit!

Otherwise, what kind of Aventurine’s fan were you?

“Uuoorrggh—!!”

As your fist connected with his nose, you felt the sharp impact reverberate through your knuckles, followed by a sudden, jarring crunch. Big Baddie took the punch square in the face and staggered backward. Soon, he lost his balance and fell, crashing to the ground in a heap.

Regret always came too late.

As you watched your wristwatch fell, shattering its glass on the floor, you realized you still loved it after all!! Also, your hand hurt like a bitch! Shit! Fuck! You could feel tears welling up in your eyes.

Above all, you were furious.

Aventurine never even brought up his past, so who the fuck gave this guy the right to do so?!

You recalled how the pair of violet-cyan eyes looked so lifeless and devoid of emotion the moment his past was mentioned. It was clearly something difficult—something he preferred to keep private, and for obvious reasons.

If Aventurine were a male lead in a romance novel, it would have taken over 100 chapters and three different arcs before he revealed his past!! Even then, it would be only to the person he trusted most, someone he felt comfortable being vulnerable with!! That was just how delicate this was!!

And yet, and yet... this guy, heartlessly, in front of everyone...

In the past, Aventurine's entire family and clan were massacred by their enemies. Though he survived the ordeal, he was soon enslaved. Only God knows the depths of trauma and torment he suffered at their hands—enough to drive him to kill.

“—Hahahaha! Of course! Of course she doesn’t know! That's what you get for letting his looks fool you!”

“Do you know how hard I’ve been holding back my laugh?! I was wondering how to break the news this whole time! Hahahaha!”

Of course, taking a life was rarely, if ever, justified.

But that is not a reason to laugh at or shame him?! Especially not this bastard, who drove two innocent children to seek revenge!!

A single tear rolled down your cheek. Regret, anger, sorrow and pain washed over you all at once—mostly pain.

While shaking your stinging hand like crazy, you screamed at Big Baddie, “But so what—?! So what if he killed his master?!”

If you were beaten within an inch of your life every day and treated far worse than an animal, what would you do?

If you had nothing left to live for but to await your death at the hands of your enslaver, how would you respond?

“—I’d have done the same!!”

Your shoulders heaved up and down as you struggled to regain composure. All you knew was that you were ranting out of sheer rage.

“Shut up!!” Big Baddie stood up while covering his nose. He glowered at you like a beast, blood oozing out of his hands. “You're just a pathetic slut serving tables!! Do you really think I can't destroy you?! That worthless slave won't protect you from me!!”

“...!”

You instantly went quiet.

Seeing this, Big Baddie grinned with triumph, blood staining his gold and white teeth.

...That’s right.

Back when you were merely a third party, you could easily dismiss the whole incident with Big Baddie as "unreasonable." As much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t see it as that big of a deal.

Why didn’t the staff just skirt around the problem, make some excuses, and feign ignorance? Or, even better yet, fight back. Then, call the authority if things escalated. Easy-peasy.

Well, the reason, as it turned out, was plain and simple.

It was the same reason you didn’t pick a fight with every professor who imposed outrageous assignments or feedbacks on you. Or why you hadn’t shoved your middle finger down Erin’s—your actual manager at the restaurant you actually worked at—prissy throat yet.

Because you’d be a dropout and without a job. Now, you wouldn’t say that you knew how every single staff in Primavera felt, but you certainly wouldn’t survive without your job, let alone switch colleges.

Facing against Billy Burnett, the infamous iron-fisted loan-shark, the stakes were even higher. One wrong move, and your entire life could be in jeopardy.

“Need I remind you what kind of authority they have? A single word from them could ruin the lives of many. I wouldn’t care if you’re the only one affected, but I also have something to protect, so stay in your lane.”

You recalled Marius’ words.

You wouldn’t blame him either—or anyone, for that matter. Everyone had their own circumstances. It was called “picking your battles.”

Which was why, only you could do this.

If it wasn’t you—who would?

You grinned.

Thanks for the reminder, Big Baddie.

Thus, as the waiter of the high-end nightclub Primavera, you shot back, “Watch your language! Aventurine is one of our most valued customers, and we do not tolerate any form of abuse or mistreatment toward him!”

“Wha—?!”

Big Baddie had a dumb look on his face. Perhaps this was the first time someone had called him out so boldly.

Also, you weren’t even lying!! Who else could singlehandedly quadruple the profit of a luxurious nightclub?! Calling him Primavera Jesus would be more fitting! Obviously, the staff would want to cling to him—especially after what you were about to do in their uniform, using their name!

While Big Baddie was still flabbergasted, you continued.

“—Given that this behavior has persisted, we are left with no choice but to ask you to leave and ban you from returning!”

After enduring his tyranny for so long, those were likely the words the staff had been dying to say, but couldn’t.

Then, your gaze briefly landed on your crisp, black uniform. Her uniform.

Of course, you wouldn’t pretend to understand how Judith felt either.

Still, when everyone else was too terrified or stunned to do anything, her manager took a punch in the face for her. If you were her, you’d be happy, knowing that most managers out there wouldn’t do even half as much—and at the same time, sad. But above all, angry.

So, you thought of saying this for her.

“—Also, that’s for punching my manager, asshole!!!”

Yes, only you, or specifically, Aschenputtel, could do this.

Aschenputtel, who was destined to lost her job either way. Aschenputtel, who had neither family nor friends, and would disappear past midnight.

Hence, you, Aschenputtel, decided—

—I’m taking you down with me, Big Baddie.

╚══════╝

🄾🄽🅆🄰🅁🄳 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ９】

I realized that at the rate I was doing it before, the update will only come once a month, or even 2 months in case anything happened. ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა I don't want to keep you guys hanging for that long. So I decided to post it as soon as a part is finished. Do tell me if any of you prefer that I just finish it as a whole before updating :D

[shebunie]

Do you think you could write about mizu x reader being a belly dancer, how do you think she'd react when her traveling friend starts belly dancing to some music or something-?

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗕𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗗𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟭.𝟭𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁, 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴─

“This is not helping,” Mizu mumbled while adjusting her cap, following the cheers and applause of a forming crowd not far from her. The narrow, bustling streets were filled with the lively sounds of market vendors haggling, the tantalizing aroma of spices, and the enchanting melodies of street musicians. 

The swordswoman couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration as she surveyed the scene. Mizu's wandering feet led her to a bustling square where a spirited atmosphere promised entertainment of all kinds. The crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage, and curiosity sparked in Mizu's eyes as she edged closer to see what the commotion was about.

As she maneuvered through the sea of people, the rhythm of enticing music filled the air. Mizu's sharp instincts honed in on a familiar beat—the intoxicating melody of dancing. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Mizu couldn't resist the pull of the performance unfolding before her.

On the stage, a mysterious figure gracefully swayed and twirled, casting a spell on the onlookers with every sinuous movement. The dancer's attire shimmered in the sunlight, adorned with intricate embellishments that caught and reflected the vibrant colours of the surroundings. Mizu couldn't help but be captivated by the mesmerizing display. 

Much to the woman's surprise, the mysterious dancer turned out to be none other than you. Realization hit her like a sudden gust of wind. It was you, donned in that attire of vibrant silk, with gems that cascade down your arms as it draped across those hips that clung to your form, accentuating the graceful arcs of movements. The tinkling sound of delicate bells attached to their clothing harmonized with the rhythmic beat of the music, creating a symphony that echoed through the marketplace.

Her travelling companion had somehow managed to gather an impromptu audience. Mizu's eyes widened as she observed your fluid movements. How their hips swayed, hands tracing intricate patterns in the air, and their whole body seemed to speak a language of its own. The crowd, initially drawn by the music, quickly shifted their attention to the captivating performance unfolding before them.

For a moment, Mizu forgot her annoyance and found herself mesmerized by your newfound skill. Your dance was a mesmerizing spectacle, and the rhythmic undulations seemed to cast a spell over the gathering crowd. The coins tossed into the makeshift hat at their feet served as a testament to the crowd's appreciation.

Caught in the hypnotic sway of the dancer's movements, Mizu couldn't help but appreciate the artistry. However, the stoic demeanour remained intact. Unbeknownst to her, a mischievous glint sparkled in the eyes of her companion, you who had been sharing the path to revenge for some time.

Seizing the opportunity to break through the sword wielder’s composed exterior, with a grin you gestured towards the makeshift dance floor. "Come on, Mizu! Join me!" Such infectious enthusiasm contrasts with Mizu's restrained demeanour.

Mizu's initial reaction was a raised eyebrow and a hesitant shake of her head, but you persisted, adding a teasing twirl to their dance. The crowd cheered, encouraging Mizu to let loose. She scoffed at the suggestion, her attention fixed on the performance before her. "I’m not much of a dancer," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of aloofness.

Dancing was not her forte, and she had always been more comfortable with a sword in hand than moving to the rhythm of music. But as the crowd's enthusiasm grew, and you continued to dance with uninhibited joy, Mizu felt a flicker of something within her—a spark of curiosity. 

You approached her with a twirl, "It's more fun when you join in," a whisper to her ear, you slyly intertwined your hands together, and you felt her stiffen. Caressing her face with a free hand, it seemed as if the market square seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the centre of the world. There was a subtle softness in your gaze, a silent invitation to step out of her comfort zone.

“I’ll guide you through it.”

After a moment of contemplation, Mizu sighed, realizing that resisting your infectious energy was a futile endeavour. With a reluctant smile, she gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and you pulled her into the dance. The crowd erupted in cheers as Mizu tentatively moved to the music, her movements initially rigid but gradually becoming more fluid.

As the two of you danced together, Mizu's initial discomfort melted away. She started to enjoy the experience, feeling the freedom that came with letting go of her usual stoic demeanour. The composed woman found herself smiling genuinely, revelling in the unexpected joy of the moment. The dance continued, weaving a story of a blossoming relationship, adventure, and the magic that happens when one lets go of inhibitions.

As the music reached its crescendo, concluding their performance with a graceful bow. The crowd erupted in applause. Both panting slightly from the exertion, a triumphant grin plastered on your face.

"How was that?" you asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Mizu chuckled, genuinely impressed. "Well, that was certainly… different."

You beamed at her response, earlier worries about entertaining the crowd dissipating like morning mist. The sun's golden rays painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, creating a breathtaking canvas that stretched across the horizon. Having successfully navigated the lively market, found a quiet corner bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The distant sounds of the crowd blended into a gentle hum as they settled into a moment of tranquillity.

"You were amazing out there, Mizu," you praised, a genuine smile gracing your face. "Who knew you had such hidden talents?"

Mizu smirked, a rare display of satisfaction crossing her features. "I suppose there's more to me than meets the eye. But don't get used to it; I don't plan on making a habit out of dancing in public."

You chuckled, acknowledging her reserved nature. "Fair enough. But I'm glad you joined in. It added a bit of charm to the day."

As the sun continued its descent, the market square transformed into a mosaic of warm lights and shadows. Street vendors lit lanterns, creating a winsome ambience that enveloped the surroundings. Strolling through the narrow pathways, exploring the enchanting stalls that offered an array of exotic wares.

They shared laughter and stories, creating memories that would linger in their hearts long after the journey's end. Mizu, known for her stoicism and unwavering focus on the mission at hand, found herself enjoying the simple pleasures of the moment. The infectious spirit of you had a way of breaking through her walls, and for a fleeting moment, Mizu welcomed the respite.

As the night wore on, Mizu and you, sated and content, made their way back to their lodgings. The market square, now quieter, still echoed with the distant melody of music and the memories of a warrior's dance. Little did they know that their paths, intertwined by chance and connection, would continue to unfold with each step of their voyage.

[rizzanon]

Hey! First of all, undoing fate is by far one of the best iterations of “neglected” or “forgotten” batsis out there! Your writing is amazing and I love how creative the plot is and how in depth you have gone with batsis and her relationships with the family. It’s very refreshing and a lot more cannon than a lot of fics out there.

I just had two thoughts/questions! One, will we get to see Damian, Tim, Cass and Stephanie’s initial reactions to Batsis dying in the OG universe? I mean I feel like 100% Damian wouldn’t have accepted her death and would have been the one to throw her in the pit but I assume you’ve already thought this all out!

Also, I know a lot of people have been asking for a revenge or villain arc for batsis or whatever but I had a different idea. I feel like her giving up being batgirl is sort of a good end and her coming back into the vigilante life after everything it took from her just wouldn’t make sense for character development so INSTEAD what if she ends up falling for/getting involved with Gotham’s newest villain?? Maybe they are causing the batfamily and Gotham hell but they some how end up getting involved and she falls for him and maybe he knows the identity of the family and the bats end up figuring out that he’s the one under the mask and realize batsis is cuddled up with the villain. Maybe he pits her against them a bit and maybe we see some protective bat siblings??😏😏 (perhaps the court of owls?? They aren’t written about enough lol). Batsis has never gotten a lot of positive attention or affection so I can see her clinging to someone no matter who they are because she’s finally being seen and her feelings are being validated and protected.

Anyway that’s just an idea! I kinda hate the whole villain arc thing, batsis is too mature for that and she is finally living a better life. But sorry for the yapping!! Regardless of what you choose to write I know it’ll be amazing!

aww tysm 🥹 i’m glad you love my writing and plot so far. i always love receiving comments like this, knowing that there are actually people who enjoy reading undoing fate lol 🫶🫶

as for your questions, yes we will definitely see the others’ reactions to batsis dying in the og universe!

as for the second part of your ask, it definitely would be interesting to write about reader falling with Gotham’s newest villain or something. but unfortunately, i don’t think i will be writing any romance plots for reader. this is so that everyone can just enjoy reading the platonic stuff as it is. great idea though!! i think i might write a what if for this when i have time 🤫🥰