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scuderiahoney · 2 months

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Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion part 3

hockey au part 3: a walk in near the park, a surprising team photo, and the semester comes to a close. 6.2k words

warnings: mentions of sports injury, mentions of bullying, alcohol, academic stress, final exams

Oscar has spent a lot of his life on the move. He moved to the US from Australia for high school at a pretty young age, just to try and play hockey. Looking back, it sounds crazy. What’s even crazier is that it actually worked. He’d play for club teams and in leagues and travel absolutely anywhere if it gave him time on the ice. And then he ended up on a college team and stayed put for two years, and honestly, it felt strange.

Over that time, he got good at putting things in boxes. Keeping life organized. Not so much in a sense of clutter and things having a place- his room is a mess, there’s laundry to be done, and his hockey locker is a disaster- but more so in his head. His friendships and relationships get categorized, information filed away, grouped together. Not by importance or value, but by… context. Hockey friends in one box. Family in another. People like coaches and managers and executives in a third. Moving somewhere new always shakes the boxes up.

By late November, though, Oscar’s feeling a little bit more comfortable in his own skin. He’s found his place in the team, he has weekly lunches with teammates, and he’s even made some friends outside of hockey. His old coach, Mark, says that’s a big piece of it. That it’s good to have something other than sport, just in case it all falls apart, or it doesn’t work out. People to fall back on who aren’t just there for hockey.

Oscar wants to say that his teammates would still be friends with him even if he stopped playing, for some reason, but the truth is that he’s been burned by other overly ambitious hockey kids way too often to truly believe it. That’s half the reason he’s on the Timberwolves now, why he left his old school and team behind. Things feel better here. Lando has an old friend who used to play hockey who still hangs around the house sometimes- Max, the other Max. (Oscar doesn’t call him that to his face.) So maybe Lando at least wouldn’t ditch him if he quit.

And then there’s you, too. Oscar’s not quite sure when you went from being an enigma he struggled to place into one of his carefully organized boxes in his head to, well, this.

You’re sitting across from him at the dining table in his house, one finger tracing the words in the textbook in front of you. You have a TimTam in your other hand-you seem to have developed a fondness for them, the same way that Oscar seems to have developed a fondness for you. The late afternoon sun is shining into the room through the sliding glass door and onto you. Oscar shakes his head to try to clear it.

As he does, you groan and drop your face into the textbook with a solid thud- he winces. “I hate physics.”

He holds back a laugh, because he knows you genuinely are frustrated. “Does slamming your face on the words help?”

You shrug. “Maybe, if I just sit here like this, the knowledge will seep into my brain.”

He hums. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Right, because you know everything,” you mumble. “Genius man.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table. “Come on. Time for a break.”

“I don’t need a break, I need to learn…” you sigh and turn your head, pressing your cheek to the book and looking at him with one eye. “What are we studying again?”

Oscar fixes you with a disapproving look and heads towards the front door. He knows you’ll follow. By the time he makes it to the entryway, you’re hot on his heels, watching curiously as he pulls his shoes on.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“We’re going on a walk,” he says. “Brain break.”

You shrug and nod, reaching for your own shoes as he pulls on a jacket. He tries not to laugh as you struggle to pull them on without untying them. You’re always stubborn like that, it seems. It’s almost painfully endearing. You stand up straight once you have the shoes on and look at him expectantly.

“Where’s your jacket?” He asks.

You shrug and shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. Or is it Charles’ hoodie? Oscar swears he’d seen him wearing it just yesterday.

“I didn’t wear one,” you say. Oscar raises his brows, and you roll your eyes. “There’s not even snow on the ground, Piastri.”

“It’s almost December, Bunny” he says flatly, and reaches for another one of his jackets hanging on the hook near the door.

He hands it to you, and stands there, waiting, until you grumble and pull it on. You wear the other guys’ clothing all the time, but he swears you look almost flustered at the offer. Huh. He’s trying desperately to pretend he’s not flustered over it, honestly. Something about you in his clothing makes him blush. He’d felt the same way about the hoodie you’d borrowed at the party.

“You’re just Australian,” you say, nudging your foot against his as if to usher him out the door. “You’re a baby about the cold.”

He doesn’t have much of a comeback to that, so he steps outside, and you follow right along with him. He walks down the steps and takes off down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. You might be right- he’s a bit of a baby when it comes to cold temperatures- but his breath curls into mist in front of his face and yours does the same, so it really is chilly. The sun paints everything golden- the windows on the buildings, the dead leaves that still cling to a couple trees. Your elbow bumps against his as the two of you walk. He tries to ignore the spark that shoots up his spine at the feeling. You're chatting away about something, someone in one of your classes who’s been annoying you lately. He's found he likes to listen to you talk.

When he turns to take the path through the park next to the athletics building, you stop in your tracks. He turns back, figuring you’ve seen something, but you’re just staring into the park, and at the large building behind it. He frowns.

“Everything alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “I just. D’you think maybe we could walk to that cafe near here? I could really go for a chai latte.”

He nods- a drink does sound good. “Yeah, sure. D’you wanna walk through the park on the way? Won’t be much of a detour.”

The park is nice. It’s one of Oscar’s favorite places on campus. There’s grass and trees and a path that winds around the university’s baseball and soccer fields. But you’re staring at it with a much different feeling, if the look on your face tells him anything.

You shake your head. “No, let’s just…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you take off down the sidewalk, heading away from the park. He’s left to follow in your footsteps, suddenly feeling like he really knows nothing about you at all.

…..

When Oscar thinks of home, now, he thinks of this. Not Australia, or the house, or even his family, really. He thinks of a jersey, a stick in his hand, and the scrape of his skates against the ice. Hockey, for all its cheering fans and yelling opponents and background music, is a strangely quiet sport. Maybe he’s just gotten good at blocking out the noise.

They’re warming up on the ice. He has warm up traditions, now, something he hasn’t had with teammates in years- he and Lando slap each other on the shoulders, and he and George always skate a lap together. It’s not anything huge or elaborate, but it means he’s part of the team, and that’s enough.

Max skates up to him, just at the end of warmup. He nudges his shoulder against Oscar’s through the padding. “Good?”

Oscar had a rough week in practice. It was the kind that would’ve had him benched for a month on his last team. Seb’s been nothing but supportive- constructive criticism was offered, sure, but he’s still on the ice today, so he figures that’s a good sign. He nods and turns to Max. His eyes flicker up into the stands. He shouldn’t know this, but he does- your seat is above Max’s head from this angle, up in the second section, front row. You’re wearing a jersey, probably Lando’s number if he had to guess, and sharing popcorn with Alex’s girlfriend, Lily. He smiles.

“Yeah. Good.” He nods.

Max nods in return, then skates away. Oscar follows.

When he scores later, and ties the game one to one, he looks to the same spot in the stands. Lando hits him on the back, hard, a bit too enthusiastic. You’re standing in front of your seat, arms around Lily, yelling, and he grins. He can’t help it. The smile doesn’t drop from his face for the rest of the game. The rink, the ice, and his teammates may feel like home, but the way you cheer for him feels awfully close to it, too.

At the party afterwards, you pour two shots of tequila and hand one to him. He takes it with a smile, grimaces at the taste, and laughs when you cough. He pats you on the back sympathetically, and when you take his hand two seconds later and drag him towards the beer pong table, he follows happily.

…..

December creeps up on Oscar, and with it, so does final exam week. Suddenly, it’s just… there, bearing down on him. He’s not exactly nervous about most of his exams- he’s prepared well, and though he’d never say it out loud, he’s pretty good at testing. But no matter how well he studies or how much he’s paid attention in class, exams still aren’t exactly fun.

He sees you a lot in the week leading up to it. You’re often in the kitchen, eating snacks with Max, or in the living room, quizzing Charles on vocab, or in Lando’s room taking a nap between classes. You’re stressed. He can tell. He does his best to help in any way he can- when he goes to the store, he picks up your favorite snacks and leaves them on the counter. He helps you study for the physics exam. When he finds you asleep on the couch in his living room on Saturday night, he carefully lays a blanket over you and turns off the lamp. He hopes some of it helps, just a little bit.

The next afternoon, Oscar stands in the lobby of the athletic training building. He and Max had headed over for the afternoon to do a workout together, more to get their minds off exams than anything else. Now he’s in the lobby, waiting for his team captain, and he’s staring. Laser focused. He's making a whole lot of connections all at once. The wheels are turning in his brain, and he’s sure if anyone’s watching him, he looks crazy. He jumps when someone slaps a hand against his shoulder. It’s Max.

“Hey,” his team captain says, shaking him slightly. “You look lost.”

Oscar frowns and turns back to the photo in front of him. Women’s Soccer, a team photo, from what would’ve been his freshman year at his previous school. He’d been looking at the photos while he waited- the lobby is lined with them, and some of them are actually pretty funny. Some of the faces in this one are familiar, people he’s seen in the gym off and on. One, however, had caught his eye.

“Is that who I think it is?” He asks, pointing at the left side of the picture in the third row.

When he turns back to Max, his face has changed. The teasing look is gone, replaced by something solemn and hard set. Max nods and tugs at his shoulder.

“Wait,” Oscar says, trying to stay planted while Max tries to drag him away. “But she-“

Max crosses his arms over his chest and studies Oscar, brows furrowed. “I know. It’s not my story to tell, yeah?”

Oscar nods dumbly. Max nods in response. Then he nods his head towards the door, as if he’s directing Oscar to follow him. He does, because he’s not sure what else to do, and he’s not going to get any more information from the photo. He knows what he saw, anyways. You, standing there with the whole team, in uniform, your name listed below the photo with the rest of your teammates.

If there’s one thing the Timberwolves do better than hockey, it’s soccer. The women’s team has been national champions multiple times. A spot on that team isn’t something someone gives up willingly. But you’re not on the team, not anymore. When Lando asked if you wanted to go to the gym with them, you’d replied that you “wouldn’t be caught dead at the athletic training building.” And you’d avoided the athletic park like the plague.

Max turns to him as they walk out of the building, and the confusion must still be evident on his face, because Max swears under his breath in some other language. Oscar’s too lost in thought to even wonder what language it is, exactly.

“Look, just-“ Max pinches the bridge of his nose. “Trust me, she’ll talk about it when she wants to.”

“Okay,” Oscar nods. “But, like, is she… okay?”

Max gives him a sad smile. “Yeah.”

Oscar hears the silent part in his head. She is now.

They walk home together in near silence. Oscar doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure Max doesn’t, either. When they get to the house, Alex is coming down the front steps, the door still open behind him. Oscar sees your boots in the entryway, your coat hanging on the hook. Alex ruffles his hair as he walks past, and Oscar ducks before he turns to Max.

“Don’t tell her?” He asks, and Max looks sheepish, like that was the exact thing he was about to do. “I mean. If you think she needs to know I saw it, then… sure. But I don’t want her to feel pressured to talk to me about it.”

Max wrinkles his nose and nods. “Okay. For now.”

Oscar nods. They’re in agreement, then. He walks in through the front door and he can hear you and Lando in the kitchen, singing along to whatever song is playing from the speaker. It’s family dinner night. Oscar tries to put the thoughts of you in a soccer team portrait out of his head.

He sits next to you at dinner as you pick at your food. It’s one of your favorite meals, but your appetite seems low. It has him feeling concerned. Max, on your other side, nudges you. Oscar watches the two of you have a quiet conversation and wishes he knew what you were feeling. You finally take a couple bites, and he tries not to show how relieved he is about it.

One by one, everyone wanders off to study and get ready for the week ahead. You stay sitting at the table, though. Oscar clears some plates and comes back to find you, a couple TimTams in hand. You take them with a soft smile.

“You alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “Stressed.”

Oscar nods. “Anything I can do to help?”

You twist your mouth. “Probably not. I should really just go home.”

You don’t make any moves to get up. He sighs and sits down next to you. You drum your fingers on the worn wooden tabletop and set the cookies down next to your plate. You’re chewing on your lower lip, and you close your eyes and let out a breath through your nose.

“It’s like… my brain just won’t stop going,” you say. “Like everything I’ve read is just tumbling around in there and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“Objects in motion tend to stay in motion,” Oscar says, and you groan.

“Do not use physics metaphors on me right now,” you say, and when he starts laughing, you dissolve into giggles, too. “Gross.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly when you turn to look at him. “Why don’t I make some tea, and we can put it in travel mugs, and I’ll walk you home?”

A soft smile slips across your face. “That sounds really nice.”

He makes the tea exactly how both of you like it, pours it into the mugs, and ushers you towards the front door. You stop in the living room to say goodbye to Lando, who ruffles your hair, and Max, who holds onto your arm and says something to you, so quietly that you’re the only one who’ll hear it. Then Oscar heads outside, and you follow. It’s slightly dark, and chilly, but you’ve brought a jacket this time. You wrap both hands around the mug as you walk, a habit of yours that Oscar finds awfully endearing. The streetlights glow bright above your heads.

The walk is mostly silent. He reaches the entrance to the park, and on reflex again, he slows and turns to head down the path. You stop in your tracks and let out a pained little noise. Oscar’s stomach rolls. In the distance, the soccer field is lit up bright with floodlights. Something must’ve happened, to keep you from playing. You’d been good enough to be on the team. Something had changed. He turns and takes a step to continue down the sidewalk, but you stay planted there, staring. He pauses, holding his breath. It’s just the two of you, under the streetlamps, feet on the sidewalk.

“I used to play soccer,” you say, quietly, and his pulse jumps.

She’ll tell you when she’s ready. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He bites his lip and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. You’re still staring out over the park, so he turns to stare, too. He feels you lean your shoulder against his, like you’re looking for support, and he leans into it, just to show he’s there.

“I got signed to play as a senior in high school,” you explain. “And, not to brag, but I was really good. Went through summer training camp and made friends with my teammates and got here and… then I fell just the right way at practice, or the wrong way, I guess,” you say, grimacing. “Fucked up my knee. I had to have surgery, twice, and even then, they pretty much told me I was done. That it would never heal right.”

Oscar’s heart sinks. His chest feels tight. He thinks of you, on the couch in the living room when he woke up feeling off and asked you to go on a run, how you’d said you’d messed up your knee. He thinks of Max and the concerned way he always watches you climb the stairs in the stands at the rink. He thinks of you, younger, like the picture in the athletics building, on the field, in pain. He feels sick to his stomach.

“And my teammates… they didn’t know how to act, I think. They didn’t know how to help, so they just didn’t try. So, suddenly I was no longer a soccer player, and I was alone, and…” you sigh. Oscar turns to face you, and he thinks there are tears in your eyes. “And then I met Lando, and the rest of the team, and the rest is history. But… there are some things that still get to me. The field… it holds a lot of bad memories, you know? And when I’m stressed like this it all comes flooding back.”

He nods. You’re not looking at him, even as he watches a tear roll down your cheek. He wants to reach out and wipe it away, but he wonders if that would be a step too far. He pulls his hands from his pockets. You swipe a hand against your cheeks and clear the tears, and then let your own hands hang at your sides. He takes a steadying breath, steels himself, and links his fingers with yours- casually, lightly, gently holding on. You squeeze his hand in reply- a thank you, he thinks. He does the same in return.

“Did Max tell you why I left my old school?” He asks, quietly.

“No,” you answer, voice low and tentative. “Max doesn’t tell people stuff like that.”

He shrugs, though he supposes that makes sense- he’d refused to tell Oscar what had happened to you. Max seems loyal like that. Oscar rolls a pebble beneath his shoe and listens to your breathing to remind himself you’re still there. He wants you to know this. Wants to share. Wants you to know he understands, at least a little bit.

“I got scouted by them my senior year,” he starts, closing his eyes. Like this, he’s almost right back in it. “And I was really excited. And then I got there and… the guys on the team were awful. I didn’t get any playing time, and they’d all been friends since they were kids, and I felt like such an outsider.” He kicks the pebble down the path lightly. “By the time my sophomore year rolled around, I hated it. I hated hockey. I’d spent my whole life doing nothing but that but I dreaded every practice. I was…”

He huffs. Squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He can feel the hits from his own teammates at practice. Can feel that same empty, lonely feeling sitting at the end of the bench. He can taste the blood in his mouth when he tried to stand up for himself and the team captain shoved him and the coach did nothing.

“It was fucked,” he says. He hates the way his voice wobbles. “So I quit. I walked out. I was done with hockey. I couldn’t even go near the rink for months.”

“But you’re here now,” you say, quietly.

He nods sharply. “I had this old coach- his name’s Mark. Showed up on his doorstep and told him the whole thing. He and Seb used to be teammates. So he got me a tryout. I refused, at first. And then Seb sent Max to come talk to me.”

He remembers that, clear as day, too. Max, bright and smiling, at his dorm room door. He knew who Max was, he had looked up to him for years. Max had walked in, planted himself on the floor in the room, and hadn’t left until Oscar changed his mind.

“I spent the summer training back home. Found my love for it again,” he explains. “But it wasn’t easy. I think I’m still working on it, sometimes.”

You hum next to him. You squeeze his hand again. His breath hitches. Your skin is warm against his. It makes his chest ache. He hadn’t known who he was without his sport. He thinks maybe you know that feeling better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says into the night air. “And I know you must’ve heard it a billion times, and that I don’t really understand what it’s like to have it taken away like that. But…”

“But you get it,” you say, voice rough around the edges. “The lonely feeling.”

He nods and swallows against the lump in his throat. “And thank you. For making things less lonely here.”

“I’m sorry if I was too much,” you answer.

He just shakes his head. “I’m sorry I was so… stuck.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, before you squeeze his hand again. “Come on, let’s go on a walk.”

You knit your fingers with his, properly, and Oscar expects you to start down the sidewalk again. You don’t. Instead, your feet carry you down the path through the park. He understands now, that this place must hold awful memories. Reminders of what was supposed to be, what was taken away. You’re trusting him with this. It sits heavy on his shoulders.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask more questions. When you walk past the soccer field, he turns to sneak a glance at your face. There’s sadness in your eyes, but a smile on your lips. There’s a strength, there, too, that he finds starkly beautiful. You hold onto him tightly, and together, you make it through the park, all the way to your apartment.

He leaves you at the door with a quiet goodnight and a promise to see each other the next day for the regular study session. The exam is on Tuesday, so it’ll be his last excuse to spend time with you like that. He walks home in silence, through the park, and tries not to stare at the soccer goal. That night, he dreams of soccer fields and hockey rinks and you.

…..

When Oscar gets home just before your normal study time the next day, there’s music pouring out of the front door before he even opens it. It’s louder once he does. The house seems mostly empty, but someone is either having a very good or very bad day. He wavers in the doorway, wondering if he should call you. He’s still there when you walk in behind him, bumping into his shoulder. He turns to look at you, eyes wide. Yours are even wider.

“I don’t think we can study here,” he says, frowning.

You shake your head. “We can go to my place.”

So he packs up his things into his backpack, avoiding whatever is going on in Charles’ room that has him causing permanent damage to his eardrums. Then the two of you take off down the street, towards your apartment. He slows only slightly at the turn for the park, waiting to see what you’ll do. You turn down the path through the park and loop your arm in his. He looks away in the hopes that you don’t see the smile that creeps across his face.

Your apartment is, honestly, exactly how he’d always pictured it. It’s soft and cozy and colorful. There’s a well loved, overstuffed couch in the living room, a little table in the kitchen, and so much stuff on the walls. Music posters, photos blown up big, and… collages. Some in frames, some tacked up with tape, scattered across the place. Perfect mixtures of magazine cutouts and pieces of paper and he swears he even spots a dried flower on one.

“Wow,” he says, studying the one that hangs over the couch. “These are so cool.”

You’re in the kitchen, grabbing a snack, and you turn over your shoulder. “Oh. Thanks. I made a lot of them when I was injured. I had nothing better to do, yknow?”

He sees a chunk of an x-ray in the corner of the piece, and his heart twists. You walk up next to him, shoulder to shoulder. When he looks at you, you’re smiling softly. He likes that look on your face. He wants to keep it there, and suddenly he dreads studying physics because he knows how stressed you’re going to be.

“We’ll have to make some sometime,” you say, nudging your elbow against his. “There’s a billion hockey magazines in a closet at your house.”

“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body,” he says.

You laugh. “That’s the fun of collages. You don’t have to.”

He settles in on one end of the couch, and you settle into the other. The soft light of the lamp in the living room makes it feel warm, the same way your hand in his had felt the day before. He tries so, so hard to focus on physics. It’s just… he’s in your apartment, and you’re there, knees curled to your chest, brow furrowed in concentration, and… something about this feels so soft.

He clears his throat, opens his textbook, and flips to the review questions. “Alright. Ready?”

The two of you study for hours. Oscar doesn’t know when it happens, but at some point you move closer, so you can look off the same textbook. Physics terms and formulas and theories rattle around in his brain, all wrapped up with thoughts of you. The sun goes down, and the windows to the outside grow dark. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay right here.

“My brain is full,” you mumble, between a yawn.

You drop your head against his shoulder, and his heart pounds in his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he knows it. You’re just tired, that’s all.

He nods in agreement. “Mine too. I can go home. We should get a good night’s sleep.”

You nod against his shoulder and then make no move to pull away. “In a minute,” you say. “Your arm is comfy.”

Butterflies- actual, real life butterflies, he swears it- swirl in his stomach. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s seen you fall asleep on Charles’ shoulder during movie nights, watched you curl up on Max’s bed and take a nap while everyone around you talked. He’s just another friend, another shoulder to lean on. This doesn’t mean anything, and besides, it shouldn’t mean anything, so why is his stomach swirling with butterflies, and why does his face feel hot?

When you finally pull away and help him pack up his things, he hopes you can’t tell how he’s feeling. You walk him to the door and wait for him to put on his shoes and jacket. It’s just so you can lock it behind him, he knows. But then you reach up and smooth the hair from his forehead and laugh, and his chest aches fiercely, and god, he could kiss you- not even really kiss you, just on the forehead or the cheek would do. He says goodnight instead and steps out into the hallway, then makes his feet carry him down the stairs and out to the sidewalk.

He walks past the soccer field and finds himself hoping that maybe you felt it too.

He gets up early the next morning and finds Max in the kitchen with coffee ready to go. He grabs two travel mugs- his, and yours. Max raises an eyebrow as he spreads cream cheese on a bagel. Oscar does the same in response.

“You were out late last night,” Max says, eyeing him.

He doesn’t bother asking how Max knows when he got back. He feels like it’s written plainly all over his face. He can feel the weight of you against his shoulder. Can feel your hand brushing his hair from his face. Can feel how much he wants to lean in. Max must see it.

“I was studying,” he says, carefully.

“With Bunny,” Max suggests, and Oscar nods. “But not here.”

“No, we got here and Charles was blasting music,” Oscar explains. “So we went to her place.”

“He failed an exam,” Max says, face scrunched up. “Well. He assumes he did. You know Charles.”

Oscar nods. Max is staring at him as he pours hot coffee into mugs. He’s not sure what the team captain is looking for, but he hopes he doesn’t find it.

“She told you,” he says, quietly, and Oscar looks up from the mugs, nearly spilling coffee all over.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Max nods and finally turns back to his bagel. “Good.”

That’s that, then. He puts the lids on the coffee, and Max sends him out the door with two bagels- one for him, one for you. He almost feels like he’s passed some sort of test when Max gives him a sharp nod as he turns to leave, but he’s not sure which test it would even be.

He finds you in the lobby before the exam, hands off the coffee and the bagel and tells you he knows you’re going to do well. You smile brightly at him, and he swears it lights up the whole building.

“We’ve got this,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “And if we don’t, we’ll retake it together.”

He nods in agreement. The two of you sit on a bench and eat your bagels and drink your coffee. Oscar wishes he could attribute the warmth in his belly to the drink, but he’s pretty sure it has more to do with the way you smile up at him and the weight of your shoulder against his. Either way, it sends him into the exam with a good feeling, and that’s really all he can ask for.

…..

Oscar finds himself feeling sad when the holiday break rolls around this year. It’s a weird feeling. For years, he’s looked forward to December for this reason. The exams are over, he gets time off from school, a chance to go home or have his family visit, and a break from everything. He realizes, as he’s staring up at the ceiling, listening to Lando lugging a suitcase around, that he’s going to miss his friends when they leave for the break. It’s been two years since the last time he called his teammates friends.

He drags himself out of bed and into the hallway, because if Lando’s leaving, he wants to say goodbye. And sure enough, there he is, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and taking an enormous suitcase down the stairs one step at a time. Oscar spots you on the ground floor, watching in amusement, and he waves at you.

“Morning, Oscar,” you call out. “Ready for the break?”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Yeah.”

You raise your brows. “That was convincing,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your lips.

He bites back a laugh, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of having called him out. “It’ll be nice to see my family. Just weird to have everyone gone, yknow?”

Lando, who’s made it down three stairs, turns to look at him. “Aw, he’s gonna miss us!” He coos, and Oscar feels his face go red.

Before he can jump to his own defense or try to come up with something to tease Lando about, you speak up from the bottom of the steps.

“Yeah, and we’re gonna miss him, Lando,” you say, shaking your head. “Jesus. Oscar, would you just shove him and the giant suitcase down the steps?”

Oscar’s trying not to dwell on you saying you’ll miss him, too. It shouldn’t affect him nearly as much as it does right now. It makes his stomach twist. He keeps the smile plastered on his face and forces a laugh, and Lando glares at him as menacingly as Lando can glare at anyone. He brushes off the feeling and grabs the side handle of Lando’s suitcase, then helps him lug it down the stairs. Lando shoots him a smile to replace the glare as they get it to the bottom floor. Then he pats him on the shoulder and ruffles his hair. Oscar winces.

“Bye, Piastri,” he says, grinning. “Have a good break.”

He pulls the giant suitcase towards the front door. You stay standing there, even as Lando steps outside and sighs at the sight of the front steps. Oscar steps off the staircase and lands near you, arms swinging at his sides.

“You’re staying here all break, right?” You ask.

He nods. “My family will be here Monday, though.”

“Nice,” you say, smiling wide. “Well. I bought more TimTams and Vegemite, so they should feel right at home.”

Warmth bubbles up in Oscar’s chest. “Thanks.”

You nod. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, and he wonders if you’re holding your breath, too. You shift back and forth on your feet, and then before he knows it, you’re against his chest, arms around him. He barely has time to hug you back before you pull away, and that’s the only bad part about it. He would hold you forever, if he could, he thinks. And honestly, that’s terrifying.

You pull away, and he hopes you don’t notice how red his cheeks are. “Bye, Oscar,” you say, almost shyly.

“Bye, Bunny,” he says back.

Lando calls your name from the front door, and you scurry off. He sighs. He swears he can still smell your shampoo, and then hates himself for knowing what your shampoo even smells like. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and turns back towards the stairs, ready to head back to his room, crawl back into bed, and go back to sleep. He jumps in shock when he finds Alex and George standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing.

“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Alex,” George says.

“Quite interesting, I’d say,” Alex nods, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

Oscar rolls his eyes and takes the stairs two at a time. “You guys are creepy.”

They both just laugh as Oscar pushes past them and into his room. He shuts the door behind him, flops down onto the bed face first, and closes his eyes. Outside, he hears Logan’s car start up- the guy really needs to get the thing fixed, it’s loud as hell, but at least it still runs. He closes his eyes and reminds himself that it’ll only be a few weeks until you’re back in town. Then he wonders when having you around became so important to him. He rolls over, buries his face in the pillow, and goes to sleep.

notes: a lil osc pov!! thank you for reading! check out the winter break blurb, or find part 4 here!

tags: to be added or removed just let me know!! crossed out names were unable to be tagged- if it’s yours, shoot me a message!

main taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @verstoppenheimer @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @coolmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @avg-golden-retriever @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofswordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom

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starlit-typewriter · 27 days

Text

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 3

Someone did ask for the Fatui's opinion on the creator and well, this isn't quite that, but there are a couple of hints.

Warning for spoilers up to 4.6

Masterlist |Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

One of the biggest ironies in your admittedly rather long Genshin playing career was that you were not a “Try Hard,” at least you didn’t consider yourself that. You already spend enough time being teased as a lore fanatic and a completionist without adding that title on.

While you’d still level up your characters and try Spiral Abyss every once in a while, as long as they could handle the overworld content you were content.

It wasn't that you didn’t enjoy domain farming, not that there’s much there to enjoy. It was just an odd feeling of discontent when you spent too much time farming for a specific character.

Well, it’s not that odd you supposed. Plenty of people change their main dps all the time when they get bored with a current playstyle.

For you, well it happened with supports as well.

Case in point, Zhongli.

The illustrious retired geo archon.

More specifically, his terrible build.

Well, actually the build didn’t bother you all that much since you didn’t use him very much, but it did bother one of your friends.

For context, that friend is a Zhongli simp so it makes sense that they would complain at your half build Zhongli with missing artifacts and half leveled talents.

It didn’t matter since you didn’t use him.

But you couldn’t put your finger on why.

There was just something about him that you didn’t feel comfortable using.

It’s not that you didn’t know how to play his kit, that accusation is both untrue and hurtful.

He just felt off.

Actually, it’s not just Zhongli that provokes this feeling.

All the Archons do.

You could always come up with an excuse to bench them almost immediately after getting them.

Venti’s kit is too reliant on his burst,

Zhongli’s kit is useless if you know how to dodge,

Raiden could be replaced with Fischl,

So on and so forth.

But you know those aren't the truth, not the full truth at least.

If you didn’t like these characters you wouldn’t have pulled for them. But a part of yourself is still uncomfortable with playing them.

It’s maddening.

Why are you benching perfectly fine characters that you’ve spent your hard earned primogems on?

No idea.

It’s like you’re possessed everytime you try to use them. A small angry part of you just hates them, which would be fine if it appeared before you pulled for them, but it only appears after you’ve wasted months of work of saving primogems on a character you won’t use.

The entire situation is just so dumb.

You stared at your screen where your wishing team stood.

The newest Fatui Harbinger had just been released and from your playthrough of her trial and story quest, she seems very interesting.

You positioned them outside the house of the hearth and switched over to the wishing page.

It was a bit silly to have a ritual, but you couldn’t deny that it was fun to set this up.

A quick check to your primogem counter and you pressed Wish

~~~

The Knave exhaled, watching as her breath condensed into a white puff air in front of her.

Even after all these years, she never truly enjoyed the cold the way a Sneznayan would. However, this time was much different than the other times she’s made the trip.

If she concentrated, she could feel it, a tiny flame sitting in her chest.

A blessing,

She was never one for worship, her childhood in the house of the hearth had taught her to value strength rather than gods.

They beat in obedience to the Tsaritsa of course, as an organization run outside of Snezhnaya, it wouldn’t do for the illustrious homeland to doubt their loyalties.

But this was different.

Everyone was quite surprised when rumors of an outlander running across Teyvat started popping up, of course with Signora’s brief meeting with them, they didn’t seem like they were much of a threat, however with Tartaglia’s report following the mission to retrieve the Geo Gnosis, things became much different.

It was clear that their potential to grow stronger was many times that of normal vision holders, and apparently had the ability to pass on that same potential onto others.

It had taken the Mondstatian and Liyuenian agents and embarrassingly long time to realize that those whose abilities had skyrocketed were more than just particularly talented vision holders, and in fact had an actual connection.

Namely the Traveler.

And the fools couldn’t even get that part correct since Lyney managed to figure out, within a few days of meeting the Traveler might she add, that they were not in fact that one that granted that potential, or blessing as some have been calling it.

It seemed that they weren’t sure why this was happening any more than the rest of Teyvat, not that they didn't have their own theories she was sure, everyone has their own secrets and the Traveler seemed particularly adept at keeping their own close to their chest.

It was quite irritating as well, considering how Tartaglia’s battle skills have improved by leaps and bounds since receiving that same blessing.

Not that it helped all that much with their research, considering how battle obsessed the man is, she pitied the poor researchers in charge of getting him to sit down for an examination.

At least he went through it first and satisfied the majority of their curiosity before her children were blessed.

She already had a difficult enough time rejecting Dottore’s ideas for new collaborative projects they could work on. The last thing she needed was for him to have an actual excuse to get his hands on one of her children.

As good as a poker face Lynette had, Arlecchino could still see through her, it was clear she was worried about how this blessing may impact their operations.

Thankfully it was very little, as she wasn’t stupid enough to go around flaunting her newfound strength like other people.

Even so,

She rubbed at her own chest, feeling slightly discomforted by its presence.

It wasn’t malevolent, at least not so far.

From the Fatui’s extensive research it seems to be connected to an ancient god.

The ancient god.

It wasn’t something that concerned her until her children got involved, and well.

The information was interesting.

There are still many gaps in their information, which makes sense considering that it spanned the time before human existence.

The creator,

The unknown, unnamed creator of Teyvat.

Arlecchino let out a mirthless chuckle, if things were truly going the way it seemed, well.

Then there'd be no need for Project Stuzha after all.

Her gaze flickered to the side as Fatui members ran around the deck, preparing for docking.

It seems that the first leg of this trip was over.

Her boots crunched as she stopped onto the pier, it never truly stops snowing in Snezhnaya.

Thankfully she didn’t have to stay standing in the elements for long, as there was a prepared automatic carriage waiting, ready to take her to Zapolyarny Palace.

One of Sandrone’s more “useful” toys, no horses, no wheels, and heating on the inside as well. It glided on the snow as smooth as can be.

The knave leaned back in her seat, looking as elegant as can be, when in reality her mind was very much in turmoil.

There would no doubt be many questions for her once she arrived at the palace, questions that she sadly had no answer to.

In all their research it was clear that the blessing was only for those that the Traveler favored, or at the very least those with whom they were on good terms.

Lynette and Freminet were never overt with their Fatui ties when spending time with the Traveler, and their youth made it easy for people to drop their guard around them.

Even Tartaglia has his own boyish charm to him, and even he reported that he did not receive the blessing until after the Traveler had seen his softer side, babysitting his brother all day and seeing him sick and vulnerable.

But her,

She never showed such weakness.

While the Traveler did become privy to her past and her connections with her children, she did not view those as weaknesses.

The opposite actually, since their duel had proved that the Traveler had yet to reach her level.

Not that it would take long, considering how fast they improved, she wouldn’t be surprised if they would be able to give Il Capitano a run for his money soon enough.

This whole affair was made far more frustrating than it needed to be.

It just added another layer of complication to an already delicate operation; she's sure that Dottore will try to use as his chance to examine her further to see if this blessing could have any effects on her curse. As if she doesn't know her own body’s condition by now.

Regardless, it was of no true concern for her, merely another weapon in her arsenal.

Whom she was truly concerned for was Lyney.

The late bloomer in that little trio, the last one to receive a vision and, it seems in this case, blessings as well.

Not that there was any guarantee that he’d receive a blessing, there were many who’ve met the Traveler and failed to receive a blessing.

Of course the criteria is a bit more strict than that, but there is no true rhyme or reason behind it.

From what they’ve managed to extrapolate, all those who were blessed must have two things in common, a vision and a meaningful interaction with the Traveler.

What a frustratingly vague criteria for such a massive boon.

Even so, she’d seen the glimpse of frustration and jealousy once she revealed that she’d received hers.

Not that it made that much of a difference, while the blessing is no doubt incredibly beneficial, as she’d told him before, she didn’t choose him for his combat prowess, but for his desire to protect his family.

But of course children don’t listen.

She expected to have another talk with him soon.

The carriage slowed as it neared the palace, it was still daytime sadly so there was no aurora for her to see, it would’ve been fitting after all if she could see them on her way back from saying goodbye to Clervie.

She’ll have to stay up late tonight it seems.

Not that she would’ve been able to sleep early anyways, her coworkers always seem to take joy in piling her up to her ears with paperwork the second her foot touches Snezhayan snow.

How terribly tedious.

Arlecchino could not stifle the sigh when she saw exactly who greets her at the gates.

Standing here, ignoring all the gawking soldiers was no other than the youngest of them. Wearing his winter coat he waves at her eagerly, clearly excited.

She could already foresee where this was going.

She shuts off his train of inquiry with a sharp “No,” the second he opened his mouth.

He pouts, following after her as she strides into the palace, her heels clicking.

“You didn’t even hear me out,” he complained, keeping pace with her.

“I already know what you were about to say, and see no interest in entertaining this train of thought,”

He sighs, dramatically, “I’ve never had the chance to spar with another Blessed before, can you blame me for being excited?”

“You have sparred with the Traveler on a couple of occasion if I recall correctly,”

“That’s different and you know it,”

Still it seems that he is not willing to pressure her on the issue any longer, perhaps he is finally gaining some much needed maturity, or that her displeasure with the situation is showing more than she’d prefer.

Still that does not seem to stop him from gawking at her like a new toy.

“You don’t seem particularly pleased with your blessing,” he said, after a short pause.

The Knave lets her silence speak for her,

“Yikes, and considering Dottore was so hopeful that he’d get one when he made his trip to Sumeru. Using his original segment no less,”

“What that man wants is of no concern to me as long as long as it does not involve me,”

“Still, the Tsaritsa hasn’t made any proclamation about these blessings, makes me wonder what she’s planning,”

“I’m sure her majesty has her one plans in place,” she replies noncommittally,

“I’m sure she does, after all two of her Harbingers have already been blessed, think of how much more powerful the Fatui would be if more of us were,”

“You sound as if you wish for our fellow Harbingers to share this same blessing,”

“Well, won’t that be a sight. Imagine the Fatui Harbingers traveling across Teyvat to get into the good graces of the Traveler.”

“It sounds like the premise for one of those Inazuman light novels,” she commented lightly

“Right!” Tartaglia snickered to himself, before the two settled into a pensive silence.

“You never answered my question you know, and I don’t mean the one about a spar” he defended, raising his arms in a gesture of innocence.

The Knave stopped, causing him to stop too.

Usually she wouldn’t entertain his questions, but

This one was poignant.

Why did she feel so unsettled by this blessing,

Well the answer was simple,

“Power does not come without a price, just because the price for this power has not revealed itself yet, does not mean I’m willing to relax my guard.”

Tartaglia’s mouth opened and closed a couple times, he didn’t seem to have a response for her.

When it became clear to him that she wasn’t about to move and that their conversation was over, he excused himself, heading to his wing of the palace.

She turned her gaze to one of the nearby windows, she could barely see her reflection in the clear glass, her blood red eyes stared back at her, a constant reminder of her bloodline and powers.

Beyond that it was simply the frozen tundra that was Snezhnaya, whirling winds and snow, nothing but an empty expanse of white.

But for a moment, between blinks, she could’ve sworn she saw someone.

A figure,

Then they were gone.

She knew there was someone there, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember what they looked like.

Were they tall or short,

Male or female,

What clothes were they wearing, or even what color,

Nothing.

It seems that the stress of traveling had caught up to her.

She scanned the landscape again,

Nothing.

Still white and pristine and untouched, no sign of any human disturbance.

How very odd.

~~~

Masterlist |Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

A Taglist For those who've requested it!

@bunniotomia, @lucid-stories, @ymechi

Pls tell me if i'm doing this correctly.

If you'd like to be added feel free to send me an ask!

#genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #genshin cult au #My writing

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dizscreams · 1 year

Note

Hii new follower here And I just wanna request a Jack Champion × reader having a low-key relationship like having a couple rings, wearing the same clothes and posting low-key pics of each other on their ig but not confirming it. But one day they show up at the premier of Avatar together and that just confirm that there are indeed together.

Sorry if this is too long HAHAHAHAHA and thank you!❤️

ty for the request, sweetheart! I ADORE THIS AAA!! 🩵

Lets Give ‘em a Show — Jack Champion ★

PAIRING: Jack champion x fem!reader

SUMMARY: everyone already suspects you two are together but it gets confirmed when Jack brings you as his date to the Avatar premiere!!

A/N: okay this is set when Avatar 2 was already filmed and it was abt to come out. Cause that’s when interviews started happening and he already started filming scream 6 I think and yeah I think it just makes more sense when you know the context lol 😭

It wasn’t a secret you and Jack were close. Ever since it was announced that he would be in Avatar The Way Of Water he had gained attention, so that led to curious people finding his instagram. Some people who were trying to keep up with the new avatar and the new cast and others who just thought he was pretty.

And since Avatar 2 was just a few weeks away from coming out in theaters, Jack was more active on instagram. For both promotion and for fun. They didn’t have to scroll very far to find you on his instagram, you were practically in every picture. Now, you weren’t an actor or anything you were just a friend of Jack’s, or that’s what he referred to you as towards strangers at least. There wasn’t confirmation that you were together it was just assumptions and theories from people who didn’t even know you guys.

It was a fair assumption, you both spent almost every day together and the pictures you guys posted were definitely more than friendly and fans even speculated you guys had matching rings. But to be honest it was way more fun to tease everyone by taking pictures and videos that made you seem like a couple and then continue to deny it to people. Maybe you guys had more fun with it than you should’ve especially since you were actually together, but nobody needed that confirmed!

The calmer things you guys would post would be simple stuff. Stuff “friends” that have known each a long time could get away with. That didn’t stop people from getting suspicious though.

liked by misstrinitybliss, masonthegooding, and 114,231 others

jackchampion I’m back home with @ y/nnn763 !

view all 201 comments

y/nnn763 had fun tonight! ❤️

| user527 Cute!

| user1222 👀👀

liked by jackchampion, jamieflatters, misstrinitybliss, and 117,347 others

y/nnn763 @ a cafe w the one and only @ jackchampion

view all 345 comments

jackchampion It was yummy

user6727 Are u guys on a dateee?

The more “scandalous” stuff you guys would post would be things that would definitely make people raise an eyebrow when you tell them you’re just friends. Looking at those pictures always made Jack laugh. He loved that he was able to show people you were his even if it wasn’t confirmed to the public, they still knew.

liked by jackchampion, misstrinitybliss, baileybass, jennaortega, and 80,651 others

y/nnn763 halloween :) @ jackchampion

view all 287 comments

jackchampion We look so good 😎

| user0067 THE ARM? JACK?

baileybass I love this!

user7777 the way he’s looking at her 🥹

liked by misstrinitybliss, ynnn763, and 96,468 others

jackchampion She made me match with her 🙄 @ y/nnn763

view all 130 comments

y/nnn763 you looked cute though

| jackchampion You did too :)

misstrinitybliss Aww cute I want some now 🤍🤍

user552917 sooo we’re just gonna ignore their comments orr

| user9173 RIGHT CAUSE I KNOW YALL SEE THEM

In every picture either of you posted there were comments about you both, even if one of you wasn’t even in the picture. At this point Jack wasn’t sure if he kept posting you to show you off or if it was for the sake of the bit. No, It was definitely to show you off. That was his favorite thing to do and he couldn’t wait for the day you guys finally announce your relationship so he can post more romantic pictures of you both.

His biggest worry was that he wouldn’t be able to take you to the Avatar premiere with him. He knew you loved him, that wasn’t why he was scared of asking, it was just that neither of you really talked about revealing your relationship. He figured you were both content with how things were now. With perfect timing you entered the room, “Hi,” you said peaking your head through the door.

“Hey baby,” your boyfriend greeted you with a smile, “C’mere I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” he said opening his arms and you crawled on the bed and sat on his lap while he wrapped his arms around your waist. “What’s up?” You asked curiously, it didn’t sound like he was breaking up with you so you weren’t too worried. “Y’know how the Avatar premiere is coming up?” He asked while fiddling with the hem of your shirt nervously. “Mhm” you hummed with your head slightly cocked to the side.

“Well..” he looked up at you, “I was wondering if you’d want to go with me?” A grin took over your face and Jack let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “You serious?” You asked excitedly.

“Uh huh, I’ve been wanting to show you off for a while now, you know that.” He poked your stomach and you let out a small giggle in response, “I was just worried you wouldn’t be comfortable with it.. we haven’t exactly talked about going public or anything before,” he continued and you nodded in acknowledgment. “Well, I’d love to go with you,” you told him and gently played with his curls.

“Good.” You both grinned and he kissed your cheek sweetly before speaking up again, “Plus all those people who already think we’re dating will finally get to breathe. They can get the answer they’ve been wanting for so long.” You chuckled in response, “Let’s give them a show then.” He laughed and kissed you softly. “Let’s give them a show,” he repeated.

It was the day of the premiere, finally the day came. This was Jack’s big moment and he couldn’t be more excited. He finally gets to watch the film he’s worked years on AND bring his beautiful girlfriend with him. How lucky was he?!

He dusted off his suit and shifted his balance from one foot to another nervously. It was about time to go on the carpet where the world would see him and his cast mates in all their glory. They’d also get to see you, they’d get to see you and Jack hand in hand and Jack wanted to scream. He was both very nervous and very excited. “Your hands are sweaty,” you told Jack looking up at him. He chuckled, “Yeah I know, do you wanna let go?” You shook your head, “No,” you said softly.

You were then told it was time for both of you to go on the carpet. Jack took a deep breath and while your hands were still interlocked he led you to the carpet. There were a ton of cameras and people in front of you telling you to ‘smile!’ And ‘look this way!’

You both did what you were told and you could feel Jacks hand slightly shaking. Then someone told you it was time for just Jack to be on the carpet and you nodded and before you walked away Jack whispered to you, “Are you okay?” You smiled, “I’m fine, I’ll see you in a minute.”

You stood kinda on the sidelines as you watched Jack smile and look pretty. Then it was time for his interviews and obviously you couldn’t be there right next to him but you knew he’d be fine. You watched as he walked up to where he was supposed to go and start answering questions.

“So, Jack can you tell me who you’re here with tonight?” Damn, right off the bat, he thought. “I’m here with my girlfriend,” a bright grin adorning his face, “This is the first time we’re really telling people about us so it’s really exciting. It’s also just an exciting night in general since the movie is finally going to be seen and yeah I just can’t wait to watch it.” He nervously laughed at his rambling and continued with the interview. Answering stuff about his character and the movie. He could hear his own voice shaking and he hoped the microphone didn’t pick it up.

You were talking to Bailey and Trinity as Jack finished up, until Bailey was called to do an interview. Jack made his way over to you, “Hi,” he kissed your head. “Hi, are you alright?” you asked him. “Yeah I’m good now,” he gave you a genuine smile and started talking with Trinity as you stood beside him, you could tell his nerves were finally calming down and you were glad. You went on your phone and you found a picture you took of your boyfriend before you guys went to the premiere. Why not post it? You clicked the post button and Jack nudged you slightly.

“It’s time to go watch it,” he said flashing you with a cute toothy grin. One that you’d see on a child when they get told they’re getting candy or a new toy. This meant a lot to him it made sense he was so ecstatic. You beamed at him, “It’s showtime.”

y/nnn763 avatar premiere with @ jackchampion I’m so proud of you ml :) ❤️

YAYA!! I got totally carried away with the instagram pictures and stuff and went down a rabbit hole. I could make a whole post on instagram posts with Jack 🤭 but yeah I think I made it a little different than the request and I’m sorry! <33 not too proud of it but I hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶

#jack champion #jack champion x reader #ethan landry #avatar the way of water #spider socorro #dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫

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slackerlifewhere · 6 days

Text

random thought #2

About Arm (don't take this post seriously)

[Mild SPOILER??? Can this be considered a spoiler? I'll just put this here to be sure. I guess I should also warn you that this post is stupid.]

Another random thought I had today that no one probably cares about but I find it funny anyways so here I go:

Without any context, the name "Arm" is absolutely confusing and hilarious.

Like if Cale is a normal person who has a bad sense of humor (like me) and saw Ron lose an arm, he'll probably be like, "They must really like arms, huh? Get it? Because their name is 'Arm'?" And Ron would proceed to give him different kinds of lemon treats, food, and drink for a month just for revenge.

But putting my bad sense of humor aside, I don't know why they thought of naming a secret organization "Arm" and think it's going to be intimidating. Like I know Cale is also bad at naming things (aside from Raon, that name is beautiful) but wtf White Star? I know you're old but at least give your organization a better name. It's like they just want to use different parts of the body as their name because they don't have creativity.

I guess he does have a point for uniqueness because I doubt anyone made an organization and called it Leg or Foot or Head so he's the first one to do it! Good for him.

It also says a lot about how utterly bored he is with his immortality if he doesn't even care about the bad name (unless he actually likes the name).

When I first read the novel, I couldn't take the name too seriously. I saw it and immediately laughed. And when Cale used it for his "Real Arm" agenda, I almost died because it's so funny without any context because one of Ron's arm is fake.

But remember, the author also has a bad sense of humor for using the name "Bob" several times in the story so I think I can get away with this.

I suck, I know.

I'm sorry. Please ignore this post. This is just me sharing a post nobody should see but I did it anyway. Good day! I hope I didn't ruin your day with this stupid post.

#tcf #tcf cale #tcf manhwa #tcf novel #cale henituse #lcf cale #tcf cale henituse #lcf #lcf manhwa #lout of the count’s family #trash of the count's family #tcf ron #tcf white star #tcf humor

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travlersjoy444 · 1 year

Note

2012 Donnie with a secret human friend who he gets caught hanging out with by one of his brothers? I

Hm, good idea

'Cuz We Need Secrets

2012 Donatello x reader

It's pretty platonic, but one could read it as like an early stage of friends to lovers if they want to. In the text though it doesn't go anywhere past friendship. It's in Don's POV, and Donnie gets he/they pronouns. The reader's gender/pronouns aren't mentioned as per usual.

Work count: 3.1k

Warnings: Light angst, the age-old 2012 Donnie vs insecurity conflict, light swearing, a mentioned past crush on April

Donatello Hamato had not meant to befriend another human. Honestly, April and Casey were plenty as it was. More than plenty, actually, in Casey’s case sometimes.

In fact, they hadn’t even meant to befriend you in the first place, actually.

And yet here he was, sneaking you into the lair at three in the morning.

Hey, it wasn’t his fault that you were curious, and as a man of science, curiosity was something he highly encouraged!

“Ooh-kay, so you really weren’t joking about the ‘living in a sewer’ thing, huh?” you whistled, sounding more fascinated than judgemental as he opened the manhole cover. “I’ll admit it Dee, I almost believe you about the ninja thing now.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh yeah, ‘cause it’s the ninja-ing that’s unbelievable, not the mutant turtle thing.”

“Look, it’s New York! Mutant reptiles are a dime a dozen, bro. Ever seen Godzilla?” you teased.

Donnie snorted. “That takes place in Tokyo, actually.”

“Eh, it’s a big city. Same difference.” you said with a shrug, sticking your hands in your pockets casually- as if talking to a giant talking turtle was something completely normal for you.

Eh, he supposed it was, at this point. But he also knew for a fact that you had not been this chill when he first met you… But then again. That one was kinda on them, seeing as they were the one who showed up in your house unprompted.

(It hadn’t been personal! He’d needed a hiding place and your window had been open! You were basically asking for a mutant turtle teen to break in.)

(And apparently, he had basically been asking for a human teenager to hit him with a frying pan. Okay, he had maybe deserved that one.)

(Nonetheless, it had all worked out and you guys were buddies now! Yaaaay!)

“-onnie? Don? Don-tron? Dee, ya there?” you said, waving a hand in front of his face, effectively snapping him out of exposition mode.

“-huh? Oh, right, sewers, yeah.” Donnie grinned sheepishly. “Me first or you first?”

“Oh you, definitely. If there’s like, a sewer monster down there, I’d prefer to not be the one mauled by it.” you said definitively.

Donnie bit their tongue to keep from making a comment about how technically he was a sewer monster. He didn’t want you to think of him as a monster, regardless of how lighthearted the context was.

Honestly, it was so nice how you just treated them like a normal person- not that April didn’t, but y’know, she was…April. And he was a sewer monster.

Okay, that sentence didn’t make much sense: What he meant was that…April had already basically good as rejected him- whether because she genuinely didn’t like him or because he was a giant talking turtle, he had no clue. And he wasn’t even sure if April herself knew either.

So having you, a cool as shell human teenager who didn’t owe them your life (or at least not any more so than the rest of New York), like him and enjoy their company, made him want to scream in excitement.

Not that they would do that, obviously. That would be-um- really embarrassing!

So, shaking his head, he said “Sure, I’ll use my ninja-ing on any sewer monsters we happen to come across.”

“Aw, my hero.” you smiled, clasping your hands dramatically.

“Anytime.” he said, hoping they didn’t sound too awkward as he began to climb down the ladder. You followed him down, landing on the ground a few seconds after him.

“So am I gonna meet your brothers?” you said, looking around the tunnel curiously.

Donnie snorted. “Absolutely not, they’d kill me. Or, alternatively, they’d tell my dad who would then kill me.” (Or alternatively to the alternatively, you’d find them all much much cooler than Donatello. And then you’d be everyone’s friend instead of just his. Not that you weren’t allowed to have other friends, obviously, but still…he kinda liked being your favorite mutant turtle, if that made any sense?)

“Ooh, rule breaking. Sweet.” you said, sounding slightly nervous yet somehow relaxed. He did not even slightly understand how you managed that.

“Your family won’t like…murder me if I met them…right? Um, not because of the mutant thing, but because of the whole um…secret ninja thing.” you continued.

“No. Um. Maybe Raph would, but probably not- If anything, they’d be scared of you murdering me.” Donnie chuckled, leading you down the subway tunnel.

“Oh. I mean. I am entering your home secretly in the dead of night, so it…may not be entirely unfounded?” you shrugged. “But then again. Your home is a sewer, so I think that’s one point on the ‘Donnie is more likely to murder me than vice-versa’ scorecard.”

Donnie snorted. “Oh yeah, and the ‘being a scary mutant’ part is just normal?”

You shrugged. “The scarier part was when you showed up on my fire escape completely unannounced that one time.”

Donnie cringed at the mental image of Donnie-of-almost-a-year-ago. “I’m sorry about that again, I thought it was normal!”

You chuckled, patting his shell. “It’s fine dude, really. It’s hilarious in retrospect, actually, and let’s face it- you’re way too fun for me to stay mad at.”

“Oh- you think so?” Donnie grinned. “Thanks.”

“Although on the topic of mutants…um…really quick question, and you don’t have to answer, but…um….I’ve wondered this forever, but keep forgetting to ask you until now…” Eguh boy, here we go.

Donnie frowned. “Um…go on?”

“Does the space behind your shell ever itch and then you’re like. Unable to scratch it or reach it?” you said in one breath, looking slightly embarrassed as if you were asking something incredibly personal and maybe offensive.

Donnie blinked, trying their best not to laugh.

“...No?!”

“Oh okay cool. That’s good. That’s important. I’m happy for you.” you said, nodding.

“It’s like how it doesn’t itch under your fingernails, y’know?” Donnie chuckled.

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” you said thoughtfully.

“Oh, here we are!” Donnie said, smiling as you stepped towards the turnstiles. “Lair sweet lair.”

You whistled. “Pretty neat! So this is where the secret science stuff happens?”

“Actually, that’s over here.” he said, waving proudly at the garage door by the entrance.

“Wooooah! You’ve got a sick personal lab?!” you grinned, stepping inside. “Oooh and it’s all purple too? I love this!”

“Ooh let’s keep the volume down and- oh my gosh, you think so?! Thanks! It’s mostly stuff I stole- um I mean found- from that old military junkyard, but uh hey! At least it’s purple!” they rambled, tossing their bo from hand to hand.

“There is no way that that’s legal,” you said, wandering around the lab. “Which just makes this all so much cooler, of course.”

“You could come with me next time!” …Idiot! “Um- if you want, obviously, no pressure-” he backpedaled.

“No, that sounds fantastic. I’d love to accompany you to the junkyard.” you said sincerely, before pausing. “....Woah….hey Dee, what’s with the um…organs in a tube?” you said.

Donnie winced. Of course. “Oh…that’s Timothy.”

“...Timothy.” you repeated. “Care to…y’know, elaborate?”

Donnie swallowed. “I still feel pretty awful about him…he was some human that wanted to become a vigilante, and um…got himself mutated.” they sighed, staring at the glowing remains. “I’m trying to turn him back, make a retromutagen…but um…I haven’t had any luck yet.” he finished glumly.

“Jeez.” you said softly. “That is…pretty brutal.”

“Yeah…” Donnie shrugged. “Um…yeah. I wish there was more I could do for him. Mostly I wish I had done a better job of stopping him…poor guy wasn’t too bright, but he definitely doesn’t deserve this…”

You patted them on the shoulder. “Hey, knowing you, you probably did your best, Dee.”

“Well, I certainly tried, but…I dunno. I should have tried harder.” he sighed, leaning into your shoulder pat that had somehow morphed into a side-hug.

“Well if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that you do your best Don. And plus, you’re working on that retromutagen, so hey! Maybe Timothy will be Timothy again someday, right?” you smiled.

“Yeah…” Donnie said, smiling half-heartedly. “Well…sorry about this, I’m being such a downer, huh?”

“Hey, s’okay! And Dee…I dunno much about chemistry, but if there’s anything I can do to help, lemme know, okay? Like anything. Even just bringing you snacks. I’m great at snacks.” you grinned.

“Really?” they smiled, more sincerely this time. “Gee (Y/N). That’d be great, actually- I have this bad habit where I forget to eat when I’m working, so that might actually help a lot to be honest! Man, you’re the best.” he grinned.

“I know, I know.” you said, tossing your hair. “Everyone says so- and I mean like, yeah no I totally get it, I am so cool.”

“Hey, you know what, I’ll believe it.” Donnie chuckled. “You’re definitely pretty c-”

“Hey Donnie, ya mind telling me why you’re all cozied up with a human?”

Donnie froze.

Uh oh.

“I think I was too loud.” you mouthed, eyes wide.

Donnie slowly turned around to see a short turtle with a cracked plastron and a look in his eyes that gave Donnie a very bad feeling.

“Hi Raph.” they squeaked.

“Hi Raph.” you echoed, waving weakly.

Raph narrowed his eyes, glaring at Donnie. “...So you finally get a partner and then keep it secret?” he smirked. “Come on Don! I promised I’d stop calling you sad-dorable!”

Donnie blinked, flustered. “N-no Raph, (Y/N)’s not my partner-”

“Sad-dorable?” you grinned, staring at Raph. “That’s…that’s pretty good, actually!”

“Right?! Mikey and Leo just said it was ‘unempathetic’- see Don, your partner gets it!” Raph grinned, prodding Donnie’s shoulder.

“Speaking of Leo.” said a new voice.

This time, both Raph and Donnie looked nervous. “Uh…heya, Fearless.” said Raph awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder.

“What the heck are you two doing with a human at three in the morning?!” Leo exclaimed, looking incredibly done with his siblings’ crap. “God forbid a guy get any rest around here…”

“Aw shuddup Leo, you weren’t asleep.” Raph scoffed.

Leo suddenly looked a bit nervous. “Sure I was.”

“No, you were writing-”

“-I was writing a short story!” Leo said unconvincingly.

“Yeah, aka Captain Ryan x reader fanfiction.” Raph said flatly.

“Shut up Raphael.” Leo mumbled, blushing. Donnie resisted the urge to laugh in favor of stepping in front of you protectively.

“So what, has the whole lair decided to show up in my lab tonight?” Donnie said, rolling his eyes.

“Um-”

“Go back to bed Mikey.” they sighed, not even having to turn around to know that their youngest brother was there now too. “Actually, all of you, just go back to bed. Please.”

“Not fair, I wanna meet your secret lover!” Mikey groaned.

“-Friend! We are friends!” Donnie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “(Y/N) is my secret friend because you guys feel the need to drag our friends into the stupid ninja nonsense, and last time that happened, look what it did to Timothy!” they yelled.

Maybe they were exaggerating a bit. But he didn’t want you to get inevitably wrapped up in the world of aliens and mutants, and being around their brothers was a surefire way of ending up in it.

And on a more selfish note, maybe Donnie liked having one friend that was just his. Raph had Casey, Mikey had Renet, Leo had Karai, and Donnie…well, arguably there was April, but then, she thought of him as a repulsive sewer monster.

Maybe, as selfish as it was, Donnie wanted to have just one friend who liked him more than their brothers.

Raph, Leo, and Mikey stared at him. You also stared at him.

Donnie blinked, slowly lowering his hands. He swallowed. “Um. So. Yeah.”

Mikey raised his hand, but didn’t bother waiting to be called on. “Casey didn’t end up like the Pulverizer, and he’s friends with us!”

Raph shrugged. “Well yeah, but to be fair, Casey’s also kinda like a roach. I’m pretty sure he’s impossible to kill.”

You raised your hand like Mikey had. “Um, for the record, I don’t think I’ll be falling into a vat of mutagen any time soon. It’s ah…y’know, not exactly on the agenda.”

Donnie sighed, staring at the ground. “I know, I know…but like…What if. What if something happens and I can’t save you. What then? (Y/N), you mean a lot more to me personally than Timothy- I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt because of us.” they whispered.

Leo sighed. “It’s dangerous, yeah. We can’t deny that. But Dee…you didn’t have to keep it secret either.”

Raph coughed something that sounded like ‘Karai’, and Leo shot him a glare.

“We both know that was different.” he hissed.

“Cough- hypocrite- cough-” Raph continued.

You snorted. “I mean…well Dee, they know now, y’know? I don’t really plan on dealing with your ninja stuff, but if it makes ya feel any better, I took a bunch of martial arts classes a couple years ago. Obviously I’m not a freaking ninja, which is very cool and I believe you now by the way, but like…y’know, I can fight decently.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna spar?” said Raph, grinning.

“Not at three in the morning.” you dismissed.

“Aw.”

“Maybe tomorrow though.” you coughed.

“Nice.” Raph smirked, cracking his knuckles.

“Really?” Donnie said flatly.

“Uhm if Donnie’s not cool with it then I guess we can’t.” you said bluntly, giving Don a look.

Donnie sighed. He did kinda sound like a jerk, huh? “Whatever.” he said finally, fidgeting with their staff strap. “So um. Surprise, I guess. We’ve got a new friend!” they said, trying to smile at his brothers.

You stared at him for a second longer before Leo, who had looked kinda tired and ambivalent the whole time, suddenly jolted towards you. “Oh my god is that a SPACE HEROES SHIRT?!” he exclaimed.

You grinned. “Yeah! You like Space Heroes?!”

“Are you KIDDING? I love Space Heroes!” he squealed, bouncing up and down in a very Mikey-esque way. “Donnie I take it all back, your friend is amazing.”

Donnie gave a strained smile. “...Yup.”

Mikey gave him a look this time as he stepped away from the group. “Hey brah, are you…jelly?”

…At least he had the courtesy to whisper.

“What makes you say that?” Donnie mumbled.

“Well I mean…instead of like, being happy about your friend being like, friendly and bonding with us, you’re like…mad, dude.” Mikey said, poking them in the cheek. “Lookit that scowl bro! It says things, dude.”

“Is it that obvious?” Donnie sighed, both annoyed and relieved that Mikey had noticed his frustration.

“It’s pretty obvious, yup.”

“Coolio.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Mikey said.

Now normally, a talk with Mikey meant a lotta joking and Mikey being purposely annoying. But something about the way Mikey sounded so earnest made Donnie say:

“Eh…sure. (Y/N)’s busy, anyways.”

“C’mon, I gotta get my therapist boxers on.” Mikey said.

“I’m already regretting this.” Donnie deadpanned. “Since when does ‘Dr. Prankenstein’ have a therapy license?”

“Okay, okay man- no therapist boxers, I gotcha.” Mikey nodded, dragging Donnie to the far corner of the lab, where they sat down against the wall. “So what’s scraping your shell, dude?”

“Oh jeez. Please never say that again.”

“Ya dodged the question, D-man. D-person. D-gender neutral term.”

“Well…I guess it’s just that…I don’t know. It’s kind of unfair of me, but…well, (Y/N)’s my friend. You guys have your friends, so why can’t I have one friend who’s just there for…me, y’know?” Donnie tried to explain, watching you chat animatedly with Raph and Leo. “Anyways, of course (Y/N)’s getting along with everyone. (Y/N)’s awesome…and Raph and Leo are cool and strong…and obviously I’m hypercompetent too, but they’re the A-team for a reason…so I guess it’s just…well, next to them, who would ever wanna hang out with me?”

Mikey stared at them. “Um…(Y/N), probably? I mean like…you guys’ve been friends like…waaaaay longer than (Y/N) and Raph or (Y/N) and Leo, brah. And anyways, lookit how (Y/N) keeps looking at you, dude! It’s ‘cause you’re being weird and your friend is worried ‘bout it, yanno?”

Donnie snorted. “Sure.”

“Hey (Y/N), if you become friends with us you won’t ditch Donnie here, right?” Mikey hollered.

“Mikey-”

You raised an eyebrow. “...Wait, is that why you’re being weird, Don-tron?!”

“No- I mean- Maybe, I mean- it’s stupid, really-” they rambled.

“Yeah no that’s really fucking stupid.” you said.

“Jeez Don, really?” Raph said.

“Hey-”

“Not now dude, they’re dealin’ with brain stuff and…stuff.” Mikey said wisely, ushering Raph and Leo away.

You shook your head, coming over to the corner. “I mean- dude, we’ve been besties for what, a year now? Ya really think I’d ditch you like that?” you grinned, holding out your hand to help them up.

They took it hesitantly, smiling softly. “You mean…I’m your best friend?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I’d say so.”

“Oh.” he said, squeezing your hand. “I uh…didn’t know that. You’re mine, obviously, I just didn’t think I was yours.” they murmured, suddenly overcome with a weird, sweet emotion that he wasn’t quite sure how to describe.

“I can still befriend your brothers, dude…they’re cool. I like your family. But I like you best, so you don’t needa get all insecure on me, doofus.” you smiled. “And if you're still worried about safety, then you should teach me how to make cool weapons. Because not only would that be metal as fuck, but it would also be a great excuse to hang out with you.”

Donnie laughed. “Sure!”

There was a beat of silence, and Donnie glanced at you. “But um…I’m really sorry about tonight, (Y/N). I was…well, am being kind of a jerk, huh? Eugh. Sorry.”

You shrugged. “I mean yeah, but like, you talked it through and now we both are closer for it, right? And besides- meeting your brothers was awesome. But between the two of us, my favorite part of tonight has been hanging with you, you dork.”

Donnie grinned. “Same.”

You smiled at them again, and squeezed their hand one more time. “Ready to go face the others?”

“Ohhh boy, I should probably apologize to them too, huh?” Donnie winced, pushing the garage door open.

“Eh, I mean sure. Why not-”

But it was not their brothers who were waiting outside.

“Why is there a stranger in the lair? And more importantly- WHY ARE ALL MY CHILDREN OUT OF BED?” exclaimed Splinter, emerging from the shadows.

Oh no.

#tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader #gn!reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt 2012 donnie x reader #tmnt 2012 donnie #donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #2k12 donnie #he/they donatello tmnt

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frogchiro · 3 months

Note

I hear it is time to spread the word of our lord and savior Tachanka? 👀

link: (https://rainbowsix.fandom.com/wiki/Tachanka_(Siege) Context of link: Just the wiki page of R6 operator Tachanka.

But I wanna highlight a few things!!!

Alexsandr Senaviev was born on November 3rd in Leningrad, Russia to a military family. At the age of eighteen, Senaviev was conscripted into military service just as the Soviet Union was ending its operations in Afghanistan. Upon the dissolution of his draft, Senaviev opted to enlist full time. He was part of the wrestling league, where his formidable frame and match strategy earned him accolades.

Alexsandr Senaviev has a boisterous sense of humor with a booming laugh. He can be quite blunt, but without the intent to offend

Senaviev's younger sister is a doctor and our discussion had barely started when he was showing me pictures of her in her doctor's smock, along with a dozen more photos of his nieces and nephews and his own kids. […] He and his sister grew up in a strict household without many things, which is why he makes a great effort to enjoy life. They both make sure that their kids are loved and raised with laughter. At the same time, he doesn't like to buy or accumulate physical objects and emphasizes this with his children, much to their consternation. I suspect that's also partly to do with his divorce. […]

(Also the main reason why we refer to Tachanka as 'lord'/godly is mainly 'cause his weapons/loadout is shit.)

Ladies and gentlemen, we got ourselves a REAL LIFE DILF <33

From what I gathered on his wiki he has at least two children, one of them a son and an ex-wife! Also him being an ex wrestler because of his size and strength...

Imagine being a babysitter for his kids, a 6 year old boy and a sweet 3 year old girl who absolutely adore their nanny who spends the majority of their time with them since their father is still a busy man and their mother is using her newfound freedom as a divorced woman so you're babysitting the little ones for a hefty sum from their dad whenever you're free from college.

But you have to admit, while the kids are literal angels and a delight to babysit, they nor the money are the sole reason for you being so eager to babysit and their father, Alexsandr, played a huge part in it too.

He was so large and heavily build, no doubt from his years in the military but his charming, boisterous attitude combined with his broad, toothy grin that almost seemed boyish on his mature face was what really made you fall for him :(( Whenever the kids were playing or napping, you two had a little time with each other to just talk and spend time together, get to know each other better because 'Let's not make this one of those stick-in-the-ass rigid employer-employee relationships, yes?' as Alexsandr put it himself.

The connection between you deepened but you were still so shy under his clear blue eyes :(( You couldn't possibly do the first move, what if he doesn't return your feelings? He's much older than you, he has a military career, two kids and a divorce, surely he wouldn't ever be interested in someone like you...right?

Ofc little did you know that Alexsandr was tugging his lengthy, heavy cock every night after sending you off with a thick wad of cash and a loud, happy thank you for taking care of his kids, though in reality he was everything but happy :(( Like it or not but the burly male fell for you, the most cliche thing on earth, the young, sweet babysitter that visited him home almost every day to care for his little ones with a gentle smile towards them and him too, such a stark contrast from his ex wife...

He was cumming every night multiple times to the thought of you right here beside him, in his bed, all nice and naked, sated and warm after a night of passionate love making. He came on his hairy tummy with a displeased growl, once the post nut clarity set in and realized that he wasted so much precious seed when it could be inside you >:(

Alexsandr knew he had to have you, had to confess to you how he felt but didn't know how; his loud, charismatic attitude failing him for the first time in years but these thoughts were for the time being pushed back once again to the back of his mind. He could think of a better solution on how to win you over once he wasn't so terribly horny, testosterone clouding his mind as his heavy cock jumped to life once again, thick potent sperm oozing from his swollen tip and Alexsandr could only think about how well he could breed you, he was a real stud despite his age y'know? Plus he always wanted another kid anyway <33

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #rainbow six siege x reader #lord tachanka #tachanka #tachanka x reader #i can't with the fact that the 'lord' part is sarcastic bc his weapons are shit😭#rainbow six siege #r6s x reader

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val-cansalute · 29 days

Text

summary: - a prologue of sorts - you and ellie will never be the same. the words you exchange are so deep seated and visceral, an accumulation of all the hurt. hers are telling; the love she gives is nothing like yours, nowhere near as intense, nowhere near as desperate. she’s closed off to you, and she may never be open again. she’s leaving town before it is even given a proper ending, to go on tour now that her music career is taking off. this is the end. at least for a few years.

warnings: not rlly proofread bc i ball too hard, angst with no comfort yet, dw it’ll come, ellie is dealing with trauma, references to sex.

an: every now and then i remember that alcohol exists but then i drink it and remember why i didnt drink it for ages. i hate alcohol. this shit is reaaaaally short cuz it’s just some context for the main story. it’s not really necessary to read but i wrote it anyway just because. unfortunately for me, bc whenever i start a story i get rlly anxious until its over, the next one prolly won’t be coming for a while since im gonna be travelling for a bit and i got quite a lot of stuff going on: love you guys, stay safe, never stop talking about palestine. do your clicks. :-)

masterlist

When you first saw Ellie, there were embers in her eyes - front of the pub, she didn’t even need a stage as she sang her heart out. Her captivating nature was enough to elevate her. Everyone else in the room faded to grey in the background, nothing more than a lively buzz punctuating the atmosphere. You were enraptured.

And she was too.

Hesitant glances from across the room at the same time each week, the music and the feeling was electric. The flush of her cheeks melted into the splotches of red from the sweltering heat each time she met your eyes. You sat on that same barstool; she stood in that same spotlight.

And when you started seeing each other, there were so many moments where you felt like your love for her was uncontainable. It spewed out of your pores and overwhelmed your senses every time she was near, even in spite of her soft and reserved demeanour.

It had a hold on you. Each time your lips met, it always became visceral for you, slow and sensual movements transforming into borderline aggression, tongue desperately searching her insides and tearing all the petals off the rose that was in her mouth. You wanted to consume her, suck her up and hold her in the comfort of your rib cage. She was everything to you.

And she was bound to fame. You knew it would come. She was made of stardust, and an aura so golden it would burst if confined in small town pubs any longer.

Sometimes, you gently trace the ridged edges of the polaroid pinned to your wall and feel a pool of warmth gather inside you at the feeling of familiarity her younger face brings. Her face, back then when her eyes seemed greener, her cheeks seemed fuller, her voice seemed clearer. It’s a sick feeling: nostalgia, remembering the way your intensity felt and what it has become.

If you stare too long, you’ll watch the grainy photograph melt and churn, the hues of her skin becoming duller and sunken inwards.

The house is quiet. It’s a silence so dense, you’re almost fooled into thinking Ellie isn’t home. But she is. She’s there, like a ghost lingering in the cracks of your walls.

It feels cold, with a lingering scent of whiskey and a heavy silence that creaks in the hollows of your ears, even for the weeks at a time that Ellie is home.

Maybe it’s a sick thought to have about the woman you would give up your life for, who you would do anything for, who you love more than anything in the world millions of times over, but you prefer it when there’s a distance between the two of you these days. Playing into that constant facade of everything being okay drains you of all your worth and for no return. Ellie gave up on it a while back. It’s just you prancing away solo on that stage now, like some jester.

You’ve become a slave to it, lost yourself out at sea trying desperately to make things okay, whatever that means. She'll never talk to you about it. There’s only scraps left to hide but she clings to them like they’re her lifeblood, tearing them away from you as if you’re just some stranger. Some stranger who watches her crumble to pieces and put herself back together, like she’s a damn mix and match, each time the memories come back to surface in her mind. You beg for more, for crumbs of her resolve but she’s gone. Not coming back.

Nothing has been okay. Nothing has ever been the same since Joel died. Ellie has never been the same. That day, he left and took a piece of her with him. A piece you know you’ll never get back.

There’s no room for argument, what is between the two of you is like glue that barely sticks, so you keep yourself deathly still and hold your breath with a pounding heart and complete desperation, not wanting to ruin anything further. But there’s so much you have to say, and no time to say it.

Instead, you watch her pull further away, see her eyes become duller, notice her absence get longer, feel the sex get colder, watch everything warp and twist and writhe until you’re beyond the point of no return. Until you’re not sure you trust her, or yourself, or the concept of anyone truly loving you the animalistic and self destructive way you loved them at any point in time.

It’s lonely on that island, watching her drift away, the person you thought completed you, she felt incomplete regardless of your presence.

You know the glue has faded when she turns to face you from the foot of the bed, looking so far away as she speaks.

"What? You're moving to LA?" She looks down at the fingers she’s twiddling, and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"Yeah, Max said it wa-"

"Well, how long?" You cut her off, already rising from the bed and moving closer. She meets your eyes but the look she gives doesn’t satiate your anxiety in any way, despite how you beg it to.

"... About that, we were thinking it might be… indefinite for now..."

Your heart stills in your chest and the blood rushes from your head. She can’t even look at you.

"Ellie. What the fuck… How are you just gonna dump this on me now? W-what about us? What are we gonna do? I already barely see you anymore,"

"I... I'm sorry but, I gotta do this. You know I do, if I'm gonna make a caree-"

Desperation takes over, your palms quivering erratically beneath you,

"Ellie… I know you care about your career, but, God, we've been together for so long. I love you so much, please don't do this to me,"

She raises her gaze to the ceiling and forces the lump down the dry, tight hollow of her throat,

"It's not forever, babe, I’ll come home.”

But you’re already shaking your head in dismissal of her blatantly dishonest words,

"You and I both know that that is not true. You’ve been desperate to go since it happened and I know I’m just an obstacle now.“

"That’s… That’s not true. I really can’t do this right now."

"You never can. And it’s because I fucking know you're not coming back, Ellie! And I'm not gonna sit around, waiting for you to call, only ever hearing about you through other people when we’ve been together for so many fucking years! I want you to be happy more than anything-“

"We can call.”

"But you fucking won't! And you're always drunk! You need to talk to me, Ellie, we're never gonna be okay if you don't!”

“I can’t be okay when I’m trapped here! All I can think about is him! I don’t eat, I don’t sleep!”

"But this isn’t gonna make anything better! We have something here! We said we would start a family together, Ellie… LA; you would never have wanted this… Okay? Joel would never have wanted this!"

She gets up and turns without a second thought at the sound of his name and your blood pressure spikes in complete desperation.

"Ellie, Ellie, please. I'm sorry. We can work through this, I promi-"

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t! You aren’t being fair! You shut me out! You shut everyone out! I’ve been trying so fucking hard!"

"I know, and I’m fucking sorry, but I can't stay here, there's nothing left for me! I love you-"

Your voice is quiet and quivers with emotion that lulls her in, begging her to see that you need her - that she has always come first to you even if you’ve become secondary to her,

"Then prove it. Stay."

But her mind is already made up.

"… I can’t…”

You’re shaking your head,

“I have to do this.”

No, this is seriously the end.

“I'll come home."

You stop shaking your head and look at her.

“No. I can't wait around for you, Ellie, not when we’re like this. If you do this, it's over."

"That's up to you."

The rest of the night seems blurry to you. A deep despair festers to the brim of your skull. You can’t bring yourself to move once she’s gone, can’t bring your mind to calm itself down.

But once you do, the house is plunged into the darkness you encounter. The weight of Ellie still hangs thick in the air and lingers like a whine in the creaks of cold floorboards. As you leave the house you shared with Ellie, you pass through each room, switching the light on and then off, from top till the bottom, until you reach the last.

Click,

and then you leave, once and for all.

Pass round the bend and then by the sea. Watch the waves rise and then crash into each other, right where Ellie used to plant her feet beside you.

more pics of my cat bc she’s just so adorable 😩

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #fanfic #Spotify

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an-idyllic-novelist · 4 months

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Angel Dust with Violet Evergarden!reader platonic fluff scenario

Warnings: spoilers up to episode 4, possible triggers. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please leave now and read something much more pleasant.

For everyone else, welcome to this small piece of fluffy goodness! You guys might know me from my other blog, @forbidden-sunlight . You have sent me your ideas for future Violet Evergarden!reader scenarios for Hazbin Hotel, and here is one of them! :)

Sit back, relax, and let us dive into a chaotic afterlife, where even a bit of reprieve from dishonesty and hypocrisy isn’t possible…until now.

Angel Dust's first impression of you is the following: a cute weirdo who dressed like a doll and didn’t smile much. What was even more tragic is that you actually believed there is a chance for sinners to be redeemed, and that the only to do that is complete Charlie’s half-assed rehabilitation program. You still do, even your progress hasn’t gotten you one step closer to Heaven’s pearly gates and the next Extermination is in six months. Five months actually, but who's counting?

That was around the time when he had to go back to work. He didn’t want to, but he knew if he didn’t…well, he didn’t want to think about it. Valentino is a psychopathic freak. He promised to make him, Angel, a big star in Hell’s entertainment industry, and instead fucked him over six ways from Sunday with false promises.

Long hours, shitty pay. No time to even take a nap in his dressing room because of course Big Daddy Val had his favorite toy’s schedule booked until he couldn't walk anymore and needed a stiff drink. When his afterlife seemed to take a nosedive for worse, and after Husk knocked some sense into him, he started finding letters under his door.

At first glance Angel could tell that they weren’t from his fans. No one’s gonna go out of their way and buy expensive paper to type it on, shove in an envelope, and put a wax seal on it just to praise him for his acting skills and share their wildest fantasies starring yours truly. No. This was….someone else.

He honestly didn't know how to describe the context of these letters because he had never received something like this from anyone who did not expect anything from him in PS or PPS. The sender would write either a short or long letter. The short letter was about half a page long; the sender would ask how he was feeling and ask him one question. What was his favorite food? What is the color he would never wear? The sender included a little about themselves too, as if to encourage him to respond. The longer ones started the same, with a greeting and almost the same stuff written in the shorter ones, but they shared how their day went with him, even the stupid, mundane shit they do every day as a part-time clerk at an antique shop and when they come home. The longer ones were at least two pages long. Some stuff made him roll his eyes, made him laugh…but it was the closing sentences, even as they vary from letter to letter, always jerked his heart in a way which made him both sad and happy at the same time.

I’m happy I’ve met you.

Thank you for being here.

Good night and have pleasant dreams.

You are stronger than you think, Angel.

I hope I can receive a letter from you someday.

You made a lot of progress today in Charlie’s exercises. I’m proud of you.

You’re doing great.

Angel might be a bit of a dummy….but he could tell right away who had been sending him the letters. The bit about Charlie’s exercises…there were only a few people attending that day. Vaggie, Sir Wet Noodles, and you. Vaggie wouldn’t write this kind of shit, and definitely not the wannabe overlord. You. You’ve helped him get through it with these letters and you never expected him to reply back. It’s as if you just wanted your words to reach him through Val’s sickly red smoke and hold his hand in your gloved one.

Naturally…the best way he can say thanks…for caring about him in your roundabout way…is to write a letter back. Maybe have a drink at Husk’s bar and talk about shitty coworkers or why Smiles never stops smiling? He’s not sure, but he’ll figure it out somehow. Sex isn’t the only thing he’s good at. And he’d like to get to know you a little more too.

Taglist

@angelltheninth

@tired-of-life-86

@nixie-writes

@frompeach

@riddle-simp

@likesugarandcyanide

@witch-of-the-writing-desk

@22carolina08

@angel-tsugikuni-kamukura

@justamegafan

@saltyfruitbat

@lanxianschoenheit

@trecllllllll

@vikkirosko

@imperfectbloodmoon

@theunknowntravel3r

@thatstonedwriter

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

@doc-tooth

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel angel dust #an idyllic novelist #violet evergarden!reader #violet evergarden #character!reader #fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel episode 4

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genericpuff · 6 months

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All That Glitters is Not Feminism - An Analysis of LO's Brand of "Feminism" and What Remains of its Fanbase (A Prologue)

So I referenced a certain article in a recent reblog/ask response and I just need to talk about it because what the actual fuck-

This has to have been written by either a bot or a hater who's reached peak god tier level at playing the long con sarcasm game because NOTHING about this feels sincere or even factual. Much of it almost has to be read in a mocking tone for it to make any real sense.

It says "Lore Olympus" (literally in quotations) in just about every single paragraph over and over again and every single talking point revolves EXCLUSIVELY around Persephone, which I suppose comes as no surprise considering that seems to be all the comic - and its fanbase - cares about at this point.

I really love (/s) how Persephone's "evolution" is being naive and then 'blossoming' into an independent woman who relies entirely on the rich man who groomed her to solve all her problems.

Also all she's done since becoming Queen of the Underworld is abuse lower class people. That's the stuff feminist dreams are made of <3

While we're talking about the main leads, "poster child" is definitely a word for Hades, I think a more appropriate term would be "literal child". And boy howdy, 'god of consent' sure is a title to give the guy who ripped out a lower class satyr's eyeball and beat him half to death.

This man owns slaves, btw. And both he and his "powerful wife" are equally horrible to lower class people, especially women.

This is hands-down the funniest section of the article and we're only three bullet points in.

Thetis and Persephone have never even so much as spoken one word to each other outside of the courtroom that Thetis technically put her in after plotting against her for an entire season.

Eros is a man. Nothing wrong with that but it comes with the unintentional icky hilarity of implying that because Eros is the gay best friend, that means he's a woman.

They literally don't read this fucking comic-

Everyone always relies on this weird talking point of Demeter not being able to "let Persephone go"... y'all, she just didn't want Persephone to outright move to Olympus, she wanted her to commute. That was it! That was literally the only problem! She wasn't preventing Persephone from pursuing a higher education or telling her she wasn't allowed to work, she literally fucking encouraged it! And with the added later context of Persephone killing a bunch of mortals - and, ironically, the fact that Persephone was assaulted/put in harm's way by TWO SEPARATE MEN in the first two days of her time in Olympus - yeah, I don't blame Demeter for not wanting her daughter to move cold turkey actually LOL

Also hilarious that they claim Rachel has turned "tradition" into "innovation" when the only thing she's managed to do is set back modern feminism in her young adult readers by 80 years and re-establish misogynist brainwashing in her adult ones. Rachel, your fanbase was literally shipping a victim of abuse with her abuser just a few days ago.

oh boy this is uh

this is some cult shit ngl

and the "rewriting the script of Greek mythology" part is VERY concerning knowing what we know about Lore Olympus and who it was written by. This is literally cultural appropriation, full stop, and it exists because Lore Olympus - and works like it, made by people like Rachel - exists.

I can't even commit to the original theory that this was written by a bot because it all feels very pointed and intenetional. This is being written by someone who, at the very least, REALLY sucks at media analysis and writing, because the entire article is just "Lore Olympus, buzzword, Lore Olympus, buzzword, buzzword, Lore Olympus", it's like a white knight incantation for guilty virtue signallers who have zero clue what they're talking about. And at worst, yes, it's appropriation from someone who doesn't mind taking a culture's stories and myths and promoting their erasure by people outside of the culture like Rachel.

And that's it, that's literally the article lmao

*EDIT: There was a section here before addressing the writer of the article from a very opinionated POV that, while isn't unusual for what I do here, did feel necessary to remove after I was contacted by the article writer who addressed the flaws in their original article and is now seeking to correct them with revisions/an article rewrite. So I felt it only fair as a compromise to at least remove that section as it really doesn't have a whole lot to do with this post as a whole and can be removed without entirely ruining the flow of this analysis. If/when that article is rewritten, I'll be revisiting this post and my overall analysis !

And honestly, it's all really telling, because this does accurately reflect the state of the LO fanbase.

Not only do many of the people who defend this comic like it's their job not pick up on the blatant misogynist tones that are going on in its narrative (I can't even call them "undertones" anymore, they're no longer that subtle) but whether or not they even read the comic at all is up for debate with how much stuff they tend to get wrong in their own arguments and justifications. And this is something that's VERY regularly seen in the fanbase discussions, readers will constantly be unaware of things that happened because they skimmed through it at lightning speed just to see if Hades and Persephone kiss and so they can get the top comment on Webtoons so they can be "ahead of the fanbase". It's no wonder that Rachel has gotten used to getting away with retconning things because her fanbase didn't even read what she established the first time.

Rachel's fanbase was literally defending the romance ship of an abuser and his victim on the newest FP episode preview. When that FP episode came out two nights ago and Hera said, point blank, that he didn't love her but abused her, I could only think of that portion of the fanbase who was very audibly simping over Kronos in the IG comment section. Are they actually having their moment of shameful clarity now? Or are they just gonna move the goalposts and pretend that didn't happen?

I don't want to say anything bad about Shelby here because she really seems like she's fighting for her life on this site that she's trying to get off the ground, but a lot of her other articles also come across as very one-note while being peppered with buzzwords that make it seem like what she's talking about is "progressive" when it really isn't. Case in point, Lessons in Chemistry has been commonly criticized for not actually appealing to the demographic that its Mary Sue-ish main character is supposed to represent - women in STEM career fields.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Lore Olympus is not 'feminism', it's white feminism that is designed to appeal to predominantly heterocis white women who think the solution to misogyny is to willingly submit to it and accept the status quo - that it's "empowering" if the woman is smiling and having all her needs paid for by a man. Sure, I can accept that different women will be looking for different relationship dynamics, some women genuinely are happy being in a relationship where they support their husbands first and foremost. But can that truly be called feminism? Or is the real feminism the choices we make along the way that we should be given the freedom to make?

It says a lot about the folks who tend to regularly prop up LO on a pedestal like this as some "revolution in feminism" despite the contrary after spending more than just 30 seconds skimming the attention-grabbing art, and Shelby is just one of many. She's not the worst of the bunch, though.

That goes to someone else who I want to give proper light to in their own essay. Someone who definitely earned a good stern talking-to this past week and has, thankfully, had consequences dished out to her for her horrible actions towards queer POC writers.

If you know, you know. If you don't, buckle up.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 month

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Top Shelf Love: Prologue

A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU. For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.

The city that never sleeps indeed.

The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.

“Nesta! You finally made it!”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.

So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.

“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.

“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.

“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.

“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.

Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.

Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.

But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.

“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”

“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”

It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”

“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”

“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”

“At least they make the playoffs.”

Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”

“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”

“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.

“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”

“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.

“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.

“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”

Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.

“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.

Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.

“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.

“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.

“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”

“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”

Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”

“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.

“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”

“Emerie and Gwyn did.”

Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.

It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’

Cassian Valdarez.

Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.

Nesta had done a lot of staring.

Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.

“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.

“And what?”

“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”

Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”

“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”

“Feyre, don’t you think—”

“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”

Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.

Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.

“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.

Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.

He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.

“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”

“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”

“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”

Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.

The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.

Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?

“You know what they say. No time like the present.”

“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”

Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”

Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”

“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”

Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”

“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”

“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.

“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”

Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.

She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.

Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.

She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.

“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.

Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”

Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.

“Wait. Where are the keys?”

“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”

Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.

And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #hockey cassian #top shelf love #my fic

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burning-omen · 8 months

Text

Kinktober Day 9: Detective x Criminal + Spider-Noir

Spider-Noir x male reader

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 10

Summary: He’s playing mind games with you, you know he is.

Warning: reader is the Black Cat of the universe, getting tied up, lowkey cringe villian reader but it’s like the 1940’s so they get a pass cuz it’s a little camp, breaking and entering, stalking, reader being naked, no smut (during kinktober? shocking I know)

You didn't like being tied up. Well, maybe. Just not in this context. You prided yourself on having never been caught, but as you are now, your arms bound to your sides, hanging upside down from a lamp post, you could feel that pride going down the drain. Glancing over you could see a few of the guys that were helping you rob some high-end jewelry store.

You usually worked alone, but the owner of the store was friendly with the police and if anyone was going down for this one, it'd be them. That's what you had planned at least, before being captured by a familiar spider themed vigilante.

You could see his figure, shrouded in black, crouching down next to them, they were all tied together, back to back to back on the floor. You almost began to wonder why you were getting special treatment, then you remembered your claws and the chase that lead to you being in this position in the first place. He considered you a threat. Which made sense, considering what you'd done to the front of his little suit. You had just barely missed him, only able to swipe at the vest he wore beneath his coat before the chase began. Still, it cut through as though you were swiping at air, you figured that he would rather not find out what they felt like cutting through flesh.

It was a while before he came to you, crouching down so that he could meet your eyes. Despite being upside down and having his face covered by a mask.

“Cat,” he said sternly.

“Mr. Spider-Man.” you returned with a grin, “you caught me.”

“So I did, ‘ that mean you're gonna comply?”

“Not a chance.”

A careful, slow breath left the man. Coming in closer, he spoke again.

“Those guys already gave you up, Cat, you really think you can get out of this one?”

You thought for a moment, or at least pretended to before another large grin broke out on your face.

“I can get out of anything. So what if these low lives try to pin this whole thing on me, I've got a few things they don't that absolve me of any blame,” you said confidently.

He let out a low laugh, just for a second before asking,

“And what's that?”

“Well I've got a secret identity, I've got an alibi-” you paused for a moment, flexing your clawed fingers before continuing, “and, unlike those guys, I got away.”

Without sparring a moment you shredded the binds, effectively freeing yourself, twisting onto your back to keep yourself from banging your head on the concrete below. You were on the ground for less than a second before you were on your feet again and breaking into a sprint, you didn't check to see if he followed you, scaling up the side of a brick building and running along its roof before jumping to the next one, then the next, then the next until you felt tired, sliding to a stop.

~~~~~~

As you landed on the window sill of your apartment, you decided definitively that you needed a long, long bath, despite the fact that you got away, you were still trapped by the Spider-Man. That was a step closer to prison than you'd ever like to be.

Sliding the window open you were greeted by your pitch black apartment, just how you left it. Despite the dark, you navigated flawlessly, making your way to the living room, walking towards your front door, and collecting the newspaper and mail off the floor, the mail slot in your door shining a small beam of light from the hallway.

Finally flicking on the light as you flipped through your mail, heading towards the kitchen. Leaning up against the counter as you muttered to yourself.

“Bills, bills, trash, rent-” you stopped on an invitation to an art exhibit, specifically a jewelry art exhibit, ‘displaying pieces new and old’, how wonderful. What was even better was the price of the tickets, nearly 300 each, you couldn't afford to go, not legally, but you’re sure that plenty of wealthy people with deep pockets and easily accessible wallets would be there, along with the jewelry itself. With a small smile, you set the invitation down on the counter, you could look at it again later.

Before you could even register what was written on the next envelope, a voice spoke from behind you- in a moment you would never admit to, you jumped, a small yelp emitting from you, your heart pounding heavily.

Turning quickly, you were face to face with Spider-man, leaning on the other side of the counter, the invitation you just set down in his hands.

“‘We humbly invite you, Shara Jamison, to the Exhibition of Art Through Jewelry on-’”

You quickly snatched the invitation from his hand, slamming it on the counter.

“Breaking into people's houses is illegal.” you said, glaring at the man.

“You left your window open”

Setting your mail down, you could feel the familiar feeling of irritation growing.

“Caught twice in one night, Cat, I think you're losing your touch.”

Walking past him and back into the living room, you tried to think of a plan, but as Spider-Man followed you- so close behind, your mind seemingly stopped working.

“I'm not losing anything, you're just stalking me, how would you feel if I followed you home, hmm, Mr. Spider-Man?”

He didn’t respond, turning, you saw him- once again, going through your mail.

“Will you stop that?” You snatched the stack from him and threw it on the couch.

Breathing out a frustrated sigh, you said,

“What do you want?”

“Y/n L/n.”

You paused, taking in a breath you said, “what?”

“That’s your name right? It's on all your- well, most of your mail.”

Resisting the deep urge to roll your eyes into oblivion you said,

“So what if it is?”

“So..” he started, “you've got no secret identity, no alibi, and no, you didn't get away.”

You tried not to react, in over 5 years of masked theft you've never been caught, not once, you've never even been a suspect, but here you were, quite literally out a places to hide, he knew where you lived, you didn't have friends so you had no where to lay low, he knew who you were, and he's even got you cornered in your own home.

“Good job, detective, you gonna take me to jail?” despite the playful tone you'd taken up, you were nervous, the police didn't like Spider-Man, but you’re sure they'd appreciate him bringing in a criminal like you.

“No.”

You didn't mean to sigh. You really wanted to remain unfazed, but god, you couldn't. You felt like a massive weight had been lifted off your shoulders by the same person who had put it there.

“Why not?”

He chuckled, “I like this, I like you, gives me something to do.”

You laughed, “This is why the cops don't like you.”

After a short pause he said, “Stay safe out there, Cat.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He left after that, through the same window he’d come through. Leaning against the window sill you watch him swing away. Your heart pounding in your ears as he disalearedcinyo the night.

You didn't sleep much that night, his words replaying in your mind over and over again.

‘I like this, I like you..’

You rolled over, pulling the cover up over your shoulders. You weren’t some toy made for his entertainment, you were a thief and a really fucking good one. His words shouldn’t be effecting you the way they were, you were enemies. You fought, hell you nearly slashed his chest open tonight. But he ‘likes you’, sure…

This was some elaborate ploy to get you to turn yourself in, you knew it was.

He was trying to play mind games with you, but you were better at them than he was.

~~~~~~

It’s been two weeks since you’ve been out, a new personal record on your part. Not stealing for two whole weeks! You patted yourself on the back, even through you skin itches and your fingers twitched every time you saw something valuable. But you couldn’t, you were playing the long game with the Spider-Man, you weren’t going to break character now.

You took the bus home from work, getting dropped off a few blocks from your apartment, it started pouring rain about halfway through your walk, soaking your clothes. You hated the rain. You knew it was going to rain, you could smell it in the air, and you could have stolen an umbrella from the rack in the break room, but that’s not what a good upstanding citizen does, so you suffered through the rain, dragging yourself to your apartment, up several flights hold stairs before finally reaching your apartment.

The pitch black scene was comforting, dropping your suitcase on the floor, hearing it thumb loudly. Peeling back layer of soaked clothes and dropping them into a pile.

You felt a million times lighter.

Heading to you bedroom, only flicking the light on when you were inside to find a change of clothes. Bundling them in your arms then flicking the light back off. Heading back to the living room you remembered the pile of wet clothes on the floor, flipping the light switch on, the living room illuminated quickly, everything was exactly as you left it. Well, except for the imposing black figure sitting on your couch. Spider-man. He was deadly silent, seemingly frozen. You stared at him, confused, before remembering the state you were in. Naked.

You weren’t shy, not even a little bit, but you definitely weren’t expecting to be nude in front of people, especially Spider-Man, who was seemingly shocked into silence.

“Breaking and entering is a crime, Spider-Man.”

Nothing.

“Really? You break into my house and you have nothing to say to me?”

Nothing again.

You sighed, walking over to the man, dropping your clothes next to him on the couch before plopping down yourself.

“Earth to Spider-Man? Can you hear me?”

He turned to face you.

“Y/n…” he muttered.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat, “you're, um.. I just. I was-”

You nodded along to his blabbering, a teasing smile on your face. It took him a moment to figure his words out, but he got it eventually.

“I was...checking on you. You've been missing for a while now, I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurt.”

“Well,” you gestured to your naked body, “as you can see, there's not a scratch nor bruise on me.”

He shifted in his seat, staring for a long moment before looking away.

You grinned, “what's wrong, detective, never seen a man naked before?”

He took a deep breath, then said, “I'm sorry, you should get dressed.”

You hummed, “No, it's fine, I'm comfortable.”

“Cat..” he practically whined.

“Fine, fine, I'll go. You stay here, don't move.”

You were going to use the clothes you gathered after taking a shower, but Spider-Man’s delicate sensibilities called for your immediate coverage.

So you went to your room, peeking out at him through the door, only to see him sitting there, stiff as a board, dressed quickly, and sat back down on the couch next to him as though you hadn't been naked minutes before.

“You going straight, Cat?”

You hummed, “Why would you think that?”

“You got a 9-5, you haven't been out at night, and your gang says you haven't returned their calls.”

“So what, you're stalking me now?”

He didn't respond.

It was kinda cute, he's been following you around, harassing your gang, and he broke into your house again, but seeing you naked is too personal. Poor thing’s got his morals in a twist.Maybe these weren't mind games, or some elaborate scheme, maybe he really did just like you, he wouldn't be the first to obsess over you and he probably wouldn't be the last.

Sighing, you said, “You don't have to worry, I'm quitting tomorrow.”

He turned to you quickly, “Really?”

“Yes, really, besides, I know a better way of making money.”

He paused for a moment, “You're coming back?”

“I was just taking a little break, you know I can't go straight forever. As soon as this rain stops I'm back to my old ways.”

He laughed, then relaxed back against the couch.

“You really missed me that much?”

“Like you wouldn't believe.”

You laughed, scooting a bit closer to the man.

“I missed you too, turns out regular people don't get to copulate with Spider-Man on a nightly basis.”

“That does not mean what you think it does..”

“What?” you grinned, “copulate? Would you rather me say fornicate? Conjugate? Philander? Closest?-”

“Do you just have a dictionary of words that mean sex?”

You shrugged, “Maybe.”

“You are…awful.” despite the insult, you could hear the smile on his voice.

“You still like me though.”

He shifted, “I never said that.”

“Sure you did, right after you told me that you would never let those disgusting cops sully my perfect body with their cop hands.”

“I don't recall that one.”

“I do.” you smirked

It was a little odd, talking with Spider-Man in your own home, usually all of your teasings happened out on the streets. Not tonight though, as the rain poured down, you and the detective enjoyed a nice night in.

#x male reader #male reader #male!reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #male s/o #x male!reader #spider noir x male reader #spider noir x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader

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ineffable-endearments · 5 months

Text

I was rethinking the bookshop meta I wrote a while ago and realized I was not thinking big enough.

The bookshop has always been Aziraphale's version of Crowley's plants (his trauma reenactment), but also, absolutely everything Aziraphale does in Season 2 is a re-creation of Heaven's role. Crowley's behavior also encompasses everything, not just his plants.

I've seen it suggested that centering Aziraphale and Crowley's trauma histories is reducing their characters to behaving like just reactive victims instead of survivors with agency. Or worse, it's "excusing bad behavior." I don't agree with either of these, because I feel that part of Good Omens is about how large, powerful systems affect individuals, and so the context of every character's decisions matters a lot to the overall themes of the story. Everyone starts out working within a system they believe to reflect reality and then has to learn how to break free of it. You cannot really illustrate that without having the characters start out being genuinely trapped with different ways of coping with their reality.

This is an attempt at a pretty big-picture meta. Although it isn't a plot prediction, it's how I think some of the series' themes are going to progress. It starts out perhaps a little grim, but in the long run, it's how Aziraphale's character growth and relationship with Crowley can simultaneously be massive for them as individuals, a crucial part of the overarching narrative message of the series, and symbolic of a change in all of Heaven and Hell, all while allowing the themes to continue to prioritize human free will.

In short, it's about Aziraphale's problems, but it's also meant to be an Aziraphale love post.

All of the below exists in tandem with Good Omens as a comedy of errors. Just because there are heavy ideas does not mean they will not also be funny. Look back on how much of Season 2 seemed silly until we started to pick it apart! One of the amazing things about Good Omens is how it manages to do both silly and serious at once! (I feel like that's maybe a little Terry Pratchett DNA showing through. "Laughter can get through the keyhole while seriousness is still hammering on the door," as Terry himself said.)

Aziraphale has really embraced his connection to Crowley in Season 2, and he has also become considerably more assertive toward Heaven and Hell. These are both major growth points compared to the beginning of Season 1.

However, again, we have the concept of growing pains...Aziraphale is starting to re-create Heaven's role in his relationship with Crowley and humanity. It's really obvious with the Gabriel argument and the I Was Wrong Dance, but I think we see it all over the place: he seems to feel any serious dissent is a betrayal. He also seems to assume there's a dominance hierarchy and he, of course, is on top. Now that he's decided to take control of his own future, then surely that does mean he's the one in control, right?

With all that said, he still seems to have trouble being direct about the feelings that make him most vulnerable. He manipulates people and engineers situations in which he can try to get his emotional needs met rather than saying things outright (case in point: the Ball).

Like I pointed out in the bookshop meta: subconsciously, he's playing the role of God, modified with what God would be if She were everything he wants Her to be. He's generous, almost infinitely sweet, always does what's best for people...or, at least, what he believes is best for people. During the Ball, Aziraphale influences the people around him to be comfortable and happy even when they're not supposed to be, and he limits their ability to talk about things he thinks are too rude or improper for happy, formal occasions.

Doesn't this pattern sort of make sense for an angel who's just discovering free will? Like, at the end of Season 1, he made an enormous choice to stand against Heaven and realized he could survive it. Now he's gone a bit overboard with exerting his own will. Unfortunately, while he's learned to question upper management, he's still operating on a fundamental framework of the universe where there have to be two sides and there has to be a hierarchy. Also, since Aziraphale is on the Good side, he of course has to gear his desires into what's Good rather than just what he wants, so he sometimes thinks he's doing things for others when really he's doing things for himself. (For example, matchmaking Maggie and Nina started out as something he wanted to use to lie to Heaven, but by the time he was commenting "Maggie and Nina are counting on me," he seemed sincere, like he had genuinely convinced himself this was for them and not for himself.)

Aziraphale knows Heaven interferes in human affairs, ostensibly on God's behalf. He thinks She should be intervening in ways that are beneficial. What I believe the narrative wants him to learn is that God and Heaven shouldn't be manipulating people at all, not even for Good, and in fact there is no real meaningful hierarchy.

Anyway, a top-down, totally unquestioned hierarchy is the primary social relationship Aziraphale has known, and it's certainly been the dominant one for most of his existence: you're either the boss or the underling, and if someone seriously questions you, they don't have faith in you - they don't respect you.

No, his relationship with Crowley has not always been like that, but they've been creating their relationship from whole cloth, so how would he know it shouldn't become that way, now that it's "real" and out in the open?

No, human relationships aren't like that, but Aziraphale clearly does not see himself or Crowley as human. As the relationship approached something that seemed like it must be "legitimate," Aziraphale would naturally look for a framework to fit it to. And again, the only one he has is the shape of "intimacy," or what passes for it, in Heaven. What has "trust" always meant in all his "legitimate" relationships? It has always meant unquestioning obedience, of course. What have the warm fuzzies felt like in Heaven? Well, praise from the angels above him is nice, so that must be it, right?

Aziraphale even describes being in love as "what humans do," separating out that relationship style. Someday, I think he'll realize he favors the shape of love on Earth, something that's more inherently equal, more give-and-take. Look at how he idealizes it from afar at the Ball. But I think that, like Crowley before Nina pointed it out, Aziraphale maybe hasn't 100% grokked that it can and in fact should work that way for him and Crowley, too. Just like people can desperately want to dance without knowing how to dance, or can desperately want to speak a language without knowing the language, Aziraphale does not instinctively know how to have the kind of relationship where he can be truly vulnerable and handle Crowley's vulnerability as well.

Aziraphale is downright obsessed with French, known as the "language of love." He's trying to learn it the Earthly way. He's not very good at it, but he wants to be.

This pattern is still present during the Final Fifteen even if we assume Aziraphale is asking Crowley to become an angel again out of fear (and I find it very hard to believe that fear doesn't factor in at all). He's still building his interactions off of that Heaven-like framework: he asks Crowley to trust him blindly, he tries to assume a leadership role with a plan Crowley never agreed to and couldn't follow anyway, and he tries very hard not to leave room for an ounce of doubt. He also suggests making Crowley his second-in-command and obviously does not register that this could possibly be offensive. Again, I think this is because for Aziraphale, there has always been a hierarchy in Heaven, it's started to transfer to his relationship with Crowley, and breaking out of that assumption about relationships is going to take more processing than a single argument can do.

As I mentioned in another post, I don't believe Aziraphale had a real choice about whether he accepted the Supreme Archangel position. I think he could sense that he was not getting out of it and chose to look on the bright side, to see it as an opportunity. And instead of looking realistically at how that would feel to Crowley, he tried to sweep Crowley up to Heaven with him using toxic positivity, appeals to morality, and appeals to their relationship itself. Again, mimicking what Heaven has done to him.

To me, "they're not talking" is a big clue that Aziraphale's approach with Crowley is going to be the mistake the narrative really wants him to face. "Not talking" has, thus far, been presented as the central conflict of Season 3! After losing the structure and feedback Heaven gave him, Aziraphale started creating Heaven-like patterns in his relationship with Crowley, and breaking out of those patterns is what he needs to do. Discovering first-hand that Heaven's entire modus operandi is bad no matter who's in charge is how he can do it.

Look, either you're sympathetic to Aziraphale's control issues or you're not. Personally, I am. He's trying so, so hard to be good. I think trying to figure yourself out (which Aziraphale is clearly doing) is hard enough, and when you start balancing what you want for yourself, what you think are your responsibilities, and what other people are actively asking of you, you're bound to fall into the patterns that have been enforced for your whole life or for millions of years, whichever came first.

It is very easy to assume that people should Just Be Better, but it's not actually that simple to be a thinking, feeling person. My anxiety tends to move in a very inward direction and Aziraphale's moves outward. But I'd imagine the desperation and exhaustion are the same.

Unlike Nina, Aziraphale became a rebound mess. I don't think it occurred to either him or to Crowley that there could be any soul-searching, anything but carrying on with the new normal after their stalemate with Heaven and Hell.

Now, instead of getting rejected by Heaven and surviving it, Aziraphale needs to be the one to reject Heaven. It needs to be a choice. And that choice is going to come from realizing that Heaven isn't just poorly managed but also represents a bad framework for all relationships.

How could this happen? Good question. We're obviously not supposed to know yet, although I think picking at existing themes within the narrative could possibly give us hints.

It's possible Aziraphale's character development trajectory will be akin to Adam Young's in Season 1. Please see this stellar post by eidetictelekinetic for more thoughts about it, but basically, in Season 1, Adam saw that the world was not what he wanted it to be and decided his vision was better; as he ascended to power, he took complete control over all his friends and then soon realized that's not what he wants because there's no point in trying to have relationships with people who can't choose you. It's that realization that leads Adam to conclude he doesn't want to take over the world and to reject the role he's expected to play as the Antichrist. Maybe Aziraphale's trip to Heaven is an attempt at a control move during which he'll realize he's defeating his own point.

Aziraphale clearly wants to be chosen. From the very beginning, he's wanted to be special and cared for - just like Crowley has.

Incidentally, I think Aziraphale and Crowley are going to represent pieces of the bigger picture here, and this - first imitating and then rejecting Heaven's relationship style - can both symbolize Heaven's transformation and directly start it (probably in an amusing, somewhat indirect way, like when he handed off the flaming sword to Adam).

If I'm right - which I may very well not be - I think this would all be so, SO cool. Like, "An angel who is subconsciously trying to be a better God" is a concept with so much potential for both tender kindness and incredible darkness. Add to that the comedy-of-errors aspect of "...but even deeper down, he'd much rather just be super gay on Earth" and you have, in my opinion, a perfect character.

I think this could work for Crowley as well. It's obvious that in the Good Omens universe, at least so far, Hell is all about detesting humans and punishing them; Satan seems to genuinely hate humans (unlike in some of NG's other works). Our perspective on this could change, but it potentially puts Crowley in a complementary position to Aziraphale, as a demon who is trying to be "better" than Satan. But this isn't about being "morally better." It's about things having a point. Crowley's exploits usually have a point: they test people. And you can pass his tests! He sincerely likes making trouble, but Crowley doesn't live to punish.

But, once again, the above paragraph would describe a transient phase for this infinitely charming character. Because, again, I think the point will be that in the end, Crowley's deeper-down desire, moreso than testing Creation, is watching it grow with a glass of wine in hand.

#go3 speculation

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