mr. and mrs. ~ oscar piastri
Summary: Wedding of the year is finally here between the two favorite youngsters on the grid. Everyone is invited!
Words: 1.3k+
Other works: my masterlist
♡♡♡♡♡
Oscar and Y/N.
Y/N and Oscar.
Everyone knew them, everyone loved them.
Ever since the young Australian lad had entered the Formula 1 world, Y/N had entered it with him. Always by his side, always attending his races while also attending university.
They had been together for many years, practically having invented the term “highschool sweethearts”. Despite Oscar’s busy schedule and Y/N being at university, they always made it work, never letting the distance affect their relationship.
Moving together to the UK had represented the first sign that they were both in it for the long ride. Packing up their entire lives and moving across the globe to follow their dreams proved that their relationship and the love they had was real.
Real and pure.
When Oscar got the opportunity to drive in Formula 1 and Y/N started her studies, the time they spent together shortened by a significant amount, but they managed to make it work.
They talked on the phone every day, texting when neither of them could speak on the phone, they took every opportunity to visit each other when they had free time, with Y/N visiting Oscar at his races or Oscar coming home when he would have 2 weeks off between races.
They made it work.
But Oscar wasn’t satisfied. He needed something more. He needed something that would put his mind at ease when he would be away.
He needed to officially make you his.
Towards the end of the season, you had a few weeks off uni and decided to join your boyfriend in Qatar for the Grand Prix.
You hadn’t really chosen the best race to attend, the heat and the humidity making it really strenuous on your already tired body. But seeing the smile that Oscar had while doing the grid walk with you by his side made it worth it.
Being there for Oscar’s sprint win had been the highlight of your entire year. Seeing him cross the checkered flag first, seeing his name on that first position on every monitor around the paddock, the feeling was unlike anything you had ever felt before.
Up until the moment Oscar got out of the car.
He made his way over to where you were waiting for him after he celebrated a little with the team, taking off his helmet and balaclava and giving them to one of his assistants.
“How about that?” he asked, chuckling as he pulled you into his arms, careful not to squeeze you too tightly because he was sweaty.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, Os. I can’t believe I was here for your first win” you said, your voice muffled because you had your face buried in the crook of his neck.
“It’s technically not considered a win bec-”
“Shut up and enjoy the moment” you interrupted, making him chuckle and continue hugging you.
As he let go of you, you didn’t notice him reaching for something behind his back, not even his assistant subtly handing him something as he appeared again from the garage. All you could focus on was him, and nothing else around you.
It only really hit you when Oscar lowered himself down on one knee in front of you, a red velvet box in his hand.
“Oh my God” you said, your eyes widening and your hands flying up to your mouth.
All around you, the McLaren team gathered in a circle, phones ready and cameras rolling to catch the sweet moment on camera.
“Y/N, I don’t even know whether words will suffice to say what I want to say right now. You’ve been by my side since we were kids, you moved to the UK with me and left your entire family in Australia just for me, and I can’t even begin to explain how much that meant to me. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, I frankly don’t think I could survive on my own if you weren’t here. I want to grow old with you, I want to have kids with you and build the life we’ve always talked about having. Y/N, will you marry me?” the words got stuck in your throat, so you settled for nodding feverishly.
The entire team around you cheered, but you could only see Oscar. As he got up and slid the ring on your left hand, you threw yourself into his arms and softly cried, the moment far too emotional to be able to hold back.
Your engagement had become national news in a matter of a couple of hours. Every media channel from the world had written about Oscar’s proposal in Qatar, speculating about when the wedding would be and whatnot.
It didn’t even feel like it had really happened when you stared at the ring on your finger, the feeling foreign but so welcome and like it was meant to be.
You and Oscar had multiple talks about when you would get married, where you would have the wedding and many other problems that came with being away from home and everyone’s families.
Which is why you decided to have the wedding back home in Australia.
After the season was finished and the winter break came, you and Oscar had started planning the wedding, which you settled to have after the last race before the summer break. He had already sent invitations out to the rest of the drivers, all of them very eager to attend the young lad’s wedding.
Lando was especially thrilled, but couldn’t help making jokes about how he had never thought Oscar would be the one getting married so young.
“What did you do to him, Y/N? You charmed him pretty damn well” he’d always joke whenever you guys would hang out in the garage before a race.
Yours and Oscar’s mothers took care of most of the things regarding the venue, the flower arrangements and catering, wanting to take the load off of you while you were halfway across the world.
The only thing that you had to worry about was picking your wedding dress and flying over to Australia to get married.
And when the day had finally come, excitement flowed through your veins.
Nicole and Oscar’s sisters had helped do your hair and make-up, your mother only watching as she sobbed quietly in the background.
“Mom, you’re gonna make me cry too if you don’t stop” you told her as you watched her through your mirror, making the other girls laugh.
“I just can’t believe my baby is getting married” she laughed, wiping her tears and walking up to stand behind you.
You smiled and took her hand, mostly to calm your nerves as well.
You were really getting married. And to the love of your life, which was a plus.
After you were prepped and ready to go, your father came to fetch you to walk you down the aisle. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you held his arm tightly and clutched the flower bouquet tightly in your other hand.
But your nerves disappeared like they had never even been there when the doors opened and you locked eyes with Oscar waiting for you at the end of the aisle, Logan beaming behind him as his best man.
The ceremony went by in a blur, the only focus on your part being on Oscar. You only vaguely remembered saying your vows and saying “I do”, your memory only having imprinted the first kiss you two shared as husband and wife.
You were positive that nothing could ever top this moment, getting married with all of your friends and families present, stepping into your new life with Oscar by your side.
Nothing could ever be better.
Nothing could top you becoming Mrs. Piastri.
Being Mr. and Mrs. Piastri.
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Dial Drunk
5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...
The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”
There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”
The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”
Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.
Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”
Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”
“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”
Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”
Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”
“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”
“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.
Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”
“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”
Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”
Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.
Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.
Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.
Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.
The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”
Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.
“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.
“Really?”
The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”
Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…”
He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”
Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”
“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.
“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”
Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.
— — — — —
“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”
“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.
Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.
Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”
“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”
What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”
He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.
Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”
Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”
“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.
“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”
“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”
He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.
“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”
Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”
“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.
“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”
— — — — —
Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.
A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.
Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”
“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”
Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”
“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”
“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”
Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.
Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”
For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand.
“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.
Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.
Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.”
“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”
“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.
“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”
Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”
Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”
Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.
— — — — —
Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”
“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”
Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.
Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”
Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”
“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”
“You knew going into this—”
“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”
Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”
Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”
The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”
Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.
— — — — —
“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”
Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”
The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”
“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”
“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.
“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.
Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”
Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.
“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.
Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”
Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.
Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”
“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”
Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”
“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”
He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.
One last time.
— — — — —
The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”
But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening.
“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.
“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.
The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”
Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”
The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.
Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.
He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.
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I wanna see Danny absolutely insane. Not like. We got too silly insane. Like, pushed past his breaking point, desperately trying to hold on, for the fifth time this week, and it’s Monday.
I wanna see him smile when Dash shoves him into his locker, because he’s not sure what to do. On one hand he’s so done with this, and he knows he could end Dash in a fraction of a second. On the other hand, it was almost reassuring, nostalgic, he remembers when this used to hurt.
I wanna see ghosts and humans alike, go to hurt or bother Danny Fenton Phantom. And have them stop when he turns around, because the look in his eyes is not something they understand nor want to mess with. Lancer saw a weight he thought only characters in books could possibly have to carry, Paulina saw tears and when has anyone ever seen him cry, Vlad saw exhaustion that cuts into your very core but you have to keep going because that’s what’s expected of you, Ember saw grief and pain over something that never happened but could’ve been, Dash saw pain a hundred times worse than anything he’s ever felt, Jazz saw protectiveness of a kingdom who hates him, Wes swears he looked insane.
And Danny? Danny is done with their shit. And he doesn’t swear. He’s so tired of everything, he’s so close to giving up, he is very much not feeling phantastic right now. He’s got more scar tissue than skin, he’s pretty sure everything he owns has at least a little of his blood on it by now, he’s forgotten what feeling okay is like, and he can’t even begin to describe everything else, and he means everything. He’s got half the mind to track down who ever said death was peaceful and make them deal with his life. But he’s a hero. Right?
He knows he’s got duties, the Realms needs a king, Amity needs a protector (both the humans and the ghosts), Danny Fenton needs to go to school. Oh and he’s pretty sure Frostbite is having a panic attack after looking at him which is ridiculous. But still, the stars seem real inviting right now, he wonders if Clockwork would turn back time for him and just let him sleep on the moon for 200 or so years. Probably not. (Clockwork absolutely would’ve). He might just do it anyways. It’s kind of ridiculous how much somethings just look like comfy beds to sleep in for a trillion years to him now, he fell asleep in a snow bank earlier which wasn’t nearly cold enough. But it’s kind of fair Danny supposes, he can’t remember the last time his home really felt like home, and Amity in general is his haunt, but eh, whatever.
Still though, having your enemy worried for you is really something. Like Vlad should comment, Vlad’s the source of a small fraction of his problems! Which is a lot! First of all having to worry about another source of constant attacks, having to try and convince his parents that Vlad is so clearly evil, having to check up on Dani and also make sure Vlad isn’t trying anything like that again, and not to mention the whole mayor of the town he lives in thing.
Okay this kind of got off track. But my point is, I want it to be too much, instead of somehow managing to survive it all and getting help, Danny gets pushed off the edge (and can’t get out) and he just goes crazy, he breaks down right in the middle of school over a minor inconvenience, laughing then sobbing then screaming then wailing for ancients knows how long. Then he flies off somewhere and continues to breakdown for a while, then he returns to his life like nothing happens, but it did.
That was it.
He can’t be pulled back now. You had your chance. You all had so many chances. And now he’s lost it for good. And you all deserve it.
He’s not going to apologise for punching Dash through a wall, he’s not going to apologise for whatever he did in that little blacked out period of time, he’s not going to apologise for taking a nap in the observatory and hissing and attacking all the tourists and everyone else, he’s not going to apologise for dissecting his parents, he’s not going to apologise for making Vlad regret it, he’s not going to apologise for making the ghost writer eat a book, he’s not going to apologise at all.
You let him get like this. He doesn’t want to shift the blame. But what was he supposed to do? No. Oh no. Don’t try to explain. This is all your fault. And he’s tired of pretending he’s fine. And he’s tired of helping. Because you lost that a while back.
You all don’t even know how dead you are to him, he had a little regret when it came to Sam and Tucker and Jazz, and that’s why they’re alive right now. Because they did all they could, well, not all they could, but that was because he asked them not to tell. Maybe he shouldn’t off.
-
All hail the high king Danny Fenton Phantom. The king who never stopped crying.
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and i will always, always, be defending the "plot-holes" that are not actually plot-holes at all. i've seen people on facebook complain so many times about the ending of the game - about the siege of talmberg to be more exact.
"just attack it", "just take it down", "why doesn't divish just do it", "ohh his wife he can't even fuck! nobody gives a damn", "henry doesn't even really care for radzig at this point" etc.
and i have to go back to that one solitary thing this game literally cannot exist without: love. it's the main aspect, it's the pillars the story stands on, it's everything.
medieval movies and books like to picture the old times ala skyrim: "my son was very young when he died. but he did so while doing his duty. he fell for skyrim! he fell for the empire! i do not mourn for i am proud!"
"oh, i loved my father more than anything. but he is gone now. that is life."
it is. but. hear me out. people back then - were actually just like people now. we break down when we lose someone we adore, cherish, love, protect. no matter how stoic we may be, we don't take it lightly, do we?
so, if you think about it, is it a plot-hole, when divish refuses to attack his castle because
it's his home and he loves it
his wife is in there
his friend is also in there?
robard would not attack if it were divish in there. radzig would not attack if it were henry in there. hans would not attack if it were hanush in there. istvan would not attack if it were erik in there. captain bernard would not attack if it were hans in there.
it all comes back to love. and wanting people you care about safe.
martin running back to certain death because his wife is in the village when the cumans attack.
both parents worrying about nothing but their beloved son even while they are being brutally murdered.
everyone on talmberg willing to lock henry up just to keep him away from skalitz (for reasons yet unknown).
theresa making a last stand for someone just as lost as her.
the understanding he's met with when henry comes and admits his failure to radzig, the fact that he went against direct order. (nothing, absolutely nothing else but radzig being in debt to martin, or radzig being someone close to henry, could explain the understanding, the acceptance, and the outcome of the whole situation. how do you think henry - who is just a young man, not a hero, not a dragonborn, not a chosen one - would get away with all this?)
henry backed out of the night raid on talmberg because hans was wounded and wouldn't survive long enough for the mission to succeed.
hans (in one of the outcomes) carried him out on his back, saving his fat ass. no time for glory, no time for saving the hostages when it's suddenly your best friend who is on the ground and bleeding out. he might have succeeded with the mission. yet he didn't hesitate when suddenly it was him who was put in the shoes of those who just wanted to keep their loved ones safe. it was stephanie for divish (he approved the raid). it was radzig for henry (he was the one who went first and most willingly). and it was henry for hans (who immediately backed out on henry's behalf). all those actions were based on love.
would you attack talmberg, knowing there was someone you loved? someone you wanted to know better, someone you wanted to learn how to love, someone who could have been much closer if he only tried? someone you only just met?
the whole story starts with love, continues with love, ends with love. it is everywhere you look and you don't even have to romance anyone to see it, to feel it. it is in the npcs' lives, it's the motivation behind so many actions. it's in henry's decisions. in your decisions.
because, don't you just love this game?
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